Let's Talk about Me.

NBC is showing the Miami Vice TV pilot, and there's no experience quite like watching Phillip Michael Thomas as Tubbs lip-synching to "Somebody's Watching Me." Not only that, but I still knew all the words to the stupid song. It was too overwhelming with the Rockwell memories flooding back and all, so I decided to come here in the quiet computer lab and post a little story about me:

We signed the lease on our new swanky apartment in Valley Ranch today. It's still amazing, but as I went out on the patio and looked down on the Asians, Indians, and Honkeys passing by, I forgot that there was a hanging lamp in the middle of the room behind me. That room happens to be the dining room, so normally there would be a table there. We just moved in, so of course it was as empty as Tara Reid's head. Also, the lamp itself is a translucent white etched glass upside-down bowl, which blended in nicely with the neutral wall behind it. Do y'all see where this is going? I turned around, closed the patio door behind me, did not see the lamp in the middle of the room, and WHACK! There was suddenly a huge gash in my nose, right above the knot. I stumbled into the next room, unsure of what to do since I was stunned by the force of the blow and the huge dent in the front of my face. Luckily, my wife had a tampon in her purse. Otherwise I guess I (or probably she) would have had to run down to the apartment complex's bathroom to get something to catch the blood. Thank God for tampons, right now. Do it!

**The Miami Vice Theme can be heard in the background as I type this. Miami Vice has such a cool soundtrack. **

I applied the feminine product to the affected area, feeling a throbbing but fading pain and checking the tube-like thing to see if the blood was still flowing. It always was. Finally, things clotted and we went out for pizza. Pizza's great. I have a band-aid on my nose right now, and I look vaguely like Chuck Cecil (the guy in the picture above).

The moral of the story? Same as the moral of Miami Vice: The world is a dangerous place, but there's no problem that can't be solved by rolling up the sleeves on your pastel jacket or unbuttoning your shirt. Oh, and you belong to the city, whatever that means.

** Crockett and Tubbs are now vehemently insisting to anyone who will listen that there's no way they can work together on this case. Methinks they doth protest too much.**