Watching UGA baseball's run through the Regionals and Super Regionals on their way to the College World Series for the first time since 2008, I noticed the PA and crowd seemed to really love one particular song. I commented as such to Mom. She said "What song?"

This song, Mom:

The Stroke

Mom listened to it politely for about 20 seconds before declaring it was "awful" and leaving the room. (Mom was never a big fan of 96 Rock. She's more of a Jackson Browne/Carole King kind of girl.)

Technically, this isn't a one-word wonder, as Billy Squier gave his masterpiece a two word title, but I'm just going to do what all good librarians do and ignore the The to stick it in my "one word wonders" keyword. (They're my rules; I get to break them whenever I want!)

Go Dawgs!

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24/2594. The Boys from Brazil (1978)
This conspiracy thriller is a spy film typical of its era, only with strictly television quality cinematography. However, the brutally violent ending with Doberman Pinschers (a breed with German origins, cleverly reinforcing the conspiracy) is definitely not. I didn't love it, but I was entertained.

25/2595. Palm Springs Weekend (1963)
Perhaps this is best described as Where the Boys Are in the desert... for Easter. With Jerry Van Dyke doing his best Dick Van Dyke impression. Watched with Mom, who spent most of the film complaining about what a fool she was to have once liked Where the Boys Are.

26/2596. Sugar & Vice: A Hannah Swensen Mystery (2026)
Diminishing returns continue diminishing this once delightful series. I know that these productions are limited by formula and actor availability, but I really should start avoiding the ones without Norman the dentist, Hannah's co-detective and former love interest.

28/2598. Dark Victory (1939)
Bette Davis plays a bitch with an incurable brain tumor, but it's a romance? And it was nominated for Best Picture? Yeah, that tracks. Hard pass.

29/2599. Dancing Sweeties (1930)
The title tells you everything you need to know: a couple of strangers get married for a dance contest only to learn that marriage is hard. It never tries to be deep, just a bit of melodramatic escapism for a generation that doesn't yet know what a television set is. And that's okay.

Coke is good for sore feet!

More to come.

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Every day we awaken to find that the world isn't even the place it was the night before. Predictably, that constant instability has led to fear, fear to anger, anger to hate, and hate to suffering. The goal should be to try to curtail that path, not accelerate it. Any man can only take so much injustice, cruelty, and bad taste before hopelessness wins.

Which is why I'm demanding that Kroger return to its previous recipe for Bread and Butter Chips.

Back in the good old days, the ingredients were listed as "Fresh cucumbers, sugar, water, vinegar, and less than 2% of: salt, spices (including mustard and celery seed), calcium chloride, turmeric extract (color), gum arabic, natural flavors." The result: deliciousness!

But now? Kroger pickles have become a "Product of Vietnam" with ingredients "Cucumbers, sugar, water, vinegar, salt, mustard seeds, celery seeds, gum arabic, natural flavor, turmeric oleoresin (for color)." Those may look like small changes (just 3% more salt and 2% more sugar), presumably to keep the price down, but they translate to soggier, sweeter, inferior pickles. Blech. I'll never underestimate the value of calcium chloride again.

If I have to watch as the United States sides with corporations, racists, and the enablers of pedophiles over the welfare of its own citizens; disavows medical and climate science; scuttles the global economy; turns its back on former allies Europe and NATO; solicits bribes from criminals and tyrants around the globe; murders people in international waters and its own streets; and bullies media conglomerates, law firms, and astronauts to deny its immoral behavior — you know, all the things 78 million American people voted for in 2024 — then at the very least I should be able to enjoy my favorite pickles as the legacy of the America I used to know crumbles around me. If you can't find joy in the little things, what's left?

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Look, I love Benson Boone's "Mystical Magical" as much as the next guy, but after hearing it in every commercial break since ESPN's coverage of the U.S. Open used it for intro and outro bumpers in August through this week's NFL coverage, maybe there is such a thing as overexposure.

I'm not alone in thinking that. There is, Google assure me, a pretty sizable backlash to the rapid, overt commercialization of Mr. Boone's music. Selling out is fine in America; greed, not so much. The singer and his team are aware of this, and his music video for "Mr. Electric Blue" makes a good-natured joke of it by removing any hint of the hypocrisy that pollutes the modern zeitgeist. (Yes, despite being an old fogey who doesn't really care for music, I do watch music videos on YouTube as the Internet Gods intended. The old-school media's widely reported recent death of Music Television has been greatly exaggerated; music videos are not dead, linear television is.)

It's kind of a funny thing to say that you could hear any piece of music "too much." Despite the tendency of human beings (at least American human being) to resent the familiar, there are a bunch of songs I just never get tired of hearing. Back in the day when I was a waiter at Chili's, the chain played tapes of licensed music over and over until the entire wait staff would gather around the back office cassette player and argue over which tapes management was NOT allowed to play again that day. (No tapes were ever destroyed, but some were occasionally hidden. I hope they still haven't been found.) Despite the repetition, there was one song on those tapes that I could never get sick of. I bet you'd never guess that it was "Silly Love Songs" by Wings. Live and let die, indeed.

Several Paul McCartney songs, both with and without co-writer John Lennon, are high on my list of endless listening, which probably demonstrates that I have a high tolerance for what McCartney is interested in writing: the poppiest of pop music. Fizzy, friendly, sugary pop music. Overproduced sounds that have a good beat and you can dance to, lyrics that really shouldn't be thought about too hard. That's my jam. Music crafted to please the widest possible music-illiterate crowd, "Moonbeam ice cream" sort of stuff, like Dua Lipa, Katie Perry, Madonna, Michael Jackson, or, say, Olivia Newton John.

And please crowds they do. Why else would Madison Avenue adapt catchy tunes for advertising in Apple product ads or the memorable '90s Philips campaign that used the Beatles "Getting Better" (somehow always fading out just before the "it can't get no worse" refrain) or this year's sanitized-for-Christmas "Greased Lightnin'" (with zero creaming girls) or Target's 2025 commercials of their animated Get-Ready Yeti dancing to "Mystical Magical."

Okay, fine. I'm not sick of moonbeam ice cream just yet. 'Cause once you know, once you know...

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In the Year of the Pandemic, 2020, "friend" Keith gifted me a copy of the video game The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt for PC. Keith likes it very, very much. I did not like either the first or second Witcher games, and after playing for a grand total of 6 hours, I decided I liked The Witcher 3 just as little. This is how I summed up that first experience for him back then:

So far there's only 1) a lot of talking with a bunch of characters who are all fucking assholes I want to kill (especially protagonist Geralt), and 2) me getting my ass handed to me (which isn't entirely unsatisfying because it means Gerald has died too).

Sounds like I had fun, no? But for various reasons, including a new and deep appreciation for another game from the same studio, Cyberpunk 2077, and the lingering doubt that I hadn't given it a fair enough shake the first time around, I decided I'd try Witcher 3 again on the Xbox this past week. My mistake. I made it a full 8 hours this time.

If you're unfamiliar, the game is 33% guiding your obtuse horse through bleak war-ravaged countryside modeled on the original Grimm brothers fairy tales (you know, the ones where witches pick their teeth with the bones of sugar-glazed abandoned children), 33% talking to assholes, and 33% being ambushed combat. I'll admit up front that even on the console I'm still bad at the combat. Very bad. Literally every type of enemy I have encountered in the game has killed me at least once. Some of them have killed me three, four, or more times. I'd finally had enough when the game sent me to a cave to be ambushed by a little goblin and his evil magic shadow... who together proceeded to kill me eight times in a row. With enough effort, I'm sure I could find the right tactics to eventually kill him (just like I eventually survived the mob of bandits who ambushed and killed me nine times in a row) and be rewarded with information on how to make killing him easier in future encounters. But I could get as much enjoyment from slamming my fingers in a car door, and I certainly don't look forward to whatever trick the game is planning to use to kill me next.

The only up side to this is that it appears to be a shared experience; if you Google reviews of this game, they will universally mention the lackluster and frustrating combat mechanics. That's definitely a feature, not a bug.

So if you're not supposed to play this "adventure" game for the killing, what's left? Those same reviews, including Keith's, universally applaud the storytelling. I cannot agree. Maybe I've never gotten deep enough into Geralt's quest to piss off everyone he meets, but I cannot buy in. Granted, this is a common Walter problem, especially with movies; I don't like spending any time with unpleasant characters. Does the story get great if I make it to the end? Sadly, like the number of licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, I'll never know.

Related side note: The characters most relevant to the story are all physically attractive (compared to most NPCs, who look like lepers who bathe in pig shit). And the cutscenes are frequently constructed with a pornographer's eye for finding ways to show these attractive characters naked. (I've never seen so many bare breasts in a video game that wasn't specifically about bare breasts.) Therefore, I'm suspicious that many of these glowing story reviews are influenced by something other than shallow characterization and the repetitive "fetch quest" plotting.

Now, I've been playing video games since before the country's first pandemic (1981's "Pac-Man Fever") which means I've played a lot of games. Maybe I'm getting soft in my old age, but with so many games available, I don't understand why anyone would spend the time to get better at this one. Keith, I don't know who hurt you badly enough that you find this kind of torture entertaining (you do know that the Internet is full of naked tits on demand, right?), but I'm done with The Witcher no matter how many they make.

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105/2537. Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale (2025)
I don't like the only movie theater in my town, so Mom and I drove up to Peachtree City to catch the third Downton Abbey movie. Again, the stakes are delightfully small (Is Mary to be a social pariah... again? Will they have to consider selling the Abbey... again?) I liked this more than the second, especially because it took such great pains to tie up every possible loose end. Sure, it was a bit weird to spend so much time in London without visiting Lady Rosamund, but it is a big cast and some sacrifices had to be made, I suppose. (Look at me mentioning relatively minor characters when my introduction to the whole ensemble was the short primer that ran in theaters before the first movie. As usual: late converts are the most zealous.)

106/2538. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Three More (2024)
This Netflix-exclusive Wes Anderson quadrilogy was the whole reason I wanted access to Netflix in the first place. Essentially monologue recitations of Roald Dahl's writing (like an incredibly elaborate staging of Peter and the Wolf), it is neither Anderson's best nor most engrossing work, though I admit that I'm not a particular fan of Dahl. However, Anderson fan that I am, I considered it an elaborate tech demo of what he might try in a bigger, better production.

107/2539. Wet Hot American Summer (2001)
It takes about thirty minutes for this spoof of 70s/80s camp movies (a la Meatballs) to reveal its truly lunatic, absurdist heart, but once it does, it becomes immediately obvious why it has reached such cult success. (And what a cast!)

108/2540. Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga (2020)
"Play Jaja Ding Dong!" The ABBA is strong with this one. What was most striking to me while watching was how almost every character, even Will Ferrell's selfish protagonist, meant well from their own point of view. Even the secret murderous antagonist. Even the romantic cad played by Downton Abbey's Dan Stevens! Great music and endearing performances from people who clearly have a soft spot for the real Eurovision made for a great time.

109/2541. Pee-Wee's Big Holiday (2016)
The last Pee-Wee movie was clearly made with a smaller budget and a lot of CGI, but Paul Reubens still makes it work by evoking the good natured manchild Pee-Wee Herman of years past. (Have I ever mentioned that Pee-Wee's Big Adventure was the first DVD I ever bought? I have? Well, I'm mentioning it again. It's that good.) What a great character he was.

More to come.

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I'm pretty sure that tonight's game matching #10 Texas against #5 Georgia was the last game I'm going to see in Sanford Stadium as a season ticket holder.

To ensure we made it this time (after the traffic fiasco that prevented us from seeing Mississippi last month), Mom and I left the house four-and-a-half hours early. For many years, we parked at Clarke Central High School, where parking fees helped fund extracurricular activities, but as the University has driven tailgating farther and farther from expensive campus lots, the high school now fills up extra early. So we parked at the dentist office across the street instead. Mom wanted to walk the old route through the student center into the stadium, which ultimately only served as a reminder that the University has built new barriers to block it. Oh well. We had plenty of time, and were still in our seats 90 minutes before kickoff, even after I was misled by some context clues (temporary stadium seats that looked like the old seat backs replaced earlier this year) and mistakenly accused someone else of being in our seats. Poor Mom. She's usually in bed by 9, but we didn't get home again until after 2AM. (Don't worry about Audrey: the dogsitter got her fed and to bed on time.)

As it happens, the guy I wrongly asked to move has been attending UGA games for decades, even after moving from Covington, GA, to Florida, but he said after a few decades, he canceled his season tickets and now instead spends that money and more buying tickets on the secondary market just for the games he wants to attend (in Athens and in other locations for other teams). It's a sound plan, one I've been contemplating a lot recently in this modern era of pay-for-play college football. Once upon a time, the university told me my donations bought books and meals. Now, my money finances base salaries, freeing big-donor money to outbid other colleges for the best kickers in the transfer portal. Somehow, I don't find that as satisfying.

Which is not to say that I don't think the players should be paid. Since they are the product, they should get the lion's share of whatever the football program takes in. But it's also fair for me to judge whether I think I'm getting my value's worth from my season tickets. Given that I only made it to two games this year (UGA closes its home schedule next week against 1-9 Charlotte at 12:45 PM, and I am definitely not going), I think the math is pretty clear.

As it happens, when I wasn't stuck in my own head thinking about the future, I did notice there was also a football game played in Athens. It was okay, but it certainly did not live up to the hype. (Though I'm probably spoiled by the two spectacular wins UGA put on Texas last season.) Georgia was pretty obviously the better team for most of this game, even if their offensive coordinator was calling predictable plays that made Texas's defensive line look amazing for about half the game. But the imprecision of the Longhorn's youthful quarterback (some kid named Arch Manning) ultimately doomed them. You'll read in the tabloids about fourth down conversions and an onside kick that blew the game open late, but Georgia had 14 points by halftime, more than enough to win what would become a 35-10 blowout. Good Dogs.

I hope that some other team will be nice and give Georgia a chance to play in the SEC title game. If that happens, I'll happily watch that game with my dogs beside me on the couch.

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Kentucky came to Athens to play UGA today, and I did not attend. I didn't think there was much chance of Kentucky winning, and I was right about that. But the biggest reason that I did not go was because it was a noon kickoff, which would have required me to be awake and on the road by 8AM. Sorry, but that's just too damn early for me to be expected to watch a certain victory, even if it was Homecoming. (Congratulations to the new King and Queen!)

Right about now, you might be asking why I would bother to post about a game I didn't go to. That's fair. I'm not entirely sure myself. I think maybe it's to keep track of my state of mind so that next year, when I'm waffling about whether to renew my exorbitantly-priced season tickets, I can do a more effective emotional-cost benefits analysis.

Aw, who am I kidding? I'm going to renew them, if only because not renewing them will rob me of the joy I get from whinging about whether or not I'm going to renew them. I'm just neurotic that way.

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During the drive into Athens, during the walk into the stadium, during the wait for the game to start, everywhere Friend Ken and I looked and every stat we considered augured bad omens for UGA's chances against Alabama. I wish I could say that we were just being pessimistic after losing nine of the last ten meetings, but... final score UGA 21, Alabama 24. Now ten of eleven.

The above picture was taken 40 minutes before kickoff. In over two decades of home games, I cannot tell you when I have ever seen that many people in the stands that early. Sure the prospect of playing Alabama in Athens (for only the 3rd time in 21 years) in a nationally televised night game was a draw, but I assume most were early because they gave away blinking wrist lights to the first 65,000 in attendance. For the record, by the time I got inside the stadium, they were all gone.

Many in the stadium were Alabama fans, and they were keen not to let us forget it. I know that UGA fans have an SEC-wide reputation for being assholes, so I guess that we must have been real jerks to Bama fans in the weeks leading up to the game following Alabama's season-opening loss to Florida State, because once Alabama won (ten of eleven, mind you), their fans were fucking awful about rubbing it in our faces. I mean, on the way back to the car, we were passed by at least four groups of Bama boys yelling at the top-of-their lungs at every Bulldog within earshot about how great Alabama was, is, and always will be. They made Tennessee fans look like gracious winners by comparison, and if you know what lousy winners Tennessee fans are, you know that's really saying something.

I was reluctant to attend this one for several reasons, and after struggling through three hours of traffic to get to Athens and then three more hours of sitting amongst a sea of drunks (alcohol sales now being allowed in Sanford Stadium), I cannot say that I had a great time watching UGA play poorly and lose yet another game to Alabama (ten of eleven, I hear). Maybe it really is time to let go of my season tickets. I'm sure I would have been utterly miserable if Friend Ken hadn't accompanied me. Thanks, Ken; you made a shitty experience tolerable.

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I thought about posting yesterday when the UGA Bulldogs came from behind to find a way to win against the Tennessee Volunteers, but I held off so I would have to write something here about today's Dolphins game. As nervous as I was about the outcome for UGA, I really, really enjoyed watching the Bulldogs play. The Dolphins, not so much.

Of course, the Bulldogs are a good football team with excellent coaching and talent. The Dolphins, not so much. Their defense is truly awful*, and their finesse offense will never be able to compensate enough to overcome their flaws. I know they're not going anywhere, so there's nothing to get excited about.

In fact, it felt like a bit of a chore to wake up early and watch the Dolphins. None of the players have vivid personalities that make them worth cheering for. The coaches seem to care less than I do, and I don't even like looking at the team's current logo or uniforms.

I can't even get excited about the fact that the Dolphins might be so bad that they'll end up in a position to take a high draft pick. The last time they looked this awful was was the 2019 season, when their motto was "Tank for Tua." Well, they even fucked that up, but still traded a bunch of resources to draft Tagovailoa, who has proven as durable as cotton candy and can no longer differentiate Dolphins receivers from his opponents. I don't know which player the Dolphins will waste their pick on in the 2026 Draft ("Death March for Arch"?), but I've come to believe that they're equally doomed.

Obviously I'm not alone in feeling frustrated. Earlier this week, after Josh Gad publicly bailed on the Dolphins season during an appearance on Seth Meyers' late night talk show, another guest encouraged NFL fans not to push their young children into fandom "because that's how you end up with Dolphins fans." Today in Miami the remaining Dol-fans seemed to agree; the stands were never more than half full for the home opener against a division rival. Maybe financial pressure will force the team to do something other than just suck all the time, but at this point, until there's a change in ownership, I'm not going to hold my breath. So long, and thanks for all the fish.

* According to CBS: "The Dolphins have allowed points on 13 straight drives dating back to last season. That is the longest streak by any team since 2000." For the record, that streak came to an end when the Patriots knelt on the ball to go to halftime. So maybe "awful" isn't a strong enough word.

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