Yeah, I'm still here. Every last slack-filled cell.
We haven't quite hit the "three weeks without a post" mark, but it's getting way too close for a guy who recently opined about being more prolific. FAIL, as the kids - and far too many of you - say.
Truth is, I have wanted to specialize the blog, limiting it to movies and professional football (it makes sense to me). I'm rethinking the whole timing issue, though. Obviously, draft aside, there's not too much football stuff going on this time of year. And Hollywood certainly hasn't participated, offering very little output to get excited about.
I wrote about my Star Trek disappointment, and I have been similarly underwhelmed with Terminator: Salvation (not godawful, just boring) and The Taking of Pelham 123 (decent flick gutted by an off-the-charts stupid ending). Even the two movies I've legitimately liked - The Hangover and Up - have left me less joyous than most.
(Really, though. Was The Hangover that funny? Good and everything, and I laughed, but all these folks on Facebook were talking about having sore muscles the next day. I have to see it again, I guess. And airplane flying dogs just seemed a little beneath Pixar. Can't explain it.)
Things are lookin' up, though. Obviously football season is closer with every passing minute, and there are some exciting flicks on the horizon - Public Enemies, The Hurt Locker, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (love those movies, so suck it), and a new Tarantino.
And for a sure sign of impending pigskin paradise, check it:
That's me and The Fiancee lounging around in our favorite shirts.
Ok, yeah, it's The Fiancee with a guy who pulls in a little more cash than I, Atlanta Falcons running back Michael Turner. She has recently embraced my inner dork (hey-o!) and accompanied me to a couple of preseason Falcons events. This one was a meet-and-greet with a few players at Duluth, GA's PGA Superstore.
Turner and I talked at length about our 2008 fantasy football championship, in which, once again, he led my team to an undefeated record. He said it was the proudest moment of his life, and he would gladly take a hometown discount to sign with me again in '09. "We'll see, buddy," I said, patting him on the back. "I don't think I'll get you with a third round pick again." He then started crying, which I thought was a little immature, and refused to sign autographs for the next man in line (ok, kid in line).
Really, though, I can't imagine there's another woman out there who would be dorkier about this kind of stuff than I am. Ask her about this, and she'll own up - the girl was levitating three feet off the ground as we were walking out. It was awesome.
Anyway, so yeah, I'll do better. Promises. In the next day or five, I'll be sure to tackle the Academy's dipshit decision to double the amount of Best Picture nominees, and my 40,000-word NFL preview can't be too far off. Keep the fanmail comin'.