And they all said, "Amen."

There are stories to tell, I'm sure of it, but I'm not much in the mood for telling them. Seems a rather inopportune time to start an entry, eh? But, whatever. I haven't written anything here in a while, and I feel like I'm shirking my duties. So, here are a few pictures.

Here is what typically happens at tailgating (thus far in our young season). Coolers aplenty.



A party everywhere on campus. It's quite a sight, and one not possible without the covenient exclusion of an open-container law on campus.



When at Georgia football games, I have been instructed to "dress to impress." My friend Tom, the sweater-vested chap in the middle of this picture, shows us how it's done. (Unfortunately, you cannot see the sweet red pants he was rocking. I've never seen so many red trousers in my life.)



After a day in the stadium sun, one gets puzzled and often stares off into space...



That's a Georgia gameday, more or less. I took the legally advisable route and avoided photographing and publishing any of the following: girls duct-taping fifths of jack daniels to their inner thighs to avoid the security checkpoints; intoxicated country folk saluting the referees with a certain middle digit; sun dresses with cleavage from here to Tallahasee; and/or members of the law school faculty shotgunning cans of Natty Ice. I'm not saying it did or didn't happen; I'm only saying that it'd make for a pretty crazy story. Right?

Everything You Can't Forget

This is what I miss.

Pain

Sheer and utter pain - the Wildcats get rocked by LSU, 45-3. I really can't explain the sadness of it all, nor do you probably care to hear about it. Suffice it to say that my night was brought down a few notches by the massacre in Baton Rouge. However, my good friend Herb sent me this wonderful link (please, do turn down your office speakers) Pretty much what happened to Arizona...and yet, that being one of my favorite clips ever, it has somehow managed to end this night on a wonderfully happy note for me.

On to other stories. First, today a battle of proportions yet unseen took place. In one corner, our fearless hero (albeit not on his "A" game, as a frustrating cold has stricken him the past few days). In the other corner, the king of lavatories across the globe, gleaming in porcelain defiance. The reason for this epic showdown? Lately, the capricious little throne has taken to squirting small amounts of water from one of it's valves. The subtle swishing has denied your's truly the convalescent respite he so needs, and it's also began to cause wee pools of water around the base of the toilet. (On a side note, how completely inappropriate was it to use the word "wee" in this contenxt? Man, sometimes I outdo myself.)

And thus, the battle raged. The man dove into the perilous waters of the tank with scant hesitation. The feisty commode fought back with highly annoying sprays of water onto the floor below. Like a pair of prizefighters, the two contestants went blow for blow for some twenty minutes. The man dug into his back of tricks, fashioing a purple paper clip into a makeshift bobber clasp. The mighty crapper laughed off this feeble attempt and continued its lethal mix of spray and incessant running. In the end, the man, fingers dangerously pruned, called upon a pair of needle nose pliers and finally slayed the old latrine. Finally tally, Man 1, Commode 0. Truly, an epic for the ages.

To add to the danger of the day, the man was already healing from a rough encounter with the Broad River bed earlier that week. Outfitted with a pair of kayaks and a canoe, a plucky group of MPA students set out on Monday to navigate the mighty (shallow) Broad River. It quickly became apparent that a river of such depth (lacking) would severly hamper the use of the canoe. That realization became ever clearer when, while trying to shoot a narrow, rock-strewn waterfall, the canoe capsized sending its pilots into the shivering shallows below. See exhibit A. All time not spent in the canoes, however, was extremely enjoyable. Pictures would be included, but the kindly guides at the head of the river advised (quite correctly) against bringing digital cameras, or anything else of value, including but not limited to keys, cell phones, sun glasses, and those with lowered immunity systems. Good times were had by all.

Well, that about sums things up. Forgive the ridiculous voice of this post; it's 12:15, the Wildcats lost, and I'd rather be sleeping.

Still missing you all.

Just Watch the Fireworks

I didn't go to sleep until three in the morning last night. After an entire day of Georgia Bulldog revelry, I was so hammered...I kid, I kid. Actually, I got home around nine o'clock and spent the rest of the evening blissfully alone, stomach in knots, as I watched my beloved Arizona Wildcats notch an ugly, but huge, win over BYU in their season opener. The game finished at maybe two in the morning - gotta love time zones, eh? I then spoke with our favorite gumshoe, Jeremy B. Evans, as the nail-biting ending to the game (Nick Folk hits 48-yard field goal with one second left for 16-13 victory) had me far too excited (or was it nauseated) to sleep. A splendid night, indeed.

I am now drinking a rather superb iced mint green tea from a lovely coffee joint called "Espresso Royale". I suppose the least I can do for them in exchange for the wonderful beverage is provide a little unsolicited advertising. Whenever you happen to be in Athens (which is frequently, of course), make sure to stop by.

I had started this note with the intention of fleshing out my growing longing for Phoenix. Not in the Athens-sucks-get-me-out-of-here sort of way, but in the o'-Phoenix-,-how-I-miss-thee sort of way. When so much of you is rooted in a certain place, it's practically impossible to not find yourself thinking back on the comfort of it all. All the silly, subconscious comforts, the things that no one else would even know means something to you. To walk through Desert Ridge in the evening warmth, cruise along Lincoln Drive with the windows down, settle into your favorite table at Gourmet House of Hong Kong. And I can't help but fear that those sacred places will become not homes to return to but memories to index. These days are draped in uncertainty, and while I've generally found that a welcome adventure, tonight I find it pulling my eyes backwards, not toward tomorrow.