One final thing.
I live in Detroit. We recently had a little football game that most of the world was watching. The whole thing was a lot of fun, especially when they shut down my street for 9 days to build a winter wonderland that was dependent on 6 inches of snow -- and then it was 50 degrees the entire week, until the Saturday night before the game, making for a scene that approximated New Orleans in a blizzard. I maintain I'd have seen some flashing if the temperature had risen above freezing. Or if folks from anywhere outside of Seattle and Detroit had visited. Eh. (Go Seahawks.)

Along those lines, you might expect me to have met some celebrities. Really, I didn't. The only person even close to a celebrity I met was Chuck Klosterman, who I drank with several times in a group, thanks to a coworker who's a close personal friend of Chuck. I, however, am now. Which is why I'm mentioned extraordinairly anonymously in his SBXL blog:

Sunday, 3:28 a.m.I don't know if ESPN has a policy against drunken blogging, but
here we go: Let's roll the bones, rockers.
In downtown Detroit this
weekend,
there were many, many parties. There was the Maxim party, there was
the Playboy
party, there was the Penthouse party, there was the Jenna
Jameson
"clothing-optional" party, there was the Kit Kat party, there was
the Linda
Lavin party, there was the Western Horseman party, there was the
Stolen
Transmissions party, there was the Chips Ahoy party, there was the
Oui magazine
"foxy-dead girl" party, there was the George Plimpton Memorial
Intellivision
party, there was the Kid Rock Performs Bob Seger System party,
there was the
World B. Free Appreciation party, there was the Sinclair
Oil/Komodo Dragon
party, and there was the Hamas victory party. And I went
to exactly zero of
these affairs, because I do not like parties. Instead, I
went to a bar in Grosse
Point with a bunch of employees from The Detroit
Free Press, where I drank
martinis filled with gummi bears while discussing
how I spent Friday night at a
bowling alley called The Majestic (which is
the same place where Jack White
punched out the singer from the Von
Bondies).

So, I was one of the Freep folks drinking martinis. (I bowed to the peer pressure and drank several 'girl drinks' with goofy names and interesting ingredients. But only because their beer list sucked. And also, I regained some girl-drink-drunk respect by ordering, for my final "martini," a drink named for my fave comic book character "Green Lantern." So, at that point, I was getting geek-girl-drink-drunk. Or Girl/geek-drink-drunk. Or perhaps Girl-drink geek-drunk. Parse it how you will.
Though I did manage to avoid asking whether it was named after Hal Jordan, John Stewart, Guy Gardner, Kyle Rayner, Kilowog, Katma Tui, Sinestro, Tomar-Re, Ch'p, Jennie Lynn Scott, Abin Sur or Alan Scott. -- and if you ID'd all those references, you, my friend, are a geek after my own heart. I congratulate you.

I'm also in the Sportsdesigner.com blog. I'm not gonna quote that, since, well, you should be able to figure out my part in it fairly quick.
So, those're my XL press clippings. Enjoy. (Because what's the point of having a blog if you can't use it as a personal newsletter to point out where you're getting mentioning on the Web?)