Well, my fortunes in my various NCAA pools aren't looking too good at the moment. But that's alright, because flipping through the channels on Thursday I was reminded that the INDISPUTABLY LARGEST SPORTS entertainment EVENT OF THE YEAR IS OCCURRING THIS SUNDAY!

That's right folks, Wrestlemania XXI is upon us, and there's drama a-plenty. Will underdog caucasian rapper/wrestler John Cena be able to stand up to the plutocratic might of Texan blueblood/financial analyst/wrestler John "Bradshaw" Layfield? Will the relative no-name Randy Orton pose a challenge to the undefeated, undead Undertaker? Will Rowdy Roddy Piper's geriatric status keep Stone Cold Steve Austin from crippling and/or spilling beer on him? There's just no way to know. Well, no way that doesn't involve dropping $50.

I haven't watched pro wrestling in quite a while, but back in the day I fashioned myself a so-called "smart mark", one of those guys who would watch every week for the spectacle, the nasty backstage gossip and, let's face it, the ludicrous macho pageantry. This Sunday evening seems like a good time to catch up on who's on top, who's popping pills, and who's dead. So who's in?

rob just added a neat new feature to DCist.com (i know, how could it get EVEN NEATER?) - flickr photos that automatically post themselves to www.dcist.com/photos.php. just upload your photo, tag it with "dcist", or email it to fact18working at photos.flickr.com with a title and description. it's purty cool.

also purty cool was phoenix last night at the 9:30 club - i've got a brief review up here. they were indescribably slick and french, and first thing kyle said to me when their set was finished was, "all six of them are totally getting laid tonight." and even though they all probably weighed about 105 pounds soaking wet, had greasy hair and skinny, skinny pants, it was true. they were sorta like maroon 5, if maroon 5 was french and awesome. or maybe like jameraquai, except minus all the annoying crap. i recommend you check out some of their videos here.

April 1st is a pretty bad day for the internet, particularly its nerdier corners. For some reason techies get way into April Fools, and a lot of unfunny disinformation is generated. Sometimes it doesn't even try to be funny -- it's just lying for its own sake. It makes it tough to find information, or even genuine entertainment.

Oh well. The folks at Penny Arcade, at least, have something funny to contribute.

Last night Julie was nice enough to let me take her car on a refresher course at driving stick. And it was glorious. Allow me to rhapsodize.

You see, my friends, driving a manual, like every other analogizable thing, is like making love to a woman. Yes, it's a matter of instinct, but mostly I mean that it's awkward and embarrassing, full of fits and starts and thrashing around. Going too fast will prompt unhappy yelps from underneath you; go too slow and the whole operation will grind to a halt, leaving you to frantically flail about, all the time keenly aware of the disapproving gaze of the owner of the equipment to which you have foolishly been granted access.

But through persistence and experience things can eventually be made to click, and you'll have a few precious moments of clarity before the need to repeat the ordeal begins to mount anew, and someone starts screaming at you to get off the road.

Anyway, after driving around Arlington for half an hour I felt pretty confident about my ability to get a stick-shift rental car off the lot without it bursting into flames. So I went to Microcenter and bought myself two wireless routers to celebrate, then went home and slept like a baby.

As I was locking my bike to a lamppost this morning around 20th and Penn, another biker came whizzing by and said "keep riding, goombah." Given his appearance and the location, I'd say he was probably a GW student. He didn't seem to say this with any malice. But what the hell does it mean? Was it an entreaty from a fellow cyclist to throw off the shackles of wage slavery and enjoy the beautiful day? A bizarre, xenophobic assault on my not-actually-Italian heritage? An NES non sequitur?

Exhibit A: my bike's frame was made by an Italian company, so it does have some little Italian flag decals on it.

Exhibit B: I am wearing a ridiculously striped shirt today, a style that I think Catherine has told me got started in Italy. I'm pretty sure this shirt is from the Gap, though. So it's actually more of a Malaysian shirt, if you ask me.

But I guess my appearance this morning probably was unusually eurotrashy. So was it actual xenophobia? From someone in their early twenties? Directed against Italians?! It seems unlikely.

Which leads me to a dire and inescapable conclusion: I just don't understand the kids these days. Already.