our particular brand of madness

My store, that's what it is.

Seriously. I get to be in charge of it and everything.

Minemineminemineminemine.

Haaaaahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaa....

...it's whether the Germans and Argies lose.

Okay, for those of you who either don't know us or have been in the dark, under a rock, at the bottom of a cave...on Neptune...today is the start of the World Cup Finals in Germany.

In the opening game the hosts will take on Costa Rica, and we reckon it'll be a walk in the platz for the sausage-loving, ski-trip-taking, bierfestival-having, neighbor-invading nazi apologists (what?!? which part of that is untrue?). We predict a 3-1 Germany win.

And Poland look unlikely to offer any solidarinost to Ecuador, so we think that will turn out 1-0 to the Poles.

Eventual Winner Prediction: France
Runner Up: England (No, seriously)

Golden Boot Winner: Thierry Henry, Peter Crouch (No, seriously)

Cinderellas: There won't be one, but T&T v Brazil in the next round looks a good bet; and look to POrtugal stumbling against Angola.

Biggest Win: BRAZIL v Australia (by at least five goals)

So there you have it. We'll update this properly, but the game's kicking off any second...

...we bought a waffle maker.

Awwwwyeaaaaaahhhh...

Waffles with ice-cream, waffles with maple syrup, waffles with butter, home-made freaking waffles with freaking home-made freaking strawberry jam. Do you have any idea, even a hint of a whiff of a clue how much more time it takes to get out the door to work now?

Work at five, leave home at four-thirty was the olden-golden rule. But now...now, you shiny silver belgian bastard...now I have to factor in time to make the batter and heat the iron...and you can't just make one. Oh, no, if you've made enough batter for a dozen you might as well just go on ahead and make the whole batch. After all, you can have a waffle any time of the day.

So. To be at work at five I must now get out of my pit at three-fifteen. Did you even know there is a three-fifteen in the morning? I just thought it was an afternoon time or a really late time at night, you know, after the pubs and clubs boot you out and after you can't get a good pizza, no matter how much you bang on the pizza shop door.

Waffle maker, th'art mine enemy, and I shall defeat ye. I shall wear ye down, laddie. Mark my words, you shall break before I tire of the waffles.

So I've been sick with this cold for about two months now, yes I had a little remission in the last two weeks of April, but by and large this cold has been with me since April Fools' Day. And you know what? I think I'm done with it. From here on out I refuse to believe in illnesses of any kind. That way I get to blame something else (the weather, karma, God, whatever) and when I recover I get to thank those same mysterious forces. Obviously if you have any fun ideas for who I can blame/thank feel free to let me know.

Two musical interludes to talk about. Neither of them sound like their roots are in any music that happened after 1960, but don't let that put you off.

Number one is a guy called James Hunter. He's a white dude from south-east England, proclaimed by no less a musical force than Van Morrison to be "Englands best kept R&B secret" and you know when he says R&B he means like Wilson Pickett not R. Kelly. Anyhow, the guy sounds like Sam Cooke and if you find any of his stuff it's worth digging up. The music, not Sam Cooke.

Secondly is a guitar and stand-up bass duo originally from Boulder, Colorado (home of Mork and Mindy) but who, over the last ten years, have been separately recording and playing in Atlanta and New York. Go here to soak up a little of their flavor. They just have something indefinable that makes me want to hear more every time I start listening.

Anyhow, that's what I've been tuning to when I'm not playing back-to-back-to-back football classics in the car.