Hopes were dashed again last Saturday as i awoke to find that for the third time this season, the evil Arsenal had beaten my beloved Chelsea. Once again, the scoreline was 2-1, and for the second time running, the Arse came from behind to win after an early Chelsea opener. Ack. The jinx continues. Luckily we got back on the right track in midweek by besting VfB Stuttgart 1-nil in Germany, returning successfully to our Champions League campaign after the winter break. I discovered a dangerous little distraction: Chelsea TV Online, for which i bought a subscription to see the match highlight videos, broadcasts live audio commentary of all the matches. No more waiting for the typed commentary to update every few minutes, instead i can listen to two die-hard Chelsea fans (including former star Kerry Dixon) call the match. On Wednesday it almost killed me, seeing as Chelsea played miserably early on. You can only listen to the announcer say "And Makelele has given it away AGAIN" so many times before your nerves turn to jello. Also, you hear the crowd cheer before the announcer has a chance to say what happened, so there's a few seconds of wondering "did we score? did they? talk to me, dammit!" every time the crowd gets excited.

It's been rough lately cleaning up the dog's messes and trying to remain sympathetic to her plight. Our living room is starting to smell like an infrequently cleaned men's toilet, despite my repeated sanitizing efforts with 409, Resolve carpet cleaner, and most recently Nature's Miracle enzymatic odor remover. If at first you don't succeed, yadda yadda. The dog is now staying in the backyard when V and i are both out. We meant to begin this practice on Wednesday, but she must've done her rain dance on Tuesday night because it's been coming down in sheets the last two days.

Off to see the Wrens at the Noise Pop festival this weekend with Lance and V. Should be a nice alternative to staying home smelling urine and scrubbing the carpet.

oh the awful title belies the quality of this unusual comedy it's the same for you and me and the days and nights you remembered me the walls i've never seen come to me it's an awful tragedy fifty million reasons, loving in the seasons fifty million lovers, sitting at the doubles when you cry it pulls me through

when everybody is running in the big race and having a good time who am i to cast a shadow? who am i? i looked death in the face last night i saw him in a mirror and he simply smiled he told me not to worry he told me just to take my time

Last Friday i packed up my office in the Stanford Hospital ... didn't take long, i've only been here for six months ... so that everything could be moved over into my new office in the brand spanking new Stanford Cancer Center. That happened on Saturday, so this morning i headed over to my new space. Moving, as always, is not without its headaches. First off, there's a note on my keyboard saying "SYSTEM DOES NOT COME UP". Hrm. I investigate, and find that someone has jammed the power button on my monitor back inside its housing, so that you can't turn it on. Movers. So i spent ten minutes fiddling with it with a pushpin, and succeeded in liberating the button and restoring functionality to my monitor. The computer booted up fine, but when running i then found that my network ports were dead. I'm not going to attempt to rehash the debacle of the Stanford network situation, suffice to say that the ETA for connectivity in my new office is unknown. At least the phone works ... had an interesting chat with a potential molecular biology postdoc.

So now my office is more or less unpacked, but i can do very little there without network access. So i brought my laptop back to my old office, and here i sit. Wow, this new office is awesome ...

I'm slightly ill-tempered after suffering through yet another Chelsea defeat at the hands of Arsenal on Sunday. For ... what is it, the fourth year running? ... the Arse knocked us out of the FA Cup, this time in a 2-1 come-from-behind victory. Crap. We play them again in the league next weekend ... let's hope we can finally muster a win against those bastards. Why do we always draw Arsenal or Manchester United in the early rounds of the FA Cup? Why don't we ever get paired with ... oh, i don't know ... f@$#ing Colchester?

My sister had her bridal shower in Fremont on Saturday, so my dad and i had lunch at Chili's and meandered around Best Buy while the ladies did whatever pagan rituals they do at those things. Veronica and i came home and found Cobi had had a little accident while we were away. Let me explain ... a week ago, a tumor on little Cobi's face started bleeding after she scratched it too vigorously. We tried to bandage it, but given its difficult location we were only partially successful. The Monday after Veronica took the doggie to the oncologist to see what they could do. They convinced us to put her on a mild chemo regimen, supplemented with steroids to reduce inflammation and itching. Well, a side effect of the drugs is that Cobi drinks a lot of water, and correspondingly produces a lot of whizz. Since the concept of a doggie door is beyond her understanding, she has to wait for us to let her out to go potty, and with her increased water consumption her endurance is getting pretty short. So she's peed in the house a few times now. Her tumor isn't bleeding so much anymore, but she still drips little red drops every now and then. So i've spent a significant amount of time on my hands and knees scrubbing the carpet. Poor little pup. I complain, but she's a loveable little girl and i hope the chemo can keep her happy and healthy a while longer.

I finally finished watching Scarface last weekend. I didn't care for it so much. I just felt it was a pretty run-of-the-mill "small time gangster makes it big, lets his ego get the better of him, and goes down in flames" story, notable only for several fairly gory and brutal scenes. Pacino's Cuban accent also got seriously old by the end of the three hour film. I did find it amusing however that the new wave songs (written by Giorgio Moroder) played in the nightclub scenes were recently used in the game Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. Hell, i think a good portion of GTAVC's story and characters were based on Scarface.

Speaking of brutality, i succumbed to curiousity and bought Manhunt at Best Buy yesterday. The game centers on James Earl Cash, a death row inmate whose execution is faked so a snuff film director can have him star in a series of movies where he's hunted by street gangs. Manhunt was made by Rockstar Games, who were responsible for the aforementioned brilliant GTA series. So far it's pretty good, some nice stealth action. And some seriously bloody execution scenes. Naturally, the bloodier your work, the more points you earn. Tipper Gore, stay away.

Later this week my almost-free (thanks to a $30 gift certificate from participating in a University faculty survey) copy of Winning Eleven 7 International should be arriving from Amazon. And i'm also eagerly anticipating the release of Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow next month.

I'm perplexed as to why conservatives think permitting gay marriage will threaten the union between a man and a woman. If you think it's morally wrong, say so! Don't try to hide your religious feelings in this cloak of political B.S.

Lots of good shows coming up in SF ... the Wrens at Bottom of the Hill as part of the noise pop festival, as well as Pretty Girls Make Graves and The Fuse! at Bottom in March and the Liars shortly thereafter. What a town.

I finally added a new album to my "Album of the [not quite every] week" section. Have a look. Be forewarned, my penchant for metal hasn't abated any.

The Onion offers a succinct analysis of what specifically is unconstitutional about the Patriot Act: "In fact, everything after the words 'Patriot Act'."

The Monty Python daily calendar has provided another jewel, this one being the "Dirty Hungarian Phrasebook" sketch:

January 29

Hungarian: I will not buy this record. It is scratched. Tobacconist: Sorry? Hungarian: I will not buy this record. It is scratched. Tobacconist: No, no, no. This ... tobacconist's. Hungarian: Ah! I will not buy this tobacconist's. It is scratched.

January 30

Hungarian: Yah, yah. Er, do you want ... do you want to come back to my place, bouncy bouncy? Tobacconist: I don't think you're using that thing right ...

January 31/February 1

Hungarian: If i said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me? I am no longer infected.

February 2

Hungarian: Drop your panties, Sir William; i cannot wait 'til lunchtime.

I watched the entirety of Super Bowl XXXVIII yesterday, pulling for a win by my former home team, the New England Patriots, over the surprise NFC champion Carolina Panthers. Assorted observations made during the game:

• As great as the fourth quarter was, the first 27 minutes as well as most of the third quarter were god damn awful. The Patriots moved the ball but can't put it in the end zone. Vinatieri missed an easy kick and had another blocked. The Panthers offense couldn't get a first down, or even positive yardage. Naysayers had been complaining about the lack of a marquee matchup for the last two weeks, and for the first two quarters it looked like they were right on the money.

• Having already disclosed my New England bias, let me offer an analysis of the sides. The Patriots' offense was clicking, particularly in the second half. Long, time-consuming drives composed of short passes and runs. Brady lived up to his "next Montana" billing. The Panthers however looked terrible for most of the first half. They heated up after the Patriots put the first touchdown on the board, but how did they move the ball? Not through extended drives, but through a few big plays: Muhammed's 85 yard touchdown reception, Deshaun Foster's 30+ yard run. New England's defense would gaffe and Carolina would take advantage. Phil Simms was praising Jake Delhomme's accuracy on one of the long plays, but how accurate do you have to be when the nearest defender is 10 yards away? In summary, Patriots: good, Panthers: lucky. I'm not taking anything away from Delhomme, he played fantastic, but he's not hall of fame good yet. Brady on the other hand ...

• Was i the only one who noticed that whenever Tom Brady called an audible at the line of scrimmage, it was always an Antowain Smith run? They did this four or five times during the game, occasionally off-tackle runs but usually a sweep, and netted between 3 and 10 yards each time. The first time this happened, commentator Phil Simms pointed out that usually an audible changes the play to a pass, and praised Brady for switching things up. But the Panthers kept falling for it every time.

• Best commercial had to go to HR Block and their Magic 8 Ball replacement, the talking Willie Nelson doll.
  "Should i deduct my boat?"
  "Willie would!"

• The halftime show was mediocre as usual, despite the Justin Timberlake/Janet Jackson's breast episode. I can't believe JT is claiming it was an accident. Through the miracle of Tivo, you can clearly see that he intentionally pulled off her left bra cup. Moreover, she had on a pasty as if she knew he would do it. Tivo also helped me see the post-halftime streaker in the 5 seconds of airtime he got before CBS cut to the annoyed looks of the coaches while authorities dragged the culprit away.

• I hate the CBS commentators. Greg Gumbel and Phil Simms should never be allowed near the Super Bowl again.

Better yet, earlier in the day i watched the Premiership clash between Chelsea and Blackburn. Frank Lampard turned in two excellent strikes, and was denied a hat trick only by an unbelievable save by Brad Friedel. However, Lampard's contributions were countered by an early Blackburn goal as well as what looked like an 85th minute backbreaker, in which Wayne Bridge (who had a terrible game) and John Terry left Paul Gallagher unmarked at the far post on a cross, allowing him to level the scores at 2-2. Just when it looked like we'd thrown away 2 points though, Glen Johnson got a feed from John Terry at the top of the penalty area, slipped the ball under a charging defender, and sent a right footed blast curling into the top right corner of the goal. Amazing, especially for a 19 year-old defender! At the final whistle, a 3-2 win for Chelsea ... we're still not clicking, but you can't complain about a win.