An accident spawns a column

The timestamp on the column read 7:22 p.m., which is when the post was initiated. Four hours later, the screen was as white as a puffy cumulus cloud on an early spring day.

Writer's block -- something every journalist experiences. At least, I like to think so.

First of all, I thought about things I wanted, which didn't lead to much. Second, I thought about trying to write something funny about some people I disdain, which didn't lead to much.

Suddenly, a column idea was conceived.

"Oh crap!" THUD!

A fall from my bed caused my foot to impact the bottom-right corner of the screen, rendering the screen of my four-and-a-half-month-old laptop useless. The $550 necessity is nothing more than a paper weight now.

The formation of the distorted screen almost looks like the side of a snow-packed mountain. If only I were that lucky.

Is that the Abominable Snowman?

In a state of shock, thoughts began racing through my head.

"How am I going to finish my homework? How much is it going to cost to fix this? Should I just get a new one? How the hell did I fall off the bed?"

Speaking to the latter, it was just one of those everyday accidents that are purely inexplicable.

However, those were all afterthoughts. The accident birthed this column.

The cracked, hopeless screen, starting me in the face, screamed "column." Everything from the mishap itself to the coincidental screen formation to the newest addition to the Christmas list just made for a writing opportunity.

A new laptop immediately jumps to the top of my Christmas list. I keep telling people not to get my anything for Jesus' birthday, but I might change my tune now.

Either that, or the current one needs to be repaired. Extended warranties are something I usually laugh at, but I'm desperately wishing I had purchased one nearly five months ago. Taking into account the time, cost and effort, it might just be better to purchase a new one. At least there should be some good deals during the holiday season.

As a journalism student, a laptop is a necessity, rather than a luxury -- which could be said for pretty much any student these days. I use my computer every single day, as all journalists do. Now I'm going to have to improvise, especially with finals coming up.

In the end, this was a blessing in disguise. Sitting here with a blank screen not knowing what the hell I was going to write about could have kept me up for hours.

Who am I kidding? I'd rather be sitting here with no ideas and usable laptop screen. At least that wouldn't cost me at least $500.

But, everything happens for a reason. I'm sure said reason will present itself in some fashion soon.

So Santa, if you read this, you know what to get me. I like to think I've been a good boy this year. I guess we'll see in a few weeks.

Merry Christmas to all and to all, chip in for a new lappy for this journalism student.

I'm thankful for Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. The food, the family, the football, the fun -- everything about it just appeals to me.

It probably has to do with the fact it's also winter time, which is also my favorite time of year.

In the past, a trip to Southern California was the norm. The trek would begin on late Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning. The six-hour trip to La La land was about the only drag.

My mom, her now ex-husband and my brother made the semi-annual journey to Brentwood, Calif. Yes, the same Brentwood where Orenthal James Simpson didn't murder Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman. But that's a whole other issue.

My mom's ex-husband's family is, for lack of a better phrase, filthy rich. The three-story, $1.5 million estate (at the time) was the gathering place for well over 100 family members on turkey day. The feast was plentiful and exorbitant, as would be expected with so many guests.

As an adolescent and young teenager during the majority of these trips, some of the highlights included being able to see my cousins and other family members who came from out of town. We had a plethora of things to do, including cops & robbers, tag, hide-n-go-seek, video games and once, swimming, were on the menu.

Another attractive part of the trip was just to marvel at the size of the house. I have not been in a house so enormous since and won't be surprised if I never will again.

Since my mom divorced her ex, Thanksgiving hasn't been like that. However, it has been better than any of that material stuff.

The less-extravagant Thanksgivings have made the family get-togethers feel that much closer and special. I know there will always be a turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, Stove Top Stuffing -- the only stuffing anyone should ever eat -- Martinelli's Apple Cider, football -- even if it is a bunch of crappy games -- and most importantly, the people I love most in this world.

The late-afternoon nap that soon follows the midday feast was also something that was highly anticipated. With a tummy full of turkey and fixings, a short nap usually recharges the batteries for a mid-evening second round with the leftovers.

Speaking of leftovers, what would Thanksgiving be like without the next day. I could care less about the crazed shoppers looking to get the best deal on a plasma television. I'm talking about hot turkey sandwiches.

One piece of bread, cold turkey leftover from the day before, hot gravy -- it doesn't get any better than that. So simple, yet so satisfying.

However, the things I enjoy most are the things I am most thankful for: A loving family, an outstanding girlfriend, my health and a roof over my head. That should be the foundation for any successful and happy Thanksgiving. What more could anyone ask for?

Maybe another slice of turkey and a half-way decent football game. The turkey is doable, but I'm not holding my breath on the game.

A not-so-well kept 'Secret,' unfortunately

There aren't enough scantily-clad and attractive women, dick jokes and interesting vantage points to save the abomination that is Secret Girlfriend, on Comedy Central.

Comedy Central has put out some good and critically acclaimed shows in the past -- South Park, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, Chappelle's Show -- because they have brilliant writing, tackle issues and are actually, funny. Fancy that, a funny show on a networked dubbed Comedy Central.

Secret Girlfriend, however, is none of that -- especially funny.

First of all, the protagonist is a faceless 20-something male, as the first-person view point is to be shared by the show's audience.

The faceless man is flanked by two lackeys, Phil and Sam, who are both roughly the same age with only one thing on their mind: Sex.

A psychotic ex-girlfriend, Mandy, chases you throughout the episode, basically imposing her will on you while you're interested in another woman, Jessica, who is significantly less insane than Mandy.

What ensues is 11 minutes of beautiful women not wearing much, jokes about sex and sex acts and a psychotic ex-girlfriend constantly loving and at the same time, hating the main character, the viewer. Then the show rinses and repeats for another 11 minutes.

Critics have described the show as back-to-back 11-minute episodes, similar to that of a Saturday morning cartoon. Perhaps that should have been the target audience for this poor excuse for a TV show.

The show was developed from a Web series of the same moniker.

A TV show with good-looking women, cleavage galore and essentially soft-core pornography -- sounds like a recipe for success, no?

No, actually.

The only thing Secret Girlfriend will accomplish is to get men (anywhere from adolescence to college-age to middle-age) to watch the women in revealing outfits and bikinis until they remember the Internet exists, where there are millions of provocative pictures of women just a few clicks of the mouse away.

The format of this show is rare, and has some potential, but that's about it. As an avid first-person video gamer, I can relate to that aspect of the show. However, said potential is limited.

Comedy Central has a (poor) history of green-lighting shows that are doomed from the beginning due to poor writing, a poor premise or poor acting; and sometimes all of the above. Secret Girlfriend is such a show.

Girlfriend takes no chances, other than the occasional partial nudity, and markets itself as 22 minutes of tits and ass. Even the promotions and commercials for this show are lame. I'd like to think we're a little more sophisticated than that in America. However, I'm constantly surprised by many things in this country. It is clear that the show recognizes what sells, but that still won't be enough to have this show reach its second birthday... or even half-birthday.

Lest we forget, this is Comedy Central, which is not exactly the benchmark when it comes to TV excellence. Needless to say, there are some great shows on the network.

There have been other shows that focus on sex and sexuality, but this show does so in such a poor fashion that it is unappealing and trite.

Perhaps this show should have remained a 'Secret.'

1/5 Stars, and that's being generous.

Life Experience: Paintballing, part deux

The tension and anticipation built. It had been seven-plus years since the last undertaking. The sun blazed with an unforgiving heat. The attire only exacerbated the warmth.

Yet, the anxiousness and eagerness grew with each passing minute.

And then it happened.

"The game will start in five seconds!," exclaimed the referee.

My heart was pounding. My mask was fogging up from excessive heavy breathing. Sweat poured down my face like a waterfall because of the heat and intensity of the situation.

And then it happened.

"Go! Go! Go!," the referee yelled.

Each round is comprised of two teams. The number of players on each side is determined by how many souls are brave enough to participate in the skirmish -- usually 10 players on each side.

The assault was predetermined: Push up the right side of the dirt-laden field while solid, round, red and blue projectiles traveled at 285 feet per second, splattering on the surroundings. With only mounds of dirt, old tires and wooden electrical spools to hide behind in hopes of avoiding the round game-ending shots; the anxiety was at an all-time high.

By this time, the afore mentioned strategy for success had long-since been abandoned, which was not totally unexpected. It was time to improvise.

As the other participants held their own, the situation called for skulking up the left in hopes of flanking the opposing team. After surviving the initial onslaught and making it to the position of choice unmolested, things were falling into place.

I looked down the barrel of the gun and had an unsuspecting player in my sight.

And then it happened.

BAM! Like Emeril Lagasse bombarding a gumbo dish with garlic, a plethora of paint balls hailed upon on my left elbow.

The shock of the shots, mixed with the sting was perplexing.

I had just been tagged by a teenage girl.

Despite the elimination, the anxiety quickly turned to excitement and eagerness to start the next round, as revenge was definitely the on the menu for the next round. Needless to say, the revenge was oh so sweet -- sweet like a cream cheese frosting on a fresh carrot cake, which, incidentally was the birthday cake.

Still, I will forever have to live with the fact that I was eliminated by a teenager. But, that wouldn't hamper the rest of the day. That would be foolish.

The day was to celebrate a friend's birthday. A friend who had been through a lot of family issues recently. It was a nice escape for him and a great time for the rest of us.

Paintball is a physical activity. However, it isn't the best activity for those who are, shall we say, "less-than physically fit," such as myself.

The aches and pains were prevalent from the afternoon of intense, brute toil. The next morning, on the other hand, is when the soreness made its presence known.

Getting out of bed was a chore in itself. The bruises throbbed from the multiple impacts. The all-day struggle to move after the fun, yet strenuous day, was expected. Yet, it actually felt good, in a weird way. It felt like something had been accomplished -- a good time with family and friends while doing something out of the norm.

Monday reared its ugly head everything returned to normal. Maybe it'll be another seven years before paintballing is the outing of choice.

And then it happened.

"Paintball next weekend. You in?," a text from a friend read.

In the words of the robot cop from Futurama:











Ahh yeah!

Life Experience: Paintballing

The tension and anticipation built. It had been seven-plus years since the last undertaking. The sun blazed with an unforgiving heat. The attire only exacerbated the warmth.

Yet, the anxiousness and eagerness grew with each passing minute.

And then it happened.

"The game will start in five seconds!," exclaimed the referee.

My heart was pounding. My mask was fogging up from excessive heavy breathing. Sweat poured down my face like a waterfall because of the heat and intensity of the situation.

And then it happened.

"Go! Go! Go!," the referee yelled.

The round is comprised of two teams. The number of players on each side is determined by how many souls are brave enough to participate in the skirmish -- usually around 10 players on each side.

The assault was predetermined: Push up the right side of the dirt-laden field while solid, round, red and blue projectiles traveled at 285 feet per second, splattering on the surroundings. With only mounds of dirt, old tires and wooden electrical spools to hide behind in hopes of avoiding the round game-ending shots; the anxiety was at an all-time high.

By this time, the afore mentioned strategy for success had long-since been abandoned, which was not totally unexpected. It was time to improvise.

As the other participants held their own, the situation called for skulking up the left in hopes of flanking the opposing team. After surviving the initial onslaught and making it to the position of choice unmolested, things were falling into place.

I looked down the barrel of the gun and had an unsuspecting player in my sight.

And then it happened.

BAM! Like Emeril Lagasse bombarding a gumbo dish with garlic, a plethora of paint balls hailed upon on my left elbow.

The shock of the shots, mixed with the sting was perplexing.

I had just been tagged by a teenage girl.

Despite the elimination, the anxiety quickly turned to excitement and eagerness to start the next round, as revenge was definitely the on the menu for the next round. Needless to say, the revenge was oh so sweet -- sweet like a cream cheese frosting on a fresh carrot cake, which, incidentally was the birthday cake.

Still, I will forever have to live with the fact that I was eliminated by a teenager. But, that wouldn't hamper the rest of the day. That would be foolish.

The day was to celebrate a friend's birthday. A friend who had been through a lot of family issues recently. It was a nice escape for him and a great time for the rest of us.

Paintball is a physical activity. However, it isn't the best activity for those who are, shall we say, "less-than physically fit," like myself.

The aches and pains were prevalent from the afternoon of intense, brute toil. The next morning, on the other hand, is when the soreness made its presence known.

Getting out of bed was a chore in itself. The bruises throbbed from the multiple impacts. The all-day struggle to move after the fun, yet strenuous day was expected. Yet, it actually felt good, in a weird way. It felt like something had been accomplished. I had a good time with family and friends and did something out of the norm.

Monday reared its ugly head everything returned to normal. Maybe it'll be another seven years before paintballing is the outing of choice.

And then it happened.

"Paintball next weekend. You in?," a text from a friend read.

In the words of the robot cop from Futurama:











Ahh yeah!