10,000 Thank Yous

First things first. Right before I left for my Southeast Asia backpacking adventure back in the first week of June I decided to put up a website hit counter at the bottom of the blog just to see what the traffic was like. This week, six months later, I surpassed 10,000 hits, and no I did not sit at home in the dark and refresh the webpage 10,000 times. I'm not saying there have been 10,000 unique visitors, but I am saying that I appreciate the love and wish I'd put up a counter back in May 2007 when this started. I hope that you'll continue to come on through and visit every once in a while.

So apparently the blog I wrote about Tiger seemed to have pushed him over the edge and into professional golf purgatory. My bad. I don't want to continue to beat a dead horse here, but I just want to share something that I've heard several times from several different people this past week. People say how Tiger's wife is way better looking than any of the women he allegedly had relations with, and wonder why he'd downgrade. But you have to think of it like this; every time you see a gorgeous woman walking down the street you have to remember that there's someone out there in this great big world who is probably bored of having sex with her. Yup. Listen, I didn't make up the rules here. Such is life.

On my way to work Friday the last song that came on my iPod was Journey's "Don't Stop Believing". Somehow it just seemed right for a Friday morning. It was one of those weeks. The week just reminded me of that cliche classic classroom scene where it's 2:59 and everyone is anxiously waiting for 3:00 so they can leave, and they pan to a shot of the clock and the minute hand goes backward to 2:58. Nine more days of work until I head out on vacation. Not that I'm counting. Other people out there have clearly started their holiday vacations early, as evidenced by the throngs of people walking up and down Fifth Avenue this weekend. I walked down Fifth yesterday to buy some sneakers right around Rockefeller Center. At one point my bobbing and weaving came to a slow crawl and I wondered what the hold up was. A dropped camera? People admiring chestnuts roasting on an open fire? I soon realized that I'd been sucked, tractor beam style, right into the mosh pit that is the line to get into Abercrombie & Fitch. After I immediately disentangled myself from the Midwesterners and Europeans clamoring to overpay for a plaid shirt I had to just admire what Abercrombie had done. They basically set up a velvet rope situation out in front of their store. I can't confirm this, but it almost looked as if it was a "one in, one out" door policy. I don't know what goes on in there (I'm guessing a lot of midriff comparing based on their ad campaigns) but they pump extremely loud music and all that cologne and perfume wafting out the doors makes midtown smell like a summer camp social. I continue to prefer the no-longer-mysterious maple syrup smell. I really have never seen anything like it though, but person after person left the store with a little Abercrombie bag, so clearly things are being purchased, and these days, "you gotta do anything to move product". I put that in quotes, because these days, with nothing really great on TV on Sunday night I put anything in quotes that vaguely reminds me of The Wire, and I always attribute the quote to Slim Charles. Always. Damn I miss that show.

For your viewing pleasure this rainy Sunday. Not Safe For Work (masterfully crafted explicit language).

If I ever resign or quit a job, you better believe I'm going to say "the game ain't in me no more".