Recovery.

I am currently recovering from a day of extreme highs and lows, better known as yesterday's Vandy game. The hours leading up to the game were enjoyable and nostalgic, save for the mosquitoes the size of your head that decided to bite me 31 times (I'm not even kidding-- I counted). The game was wondrous and majestic, at least until the whole double-overtime debacle. And even then, it was gloriously nerve-wracking.

All I know is, I'm getting too old for this shit.

I'm hoping to post some pictures and short video clips I shot during the game some point this week. That is, if I can fish through the clips and find the ones where I didn't shake the camera violently in celebration, thus ruining the shot. This could prove difficult.

Before I forget, I must send out mad props to Lil' Pimpin' Jim, who hooked us up with the piping hot pizza that Danforth and I gratefully burped up for the rest of the evening. Next time we're in town, Jim, we're feeding you!

We're just not exactly sure with what, yet.

Anyway, today I started paying for yesterday's tomfoolery. Since I spent most of my tailgating time chucking the football with the entirely wrong throwing mechanics (throwing with too much force and using my entire body in the follow through), and I climbed up that fucking hill from Shands to get to the Swamp, my body hurts. And for some reason, probably because I slept weird or craned my neck oddly, the right side of my neck is stiff and hurts like a bitch. I actually find myself sitting here with a hot water bottle, watching Cold Case and being comforted by Rileybot.

Seriously, I think I'm turning into Murtaugh.