He'll probably just ride away

About four months ago, I was obsessed with the idea of being a cowboy. Not one of the modern ones with WIFI and GPS and all of those other technological acronyms, but one of the classic cowboys: one who eats beans from the can and sleeps next to his doggies on the prairie and rides into town on a black steed named Silver to give the town villain his comeuppance.

I’m fully aware that these types of cowboys didn’t really exist. So, I dropped my infatuation with the impossible and continued with my mundane city life. But lately, Willie Nelson has convinced me to spit in the face of reality and imagine my days away. And now I want to invest in a nice pair of cowboy boots and a high quality cowboy hat.

I don’t care if I can’t pull off the hat. I want to be a cowboy, darn it.

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What is it?

For those of you who have seen the “What is it?” commercials on television and really, really want to know what “it” is, stay tuned. Your answer’s coming shortly.

For those of you that want to let the advertising campaign work its magic, close this window.

But me? I was curious.

After seeing a commercial drumming up “it” to be the greatest thing on Earth, I went to the Web site that the commercial specified at the end (http://whatis-it.com) hoping that I would figure out what “it” was. No such luck. Apparently, the powers that be won’t be unveiling the true nature of “it” until October 20.

But my brother and I are innately inquisitive. So, with his trusty companion Google, Ian did a WHOIS lookup for the mystical URL and found the name of the woman, Megan Bundy, who registered the domain. Turns out she works for an advertising firm in Manhattan. Yes, we got a name. And an address. And a phone number.

After calling at 10:00 p.m. last night and getting her office voicemail, Ian left a message that was not returned.

However, today I gave Megan Bundy’s office a call. Luckily, I did not talk to Megan herself; I spoke to another young lady who, even though she didn’t get the memo not to spill the beans, was conscious enough to request anonymity when I asked her name.

“I would really prefer to keep that information confidential,” she said.

However, after our two minute conversation, I came away enlightened.

“Think about it,” she said. “What can you get on eBay?”

“Anything,” I said, just realizing the simplicity of it all.

“Exactly. I bought ‘it’ on eBay.”

That was the gist of the conversation. I then spent a minute lauding her presence on a staff that came up with such an idea. It’s so simple. And so good. Because I was so curious and because I tried endlessly to uncover “it,” it’s easy to see that this campaign worked. She offered to transfer me to their creative department, but I had already found out that which I wanted to know.

Congratulations, Megan, on a truly ingenious scheme.

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My Crazy Old Aunt Josie

Last night, I had a bad dream. It involved a certain old Aunt Josie (who does not exist) who was mentally ill and kept biting anyone and everyone around her. I was designated as her caregiver and, without fail, her mouth (which was both bloody and foamy) made my left arm its pacifier. I promised her a Coke if she would stop biting me, but after she was done with the soda she wasted no time at making me her chew toy. It was horrible.

But on a much lighter note, I found out in that same dream that I was capable of doing back flips. That was the saving grace that evened everything out and made sleeping fun again.

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A walk in the park

I know, it’s silly. But there’s this one space in the parking lot at school that I find particularly nice. So, I do what any other sane person would do: I make my carpool get up 20 minutes earlier so we can make it to the parking lot by 6:30 and stand there for a half hour until school starts. Makes perfect sense to me.

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We're 4-0.

I love football. My childhood years meshed together into a giant ball of light orange and countless notches in the “L” column. But then again, such was the plight of a “Buccaneers”:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tampa_Bay_Buccaneers fan in the late 80s and early 90s.

I was raised to appreciate everything about the game: the plays, the players, the strategy. I was brought up in the nosebleed section of old “Tampa Stadium”:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Houlihan’s_Stadium (you know – back when we had to sit in bleachers and when season tickets cost 25% of what they do now), and I was there to say goodbye to the old field in 1997 at the Bucs’ first playoff game since 1982 (against the Detroit Lions, no less).

See, we used to get tickets to whatever games we could so that we could go with Dad. However, since Tampa Bay moved into the new stadium, we’ve only been able to get two season tickets, leaving my good brother Ian and me at home, watching Chris Collinsworth make a buffoon of himself each and every Sunday.

Not anymore. Our name came up on the season ticket waiting list. Sure, our seats are three rows from the top in the farthest corner of the stadium. Sure, they’re in the middle of the row. But darn it, it’s football. And did I mention that I love football?

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