Some quick shots:

For ironic (and nostalgic) football fans, the Post-Gazette has a nice 20-year retrospective on the Pittsburgh Maulers today.

Also, on football, it's not real timely given that neither player is with the team anymore, but The Athletic Reporter gets mad props for the T.O.-Jeff Garcia story, because who doesn't like a good "Jeff Garcia is clearly gay" joke.

Speaking of Mad Props, I voted in California for the first time this past week. I'm not going to say my district is a bit off the beaten path, but our polling place was a wedding service business run out of someone's house. Democracy always works best with the proprietor's screaming children running around your feet, I feel. Three of the four props passed, while the one I cared about of course was knocked down 2-1. It also kinda sucked that by the time I voted for John Edwards, MSNBC was already reporting that he'd dropped out of the race. If I'd have known that, I would've thrown a protest vote to Sharpton--if only so he got at least one vote in Koreatown.

Sorry to Bill, and anyone else, who mistook my post-UCLA reaction as crankiness. I was going for perspective and trying to get across the idea that my main emotion was relief, not so much euphoria. Make no mistake--I really appreciate the congrats.

I'm trying to work crazy hours for the next week and a half or so, both for some time off for March Madness, and also because I'm trying to get cash together for Michigan's preview weekend over April 1st weekend. (Jeff proposed maybe we'll all get there and it's just a big gag; I guess we'll find out.)

My headcold is now officially in triple-dip mode. I think I last breathed through a nostril around Super Bowl Sunday.

I've been listening to a lot of Violent Femmes lately. Actually, I've been listening to a little bit of the Violent Femmes, but I've been listening to it over and over. Add It Up, I Held Her in My Arms, 36-24-36, American Music, and most pronouncedly Kiss Off are just some catchy damn songs.

If I'd been healthy today, I would've gone walking in the mountains because it was an absolutely picture perfect L.A. day--no smog, no clouds, close to 80 degrees, just as good as it gets. Instead, I just went driving. I ended up on one of those canyon roads you only get in the U.S. West--15 miles of two lanes, switchbacks, beautiful vistas, extreme fear of death, and 15-30 mph driving. Except when that road is CA Route 23, the last half mile looks like you are driving straight into the Pacific Ocean. Beautiful, scary, and all. It's the type of road that was invented for sports car commercials. Then I drove back toward the city, going through Malibu, where I'd never been before. As far as I can tell, Malibu isn't so much of a town as it is a 15-mile stretch of beach and scattered enormous mountains in the hills. Nice place to live, but I wouldn't want to visit there.

I would've been blogging all week, but every time I get on the computer lately I just end up playing a lot of Spades on Yahoo Games. Where I'm headed now...

...except, first to say, CHRIS GARDOCKI?!?!?!?!?!?!