The Angry White Bus Driver

Today, I had the same bus driver two days in a row and this is only of note because on the first day I had him, he tried to destroy my soul. If you are unfamilliar with public transit and the people who operate the buses and trains, you can generally imagine people that don't give a shit about you and will most likely try to make you shit your pants while speeding around corners in a 53 foot death trap. This is actually preferred. Bus drivers often let slews of people on when their transit cards don't work and show about as much effort and respect for the job as Eddie Murphy when he decided the Adventures of Pluto Nash was a good idea.

This makes it easier for everyone, you don't bother them and they only bother you when are at a 45 degree angle looking over the roof of a Ford Taurus. These last two days I was not lucky enough to have such a bus driver. My transit card is a UPass, given to me by my school for use throughout the semester. It has my picture on it (where I attempted to smile and came out looking a little too creepy to be within 50 feet of a school) and the picture is smack in the middle of the card. When you swipe the card it swipes through a machine vertically and thus when it reads, the entire card is in a machine. In the 8 months I have had this card not once has anyone given me trouble for using this UPass.

This bus driver, probably hoping for a promotion, decided that he needs to see the picture on the card as it swipes through the machine. A process that takes 1.3 seconds to swipe, and this driver thinks he will catch a glimpse of my chubby face in a 1 inch picture from 4 feet away. As I swiped the card and began my journey past the horrific faces on the bus (generally, only crazy people take the bus, I'm not sure why, since it's a valid form of transportation and I'm not sure if that also makes me crazy) and he stops me.

"See your ID?" he grumbled in a voice that had obviously been tarnished by years of Lucky Strike cigarettes.

"Huh?"

"SEE YOUR ID?"

I take my headphones out and he says it one more time with this delightful explanation attached. "You are covering the picture on the card because you don't want me to see who is actually on there, so I need to see your school ID."

I hand him the ID and he then stops the bus completely and compares the two for at least 6 seconds (the pictures on each card are the same) and then begrudingly realizes I wasn't trying to scam the CTA and tells me not to cover the picture anymore. This card is the size of a credit card and you have to hold it from the top to swipe it, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to show him my picture without mashing it against his eye.

This morning, when we met again, I pulled out the card like a dainty southern belle holding out her hand to be kissed at the Kentucky Derby (although I forgot my fancy hat). I clutched the card so gently from the top corner with just my thumb and index finger, that a light breeze would've blown it away. The angry white bus driver knew it was me, I held the card up to his face and then swiped and he nodded, allowing me the honor of sitting on a bus I had already paid for. The moral of the story? You can't trust whitey.

The Time I Experienced the Playoffs

I have been an avid fan of football (and sports in general for as long as I can remember). In fact my deepest memory is listening to the Dodgers play the Mets on the radio right around 1992. Although I am now a Mets fan, I was a Dodgers fan in those days and I can vividly remember not being able to fall asleep because I was unsure of what Brett Butler was going to do on the base paths.

I live and breathe my own fandom - the Mets 2006 NLCS debacle is still a touchy subject for me. However, there have been very few times in my lifetime where I have truly experienced a city gather around a team and go nuts for them (this tends to happen when you live in the suburbs or a state that has no baseball team and a football team that can be described as "lackluster" at best) . I was hoping to change that this afternoon when I hit up a local bar to watch the NFC Championship game where the Bears played their heated division rival, the Green Bay Packers.

The plan was to go to a bar on Clark Street - which is a street that Wrigley Field sits on. It is filled with bars and not just any bars. Bars that have Televisions at every booth and attract Jersey Shore-ites on vacation in Chicago. It's a hoppin' place.

My friends found a bar first (around 12, 2 hours before game time) and were confined to standing room only. Luckily by the time I arrived they had found a table where we proceeded to wait for the game to start.

All I heard all week were Bears fans coming out of the woodwork to root for a team where I'm not sure they could name more than 5 players. The papers were littered with pictures of Jay Cutler sneering (you couldn't see the sneer, but if it's Jay Cutler, you can assume it's there.) This was the same city whose own sports columnist claimed the Bears would go nowhere this season and yes, he wears a paper bag over is head. So, sure, I was a little suspicious of the new found interest in the Bears. The tipping point might've happened when an acquaintance wrote on his Facebook wall "ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS THE BEARS GAME" - this same acquaintance did not watch the game last week, or even know who the Bears were playing.

This is what happens, I'm well aware of bandwagon fans in sports. Almost any Red Sox or Celtic fan is a bandwagon fan. (Here's a test - Ask them about Troy O'Leary's ethnicity. If they say White, they aren't a fan). But this is Chicago! People were pumped and I was pumped to share the experience with them, because cheering is cheering, especially when it's done by 400 people at the same time.

Back to the bar, these supposed fans weren't super excited for the game, they were super excited for the music being played BEFORE the game. A little bit of Bieber, a little bit of Train. It was my worst nightmare. The $5 bottles of Bud Light weren't helping the situation (nor was the fact that they didn't sell PBR). This was going to be an expensive day filled with awful music. Although it might be my own fault, I had been to this bar twice before and I know it's a "bro" bar - where backwards hats are cool and girls wear enough makeup to kill 3 spider monkeys. In fact when I told my girlfriend where I was, she said, "That's where dreams go to die." But that's ok, the fans are still here and the game is about to start.

When the game started it became clear - every commercial break would be filled with this insipid music, sometimes the fat Samoan (is this being redundant? Are all Samoans fat?) would forget to turn off the music when the game came back on. I've never wanted to hear Joe Buck so badly in my entire life. As the Packers took a 14-0 lead the crowd pretty much seemed dead. When Cutler declined to come back for the 2nd half, there weren't loud uproars (except from my friend who used a lot of ugly terms. Real bad), it's like these fans didn't realize Todd Collins whose regular season QB rating was 5.9 (as comparison Tom Brady's was 110. That's right Tom Brady is 20 times better than Todd Collins). Todd Collins threw 5 interceptions on just 27 attempts. This was a disaster for the Bears fans, but they didn't express their dismay.

I realized I was in the wrong place for this. While it is obviously more fun to watch a group of fans get entirely over excited about a football game, it is endlessly interesting to watch them hurl insults at players that are much much bigger than them and these fans only had one mode. Happy!

This would soon become pretty obvious when the Bears scored a TD and the place went nuts. The top floor of the bar seemed to literally shake as Bears fans jumped up and down. I imagine the floor would've disintegrated had real Bears fans been in there (this constitutes 300 lb men with mustaches who look like John Goodman). That probably should've been my first clue as to the level of fandom in this bar - too many attractive girls wearing Devin Hester jerseys and too many guys wearing sunglasses inside.

The Packers scored again and the place didn't go eerily numb; it just went indifferent. With 6 minutes left people knew the game was over but weren't overly emotional about this outcome, they were just happy to drink buckets of Bud and dance to the music that was now going so far into the game action that we were missing plays. Joe Buck, WHERE ARE YOU?

Then, almost all of the sudden the Bears scored again and were down by 7 with 4 minutes to go. They bar played the "bear down" theme song and then quickly segued into the famous "shots shots shots shots shots" song - where the chorus is literally people screaming shots over and over. This song was played 4 times during the 4 hours I was there. Then the weird part happened, the momentum only slightly carried over as the Bears forced the Packers to punt. The bar quit playing audio of the game altogether at parts so they could play more club-esque music, hoping to get people pumped up. But this is a football game, people should start their own cheers, this is the biggest game of their season and they need to be poked into getting riled up? Not a good sign for these fans.

As the Bears drove for the final drive, the bar was actually hopping again. People were obscuring my view of the screens and yelling and high fiving with every play. Ok, this is what should be happening (regardless if Chris Brown is playing in the background). Then the final play of the Bears season came, an interception and the bar fell silent. Anticipating this heartache I quickly tweeted "someone just stabbed this bar in the chest."

But that was inaccurate, Bears fans didn't seem to be any more somber. Music was still blasting and they were all still sitting at their tables, talking to their friends, perhaps waiting for the next game. My friend, a true Bears fan I suppose, was too distraught to want to do anything and he went home, but as we packed up and left the bar, we were the only ones! While I can't tell people what to feel, I think that after an excruciating loss I feel like you need time to recover. Hell, I've felt sadder after television episodes end (yes episodes, not even seasons). Not these Bears fans! They were ready to keep the party pumping.

To me, this would be like someone telling you a family member was in the hospital, yeah you might feel bad, but hey, you're already at this bar, so why not keep paying for over priced alcohol!

The real lesson I learned was where to go to see real fans. The bar I was at were mainly people just like me, people who wanted to be a part of this experience but who didn't really know how to be an active participant (in my case I declined to, my dad is a shareholder for the Packers). The problem here is obvious, you can't get a real experience with people who are just in search of a real experience. Fans aren't the ones who brag about going to games, fans are the ones who brag ABOUT the game.

Scraps for My Scrapbook

I am the emo Tucker Max. If you are unaware of who Tucker Max is or what emo refers to, I will do a quick recap. Tucker Max is a douchebag that thrives on destroying the dignity of young women and then writing about it. Tucker Max has been doing this for years, writing about it for years and has now reached a level of fame that would rival adorable kitten videos on youtube. Yet, somehow girls still sleep with him, knowing that they will probably be treated like a hooker of varying degrees (solely based on their attractiveness). This is probably the Girls Gone Wild syndrome.

Emo might be the antithesis of Tucker Max. An emo could widely be considered depressed, pathetic, romantic and of course, emotional (to an excessive point). I think at least two of these attributes should be real winners in the minds of girls. An emo tends to excessively think about his or her level of sadness based solely on his or her relationship status. (Questions that might arise during this thinking session probably include: Does she like me? Do I care too much? What do I have to do to get her to like me? Does she like me? Was she hooking up with someone who is not me last night? Does she like me?)
So if you pull these two distinct definitions together, you get someone who is obsessed with girls, forms awkward, weird relationships with them, is overwhelmingly unsuccessful at said relationships and then writes about them.
I am the emo Tucker Max.
In my 25 years of existence, and more accurately, my 13 years of opposite sex awareness, I have had xx girls. (Had = been obsessed with, dated, hooked up with, stalked, etc. You know, the usual). This clarification is important, because if I had just said that I had xx girls, you would think I was at least halfway to Tucker Max douchebagdom. Out of these xx girls, I have seriously dated (small number) and slept with only (smaller number). This is an alarmingly low ratio. I have now written this down and I am alarmed.
Naturally, I had interest in almost all of these girls but for some reason things never worked out. I’d like to blame the girls in this scenario, but it has recently come to my attention that any girl who offers me any sort of attention will probably cast some sort of spell on me and I will be interested in them. Girls are witches, a proven fact from American history (especially in Salem, MA).
This is not a whoa-is-me story (I have a livejournal account for that). This is a story to document the weird minutia of my love life. The girls’ names have been changed (to numbers) and I have selected a few of the more awkward girls. I do not want you to feel bad for me (maybe just a little), I want you to rejoice at the ridiculousness of these girls and the signs they give off and never, ever mean. You will only read about a few of them, but then go back and remember this has happened to me xx times in, ostensibly, 8 years of active dating life, I am the emo Tucker Max after all.

Girl # 39

39 and I went to college together. It was one of those friends of friends type things, but she was always overwhelmingly nice and she was as cute as a baby deer (are those called fawns? I feel like fawns is a cuter term. So let’s say fawns). She was as cute as a fawn. Big brown doe eyes, long brown hair and really, a fantastic smile that would often make me seize up in terror, because I’m not used to such lovely smiles specifically smiling at me.
In college, our contact was kept to a fair minimum, as we didn’t really have an excuse to talk or hang out unless a bunch of other people were around. I did not yet have the ability to strike up conversations with attractive girls I didn’t know well (this is still 84% true.) In the first few years, I would always joke with her friends, who were also my friends, about how cute she was, we even gave her a nickname. Mousey. Mousey Girl #39. (Her actual name made the nickname sound much better. Trust me). The mousey was a compliment and directly referred to her looks and her shy, quiet personality. I wonder if she knows about this name, I think I hope that she does, she might find it cute and perhaps I would still have a chance at some point in life. Yes, this is how my brain operates.
Fast forward 2 years. We become better friends in our senior year of college, so much so that, I think I may have a legitimate shot with her and make a choice between her and the girl [SPOILER ALERT] that turns out to be #36. Fast forward another 2 years. #36 and I have long burned out, and #37 and I are in the middle of 1 of our many break ups. I realize that #39 is living less than 2 hours from me and decide to give her a quick message on the ole Facebook. To my surprise she responds, although rather slowly. (SIDEBAR: In this day of instant communication, I am absolutely a product of AIM. If people don’t text me, call me, email me or Facebook message me back within a few hours of my original contact, I’m apt to have a panic attack.) We exchange emails for awhile, just catching up/getting to know each other, since we probably had less than 2 hours of actual conversation in our 4 years of college together.
Eventually, it was decided that it would be acceptable to hang out at some point and one weekend in the late fall of 2008 I made the almost 2 hour journey to go visit her. Her and the Charlotte Bobcats, that should be noted, I suppose. Originally, I didn’t want to come off as desperate or weird driving that far just to see her, and it just so happened that I was a pseudo season ticket holder for the Charlotte Bobcats (they are a professional NBA team, if you were unaware. Really, go look it up.) So, after a Bobcats loss, I ventured over to her apartment to pick her up.
When she came out, she was clearly dressed like this wasn’t a date. Although, she was still incredibly cute. She was wearing those workout pants that are tight like leggings, but girls still manage somehow to work out in, a baggy sweatshirt and a sports bra whose strap was semi-visible. Her hair was thrown into a messy bun (I like to call this sexy messy, because it IS and because it’s a fun term) and I’m sure she was not wearing makeup. These things did not matter, she was beautiful and she was going out to dinner with me. That is all I need to fall in love.
We tried to pick a restaurant close to her apartment, but it was almost 10 PM and it was a Sunday, so we settled on this pizza place that turned out to be one of those, Italian/$20 pizza places that somehow taste different (and thus cost more) than “generic Italian first name’s Pizza” down the street. They looked at us like we were crazy, I was in jeans, slip on shoes and a hoodie promoting my favorite band of 2008, Brand New. She had just finished working out. We were not welcome, but they seated us anyway.
The dinner conversation was unbelievably pleasant. I had never assumed or believed #39 to be deep or be interested in the same sort of stuff I was, but we had now been out of college for a full year and we were in the same position in life and had gone through the same things. We both hated our jobs, lived in separate cities where we knew almost no one and longed to live in a city that actually had things to do. We bonded and I’m prone to latch on to any connection with any human I can stand, thus I was endlessly happy. We ended up splitting the bill, as I knew this was not a date, and did not want to overstep any opposite sex friend boundaries. I drove her back to her house, we sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, wrapping the night up and ended with her reaching across the center arm rest of my Prius and giving me a hug. I was hooked (I’m an easy catch).
I had such a great time, that I decided that this needed to happen again, immediately. We made plans to meet up again the next weekend, I would again make the two hour drive and this time I wouldn’t have to sit through a horrific Bobcats game. I didn’t even need directions to get to her apartment, I already had it memorized and I was very impressed with myself at this accomplishment. If memorizing streets and left hand turns isn’t love, I’m not sure what is.
We had a plan for this particular November day and it started at a museum. I’m not sure the name of museum but it was pretty small, we walked through it in less than an hour and the only notable piece I remember was AAA-level Andy Warhol painting, you know not quite the Campbell Soup painting, but hey at least it’s Andy Warhol. Museums only serve to magnify any portion of your social life, they just seem more important and make whatever you are doing that much more significant. If we had gone to a movie, we would have had to sit through Jennifer Lopez failed attempt at a return to romantic comedy and I would’ve been able to predict every joke in the movie. I can’t predict art, I can’t even begin to know the meaning behind these pieces. So for two people, on a pseudo date to go to an art museum together on a beautiful day, it kind of seems perfect and makes the date seem more real. (Right? I might be reading into things that aren’t really there again. Which is why I get into situations like the one about to happen.)
After the museum we walked around the artsy section of uptown Charlotte - going into record stores, old antique stores, and really just enjoying each others companies. If this were a movie, it would be a pure romance and Nicolas Sparks would’ve written it and Adam Brody would be playing me on screen. I would never actually see this movie in theaters though, I’d need the privacy of my own room, as not to let anyone see me weep openly. The sun soon set and it became too cold to really stay outside, so we once again grabbed dinner and picked an Asian place relatively close to her apartment. Once again, we picked a place that did not serve food for less than $14 a plate. We had a lovely time, I offered to pay and she declined, cordially, and we both ended up splitting it, going back to her place and watching a movie - Vanilla Sky.
At this point in time she had just adopted a 3 legged dog from the pound and although he was sweet and weirdly adorable, he plopped himself down on the couch right in between us. How can you make a move over a dog? The dog didn’t move the entire length of the movie and although we both really enjoyed it and felt a connection to it and (hopefully) to each other, nothing happened. I left that night with a pretty deep hug at the door and was on my way back home again, high on the activities of the night and confused as to what was actually happening. This is the theme of my life: Being overly happy about a situation I am completely unaware of.
I decided, as I often do after days of over analysis that I needed to be sure of what the situation was, I cannot possibly make a move on a girl unless I know for a fact that she wants me to, or unless I feel some outrageous spontaneous outburst of human connection, but I’m fairly certain that only happens in Charlie Kauffman movies. My company Christmas party was right around the corner and this was the perfect opportunity to ask her out. I called her up, chatted for a few minutes and then using at least 95% of my courage, asked her if she wanted to be my date to my company’s party. She said yes, unflinchingly. This was going to happen, she agreed to an actual date and she was going to drive 2 hours each way just to come to my party. Not to mention the fact that I would have a super hot girl to take with me to a party consisting of my fellow employees (who, of course, later questioned me on how I was able to bring such an attractive girl. I considered this a success.)
In the days leading up to the party, she asked me what she should wear and I was told that it was dressy casual, that I was wearing a sweater/tie combination and jeans. #39 decided she could get away with a nice top and jeans and it was settled. She arrived at my place a little bit before the party, deciding against bringing the 3 legged dog (though I told her she could bring him, so she wouldn’t have to rush back home to walk him, you know in case ..uh...she wanted to stay). This was disappointing as I knew that she wouldn’t be staying the night. When we got to the party, we were probably the most under dressed people there, I had been misinformed about this and as a result I ended up looking like a hobo compared to my coworkers, who apparently thought they were Justin Timberlake at the Grammys. She never said it, but I think #39 was thoroughly embarrassed. Not a good way to start a date.
However, the rest of the night at the party went well, I made great conversation, made everybody laugh and we had great (free) food. She was also partaking in the open bar, and I was sure that this was a not a bad thing. Then it came. An hour and a half into the party, she decided she needed to leave to get back to her dog. This made sense, she had already been gone 4 hours and had another 2 before she could even get home, but it was still incredibly disappointing. We left suddenly, went back to my place, where I walked her to her car, gave another hug and that was that.
For the next two weeks, she didn’t return my phone calls or texts or emails. I explained this very situation to anyone who knew both of us and tried to determine what I did wrong, because I assuredly did something wrong. I asked one of her good friends what she thought, and after some Mary Kate Olsen level sleuthing, she determined that she just didn’t like me in that way. This was OK, I thought, I can make her like me. Christmas was around the corner and I had the perfect gift. During the museum trip, she had opened up to me about her aspirations to be an interior restoration designer. Essentially, taking old homes and restoring them to their classic states, internally. I did some research and found a huge coffee table book on this very subject. I purchased it and tried to make plans with her before Christmas, so I could give it to her.
Unfortunately, she never really got back to me. So, after a Charlotte Bobcats game, my old college roommate and I drove down to her place and pulled off a secret operation, dropping off the book (all wrapped up, and with a cute note) on her doorstep. I was incredibly proud of myself for fighting off vengeance and giving her a gift about something she had mentioned in passing, but that was clearly something important to her. Aren’t these the type of things that girls go nuts for? Days later, I got a simple text message thanking me for the gift and that was that. No call, no attempt to see me again, apparently my last grasp effort wasn’t strong enough and a girl who filled my life with joy for a month just didn’t feel the same.
It was around this time that I started making music again and thus girl #39 has two songs written about her and one of which was even released on our first CD. Almost a year later, I was in Charlotte on business and staying for a few days and asked if she wanted to grab food. We talked as if nothing had ever happened and that we were just old college friends, even though the crux of our friendship had been developed post college in a one month span in the fall of 2008. We stay in touch randomly, she moved to a city with friends and people and I did the same. When she moved to this city, she came and saw my band play on tour and bought a CD. All of our mutual friends asked me to sign their CDs and I obliged and signed hers “thanks for coming, you have effected some of these songs more than you’ll ever know.” Girl #39, another scrap for my scrapbook.

What Your Television Shows Say About You P2.

ABC -

Dancing With the Stars - " I like to throw myself into a world of imagination where celebrities dance just as awkwardly as me!"

Skating With the Stars - "I like to watch shows where I'm more famous than the celebrities."

Detroit 1-8-7 - "I like the least amount of creativity in my show titles as possible. I named my dog Spot, and I named my cat, Cat. I also bask in the depression of a miserable town."

The Middle - "I really miss Everybody Loves Raymond. I really wish there were more CBS type comedies on TV."

Modern Family - "I am liberal, smart, and humble (ish). I can totally laugh at gay people, even though I still think it's a sin, and I'm totally not racist, because I'm down with Hispanic people in my TV programming."

Grey's Anatomy - "I am a woman."

FOX

House - " I like a lot of wit and depression in my doctor, because I like to live on the verge of not knowing if he will be too drunk to cure me."

Glee - "I used to sing in high school. ALOT. I got beat up or made fun of for it, but that's ok now, look at how popular this show is! Band and theater kids are cool again, right?"

Hell's Kitchen - "I don't care about cooking, I just like to see other people get destroyed (verbally, of course) by an angry British man."

Fringe - "It's been a long 5 years since the X-Files went off the air and now I don't have to smoke crack to ease that pain ever again!"

Cops - "I like to gaze at humans as if they were animals about to go into Zoo confinement."

Family Guy - "I enjoy a good non-sequitur, even if I don't get the reference. There is a 92% I am in college."

The Simpsons - "I used to be edgy, but I grew up and realized jokes were childish. Now I barely even attempt to be funny."

What Your Television Shows Say About You

In the spirit of Christmas, I decided to take some time and break down the real meaning of the shows you watch and what they say about you. Am I generalizing? Yes. Do I Care? No. Merry Christmas. I was going to do the top 20 Nielsen rated shows but they are all on CBS, and it would just be the same joke over and over. Let's start there.

CBS Shows - If you watch any show on CBS you are basically saying, " I am over 50 years old, CBS was on when I clicked the TV on and I am way too lazy to change the channel." There can be no other acceptable explanation for why CBS has 17 of the top 20 most watched shows on television. Every single show (other than maybe How I Met Your Mother) is a generic comedy filled with canned laughter or a procedural drama where witty middle aged men figure out murders.

Sidebar: If you watch 2 and a Half Men you are saying - "Hey, listen, I know this show prominently features a man that cant stop doing crack and paying hookers, and always takes the easy "gay" joke, but it's comfortable, and my brain doesnt process "humor.""

Sidebar 2: Big Bang Theory viewers are basically convincing themselves they like a smart comedy - like Arrested Development - because the comedy show is ABOUT smart people. Don't be fooled folks, just because the characters are dorks and they make 1 science reference per episode, this is NOT a smart comedy.

NBC -

The Biggest Loser - This is the only non football or CBS show to make it in the top 20. If you watch this show you are either saying, "I like to laugh at fat people," or "This show will inspire me to lose weight, but thank god I'm not getting yelled at by that scary lesbian lady who may or may not experience a touch of roid rage."

Minute to Win it - I've never seen this show, but the dude from the Friday's commercials is in it and I don't like his blonde hair/brown goatee combo. It's off putting. If you watch primetime gameshows you are saying, "listen, I worked all day long. You expect me to sit here and use my brain to follow a storyline. PASS."

The Sing Off - "I only watch this show because American Idol and Dancing with the Stars aren't currently on, but I desperately need to see amateur people attempt to make art."

The Office - "I work in a workplace, but my co-workers aren't nearly as funny, maybe I can find some comic relief here. Also, I like to pretend none of my co-workers ever change in 7 years. In my brain, no one ever leaves or gets a promotion."

Community - "I'm so hip because I get all 800 pop culture references in each episode. Also, I live each day of my life in a different theme, because I'm way too boring to actually just wake up and live my life. One day I pretend I'm a Western, one day I'm in an action movie, one day I pretend I'm a clay figurine! I'm so cutting edge!"

30 Rock - "I am the opposite of someone who enjoys the Big Bang Theory. I am smarter than you and I talk about it at great length."

Outsourced - "I am a racist."

Law & Order: ANYTHING - " I'm slightly more entertaining than people who watch CSI, but I may or may not have a cryptic fascination in the murder of small children. I also severely lust after my co-worker with an unpronounceable last night name."

Tomorrow: Fox & ABC.

Christmas: Cable!