Progress report

Today, at Starbucks, around 1:30 p.m., I finished Chapter 11 of my MLS history book (rough draft). At 62,200 words, I have now written a viable nonfiction work.

All that remains of the rough draft is a conclusion, which I may not write in detail until I've done some interviews -- already underway -- and gone back through the book.

I feel exhausted and really, really happy. I wasn't sure at first that I could do this. Now, whether this book ends up selling 100,000 copies for a major publishing house or 10 through self-publishing at Amazon, I know I will have written a decent book. I'll spend the rest of my mini-sabbatical making it better.

The funny thing -- since going on this final roll, my Freecell skills have seriously deteriorated.

How out of touch am I?

Are my tastes completely out of line with everyone else's?

Consider the following:

Music: No, I don't know much of the current Top 40. But in today's fragmented media landscape, that's not so unusual. The days of a band like the Beatles stretching into every demographic are long gone. The bands I like are all relatively popular within their various niches. I get a pass on this one.

Reality TV: Every TV blogger seems sick of American Idol's audition phase and is excited to see the show heading to Hollywood. This is the point at which I tune out every year. The parade of American narcissism and comeuppance, mixed with a few heartwarming tales of the truly talented, is over. Now we get the tedious task of narrowing it down to 12 people who will be asked to grit their teeth through a variety of styles, many of them unsuitable, and then sit through the weekly "results show." People watch this, apparently.

I do think it'd be amusing if figure skating adopted the "results show" model. Let the judges sound off for a while, then have the skaters stand and smile through 30 minutes of "Sasha and Kimmie are in the bottom two" nonsense.

Scripted TV: I'm used to it by now. Popular shows like Grey's Anatomy grate on my nerves. My shows, from NewsRadio to Arrested Development to Friday Night Lights, live on the verge of cancellation. Only The Office has worked its way into pop culture.

Sports: You all know I'm a soccer guy. But did you know I watch biathlon? You won't be seeing highlights on SportsCenter any time soon. (Granted, I like almost all sports -- it's not as if I skip the Super Bowl.)

Food: I finally found a food at McDonald's that was relatively nutritious and genuinely tasty -- the Southwest salad. Don't look for it on the menu. It's gone.

Children's TV: I've just learned that The Upside Down Show has not been renewed.

Politics: Don't ask.

Perhaps my tastes are actually better than most people's. Maybe I appreciate true quality while others don't make the effort to do so.

Elitism, though, is no comfort. Not when I keep get attached to things that disappear because no one else is interested.

So perhaps I need to start a movement. The Campaign to Bring Back The Southwest Salad, Renew The Upside Down Show, Save Friday Night Lights, Revamp The Two-Party System and Put Biathlon on ESPN. Who's with me?

Season's end

Rough count of the past year: 45 stories, 39 of them about MLS. Quite an increase from 25 over the two preceding years (not counting Olympic Athlete of the Week, which was a quick roundup that has since been folded into the blog).

It's not as if I won't know what to do with myself now that it's over. I've got plenty of projects lined up for the next few months. Some of them could be affected by the present uncertainty, some won't.

There's something melancholy about the end of a season, particularly if you're one of the last people to leave the stadium. It wasn't like the end of the Salt Lake Olympics, where the crews taking down the media center were so efficient that I was scared to step away from my "desk" (table) for even a minute, lest it be stripped like a car parked in a bad neighborhood. In this case, we all settled for listening to the revved-up leaf blowers that clean the stadium. RFK's main soccer pressbox, unlike the boxes in newer NFL stadia, is not enclosed.

For almost eight months, I've been in a routine. Call Monday. Interviews Tuesday. Write Tuesday night and Wednesday. Gauge reaction Thursday. Watch Thursday night game. Then on Saturday, with the kids in bed, flip around to see more games and think of a story for next week.

So now it's over. I'm relatively pleased with the tens of thousands of words I wrote. I'm going to miss my Tuesday conversations with Landon Donovan or Fernando Clavijo or whoever was willing to chat for the weekly story, though I have roughly 17-18 hours of archived conversations in case I want to hear that awful voice I have while I'm formulating questions. There's no guarantee it'll happen again next year.

But on the bright side, I'm looking forward to a leisurely lunch tomorrow.

Wonder if there's a European game on ...

Hey! I'm in a government database!

If they've done their homework on who's likely to be in this group, anyway.

Oh, it's not the U.S. government, by the way. It's China's.

The end of the next "Friday Night Lights' football game

This might be the only way the Dillon Panthers have NOT won a game on the last play.

It's a Texas school, at least.

See the video.

And still more stuff I've written recently ...

My guest essay at Next Newsroom was just published. I skip down Memory Lane and testify to the merits of working from the comfort of home, accompanied by my dog.

And then there's today's story, which I wrote while doing this blog and then watching the kids.

And on a men's room at the mall, I wrote a witty rejoinder ... oh, wait, I shouldn't publicize that.

Soccer fans have better musical taste

So I was reading something random that popped up on one of my Yahoo feeds, and I found myself nodding along. It's a review of two Pretenders albums -- their best (Learning to Crawl) and the beginning of the decline (Get Close) -- nailing what's good about the former and what's wrong with the latter. It even recognizes one of the great underrated guys in rock, hard-hitting drummer Martin Chambers.

The byline didn't jump out at me. But when I reached the end, I realized I knew the blogger -- not from school, work or some random musical thing, but from the D.C. United pressbox.

Proof, once again, that soccer fans are simply the epitome of hip.