one in a million, one and the same looking for freedom, born to be tamed once in a lifetime, one of these days gonna grab me a lifeline swinging my way i'm swimming out on a blue blue ocean you're sailing out on a blue blue sea silhouettes and a vulture hoping he's gonna pick the bones of you and me

What a crazy day. After a relaxing Wednesday recovering from illness and seeing my friend Umar give a talk at UCSF, i put the pedal to the metal on Thursday. First off: prepare two 20 minute talks for our departmental research retreat on Saturday morning. I plugged away at that diligently in my office, all the while listening to mp3's on my newly downloaded iTunes 4.5 (Marion keeps popping up in my random playlist for some reason, but i'm not complaining). Come 4pm i ran over to the Clark Center for our biweekly molecular imaging admin meetings. I needed to leave at 5pm for a planning meeting for the weekend retreat, but naturally things ran over so at 5:15 i was running back across Stanford to the CCSR. At 6:15 i again had to divest myself so i could haul ass home to get Veronica, after which we began our trek up to Davis to catch the Pixies reunion show at Freeborn Hall on the UC Davis campus. Even with last minute modifications to The Plan by Gary and Robin, we made it there at 8:45pm and met those two, getting inside about 5 minutes before the Bostonians took the stage.

My friend Lance had given us a heads up that a little company called Disclive was doing something interesting on this tour. A clever idea: record the show from the soundboard, and as soon as it ends, use a mass cd burning machine to generate 1000 copies of it. Presell the cd's before and during the performance, then distribute them ten minutes after the show's conclusion. So we paid the $25 for that, and also got a baby T for Veronica and a black hoodie for me. A lot of cash shelled out, but the Pixies' performance was definitely worth it. They opened with a fierce rendition of "Bone Machine", with Frank Black/Black Francis letting everyone know that he can still scream with the best of them. The hour and a half set dealt mostly with Surfer Rosa and Doolittle, with only "Velouria" representing Bossanova and "U-Mass" and a fantastically moody version of "Subbacultacha" drawn from Trompe Le Monde. But i have no complaints, it was a wonderful show and had no trace of the "we're all financially and artistically bankrupt, so let's cash in on past glories" stink so common of reunion shows. We left around 11pm after picking up our freshly burned cd of the show. Really a terrific idea: perfect sound quality, a great souvenir from a great show. We stopped in Dixon to get a long overdue dinner at In'N'Out Burger, and arrived home at 1am to an overjoyed Cobi who miraculously had not peed on the carpet during our six hour absence.

From the "PIX" section of the discography to the "PIZ"s, Pizzicato Five are a not-so-guilty pleasure of mine. I'd quote some lyrics but unfortunately i can't transcribe Japanese.

Seems like these days i keep thinking of things to post, but then never find the time to post them. Since i've got a few spare minutes here, i'll try to recap the last week or so.

On Thursday the 15th, Michelle and four of her high school English students drove up from LA so they could survey Bay Area colleges and have a mini-vacation. "Catholic high school [boys] in trouble", to paraphrase Kentucky Fried Movie. They showed up in SM just in time to catch the finale of The Apprentice, which i'd started watching despite my belief that reality shows have now entered the sub-septic tank phase. On Friday Veronica and i hopped off to work while they headed to Berkeley. That evening i relaxed at home with Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow while V and the gang drove down to Santa Cruz to catch the (International) Noise Conspiracy. By their accounts a very good show. V worked again that Saturday while i took the M and the boys to Stanford. They then headed to the city, where Veronica and i met them later for a meal. They had expressed an interest in getting some good Chinese food in Chinatown, to which i replied "Well, do you want good Chinese food, or do you want to go to Chinatown?" We ended up at the Golden Dragon on Washington St. and had a truly mediocre dinner of sweet and sour chicken, hot and sour soup, and mushu pork accompanied by some really awful service. Exiting Chinatown, with the boys now armed with six boxes of those little popping/cracking things that look like spitballs, V and i relived old memories by introducing everyone to the earthquake sundae at Ghirardelli Square. The evening closed with a short trip to the Golden Gate Bridge at 11pm, where the guys used up the majority of their poppers, much to the annoyance of the lone sightseeing couple. Veronica took a stab at the contents of their conversation: "My darling *POP!* will you ma*CRACK!*rry me?" They left for LA the following morning. It was good to see Michelle for a few days, and realize how old i've become.

That afternoon i met up with Michael and Danny and did a bit of tux shopping for the wedding, which is now just 14 short weeks away. We made a slight misjudgement in planning this outing, not realizing that it was April, common month for high school proms, which generally take place on Friday or Saturday. This meant that the tux shops were overflowing with high schoolers returning their zoot suits (or worse). We weren't able to try anything on, but did come away with a clear idea of how we want to dress up the groom, groomsmen, and officiant. I spent that evening preparing for a presentation the next morning to the Stanford radiobiology faculty, discussing my plans for research on the development of molecular imaging techniques for radiobiology. It went over fairly well ... the comments i received ("you need a goal, no one will fund you to develop this imaging stuff just for the sake of developing it") were more or less what i expected. Although, as my colleague encouraged me later, it was a bit odd since it was obvious i was presenting the material to biologists so they could tell me what it could be used for. With that weight off my back, i spent the rest of the week preparing for PET training, which just took place on Monday and Tuesday of this week. I've got a few more presentations on my plate also: this Saturday morning we're having a faculty meeting to discuss submitting a program project grant focusing on imaging in radiotherapy. Right up my alley, so i have two talks to generate before then.

Back to reality TV, i've taken an unhealthy interest in The Swan lately. Strange, because i have next to no interest in its slightly more reputable cousin Extreme Makeovers. Despite the crassness of the Fox version (give women new bodies, faces, and looks so they can compete against each other in a beauty pageant???), they do deal with one element of the transformations that ABC overlooks: psychology. A lot of these women have serious emotional problems, ones that aren't going to go away because they suddenly look good. The Swan at least includes therapy sessions as part of the process, something that i haven't seen in Extreme Makeovers. Of course, that kindness can easily be overlooked when you see the trashy outcomes of most of the Swan makeovers. The two women on the first episode looked ready to start turning tricks.

This past Thursday Veronica and i had sake, Sapporo, and sushi with Michael at Kitaro on Geary. A little preliminary meeting to discuss the details of our wedding ceremony, but moreover a chance to hang. Veronica then absconded to Popscene, giving me yet more opportunities to foil terrorists in Splinter Cell and annoy Cobi in the process. I'm almost positive we did something Friday night too, but i am completely blanking for some reason.

That god awful redhead just got booted from American Idol. That he lasted this long is surely a testament to the hordes of senior citizens who do nothing but watch television and waste money on things like voting in reality shows.

As Hilary alluded to in a previous comment, my last Saturday was spent with baby sis going to see the San Jose Sharks take on Hilary's favorite Colorado Avalanche in the Stanley Cup playoffs (ice hockey, for those of you who are sports-impaired). Gary had invited me to the game on Thursday, but then discovered he had to work and would be unable to go. He gave me both tickets so i called Hilary down in San Diego, who immediately booked a Southwest flight up. Therein lies the depth of her love for the Avs. She wore her jersey to the game, despite frequent derision from the San Jose faithful. After suffering a 5-2 beating on Thursday, she was hoping the Avalanche would rebound. They took the lead in the first period, "against the run of play" as a footie fan would put it. However, early in the second period they got caught on a power play and the scores were level. Colorado's defense proceeded to disintegrate, giving up two more goals and a late empty netter to make the final score 4-1. Hilary suffered valiantly, taking the abuse of the guy in front of us who turned around after the goal to make it 2-1 and pointed at her, shouting "Backbreaker!" A nearby Avs fan actually took off her jersey somewhere around 3-1. Traitor. On the way out, Hilary was subjected to more slings and arrows. A trio of young guys started shouting "Yeah, that's right!" as we walked to the car. We taunted them a bit, saying "what's right?", which seemed to irk them. Hilary really pissed off one of them by making a comment about his hot pink t-shirt. As i told her, the perfect response is that she had the guts to support her team in a hostile environment. Let's see some of these bozos go to Denver and wear Sharks jerseys.

That night V and i met up with old friend Lucy for some tapas and sangria at Thirsty Bear in SF. I noted that my sinuses were rapidly clogging, and correctly predicted that the following day i would be in the midst of a full-on cold. So Sunday i did nothing but watch movies ... 80's classic Ruthless People, the wonderful Elmore Leonard comedy Get Shorty (which prompted me to go pick up a bunch of old Booker T & the MG's records), and a really crappy movie from 1999 about subcultures in Utah, SLC Punk!. I couldn't tell whether the hypocrisy and vacuousness of the punks' pseudo-philosophy was supposed to be at the forefront, which for me it certainly was. At any rate, Stevo's choice at the end of the movie is more than a little hard to swallow. Monday morning i wasn't feeling much better, but PET training at Stanford with a GE applications engineer beckoned so i was forced to get up at 6:30am and head down to Palo Alto. Tuesday, same story. With training over, today i was able to sleep in, getting up at 10am and going up to UCSF to pick up my long overdue diploma and see a talk given by Umar Mahmood, a colleague from the CMIR in Boston.

Mandatory topic of discussion: Chelsea gave up two late goals in the first leg of their Champions League semifinal with Monaco, losing 3-1. Next Tuesday is the return leg at Stamford Bridge, with the Blues needing a 2-nil win to advance on away goals, or needing to win by more than 2 goals to advance on goal difference. Not impossible, but it's going to be a rough climb. The loss may have sealed embattled manager Claudio Ranieri's fate, and at this point i can't say i would mind seeing him go. He's certainly suffered through a bad situation with new owner Roman Abramovich looking for any excuse to replace him, and he's done it with impeccable class. However, his tendency to tinker with the squad is something i've never liked, and it bit us in the ass against Monaco. Our substandard league play has continued also, losing to Newcastle last weekend and only remaining in second place because Manchester United also fell.

Veronica was able to secure three tickets to the Pixies show in Davis tomorrow, warmup for their performance at Coachella this weekend. So Gary, V, and i will be driving up to Sacto. The two of them are off in SF at the moment, seeing Kraftwerk at the Warfield. I had a ticket to that as well, but opted to relax at home. And catch up on my blog!

When emerging from the tub after the occasional relaxing bath, do you ever, even just for a split second, picture yourself as Prince in the "When Doves Cry" video?

Just me?

there ain't no space and time to keep our love alive we have existence and it's all we share there ain't no real truth, there ain't no real lies keep on pushing 'cause i know it's there there'll be no lullabies, there'll be no tears cried we feel numb 'cause we don't see that if we really cared and we really loved think of all the joy we'd feel ain't got no lullaby, no, no there is no space and time we have existence and it's all we share keep on pushing 'cause i know it's there

Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now mid-August, which meant that he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had to show were three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls. True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin and he to Locust, Pennsylvania, she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful. But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his printed quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothings of some neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear.

Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn't understand who she really was. He, Waldo, alone, understood this. He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasn't there.

(Awww)

The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers Parade was scheduled to appear. He had just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons' lawn for a dollar fifty, and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha. There was nothing more than a circular from the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs. At least they cared enough to write. It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. Then it struck him: he didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself parcel post special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun, and a medium sized cardboard box, just right for a person of his build. He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some water, and perhaps midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as going tourist.

By Friday afternoon Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock. He'd marked the package "FRAGILE" and as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud in a truck and then he was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it though. After it was over he'd said that he still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature and even though no, he didn't love her, he did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo - but that seemed many years ago. Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend walked in through the porch screen door into the kitchen.

"Oh God, it's absolutely maudlin outside."
"Ugh, I know what you mean, I feel all icky." Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face. "I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," she wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing up."
Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd seen on television. "God, don't even talk about that."
She got up from the table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than steak," And attempted to touch her knees.
"I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again." She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she said to Sheila's glance.
Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After last night, I thought maybe you'd be through with him."
"I know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place." She gestured, raising her arms upward in defense. "The thing is after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all I didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him, you know what I mean." She started to scratch.
Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth. "I'll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," she bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to," and now she was laughing very loudly.

It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang the door bell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen-cent tip that Marsha had gotten out of her mother's small beige pocket book in the den. "What do you think it is?" Sheila asked.
Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room. "I don't know."

Inside the package Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the return address and see who it's from?" Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating footsteps. It would be soon.
Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. "Ugh, God, it's from Waldo!"
"That schmuck," said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation. "Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the stapled flap.
"Ahh, shit," said Marsha groaning. "He must have nailed it shut!" They tugged at the flap again. "My God, you need a power drill to get this thing opened." They pulled again. "You can't get a grip!" They both stood still, breathing heavily.
"Why don't you get the scissors," said Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs and when she came back, she had a large sheet-metal cutter in her hand. "This is the best I could find." She was very out of breath. "Here, you do it. I'm gonna die." She sank into a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily.
Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard, but the blade was too big and there wasn't enough room. "Goddamn this thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. Then, smiling, "I've got an idea."
"What?" said Marsha.
"Just watch," said Sheila touching her finger to her head.

Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath and plunged the long blade through the middle of the package, through the middle of the masking tape, through the cardboard, through the cushioning and

(thud)

right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head,which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.

Got an advance copy of the new David Cross live comedy cd It's Not Funny. The title is totally wrong. Newest giggle inducer:

I don't think Osama bin Laden sent those planes in to attack us because he hated our freedom. I think he did it because of our support for Israel, and our ties with the Saudi family, and all our military bases in Saudi Arabia. You know why i think that? Because THAT'S WHAT HE FUCKING SAID! Are we a nation of six year-olds? Answer: yes. "Why did the bad man put the plane in the building?" "Because he hated freedom."

V and i went to see Sparks at the Independent (formerly the Justice League) in SF last Friday. After a nice dinner at old favorite Pomelo, we headed over to Divisadero only to find parking a major headache. Veronica was antsy to get inside and not miss anything, so i dropped her off and continued my search. One good thing did happen while endlessly circling looking for bare curb: i identified the bizarre and wonderful SF radio station 87.9FM. Driving around for an hour gave me a chance to hear not only Operation Ivy and Minor Threat but also several funny station IDs, including one guaranteeing that you won't get arrested for DUI while listening to Pirate Cat Radio. After getting home i found they have a website, and are broadcasting at low power to San Francisco and parts of Oakland. More power to them!

Anyhoo, i did finally find parking and went inside. Veronica was already significantly peeved at the collection of bozos assembled to relive their glory years through Sparks. They were also, i might add, the worst smelling collection of showgoers i've ever encountered. Sparks came on around 10:40pm and played their latest album Lil' Beethoven straight through. Not my cup o' tea. The lyrics of the first song repeated "I am the rhythm thief, say goodbye to the beat, oh no, where did the groove go?" ad nauseum. Other repetitive and pseudo-witty song concepts included "Why are all these bands so angry?" and "How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, man, practice!" They took a short interval and came back for a more conventional set comprised of their past hits, including "Mickey Mouse", "Cool Places", and "Number One Song In Heaven". Despite my penchant for new wave, Sparks have never really been on my radar. Their show didn't do much to change that. Other than the fact that a chorus of "I am the rhythm thief, say goodbye to the beat" is now echoing incessantly through my head. I also didn't know that Robert Crumb played keyboards for Sparks. That guy scares the s@$t out of me.

We had a nice Easter at Auntie Cathy's, sandwiched in between the demise of Chelsea's Premiership title challenge over a draw against Boro on Saturday and a loss to Villa on Monday. We were five points clear of United, but now they can draw level with us in second place if they win their two games in hand. Second is important as the third place finisher has to play in the qualifying rounds to enter the European club championship, so we'd better not take our foot off the gas in the Premiership just yet. However, top priority now should definitely be our upcoming duel with Monaco in the semifinals of the very winnable Champions League.

Lots has been going on since i last got off my butt to write it down here. First off, you'll notice a shiny new button in the menu at the top of the site. Bells ... wedding bells ... link to Veronica and my new wedding site ... get it? Not much there yet except a little story of us and some basic info on the site of the wedding. But more details are on the way.

Two weeks ago i drove Cobi to Fremont on a Saturday morning to discuss with the veterinarian getting the tumor on her face removed. We realized it wouldn't slow the progression of her cancer, but after scrubbing her blood out of the carpet and giving her another bath for the umpteenth time, V and i were ready to shell out $500 to get it removed and be done with it. I brought her back the following Wednesday morning, and that night picked up a slightly frightened doggie, now with stitches and a shaved patch on the back of her face. She was out of it for a few days, but a couple of recent walks and treats have gotten her perky and playful again. The tumors on her side are beginning to look ulcerated (like they might begin bleeding soon), and those will be harder to remove. Not to mention the fact that we can't keep spending $500 on her every month. Those will be easier to bandage though. Cobi's been a trooper.

I still find myself pulling up the video highlights of Chelsea's magnificent victory over Arsenal last Tuesday. Chelsea manager Claudio Ranieri went completely apes@$t when Wayne Bridge scored the winner in the 87th minute, and with good reason. It brings tears to my eyes to see the raw emotion of his first victory over the Arse. I think he should be manager of the club again next season, but conventional wisdom suggests that Roman Abramovich and Peter Kenyon will continue looking for a high-profile manager to go along with their high-profile squad. That'll be a shame. Especially if we end up champions of Europe! Michael and i bought tickets to see Chelsea in Seattle on their summer U.S. tour (akin to United's tour last summer), where they'll play Celtic. We're also hoping to find time next season to spend a week or so in London and hopefully catch a Premiership match as well as a Champion's League encounter.

On the subject of Arsenal, i'm finding it unbelievable that their supporters are now blaming the fixture list for their inability to pursue the treble, or even a double. To suggest that Manchester United's schedule was any less crowded when they pulled off the treble in 1999 is just plain stupid. If you want to compete in multiple competitions, you're going to play more games ... simple fact. Don't expect the league to rearrange everything so you can have an easier time. Arse fans point out that their tumble out of the FA Cup and Champions League has occurred in a stretch where they play 4 matches in 8 days ... United in the FA Cup on Saturday, Chelsea in the Champions League on Tuesday, Liverpool in the league on Friday, and Newcastle in the league on Sunday. "Freshness" has been their missing element, they claim. But meanwhile Chelsea is playing 4 matches in 9 days (3 Premiership and 1 Champions League), and we're not whining about the schedule being too difficult.

A week ago Tuesday V and i again met up with Lance to head to a cool indie show ... this time the Liars at Bottom of The Hill. After meeting Lance at Bottom we drove across the city to revisit an old hangout, Kitaro on Geary. The sushi and chicken katsu was just as good as i remembered. On the way over we stumbled across a radio station that was playing a bizarre, eclectic mix of brit pop, indie, punk, new wave, and just whatever ... 87.9 FM. It only came in well around Bottom, and not at all outside of SF. No station ID's were given, leading me to surmise that this was someone with a weak antenna broadcasting their random iTunes playlist. Anyhow, for once we managed to time our arrival at the show within fifteen minutes of the headliners taking the stage. I'd tried listening to the new Liars album They Were Wrong So We Drowned but hadn't been able to penetrate it. The show was awesome though ... Angus Andrew emerged looking as deranged as ever (this time in a tiger tail and black fur gloves) and proceeded to belt out an ominous rendition of "Broken Witch". The new album centers on witches and German folk tales, and the show did well to convey the ominous aspects ... sparse, bleak drums, menacing guitar noise, and Andrew's wail. On the way home we again tuned into 87.9 FM, and the randomness continued: we got to listen to the radio broadcasts of The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy until the signal faded into noise around South San Francisco.

The Thursday after, i attended my second Popscene in less than a month ... whoda think it? Michael came out as well for the eighth anniversary of the club. That doesn't seem quite right to me, especially since after asking DJ Jeremy to remind me of the theme of the first Popscene, he responded that it was a record release party for the Verve's A Northern Soul and was in August of 1995. Michael and i had a half dozen or so pints of Guinness at the bar then made for the dance floor. For the occasion, guest DJ's Mike Joyce and Andy Rourke (more commonly known as the other two guys from the Smiths) spun for an hour. They played a good mix of Manchester bands, brit pop, and garage rock. Not a bad time. Yes, that is the best praise i can bring myself to give to Popscene.

V's cousin Naomi and her boyfriend Geoff came up last weekend for Naomi's birthday. While V worked on Saturday, they went to see Eternal Sunshine and i stayed with Cobi and played Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow. That evening we had some fantastic Mediterranean food at Kan Zeman on University in Palo Alto (accompanied by some belly dancing), and then headed to the Great Mall in Milpitas to check out Dave and Buster's. I'd heard about these "adult arcades" ... nooo, not that kind of "adult" ... where after 10 you can have a beer and play pool, video games, or whatever. It was a lot of fun. Geoff introduced me to a nifty shooting game, Police 911 or something like that, where your motions are detected by the game so you have to dodge while you shoot the baddies. All the ducking gave my quads a serious workout. We then played some skiball and Silent Scope, after which Geoff and i played through a few levels in Confidential Mission. On Sunday we had a birthday lunch at Houston's in San Francisco with Naomi's dad George and his wife Linda and their little daughter Jessie. We then headed to the Metreon where i finally got to check out the inside of the Where The Wild Things Are kid's area (thanks Jessie!). Pretty cool ... always fun to run around and climb on things. Geoff and i pushed hard for us to go see Hellboy, and almost had Veronica and Naomi in the ticket line before Naomi exercised her birthday privilege and vetoed the plan. We went home instead and watched Gangs of New York on Tivo over a few beers. Great film ... a real wake up call about conditions in the mid-1800's compared to the idealized depictions found in most history educations.

I persisted in my efforts to see Hellboy and convinced Veronica to go last night in downtown San Mateo. I haven't read the comic but was intrigued by the premise about Nazis bringing a baby demon into our world, who is then saved by the allies and raised to fight evil. The movie was okay. It just didn't wow me. The effects ... okay. The story ... okay. I had trouble deferring my questions about the logic of the plot. The segment i enjoyed the most was when Hellboy stalks Liz and Agent Myers on their date. No action there, just humor. Coming out of the theater i assumed that if i thought the film was a bit corny and dumb, Veronica must've thought it was the dumbest s$#t she'd ever seen. Not so, it turns out ... she liked it more than i did! Just can't read that girl.

Back to Splinter Cell, i'm quite enjoying it. However, when it comes down to it the single player mode is essentially identical to the first game. Not that that's a bad thing ... the first was incredible ... but with a sequel you expect some sort of further innovation. This feels more like a new set of levels for the first game. I'm wrestling with the idea of getting on Xbox Live to try out the multiplayer ... all the message boards say it's the greatest thing since rail guns. I'm a bit leary of getting abused by 15 year old kids. And since you can communicate with your opponents now using the headset, not only getting abused but then having to hear about how bad i got abused.

Back to work.

This is without a doubt the best feeling i've had supporting Chelsea over the last seven years. A come from behind 2-1 victory to end a 17 match winless streak against our north London rivals Arsenal. And on the biggest stage of all, the European Champions League. A week ago Arsenal were looking for the treble, now they're in free fall and could potentially end the season trophyless. Chelsea meanwhile are through to the CL semis, and if the foreshadowed Arsenal collapse does indeed occur, have a decent shot to pull off a European and English double.

GO YOU BLUES!

I talk a good game, but when it comes down to it i'm a quivering mound of jelly. The pivotal second leg of the Chelsea-Arsenal Champions League quarterfinal is going on right now, and my stomach is doing backflips. I've got my email program closed, my cell phone turned off, and my web browser pointed far, far away from anything that might convey a score. Once 2pm rolls around (allowing for extra time and penalties, if necessary), i'll peek through my hands at the result on ChelseaFC.com to get the glorious gloating news or the sugarcoated, let-me-down-easy epitaph.

Pathetic.