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24 Season 3: Live. 2 Down.

Starting 2100 hours (9pm) right now.

Sleep Status:
Cruising. Although, Jack did get knocked out for about 30-45 minutes. Good to know I have a Power Nap Voucher if I need it around 5 am...

The "Facilities" Status:
One tally mark on the wall.

Food/Water Status:
Still hungry. Not as much as earlier. Maybe I've gone into starvation mode. There's Ramen Noodles, tuna, and cream corn in the pantry if the hunger pangs start to blur my vision.

Psychological Status:
This is gonna take longer than I thought...

Round 3. Here I come.

24 Season 3: Live. 1 Down.

5 to go...

First disc down. Not bad. Not hooked. But I don't really have a choice...

About to start 17oo (5pm) and it's only 1600 right now. Making good time.

Sleep Status:
No problem.

The "Facilities" Status:
I could use a leak.

Food/Water Status:
I'm hungry. The about two hours ago kind of hungry. This could get tricky...

Psychological Status:
Not as psyched.

Game Time

All right boys and girls. Put the kids to bed. The seal is broken. Commence lockdown.

T-minus 3 minutes and counting...

Sleep Status:
Well rested. Woke up at 0730. Back to bed by 0930. Woke up again at 1100. Good to go.

The "Facilities" Status:
Taken care of 1 and 2 this morning. Check.

Food/Water Status:
No food. Limited water. Could be a tactical error. Stay tuned.

Psychological Status:
Psyched. All signs a go.

It's time.

Let's do this.

David Blane-like

My History-making Undertaking

As I said on myspace, 1pm TODAY is go-time on the Full Season Sit Through. And like David Blane, the master magician or demon possessed regular guy, I will be updating you on my condition.

To all my supporters, thanks. Without you I'd just be, well lonely. I only wish I'd recruited financial support and sponsorships for this history-making undertaking. $1-$10 if I make it. Like a Walk-a-thon. I'd've paid off another 6 months of retirement.

To all the naysayers, the nitpicks, and the negative ne'er-say-wells, I know Jack probably pees during commercials. Maybe even grabs a frostie during commercials. And I know the DVDs don't have commercials. But that makes this no less daunting a mission. No less courageous an endeavor. No less legitimate a cause. I do this for me, for you, for the country. I do this for all the kids out there who pray every night to be a spy like me and Jack. We were born for this. It's our calling. Our mandate. It's who we are.

I leave you with a quote from Emilio Estevez as Billy the Kid in "Young Guns" (which coincidentally starred Keifer Sutherland, also known as Jack Bauer).

"Reap the whirlwind, Murphy. Reap it."


24 Season 3: Live

Season 6 of the Tv show "24" is starting in January. I just finished Season 2. Season 5 is out on dvd this week, I think. Desperate times call for desperate measures. It's time to get caught up.

So I'm planning a "Full Season Sit Through." That's right. The whole season in ONE sitting. It's drastic, but necessary. If Jack Bauer has to do it, so do I. I'm planning on resting up, and locking myself in. Whatever "hour" Season 3 starts, I start. No calls to the outside world. No news. No internet. Just me and Jack Bauer saving the world or the President or whatever Season 3 is about. 24 hours straight for Jack; 24 hours straight for me.

Some have asked what about food? Will you have people bringing it in to you? What about the bathroom? I've thought about these things. I considered ordering pizza and having it delivered. I thought about eating whatever cold canned vegetables were in the pantry when hunger struck. I even contemplated hooking up an IV and pumping fluids in my body so I don't get dehydrated. But that's cheating. I'll eat when Jack Bauer eats. I'll sleep when Jack Bauer sleeps. I'll pee when Jack Bauer pees. I never see him eat on the show. 24 hours comes and goes and he neither eats nor sleeps nor pees. The only sleep comes when he passes out from torture. Or codes. I'll eat and sleep and pee when he does. Besides, if I'm not eating or drinking, why would I need to pee? My blood, sweat, and tears should handle my bodily fluids for this day.

Some of you think I won't make it. You think I might die first. With all the twists and turns, sleep deprivation, starvation, and dehydration, you feel my heart will give out. My head explode. Or I'll crack. Either give up, or burst into fits of uncontrollable emotion. Tears and rage. Psycho-babble and gibberish. Well I sit here to tell you I've mapped this out. I've trained for this. I've dreamt of this. I was born for this. This is who I am. I'm a spy. (I neither confirm nor deny any involvement with a covert agency.) Hear ye this: as surely as the people at CTU and the White House and Joint Chiefs last 24 straight hours under such intense, heart-stopping suspense, so too will I. You can chalk it up to previous experience (not an admission of covert activity) or count it as practice (not an admission of recent recruitment into a covert agency). I've never cracked under torture before, and I'm not going to crack now. I will do this. It will be a success.

And Season 4 beware.

I'm coming for you.


Thanksgiving Vacation

Chapter 2: Nightmare over Elm Street

Apparently I've slept through take-off. Last thing I remember I felt very uncomfortable. Physically and mentally. I had walked down the aisle to my seat, the middle seat, next to the girl who was already asleep with her legs draped over MY armrest. Who DOES that? We had just boarded. I get it, girl. You want what you want when you want it. You can have my armrest, just don't LAP OVER into my seat. Reluctantly, and slowly I might add, she rearranged so that her feet were now propped against the window. Whatever. As long as you don't BUST THE WINDOW or invade my personal space, I don't care what makes you happy in your own seat. All I was thinking, "Please, Lord. Don't let anyone sit on the other side of me. That way I can move over and let Paris Hilton lounge on my armrest."

As quickly as I said "Amen," a 6'6" behemoth stepped on the plane. And hunched over, made his way closer and closer to my row. He made eye contact with row 37. Not good. Sure enough. His seat was the one my heart claimed with all its might. The one it longed for. Craved after. Prayed over. I named him Dr. Robitussin. What for his coughing-sniffling-sneezing-so-that-I-can't-rest-at-all medicine. He coughs into his shoulders, mostly the right one, the one next to me. And afterwards he sniffles twice. Like he does coke. Nice guy though. I just didn't want to talk to him. Not then. Not now. Not ever. I'm still grumpy my prayer wasn't answered like I wanted. I feel like Paris Hilton to my right. We're both pouting. We didn't want him.

But the lady in the row in front of us, she's very bizarre. I remember she was talking to herself, trying to make conversation with the two empty seats next to her. I could endure that vs. Dr. Robitussin and Paris Hilton I reasoned. I used to work with people with Schizophrenia. And they never invaded my personal space. Or coughed on me. "Lord, please don't let anyone sit next to her so I can go up there and sleep." Then I saw it. The smooth-talking 40-something sitting across the aisle from her. WITH the college freshman.

And I was out like a light.

That was my last recollection. And now I find myself sometime after passing out and blast-off, and this is what I've woken up to. THE TWILIGHT ZONE. Dr. Robitussin is still doing his coughing, sniffling, sneezing bit all over me, Paris Hilton has her feet WEDGED under MY legs, the self-conversationalist lady in front of me is sprawled out like a three year old in the fetal position across her ENTIRE ROW, and the smooth-talking 40-something and college freshman are asleep, awkwardly cuddling each other. I think a little throw-up just came up.

How long was I alseep? Where am I? Are you freaking kidding me?! I can't take this! I need air! I need to SCREAM!! Surely I can finish jostling open the window Paris Hilton put all her weight into. I think I'm passing out...


Thanksgiving Vacation

Chapter 1: 4am

"Thanks again, bro." I shut the car door as Woodside pulls away. Grabbing my crap, I slowly walk into the airport. My steps are peaceful and deliberate. Prepared and unhurried. It's 10:00 at night, and my flight doesn't leave for another 8 hours.

I know, that's a tad early even taking security checks into account. But I really had no other option. Orlando's about an hour away, and between my 6.20am departure time and needing to be at the airport an hour early to check in, well that put me leaving Merritt Island at the 4:00 hour. In the MORNING. I wasn't about to wake up that early, and I certainly couldn't ask someone else to wake up that early to give me a lift if I wasn't even willing to wake up that early to give myself a lift. So 10:00 the night before it is.

I'm pretty bored. Just sitting around. I watched the Orlando Magic blow tonight. Their lead that is. Up 7 with 5 minutes left, they ended up losing by double digits. Memphis went on a 19-2 run or something. Gross. AND. I had to pay $5 for airport bottled water. Just to keep sitting in the bar-pub-sports grille place. When they were winning, I justified it as "I've got nothing better to do, and it's just $5." Once they lost, I rended my clothes and covered myself in sackcloth and ashes. There may have even been wailing.

I've gotten to talk to some friends though. That's passed time. I've read some. Played Tetris on my cell phone. Sat on the floor by the ONLY OUTLET in all of Orlando International Airport. I thought I'd sleep, but it's 3am and I haven't. I'm supposed to call someone and wake them up at 2am and 4am, but I figured 1 call at 3am is a neat compromise. Ha ha. She just answered. Short conversation. The phone was ringing, and I almost hung up, but she hit the phone thinking it was her alarm I guess. Because there was about 15 seconds of rustling and confusion. Then the groggy, crackled hello. HA HA. Fun times. Gotta love the "what-the-heck-just-happened-it's-the-middle-of-the-night-and-my-phone-just-went-nuts?!" phone calls.

So I just woke up to the sound of intense beeping. Apparently 4am is primetime for construction inside the Orlando International Airport. Real cool. I guess I got mine. I know I wasn't in the deepest sleep of my life, seeing that it only lasted 30 MINUTES and the chairs and armrests I contoured myself over weren't Swedish Tempur-pedics, but you have to see me there. Just cuddled in a mess right in front of your eyes. You saw me when I was awake. I go to sleep and that means you can start working? And why the incessant beeping? Do you have to constantly BACK UP whatever that tall tractor thing is? Ever heard of INSIDE voices? Your friends are standing right next to you. If I can hear you, IN MY SLEEP, I PROMISE they can hear you. Sorry, I guess I woke up on the wrong side of...that CHAIR. Are you kidding me? People are already lining up to check in their bags. For a 6:20 flight. It's 4 AM! We have another hour. To sit. To sleep. To be merry! Uhhh. Here we go...

Gross. I'm standing in line. Zombie-like. This smooth-talking 40 year old is hitting on a college fresman. Who is ugly. That was blunt. But seriously. She's ugly. Did I just say that? I'm standing right behind her, and she's on the ground (which I was jealous of, and contemplated joining in until...) with her shirt rising up her back. And her pants riding down her, um, rump. And sure enough this massive crack has TWO tats. Yes, TWO tattoos. One for each cheek. I think a little puke just came up. I'd say I wouldn't blame the man, for he knows not what I see. But her face isn't such a masterpiece of body art either. And from the looks of it, he doesn't seem to mind. Either he's non-judgemental or desperate. I'm increasingly leaning toward desperate. It's 4 IN THE MORNING. Everyone's judgemental at 4 am. And what is with ALL THIS CHATTER? Isn't it understood you don't talk to strangers? Especially at such an ungodly hour?! It's true. Nothing good happens after 4am.

Oy. It's 4am; he must be lonely.

To Be Continued...


Around the Political World in 80 Words (or More)...

Vol. 1.5

Sip. Don't Slurp.

Where's my Pepto? I'm stumbling in the dark, squinting my way around the room, searching for my new bestfriend. I feel like Toodles from the movie "Hook" searching for his marbles. My brother's popping Champagne corks and I'm cracking Pepto caps. What a way to wake up. I went to bed early, feeling increasingly good--now I see I was delusional--about the prospects for the Senate remaining in GOP hands. With only two precints left, Virginia was still in GOP hands. Montana, I decided, we could lose, if Allen and Talent (Missouri, who also had a significant lead at bedtime) and Corker (Tennessee) all won.


I need to take a swig.

Missouri blew out of the water, considering, and Talent has conceded.
+1 Dems

Tennessee did stay in the GOP column. Barely.
No net gain.

And Virginia is now being led by Webb with a recount pending.
+1 Dems

In other words I was way off. Which I'm ok with. I'm not ok with it in the sense that America, for possibly the first time in her history, just elected the Obstructionist Party into the majority in the House and quite possibly the Senate. A party that truly "did nothing," except for obstructing Republican measures, has found a way to dupe the American people. This happens a lot in the 6th year of presidencies. I just didn't see it going this badly.

Hold on. I need another swig.

I had high hopes that many of these seats would fall to the GOP, albeit in close races. But my worst fear is still being manifested. I obviously read too much into the GOP surge that didn't end up being much. And perhaps the surge that I really thought was materializing just needed a couple more days. Or maybe it staved off a complete wipeout. The GOP is down close to 30 seats in the House, and its now two-seat majority in the Senate is up in the air in Virginia and Montana. Basically every Senate seat fell the Dems way last night. I guess I see where that London newspaper was coming from when, after the President won reelection, its headline read "How could 59,054,087 people be so dumb?" I have more respect for people's votes and their right to do so free from harrassment, but I understand the sentiment.


I'm truly saddened. I feel like the Denver Broncos in Superbowl 24. They were slaughtered 55-10 by the 49ers. I know life goes on. I'll go about my day doing whatever it is I do in retirement; oh wait, politics is what I do. And I got worked. Hard.

I'm mad. Not at the voters. A little at those who didn't vote. A lot at the Republicans for losing their way. But nothing is worse than having no cable tv, and HAVING to watch this shalacking via live video stream online with Chris Matthews, Tim Russert, and Keith Olbermann. Or on CBS with Katie Couric. Or ABC with George Stephanopoulos. Or this morning with Diane Sawyer and Charlie Gibson. Their glee could not be contained. And while it's great that they vote, it's not that they're cheering on every Democratic gain. That's for Algore's tv station to do. Let's get Karl Rove in there announcing with Sean Hannity on ABC, and let's get Bill O'Reilly at least on the other side of Chris Matthews. Put Rush Limbaugh right there with Katie. No, let's remove Katie. Next election. They got this one. Now switch it. The world would go into convulsions. Time would stop. I've learned that the liberal media is a reality, but I thought they'd hide it a little better than that, if for no other reason than to keep up the charade that they are unbiased. Maybe since they won, they realized it didn't matter anymore.

I just threw the bottle cap across the room.

But I'm realizing, or at least as I peed this morning I convinced myself, that most people don't care about the midterm elections. Some sure. But not most. When we had control of Congress during the Clinton debacle, I was more worried about the President. Although it didn't hurt having the majority when he committed his "high crimes and misdemeanors." So maybe I'll take solace in the fact that most people didn't see the monumental negligence of electing obstructionist, elitist, anti-military radicals into leadership positions. I know some who were elected were moderates, but those votes are now translated into electing unflinchingly liberal leaders into chairmanships. The first woman Speaker of the House will be the most liberal in our nation's history.

I need a straw.

The secret hopes of Conservatives was that this would strike to the heart of the Republican party. And apparently many more than I had hoped, stayed home to ensure this. Not so much to sabotage the party, more so to discipline the party. For betraying its principles. For indulging in pork barrel excesses. For passing more government instead of limiting government. For letting power corrupt. And apparently more voters than I ever dreamed, really felt that Republicans alone were to blame for Washington's corruption.

And now the Conservatives who stayed home got what they wanted. A wake up call to the party. But to the detriment of the country. Taxes will be repealed. Judges won't be filibustered; they'll be voted down. Including Supreme Court nominess. Government will get even bigger. Medicare. Social Security. Medicaid. Defense will go down. Anti-terrorism measures will be neutered. And not just the Republican ideas will be reversed. A whole rash of liberal measures, 12 years suppressed, will be spewing from every liberal oriface, glorified on every media outlet, and vetoed by the lame-duck President for the next two years. And the impeachment process will begin. If only to redeem the legacy of Mr. William Jefferson Clinton.

Most polls show 71 out of every 100 people think we'll be hit by another terrorist strike in the near future.

Make it 72.

I'm out of Pepto. I just can't catch a break.