I've been suffering from baseball withdrawal.

Symptoms have included crankiness, lethargy, depression, hot dog cravings, sweating, insomnia, hallucinations of Royals players in public, et al.

Tonight at Nara with my BFF Meghann, I spotted outfielder David DeJesus at an adjacent table. OK, it was more like David DeDoppelganger. This sushiphile had the same backside and profile of my favorite MLBer. Both with which I'm very familiar.

My love of New Kids on the Block is old enough to buy porn.

One of my earliest memories dates back to a summer morning, circa 1989. I was a chubby, fanatic 4-year-old gawking at basic cable. At the promise of a Joey McIntyre interview, I raced upstairs to my bedroom, gussied myself up in my Sunday best (which most likely involved DayGlo and biker shorts), and vaulted myself back on the couch with seconds to spare. I breathlessly beheld him — the dewy-eyed, curly-haired prepubescent heartthrob. In my living room! I thought he would be able to see me through the television, so I wanted to make sure I looked cute.

Last night, I consummated 19 years of unshackled devotion for NKOTB in two hours of dumb fun. The dumbest fun I’ve ever had. By now, my inhibitions have been swept into a dustpan somewhere in the Sprint Center.

I have never left a Kings of Leon show empty-handed.

The first time I saw them live, my sister apprehended a drumstick for me. The second time, we completed the pair. The third time, I got autographs and a guitar pick.*

But this time trumps all others.

Take this simple quiz and find out!* 

You have knowingly consented to endure the following on Monday and Tuesday (check all that apply):

A charity opportunity fell right in my lap today. Or, should I say, in my work e-mail inbox.

Some hard-up bloke from the UK needs my help. I don't know how he found me, but I am honored that he would consider me responsible enough to help him recieve his inheritance. Not sure what I have to do, but he'll give me seven million dollars! Do you have seven million dollars? I will soon.

See below!

All I’ve gotta say is, the Blue Springs Fire Department is on top of it. 

On my way to an oil change this morning, I drove past a giant banner unfurled roadside in front of the fire station. It read: “Prevent home fires!”

Close call! It’s a damn good thing I saw that sign. Why, had I taken an alternate route, I might have neglected to prevent a home fire this very evening.

Friday night, I attended the outdoor City Market screening of "Rocky Horror Picture Show." Tim Curry in drag = almost as awesomely creepy as Tim Curry in clown makeup. But I digress...

If you're familiar with the low-class classic, you may have heard about the cult tradition of viewer participation. During some screenings, audience members dance the “Time Warp,” chuck hot dogs (and other props) at the screen and shout a canon of callbacks — scripted responses to the film’s dialogue, MST3K-style.

While I’m too cool to engage in such reckless juvenile behavior, I enjoyed the work of those who did. Particularly the guy with the ponytail and the fedora. Rocky Hoarser, I like to call him. Seriously, dude’s voice was cracking by the final number.

I got nailed by the speed trap on Main and Westport. Apparently there's a school zone there. Did you know that? I do now.

This gal.

Yeah, I said it. "The Greatest Show On Earth" is the greatest pain in my ass. Why?

1. Elephant dung all over the Crossroads.
2. Families clogging up the P&L district when I'm driving my car.
3. Families clogging up the Sprint Center ticket window during the Neil Young ticket sale.
4. Two words: Bello billboards. That dude scares the crap out of me (see above).
5. Little kids wearing clown masks. That's a new kind of scary.

Maybe I'm just jaded because my parents never took me to the circus. But now that I'm all grown up, I wish it would go away. Please. Leave. And never come back.

When I found out Mark Teahen (my second favorite Royals outfielder) would be scooping ice cream Sunday evening for charity at Coldstone on the Plaza, I decided this was my in. (I had to abandon my original plan after my editor dutifully informed me that I could NOT use my press credentials to get into the locker room).

In case you haven't been keeping up with my life (and I don't know why you wouldn't), I've been designing and screenprinting Royals T-shirts. And by T-shirts, I mean T-shirt. So, I decided to let Mark Teahen in on my hobby by making him a one-of-a-kind T-shirt and presenting it to him at his dairy king debut.

I'll skip to the part where I give it to him. He and his lovely girlfriend ambled up to Coldstone Sunday evening, I sprang from my perch outside the ice creamery and handed him the rolled-up T-shirt. "Mark Teahen!' I sputtered. "I made this for you."