I remember when, when I first moved here,
a long time ago,
'cause I heard some song I used to hear back then,
a long time ago.
I remember when, even further back,
in another town,
'cause I saw something written i used to say back then,
hard to comprehend

And the question is, was I more alive then than I am now?
I happily have to disagree;
I laugh more often now,
I cry more often now,
I am more me.
- Peter Bjorn and John, "Objects of My Affection"

"Rehab"
I myself am mystified as to my ongoing love affair with giving shit up for Lent. I haven't set foot in a Catholic Church for non-wedding purposes in at least a year and a half, and yet, when Lent rolls around I cannot ignore it. I'll never forget the year I gave up listening to Ben Folds Five just when "The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner" dropped. Or when I gave up reading comics and drinking soda -- which was essentially updated and tarted up with this years denial of watching House and drinking alone, which oddly seem to go hand-in-hand. (Doing one leads to doing the other, though I'm no longer completely certain which one's the cause of the other's effect.)

Anyhoozle, I've been back on the sauce for almost a week now, and I can't say I missed it too terribly...

But that's only because I feel compelled to lie.

"You Know I'm No Good"
A few weeks ago, Caleb and I were discussing this Bendis bit in Powers where a character points out that you can ruin your entire life with three well placed sentences. This idea that there are some things that you can say just once that will tear apart friendships and destroy careers forever. Things that once said, can't be unsaid or forgiven and there's no going back if you wanted to.

Sometimes I feel like I said those things.

"Me & Mr. Jones"
I have no desire to be on "Who Wants to Be a Superhero" -- though if I did, I'd do so as The Rubber Bandit, the band-shooting Elastic Avenger of North Jersey townships.

The only reality show I'd ever consider entering is "The Amazing Race," and I'd only do it with Brent Jones as my partner.

I swear to God, it'd be great television. We wouldn't last two episodes, but it's be fantastic television.

"Just Friends"
Like most people, there are a few movies which, when I run across them while flipping the dial, I am compelled to watch until finished. These are rarely the movies you'd think they'd be. I can run across Spider-Man 2 on FX and turn away with nary a pang. Same deal for Tenenbaums and/or American Beauty.

No. The flicks I'm talking about are ones I thought forgettable upon first viewing, but now find too fascinating to turn away from. Like what I now consider "those modern movie classics" You've Got Mail and Just Friends. (You like what I did there?) And so-so comic book adaptation like Hulk, Constantine, and Fantastic Fucking Four.

And now, Mean Girls. I hate Mean Girls but I cannot look away.

I'm scared to death the same things going to happen with The Devil Wears Prada, the greatest non-movie of the last ten years of movie making. If that happens, its totally chocolate gun chow-chow.

"Back to Black"
It's been long enough. I can reclaim the rank and title for which I was once infamous.

I've re-accomplished the terrible trials, passed the tests, and earned the sacred heart-shaped herb from the tribal elders.

I am the Little Black Duck once more... because damn it all, the world will always need one.

"Love is a Losing Game"
You ever played Star Wars Battlefront II space missions in capture-the-flag mode? It seems kind of like quidditch. It's delightful.

"Tears Dry on Their Own"
I can't cry over movies or books or really sad songs, but if I could, these are the ones I'd weep for:

That bit in the Robbie D. Jr. movie, Hearts and Souls where we find out that the cop who's been basically following RDJ the whole time is Alfre Woodard's son.

The end of Dan Slott and Ty Templeton's Spider-Man & The Human Torch miniseries, "I'm With Stupid." Peter Parker goes to space and I witness the overwhelming breadth and beauty of friendship.

The last episode of Quantum Leap. Actually, I take that back. Because I could cry the first time I saw it and I did.

The trailer for Akelah and the Bee. Not the movie. I've never seen the movie. But the trailer almost broke me.

"Roll the Credits" by Peter Bjorn and John. Six and a half minutes of high-tension heart-rending strings, or strange, pretty lines like the suggestion to "put the cards back in the sleeve" or the explanation that "she's like a big orchestra playing my tiny tune".

"She's stepping on my shoes and i couldnt want it more, that way i always know shes close." I don't even know what that means, but everytime I hear it and don't start sobbing, I realize that I'm just dead inside.

You bastards killed me.

"Wake Up Alone"
For the longest time I slept on a love seat in a spider-hold in New Jersey. I loved that couch.

Six months ago, I sawed it in half and carried it out in pieces I dumped in Hackensack when no one was watching. So now I'm pretty much stuck with that IKEA twin Granny made me buy even though I knew I was just going to sleep on the love seat.

My point here, is that I only buy sleepy-time furniture fit for one, and it's almost another sad self-fulfiller.

"Some Unholy War"
Oh thank God, our long national nightmare is over!

Don Imus has been ousted and we're that much closer to wiping the grim menace of those malevolent shock jocks from our airwaves!

And perhaps even more importantly, we finally know that Larry Birkhead done did da deed dat did daddy Dannielynne.

Mayhaps now this poor, beleaguered and beloved country can start to heal. I know the race will be long -- and in the end, only with ourselves -- but I know in my heart of hearts, we can rebuild...

"He Can Only Hold Her"
I miss the days when Tina Fey was just on SNL and I only saw her maybe once a month when I was press-ganged into actually watching Weekend Update due to circumstance almost completely beyond my control.

Because now, thanks to that little comic marvel, 30 Rock (not to be confused with that little Marvel comic New Avengers -- though the connection is as obvious as Venture Bros. and The Life Aquatic) I'm forced, practically at gunpoint, to deal with her -- and more over, my feelings about her -- on a weekly basis, and tortured by photos like this every time EW wants to run a story about it.

Seriously, how much is one man-child possibly supposed to take! It's a world gone made, I tell you, mad! I mean, take this for example. I don't even want to talk about it. I couldn't if I did want to talk about it. I don't know why I even brought it up! I can't fathom why I even bothered to bring it up! I don't know my own mind anymore!

[id non est nulla res sed ala gallinae id non est nulla res sed ala gallinae id non est nulla res sed ala gallinae]

Okay. I'm better now.

After all, let's face it. It's like the song says: Her soul is taken, and he is what she's running from. Because like 66.6% of the vaguely self-obsessed, totally-wrong-for-me women I've fixated on in my life, she's married. It's almost enough to drive a man to drink and formulaic medical dramedy...

God bless 33.4...

NEXT:
It Will Be Legendary...