Hey! It's the guy from "Shakespeare in Love!"

I love fall. I love the leaves changing, I love football, I love sweaters and pumpkins and Halloween and Thanksgiving. I think everyone is aware of my love for Hocus Pocus.

And I love the start of new television seasons.

Here's the thing. I am not ashamed of being a giant tv addict. The invention of DVR is right up there in my book with the invention of electricity and anti-biotics. I love books for their ability to transport you to another place, and television, good television, is the lazier way to do that.

So with that being said. Flash Forward? Yes. Just. Yes.

Everyone and their mother is talking about this show. With good reason. It's a crazy awesome concept. And it's good. So far it totally kept my interest (which is saying something. I have a very short attention span and have been known to be a skimmer. I used to skim my school reading, I sometimes skim movies, and I often skim television shows. DVR owns my soul).

Point is? It's just as awesome as everyone says it is. I didn't fast forward through any of it. Not once.

"D. Gibbons is a bad man." WTF. That line right there just hooked me FOR LIFE.

Do yourself a favor. Go online and find the first two episodes and watch. This show wins at life.

Mmm, tasty.

Did you hear that a man in the Outer Banks was eaten by a shark a few weeks ago?

THE OUTER BANKS? That's like way north. I expect these things to happen off the coast of Florida or in Australia (number one fear about Australia? The alarming and massive amount of things that will kill you just by being NEAR you), but North Carolina? That's not right. My biggest worry about North Carolina beaches should be jellyfish (jellyfish are in my category of "why do they exist?" What good are they? They just make people hurt. Bad form, Jellyfish, bad form).

Sharks, like caves, are one of those things that I think no one in the their right mind is not totally terrified of.

THEY EAT PEOPLE. (I hear people are not that tasty, and so they eat people is not exactly accurate, more like they attack people and chomp on them a while and then those poor people bleed to death. Still, details. The fact remains that if you run into a shark odds are you are not making it out of that situation intact.)

Sharks are bad news. Let's not forget that. They are serious business.

I thought all people were aware to avoid sharks like the plague. And then I read this.

HE RISKED HIS ARM TO SAVE A SHARK?!?

WHAT?

I have no words for you Crazy, Australian Dude. I know things are different Down Under. I know that you have learned to not be afraid of things that most other people are afraid of. But you had to stick your arm down the shark's throat to save it?

ARE YOU NUTS?!

Did you all miss Jaws? Did you forget that they will RIP YOU TO SHREDS?!

My worst fear?

Meeting a Cave Shark. It probably exists. That son-of-a-bitch the Goblin Shark exists, there's probably no way that the Cave Shark is also not real.

There's a lesson here, people. Sharks are bad news. Let's stop making them fun characters in Disney movies ("Hello, Bruce!"). Let's stop trying to bring sympathy to the most deranged and terrifying creature on this planet.

What happened?!

Oh Pitt. Oh my dear, sweet Pitt. WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?!

You lost to NC STATE?!

Is this Bill Stull's fault? You may or may not know how I feel about Bill Stull. Fine, he's an okay guy, probably kind of a tool bag, as most quarterbacks tend to be (I'm looking at you Big Ben), but he is a TERRIBLE football player. Get him off the field, let Sunseri try his luck instead. Anything is better than Bill "I once played in the worst Bowl Game of all time and lost" Stull.

NC State should have been a piece of easy, peasy pie.

YOU LOST AFTER BEING UP THE WHOLE DAMN GAME?!

Oh Pitt. Oh my beloved alma mater. You haven't hurt me this badly since you lost in the Elite Eight (it's okay Jamie Dixon. I still love you and forgive you for that).

I looked past the 3-0 loss in that stupid Bowl Game last year. I looked past the rotten seasons under a couple of rotten coaches with rotten quarterbacks. I looked past the fact that we were once a football powerhouse the likes of which produced Mike Ditka, Tony Dorsett, and Dan Marino. I looked past Mark Nordenberg's hair piece.

YOU LOST TO NC STATE?!

We were 3-0 Pitt.

I'm going to be angry about this for a little while. You understand Pitt, I know you do. Just let me have my cooling off period. In two weeks, when you are back at Heinz Field, I will have forgiven you.

But this week, Pitt, I'm angry.

Worse? I'm disappointed.

Yes, Virginia, there is an Obama

The G-20 is a-coming to town.

While this means massive road delays, horrible traffic, office closings, school closings, and potential DANGER WILL ROBINSON DANGER, it also makes people bust out the creativity.

Such the email that my mom's friend Steve sent:


Is it me or have they totally commercialized the G-20? I wish we could just go back to the old traditions of the G-20. It was about families, not all of this consumerism. I want the old traditions. My mother on the eve of G-20 would make 12 different types of fish and we would have to try them all, even if they not have been a favorite of ours. Then we would sit around and my dad would read, "It was the Night Before the G-20." Oh how we used hang on every word about who was being gassed and who was flinging excrement at who. They we would settle into our beds for a long September's nap with visions of the National Guardsmen dancing on our heads.

We never had all of the expensive presents that kids have today. We would hang out our G-2o protest masks and we would get an orange, yes, an orange. We were happy for it, those were simpler times to be sure. Remember when the malls actually started selling G-20 items in September and not right after Easter in April! Have we lost the meaning of the G-20? And oh those holiday specials! We would wait all year to see "It's the G-20 Charlie Brown" on CBS, we didn't have DVD players and 200 channels constantly showing Frosty the Guardsman or "How the Grinch Stole Items to Use at the Protestor's Confinement Pen at the G-20."


Remember the baking? We didn't go the store and get dozens of pre-made G-20 cookies, no, we helped my mom to make them using our little world leader's and unidentified poor people cookie cutters.

Can't we just for one, have a simple G-20?

This year as you carve the roast beast for your own G-20 feast, take a moment and think back to when hearing I'LL Be Home for the G-20" was only played in September not starting in March!

This email is made of awesome.

I couldn't help but craft my own response to this, which is also as followed:

I'm sorry that you old folks had to make do with an orange and had to wait to see "The Island of Misfit World Leaders" on a black and white television. But guess what? WE CALL THIS PROGRESS! Stop your whining about G-20's past and start living in the NOW. We have a black president, for God's sake. Change has come to America! Yes, the commercialism of the G-20 has gotten out of hand. Yes, we need to sit back and remember what the G-20 is all about. We need to remember those wise men stumbling through the desert with incense bought at Pier One and promises of stable economies. They followed that bright star into the night only to find it was a 727, did it stop them?! DID THEY WHINE ABOUT STORE BOUGHT COOKIES!? IS IT THE YOUNG PEOPLE'S FAULT THAT WE ARE BETTER AT TIME MANAGEMENT?!

Listen, folks, we need to remember that on that cold, early autumn night all those moons ago, men and women met to discuss the economies and had poop thrown at them. We celebrate them. It doesn't matter if the cookies are home-made, or if the television specials are watched on DVD or network TV. It doesn't matter if we begin to celebrate a week in advance or seven months. What matters is we celebrate at all.

Yes, Virginia, there is an Obama.

But Steve, oh Steve, he saw my response and raised it a notch:

You know. After re-reading this, maybe she is right. The G-20 doesn't come from a store, it doesn't come wrapped in boxes or bows, no the G-20 maybe, maybe is about a little bit more. Thanks Lisa, Thanks......

No, Steve. Thank you.

Caves, friends, are not the answer.

Caves are bad news.

There are things that live in caves that do not need sunlight to exist.

That's not right.

Who wants to go spelunking? Not me, certainly. Nothing good can come of caves. Have you ever seen a movie where people go into caves and come out all happy and cheerful and all "let's go in that cave again!"?

No! You haven't ever seen a movie like that. BECAUSE THEY DON'T EXIST. PEOPLE WHO GO INTO CAVES DO NOT COME OUT HAPPY! THEY DO NOT COME OUT AT ALL!

At the zoo there are these fish that live in caves. They have eye sockets but no eyeballs. WTF!?! WHAT IN THE HELL KIND OF WORLD DO WE LIVE IN THAT THERE ARE FISH THAT HAVE EYE SOCKETS BUT NO EYES?!?

Evolution, man, it's messed up.

So no, I do not want to go into the cave at North Park where there may or may not be mythological creatures that want to kill me dead. No, I do not want to go 'sploring the deep, dark crevices where there may or may not be things that DO NOT HAVE EYES.

I will stay outside the cave, thank you very much. I know that it is safe outside. I know that the creatures/plants/things outside the cave have eyes and need sunshine to live.

And honestly, I don't think I am alone in my cave fear. It afflicts many. At least one in every four people are afraid of caves(note: this statistic is made up.) And yes, maybe my fear of caves stems from the movie Beaches (that song? The one where they come out of a cave and put on those scary masks at the end? Oh Industry? I was never the same after that scene), but that does not make cave fear any less legit.

Jen once asked me if I would live in a cave with James Franco, and I answered yes. And I would. But James Franco is a smart dude. He's probably also afraid of caves, so it's a moot point.

Caves are whack, friends. Let's hang out in this open field instead.

Smell that? That's the smell of football season.

Dear Steelers,

Tonight is the first game of the season. Win or lose, I will love you forever. But I'd really like us to win. So you know, Ben, no interceptions, please. And James Harrison? Keep on keepin' on. You rock my socks off, dude.

And Troy? Oh Troy. I love you a ridiculous amount. You and your soft voice and your crazy hair. I love that you aren't anywhere near the ball and then BAM! The ball's in your hands.

And Rooney family? I love you too. You with all your classiness, and your Pittsburgh pride. You with your Obama love, and your ambassadorship to Ireland. (Is ambassadorship a real word?)

I know you are going to win, Steelers. Because some Titan players stepped on the Terrible Towel and ended up watching the Superbowl from their couches at home. AND NO ONE STEPS ON THE TERRIBLE TOWEL AND GETS AWAY WITH IT. Don't worry Steelers, this year we're going to bring home the Lombardi trophy a seventh time.

I love you Steelers. I am so glad to see you again.

Love,
Lisa

There's a reason that Ebay and Evil sound alike

Once upon a time I was addicted to Ebay.

It was a dark time in my life. It happened freshman year of college. My competitive side came out, and I would find myself outbidding people on things I didn't even want just so they couldn't have it. I bought DVD's like nobody's business. It started innocently enough. I will just look for textbooks, I said. I will just look for things for school, I said.

THAT'S HOW IT STARTS.

I sold my soul to Ebay for a cheap copy of some bootlegged season one OC DVD's. (Terrible purchase, those bootlegged copies of The OC. The sound and the mouths didn't match up most of the time. It was like watching a badly dubbed Japanese movie only sans all the fun ninjas).

I've been Ebay clean and sober now for some years, but I recently had to search for something that would have been available no where else but Ebay.

It's like giving an alcoholic a little sip of wine.

One sip, you say. It won't hurt, you say. You'll stay on the wagon, you say.

THE WAGON IS SLIPPERY AND DANGEROUS AND MAKES SHARP TURNS SOMETIMES.

Oh Ebay, I wish I knew how to quit you.