Richard Myers posted a very funny entry to my guestbook a few days ago. Mr. Myers is from Newcastle, England, where he is an Internet tycoon with Ethic Internet. The company seems like an interesting place to work, producing such sites as BBC Radio. Anyway, I just replied to Mr. Myers by e-mail:
Dear Mr. Myers,
I enjoyed your entry in my guestbook: “What are you doing with my son’s name?” To answer your question, I was given your son’s name nearly 22 years ago. Had you said something then, maybe I would have considering giving it back. Now, however, it is too late for me to adopt a completely new name. Unless of course you had a extremely good suggestion.
In the meantime, I have a question for you: What are you doing with my ninth grade English teacher’s name?
Yes, donut balls, that’s what I call them. Not “donut holes.” And not “Munchkins” either, you Dunkin Donuts corporate lackeys. I don’t know why I call them “donut balls.” Public opinion leans heavily against me; our good friend Mr. Google finds only 70 mentions of “donut balls” on the Web, but uncovers 2,990 mentions of “donut holes.”
All I can say is this: How much dirt is there in a hole that measures two feet by three feet by four feet? None, there is no dirt in a hole. We all know that old brain teaser. But you know another thing about that hole? Ain’t no donut in there either!
Saw Ryan Adams Thursday night in Chicago. My review as posted to RMAS (the Springsteen newsgroup). A thought since then: In the last couple months, I’ve been listening to mp3s of both Adams and Pete Yorn’s most recent stuff. Neither really engaged me at first, but both steadily grew on me. Now, after seeing Adams, I’ve made up my mind.
I plan to buy Yorn’s musicforthemorningafter purely out of spite. I will go to a record store and pay full price for it. I may buy Adams’ Gold, but that will come from the good people of BMG Music Club — and their generous free CD offers.
To Nate Pence, who meets the goals and vision of the RTVF students. To Deanna, the coolest person in the Peanut Gallery. And, reaching back a little bit, to Jeff, the bricklayer of this hacienda, and to Tom, whose Web page I can’t find right now! The Googles of all these interesting people:
–Deanna (Googlewhack? No.)
Sorry updating has slowed; finals time here on campus. Coming this weekend: Review of Thursday’s Ryan Adams show here; “donut balls;” my knees get weak for Go Chicago; shout outs and Googling; and why I stole this man’s son’s name.
Outgoing Daily Northwestern editor-in-chief Casey Newton (see his 3/12 Weblog entry) has been questioned by police in the repeated thefts of the The Daily’s van. The van is used for taking the paper to the printer each night and bringing it back to campus each morning for distribution. The van, it must be noted, is a piece of junk. More thoughts in the left column — and, the great bastion of democracy, an online poll.
I went without shaving until about 5 this afternoon, thanks to various school projects that took me up to (and past) the starting time of my classes. It’s been a while since I’ve gone past 2 p.m. and forever since I’ve gone past 11 on a weekday, even with my no-morning class schedule. The experience made me feel very rugged. When the wind brushed the bristles on my face, I thought: This is the way to live. I could wrestle a grizzly bear and tame a cougar and roll the earth and spit fire. Grrrrrowll.
So, I say, bring on the grizzly bears. And my Norelco electric.
To Lyssa for signing the guestbook and sayin’ hey. Hey right back at ya. We’re going to start a guestbook-related tradition now. Sign my guestbook, and you get not only a mention in the Weblog but also get youself googled. Let’s catch up right now:
I got fed for free tonight, and you can’t beat that. Chicken and ribs in the party room at the Firehouse Grill in Evanston, along with salad, mashed potatoes and some terrific desserts. Medill’s New Media Department generously paid for the whole thing and invited all of the grad students to take part.
Now at this dinner, the food decision was difficult. Thought-provoking, if you will. Chicken or ribs? Beef was (part of) what’s (available) for dinner, but it took a tough man to make that tender chicken.
I went with the chicken because it was a large gathering of people, many of whom I had never met before. Chicken is a normal, public food, but ribs are an intimate food. Ribs should only be eaten among friends. Your friends have seen you messy before. They’ll keep on loving you, even as the barbeque sauce drips off your nose.
From an Associated Press story: “We are repositioning,” said Major Brian Hilferty at Bagram air base on the outskirts of Kabul, where the 400 withdrawn troops were taken by helicopter. “The major fighting of the battle is over.” But he added: “If I were an al Qaeda guy, I would not go out for a pizza. Operation Anaconda is not over.”
But consider the situation. The al Qaeda fighters are in the mountains of Afghanistan. They’re not quite sure where their leaders are. They’re getting bombed and shot at night and day by the world’s best military. They’re hiding in caves without much food or supplies. And, as if the situation weren’t bad enough already, it’s wintertime.
Honestly, if I’m an al Qaeda guy, that pizza’s sounding pretty good right about now.