Countdown to Glory: 17 to go

THE COUNTDOWN CONTINUES. 17 DAYS TO GLORY!!!

To The Beatles, she was just 17, if you know what I mean.
To ABBA, she was a dancing queen, young and sweet, only 17.
At 17, Janis Ian learned the truth, that love was meant for beauty queens.
And finally, for fantastically dressed and tressed Kip Winger, she's only 17 (Se-ven-teen!), Daddy says she's too young [correctly], but she's old enough for me [sang the man heading to jail]. [EDITORS NOTE: YOU MUST WATCH THIS CLIP IMMEDIATELY. NOW.]

Yes, the world's finest lyricists are apparently stuck on this number. Which, as the father of a near 3-year-old girl who today said "OOOOOH!!!" when I was explaining that Cinderella and Prince Charming fell in love, I am disturbed by.

I don't think there's anything special about being 17. When I was 17, I was awkward and insecure, and so were all of the other high school junior girls I knew. 17 isn't hot. 17 is annoying. 17 is tweeting about Justin Bieber. 17 is about really struggling over whether to choose Team Edward or Team Jacob. 17 actually thinks Miley Cyrus can sing, along with being, like, such an AMAZING actress. 17 is worried about making her eyeblack look right for the Powder Puff game, so she'll catch the eye of some guy who is dressing up as a female cheerleader. Want to know what 17 is really like? Read Seventeen magazine. Spoiler Alert! It's incomprehensibly lame and will make you question whether the Mayans were right about our future.

Luckily, goofy 17-year-olds grow up and become sultry 33-year-olds.

17 is also the number worn by Ilya Kovalchuk, but in my mind he no longer exists since he got traded from the Thrashers to the Devils. Wait, the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. Should I believe in Ilya again just to tick off the devil? Theology confuses me.

In the football world, 17 is the number of super-genius Plaxico Burress. So for all you people out there who think 17 is a cool number, just slap on your finest pair of sweatpants, tuck your unlicensed glock into the waistband and hit the clubs. Make sure you don't use the safety, and if the waistband slips, just slap at the gun and hope it doesn't go off and cost you a multi-million dollar contract. And if, by some bizarre happenstance, the unlicensed, loaded, not-safety-locked, tucked-in-sweatpants gun goes off in a club, don't worry. Just say you got shot at an Applebee's. They'll totally believe it.

17 is an embarrassment of a number. Need more proof? It was my number the last year I played little league baseball. Consider these facts: I am pretty much legally blind and have been pretty close to that since the 6th grade. I did not wear glasses playing little league baseball. Seeing things clearly actually helps baseball players hit and field. I did not do those things well. It could reasonably be said that I represented the number 17 adequately, because the number is inadequate as is.

So don't settle for inadequacy and instead join TEAM 33. If you can join us for the Walk at Atlantic Station on May 22, please do! Bring your friends and family, including dogs. If you can't come, you can still join TEAM 33 or contribute in any way you'd like. For more information on joining TEAM 33 or contributing, please follow the link below:

http://www.kintera.org/faf/r.asp?t=4&i=312420&u=312420-211716341

Join TEAM 33. Sign up. Spread the word to your friends and family. Join us at the walk. Give a few bucks for a great cause. Shoot yourself in the leg with a gun loaded with awesomeness. And we'll have cake.

WE ARE NOW HALFWAY TO THE WALK!!! 16 more emails to come, and now that we're on the downhill slope, you can rest assured that they will all bore you. SO DON'T WAIT! JOIN TEAM 33!!!

If you have any questions about how incredibly awesome TEAM 33 is, give me a call or send me an email. Thanks again!