I love a good road trip, but I doubt there is a less enjoyable vehicular adventure than driving across Connecticut (and this comes from someone who traveled the entirety of Pennsylvania at least 30 times during college, mostly in a four-cylinder Jeep without air conditioning).

Making today's journey even less pleasant was the cloudy, drizzly conditions that eliminated the lone potential highlight - the striking structure that is the Tappan Zee Bridge and the spectacular view up and down the Hudson as you drive across the span.

That left the Big Grab of Cool Ranch Doritos I bought en route the bright spot of today's drive. So yummy.

However, I vehemently disagree with their assessment that each bag contains three servings. I'd hate to think I could eat three servings of anything in such a short time.

Given the whirlwind of the past few days, I can barely remember what I had for breakfast today. However, while driving this afternoon, I was able to remember, word for word, an obscure rap from a New Edition song that was released in 1984.

Sometimes, I just don't know what to tell you.

Vacation, good.

It's time for me to blow out of town (and the country, for that matter) and I hope to keep my internet time to a minimum during the next 10 days. In my absence, I thought I'd provide some reading for the class.

-Thank goodness I was sitting when I read this shocking finding.

-And here's a huge crock of shit. It's no fucking wonder our state can't fix any of its major issues, when our horseshit politicians are worrying about things like this instead of, oh I don't know, property taxes and auto insurance.

-From this week's Sports Business Journal, an lengthy overview of the Evil Empire.

And let’s not forget media critics and bloggers, many of whom have made names for themselves by bashing ESPN for what they deem over-hyped promotion, bloviating anchors, shrill analysts and badly behaving talent.

The breadth of the criticism is surprising. Much of it comes with being the dominant market leader. But some are questioning if the brand that breathed cool and hip into TV sports has become too cool and hip for its own good.

They had me at hello.

But who do I have to talk to in order to get my name added to the list of bloggers they asked about this? I'd be happy to share a few thoughts.

-I've been trying to spend less time on the Internet recently, which isn't easy. And Sports Illustrated is about to make it much, much harder.

On Thursday, the magazine will introduce the Vault, a free site within SI.com that contains all the words Sports Illustrated has ever published and many of the images, along with video and other material, in a searchable database.

I can't begin to imagine how many hours will be lost looking through 50+ years of stories and photos.

-"If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball." Who's with me?

-And finally, if you have some extra time and want a great (albeit lengthy) read, might I recommend the classic 1966 Esquire piece titled Frank Sinatra Has a Cold. Here's some background on the article from Wikipedia. All around, great stuff.

Adios amigos. See you soon.

If only I had a birthday coming up...














I'm admittedly not sure what sort of function one would carry a metallic, lunchbox-esque Brett Favre purse to other than the annual NJ Sportswriters Banquet. But I'd certainly be the belle of the ball with that thing on my arm.

The subject of an e-mail I received from American Express today announced: "Around the World by Private Jet‏."

Let Abercrombie & Kent take you on the luxury adventure of a lifetime. Visit Easter Island, Samoa, Sydney, Bangkok, Jaipur, Dubai, Cairo, and Seville aboard a private Boeing 757 reconfigured from 186 seats to 52 extended-recline seats.

During this exclusive 25-day voyage, American Express Cardmembers enjoy unmatched comfort and the services of an on-board chef who will make every meal a memorable experience. Space is limited for this journey of a lifetime, so book now!

Well that certainly piqued my interest. I wondered, can I use AmEx points for that?

No. No I cannot.

What I can use is $97,970. And if I want to travel with anyone, that will be another $97,970.

So I'm out unless MegaMillions hits tomorrow. But should you have an extra 97 grand sitting around, here's the full brochure. Happy travels.

It doesn't look like the round-the-world extravaganza stops in Alaska, which is unfortunate because those folks are going to miss their opportunity to attend this.

I could go a lot of ways with this one, but I will simply encourage you to visit the MySpace page for local chapter of the US Beard team, which is of course based in the other state, South Jersey. The song on their MySpace page sounds like something out of a South Park episode.

I think this says it all: just a bunch of guys that enjoy good times and growing facial hair

And BAM says there are no good men out there...

HBO has been playing "Pretty In Pink" during the past few weeks, which:

a) makes me feel very, very old because the flick came out in 1986 (seriously, how is that possible??);
b) makes me nostalgic for the days when Molly Ringwald was the sole barometer for determining hipness in a teenage girl's life
c) makes me angry, because Blane was a bit of a dick who didn't deserve to win her back, and Andie should have ridden off into the sunset with Duckie (which, according to IMDB, is how the original script was written).

But as I was looking for a video clip of the final scene of the prom, I instead came across this...



Oh, you crazy kids and your technological cleverness.

Speaking of Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy, if you asked my brother to name the worst movie he's ever seen, it would take him 0.07 seconds to come up with "Fresh Horses." I don't know how a movie with a plot like this could have gone wrong:

A Cincinnati college student breaks off his engagement to his wealthy fiancée after he falls in love with a backwoods Kentucky girl he meets at a party. She claims to be 20 years old, but he learns that she's actually just 16 and already married.

That's the kind of thing that happened when I had the driver's license and he was dependent upon me for his entertainment. He wound up at movies like that.

Twenty years later, I again apologize. That wasn't my finest moment in terms of judgment.

While in the local Borders Friday afternoon, I thought perhaps it was a bit excessive to buy not one but two issues of Sports Illustrated's special Favre retirement issue. (In my defense, it was hard to find and I just thought it would be best to have an extra in case something happened to it, like a small child spilled something on it.)

But then I saw the video below on the Big Lead, and realized that while I may jokingly go over the top where my worship of His Holiness is concerned, I am far from doing anything like this...



Today's musical quartet at the gym: Dave Brubeck-Metallica-Rihanna-Captain & Tennille. Call me crazy, but I doubt many others were enjoying a lengthy run to "Take Five."

Throw in a little Moby, Michael Jackson, 50 Cent and Tom Petty, among another hour's worth of tunes, and my musical schizophrenia remains stronger than ever.

Here's a week-ending FYI for everyone ... white wine and Peeps actually taste pretty good when enjoyed together.

I started the Self Challenge again a few weeks ago and have done a pretty good job tracking my meals and exercise. However, I think it would be best if the next 30 hours are not recorded.

For today is me and KJ's annual Big East Tournament Day (a national holiday that requires full capitalization). I'll start the day with a healthy egg white and pepper omelet, then proceed to a menu that looks something like this:

Noon - Beer/pretzel
1 p.m. - Beer
2 p.m. - Beer/hot dog
3 p.m. - Beer/beer
4 p.m. - Beer/beer
6 p.m. - Beer/potato skins/large plate of red meat/beer
7 p.m. - 3 a.m. - Beer/beer/honey roasted peanuts on the street/beer/beer
4 a.m. - Grilled cheese/fries/diet Coke (have to save calories where you can)
4:03 a.m. - Sleep
10:30 a.m. - French toast

Good times...unless you're my gastrointestinal tract.

I'm usually quite loyal to the NY Daily News, given that I have a few friends over there and I think it's a better paper, but I have to give credit where credit is due, and the Post hit an absolute home run with today's cover.

Really well played.

If my husband had to call a press conference to discuss his involvement with prostitutes, I certainly wouldn't be standing next to him. The only standing I'd be doing near him is over his lifeless body with a gun in my hand.

Speaking of covers, guess who's on the front of SI yet again this week (not that I'm complaining, of course)...

I have no idea who Laura Ingraham is, but I can assure you she will not be invited to dinner at Casa Magnolia anytime soon...

That said, I think I'm ready to move on from the past five days of all Favre, all the time (although I'd like to commend the fine folks at the NFL Network for airing eight consecutive hours of His Holiness programming yesterday during an all-day downpour that a) flooded many local roads; b) made me not want to leave the house; and c) eventually gave way to wildly gusty winds that almost ripped the storm door clear off my abode, which led to me outside in bare feet, armed with a hammer and a screwdriver trying to perform an emergency repair during a watery deluge (and about which a future post about the resulting necessary repairs is sure to come).

But I digress...

A great weekend has helped me start to turn the corner. Friday, I had dinner with my brother and cousins at the Spanish Tavern in Newark. While this photo is not of our actual table but from the restaurant's home page, it's representative of our dining experience...

Tremendous eats. Excellent wine. Great time. I wish we could all get together like that more often, but life tends to get in the way.

From there, it was on to the Devils-Lightning game, my first hockey game in The Rock. The game itself (once we got there, near the end of the first period as such a great meal cannot be rushed) was outstanding, with the Devils earning a 2-1 victory as overtime expired.

Of much greater interest was the evacuation of two sections of the arena quite close to ours. The ambulance-chaser in me found it fascinating that hundreds of people were moved from their seats. We tried to ask some of the refugees from that section, who wound up standing below us, what precipitated the move, but apparently the Greater NJ Russian Hockey Fan Club was having an outing and no one could speak English to help enlighten us.

In the days of yore, that would have been the end of it and we have forever wondered what happened. But thanks to Al Gore, I was able to find the answer (a "smoke condition" from a pizza stand behind the sections) on the Ledger's Devils forum.

So thank you, Mr. Gore.

Saturday night was spent drinking Guinness and throwing darts with a sweet boy in a seaside bar and really, life just doesn't get much better than that.

And Sunday featured sleeping in until 10 (an absolute rarity), lunch with my parents at another seaside joint and a quick visit with the crazy Trio.

In personal administrative news, I have crossed #14 off the list after six hours of wardrobe elimination. I have amassed seven bags of clothes and shoes for Goodwill and somehow the closet is still full. But it's no longer overflowing, which I hope will make a difference. We'll see how long it lasts.

Man, this post has been a whole lot of me-me-me. Sorry about that.

That reminds me of a great line from one of my favorite movies, the little-seen but outstanding "Baby It's You." It's a classic girl-falls-for-boy-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks tale and scores major points from me for a) being the first film to feature Springsteen tunes, and b) the classic line: "The only people who matter in this world are Frank Sinatra, Jesus Christ and me."

Words to live by.

I am no stranger to bad ideas - for example, a midnight visit to White Castle last night.

However, watching the official retirement press conference today at work is an immediate lock for top honors in the Jersey Girl Bad Idea Hall of Fame.



Seriously, what the hell was I thinking watching that live in a work environment? There was no way that was going to end well.

Of the roughly 4,397 articles and columns I have read about His Holiness in the past two days, I think this and this are my favorites.

And I don't know how I missed this little gem...



Good lord, did I just compliment the Evil Empire again? What is this world coming to...

To take a quick break from the Favre Festival currently ongoing at Casa Magnolia (yes, I drove home during lunch to set the TiVo for countless consecutive hours of NFL Network coverage - shut it)...

I hope you're sitting down. For the second time in as many weeks, I'm going to say something nice about the Evil Empire.

But this really amused me - two SportsCenter anchors slipped quite a few Springsteen song titles into the opening of the show last week. I believe it was done the same evening the second leg of the tour started in Hartford, close to the Evil Empire's base in Bristol.



A good article in USA Today last week as well, which includes the ability to scroll through Bruce's iPod. Quite cool.

If anyone started poking around my iPod(s), they would no doubt be amazed at the variety of my collection. As I ran at the gym this morning, my shuffle at one point went from the Animals to George Michael to Punjabi MC. I don't want to question the musical range of my fellow exercisers, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who could claim that trifecta.

My gym continues to be a hotbed for dopey antics. If they put a secret camera in the ceiling of the gym and aired the goings-on, I know it would pull decent ratings.

Last week, a petite septuagenarian got onto the treadmill next to me. She was walking at a leisurely pace, which almost turned disastrous when she stumbled. But she somehow caught herself on the side of the treadmill and managed to avoid a spectacular crash.

Given this close call, what did she do next?

1) Give up
2) Resume walking at a safe pace
3) Try running instead

Oh, you know how that worked out.

I knew when I saw a huge picture of Favre atop the pages at The Big Lead this morning, the news would not be good. And it is not.

His Holiness is apparently calling it a career.

I can't say this shocks me. Crappy final throw against the Giants aside, 2007 was a much better way to end a career than it would have been at the end of the '06 season.

I'll have much, much more to say about this when I'm not so busy at work and unable to post from the office (special thanks to freakgirl for her assistance in posting this breaking news bulletin). Seriously, if I weren't so busy, I would feign illness so I could head home to focus on this. But work calls, and of course I have a dinner outing after work. Damn social life...

I feel like this right now...



But I will always think of His Holiness like this...



Adieu, adieu. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Pop quiz:

After a full day of fun and adventure in New York City, what would be the worst location to have the stomach of one of the crazy nephews stage a massive, blue ice cream-fueled revolt?

1) The E train
2) Jersey Girl's car during the ride home
3) Back home

Given the options, things could have been much worse.