be my twit

It's getting to be a tradition around here -- fail to come up with a cohesive post about a specific topic, and instead string out a few aimless, lightweight observations, Larry King-style. Damn, it feels good to link to the 1997 Onion, like getting in a time traveling elevator to go high five a sweet old pal before he eventually turned into a dick.

Dear new-ass iPhone that will (hopefully) be released this summer, just in time for my 40th birthday and the expiration of my cell phone contract,

I am planning on buying you, you little bastard, especially if you fulfill the following requests:
1) better camera, like game-changingly good camera, like ohnotheydint-level or better camera
2) video recording and sending capability (I know you're trying), and not so shitty as to make it a waste of time
3) copy and damn paste
4) MMS
5) Some cool new shit that I ain't thought of yet but blows me away when you unveil it.

In other news, Hans Bungle is now taking Twitter for a test spin. You can check my tweets (?) here. Or subscribe to me or whatever. Follow me. Stalk me. Harass me. Grope me. I don't honestly know how this shit works. If any of you are on it, let me know and I will subscribe to your ass as well.

I got some new spex. A little outside my comfort zone, bordering on dreaded retro/hipster/poseur territory, but I like 'em. And we would have lost a few hundred dollars of flex money if we didn't spend it. Go ahead and give me your feedback. And yes I realize I look a little bit like an ape. That's just me, not the glasses.

The stretch of recent celeb deaths and school shootings and plane crashes has gotten to me more than usual. It's like we all have our little systems in place that allow us not to think about dying, to live in a state of semi-denial about the ultimate and overruling fact that death is speeding towards us and doesn't care if we're ready. Then a few bad deaths, a few too many reminders placed too closely together, and it all comes back into focus. I'm gonna die. My kid's gonna die. Our legacies are meaningless; we will be dead. Buried. Gone. Unable to participate. It's all so temporary. May as well do the things you want to do. Except you, would-be axe-murderer!

As my pop's health got worse and worse, he somehow kept a sense of humor about it. That was his defense. Part of me wishes he had experienced a last minute religious epiphany, real or bullshit, that would allow him to approach the end with some sense of optimism and hope. But he didn't. He was miserable and scared and disappointed and he didn't try to hide it. That's genuine courage.

But he would crack jokes, some funny, some not, to all the nurses and doctors and loved ones who gathered around his bed every day. One of his favorite things to say, upon receiving some grim news from a doctor, was "Will I be able to play in the Big Game?" It wasn't that funny to start out with, but it somehow became funnier as it became more and more ridiculous. I hope I am as brave as he was when my number comes up.

I have a couple ideas for blogstuff around here. One of them is "The Verbungle Interview Series" or "Interviews With the Greats" in which we IM-terview friends and acquaintances, focusing on their one area of true passion and/or expertise. My first thought was to interview B. New about the true nature of funk.

Another one, which frankly could be incorporated into that one, is "History Makes the Call" in which you would submit a moment from your past (preferably with documentation) and we would all weigh in on whether you were a victim or your time, ahead of your time, or just eternally clueless. For instance, you could send in a photo of your favorite jacket from 1989 and we could all tell you whether or not it stands up to history's cold, honest eye. Or you could show us a pic of your high school crush who everybody thought was the bee's knees, and we would all be the judge of that. Or you could tell us that you once went to see "Top Gun" twice in the same day, and we could tell you if that means you are exceptionally cool or an unsalvageable disaster. Basically, "Mortified" with more pics.

I am trying to keep this bizznitch alive, and we'll need some more interactivity to make it happen. Join the crusade.

How am I supposed to root for the Yankees this year? How am I supposed to get fired up about their new stadium? It just gets harder and harder each year. Yuck. Give me a few weeks, anyway.

For like the 6th straight weekend I did nothing that could even generously be called exercise. I have kind of lost my Saturday hoops game and haven't started a weeknight game yet. The thing is, I don't consider myself a particularly sedentary or physically lazy person. I love to run around and play sports. I just need a ball. I had a plan that I was going to start running to and/or from work every day or every other day. It's about a mile and a half each way. Then I thought about it and figured my knees would probably take a beating, and I would hate to suffer my career-ending knee injury doing something as lame as jogging to work. So I guess nothing.