Sexy? Yes. Alive? Yes.

Jessica Biel was named "sexiest woman alive" by Esquire magazine.

I am reminded of a conversation Phil and I had during our radio programme days - we were discussing the sexiness of Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, back when people bothered to debate such things.

"When I see Britney," Phil said, "I think, 'Wow. She's it. Untouchable.' But when I see Xtina, I think, 'Yeah, I could take her home. No problem.'"

Now, I'm not saying Jessica Biel is unattractive. I'm also not saying that I could hit that. But when it comes to the sexiest woman alive, the thought shouldn't even cross my mind.

Order Out

From this point forward, I will never order the following dishes when dining out, because they never meet my delicious expectations:

Biscuits and gravy
Chicken fried steak
Onion rings / Awesome Blossom variants
Tuna salad / chicken salad

Off the Road

Apologies for the very late ThursDunst. I have only just returned from my westward trek. My hair is unsatisfactory - the Hays Super 8 has cut corners since my last stay, and there was no miniature bottle of shampoo in my shower. They do still provide the tiny, wrapped bar of soap. Why are the soaps that size? Shouldn't they be even smaller? Have you ever stayed in a hotel long enough to use that entire bar? Ever wonder what they do with those little soaps? I like to think they're recycled - thrown on a pile, melted down, poured into mold, shipped back out to the world's motels.

The trip was otherwise ordinary. I pushed through a lot of Tender is the Night:

One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual. There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still. The marks of suffering are more comparable to the loss of a finger, or of the sight of an eye. We may not miss them, either, for one minute in a year, but if we should there is nothing to be done about it.

Mayans' Ruin?

Damn the work that requires me to drive 5.5 hours across Kansas to a Comfort Inn. Damn the society that places the hotel on a highway, across the street from a Burger King, but doesn't build the sidewalks or crosswalks that would allow me to get a Whopper without the aid of a rented automobile. Damn the society that triggers, "Uh oh...is that going to be enough to fill me up?" after I order a double Whopper with cheese, and damn the brain that tacks on the small order of onion rings.

On the bright side, it looks like it may have finally happened. Someone at the City of Wichita googled "Carlos Mayans". Did the mayor google himself, only to find that his attempt to cheat at basketball did not go unnoticed? Or did a curious employee search for information on his/her boss, only to learn the shocking truth?

Minor In Pretension

What's worse than being at the Hawk? Being underage, and getting caught drinking. What's worse than getting caught? Getting caught drinking a PACIFICO.

Two of the underage drinkers caught in the bar testified at Tuesday's hearing, including Kansas University student Matthew Lamantia, 19, who was caught drinking a Pacifico beer on June 25. He testified that he got the fake ID he used to get into the bar from someone who gave it to him while he was considering joining a fraternity.

At least when I got my Minor In Possession, I was holding a Natural Light.

I Like Your Blog!

The comment spam is now appearing in old posts as well as the new ones - there were over 20 this weekend. In response, I've implemented word verfication. Now, posting a comment will be kind of like ordering from Ticketmaster, only with a slightly lower surcharge. Obviously, I'm not trying to discourage reader comments, just the ones from people who seem to put a lot of faith in a very faulty advertising method.

BacheLAN Party

At 8:30 pm Friday, I walked into Tanner's apartment. The groom and the gang were already there, playing a first-person shooter.

"Did you bring your laptop?" Blaine asked.
"I thought you were kidding."
"Nope."

I played for a few minutes - to my horror, I realized that it wasn't Quake, a game this group played religiously in 1998, in the dorms, every evening after enjoying a meal at the Kramer Dining Center. Tired of being shot to death, I quit and watched The Soup.

That show is hilarious.

It wasn't all hard-core gaming - we managed to go out in Westport and interact with other humans. At Harpo's, for example, we talked to our waitress. And we played that game where you try to throw a football through a hole - like Pop-A-Shot but for football. Blaine and I tired of the traditional gameplay, so we made a rule that you had to throw a play-action pass. This meant that you grabbed the ball from the machine, sprinted back 7 yards toward the now annoyed table of four (play-actioning along the way), turned, and launched a spiral toward the target. I won.