I'm a little burnt out.

Not when it comes to blogging, although I certainly have been lax where that's concerned lately. I'm burnt out in general, and have let a lot of things go. I have so many unanswered e-mails in my inbox that I can barely stand to look at them. I forgot to make my car payment this month and was hit with a late charge for the first time in four years.

And while I really enjoy traveling, I feel like I've been home less than ever this year, and it's made me, well, tired. I feel like I'm always exhausted. I took a vacation day today ... to sleep in.

Totally worth it.

But all this has caused me to ignore a few noteworthy goings-on this week. So let's review...

I'm a whole lot more optimistic about Brett Favre's chances of playing on Dec. 3rd after his week-three performance. Three TD's, including the 400th of his career, in the Packers' first win of the season. If memory serves, they didn't get their first win until game five last season, so that's improvement. And Favre actually seemed to be enjoying the game, instead of looking like he was going through root canal and a prostate exam simultaneously.

And the Jets are 2-1. I'd have all but bet my house that they would have had a losing record for every moment of the season, so this is certainly a pleasant surprise.

As for the NFL, one person who will not be playing, so to speak, come early December is me. I have gotten off to a horrendous start in my football pool, punctuated by last week's 2-12 effort. Until the Saints won Monday night, I had one win. Atrocious. My plan to pick against the Browns, Jets and Packers backfired horrendously. The Jets and Packers won, so I don't mind losing those games. But the Browns managed to pull off my favorite trick - they lost, but didn't cover. Stench.

I'm sure many people were stunned to learn that "Jackass: Number Two" is the number-one movie in the country.

People.

Of COURSE it's number one. It's fucking hysterical, and we are nothing if not blessed with a sense of humor. And a "what will they do next" curiosity. I was laughing so hard at times that I had a coughing fit, and was coughing so hard I feared I'd hurl. Then I worried that people would think I was hurling because I was grossed out. Certainly not the case. Although there is a lot of on-screen vomiting. And some eating/drinking of things that are not meant for consumption.

So for those keeping score at home, the last two movies I've seen in the theater are "Clerks 2" and "Jackass: Number Two." When the co-workers gather at the water cooler to discuss the hot political and "issue" movies, I don't have a whole lot to add. But hey, somebody's got to be the class clown. I'm sorry if they don't want to talk about pubic-hair beards, intimacies with farm animals, A-T-M and a donkey show. They're missing out.

More to come soon about our trip to Columbus. For now, I've got to take advantage of my vacation day by taking another nap.

While returning my rental car at JAX this morning, I overheard the following statement from one Hertz employee to another:

"Families in the south are much closer. That's because they don't really talk to other people, so they need to be closer to their families."

I stood there for a moment and considered offering some sort of response, but I figured that kind of rationale just speaks for itself.

With 10:31 remaining in the third quarter of Sunday's Jets game, I took out a emory board and started filing my nails.

The Jets were trailing 24-0, and during Herm's tenure, Gang Green would have done. I figured the best part of our time inside the stadium - halftime - had already passed, and there wouldn't be much more to see on this sunny home-opening Sunday. So I decided to use the time to work on my nails.

But then, something strange happened. Before we knew it, the Jets had reeled off three consecutive scores and were down 24-17. What the hell?

Yes, they eventually lost. But at least they didn't roll over and die, and managed to wake up a home crowd from its two-hour nap. These are not Herm's Jets. Herm is busy working his magic in Kansas City. The '06 Jets may not win a ton of games, but at least they put up a fight. Mangini, the head coach younger than me, seems to know what he's doing. It was encouraging.

Let's go back to halftime and what made it so interesting, shall we? No, it wasn't frisbee-catching dogs or football-playing tykes. It was a verbal showdown in the stands, featuring ... us. And the whole thing was punter Ben Graham's fault.

If Graham could have managed to kick the ball more than nine yards late in the second quarter, the Professor might not have started screaming at the field. And, in turn, some fellow Jets fans sitting two rows in front of us might not have felt the need to turn around and start yelling at him. The Professor's father wouldn't have gotten involved, and his brother wouldn't have come from nine seats away to get involved in the goings-on. The huge guy sitting behind me wouldn't have climbed over the seats to support our cause. And security wouldn't have visited.

But we quickly assured them that everything was fine, and that we were just participating in a think-tank of sorts, sharing ideas about the Jets' season. Hands were shaken, and we moved on. Good times!

Here's our new friend sharing some of his ideology with us...













Much to his dismay, the Sandman missed the entire thing, save for the last 45 seconds. During what was a fantastic tailgate, several bottles of wine and 120 of the 120 beers brought were consumed, and he single-handedly polished off the majority of a bottle of Captain Morgan. Thus, perhaps somewhat related to his pre-game time with the Captain, he spent the first quarter catching up on his rest, and the second quarter in parts unknown.

To his credit, he perked up nicely during the third quarter, and was fine by the time the game ended, and was easily able to make the long journey back to the car which, according to him, "was parked on Route 3." Hey, who hasn't napped during a Jets' game? It happens to the best of us.

All in all, a solid week one. See you in two weeks, when the Colts come to town.

Oh, and as for the current state of affairs in Green Bay? Yes, the Packers are 0-2, and it is looking like it will be a long, ugly season. But I was encouraged by Favre's week two performance. Mainly, I was encouraged that he might still be the starting quarterback on Dec. 3rd.

Because if they replace him with Aaron Rodgers before then, I am going to have to write a whiny, pleading letter to the powers-that-be in Green Bay, asking that they put Favre back in the pocket for that game. I haven't waited 10 years to see Favre at Lambeau, only to have him yanked out of the lineup weeks before I get there.

Oh no. No one wants to have to suffer me if that happens. That will not be pretty.

I went to the mall last night to do a little fall shopping, which turned out to be much harder than I expected. I wandered through a few of the stores I formerly found dependable in terms of finding attire and quite frankly, it is all crap. I used to buy half my clothes at Lerner. Now it's called NY & Company, and it's all ugly. I can't go into Abercrombie for fear I'll lose for my hearing. Not to mention my self-respect. The Express has maintained its time-honored tradition of making its clothes smaller than the label says, and I will not be a party to that. And there seem to be a few fashion trends in which I will not be participating this fall. Lots of flared and cuffed pants and asinine fold-over necks on sweaters and shirts. No thank you.

So I decided to just call it quits and go to the store where I now buy 97% of my clothes - Eddie Bauer. I love Eddie Bauer because nothing ever changes, which goes along nicely with my wardrobing scheme. Nothing trendy, nothing uncomfortable. Just nice, simple, sturdy clothes that don't make me look like a hooker or a fatass.

I was wandering around the store when all of a sudden I came across this:



























I stood in front of it for a moment, giving the salesman just enough time to notice me, head half-cocked to the side quizzically. He came over and said, "Oh, isn't that nice? That would look great on you." Really? What would look great on me? The fake fur collar? Or the fact that it's a full-length vest, which would thus angle out nicely when it hits my ass?

So I hit him with: "What the hell is it?"

It's a Quilted Down Vest With Faux Fur Collar. According to the web site, it's "a chic and cozy solution to cool-weather dressing. Our shapely chevron-quilted vest is filled with quality lightweight down that can be worn comfortably indoors or out (in mild conditions)."

Chic? Ahem. Comfortably? How can you be comfortable when you're wearing a garment that makes you look like an assclown? I don't think that's possible. This goes against everything I believe to be true when it comes to shopping at Eddie Bauer.

So I said screw it and left the mall empty-handed. The only fall fashion I'll be splurging on this season will be a D'Brickashaw Ferguson jersey. I don't expect that'll be going out of vogue anytime soon.

Grrr...

I have lots to share, but unfortunately blogger is being a complete bitch and won't let me post photos or links. Thus, any chatter about Sunday's Jets game, which featured a fight during the game and a phenomenal display of drinking, will have to wait until tonight.

Last Thursday I was sitting in a golf cart during the last day of the tournament in Arizona. My phone started to vibrate and I saw my mother was calling. Unfortunately I was unable to pick it up because I was on the course, so I let it go to voicemail. Three minutes later, I got an e-mail from my brother requesting that I call him as soon as possible. That sort of back-to-back contact was a sure sign that something was going on.

So I veered off the course and listened to my message. My mother has a distinct tone when something is wrong, and although she didn't say anything on the message to indicate there was a problem, I knew there was one. So I called her back.

And that's when she told me my father was in the hospital, and had been there since Tuesday. After being assured that he was fine, albeit in need of gall bladder surgery, I gave her what could probably be considered a bit of a hard time about keeping me in the dark for two days. She insisted that because we hadn't spoken during those two days, that she did not in fact lie to me. That's when the word semantics was thrown into the mix.

That all being said, everything seems to be fine. My dad had his surgery this morning and they were able to do it laparoscopically. Interesting, when I was in college, I worked at Ethicon for a summer on the team that marketed the products they use to do that surgery with lasers. I watched the procedure done a few times, so I have a good idea of what he went through today. I'm sure he'll be giving the doctors (and my mother) a hard time about getting out of the hospital by the end of the day. He has a tee time Thursday and I'm sure he hopes to be there.

I know. I promised ranting, and have not delivered. The Sandman has already yelled at me. I really should take the time to write about the asshat I accidentally sat next to in Arizona to watch a little of the OSU game. A guy who spent the entirety of our seating arrangement trying to figure out how to "accidentally" put his hands on my ass. The imbecile who eventually used the N word when talking about a member of the Buckeyes. The man I verbally bitch-slapped four seconds later.

But instead, let's talk about a waitress in the diner last night, shall we?

After visiting my father in the hospital (oh, have I not mentioned that? I'll save that for Monday, when we'll discuss the word "semantics"), we went to the local diner. I always find it strange to be in a diner at the dinner hour instead of 3 a.m., but so be it.

We were almost done with our meal, and my sister-in-law got up to feed the baby, or Sweetie Pie Princess as crazy nephew #1 has taken to calling her (thus, heretofore to be known as SPP). As she left the table, one of the waitresses approached the table. She looked at the baby, looked at my sister-in-law, and said, pointing to SPP and Lisa's stomach, "Oh my God, is this one yours? And you're already having another one?"

Now, my sister-in-law just had a baby six weeks ago. And she already looks better than 96% of the patrons in the diner (most notably, much better than the couple whose combined weight was 592 pounds, both wearing dirty white wifebeaters). So she looked stunned. She responded with a simple, "No." And the waitress, realizing her mistake, scurried away without another word.

Which led to this exchange...

Me: "Wow, you're a better person than me. I'd have punched her."
My SIL, still holding the baby: "My hands were full."

Fortunately, she was not our waitress. And we didn't let that affect the tip we left for the cat who did wait on us. But seriously, what the hell is wrong with people?

Irresponsible.

That's the only way to refer to my lack of commentary about OSU's huge win over Texas, the Jets' surprising season-opening victory and the predictable but nonetheless painful game one for Mr. Favre and friends. I do have a few things to say about all of these topics, but I have just been swamped at my current tournament. Weather delays and computer problems have caused all sorts of issues. At this point, I'm just hoping I get home Friday afternoon. My brother and I are taking the crazy nephews camping for the first time Saturday, and I certainly don't want to miss that.

Stay tuned, though. If all goes well, I hope to present a bona fide rant tomorrow - a breakdown of a trifecta of people who utterly irked me within a 40-hour span this weekend.

That list will not include the brain trust at MSN, although it probably should. For reasons unknown to me, I have been unable to access my e-mail for almost a week. Apologies to anyone I've inadvertently blown off as a result.

She's alive!

I survived yesterday, although it wasn't fun. Five hours of flying, followed by another 145 miles of driving. What can you do. The drive from Phoenix to Flagstaff wasn't too bad, and nothing fires me up like a "Speed Limit: 75" sign.

Unfortunately I'm still sick enough that I had to skip a big social event this evening, one of my favorites of the golf season, because I didn't want to be the pied piper of germs. Instead, I headed back from the course to the hotel for a lonely evening of takeout and television (cue the violin strings). As I drove back, I kept an eye out for somewhere to eat. I was hoping to get a salad, maybe some soup.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but THIS! I almost drove over the curb. Such excitement!

I didn't think I would be enjoying the dazzling culinary delights of BWW until later this month, when my cousin and I travel to Columbus for the OSU-Penn State game. But now, as if the official start of the NFL season isn't enough reason to celebrate tonight, I have football, wings and buffalo chips. Good times. For a few minutes, I was able to completely forget about the bacteria festival in my nose and chest.

Speaking of football, I'm taking a new approach with my pool this season. I've decided to go with a simple three-step plan:
1. Wait until 10 minutes before the deadline to leave as little time as possible for analysis.
2. Pick against the Jets, Packers and Browns, no matter what the spread, eliminating the chance of any emotionally influenced picks.
3. Pick all other games by flipping a coin.

We'll see how that works out.

By the way, it has been 15 days since I lost my glasses. Per Freakgirl's advice, I asked the universe for assistance in getting them back to me.

The universe told me to suck it.

I am sick.

Not that “hmm, I have a sniffle, I guess I’m sick” kind of illness. I've been walloped by a “germs oozing from every pore, sweating one moment, shivering the next” sort of sickness. Yesterday was spent coma-like on the couch. Today, I'm feeing about 2% better, which is good because I'm typing from the friendly confines of the Presidents’ Club at Newark Liberty International Airport.

How could this have happened? Let’s take a look and see if we can find any trouble spots…

Could it have been Thursday night, when I took the redeye back from PHX (which, as a result, has skyrocketed past IAH to the top of the “Most Hateful Place on Earth” standings – but that is a story for another day…)?

Could it have been later Friday, when I met KJ in Red Bank around 4 p.m. for happy hour, which wound up lasting 8.5 hours? Could it have been that we got excused from one establishment for what we’ll call a miscommunication and needed to walk through whipping wind and rain to get to another one?

Could it have been Saturday, when we made two trips to the boardwalk to check out the god-awful weather conditions, which included blinding rain and wind so strong it was blowing sand sideways at us from the beach?

Or maybe it was Sunday when, already feeling the onset of said sickness, I was double booked with social events? Was it when I started the evening at a house party featuring a beer pong table in the middle of the living room? Or was it later, when I spent several hours sitting outside at a water-side bar?

I don't know. It doesn't seem like anything out of the ordinary. But something did me in.

So in less than an hour, I'll be getting on a plane to fly back to PHX. I can't imagine how I'll make it through a five-hour flight without my head exploding, but I'm going to give it a shot. If you don't hear from me for a while, you'll know what happened.

As a sidebar to Friday night's antics, it's worth mentioning the following highlight ... after several hours in Red Bank, our friend Sully was going to meet some other folks. Always game to meet new people, we agreed to follow him, without asking where we were going. We drove for a while and eventually had no idea where we were. Never bothered to ask, either. It was an unimportant detail. We were having a good time, so it was of no real concern where we were.

Fast forward a few hours, and we were standing around playing darts with our new friends, and there was suddenly a buzz in the crowd. On all the local television stations, the reporters were standing on the beach in Sea Bright, getting blown over by the wind and rain from Ernesto. The bar patrons were excited because all these news folks were right outside the bar.

Apparently, we were in Sea Bright, which is a hotspot for flooding anytime bad weather threatens. And it's a badge of honor of sorts to ignore said bad weather and enjoy the warm cozy confines of the bar, mere feet from potential disaster.

Good times.