Your "Life is Once Again Pain" Quizo Update

If anyone is keeping track of such things - and I severely doubt that anyone is - you may recall a Quizo update from about a year ago (February 27, to be precise) which occurred after I spent an entire weekend moving out of my old apartment and moving a bunch of furniture out of my old office. This, as you may recall, led to a significant amount of physical pain and the infamous "pain" speed round.

Well, folks, we're back there again. And, let me remind you, pain can take on many forms.

First we have the sort of pain caused by seeing something so strange, so odd, so unbelievably weird that you get that tickle in the back of your brain that you realize is your actual consciousness writhing in agony.

Saturday night, upon returning from the theatre, I found an instant message waiting for me on my computer. Now normally I am very good about putting up an away message so that people think I am not just ignoring them when I am unable to receive one of the many thousands of IMs I get on a daily basis. This one said:

"Is this John?"

I looked at that and realized that the only way someone could have actually GOTTEN my IM is if I gave it to them or they read it on the Quizo website, which is essentially the same thing as me giving it to them. OBVIOUSLY, yes, this is me. Who else could it be? Let's look at my IM for a second: "LSUKozemp." It's been that for almost ten years. There are only something like 25 people named Kozempel in THE ENTIRE UNITED STATES, and as far as I know I am the only one who went to LaSalle, and I am for damn sure the only one who a) is, in fact, me and b) tells people "my IM is LSUKozemp." At that point I am seriously starting to worry that someone is out there who not only managed to obtain (through whatever means) my IM but for some deranged reason thinks that SOMEONE OTHER THAN ME WOULD BE USING IT.

Put another way: did one of you IM me this weekend? If so, I was at the theatre. Sorry. Leave a name next time.

Speaking of theatre, this week is your last chance to see Medea, playing at the Second Stage at the Adrienne, tickets $20, box office 215-563-4330 or www.prosfromdovertheatre.com. And that's the last time we'll hear about that.

There was also emotional pain this weekend, though thankfully it was all sports-related and thus reasonably minor. Chelsea lost to Liverpool on Saturday morning, which - though painful - was made considerably easier by the fact that the 7:30AM starting time meant that there were reasonably few Scousers at the pub and those who were there were, frankly, surprisingly well-behaved.

Then, on Sunday afternoon while watching the conference championships, we had two little muddles. First, the Chicago Bears' embrace of a cold weather running offense means I was denied one of the greatest pleasures of the NFL, i.e. watching Rex Grossman - aka "Sexy Rexy," aka "Rextasy," aka "The Sex Cannon" - throw interception after interception and generally be the worst, most hideously overrated and undertalented quarterback the NFL has to offer. That displeased me greatly. There are few things more entertaining than watching Sexy Rexy completely self-destruct.

Then, of course, came the AFC Championship. After a first half in which it seemed that Bill Belichek and Tom Brady's Faustian bargain was going to come through big-time once again, Peyton and the Colts fought back to take the lead.

The situation, then, is that the Patriots have the ball on the 20, with 54 seconds left, down 4 points.

I said to my father at this point, "well, clearly, the Patriots are going to win."

Note well the fact that Tom Brady - who I am largely ambivalent towards but hate his fans with unbridled passion - has engineered an astonishing SIX game-winning drives in the postseason. Tom Brady, in that respect, is the Jack Bauer of the NFL. 4 down, minute to go, 80 yards - yeah, he's got them right where he wants them.

Then he threw an interception and... and... it suddenly became clear that something is dreadfully WRONG with the world. Hence more emotional pain.

And, on a final and physical pain note, yesterday morning I was awoken by an incredible, earth-shattering pain in my left leg which has since been determined to be a cramp. I maintain that if this is a cramp it is no ordinary cramp, but the Mayor of Cramp City in Cramp County in the United States of Crampia on Planet Cramp in the Cramp Galaxy. I mean, fucking OW. It still hurts. This is why I may still be walking with a cane tonight, because there is a good chance I will be unable to fully flex my left leg. But, hey, House teaches us that leg pain and cane usage is an excuse to be cruel and aloof and not give a damn about other people's feelings.

So, well, at least now I have an excuse. Thanks, House!

JLK