Time for another round of Instant Message Madness, this time with all of my extraneous comments excised. Consider yourselves posterized.

• My favorite redhead on earning karma:

rajah193: on my way home there was a turtle crossing the road, so i pulled over and got out to help him
rajah193: and i go over pick him up
rajah193: and he Hissses at me
rajah193: i was mad that he had the audacity to hiss when i was helping him
rajah193: so i sat him back down
rajah193: and then just stood there to make sure he got across safely
rajah193: but i was mad bc he was soo muddy and i sacrificed my cleanliness for him
rajah193: i dealt w/ it
rajah193: i am sure i will run into other turtles that will appreciate it
The Swill Barber: and save your life in the ocean if you ever get caught in a riptide
rajah193: Ohh yeh
rajah193: that would be the ultimate payback

• Anne, getting curious for things I hide in plain sight:

nostalgia318: so
nostalgia318: WHAT does your screen name mean!?
nostalgia318: lol
The Swill Barber: haha
The Swill Barber: i get that quite a lot
The Swill Barber: if i tell you, i'll have to kill you
nostalgia318: grr
The Swill Barber: i might crack with a little pressure, but since i started the cloak and dagger routine, i'll have to hold out on you
nostalgia318: !
nostalgia318: tellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellme

• The Blankman, who loves putting me in my place:

Beakman516: way to be up on it mr beat writer
The Swill Barber: yea... hi, i'm ben couch, and i just spent three days at mets games writing about astronauts
Beakman516: yeah, but your head's always in outer space, so that's no excuse

• The Blankman, ragging on braodcasters yet again:

Beakman516: did you know that they can now televise blow jobs on basic cable?
The Swill Barber: say word?
Beakman516: yeah man
Beakman516: watch quite frankly...Stephen A [Smith] was on AI's balls like a thai hooker

• The Blankman recounts meeting Todd Helton of the Colorado Rockies:

Beakman516: the first day, friday, he walks right up to me, shakes my hand, says good to see you again
Beakman516: i'd never seen the guy in my life

• Obnoxious comments I didn't need to make:

ReDrEpUnZeL11: im taking an online course
ReDrEpUnZeL11: so 5 [classes] total but i dont go to the online one obviously
The Swill Barber: that'd be tough
The Swill Barber: to fit through the modem and all
The Swill Barber: people tend to be bigger than phone lines

• Signs I pay too much attention to the words instead of the concept:

mistressraychel: i need a shower im a mess
mistressraychel: i look like i got hit by a bus then sexually assulalted then thrown in a wind tunnel
The Swill Barber: hm
The Swill Barber: who'd sexually assualt someone who got hit by a bus?
mistressraychel: theres alot of wackos out there

• The Hokie after seeing a pic of Al Leiter playing beer pong at On the DL:

BHooch15: i'd team up with senator al
BHooch15: however he'd nibble around the corners of the cups
BHooch15: and we'd lose quick
The Swill Barber: or you could save him with a good bullpen performance
BHooch15: "Hit a fucking cup, Al. We're drinking a lot over here."
BHooch15: "Don't worry. All part of my plan."

• The Hokie, getting a little too into MLB 2006:

BHooch15: i got david wright on LOCK. poor bastard signed an 8 year deal
BHooch15: $3.5 mil each year
The Swill Barber: dayum
The Swill Barber: you just ripped him off
BHooch15: he's stupid
BHooch15: and he's such a nice guy
The Swill Barber: i'm gonna tell him
BHooch15: go ahead
BHooch15: tell him 'hoch just fucked your video game likeness'

• The Hokie, the Barber and schadenfreude:

BHooch15: bro, i'd have loved to see marty struggling here with 2 broken laptops
The Swill Barber: oh man.. that woulda been classic
BHooch15: he probably would have literally thrown one into the stands
The Swill Barber: souveniers for everyone!

• Debating Carlos Beltran's need for cosmetic enhancement:

The Swill Barber: me and pete are debating whether the ear mole could eat someone
BHooch15: $119 million and so many cosmetic surgeons in NYC
BHooch15: i don't get it
The Swill Barber: yeap
BHooch15: it's not like he lives in idaho and the only option is a gas station attendant with a backhoe

• I think I invented slang in this exchange:

The Swill Barber: like em mature?
GothFiend101: well, mature is pushing it
GothFiend101: older, hot
GothFiend101: but slutty and moody as well
The Swill Barber: that works too
The Swill Barber: slutty as in you've got a time share?

• Marissa, simply put, is someone who knows:

The Swill Barber: i'm frustrated [by my girl situation], but good frustrated you know?
FlirtBabe28: yea..
FlirtBabe28: ur still gangsta its all good

• Susie B., catching my late-work delirium:
  

The Swill Barber: brb
The Swill Barber: k back
SusieB129: welcome back
The Swill Barber: you know ya missed me
SusieB129: with every fiber of my being
The Swill Barber: that's a lot of missing
The Swill Barber: you should sign up for a milk carton

• Sash, taking a conversation with some chick about Popeyes to a whole new level:

PEEPZ33 (9:33:48 PM): haha yah u got me hooked
helios483 (9:34:10 PM): i mean i tend to have that effect on women
helios483 (9:34:14 PM): i get them hooked on white meat

• Knicks fans, always a positive bunch:

The Swill Barber: eddy curry
The Swill Barber: outta nowhere
ScRaPPy4LiFE30: is going to die
The Swill Barber: gotta... he'd be the knicks first semi legit center since ewing
ScRaPPy4LiFE30: yep, regie lewis meets hank gathers in the middle of MSG

• Billy Harner, t-shirt slogan machine:

ScRaPPy4LiFE30: jeter sucks AROD

I actually thought this last night while watching Curb Your Enthusiasm before I went to bed, but hadn't had the chance to post it before now:

I think I might have a thing for Cheryl Hines.

Or at least her hair.

In the most recent episode.

My first DTH "Road to the Rafters" commemorative issue is signed and sealed. Well, sealed, really. (I'll sign it next time I see you, Sash. Holla atcha boy!) Four soon-to-be-autographed (before I close the envelope this time) copies remain. The first mailing goes out soon.

I did a bad thing in my Shawn Chacon article yesterday. (You can read it here.) I started writing in one style, and I didn't follow through on it. Time was pressing, and I couldn't force myself to put in the effort (have the talent?) to continue on effectively. However, since said style was a blatant Chuck Palahniuk rip, maybe it was for the best.

This mimicry of writing styles is a character flaw of mine, though an unconscious one. I tend to write in the style of whatever I've recently read, provided the voice is a distinctive enough one. It was first brought to my attention by Dan Blank, who quickly rued the day he showed me Gary Smith's SI article on Mia Hamm (which is really, really good, and I can't emphasize that enough) because I attempted to turn in a second-person, nearly quoteless Sean May feature (which you can read here) within the week. However, Blank and then- (and current) editor Daniel Malloy, quickly put the kibosh on that one and the resulting article was toned down quite a bit.

(NOTE: Because the DTH Web editors occasionally slack on important articles, you can't read it unless you've got a copy of the DTH 2005 Men's Basketball Championship special edition. However, I will send out copies to the first five interested people who contact me with a mailing address. I'm serious about that. Really. I'll even pay for the stamps. Or steal them from my parents. Whichever requires less effort that day.)

Any case. That was just something I noticed the other day, and thought people might find interesting as a look inside the author's head. Maybe it's something I take with me and absorb into my own style in the long run, but in the short term, it can be blatant and a little overpowering. So it goes.

I lost my wallet today. Check that. I forgot my wallet on the D train because I'm a complete idiot. Forgot? Yeah, forgot.

As in I was sitting on it because it was in my back pocket and I took it out and wedged it in between myself and seat, thinking all the while, "You know what? I'm an absent-minded kind of kid. I should put it in my bag or something." I thought all that -- I'm conscious of doing so -- and still, I decided to just leave it there because, hey, I was already on the D and would just be sitting there until I got off at Yankee Stadium.

Then there was an A train across the platform at 59th, and the conductor announced that the D would be going local, so I decided to switch. And then the other conductor said the D would be leaving first, so I flinched, but decided against it because the A would be going express. And then I realized I was sitting comfortably.

I shot up and rocketed across the platform to watch the doors close three feet in front of me and the train immediately pull out of the station, no door flinching, no hesitation, no chance. I slunk back to the A, figuring I'd beat the D to 125th and jump out and look and hope.

And then the A went local, limping behind the D with my wallet in a sludge of hopelessness and self-immolating disgust at how much of an asshole I was.

I talked to the conductor, he called ahead, I went up to Bedford Park Ave. and talked to the station agents there, who told me everything I expected and didn't want to hear:

"Nobody turned anything in today."

"The conductor calling ahead doesn't mean anything." Pause "Well, it means something ..."

"Wait ... You forgot it? Like you had it in your hand?"

"You know that's as good as gone."

That was followed by phone calls to my current immediate superior at MLB.com (Me: "Hi, I'm late, and this is why." Kevin: "You know the game was postponed, right?") my parents (in essence: "Good job, bonehead. Let's call the bank.") and my boss all season ("How bout we think about putting a stop on that uncashed paycheck?").

My metrocard was in my pocket, so I made the return trip home, polishing off one Chuck Palahniuk book and making good progress on another, thus concluding my four-hour, wallet-losing foray into the city.

More calls with the bank ensued. An account was closed, another was opened, a new ATM card put in the mail and I even got new checks ordered for free. My mother spouted advice: "Honey, don't tell people that story. Just say 'lost' or 'stolen' instead." This, from the woman who I never heard say something truly negative until we saw Celine Dion on TV a few years back and the words, "Man, she's a dog, huh?" passed through her lips.

And then my phone rang. And a woman managed to string together enough Spanish-accented English to convey that she had my wallet. The phone was handed off to Michael, whose English was better, so that we could figure out how to get it back to me. He lives one stop past the Stadium. I'm going to get it back tomorrow.

Assume people are good-natured before you don't. Sometimes you'll be disappointed, but you'd be surprised how well people respond if you believe in them. 8 million stories in this city, and I found one with a common thread.

I know I haven't posted here in a long-ass minute, and haven't updated the site in even longer than that. I've been distracted, and haven't; I've been busy, and haven't. I don't know what it is specifically, just that with no conflict, I'm finding myself less inspired to write in general. I think I'm inventing it (conflict) half the time, just to give me something to work with.

I feel like a complete ass a lot, just because things have been breaking completely in my favor for the last year, and in truth, most of my life, really. When I got stranded because I missed the ferry when I went out to Fire Island last month, I ended up getting plastered with two complete strangers. And one of them pointed out, only half-joking, that I was the luckiest person he'd ever met. The comment had a weird tinge to it, the way he said it. Like he was taken aback, almost scared by the intensity of my good fortune.

That's a bizarre thing to say to somebody when you really mean it. It's weirder still that I thought he was right. I struggle with this. It's tough not to make everybody else feel like crap all the time, just because things are happening exactly the way I didn't know I wanted them to. I mean, I'm proud of everything I've accomplished and the position I'm in, for sure. I enjoy it. It's just kind of a pain to hear it all the time.

Are people really that unhappy? That when they see someone who's doing well and enjoying themself, they can't do anything but bask in the glow of it? If my light's always shining, it might burn out. Don't you think? I don't know. Maybe I'm just scared by how intense all this is. Like I'm waiting for the crash to come. The flight's too smooth. Every ride is supposed to have turbulence. I'm distrusting of this. Maybe that just makes me an idiot.

This tendency to run from things that work, and conversely, toward things that don't, was isolated for me by a friend last year during a phone conversation about the females. It's a defense mechanism. You can't get burned -- and I'm talking really burned here, like twice-cooked toast, black and crusted and so dry that there are holes where none existed -- if you don't get deeply involved. That disinclination toward attachment, I would have to say at gunpoint is character flaw numero uno.

Maybe someone or some situation can correct it. Maybe I'll settle in. Maybe the beauty of it is that I won't.