First things first...I flat-out aced the cardiac stress test. It was an ordeal, though. It started off with the injection of a nuclear isotope, followed by two laying-motionless sessions of 3-D heart photography (twenty minutes apiece), and there was an exhausting treadmill workout mixed in between. With lengthy breaks after each part of the test, the whole thing ended up taking almost five hours and I was dead meat by the time I staggered back out into the hundred-degree heat. So the blog took a back seat to hypercaffeinating and snagging some rest. But, long story short, I'm fine...I can resume my running and the doctor doesn't need to see me for another six months. So, let's get back after it...
Even though these Presidential debates are quickly reaching "Everybody Loves Raymond"-rerun levels of TV saturation, I somehow totally missed the one from Chicago last night. From the highlights I saw, though, it looked like Obama took a lot of heat from the lesser lights (classic primary strategy...second-tier guys fighting to be The Alternative to The Official Front-Runner) and Hillary got off a great soundbite with her "I'm your girl" line.
Griftdrift has an interesting take on real names/handles/anonymity in the bloggeropolis (prepare for these stupid names for the blogging community to become a running HYH joke...I freaking hate the "sphere" word). My story is pretty similar to Grift's..."Mike-El" is my longtime handle at several message boards that require a short username. I kept it here pretty much out of whatever ridiculously tiny "brand recognition" it might have. Hit my profile and shoot me an e-mail if you're curious about my real name. It's not a state secret...but it's not something I choose to simply offer up out here in the blogghetto (see what I mean?).
You have to figure that the Braves' gameplan going into this big series with the Mets was to somehow find a way to "steal" the first game, then hit 'em with Smoltz and Hudson. Well...so far, so good. And...yeah...Bonds finally hit number 756 last night. Still, the most striking and surreal sight for me from that game was the guy who ended up with the ball being bumrushed out of the park by the cops like he had just shot the President.
If anybody has a foolproof method for getting rid of these tiny, less-than-an-inch-long millipedes, I'd love to hear it. Hell, I'll be your friend for life. They are about to overrun us this summer. I understand that they aren't harmful...but I don't want them in my house.