Disclaimer: The opinions expressed within this column are those of the participants and the moderator, and do not necessarily reflect those of the GIA. There is coarse language and potentially offensive material afoot. There's an opera out on the turnpike, there's a ballet being fought out in the alley. Don't say we didn't warn you.

First off, I'd like to apologize for there being no columns this weekend. AK was sick, which wasn't his fault, and I was away from my computer and unable to pick up the slack, which was my fault. At any rate, this works out good for me, maybe not so good for you, because I had something to do tonight and wasn't gonna be able to put up a column anyway. I did, however, arrange for a replacement you might have liked, one Mr. Drew Cosner. But since I didn't get any email from AK, I can't give any email to Drew, so he can't put up a column. Hence this lame excuse instead, where I beg you for letters. (Please, please, please, please send me letters!)

Those of you who are grinding your teeth in rage over not getting a column today may be somewhat pacified by this example of karma in action. When last we left our hero, Chris was ecstatic about getting a free pair of baseball tickets for an inaugural day game this past Sunday. He invited a friend of his to go with, and the two of them departed the friend's house  about an hour before the game. Since the brand new ballpark was no more than 15 miles down the highway from said house, Chris figured there'd be no problems making the game on time. After all, they even had reserved parking right up next to the field. It was a beautiful Texas April day, seemingly not too hot, so things looked just about perfect.

The set up job I've done on this story should already be sufficient to let you know things did not go swimmingly. We turned on to the secondary highway with about 3 miles left to go about 40 minutes before game time. We got to the ballpark exactly 1 hour after the game started. 3 miles in 100 minutes. I've never seen traffic that bad, and I've been through DFW and Houston at rush hour. And the fun didn't stop there, no sir. Although we did have reserved spots, the parking lot was closed to general admission, meaning we couldn't get in either. We had to park about a mile away, in a field, by a huge ditch that banged the hell out of my truck's suspension. After hiking to the ballpark, we sat down in our seats, which did have great positioning and were pretty comfy to boot. The only problem was, they were directly in the sun. In the Texas afternoon sun. Even in April it's pretty damned insufferable. We had to leave about an hour after we got there, to make a concert I'd agreed to go to, but that wasn't such a loss since the home team was down 1-4, and the score didn't change for the rest of the game. We hoofed it back to the truck, only to get stuck in the aforementioned ditch. If it wasn't for some truly heroic pushing and a lot of luck in the back tires catching, we might still be there. So my final verdict is: Round Rock baseball sucks. Aren't you glad I'm around to tell you these things?

As for what I'm doing tonight, some of you've probably already guessed that I'm going to a Bruce Springsteen concert here in Austin. (Fear not, I don't actually have a life. The past few days have just given me the cunning illusion of one.) And to those of you who are now shaking your heads that I'd listen to such an antiquated rock star, let me say this: bite me. Springsteen's music may not have the hard core groove of techno, but for pure 200-proof rock 'n roll joy, the Boss is your man. Plus he's right up there with Bob Dylan and Townes Van Zandt in the race for best songwriter of the 20th Century. I like him, and that's what's important.

Anyway, send me letters on whatever strange notions are passing through your heads at the moment, and I'll be back for a real column tomorrow. Promise.

-Chris Jones, Born to Run (it's trite, but it works)