Max-stravaganza

Before I get on to my humorous musings for the night, I apologize to ALL of my readers for failing to post over the last week or so. At least I didn't go for a whole month like a certain Miami resident who happens to reside 6 doors down the hall from me....who will remain nameless. Anyhoo, the most important thing that happened this Thanksgiving is that Christmas began. Yes, the saving joy of Christmas doesn't lie in that whole "Jesus" legend. Rather it can be found in the amazing demeanor brought about by Christmas music. Similar to Bob Marley, it is impossible to be sad when listening to X-mas music...even Blue Christmas or 'Do They Know It's Christmas.' Thank you, Bono. Thanks to you, we are able to tap our toes to an uplifting song about AIDS and poverty in Africa. So, allow me to offer you my Christmas mix for this, the year of our lord 2005: Silver Bells - Steve Martin (if you can find it on Limewire/myTunes, GET IT) Santa Claus is Coming to T

Octopus's Garden is slowly becoming my favorite Beatles song. Normally, an elitist bastard such as myself would choose a song by George Harrison to admire. And all of the ignorant fans in the world only know Paul and John. For some reason all of my favorites are sung by Mr. Richard Starkey, aka Ringo Starr. Yellow Submarine. With a little help from my friends. People always give him credit for being "the luckiest man alive," but he doesn't get half the respect that he deserves for his singing/songwriting ability. But seeing as last night I put my heterosexuality in doubt (shut up, Mario), I think that tonight I'll blog about something unmistakable masculine. Jack Bauer For those of you who either live under a rock or hate America, Jack Bauer is the single greatest government agent to ever life. No offense to Jack Ryan, but Mr

Tonight I'm going to follow up on Mr. Evert's recent blog entry about Ross Kemp getting beat up by his wife. The "I got destroyed by my wife club" is a very exclusive society. More exclusive than the Claremont chapter of "I lost my virginity to a lesbian" (sorry, Aaron). That is why I'm going to devote this excursion into bloggerdom to the former pitcher for the Anaheim Angels and St. Louis Cardinals, Chuck Finley. Chuck Finley, over his 17 year career in the majors, put up respectable numbers. Lifetime 200-173 pitcher with an ERA of 3.85, coupled with 15 shut outs. In his prime, this is a solid #2 man in your rotation and a decent fantasy athlete. He also struck out four batters in an inning more than once. Chuck was paired with Mark Langston for a while in Anaheim (then California) and the two were decent teammates and led an perennially disappointing Angels team. Around this time, Tim Salmon broke into the league (1993) and won the AL ROTY award. But

First of all, congratulations to Mr. David Delgado. After two weeks of constantly pestering him, he FINALLY caved in and updated his blog. Was it a good entry? Not necessarily. Was it an update? You bet your sweet bippy it was. Thanks to everyone who joined the "Update or Die" forces. We couldn't have done it without your support and prayers. The battle is over, my friends. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. Secondly, I'd like to give a very important shout out. I use this individual on an everyday basis, but he never gets the appreciation he deserves. He's another Hawkman or Count Chocula. No respect. I'm talking, of course, about the Ideal Gas Law. Can you imagine all of the pieces of information that you can derive from this formula? Pressure? Volume? NUMBER OF MOLES??!?! It's astounding. It boggles the mind how much the Ideal Gas Law tells you. However, what I appreciate the most about it is that it's IDEAL. It's not imperfect. The law, in theor

Last night at dinner, a lively discussion arose about the top three presidents of all time. It's one of those debates that probably only happens on the CMC campus, y'know, with all of those Govt. majors who delusionally think that they're going to go into politics. Anyway, after this fine oratorical commentary, I decided to write a little bit about my own list of the TOP 5 PRESIDENTS OF ALL TIME. This may sound eerily close to the "Top 5" lists that John Cusack kept making in High Fidelity. Actually, that's pretty much what it is. I have seen the movie/read the book so often that I consider myself to be akin to that character. My life may end up being a rip-off of that movie/book. Which really, when you think about it, isn't that bad. Your life could be an homage to "St. Elmo's Fire." #1. Abe Lincoln Why is Honest Abe number one on this countdown?....or is a count up since I started with #1? Well, a lot of people would reference th

Tonight, I'm going to write about a conundrum that has been haunting me lately. It's a little paradoxical, a little contradictory, but I hope that you'll understand. Now, let's start with the given facts: I, Max G. Davison, am a heat seeking, straight shooting, VERY heterosexual bachelor. I love the ladies like a fat kid loves candy. I love women like a lion loves mammal flesh. I love females like Carl Weathers loves stew (hopefully Arrested fans will pick up on that one). I enjoy slabs of undercooked red meat. John Wayne is a hero of mine. I vote Republican. Basically, anything that's straight is a-okay with me. So, seeing as I like women and all that... WHY DO I LISTEN TO ROBBIE WILLIAMS? Why do I listen to such an effeminate singer? Even as I sit here, writing this entry and affirmation of my heterosity, I've got 'Angels' playing on my iPod. It's music that is so undeniably feminine....but it's also pretty damn catchy. If you're

I'd like to give a huge shout out to two very underutilized and underappreciated individuals of the world. There were many people who crossed my mind when I considered "underappreciated." The butler from The Fresh Prince. John Irving. Joe Randa. Myself. William McKinley. But I finally decided on the two individuals who would most benefit from being mentioned on my blog. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm talking about none other than Hawkman and Count Chocula. Hawkman When people think about the Justice League, Carter Hall, aka "the winged wonder," is oftentimes forgotten. I could ramble on for a while about his history and continuity in DC comics, but I'll spare you. Rather, I'll just say that he has wings, carries a mace and has a hairy chest that just screams "VIRILE." Many children grow up wanting to be Superman or Batman or Wonder Woman or (god forbid) Iron Man. Hawkman never gets any respect. When was the last time you were really

It's currently day three of my blogging adventure, and David Delgado has still not accepted my challenge to get off of his lazy ass and start writing. This is why a hunger strike may be necessary. If Mr. Delgado does not cave in and post a new entry by the end of this week, then on November 14th, I, Max Davison, will officially pull a Ghandi and abstain from eating for as long as it takes. Homer Simpson also utilized this tactic when the Springfield Isotopes were planning on moving to Albuquerque. It worked then, and it will work now if necessary. Onto the blogging... I had a rather pleasant dinner at the Ath tonight. It was a class dinner for Prof. Busch's GOVT20 class. The highlights included conversations about the Ivory Coast, strange roommates, and (most importantly) they had some great cheesecake. So great, in fact, that we raided the empty tables to ensure ourselves some extra slices. Cheesecake. I love it. Occasionally, I'm not sure if I want cake or a dairy

First of all, congratulations to Mr. Huston Street on winning the American League Rookie of the Year award. Too bad that Nick Swisher couldn't have shared the honor with him. But my appreciation of Swisher and his OBP is subject of a future blog entry. So, I was walking back from Pomona today after a "training session" at KSPC about sports broadcasting. More on that later. But as I'm walking back and enjoying the purposefully pretentious architecture and wondering "Why the hell didn't I go here?" I was awakened from my daydream by the sound of wheels coming from behind me. Before I came to CMC, I would have been incredibly startled and jerked to look at what was approaching. Now, I hear the earthquake resembling rumbling and ask myself "Is that a Razor or a skateboard?" Anyways, as I normally do when I am being tailgated by some sort of wheeled form of transportation, I moved to my left and allowed him to pass. Only this gesture of good

I apologize to everyone who thought that I was better than this, but I caved in and got a blog. My very own place to post the vague coming and goings that occur in my daily life. My own modernist attempt to glorify minute details. Take THAT James Joyce! Pretty soon, Max Davison will be the hero of the working class instead of that advertising agent from Dublin, Leopold Bloom. Sorry, but my inner Lit major broke out of his shell and took over the keyboard. I'm normally not that strange, although I do have a penchant for the Irish. Now on to the important question: Why did I decide to get a blog? Why did I decide to equate myself with the depressed, Donnie Darko-worshiping, Chuck Palahniuk-reading sector of our generation who hates the Rainbow-wearing, Halo-playing, Abercrombie fanatics who run wild on college campuses? There are two good reasons, and one not so good one. I'll start with the valid reasons. 1) I got very tired of waiting for one, Mr. David Delgado of Miami, Florid