Blog Writer Searches for Possible Book Names

Following the unprecedented success of this Blog's Thanksgiving recess, Mark Bigger is considering writing a book. Blog readers can help him choose from the following:

(a) Blogging and IM Away Messages - True Art for the Artless
(b) My Life, My Journey: Being Jerry Lewis In a Dean Martin World
(c) Bachelor Attrition: The Epidemic, How to Avoid it, and Surviving In a Stricken World
(d) Starting your own blog page: How to find out how good of friends you have after all

Additional submissions will be accepted in the spirit in which they are given.

Thanksgiving is now past. We can thank the Lord for once again being able to consume enough food in one weekend to feed Africa for an entire year.

Mark Bigger is Part of a Team that Sets a New Record the Day After Thanksgiving

Wal-Mart set a new record for one day sales with $1.52 billion dollars of merchandise sold. Wal-Mart communications Director Daisy Duke credited Mark Bigger for the record day.

"Mark Bigger's choice of the special five pack of Hanes Crewneck white T-shirts got us to $1.52 billion." She said, pointing proudly to an enlarged picture of Mark proudly sporting one of the shirts. "Mr. Bigger's sense of style and appreciation for fine merchandise is what has made Wal-Mart the number #1 retail store in American."

The blogger notes that the white T-Shirt is the most important part of any bachelor's wardrobe. The wearing of a white T-Shirt without additional upper anatomy coverage screams out "I'm a bachelor. Feed me!"

Dinner invitations can be sent to mjbigger@juno.com

Security was tight over the Thanksgiving holiday as first President Bush and then former First Lady Hillary Clinton visited Iraq.

The extra security was deemed necessary to protect President Bush from terrorists and Senator Clinton from the troops.

Country Music Antics Once Again Provide Entertainment for Blog

Country Music Star Wynonna Judd married today. This is her second marriage. Her marriage came fresh on the heels of being charged with drunken driving. Wynonna claims that she was drinking on that night to "celebrate" the marriage. Your blog creator suggests that her new husband must have been doing a lot of drinking to propose marriage in the first place. With the drinking propensities of both the bride and groom, this could be a country western marriage made in heaven.

The groom was Wynonna's long time bodyguard. Wynonna reportedly gushed to a friend, "I never dreamed of dating my bodyguard. But after watching how well it worked out for Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner in that one movie I thought 'who better to take care of me than my bodyguard?'" Who indeed (FINANCIAL EDITORS NOTE: When seeking personal protection, paying by the hour is a much better investment than marrying someone and placing half of your personal assets at risk)? Wynonna continued "If Whitney would have stayed with Kevin after the movie instead of marrying Bobby, she'd still be tops on the billboards."

The groom, D.R. Roach, is not an actual doctor. But his name is consistent with Wynonna Judd husband line of male accesories. Wynonna's first husband was named "Arch B. Kelly." The names of Wynonna's husbands has led to speculation that Wynonna would be happiest with an actual rap star instead of "Rap Stars In Name Only." P. Diddy is currently on the market for a quick 2 to 3 year romantic relationship, but their publicists have denied them being anything more than "just friends." "Just friends" in the entertainment world is a euphemism for "the parents do not approve."

The Divorce Lawyers Association of Nashville lauded the new marriage. "People who take risks and make mistakes contribute more to the world at large." stated George Huxtable, an attorney for several recently divorced celebrities, "people who have taken risks and made mistakes of this nature have paid for two of my boys to get an education at Harvard."

Fear is Often Well Founded

People often feel that they are able to share their fears with me that they wouldn't share with anyone else. For that, I'm deeply honored.

Within the last several days I have been hit with a string of increasing frantic inquiries as to the possibility of this blogs discontinuation through the Thanksgiving Holiday. Although I have not given up hope in saving blog readers from such trauma, I must be perfectly candid, your fears on this topic may come to pass. I may, in fact, not be able to provide the searing insights into life in this world that you have grown to love so much.

Buck up. Remember that fear is not our enemy. Neither is fear of fear. It's the fear of fearing fear that gets you everytime.

Gratefulness for My Blog's Readers

You could be reading anything: Stock reports, Foxe's Book of Martyrs, Calamari on Torts, any of the epilogues to War and Peace, but instead you are reading this blog.

You could watching the WWF, enjoying reruns of Married with Children, or sitting through the BBC 6 hour version of Pride and Prejudice, but instead, you're reading this blog.

You could be thinking out a possible solution to world hunger, working to rid the world of the common fly (or cold), but instead, you read this blog.

Suggestions have been made as to why. People have speculated that readership has reached such epic proportions because of the need for daily inspirational messages. Fortunately for this blog, they were ready for a change from the same old words spoken by Oswald Chambers, Watchmen Nee, and Ann Landers. For all of those people out there, this is your blog.

For the fact remains that great spiritual and geo-political insights are on this site. Rest assured that I am fully aware that people read this blog for the incredible challenge of finding them.

To those 5 hardy souls. . . . . my thanks. And here's to finding Waldo.

Glenn "Rhinestone Cowboy" Campbell has taken country music back to old school. Glen has becoming increasingly annoyed with young country stars that sing about lives they've never lived.

"Glen's angry that half of the country musicians out there are only casual drinkers," stated a long time fan, "They don't know how to get rip roaring drunk, get behind the wheel, crunch some foreign-made automobile and then top of the evening with a friendly kick or two at local law enforcement personnel. How can they sing about this stuff?"

Arizona police were not amused at Mr. Campbell's antics this evening when he hit a Toyota Camry, drove off, and upon being called on at home by Phoenix Police at 5 PM, had an alcohol level of .15. Mr. Campbell visibly struggled with the idea of being taken into police custody, placing his foot near a sergeants groin. Friends of the "Rhinestone Cowboy" claimed that he was just warming up.

"Glen was able to walk to his car under his own power" stated Kelly Winslow, a long time well wisher, "back when he lived with Tanya Tucker he'd have the bouncers carry him to the vehicle and still make it home. All this talk about a person who blows a .15 being too drunk to drive is ridiculous. This is Glen Campbell for crying out loud!"

Mr. Campbell's lawyers are looking at several defenses, including the fact that he could not have possibly been too drunk at 5 PM. Jimmy Buffet was just getting off work.

Natalie Mains of the Dixie Chicks once again forgot that the only worthwhile things that she can do with her mouth are to eat and to sing. NM went on "The Today Show" and talked about foreign policy, undoubtedly an area of expertise after two world tours of Hilton Hotels and three hours of watching National Geographic Specials.

The Dixie (although the south has disavowed them) Chicks (a term undoubtedly used to give people confidence in their intelligent analysis of world events) have ruffled enough feathers to have received death threats, something which Ms. Mains believes is unconscionable. Meanwhile, in light of a Dixie Chick hit, members of the Country Western Community plan to perform a song called "Goodbye Natalie" at the CMA Awards.

Toby Keith will be proud.

There's something inherently depressing about Mondays. In fact, Monday is perfect for writing poetry. Something dark and depressing, like a poem about love.

Let's move on to literature and make a blog reader poll out of it. At the end of Sir Walter Scott's "Ivanhoe," should Ivanhoe have (1) run off with Rebekah, (2) hooked up with Rowena, or (3) continued his interesting life by keeping his armor on and going out to find new worlds to conquer?

EDITORS NOTE: In the realm of Sir Walter Scott, "Kenilworth" reigns supreme.

Mark Bigger, although holding views distinctly different from the public at large, likes to keep an ear tuned to the opinion of his readers. Your opinion matters and if it is well stated and lines up with mine, then it may be worth mentioning without ridicule on the blog.

In order for honesty in blogging to continue, it is essential that the one topic that bloggers almost always seem to avoid be discussed with candor. Of course, I'm referring to writers block.

Writers block is an incredible tribute to the whimsical fancies of the human brain. When it comes and when it goes no before hand knows. Mark Twain suffered from it. Hemingway very well might have killed himself to overcome it. The fear of it lives in everyone who has ever faced a blank screen or paper with no rationale thought in mind.

Writers block is real. Writers block is dangerous. Writers block is to be feared.

Writers block has conquered Mark Bigger for the evening. Good night

There's many things of great importance to the scientific and literary world that I could write in my blog. But I leave the intellectual stuff to Calvin and Hobbes.

"Here's some interesting blog lore you might not have known. The first known blog was started by a college student at a small school in Belfast in 1997. While working on a paper, drinking an ale, and listening to U2, the student started writing down random thoughts that had occurred to him throughout the day. After two more ales, he decided to post them to the internet. No one read what he wrote and he promptly forgot about it.

Four years went by. Blogging went big. In fact, blog hosting became a lucrative form of capitalist exploitation. The student (now a graduate student in the eastern United States majoring in organizing peace protests) received an email from a friend with a blog link. He looked at the link, remembered his earlier ramblings, and wished he still had access to a cheap pint of ale so he could start another blog of his own."

Doesn't that sound like a real blogging story to you? I particular like the random rambling involving lots of college campuses, capitalist oppression, and alcohol - a longer version of this would get rave reviews from the NY Times. In fact, I'll make up the review as Iwould like it done.

"Mr. Bigger writes with all of the poignancy of a sinking ship with no life rafts. His insight into humanity and the underground culture of blogging is keenly sympathetic to the human plight of the blogging community. Characters, their hopes and dreams, philosophy and daily lives, come alive through the surreal imagination of a new word artist of the literary scene. His book will soon be in use as coasters on coffee tables everywhere."

If it took 70 people to arrest Michael Jackson, we better plan on sending a lot more troops to track down Saddam.

Do something that will be remembered forever. Make a mistake on your taxes.

The Bakersfield Effect

Oak Brook (my school) students who have made Bakersfield their Bar Prep home are now a perfect 7 for 7 on the California Bar Exam. Tim Swanson, Jeremy Swanson, Jesse Whitten, Clayton Campbell, Isaac St. Lawrence, Seth O'Dell and yours truly are the successful bar candidates.

Many ignorant people have attributed Bakersfield Bar success to a perceived lack of entertainment. Less distraction = higher bar passage rate is their rationale. Many others have attributed it to a desire to leave (and that a law license is their ticket out of town). But informed individuals take a different view.

"The character and commitment of the Bakersfield 7 (not a cinema complex. Only single cinemas are allowed in town) is of the highest caliber," stated a local recruiter for the Marine Corp, "I've never heard of the California Bar, but they will be a credit to any bar they enter."

Other leading citizens point to the fine bar prep precedents that the bachelor digs affectionately called "The Legal Pad"
established.

"It's all about getting the maximum out of your brain with proper exertion and relaxation," said Broken Chickens frontman Chickie Van Halen, "with the appropriate junk food eating techniques, the right movies watched, and proper hazing of each other, you to can pass the bar or be part of a successful band."

Self-help guru Timmy Robbins chimed in, "It's about being able to walk over the red hot Bakersfield earth barefooted without being burned," he said, alluding to the lack of an area shoe store, "with the confidence to do that, the Bakersfield 7 absolutely had to pass the bar. Failure wasn't a possibility."

Terrible waste in our institutions of commerce

I went to the bank today and received quite a shock: one of the auburn haired tellers has dyed her hair blonde.

There's much talk about the pros and cons of dyed hair. I will not stoop to such low levels of discourse in my blog.
Instead, we'll discuss the artificially created need in our society for artificial blonde hair (and the artificial people that so often take residence in that hair).

When I was younger (and significantly less of an egalitarian) I used to believe that the same chemicals that created natural blonde hair had an adverse effect on happy, healthy brain cells. Today, my views on the subject are much more narrowly tailored. Contrary to popular opinion, natural blondes have about the same chance of being intelligent as normal human beings. But artificial blondes? Ahem.

First of all, let's discuss what causes non-blondes to want to be blondes. It's sad but true, but our society has created a perception that blondes are somehow more attractive than their counterparts. Furthermore, the sort of blondes (Marilyn Monroe, Sharon Stone) normally used in this same propaganda campaign generally tend to be of a lower IQ than the larger female population (can I hear an "amen" from women readers?). The die is therefore cast for artificial blondes. They are emulating a "type" of blonde that walks over street vents at the wrong time and doesn't have the sense to get off it before the wind blows. The Ann Coulter type of blonde is as foreign to them as singing "Happy Birthday" without heavy breathing.

All of which leads me back to the great tragedy at today's bank. Good customer relations is built on trust in competency as well as character. When a perfectly (well, maybe not perfectly) attractive woman decides to dye her hair blonde, it leads you to question her intelligence. The sort of competency I expect from my bank is now in question. I counted my money three times before I walked out the door.

And now I am back to the terrible task of shopping around for a new financial institution. Tragedy strikes the financial district.

Feel free to contact me for more information on consumer trust and business strategies. Rest assured that this entire article was in no way connected to dinner last night.

(PS: I am not weighing in on dyeing and coloring hair in general. Best save the rest of the nails for my coffin for a more appropriate time, like my funeral)

Follow-up: Natalie and Keira should eat more real food.

Today in New York, an estimated 153,245 slices of pizza was consumed. There's a moral to the story. Once again, I was in the wrong place at the right time.

Some of you (thanks Mom and Dad) have written in to say that I'm not as bad as I make myself out to be (see ambitiously lazy article below). I appreciate the spirited defense of me from my own attacks. The logical thing would be to procure a strait jacket.

I would like to point out that articles like the one on name dropping contain what is often referred to as "self deprecating humor." I often indulge in such humor (great material availability).

Thank you for allowing me to clarify the vicious attacks upon this blogs owner. Together, we can build a better blog.

Name dropping. It's everywhere.

Name dropping defined is "mentioning someone to someone else with the intention of impressing the second someone of your importance through your knowledge of the first someone." Got it? Good. I should write my own dictionary. I could have Gary Larson draw illustrations (notice, the first dropped name is on the books).

We've all seen it. "Do you know so and so? Oh, you really should meet her. She's a good person to know if you're interested in colon hydrotherapy."

Deep down, the person so addressed hears the unsaid words "I know her and therefore I am more important than you." The person so addressed hears, understands the inner meaning, and then immediately comes up with a name of their own and the game is on.

Why I write about name dropping is because I am an experienced name dropper. In fact, I've dropped just about everything throughout the years. But name dropping is a special talent of mine.

It's like this. I'm ambitiously lazy. Ambitiously lazy is defined as "motivated to achieve great things with little effort." Name dropping is a short cut to perceived success. Perceived success being defined as "having others think highly of you whether you are high or not." All drug references in this article should be ignored as consistent with my law school's distinguished code of conduct.

You can see why the ambitiously lazy would embrace name dropping as a legitimate means of bypassing legitimate successful people in perceived success. In fact, perceived success is closely associated with ambitious laziness because it can be achieved so much easier than unmodified success ("accomplishing important things for the right reasons.")

But back to name dropping as a short cut to perceived success. Another way to achieve perceived success is to actually succeed. Yes, I know, it sounds trite, but it's a fact of life. This generally involves long periods of sustained effort. Academically this is called study; in professional life it's called work, etc. The attractiveness of name dropping as a short cut to perceived success should be apparent.

To be fair, name dropping is often a sincere, unselfish form of human interaction. But let's face it, it's often not. Normally it's like an extra shot in your latte to make up for lack of sleep. It's a short cut to make up for something lacking. It's the proverbial carpool lane to let us catch up to those people who actually left on time.

Therefore, you should know that name dropping to achieve perceived success has long term dropbacks if not handled properly (Note: warning to the ambitiously lazy). The fact of the matter is, even perceived success is hard to maintain without unmodified success (see infra). This is extremely unfortunate for my fellow ambitiously lazy name droppers. In fact, it leads to the inevitable (but shocking) conclusion that some sort of work is necessary to make lasting progress in this life.

Don't become suicidal.

I'll write on happier topics in the future to cheer you up on your breaks from work.

As for now, I'm off to dinner with Keira Knightley and Natalie Portman (it's duty, you know).

A tribute to Starbucks

For hundreds of years coffee has been a mainstay in our culture. But Starbucks, taking the queue from tobacco company executives, has taken coffee and made it into a necessity of life for millions of Americans. They have saturated our culture with their product by reliably selling a consistent cup of joe (and derivatives) through a remarkably well organized distribution chain.

They have made wireless internet connections at your favorite coffee shop a reality. They have brought hippies and yuppies together under the hyped up umbrella of caffeine addiction.

Starbucks. . . showing tobacco companies the way it should have been done. . . little shops on every 8th corner in large urban areas that addicts of their product can regularly gather at to imbibe (or if tobacco, exhale) their product.

They have won my respect and admiration, not to mention about $5 a week (5X52=$260 a year in after tax dollars. Before tax dollars of about $450 for a low income joe like me).

Please join me in writing your legislators in support of naming May 15-21 "Starbucks Week." Together, we can make a difference.

Has anyone ever thought what the inside of Michael Jackson's jail cell would look like? Of course, he'll have to be put in solitary confinement because even if he wasn't beat up for being a molester, he'd certainly get it for a hundred other reasons. Perhaps I've hit on why he hasn't been arrested before.

Today, on the basketball court, Mark Bigger and the hardwood floor were involved in a terrible collision. I am happy to report that the floor was unharmed.

Aha! I knew the housewife readers of this blog would show up. Talk about instantaneous email combustion.

For the record, the uncredited quote did not belong to a husband of any of the readers of this blog (unless my blogs influence has grown drastically from its humble beginnings).

Also for the record, if the uncredited quote would have been from a husband of one of the readers, I would have lied.

It has come to my attention, while reviewing my blog readership survey results, that many people were puzzled about why I (or anyone for that matter) would take on the onerous responsibilities of blog ownership and upkeep.

Many suggestions have been made as to the real reason. Some have indicated that I am writing under the misconception that people read my blog for a reason other than making fun of it to their friends. I am under no such misconception.

Others have stated that it's because I'm a second born and will do whatever devious thing required to put myself in the limelight. That is a thought to be considered. After all, what is "limelight?" I don't recall seeing lime colored light before. As a spokesman for Sprite, Kobe Bryant could be considered in the "limelight." I can clearly see that analogy. But with Kobe, Sprite, etc, there always seems to be a lemon with your lime.

Along with the "limelight" suggestion came the hint that it's ego. I take offense at this suggestion. It's much to true to merit further discussion.

Still others suggest that it is because I have nothing worthwhile to do. This is flat out wrong. I have tons of extremely important things to do. But I am a blogger of discernment and choose to blog instead.

We'll move on.

I'm sure there's something important going on in my life that I could report at this time. However, I choose to leave you with these choice thoughts.

"Working is the bane of the drinking class. . . ."- Oscar Wilde

"Until you get married, you don't know failure." - (Name withheld for the marriage's sake)

"The interesting thing about staring down a gun barrel is how small the hole is where the bullet comes out, yet what a big difference it would make in your social schedule." PJ O'Rourke

It's a sad fact of life that after you leave childhood behind and move into adulthood, responsibilities progressively creep into a guy's life leaving less and less time for the truly important things (like Louis Lamour and Max Brand). Work, no longer being able to stick out your tongue without censor, house payments, car insurance, rent, taxes. Life really stinks after awhile.

However, there are some responsibilities that are taken on voluntarily. One in particular has been weighing on my mind as of late.

I am, of course, referring to blog ownership.

Blog ownership is not be taken lightly.

Words do mean things. And that statement can be taken several ways. Words do mean, nasty things and words do mean something. Have
I made myself clear?

The fearsome power of blog ownership is a terrible burden to bare. I would never be able to handle all of the stress if it wasn't for all of the people in my life who have been there for me. Special thanks for all of the phone calls, emails, faxes, promises of checks in the mail, etc. Thanks to JB for all of your editing help. RLM for bringing out the best in me when it came to writing. The guys in The Pad, you've made me a better man.

Mom, Dad, you've always been there for me. Thanks.

Bed time for Blogger.

My old boss called yesterday. Senator George, the happy warrior. The office is terribly behind so he asked me if I would come back and work for him until I got another job.

This leaves me two options: (1) accept the job, or (2) reject the offer and forfeit my unemployment because I turned down a job.

What a fine negotiating situation. Ahem. However, he said that he'd be willing to let me work three long days instead of coming in five days a week. Plus he'll let me off for all interviews etc.

When I brought up the fact that I have a pre-existing legal obligation to systematically write random thoughts for you, my dear blog readers, I received no reaction. Maybe it's because I forgot to say it.

I'm tired of sitting around and working on nothing but myself. I miss the cutthroat atmosphere of politics. There's something wholesome about it. Something pure. Something that says "frogger fans of the world, welcome to the ultimate busy street to cross - politics. "

My friend and old employer awaits my call. I shall make it soon.

The sad tale of a normal blog page

The creator of a blog page enthusiastically decides to start the blogging process, sets up a page, writes a few inspired, rather random things. The blogger is complimented by two or three friends on his writing style.

Conceit is born.

The blog creator increases the amount of words and time being put into the blog. He expands to include the lyrics of songs by Jewell, arguments on why a MAC is better than a PC, and in certain circles, begins a one man tirade for or against Calvinism.

Someone agrees with him on something (God forbid) and mentions it to him.

The conceit grows.

The blogger begins to feel that the words coming on his blog page are inspired, that they can impact the world, that Charles Dickens, Sir Walter Scott and Mark Twain were bores in blogging land (they never could even get a blog in writing, for crying out loud), and that the readers of the world reading his blog page will spend all day spreading the word of such greatness to their family, their friends, their co-workers, and inevitably the head of a publishing house. His mother, noticing his dedication, brings him a cup of hot chocolate and tells him "James, you've a gift with words. When those mean bullies used to tease you because you were different. I knew that someday they would see that you may be different, but it's because you're special. And I'm glad you dropped out of 8th grade to pursue what you love."

The conceit knows no bounds.

James never leaves the computer anymore. He feels that every thought that passes through his mind (although few, they take awhile to make it through) should be put in the form of words and shared with the world as an online treasure that all may learn. If it rains outside, who better to explain the deep meaning of the gentle splish splashing of the drops as they cover the water soaked earth with nourishment for the flowers, the trees, the worms, and China (once it soaks all the way through)?

The blog continues to expound on every detail of life, on every breathe of air, on every star, on every ray of sunshine, until blah, blah, blah, blah, blog. The blog is bogged down, the readers long since gone, and it remains only as a tribute to the ability to stay in front of a computer and do nothing for almost every part of every day.

To the intelligent readers of my blog, you have my word that this will not be my blogs fate. The rest of you, believe what you want. You were only invited to my blog to keep readership up.

But the fact remains that I would never receive anything from my mother as unhealthy as hot chocolate.

Random thought of the day: "Why did Roy Moore choose to place a slab of stone of the Ten Commandments in front of the State Supreme Court that weighed approximately 9,800 pounds more than the one that Moses carried down from the Mountain?"

It's been almost 40 hours since Mark's blog has been up and running and still no one has contacted me with the words "Mark, love your blog. I've been going through some difficult times lately. My life's been a fog with no way out. But while reading your blog, all the pieces came together. I've given up smoking, ditched my girlfriend, got a dog, tore up my credit cards, and after asking my boss for a 30% raise this morning, he agreed to cut the difference and throw in a promotion. Thanks for being there man. Call me if you ever want to use the condo in Malibu."

There's still time.

Blog purists will be outraged at Sunday's update on Mark's mind. There are no mind numbing minute by minute updates on every little detail of Mark's life. No step by step explanations on how I finally did remove that piece of parsley from between my 3 and 4 upper molars. No sirreeeeeeee.

I refuse to blog my way into obscurity.

Sundays. I love 'em. There's really three ingredients to a perfect Sunday: Church, football, and a nap.

Oh sure, you can add some other things for spice, but perfection is in the CFN formula. Before I continue, let me make two things clear: (1) I realize that many of you are not football fans and I absolutely promise that I will not give a play by play of the afternoon's football game, and (2) I realize that the entertainment value of describing a nap would have to be milked pretty hard to provide nourishment for my entertainment deprived reader. Ok, church.

The sermon was on "Knowing God." That JUST HAPPENS to be the reason that I go to church, so we can safely go on to the next topic.

Football. To my many housewife readers, don't stop reading now. You need to hear this. Trust me, this is much more valuable than Redbook or Good Housekeeping could ever be. I will not go into an actual description of the game. I will play fair. But for your own piece of mind, you need to continue reading.

Here's my testimony on football.

"I converted to Seahawk football when I was 7 years old. Since that time, the Seahawks have caused more tears than scraped knees, orthodontia, and being forced by my sister to watch Runaway Bride three times (even the last 30 minutes. Dreadful). But it's ok. It's tough love. A commitment was made that somber 1983 day that will not die. I love my Seahawks with passion (and rest assured, it's the only thing that I love like that).

"For better or worse" includes 12 straight years of not making it to the playoffs, but I do not think of the agony saved by throwing my Seahawks on the ash heap of emotional history. Oh no, they are my team. And by my team I stand come what will."

It's always a pleasure to tell other people of the important things in life.

Anyway, understanding loyalty amongst many of us American males to football and their team is extremely important. To cut away loyalties without cutting away the ability to be loyal is an impossibility. Non-football fans need to be tolerant, nay, even encourage football fans and their loyalty.

NOTE: Many people will think that the above is a crass attempt to force my married football friends' spouses to allow them to watch football with me occasionally. To those discerning minds . . . . .

Ah yes, a nap. I won't bore you with details. But there's really three kinds of Sunday afternoon naps.

30 Minute Quick Dip Nap: This is for the busy. It's like a quick dip in chocolate for a vanilla ice cream cone. You know you had a nap, but inside, you still feel really tired.

1 and 1/2 to 3 Hour Make up for Lost Sleep Special: You know it. I know it. Even the New England Medical Journal knows it. We just don't get enough sleep. Everyday, we get an average of 15 Minutes to 30 Minutes less sleep than we should. But the Lost Sleep Special brings us right back up to speed. This has got to be the best category of nap. . . .

7 and 1/2 Hour Bender: There are naps and there are naps. The 7.5 is an earthshaker of a nap designed to not only catch you up on sleep, but to give you a head start on next week's quota. This is the equivalent of going to Starbucks and getting yourself a five shot Caramel Frappucino (both are tons of fun). You won't sleep for two nights! I only recommend once or twice a year, but special circumstances warrant different procedures.

Well, that wraps up Sunday for you.

Decided to write a blog.

Some difficulties arose. First of all, how to justify the existence of a Mark Bigger created blog. Possible justifications (1) First Amendment gives everyone the right to have their say, (2) I'm to married and courting bloggers what Fox News is to CNN - Fair and Balanced, etc, yada, yada, ok. whatever., (3) The life of Mark Bigger is of great interest to many people of dubious entertainment options, and (4) the fan mail received from such great Mark Bigger writings as "IM AWAY MESSAGES" demands a steady flow of new material for their viewing pleasure.

Decided that "justify" doesn't have an honest sound. Scrapped all four options. Decided to make the Mark Bigger blog an example of freedom and independence from normality (just like Mark Bigger's namesake. Or did I say that already? What does that mean anyway?).

Started to write blog. Decided to send blog while tired so that a valid excuse would be available for its content.

A day well spun. . . .

Movie showing with friends Carrie and Jonathan. A movie called "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World." The basic premise is that a bunch of sailors have to leave their wives and sweethearts to go half way around the world before they feel like any sort of Master or Commander whatsoever. Rather pitiful premise. But once they got to the other side of the world, it was fun to see vigor restored.

There were some extremely difficult scenes for me to view in the movie. They graphically showed the pain and agony of a young twelve year old boy as his arm was amputated. It reminded me of my own experience when I was that age and had braces put on my teeth.

Later, I became quite queasy at the sight of the blood when the ship's doctor used a mirror and razor to remove a musket ball from his own side. Blood, mirror, razors. . . it's always a reminder that I have to shave every Sunday morning (and hence, the queasiness).

The acting was superb. Russell Crowe played the Captain of the ship. His Australian accent was extremely artistic, considering his British role. I'm glad that they realized that the British aren't theatrical enough to play their own parts in the theater. The prime example of this is how often British films end up on the BBC. Every right thinking male knows that the BBC was created to make sure that Englishman have something completely uninteresting to put on the picture box when they need some background noise to put them to sleep.

I should point out the scripting was brilliant. They took a book by a dead guy (Patrick O'Brien) and made it come alive! Not only that, but they were able to somehow or another fit Merry the Hobbit into the story.

But this is a blog, not a movie review site.

Bunch of boring stuff you wouldn't want to hear (But not wasted. sent to my grandparents in the form of a belated thank you letter).

Mark's alarm goes off. Mark calmly hits the philosopher button. The philosopher button allows him to reflect on some of the great questions in life before blindly scurrying out of bed and wasting his time in fruitless activity. Often his great philosophical struggles (often involving the subject of mind over matter or matter over mind) results in further philosopher button utilization which greatly contributes to the make up of the thoughtful, well respected young man that he is known as to the world.

Sorry folks, we're skipping some activities here.