Privette Papers

It’s Close to Midnight, and Something Evil’s Lurking in the Dark

2009-07-01T02:00:00.000-05:00

Imagine this scenario, if you would:

You are alone in your home. It’s nighttime, the electricity has gone out, and the phone line is no longer working. You hear a low guttural moan from just outside your front door as a loud pounding sound resonates, as if someone or something was trying to force its way inside your home. What do you do?

If you’re like most Americans, you’d probably freak out. And that’s totally understandable. Some blood-crazed creature banging on your door in the middle of the night can be down right scary. But I’m here to tell you not to worry. That noise is merely the walking dead threatening to break down your door and rend your flesh to eat you alive.

Seriously, it could be worse. It could be Carrot Top going door to door trying to sell you sex toys. Or it could be Janet Reno demanding entrance because she’s convinced there’s a Cuban boy stuffed in your closet. Or it could be Gay Hitler. Honestly, a flesh eating zombie has to be the least of your worries.

Still, this is something you should probably be concerned about. Zombies are real, they are a serious threat, and if left unchecked, a zombie apocalypse may very well be in our near future. I would know. Hunting down and killing zombies is a bit of a hobby of mine.

Wait. Is that the right word? Kill? Zombies are already dead, so technically speaking, you can’t kill them again. De-zombify? De-animate? No, you can’t reverse the process, so those terms wouldn't be accurate. Slaughter? Butcher? Obliterate? No, I don’t see myself using those words in everyday conversation. End? Ok, I guess that’s as good as anything else.

Hunting down and ending zombies is a bit of a hobby of mine. In fact, I’ve been studying and developing fighting methods and battle strategies geared exclusively at dealing with zombies. This includes ballistic assaults as well as good ol’ fashioned melee combat abilities. I’ve even gone so far as to conceive a bare-fisted method for taking down zombies quickly and efficiently. My signature attack is a singular punch to the zombie’s head, which strikes with such ferocity that it liquefies the brains inside the fiendish creature’s skull. And if the bone making up the skull is decayed enough, the mash of brains can even be ejected out the other side of its head! Oh, it's more than satisfying, let me assure you.

Unfortunately, martial arts officials have refused to acknowledge my new fighting style, just because they’ve never seen it in action against a real live zombie. Coincidentally, the same move that will liquefy a zombie’s brains in one hit, won’t be nearly as lethal when preformed on a still living and breathing human. They even refuse to give my fighting style a proper name. I could call it, Fist of Zombie Ruin... or Punch of De-zombification… or maybe even, My Fist to Your Face Technique.

The naming thing is still a work in progress. Apparently I’m not very good with words. The important point to take away here, is that if all else fails, hand to hand combat can be an effective way to battle the walking dead.

Case in point: I once saw Chuck Norris round house kick a zombie in the face. The force of the kick knocked the zombie’s head off and caused it to fly backwards. It crashed into the head of another zombie, ending both instantly due to the sheer strength of the collision. In addition to that, the energy of the impact caused a localized shock wave, which, after erupting, created a vacuum within a twelve foot radius. The three additional zombies standing within that radius had their brains sucked out of the ears by that vacuum and collapsed on the ground, withering and clawing for several minutes before their brain activity and motor skills ceased functioning for good.

I’m not afraid to admit that I am not half as badass as Chuck Norris is.

Now I hope you’re smart enough to realize that fighting zombies with your bare hands is not advisable, even in the worst conditions. The more savvy readers out there have more than likely already purchased a copy of The Zombie Survival Guide, by Max Brooks, and are hopefully beginning to compile their own zombie survival supplies. The book does a much more thorough job than I ever could of cataloging all of the weapons you could possibly use to fight the walking dead.

One thing the Survival Guide lacks, however, is information on zombie repellent powder. I am currently developing and testing a nontoxic powder that when applied to a human in sufficient quantities will keep zombies at bay. Just like a bad cologne, it will keep other beings from wanting to touch you in any way. Now there are still a few kinks to be worked out before I’m ready to market this wonder product, but keep an eye out for it at your local sporting goods store.

Speaking of which, why don’t more sporting good stores and gun shops have a specific “zombie survival” section? I think they’re missing an incredible opportunity to target the niche part of the population that actively worries about zombie infestation. Putting all the necessary zombie survival supplies in one area would instantly increase sales, but it will also serve to help educate and inform the general populace on what are the best items to purchase for such an epidemic.

I think this needs to be remedied. In fact, I think we can go a step further… I hereby propose an entire product line designed specifically for avoiding, fighting, and surviving the worst case scenario of a zombie outbreak. Look for Z END gear, equipment, weapons, and survival supplies coming to a store near you. When you see the Z END logo, you know you’re getting high quality, weapons grade materiel. You know that I am serious and very committed to providing my customers with the most outstanding, the longest lasting, and the most efficient zombie destroying goods known to man. That is my pledge to you.

“Survive the zombie apocalypse. Survive until the end. Z END.”

You know. I might want to hire a marketing firm to help me with that. Once I finalize and patent my zombie repellent powder, I’ll focus on building Z END into the power brand that I know it can be. I mean, who wouldn’t want a Z END anti-zombie pistol? Or a Z END Shaolin Spade? Or even some Z END zombie-proof dehydrated rations? The possibilities are limitless.

So just remember: the next time you hear the sound of the relentless undead banging on your door, you have nothing to fear! Just strap on your Z END combat knife, grab your Z END survival bag (with Z END sleep bag, Z END flashlight, Z END map and compass set, and Z END toothbrush) and get ready to hit the road towards your mountain retreat/safe house. Yes, you can survive the zombie menace, but only with Z END!

2009-07-01T01:00:00.000-05:00

Z END official logo.

Turnaround Bright Eyes

2007-10-31T03:14:00.000-05:00

Weddings… What can I say that hasn’t been said already? Weddings totally rock! Yeah, I know, I’m against the whole marriage and commitment thing, but the actual event, the wedding itself, is just an amazing experience. And I’m not saying this just because it gives me a perfect opportunity to throw out lines from the movie Old School. Which, by the way, is not only a great movie, but a timeless classic.

Maybe you’ll want the full story. Saturday, one of my fraternity brothers got married. It’s always a joyous occasion when someone you’ve known throughout your college career finally settles down with a woman he holds close to his heart. Yes, I’m a sucker for that lovey-dovey sentimentality crap. Also, there was an open bar.

Few other phrases in the English language can inspire so much wonder and excitement as those two words: open bar. Just writing the words is making me giddy. I want everyone out there to know, I went to the wedding because both Josh and Monica are very dear friends of mine and I would carry out any favor they needed at the drop of a hat. They’re just that awesome. But the much less compelling and highly secondary reason I attended the wedding this weekend was for my other very dear friend, alcohol.

I hope you all are already aware of my penchant for that particular aqueous substance. As far as I’m concerned it’s a magical elixir that chases away bad things. It also happens to make my friends much more interesting and certain people much more bearable. Though I think the surgeon general needs to add the following warning label to all liquor bottles sold in the US:

Warning: Objects viewed while inebriated may be less attractive tomorrow morning than they currently appear.

I’m just saying, it’s something that everyone should be aware of. Not that I had to worry about that during the wedding, no sir. I may have been drinking alright, but I was hanging out with my fraternity brothers that I hadn’t seen in a while. There was no trolling for bridesmaids for me. I was simply happy to see everyone again, especially some of the guys whom I hadn’t seen in a good two years. Man, where does the time go?

I have to say, everyone was happy to see me as well. I’m just the kind of guy that all the other guys want to be around. I think it has something to do with my lack of niceties around women. I have a very bad habit of saying things that make girls genuinely upset and reproachful. And you know what, I’m ok with that. I just find angry women amusing. It has the added side effect of making all the other guys around me look that much better by comparison. And guys like looking better by comparison.

All the old frat brothers seemed quite surprised that I had dressed up for the occasion. Now, I’m normally all for casual wear and comfortable clothing. That’s just my style. But I do like to dress up all fancy for certain events. I happen to think I look damned good in a suit, but then again, that’s just my opinion. Besides, it was a wedding; you’re supposed to look your best at weddings. So seeing me in nice charcoal pants, a starched shirt, tie, and a coat was apparently something unexpected. The green shirt and khaki pants ensemble that I wore practically every week to frat meetings back in college just wasn’t going to cut it for Josh and Monica’s big day, even a bachelor bum like me knows that.

The girls that I ran into at the wedding also noted that I looked rather nicely dressed for the evening. Although, they seemed to have a hard time accepting the fact that I had actually dressed myself in such button-up finery. The first three or four times I heard the comment, “I don’t believe it! There is no way you dressed yourself this morning!” I thought it was rather funny. I’d like to think I’m genuinely a good sport like that. But after the seventh or eighth time hearing the very same line from a female acquaintance, I started to get a little fed up with the whole act.

Though, I do have to admit, there have been times that I haven’t quite been up to code on my dress. Getting all the shirt buttons lined up properly while dressing is still an ongoing struggle. And I don’t even want to mention the incident where I tucked the collar down inside my shirt. It ended up not being the latest fashion trend as I had been led to believe. But this does not mean that I am incapable of dressing myself. I’m merely… a little slow. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I was finally able to convince my female admirers (I’m going to call them that until I am scientifically proven otherwise) that I had managed to struggle into a suit and tie entirely of my own volition. I told them I used a diagram pinned up to my wall that showed step by step instructions on how to get everything on. They bought that. Apparently I’m incapable of buttoning my own shirt, but following directions, sure I can do that.

You know, come to think of it, that’s really not a bad idea. I’m just going to write that down on my list of ideas that I’ll eventually get rich off of. I’m thinking a 1, 2, 3 instruction guide, showing elaborate illustrations to help with donning formal wear. It’ll look just like the Lego instructional pamphlets that come with new Lego sets. I’m sure there are plenty of guys out there who could use some graphical insight to help fasten their ties. Let’s be honest here, wearing a clip on tie is a total fashion faux pas.

The wedding itself was lovely and the reception was delightful. From what I hear, I had a wonderful time. For the record, however, drinking three bottles of red wine all by yourself is not recommended, even if it is an open bar. But, being the trooper that I am, I took my booze (hey, wine is still booze) like a man, and kept it all down. I even managed to make it through the night without pissing off any women. Go me!

Just remember to always beware the tomorrow, as the morning light will most assuredly rise to kick you in the kiester. I was not feeling okay when I woke up the next morning, large quantities of alcohol will do that to you. At the same time, this warning applies to the happy couple as well. Oh, I’m sure they woke up Sunday morning just as thrilled as can be, and I am truly happy for the two of them. But they’re together now… forever.

I was in the church. I heard the pastor say it. “Until death do us part.” Those words sent a chill down my spine. Heck, it still gives me the willies today. One woman… one lover… one companion. One wife, until you die. Not my cup tea, sorry. But for those of you who do take the leap, those of you who do find comfort and solace in the arms of another and are bound to them for eternity, I wish you the best of luck. For there is nary a thing in this life more powerful than spending time with those you truly care for.

And to Josh and Monica: I wish you the greatest happiness and blessings for the rest of your years.

We’re Gonna Party Like It’s Your Birthday

2007-10-24T12:11:00.001-05:00

Last Friday was my friend Kristi’s birthday. And if I know anything about celebrating a birthday, then it’s going to involve copious amounts of alcohol. Ok, so maybe I involve bountiful quantities of alcohol for any celebration. That’s just who I am. What can I say? Distilleries around the world love me.

So it was Friday, the 19th of October, when my friend Kristi turned the big 24. Now, that’s not a big number in any way. It’s not, say… 25, which is a full quarter of a century. Nor is it 40, which is the number that marks the onset of middle age official. It’s not even close to 62, which is the when you can start collecting partial social security benefits. But, 24 is a big enough year to require getting drunk and taking birthday spankings from your friends. The spankings were not my idea. Seriously, I was a good boy. I kept my hands to myself for once.

For the record, Kristi spells her name with a “Y.” Thus, when she writes her name out, it is looks like “Kristy.” But I spell it differently. Mainly, I spell it that way because it makes her sound like a stripper, and that amuses me. She doesn’t seem too fond of it, though. One of these days women are going to realize that their sole purpose for being on this planet is to amuse me. Until they accept that one little fact, they are going to be perpetually inclined to hate and despise me. And that’s ok. I happen to find angry women entertaining. That’s just me.

Now, just because I’m a horrible person and I intentionally make my friend Kristi out to be stripper-esque, that doesn’t mean that I’m a terrible friend. I’m pretty sure I just contradicted myself there, but hey, I’m trying to make a point. Bear with me. Since I am such an amazingly good friend, and such a stand-up guy, I was explicitly put in charge of the whole affair for Friday night. Now if you’re plan for the evening is to drink, drink, and drink, then I’m not exactly the wrong person for the job. Some of my alcoholic feats are legendary. And then again, some of them merely involve me getting drunk, and getting slapped repeatedly. Eh, it happens.

The way I came into the position of leadership for the birthday festivities is quite a story. Well, it’s not a long story, not is it an entirely entertaining one, but it’s a story I’m going to share with you nonetheless. Personally, I find it somewhat amusing.

So, the week before (that would be the 12 of October, if my subtraction skills are up to par) I was out at a bar with Kristi and two other fine gents. Kristi, being a woman, and me being, well, me, I felt the need to say some things that annoyed and possibly upset my good female friend. Now, I’ve spent a good portion of my life learning and perfecting my abilities to piss off the opposite sex, and personally, I’d think it would be shame not to use them. So use them I did. For some strange reason, I don’t think Kristi was flattered by my improper comments. I think it was the fact that she repeatedly used the phrase, “I hate you,” that gave it away.

But in between telling me how me she hated me, which she managed to do repetitively on several separate occasions, she told me that I was in charge of her birthday for the following week. I was supposed to plan where we were going as well as recruit some more people to go out and drink with us. Now, I don’t know why the other two guys in attendance weren’t good enough for her, I mean, they were actually being nice to her, but apparently I was the guy for the job.

So in the intervening week, not only did I manage to negotiate where we would be transmuting our hard earned dollars into liquid, mind-altering substances (and by negotiating, I mean, I asked Kristi where she wanted to go, and then commanded everyone to go there; I call it leadership) but I also was able to garner a fairly decent crowd for the festivities. Ok, so maybe no one really came out because I said so, mostly they wanted to hang out with Kristi. That’s ok with me. Seeing as it was her birthday, the spotlight was most appropriately on her. I was more of a background character.

Now being in charge has its downfalls. It requires you to be responsible. And responsibility means driving all the drunken idiots home after a night on the town. But it was Kristi’s birthday, and I was in charge, so yeah, I think I can be the sober guy for one night, which is exactly what I did. So after a shortened evening on the town (we only hit two bars), we ended up back at Kristi’s apartment complex, hanging out with her neighbors. Up to that point, the evening was rather uneventful. I mean, there were shots taken, some singing, some dancing, and I’m pretty sure someone left a bite mark on Kristi’s ass (and it totally wasn’t me, I was sober, remember), but that’s really nothing to write home about.

So, here we were, seven or eight people, hanging around outside of an apartment at 3am discussing the possibility of ordering a pizza. Now, for those of you who don’t stay up that late, let me fill you in on a little secret: pizza doesn’t exactly get delivered after 2am, even on Fridays. So, bummed out, a few of our party left. Those that stayed ended up inside the neighbor’s apartment watching the recently released Transformers on DVD (good movie, by the way, even if I prefer the original 1986 animated Transformers: The Movie better). I neglected the box-office blockbuster when I found a copy of Sports Illustrated: Swimsuit Edition lying on the kitchen counter. Beyonce was on the cover, ‘nuff said.

I had managed to not piss of Kristi while we were out at the bars. Seeing as how it was her birthday, I thought I could do at least that much for her. Though I have to admit, I accomplished this feat by keeping my mouth shut most of the time we were out. Yet somehow, I finally got on her nerves by looking at pictures of scantily clad women. Well, in all honesty, she was upset because I was slobbering all over the pictures of the beautiful blonde models in the magazine (she doesn’t like blondes for some reason). To be perfectly fair, I wasn’t just ogling the blondes, I was also eye-humping the two-dimensional brunettes as well as the insanely gorgeous Brazilians posing therein. And on a completely unrelated note, I’m saving up all my pennies for a trip to Brazil. Who’s coming with me?

Shortly thereafter, Kristi left to go walk her dogs and get some sleep. She had sobered up quite a bit up to that point, which was refreshing. If she had fallen too far into her drinks, it would have been my responsibility to look after her while she was sick. Like I noted before, I hate being in charge. But she was fine, and she left under her own power. This was right about the time her neighbor had decided to cook for everyone who was hungry since we couldn’t order a pizza.

Since it was now around four in the morning, I figured he was going to pull some chicken out of the freezer and throw it into the microwave or something. But no, he produced fresh vegetables and pork from his fridge and began chopping away. He even mixed up an Asian style spicy sauce from scratch to go with it. It was crazy. I mean, who the hell makes a home cooked meal at 4am? Apparently Alex does. Twenty minutes or so later, he served the stir fry up on top of some steamed rice in a fancy bowl. He even had chopsticks on hand for us to eat with (to his credit, he is dating a Chinese girl). By this point, though, the girls that were left had passed out on the sofa. So the only people eating were Alex, Joey, and me. Hey, more food for us guys. It was a good thing too, that Alex can cook up some damned good food.

My night finally ended just after 5am when I returned home, brushed my teeth, and fell into bed. As far as birthdays go, Kristi’s wasn’t too shabby. We all went out and had a good time. And most important of all, I didn’t have to baby-sit anyone. Because, let’s be honest here, I’m not exactly world-renowned for my responsibility. I feel for the girl who actually has no choice but to rely on me in her time of need. Seriously.

Fultron, Defender of the Universe

2007-10-09T23:29:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine was looking to get rid of her futon. Apparently she didn’t want it taking up any more space in her apartment. I can understand that, free space can be at a premium these days. So last week I swung by her place and took the futon off her hands. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s taking other people’s furniture. Heck, I’m pretty sure 80% of the fixtures in my apartment were bought by someone other than me. I guess my apartment is a retirement home for old furniture. Which is cool, since spending money on new furnishings cuts into my video game budget.

So, last Wednesday, I was at a friend’s apartment, taking apart her futon. Now, just to set the record straight, being “mechanical” is usually the sort thing that my older brother or my father does. I didn’t quite inherit the family grease monkey genes. But that’s ok with me. I am quite proficient with other things, like, um… being creative. Seriously, you should see what I’m capable of doing with a can of whipped cream and some chocolate syrup. Hey, whipped cream and chocolate syrup make everything better. And I do mean everything.

Getting back to last Wednesday. Now I know enough about wrenches and screws and whatnot that I can take care of most of my mechanical needs. Which is a good thing. Manly men are supposed to know how to fix things. Though for the record, I much prefer to break things, it is ever so gratifying. So, taking apart that futon to make it easier to transport was no problem. It only took a few minutes for me to take the back off of it and it was ready for the short car ride to my place.

There is an advantage to driving a twelve year old man wagon (nicknamed the m’agon for short). With the rear seats folded down, I can fit all kinds of things in my car. In fact, I’ve been able to haul more furniture around than most SUVs. And on top of that, I get way better gas mileage. Needless to say, I don’t think I’m going to be buying an H2 any time soon.

My friend was worried about me since I’d have to carry all three pieces of the slightly disassembled futon into my apartment by myself (the main assembly, the removed back, and the futon pad). I told her not to worry because I’m a guy, and carrying heavy things is what guys do. In fact, I’d probably carry any number of outrageously heavy objects up numerous flights of stairs just to prove my manliness. I’m just vain like that. Heck, I still remember dragging the box spring to my bed up the two flights of stairs by myself to my apartment at two in the morning. Oh yeah, those were good times.

Needless to say, I got the new futon up into my apartment with little fanfare. It took three trips, but I handled it without any worries whatsoever. I’m just that good. Of course, after getting it into the apartment it just sort of sat there, in pieces, in the middle of my living room. And being the amazingly productive guy I am, it stayed there for most the rest of the day. You’d be surprised at how easy it is for me to continually climb over random clutter when the alternative requires extra work on my part.

Now, you might be wondering why I went through the trouble of acquiring a new futon, when I already have one. See, a few months back, I threw away a somewhat comfy sofa that reeked of feline monstrosities. The aging couch was my old roommate’s, and for some reason, he kept a cat as a pet. I’m not exactly a fan of beasts. I wouldn’t mind lighting every cat I come across on fire and throwing it into a ceiling fan, but that’s just me. I couldn’t very well keep a stinking sofa in my apartment, not if I want to occasionally bring over lady friends to entertain. I did have one lovely young lady who couldn’t sit on the sofa because it triggered her allergy to cats. That’s a good enough reason for me to dump it, so I did.

After dumping the old sofa, I moved my futon from its usual place in my bedroom into the living room to take the spot of the premier furniture piece. So now there’s a big empty space on the wall in my room, which is cool. It makes the bedroom seem much bigger now. I hadn’t really thought about what to do with that new free space just yet. Do you think eight feet by two is enough room to put in a microbrewery? Just asking… for no reason whatsoever.

So, I have this space in my bedroom that I figured I was going to put the new futon in. Then, an idea hit me. Why have two perfectly good futons, when I can combine them together to make one super-ultra futon? It’s like Voltron, the more you hook up, the better it gets. And I think it goes without saying, I learned most of my life lessons from the cartoons I watched growing up in the eighties.

So far, I’ve only piled up the two mattresses on my futon in the living room. And you know what? It rocks! It’s the most comfortable futon I’ve ever had the pleasure of resting my posterior on. I was worried that the top mattress would slip and slide off of the futon, but it has not; they’re both staying perfectly in place. So far, so good. But I think I can do more. I continued to disassemble the newly acquired futon frame into smaller pieces which are simply lying against my bedroom wall. And now I don’t know what to do with them.

I need to figure out how I can fuse the two metal frames of the futons into one super structure. We all know I’m not the naturally gifted mechanical type, so I’m at a bit of a loss here. If my older brother was here, we could combine his mechanical abilities with my creativity and produce something quite monstrous, I’m sure. But seeing as he lives in Indiana and the fact that we’ve never really worked well together on projects, I’ll just have to go it alone. I’m sure that I’ll come up with something eventually. I may not be able to turn my futon into a giant robotic tiger, but maybe, just maybe, I can give it a glowing energy sword with which to smite its foes. And I can call it “Fultron, Defender of the Universe.” Or maybe a bit more accurate: “Fultron, Defender of My Ass.” Or I could possibly come up with something that’s slightly less nerdy. I’ll keep you up to date on that.

For now, however, I’ll have to be content with having an overstuffed and rather comfortable futon to sit on while I watch football on the weekends. And well, I think I’m ok with that. There is nothing more important than being relaxed while watching UNC beat Miami in Chapel Hill. I’m still upset I didn’t buy tickets to that game and ended up watching it from home. Oh well, maybe next time. At least the Tar Heels are doing better than NC State. And you know what? That’s all I could ask for.

Oh, and Brian Griese, if you keeping winning games for the Chicago Bears, I can overlook the fact that you took Rex Grossman’s starting position. I may be Rex’s biggest fan, but let’s face it, I desperately want the Bears to win. And if Lovie Smith says Griese is the guy to do it, then Griese is the guy. DAAA BEARS!

Philanthropic Mansion

2007-10-02T22:16:00.000-05:00

Am I ever going to grow up? Probably not, if I can help it. I mean, who really wants to be an adult? Now, I’m sure there are plenty of bonuses like paying bills, raising kids, paying taxes, and that whole chained to a rock in a solitary prison cell lock-down that they call marriage. Oh yeah, that all sounds like fun and games, but you know, there’s also that whole responsibility thing. And I’ve never been a huge fan of responsibility.

Then again, there are certain parts about adulthood that I can actually look forward to. Yet, they are the things that I don’t currently have. A brand new Lexus would be nice. All adults are entitled to one of those, are they not? There’s also the right to stay up all night playing Metroid Prime 3 (which I still haven’t gotten around to buying just yet). But foremost among those rights of adult-ness is living on your own.

At present, I have been without a roommate for over a year and a half. And let me tell you, it feels awesome. Not that I don’t miss the old roomie, I do, he was a cool guy. There’s just a lot more freedom about living by oneself, if you know what I’m getting at. If you don’t, let me spell it out for you. When you have a roommate, it’s damn near impossible to lounge on the sofa in your underwear, eat Cheetos off your chest, and play Super Mario World. Not that I’ve tried or anything. And if my Super Nintendo controllers have an orange cheese residue on them, well, that’s entirely coincidental.

The continuing problem I’m finding with my current living arrangement is not the fact that I live alone, it’s that my apartment could use a little more class to it. Oh sure, the balcony is nice, it really is, and it gives me a good place to air out my hockey gear so it doesn’t obtain the reek of twelve separate gym lockers. But there are people that live all around me and the walls aren’t exactly soundproof. And really, that’s the only thing that’s keeping me from inviting Hugh Hefner over for a glass of warm cognac and a fine Cuban cigar. If I lived in a house, I’d totally be surrounded by Playboy Playmates every weekend. Totally.

Sadly, I don’t live in a house. And there are many reasons why having a house would be monumentally beneficial for me. For one, I like to throw parties. What can I say? I love entertaining guests. And it’s far too difficult to cut loose and have a good time when you know the ease to which it will annoy your neighbors. I have been known to throw a pretty memorable bash, if I can say so myself. I’d like to do so again, but I’m in need of better environs.

Keeping that in mind, I ran across this nifty little program on the World Wide Web. It’s amazing the things you can find on that there internets. The program has you answer a few simple questions, and after you’re done, it will “build” your dream home. Now, it’s not a complete, full detail model, but it’s a fairly engaging exercise. And personally, I found my dream house to be highly indicative of my wants and desires. Feel free to click here to take a gander at it.

The text describing my Philanthropic Mansion begins by stating that I have “people” to take care of my kitchen needs for me. Honestly, that sounds awesome. I may be no stranger to wrestling with the arcane arts needed to master the oven and microwave, but let’s face it, I’m lazy. I’d much rather have some one else do the cooking for me. And for the record, I hope these “people” that tend to my culinary needs are women, because, well, the kitchen is where women belong.

Apparently my dream home has a pantry that is loaded with enough alcohol to last through another prohibition. And to be fatally serious here, that’s something I actually have thought about before. I mean, what if the entire state of North Carolina goes dry? I would but up the proverbial creek without any booze. And that frightens me. It frightens me like a fourteen year old school girl watching The Exorcist for the first time. On a much more rational note, you can’t buy alcohol in North Carolina on Sundays until after 12pm. Additionally, the ABC Stores (only places where you can buy liquor) are closed all day on Sundays. So a guy like me has needs of a full pantry of beer, wine, and whiskey to keep the alcohol gods well venerated on Sundays until after the noon is eclipsed. So it’s nice to see my dream home has me covered there.

It would be nice to have that study stocked with hardback editions of all the classic novels. Believe it or not, I’m a huge fan of literature. I mean, I do harbor dreams of becoming a professional novelist someday. I enjoy such ancient classics as the Odyssey and the Aeneid as well as much more contemporary classics including Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and Breakfast of Champions. I’ve also been known to enjoy selected works from Shakespeare. Oh, go ahead and laugh at me if you want. It’s ok, I’m used to it, I am a Rex Grossman fan, remember? And also for the record, I’ve actually read Rich Dad, Poor Dad. It’s good stuff.

Now, if I can draw your attention to the piece of the blueprint provided by the website, please. Most importantly, I’d like to note the garage measured in light seconds (which I’m scientifically aware enough to know is a measure of distance, not time). As fate would have it, the garage is big enough to fit a full sized X-Wing fighter. Now, if only it was possible to find a working model to park in there…

The home theater with stadium seating (located in the bottom right corner) is a must. In fact, I wouldn’t be much of a manly man without out it. There’s nothing like watching a football game in high definition on a television screen bigger than most stadiums’ jumbotrons. Although I’m not sure I’d need a completely separate room (on the top right) to dedicate to my many sports accomplishments. But then again, who doesn’t like trophies? I mean, they’re just so shiny.

The Grand Ballroom is a nice touch. Though I have to admit, I’d need to install a fully stocked bar in the back, loaded with a full sized keg fridge and several high quality beers on tap. That way I could entertain all my friends properly. Oh, I’m sure that it might take up room that most people would have reserved for dancing, but well, I’ve never been that big on dancing. But if my guests intend to do the dancing thing, well it’s a Grand Ballroom, I’m sure there is more than enough space for them to do so. Oh, and the wall for wallflowers is a must, because, well, I’m pretty sure that’s where your supposed to put them.

So that’s my dream home. Whenever I get around to building it, I’ll be sure to let Hugh Hefner and his numerous lady friends know, so they can swing by and visit. But until then, I’ll still be here, in my one bedroom apartment, hanging out with girls who aren’t quite Playboy Playmates. I know, it’s a sad life I live. But worry for me not, I will persevere and one day, I will have the home to fulfill all my dreams.

Bye, Bye Mr. Grossman

2007-09-26T00:43:00.000-05:00

According to the Chicago Suns-Time (and other media sources), Brian Griese will be starting for the Chicago Bears when they play the Detroit Lions on Sunday. This means that my personal hero, and favorite NFL player, Rex Grossman, will be sitting on the sidelines for the game. To say that I’m sad is a gross understatement.

Call me an idiot, call me brain-dead and bone-headed and whatever else you will. I don’t care. If I feel like having a two-bit quarterback as my personal hero, then I’m completely entitled to it. You also entitled to laugh at me now. Don’t worry, I’m used to it. I’ve been a Chicago Blackhawks fan all my life. As a side note, Chris Chelios, a former Blackhawks defenseman, is my favorite player in the NHL and will begin this season at age 45 playing for Detroit. He’s only six years younger than my dad, and he’s playing professional hockey for one of the best teams in the nation. My father, on the other hand, has never played any sports professionally. He’s just a slacker like that.

I understand why Mr. Grossman is getting sidelined this week. And honestly, it’s probably the right thing to do. When it comes right down to it, I trust Lovie Smith. He’s brought the Bears back to glory, and when it comes to coaching in the National Football League, that man knows what he’s doing. With Chicago’s offense seriously lacking the past three weeks, the coaching staff needs to do something to shake things up and get some production on the field.

If they want my advice (and I’m guessing that they don’t, seeing as how I’ve never played a competitive game of football in my life), they should try to quit turning the ball over. Ten turnovers in three games isn’t something you want to be proud of. I’m not entirely convinced changing quarterbacks will reverse this negative trend, but it’s certainly better than waiting for the tooth fairy to fix things up for them. Because, seriously, that is just not going to happen. For the record, I am not a fan of the tooth fairy. That conniving chimerical woman owes me $1.25 in lost baby teeth. And that doesn’t include fifteen years in compound interest (hey, I was a business major in college, I know all about the powers of compound interest, and I keep track). I’ll probably have to check with my accountant to see where we are on that total these days.

If there’s one thing that’ll cure Chicago’s offensive woes, it’s playing the Detroit Lions. Hey it worked for Donovan McNabb and the Philadelphia Eagles. McNabb threw for 381 yards and four touchdowns this past Sunday against the Lions. This is after having only one touchdown and one interception the past two games combined. It could be that Philadelphia is just starting to play up to their level or it could be that the Lions signed an entire high school girls cheerleading squad to play defense for them. I’m not entirely sure of that just yet. Or, who knows, it could even be their throwback uniforms granting the Eagles' recent success. You know what I'm talking about, those colorful things they were wearing on Sunday.

Ok, I need to get this off my chest. What the hell? I mean seriously, what the hell? Yes, those throwbacks were bright, and yes they were different. Kudos for that. But what acid tripping hippy in the Philadelphia Eagles organization thought that those uniforms were a good idea? (And I mean no offense to any acid tripping hippies out there, you shouldn’t be blamed for the Eagles psychedelic schemed regalia.) It reminds me, not so fondly, of the NHL’s Vancouver Canucks hockey stick jerseys from last year.

Let me give my advice now to general managers, owners, and anyone else making dressing decisions for their respective teams throughout the pantheon of sports (and I hope for this is a bit of advice that someone is actually listening to). Think before you act. No seriously, you really need to use that brain of yours for some significant intellectualism here. Before you make a decision to blow a bunch of money on new uniforms (and piss off half your fan base, and make a fool out of your team on national televisions) just ask yourself these simple questions:

1. Have I ingested any mind-altering, psychotropic drugs in the past 24 hours?

2. Did I take more than three shots of tequila during lunch?

3. Am I currently going through a rough breakup/divorce or am I suffering from a midlife crisis?

4. Do I drive a Mazda Miata?

5. Would I prefer to date a girl with a great personality over a much more attractive girl with huge cans?

6. Am I a New York Yankees fan even though I’ve never even been to the city of New York?

If you’ve answered yes to any of those questions, then chances are that you are currently incapable of making a rational, informed decision. And by all rights, at that point, you need to quit making any decisions whatsoever. Period. Instead, just walk into the nearest bar, hold up an example of the new uniforms, and ask the patrons if they think it’s ok for their local team to sport the fresh look. If you escape from the bar without being drenched in cheap beer and whiskey, then that’s a clear “go ahead” for the new jerseys. If you end up in a hospital with a severe concussion and several broken bones, you might want to rethink your latest apparel strategy.

I want the record to state, that even if a sports manager (or anyone else for that matter) ends up in the hospital or suffers any undue injuries while adhering to my advice, I’m not responsible. It is totally, completely, and irrevocably not my fault if you wish to bring back a crappy throw-back or build a new, horrendous, repulsive color scheme and/or logo. Also, managers across the sports spectrum need to be held accountable for their poor decisions when it comes to team apparel. Big time managers at professional clubhouses get paid millions of dollars, certainly they should have the wherewithal to know what doesn’t look good on their players. And if not, pay a fashion expert. I’m pretty sure you can afford it.

And I want one more thing on the record: If you drive a Mazda Miata, and you are not currently a 16 year old high school female (preferably with blonde hair), then I am not responsible for any decisions you make. It’s clear that are not mentally fit to make your own choices. And I mean no offense to Mazda or it's parent corporations.

And now I’m left with just one lingering thought. What are the chances that Green Bay will trade Brett Favre to the Chicago Bears for the rest of the season? I mean, it will give Chicago a standout quarterback, and Brett has a legitimate shot at another Super Bowl ring. It’s win-win as far as I can tell. Hey, if the chances are anywhere above 0.00%, then you can count me as one excited and insanely hopeful fanboy just eagerly waiting for February 3.

P.S. Rex Grossman is still my hero.

All That Glitters is Golden

2007-09-19T00:02:00.000-05:00

I think its time we discussed the Golden Rule. Well, no not the “Do unto others…” golden rule. Now don’t get me wrong, that’s a very good rule, and there’s a lot you can learn from it. There are several corollaries that can be derived which I believe impact all our lives on a daily basis. In fact, that may be saved as a discussion for a later day. But today we have something much different and much more important to talk about.

Today we’re going to talk about the golden rule of dating. I’m sure each and every one of you has your own personal rules when it comes to finding your preferred significant other. And that’s okay. We’re all different people so we all approach the prospective mates differently. Nothing’s wrong with that. The Golden Rule, however, applies not to who you deem dateable, but rather, it describes the field you’re capable of selecting from. Let’s just get on with it, to avoid any further confusion.

The Golden Rule:
“You are only as good as your options.”

I think we all pretty much know that. You are only capable of dating people you know. Let’s just forget about the bar scene for just a minute. I know picking up girls in bars is perfectly acceptable and it happens every day. But for the vast majority of people, you tend to date someone you already are familiar with. Generally speaking, guys end up dating girls who are in their extended circle of friends.

Now that “extended circle” is made up of your current friends (people you hang out with socially on a daily or weekly basis), your coworkers, people who know your friends or coworkers, friends of your family members, people you see regularly in extracurricular activities (i.e. going to the gym, playing on a softball team, bowling, etc.), neighbors, and my all time favorite, your buddy’s girlfriend’s friends. So I know that’s a long list, and it’s not exhaustive in any sense, but I think it’s important that we define a few things to start off.

Now according to the Golden Rule, the chances are that you’re either currently dating, or in the future will date a girl from one of these groups. The point being, people tend to date those that they feel comfortable with. If you’ll bear with me, I’d like for you single guys to do a little exercise to help me illustrate the impact of this rule.

Make a list of all the girls you already know. Then cross out all the girls who currently have boyfriends. Next, cross out any girls you don’t have regular contact with. Then cross out all the girls who are unattainable and would never even bother giving you the time of day. Now cross out all the girls that you consider to be 100% completely un-dateable (girls who used to date your best friend, girls that are too young or too old, girls with crazy emotional problems, girls who like to kick puppies, etc.). Just remember that this characteristic varies widely from person to person. Finally you have your list of options. If it seems small and well, not exactly savory, don’t worry, we’re not done yet.

If you reverse the rule and look at things from a girl’s perspective (after all the Golden Rule applies to everyone equally) you can see that she will end up dating someone she already knows. From this we can derive a very important corollary.

Golden Rule Corollary One:
“Girls will date the best choice of their options.”

Technically speaking, girls will want to date the guy with the best overall package (looks, wealth, style, personality, etc). But girls don’t always get the guy they want, even some of the most attractive girls out there fail to get hit on by the guys they’re interested in. And remember, it’s the guys who have to make the first move, so girls are somewhat limited in their abilities to pick up guys. So naturally girls are stuck choosing from the list of guys who are hitting on them. And according to the corollary above, they’ll pick the guy they like best out of that list.

And herein lies your advantage. If you turn out to be one of the few guys a girl happens to know, you have the inside track. Girls tend to prefer being in relationships, and will generally date a guy, even if the guy isn’t what she considers top shelf. Using Corollary One, you have the opportunity to pick up a girl that would otherwise be unattainable. And let’s be honest here, all you care about is getting a hot chick. Women, well, they’re a little choosier, and that’s backed by scientific fact. Just read this article on CNN.com

So what happens if you can’t seem to get an attractive female, even using this corollary? Well, it is quite obvious then, that you’re options suck. And as stated by the Golden Rule itself, if your options suck, you suck. This leads us very nicely into our second corollary.

Golden Rule Corollary Two:
“You need better options.”

Now, I don’t care if you’re currently dating an insanely attractive girl who also happens to pull down six figures a year. I mean, great for you and all, but let’s be honest, you can never have too many options. You just never know when things are going to turn south. Sometimes things just go bad and the only remedy involves being in the arms of a gorgeous, nubile young woman. And even if you already have a few options worthy of note, well, it won’t hurt you to have a few more. Just trust me on this one.

So, Corollary Two states that you should always be willing to meet new people. It doesn’t even matter if you’re meeting new guys. I mean, guys have sisters, and cousins, and ex-girlfriends, and female friends, and even hot aunts. So don’t forget to be friendly to all people, male or female, beautiful or unsightly. Because, well, ugly chicks hang out with hot girls too. If you keep an open mind, you’ll find that there are many, many ways to meet potential mates.

Just remember, even if you’ve been feeling discouraged lately or down on your dateless luck, there’s always hope. Keep the Golden Rule in mind, and its corollaries and you’ve already got a good starting point. So what are you waiting for? Get out there and meet all the girls you can! I’m sure you’ll eventually find a girl desperate enough to consider dating you. In fact, I’m positive of it. Go get ‘em, tiger!

Seasons Greetings

2007-08-29T12:57:00.000-05:00

Like it says above, “Season’s Greetings” to everyone out there! And I’m not referring to Christmas. Although I have to admit, I’m somewhat surprised that I haven’t seen any Christmas decorations up just yet. I mean, it’s already August, the winter festival is just around the corner. It’s never too early to stock up on Santa’s and sleighs and candy canes and all that other gobbledygook that people buy for mass consumption in what has become a nearly three month long event. Oh yeah, I can’t wait for that.

No, when I say “Season’s Greetings” at the end of August, there’s only one thing I’m referring to. Actually, there could be several things that I would be referring to, including, though not in any way being entirely limited to: the new football season starting (both college and professional), the start of a new school year (with new freshmen chicks moving into town), the start of a new hockey season for the recreational league I play in, or the rapid launch of several new video game titles before the winter Christmas Crunch. So yeah, there’s plenty of things to be looking forward to lately, but I’m not here to talk about any of the aforementioned. Today, I really want to talk about Oktoberfest.

More appropriately, I want to talk to you about Oktoberfest style beers. I mention this because this past Monday I went and did something that most single guys are required by law to avoid unless absolutely necessary: I went grocery shopping. Have no fear, though, I’m not turning into some strange cooking creature (read: “woman”). I stick to the manliest of essentials when shopping and hit most of the major manly food groups. This included the frozen pizza group, the salty snack group, the TV dinner group, and milk (because, well, no refrigerator is complete unless there’s a carton of month old milk in the back).

While shopping, I would be remiss if I didn’t journey down the beer aisle to at least take a gander at what America’s brewing companies were offering for my consumption. I wasn’t paying much attention, seeing as how I still feel the need to drink that last fourth of the bottle of bourbon I have, plus the six-pack of milk stout, and the two bottles of chilled sake in the fridge before acquiring any new booze. Now that might seem like a lot of alcohol to you, but let me assure you, I’m the kind of guy who drinks a lot of alcohol. I find that it’s the best way to support domestic businesses (for the record: the sake was brewed and bottled in California).

But lo’ and behold, I did stumble across a case of Sam Adams Oktoberfest Beer. Of all the Sam Adams varieties, and there are numerous ones these days, the Oktoberfest stands near the top in terms of tastiness. But I’ve had that before, and seeing as how Oktoberfest comes but once a year and I can’t get that particular style of beer during any other occasion, I decided to try something I hadn’t had before. And seeing as how I was shopping in a grocery store (note the fact that I was there to buy groceries) and not a specialty beer shop, the selection of micro brewed seasonal beers was somewhat lacking. But that’s ok, I have until the end of Oktober to venture forth and soak up all the seasonal style beers. So, in the end, I selected a six-pack of Blue Moon’s Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale.

Now there’s a difference between an Oktoberfest beer (known as Oktoberfestbier in Germany) and a spiced pumpkin ale. Both are available during the same time, the end of August until the end of October. And since it’s the end of August, I’m going to start enjoying both styles of beer now, while I can. And just so you know, I’m about halfway done with the Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale. My only hope is that I’ll finish writing before I finish my beer. Otherwise, I’ll have to get up and go get another beer. And I think we all know I’m loath to make that much effort.

In my continuing struggle to educate the masses on the wonders and intricacies of alcohol of all shapes, colors, flavors, and varieties, I will now attempt to disclose the inherent differences of these two seasonal fall brews. The traditional Oktoberfest beer is a Maerzen lager that is reddish in color, rich and smooth, exceptionally malty (but not too sweet), and with a complexity of added spices. The more contemporary Oktoberfestbier is fairly similar, but is lighter and paler to entice a more diverse crowd.

Pumpkin ale is similar in color, though it tends to be a bit lighter than traditional Maerzen. Similarly, the pumpkin ales also contain a strong malty backbone. The big difference is that pumpkin ales use pumpkins for flavoring. I’m guessing that’s how they came up with the name, though I can’t be entirely sure, I have been misled before. Brewers use freshly chopped pumpkins, a puree, or other natural or artificial pumpkin flavorings to get their desired taste. In addition, pumpkin style spices are employed as well. This can include nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves.

Though I usually group these two beers together main because they’re both malty, include spices, and come out at the same time of year, they are decidedly different beers. I think, in the long run, I prefer the pumpkin ale. But then again, there is something to be said for a true Maerzen beer, since it has been around for over 130 years. What can I say? I’m a sucker for tradition.

As for my recently purchased Blue Moon’s Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale… well, I’d have to say it’s a pretty decent beer. If you like Oktoberfest style or pumpkin ale style beers, you certainly can’t go wrong with it. Personally I think that there are better spiced pumpkin ale’s out there, but since Blue Moon is owned by Coors Brewing Co, it has much larger distribution than many other specialty and local beers. Therefore, it should be easy to find in your local grocery store, whereas many other seasonal brews can only be found in specialty beer shops.

Well, I’m about done with my beer, my second beer of the afternoon, actually. I’m beginning to think that drinking and writing many not be inclusively conducive. I have no idea if that last little word pairing is grammatically correct, or even if it makes sense, but I do know that it kind of rhymes. And after two beers, I just don’t really care about making sense anymore.

Sex Feedback Questionnaire

2007-07-26T13:41:00.000-05:00

Please fill out the form to the best of your ability.

I. Overall Experience
Select a number that corresponds to how strongly you agree with the statement, a 5 means that you strongly agree and 1 means you strongly disagree.

SD D N A SA
1. My partner set an appropriate mood 1 2 3 4 5
2. My partner’s cleanliness was satisfactory 1 2 3 4 5
3. My partner was attentive the entire time 1 2 3 4 5
4. My partner responded quickly and efficiently 1 2 3 4 5
5. My partner was very pleasing overall 1 2 3 4 5

II. Foreplay
Select a number that corresponds to how strongly you agree with the statement, a 5 means that you strongly agree and 1 means you strongly disagree.

SD D N A SA
6. The length of the foreplay was satisfactory 1 2 3 4 5
7. The foreplay was physically, sensually and
erotically pleasing 1 2 3 4 5
8. I was touched and teased in the spots that I
enjoy most 1 2 3 4 5
9. The intensity of the foreplay (rough, soft,
vigorous, slow, etc) was pleasing 1 2 3 4 5
10. The foreplay made me wanting and ready
for intercourse 1 2 3 4 5

III. Intercourse
Select a number that corresponds to how strongly you agree with the statement, a 5 means that you strongly agree and 1 means you strongly disagree.

SD D N A SA
11. My partner’s lasting power (length of
intercourse) was satisfactory 1 2 3 4 5
12. The position (or positions) we chose
for intercourse were pleasing to me 1 2 3 4 5
13. My partner paid attention to my needs
throughout 1 2 3 4 5
14. My partner’s technique was pleasing
(including angle, depth of penetration,
speed, intensity, etc.) 1 2 3 4 5
15. My partner elevated the experience to
increase my pleasure (included toys,
dirty talk, video camera, etc.) 1 2 3 4 5

IV. Oral Sex (if applicable)
Select a number that corresponds to how strongly you agree with the statement, a 5 means that you strongly agree and 1 means you strongly disagree.

SD D N A SA
16. My partner gave as much as he received 1 2 3 4 5
17. My partner’s technique was pleasing 1 2 3 4 5
18. My partner’s grooming habits were
satisfactory 1 2 3 4 5
19. My partner treated me with respect 1 2 3 4 5
20. Overall, I enjoyed the oral sex part of
the experience 1 2 3 4 5

V. Open-ended Questions

21. Please note two things that your partner did exceptionally well during your experience.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

22. Please note two things that your partner did not do well and could improve upon in the future.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

23. Please note anything else you wish to add about your experience.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

24. Please circle the phrase that best describes your feelings about the size of your partner’s erection (due to the sensitivity of this particular question, the answer choices have been changed slightly).

I’m sorry :: It’s an “okay” size

It did the job well enough :: Thank you, may I have another?

Are you a porn star? :: Too big, wouldn’t fit

Thank you for taking your time to fill out this questionnaire. Please leave your completed copy face down on the table next to the door before you leave. Don’t bother trying to call your partner tomorrow, he’ll be sure to call you. Have a wonderful day.

My Wii is Totally Bigger Than Yours

2007-06-20T02:45:00.000-05:00

Well, I haven’t talked about video games in a while, so I think it’s time I did. Mainly I want to talk about my Wii. Hey, I’m a guy, I’m obsessed with my Wii. That’s just how it is. And I’m going to brag about it as much as possible, because I have one and many of you out there don’t. So Nyah!

My renewed interest in gaming has been brought on partially by my friend Anthony who is staying with me until the end of the week. We’ve been battling back and forth on some Wii Sports, and I’ve narrowly missed being hit in the head on multiple occasions. As it turns out, Anthony really gets into his tennis. On a whim, I ran out yesterday and bought Madden 2007 (that’s NFL Football for those of you living in caves out there). The new version of Madden comes out on August 14th, so the price of the old game has dropped considerably. And in this age of $600 priced consoles, I need every single dollar I can save. For the record, for six hundred friggin dollars, that Sony console better damn well transform into Blaster or at least Soundwave.

If you haven’t played Madden on the Wii, then you haven’t played Madden football before. I mean, wow. The controls aren’t perfect, and it takes a little getting used to, but the game is sheer awesomeness. You know, if awesomeness was tangible and you could turn it into a compact disc and shove it into my Nintendo, then yeah, that’d be Madden. I can only expect that the next installment is going to be even better. My only real reason for picking up an updated copy of the game in two months would be to get Devin Hester’s upgraded performance. Oh yeah, Chicago is going to be the best team in the game just because you’ll be able to run back every kick off with them.

I’m not sure if I have to say this, but I spent the better part of the day yesterday playing simulated football. It was fun, it was a fresh new way to play Madden, and it was tiring. In fact, my arms are still a bit sore from attempting to get Rex Grossman to rifle the ball to his receivers. A “laser-rocket” arm, he has not. Well, ok, maybe I only passed to Muhsin Muhammad, but in my defense, Chicago really isn’t much of a well rounded passing team.

The moral of this story? My arm hurts. And to top it off, I have a hockey game tonight. If we lose our hockey game, well, it’s just going to be EA’s fault. And I have absolutely no qualms about blaming my lack of ability on a video game designer. Pride is not something I worry about too often. On the plus side, my Wii-antics are actually a great form of exercise. According to a U.K. study, playing 12 hours of Wii Sports a week will burn off an estimated 1,800 calories. That could translate into a weight loss of 12 kilograms (or 26.4 pounds for those of you not entirely comfortable with alien metrics) over a prolonged period of time.

This shouldn’t be anything new. I mean, playing with my Wii has always burned off a few extra calories at the end of the day. And I’ve always found that playing with my Wii is a great way to jump start my morning and get me energized. Now I have scientific proof (and yes, one study conducted across the Atlantic does qualify as infallible proof) that playing with my Wii is good for my body. I just think I should point out that girls can get a fantastic work out as well by coming over and playing with my Wii. Every girl who has gotten her hands on my Wii so far has enjoyed it immensely. I’m just putting that out there.

Well, if we’re done with the double entendres (and I’m not entirely sure that I am just yet), we can move on to more important matters: football. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the sport until I eviscerated a guy with Brian Urlacher yesterday. Seriously, that was awesome. I can’t wait to see him do that in real life. And I only have to wait until the season starts on Sunday, September 9th. That’s not too far off now, is it?

No seriously, football season needs to hurry up. If for no other reason then it will give the guys on Sports Center something to talk about. The NBA finals and NHL finals are both over, and were both skipped over by the mass of the populace. Although I’m sure the three people watching game five of the Stanley Cup enjoyed it immeasurably. And let’s be honest with ourselves here, you can only say so much about baseball.

And so the countdown begins. The NFL draft is over, along with free-agency for the off-season, so now it’s time to size up all of the teams and pick out our favorites to win. Or it would be if that made any sense. Yes, sure the Patriots had great off-season acquisitions, and sure the Chargers may have problems without a coaching staff (I think one of the janitors got promoted to offensive coordinator) and for sure the Bears will make the playoffs again if only for the sole reason that their division sucks (and I mean no offense to Brett Farve, but aside from Chicago’s defense, the NFC north doesn’t have much to be lauded these days). But I was thinking, and really, this is just a crazy idea, that maybe we should wait until the actual season starts before we go all crazy with our football-talk. I mean, after the first two weeks, all of the guys on ESPN will be switching their picks for conference winners anyway. So do you think you can spare me from some of the needless confabulation now? Maybe…? No? No, I didn’t think so. Guess I’ll just have to watch cartoons instead of ESPN until the season starts. Darn.

And just for the record, I don’t care if Rex Grossman isn’t a Peyton Manning, or a Tom Brady, or a Donovan McNabb, or even a Jeff Garcia, or that third string guy who plays for the 49ers (he may have completed a pass once or twice in his life, I think)… I really don’t care about any of that, Rex is still my hero.

Don’t forget, only two more weeks until the new Transformers movie (for better or worse). As I have been compulsorily required to do by my love of all things Transformers, here is this week’s quote:

“Me Grimlock no bozo. Me king!”
-Grimlock

I Wanna Be Like Mike

2007-06-13T17:36:00.000-05:00

Anyone see the basketball game last night? San Antonio beat Cleveland 75 to 72 in game three of the NBA Championships in what was the second lowest scoring game in finals history. If you missed it, I don’t blame you. I’m not much for watching the NBA myself, but I do try to catch some playoff games when I get the chance. Occasionally they can be entertaining.

Unfortunately I can’t say that for last night. With only a combined 147 total points, it was the slowest game in history for the finals, save for one other game. And that game was in 1955 when Fort Wayne beat Syracuse 74 to 71. If you know the mascots for these two teams, then you’re truly a better man than I. Heck, my dad wasn’t even born back in 1955.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that last night’s game was boring, incredibly so. Well, if you tuned in for the final say, three minutes, then you saw an exciting, down to the wire, game. But otherwise the game was merely a showcase for bad shooting, balls bouncing out of the rim, and refs forgetting how to call fouls against the Spurs (then again, that’s nothing new, just ask Steve Nash). But hey, the Spurs now have a 3-0 stranglehold on the Finals against the Cavaliers, so I’m happy.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against LeBron James. I mean, he’s younger than me, insanely famous, and Nike gave him $90 million before he played even on single NBA game. But hey, I’m not jealous or anything. Nope, not one bit… But I do have a problem with King James, and it is not in any way his fault. It’s all these stupid announcers and sports writers. For some reason, they keep saying he’s the next Michael Jordan.

Everybody is always looking for the next Michael Jordan, the next “big thing.” At one time they thought it might be Kobe Bryant or even Dwyane Wade. But now, it’s all about LeBron. If I do one thing in my life, I’m going to set the record straight. There is only one Michael Jordan. And he was born in Brooklyn, NY, went to high school in Wilmington, NC, attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, scored the game winning shot in the 1982 NCAA Finals and went on to win six, count ‘em, six NBA Championships with the Chicago Bulls. No one else even compares.

Now I might be a bit biased in this view. I was born in Illinois and therefore I have an affinity for Chicago based teams. I might also be biased because I’m an alumnus of Chapel Hill and the name Jordan is still 24 karat gold in that town. Or it might just be that I’m tired of hearing the same old tripe shit from TV announcers and I’m ready to move on already. Michael Jordan is the only Michael Jordan there ever will be. Kobe is Kobe, Wade is Wade, and LeBron, well, he’s only 21 years old. I think we can wait a few more years to find out who he truly is.

I could list all of Jordan’s accomplishments all of his various MVP honors, All Star game appearances, Olympic Gold Medals, and so on and so forth, but honestly, there’s just not enough room to write it all down. For the record though, it should be known that out of 1,109 games as a Chicago Bull, Jordan scored double digits in all but one game (March 25th, 1986 vs. the Cleveland Cavaliers). But there is one thing that Michael Jordan has, that Kobe Bryant and LeBron James will never have, and that’s a degree from the University of North Carolina.

Oh sure, MJ left college early for the NBA draft in 1984, and was even encouraged to do so by Dean Smith. He did go back in 1986, however, and finish out his degree in cultural geography. Now, I’m not entirely sure what cultural geography is or how it is applied in day to day life, but hey, he’s Michael Jordan. I’m pretty sure the University would have made up a degree just for him.

The number one thing that sets Michael apart from every other basketball player from the past, present, and future is his international stardom. Sure there are other superstars with multimillion dollar Nike contracts and their own brands and logos. But I’m talking about what Michael did not just for himself, his teammates, or the city of Chicago. I’m talking about the impact he had on the entire league. The National Basketball Association has never been more popular than when Michael was on the court. It was obviously less popular before and is still less watched after his final retirement. Even during his “baseball years” the NBA lost some of its fan base.

As long as he was on the court, wearing the now iconic #23 jersey the NBA flourished. But now, even with the LeBron James’s, the Kobe Bryant’s, and the Vince Carter’s the NBA just isn’t as popular as it once was. As I said before, there really is only one Michael Jordan. And that’s the way it’s always going to be.

And on a completely different note, due to my total fanboy love affair for the Transformers franchise, I now leave you with this week’s Transformers quote. Just remember, the new Transformers move comes out in three weeks.

“And the answer is: Unicron… Yes friends, act now, destroy Unicron. Kill the Grand Poobah. Eliminate even the toughest stain.”
-Wreck-Gar

Friend Find, Look Behind

2007-06-06T17:30:00.001-05:00

So my friend Anthony is coming over to visit next week. I would say I’m ecstatic to see him. I would also say that it’ll be great catching up on old times since I haven’t had the chance to hang out with him in quite a long while. I would say all that, but let’s be honest, him being here is going to cut in on my Hugh Hefner style parties of which I’m quite renowned. Well, if you take “quite renowned” to mean, “these parties don’t actually exist,” then you’d be correct.

Aside from missing my nonexistent parties, it’s going to be hard to get used to living with someone again, even if it’s only for two weeks. For starters, I’m probably going to have to start wearing pants more often. I hear that’s what the civilized folks are doing these days. Stupid pants are totally overrated. I never really did have much use for them.

Honestly though, I am looking forward to hanging out with Anthony again. He’s a really cool guy, even if he does spend most of his time making fun of me and belittling my lifestyle. That’s ok though, he’s a year older than me so with all the negative comments, he really sounds a lot like my older brother. What can I say? Anthony is pretty much like family to me.

He’ll be here this coming Monday. So this weekend, which will most likely be busy in its own right, I’ll have to make some time to clean out the bathroom, which will most likely require an industrial sized cask of bleach to finish. It’s been a while. Then I’ll have to clean out the dirty dishes in the sink, something I avoid doing almost as much as I avoid meaningful relationships. I should probably also pick up all of the dirty clothes scattered throughout my apartment. I’m not entirely sure why or how I got a pair of used boxers on top of the entertainment center in the living room… but I’m pretty sure they need to be removed. Eh, I’ll get around to it eventually.

Anthony’s coming into town so he can do a stint at teaching Drivers Ed, which apparently pays well when you’re used to a public high school teacher’s salary like he is. Not sure if I could teach public high school myself. I mean, my mother does it, and she seems to do just fine, but I don’t exactly have the attention span for it myself. I’d probably feel the need to physically abuse my students, because well, they’re high schoolers, and high school kids are by definition stupid. Hey I was there once, I remember what I was like.

That’s not to say that I wasn’t an idiot in high school myself. I was. In fact, I’m still an idiot now. But that’s okay, I’ve come to terms with that. I’ve also had some minor success in being able to hide my latent idiocy from a select portion of the female population. Honestly, there are some girls out there who actually enjoy being in my company. I don’t exactly understand it, it does have a tendency to baffle the mind. But hey, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when she’s got boobs that I could be staring at instead.

But back to the matter at hand. I have approximately eleven days (or somewhere close to that) where I will once again be sharing my living quarters with a roommate. Now this shouldn’t be much of a problem seeing as how I lived with Anthony for two years while in college. But those were different days. Back then I drank obsessively, did my best to piss off women, and played excessive amounts of Nintendo. Huh, come to think of it, that really isn’t much different than what I do now.

Ok, so maybe I’m still the same in many respects, but I have gotten used to living all on my lonesome these past 18 months or so. Having to share a bathroom (not to mention the hot water) isn’t something I’ve been comfortable with in a long, long time. It shouldn’t be too hard to cope with, I mean, I did grow up with an older brother, how could Anthony be any worse? At least I won’t have to go hiding the cold root beer in the vegetable crisper just so he won’t drink the last one. Yeah, I had to resort to the friggin vegetable cripser so I could actually have a refreshing beverage when I wanted it. It may have been tough growing up at times, but I adapted. I did survive.

Now I’m not here to say that my brother was a mean overlord during my childhood, or that Anthony was an overbearing fraternity brother, because they most certainly were not. I have used a literary device called hyperbole, which is a gross exaggeration used in this case to promote humor. And now that I’ve explained it, I’ve killed the joke. Seriously though, I did hide bottles of IBC Root Beer and even some Cherry Coke in the vegetable crisper to keep them from my brother. He always drank the last bottle and never bothered to restock the fridge. He’s just an ass like that.

So, like I said before, I’m really looking forward to seeing my friend Anthony again. I’m not exactly sure why though. I mean, after going over everything above, why should I be excited? It might have something to do with the fact that whenever I get together with old college buddies we end up drinking, a lot. Not that I need to hang out with old friends to drink, because I certainly don’t. But I’m always up for an excuse for more alcohol. I just have to figure out who’s going to be the designated driver. Well, I could try to convince Anthony’s girlfriend to come over too. She has some practical experience driving our worthless drunken behinds around all night.

Oh, and for those of you not keeping track, the new Transformers Movie comes out in less than a month. Four weeks from today, to be precise. I firmly believe that it is my civic duty to remind you of that each and every week. In celebration of the 1980’s greatest franchise (and quite possibly the greatest franchise of all time), I’m going to leave you with a quote each week. I’m sure that the more astute of you dear readers out there will recognize these quotes immediate. For those of you who don’t, well let’s just say that I find you lacking in your education.

“Listen Ironhide, we don’t have enough energon cubes to power a full scale assault. Ready the shuttle for launch!… Now all we need is a little energon and a lot of luck.”
-Optimus Prime

I Do

2007-05-29T23:31:00.000-05:00

Who would have thought that two little words would fill me with such dread and antipathy? I mean, they’re just words, right? What can two meaningless words, comprised of only three letters even, possibly wrought to affect me? To be honest, I’m not entirely sure, but I’m still scared of them. Scared out of my commitment fearing mind.

Luckily I’ve been able to avoid that particular phrase all the way up to this point in my life. Many of my friends haven’t been as fortunate (is fortunate the right word there?). My friend Andy got married almost two years ago, Jeremy had already tied the knot by that point, Frank got married this past weekend, and Jim is getting hitched in December (or so he says, that boy is notorious for changing his plans at the last second). I swear my high school buddies are dropping like flies all around me. I’m worried that one day the marriage bug will eventually hit me.

I bring this up because my friend Frank was wed recently. As I previously mentioned, he’s the latest in a long line of high school chums that have bit the dust, so to speak. And seeing how Frank is such an awesome guy (and he really is), I made the trek all the way up to the Land of Mary just to attend the festivities. I just hope he knows the seriousness of dragging me across two states just to watch his bachelorhood get buried. I mean, taking the time out of my schedule to go a frat party 300 miles away is no big deal. But suffering in a car for six hours for the sole purpose of watching a dear friend consign to what I consider to be an inconceivable error? Frank better know how lucky he is to have such a committed friend like me.

There was an upside to the weekend though. Free booze. That’s right, say it with me now, “free booze.” Now there are two words that’ll put a smile on my face. It’s a few more letters than the earlier scriptural pairing, but I think it has a much warmer, more soothing feel to it. Coincidentally, the alcohol itself tends to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. And I’m pretty sure everyone likes to feel warm and fuzzy. But, as I alluded to earlier, this was no frat party, this was a wedding. I had to be on my best behavior… or rather, what passes as my best behavior after five or six drinks in an unfamiliar local.

Luckily there was an even more important reason to imbibe this weekend besides the fact that it was a wedding and there was alcohol aplenty… and the fact that I pretty much drink whenever I can get the chance… and well, do I really need a reason to drink? Frank made sure to have in attendance on his wedding day one keg of locally brewed beer and three separate varieties of bottled home brew. Now, for those of you who don’t normally have much to do with the small cap beers, allow me to enlighten you. Local brews are beers brewed locally. I came up with that all by myself, if you can believe it.

Seriously though, local brews are good stuff. They’re usually restaurants or small breweries that distribute beer only within very regional confines. Some of my favorite beers are made in my home state of North Carolina and only circulated inside its boarders. What can I say? I enjoy helping out the local mom and pop enterprises. And it doesn’t hurt that the breweries around here make some damned fine libations.

But homebrews are a little bit different. If you can’t tell by the word choice there, they’re actually made in a person’s home and are generally not made for profit (I’m just Captain Obvious today, aren’t I?). Homebrewers like to experiment and come up with not only new flavorings in beer, but also to tweak the tastes of existing beers. I’ve only had the pleasure of sampling a few homebrews before, but with a little bit of ingenuity and the right ingredients, I know a dedicated homebrewer can make a pretty good beer. Unfortunately it can get expensive when you factor in the costs of bottles and caps and other beer storage needs.

Frank and some of his friends have been cooking up their own beer for a few years now, and I tasted one of their recipes before and found it quite to my liking. I was especially happy to see that all three homebrews present at the wedding were new to me. In attendance were a raspberry wheat ale, an Irish red, and a rather nice amber. I was determined to try them all since each one seemed intriguing in its own right. My findings are as follows (in order of decreasing awesomeness): The amber beer was very good, as both Frank and Danny (the brewers) had advertised, the Irish red was pleasantly flavorsome and enjoyable, but the raspberry wheat ale I found to be a bit too fruity for my tastes. As a general rule, fruity beer equals not good beer. Well, unless you’re a chick, chicks like fruity stuff.

So I have to say, Frank’s wedding turned out to be an enjoyable event all around. However, this didn’t stop me from attempting to do what I resolutely consider my hallowed responsibility in this life. The night before the wedding, as the rehearsal dinner was winding down, I took Frank to the side and gave him the same advice I try to give every man just before his wedding day: RUN! Run and don’t look back! You know, for some strange reason, people never seem to take my advice. I really don’t know why either.

To his credit, Frank didn’t run. Even when a good family friend who had known his grandfather for many long years gave him the same advice (including offering to foot the bill for a one person plane ticket to the Bahamas), Frank stayed the course. That boy must be in love or something (ever notice how “love” is a four lettered word? I’m just putting that out there). Though in his defense Rosa, his fiancé, seems like a very nice young lady. Fiancé? No, they’re married now, Rosa is his wife. Wow, wife (yet another four letter word, amazing how these things keep piling up, huh?), it’s going to take me some time before I get used to using that word. I still have a hard time remembering to refer to Laura as Andy’s wife, not his girlfriend, and they’ve been married for two years! Sometimes I think I’m not really one of the fastest Hotwheels in the boxed set, if you know what I mean.

So what have we learned today? We learned that it’s okay to get married as long as you brew your own beer for the wedding. We also learned that “love”, “wife”, “girl”, and “commitment” are all four letter words, carrying eerily similar connotations with all those other four lettered words that aren’t exactly conversationally polite (oh, and don’t even try to tell me that “commitment” isn’t a four letter word, you can count all you want, but I’ve spent the better part of my twenty-four year existence proving that one particular obtuse fact, so please, don’t challenge me on this). And finally, we learned that weddings are really just funerals for a man’s single existence and all that he once was. Furthermore, the death of his bachelorhood is the necessary reagent that opens up the possibility of a new beginning of marriage and couplehood. It’s the Circle of Life (hey, I’m pontificating here, it doesn’t happen very often, just go with it). I might also be wise to point out that I’ve learned all I know about life from Disney movies. Go figure.

More Than Meets the Eye

2007-05-23T12:48:00.001-05:00

I want to talk to you about something, something that scares me to a point that’s very near death. On July 4th, 2007, Michael Bay will be unveiling his movie Transformers. To say that I’m excited is an understatement, I mean, just check out the trailer. You’ll have to excuse me for a minute while I clean up the saliva that is dripping from my gaping lower jaw.

If I’m this in to the Transformers franchise (and believe me, I am totally a Transformers geek), then why am I so scared? Mainly, I don’t trust my favorite 80’s cartoon franchise in just anyone’s hands. And the fact that this movie is a Michael Bay production frightens me somewhat. I mean, he is the guy that is responsible for the movie Pearl Harbor. Need I say more?

I think we can dispense with all the pre-movie moaning and groaning. I will be going to see this movie. How can I not? It has Optimus Prime, easily the most badass semi-truck every created. And yes, I’m in love with Optimus Prime. If he were real, I’d buy him an incredibly high priced hooker. I’m just that enamored with him (and yes, I know that buying a human hooker for a multi-ton metallic extraterrestrial robot is probably a not one of my best ideas).

I’m just really worried that I’ll walk out of that theater on Independence Day and cry. What if Michael Bay dazzles me with big explosions and shiny special effects? I mean, that’d be nice, but if he neglects having a decent storyline or unforgivably alters the Transformers universe, well I just don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it. I would have a terrible time trying to deal with a bad Transformers movie. It’d be like having a bad break-up, or even worse, actually. Think about it. If you break up with someone you really like, it sucks. If I see a Transformers movie that doesn’t rock my world, then it will be much, much worse than that. And for the record, yes, Transformers are drastically more important than any silly “relationship.”

There is cause for concern already. Megatron will transform into a stealth bomber while Bumblebee’s alternate mode will be a 1974 Chevy Camaro. Now I understand that the original transformation of Megatron into a small handheld gun was pointless. I mean, he started out as a massive robot with an equally massive laser cannon on his arm, but then he turned into this wimpy looking pistol. Not only does that violate the law of conservation of mass, but wouldn’t the Decepticons be better served if he just remained in robot form and used his arm cannon? Personally, I think that Megatron should transform into a freestanding cannon (similar to a howitzer), much like his future incarnation Galvatron did. I’m just saying, it makes more sense than a stealth bomber.

And then there’s Bumblebee, one of the most beloved of all Transformers characters, even if he is one of the most useless. I mean, let’s face it, Bumblebee was smaller and more feeble than any of his Autobot allies, and the vast majority of the time, he didn’t even have access to a gun. Despite all that, Bumblebee still rocks, which is why he’s one of the only five Autobots to appear in the new live action movie. But this time around he won’t be driving as his familiar yellow VW Beetle. The reason for this is that Volkswagen wouldn’t allow it. They didn’t want any of their vehicles associated with war, real or imagined in any way. And you know what, I’m perfectly ok with that. If you can’t figure out why, then go ahead and reference World War II.

Ok, so there are some changes in the new movie. But I think that I can live with it. At least Optimus Prime is still a truck and not some hairy monkey (actually, he was a silverback gorilla). So yeah, things can always get worse. Although I have to admit, Beast Wars was a damned good series, even if Optimus Primal was a monkey. In fact, the Decepticon Scorponok that will be in the new movie is from the Beast Wars universe. Though, I do feel the need to point out that Scorponok is a Predicon, not a Decepticon (even though the Predicons are technically the descendents of the Decepticons). Did I mention before that Transformers are more important than women to me? Yeah, I think I did.

So do you get the point yet? Actually, point of all this is pretty much that I’m a huge freaking nerd. I’m sorry, I grew up in the 80’s, and cartoons were like a way of life for me. In fact, the original Transformers: The Movie, released in 1986, is still my favorite movie of all time. If Michael Bay’s interpretation of the greatest show of all time ends up being less than favorable, then you will most certainly find me camped in front of my TV watching the original animated DVD over and over again until my universal faith in all things Transformer is reaffirmed.

Unfortunately, I have to wait until July 4th until I can find out for myself whether or not this newest addition to the Cybertronian Saga is worthy or not. I honestly think it’s the anticipation that’s eating me up the most. There’s just so much potential there… and I fear it may never be realized. As far as I’m concerned, movies as of late haven’t completely lived up to what they could be. The Spiderman and X-men movies were enjoyable, but I always thought they could have been better. The old Saturday morning cartoon shows of Spiderman and the X-men were far superior, if you can remember those. And The Hulk… well, we can all just pretend that movie never happened. I think it’s just better that way.

It just goes to show that if you can’t do justice to an already existing franchise, you’re best off not touching it. And yes, I’m talking to you George Lucas. Episodes I and II are unforgivable. You cannot be forgiven even though Episode III was somewhat decent (although in comparison to I and II, The Hulk may have even looked decent). I fear the rumors of another Indian Jones movie in the works. They invade my dreams at night and force me to cower in protracted terror at the dark and shifting shadows. Harrison Ford is the only Dr. Indian Jones ever. EVER.

I apologize for my fanboy ravings today. I promise next week I’ll be witty. Well, I promise I’ll try to be witty. And that is in now way, shape, or form a promise. We all know how I loathe commitment of any kind, and promises are no exception. The only promises I can make are those backed by a bat to the kneecaps if this new Transformers movie sucks. Michael Bay, you’ve been warned.

Summertime Sports Spectacular

2007-05-16T00:26:00.001-05:00

Summer is almost upon us and that means we are nearing the golden months of televised professional sporting events. And no, I’m not talking about the NBA playoffs or the race for the Stanley Cup (NHL playoffs for those of you who aren’t Canadian). No, once those two pesky distractions are played out and off the air we can finally settle down for what the summer was meant for. If you’re thinking baseball, guess again. Baseball is about as exciting as watching gay-hermaphrodite-farm porn. Actually… I take that back, that’s far too offensive to gay people.

No, the summer season is all about those lesser known sports, the ones you rarely hear on Sports Center and seldom see in the paper. This is the time for bowling, spelling bees, and hot dog eating contests. If you aren’t sitting on the edge of your seat, thrilled to death to learn more, then there’s seriously something wrong with you. Seriously.

First up in our Summer Seldom Heard Sports tour is the Scripps National Spelling Bee. Held every year in Washington DC, the National Spelling Bee pits eighth graders (and younger) against each other to see who can spell the most haphazard words that you’ll never use in the English language. Now honestly, who wouldn’t find that exciting?

ESPN will air the semi-finals live from 10am to 1pm on May 31st. Later that same day, ABC will be airing the finals live between 8 and 10 pm. That’s a prime time spot for the Scripps National Spelling Bee. Pretty spiffy, if you ask me. Personally, I can’t wait to see all the little kids on stage, nervous as hell because their parents are pushing them too hard to win a spelling bee. It’s a friggin spelling bee. Yeah, no worries about going to a good school or getting a high class job, but by hell or high-water, you’re winning that spelling bee! And if you’ve ever watched the Scripps before, you can easily tell that the parents have a larger interest in winning than their kids do. I’m sure the kids would all rather be playing Nintendo. (Quick, can you spell Shigeru Miyamoto? And no cheating with Google!)

But it’s all well worth it for the winner. The championship prize is a $20,000 award from Scripps, $5000 from Franklin Electronic Publishers, $5000 from LeapFrog Enterprises Inc., $5000 in scholarships from Sigma Phi Epsilon Educational Foundation, a $2500 US Savings Bond and reference library from Merriam-Webster, and some reference materials from Encyclopedia Britannica worth somewhere in the neighborhood of $5000. So for our Grand Champion Speller, we get somewhere around $42,500 of total prizes. Not too shabby, even though it’s not exactly Peyton Manning money, but it’ll pay the bills. More pointedly, it’ll pay for the parents’ bills.

By rule, contestants may not be past the eighth grade nor may they be any older than sixteen years to compete in the Scripps National Spelling Bee. That means that legally, the money goes to the winner, who must be a minor, and the parents take over the money as custodians. As I said before, you can tell that the parents are the ones really pushing their kids to succeed. And something tells me that those parents aren’t going to use the massive winnings to buy their kid a brand new Playstation 3. I’m not exactly sure, but I think $40k may just be enough money to buy one of those outrageously priced Sony contraptions. Though buying the actual games and extra controllers for multiplayer is probably out of the question. So, can anyone out there please tell me why the new Playstations aren’t selling like hotcakes right now?

If parentally whipped pre-adolescents aren’t your thing, then you might want to tune into the Nathan’s Famous International Hot Dog Eating Contest held annually on July 4th (and televised on ESPN). This magnificent even has the world’s greatest “gurgitators” competing to eat as many hot dogs (including the buns) as possible in a twelve minute period. Reigning world champion and near demi-god Takeru Kobayashi has won the event that past six years running. Last year, however, he had some competition from American Joey Chestnut who wolfed down 1.75 fewer hot dogs than the Japanese title holder.

Now I’m really upset. It turns out that the registration for the June 9th circuit event for Nathan’s Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest held in Charlotte (only 3 hours away by station wagon) is already closed. I can no longer enter the event. And this makes me sad. I really thought that I could pull off an upset of some sort in Charlotte and pave my way to the International Competition at Coney Island. But alas, it was not meant to be. Not this year at least. Never mind the fact that at best, I could down maybe… maybe five or six hot dogs before rolling over and going to sleep. I guess it’s just not my time to dominate the world of competitive eating just yet.

The IFOCE, The International Federation of Competitive Eating, sanctions many competitive eating events from hot dogs, to cow brains (yum!), to baked beans. Winners of any of these many and varied events can take home upwards of $25,000 (and if you must know, the $25 grand award is for the cow brain competition: winning never tasted so unsettling). The IFOCE warns that fans of the sport should not try competitive eating at home, that it should only be done under very controlled circumstances and with emergency medical attention nearby. They also don’t endorse training for competitive eating of any type. Ha, and you thought football was a dangerous sport.

I think it’s time that these lesser known sports got the attention they deserve. Sure we may not have an Obscure Sports Quarterly magazine or an ESPN 8, “the Ocho” to keep us informed on the competitive worlds of eating and spelling, but the current TV avenues should be more than sufficient. Qualifying rounds for the sports could easily be shown on the ESPN family of networks which currently include: ESPN, ESPN2 (“the Deuce”), ESPN-U, ESPNEWS, ESPN-Classic, ESPN-SOCOM, and the much more recent ESPN-DVD-PVP-LSD-LMNOP-CV. I’m beginning to think the fine folks over at ESPN like needless acronyms as much as the US military. And that’s saying something.

So the next time you find yourself disgusted at watching overpaid “athletes” running around on TV and not putting in the professional level effort that Gordie Howe or Jackie Robinson or Bart Star put in, then please flip over to the more minor sports. I think you’ll find that they more than merit your attention. Hey, what else are you going to do this summer, watch golf? Oh, and for those of you who spelled Shigeru Miyamoto’s name correctly (answer: S-H-I-G-E-R-U, M-I-Y-A-M-O-T-O) then congratulations, you can read! You might want to send an apple to your elementary school teacher in thanks.

No More Teacher’s Dirty Looks

2007-05-09T15:16:00.000-05:00

Quick, who were the two vice presidents under William McKinley? If you can get the second one, then you’re as good as I. If you can get them both, then you’re a better man than I. Then again, it probably doesn’t take much to be a better man than I am. Some humility, generosity, or just plain being nice to women every once in a while would make you a much better person than I.

So what’s up with the presidential questionnaire? Well, that exactly question was posed to me, or more accurately my team, during trivia night at James Joyce Bar in Durham. Ah, beer, Irish whiskey, and knowledge, what more could you possibly want in one evening? You could want to spend the evening in bed joined by two blonde Swedish stewardess twins. I know I do. Though, you’re most likely better off sticking to fantasies that have a statistical probability of actually occurring. And since I have yet to meet any blonde Swedish airline stewardess twins, I’d have to say that the probability of me bedding that particular duo is currently somewhere in the neighborhood of 0.00%. Feel free to correct me if I’ve screwed up the math anywhere in there.

McKinley’s second vice president was Theodore Roosevelt, who acceded to the presidency after McKinley was assassinated. As it turns out, I actually remember something from my eleventh grade US History class. Apparently my brain hasn’t been as damaged by my drunken affairs as I had previously thought. That’s good news. Seriously though, who the hell remembers vice presidents? Can you name the last five vice presidents of the United States? Heck, can you even name the current vice president?

Sorry to go all School House Rock on you, but this is important stuff. I mean, if I had remembered my US presidents, and a few of the vice presidents, then my team may very well have won trivia night and that $75 bar tab would have been ours. Do you know how many drinks and I throw back with $75? I honestly don’t know the exact number, math has never been my thing, but I’m perfectly willing to do some empirical testing. All I need is $75 and a bar. And probably someone to keep track of what I’m drinking (it all pretty much blurs together after the fourth drink).

I think we can all agree that education is important, and not just because it can net you some free drinks. Education is what spurs the economy, keeps capitalism running rampant around the globe, and it is generally what increases our quality of life. So do me a favor, the next time you go into a class room give your teacher a gift. It doesn’t have to be much, an apple would make a great present for a teacher. It really is the thought that counts. That, and teachers really don’t make much money, so they’re not used to having anything nice. They can’t afford to be picky about their gifts.

As I said before, education is a wonderful thing. It enlightens the mind, or at least it’s supposed to. Take my brother, for instance. He’s two years older than me, has a very distinguished college degree and yet he still needs to be reminded that he’s white. I do try to remind him myself, but I’m not sure he gets it. Maybe he might actually look into the mirror a little more often.

Now, I’m not saying this because my brother thinks he’s some sort of gangster rapper. He doesn’t talk in broken English and ebonic slang. And this is a good thing, at least I can still claim him as my brother. But for some reason my brother feels the need to produce rap beats, and worst of all, add his own vocals to the lyrics. Now producing is all well and good, but rapping? He’s white.

Do I really need to say more? Now don’t get me wrong, the color of a person’s skin doesn’t necessarily dictate whether one can become a good rapper. Although, I do believe that history has shown us that the far majority of hip hop and rap artists (hey, if people can call Prince an “artist,” then rappers are artists too) have been… how do I put this… not white.

There have been successful white rappers in the past to be sure. But Eminem my brother isn’t. Heck, he isn’t even Vanilla Ice. I know, that’s probably a cheap shot at my brother, but at least Vanilla Ice had Hammer. He also had the shiny pants. You can’t forget about the shiny pants. Somehow, I don’t think my brother owns a pair of shiny pants.

That’s ok though. I would really hope my brother wouldn’t stoop to flagrant teeny-bob-ism just to sell a few records. Speaking of which, he just finished producing his first full length album (we still use the words “record” and “album” these days, don’t we?). Thankfully, a partner of his contributed all of the lyrics so I don’t have to listen the voice of some pasty white boy (hey, he lives in southern Indiana, what did you expect?). The duo calls themselves Relapse, which a better name than most I suppose. It’s definitely got one up on Dexys Midnight Runners, that’s for sure. The CDs should go on sale this month online.

My brother was kind enough to send me an advanced copy of the album, and I have to admit, it’s pretty good. Now I don’t listen to much rap these days, I’m more of a rock & roll kind of guy (which pretty much confirms my whiteness), but I find that the tracks are somewhat reminiscent of the Wu-Tang Clan. That shouldn’t be too surprising though, my brother has always been a fan of the Wu-Tang. If that sounds like something you’d like, feel free to go check it out. I think there might be a free downloadable track or two.

I probably shouldn’t be making fun of my brother so much. He has his music and I have my writing. And he has been kind enough not to make fun of my satirical attempts at amusement (that’s a fancy way of saying, “I like to write funny stuff”). Everyone has their own way of expressing themselves creatively, and I think we, as a society, should encourage that. And that, as I see it, brings it all back to education.

Good writers study literature in order to gain command over the written word (crappy writers, on the other hand, just throw up a bunch of words on a blog). Meanwhile, musical “artists” need the ability to effectively produce and market their talent. So just remember, education makes the world go round, even the creative parts of our economy. Oh, and bonus points to those of you who already knew that Dexys Midnight Runners is the name of the band who released the hit 80’s single “Come on Eileen.” And for those of you who didn’t know that (or have never heard the song “Come on Eileen”) you need to get your ass back in school and get educated.

If You Can Name the Object in that Baggie Over there, then Mister, You’re a Better Man than I

2007-05-02T16:53:00.000-05:00

My father dropped by my apartment this past Sunday night. Now, I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything since it was really good to see my dad, but I didn’t have a whole lot of warning to his visit. My parents called Thursday night to let me know that he was stopping by on his way up from Georgia to Maryland. And, as I live in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, I was in a very favorable midway point where he could stop and rest. That and presumably my dad wanted to visit his youngest son whom he hadn’t seen since Christmas.

My dad happens to be a great guy, who is lots of fun to hang out with, so I’m quite lucky in that regard. Well, mostly he’s awesome when he’s not making me do yard work or enlisting my help in cleaning his garage (his power tools produce an ungodly amount of saw dust, trust me). Since he was visiting my at my apartment, which has neither yard nor garage to speak of, I felt relatively safe. But I only had three days to prepare things for a visit, and considering the fact that I’m a bachelor, my apartment isn’t exactly the model of clean living. In fact, I’m pretty sure Martha Stewart would have a coronary episode if she were to ever set eyes on my place. Even her mastery of floral arrangements could do little to improve my ramshackled living style.

Luckily I had plenty of free time on Sunday afternoon so I forced myself to do what under normal circumstances would be unconscionable: I cleaned my apartment. Now I know what you’re thinking, but no, I did not just shove all the cluttered bills and magazines and everything else into my closet. That would have just compounded matters when the next morning I would have the need to dress myself from clothes in said closet. Well, ok, so I shoved some of the clutter into my closet. But most of it I either threw away or found it a proper place. Granted, the “proper place” for most of my muddled crap was the garbage can. Or as it is more formally known as, in the case of my apartment, the garbage corner.

Sure, there had once been a mere garbage can in my kitchen, sitting in the space between the end of my cabinets and the edge of a sofa from the kitchenette (I don’t own a real table or anything even remotely resembling kitchenette or dining room furniture, so I have a sofa instead, and you know what, it works for me). But over time, and through my own sanitary ineptitude, the pile of trash grew beyond the inadequate container that attempted to hold it all. Before long the entire space between the cabinets and the sofa became filled with McDonalds take out bags and DiGiorno’s Pizza boxes. Did I mention I’m a bachelor?

Needless to say, it took several trash bags to rid myself of the curse of the garbage corner. It’s gone for now, but who can say when it will return? And trust me, there is no “if it will return”, it is most definitely a question of “when will it return.” Beyond all of that, I washed some laundry, and did my best to tidy up the place. For most people, that would include cleaning the bathroom. Luckily for me, I keep my bathroom pretty well clean every month. Let all of you single guys out there take note. If you leave your kitchen a mess when a lady caller comes to visit, that’s ok. Girls normally expect a guy to be messy; it’s just in our nature. But when the time comes for her to use your facilities, either to answer the call of nature, or more hopefully, to clean herself up for something a little more intimate, she’s going to be desirous of a cleansed and cleanly bathroom. My theory: keep the restroom cleaned and keep the ladies coming back. Now that’s just a theory, so do with it what you will.

Now my dad’s visit was a pleasant one, if not particularly short. But I’m sure he’ll be stopping by on his way back to Georgia after he finishes with all the preparations needed for my parents to move to Maryland this summer. Though it’ll promise to be another brief stay, I’m looking forward to it. Heck, my apartment is already cleaned, so I don’t have to worry about that this time around.

Though, the one thing that has been worrying me is my refrigerator. There’s nothing wrong with the fridge’s mechanics mind you, it’s just what’s inside the cooling machine that frightens me. I never got around to cleaning the thing out before my dad came to visit, and needless to say, it has been a long, long time since I’ve bothered to rearrange the contents of my fridge. There are things in there that I believe would best lie undisturbed. On the up side, I did manage to toss the three half gallons of milk that had been taking up space inside for varying lengths of time. On a sadder note, I’m quite disappointed that the older cartons of milk never managed to grow legs and save me the trouble by walking out of my apartment. I figured if I waited long enough, it could happen.

So now I have a question for you: What is the approximate shelf life for condiments when stored at chilled temperatures? I only ask because, like most single men, my fridge is not full of real foods like meats, cheeses, breads, fruits, or vegetables (see: The Food Pyramid) but instead, is stocked plentifully with ketchup (both bottled and fast food packet variety), various flavored and yellow mustards, pickled relish, hot sauce, honey, lime juice, mayonnaise, Miracle Whip (why I have both of those I may never know), an assortment of jams, jellies, and fruit preservatives, and the most manly of condiments, Worcestershire sauce. Seriously, besides the fact that no man alive can spell that name correctly without the aid of a cooking dictionary or Google (which coincidentally spells far better than Microsoft Word), there is no practical use for the condiment.

Oh sure, you might use a few drops of the brown sauce for crafting home made hamburgers to set on the grill, or in a recipe for Bloody Mary mix (though I still haven’t found the nerve to force myself to drink tomato juice and vodka …), and I personally use Worcestershire sauce when cooking sloppy Joes, you know, for the nights that I don’t microwave a Hungry Man pre-made TV dinner. Even in its severely limited usage, every man I’ve ever known has had a full bottle of the sauce in his fridge.

Yet my original question remains. How long will these condiments last? Most have been in my fridge since I moved here, which was well over a year ago. Hell, the tub of margarine in the back of the fridge is most likely of the same acquisition date. And I’m pretty sure that can of peanut butter has been in my pantry for even longer. I’m not going to die if I eat anything from in from my fridge or pantry, will I? That’s just the sort of question that would probably keep me up at night, if I didn’t regularly drown my brain cells in fermented beverages. Thank God for alcohol.

It’s probably best that I don’t even go into detail about what’s in my freezer. I mean, I know for a fact that the bag of pre-boiled shrimp has been frozen in there for longer than nine months. Even when completely iced up, food goes bad. Those crab legs probably aren’t edible either. So yeah, I am in a painful need of a total cleansing of my food stocks. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m quite up to the job. This sounds like woman’s work to me. Now, I don’t say that because I’m a chauvinistic pig (and believe me, I truly am), rather I would much prefer it if some person, who is most decidedly not me, clean up my sullied and over-spoiled edibles.

If you think you’re that person, please contact me immediately. You can be assured that there will be rewards and ample compensation. By which I mean you can eat anything out of my fridge, freezer, or pantry that you want. Seriously help yourself, I won’t be touching any of it any time soon.

Does This Make Me Any Less of a Man?

2007-04-25T15:08:00.000-05:00

I have always liked to think of myself of a manly man. I’m big, tall, strong, and physical. I play hockey on a regular basis and my facial hair grows out so much that if I shave at 8am, I have a beard by noon. I’ve been slapped by more women than I can remember (although whether that’s from sheer numbers or from the fact that I’m usually into my eighth glass of whiskey by then, I’m not entirely sure), yet I still know how to butter a lady up when she deserves it. I may lack any kind of metropolitan fashion sense, but I still look damn good in a suit or tux, if I do say so myself.

So why am I telling you all this? Well, I just want you to remember who I am and what I stand for. Because what I have to say here may just change your opinion of me, although I hope it doesn’t. I tell you all of this because this past weekend I journeyed to my local gaming store and bought a brand new game for my Nintendo DS on its release day. If you already know the game I’m talking about, then you, my friend, are a total nerd (then what does this say about me?). I am, of course, talking about the brand spanking new Pokemon Diamond.

Ok, feel free to laugh at me, get it all out of your system right now. I’m a 23 year old Pokemon fan, though I’m not exactly proud of it. I bought the original Pokemon Blue for the original Gameboy way back in high school after a friend recommended it for me. I had read reviews that said it was a dumbed down role-playing style game designed mainly for kids, yet more mature fans would enjoy it as well. And enjoy it I did. What can I say? I’m a sucker for RPGs.

Although I’m enjoying the new game immensely, I’ve logged almost 15 hours in since Sunday afternoon, there are a few parts of the game that I’m not entirely happy with. This is the first Pokemon game I’ve played since the first iteration in Red and Blue form. I’d just like to say for the record that I never owned Pokemon Snap for my N64. And yes, I feel it’s important to note that.

The game has changed somewhat since the original. Back in the Blue, I had it mastered. Out of a possible six active Pokemon, I carried a core of four that could handle almost anything my adversaries could throw at me. I especially coveted my “psychic” Pokemon since there were no moves in the game that were effective against it. That has changed, however. The chart of bonuses and penalties to attacks was changed to level the playing field for most Pokemon. And if there’s one thing I hate in battle, it’s a level playing field. I didn’t figure this out until after spending a large quantity of time trying to obtain a psychic Pokemon to bend to my whims in the new game. Now that I realize they aren’t as useful as they once were, I feel like I’ve wasted my time.

I’ve wasted my time playing a video game, what a surprise. And here I thought I was actually accomplishing something by playing a game based on the popular kids TV show. Next thing you’ll know I’ll end up feeling broke for the silly reason that I lost all my money gambling in Vegas (don’t worry about that though, I have no plans to go to Sin City any time soon). If you can’t tell that I was using sarcasm, then well… I was being sarcastic.

Truth be told, though, I would sorely love to have my own real live Pokemon. Who wouldn’t want a cute little fuzzy critter to love and play with? For me personally though, I’d want something that was as adorable as a puppy yet could still call down the fury of Zeus from the heavens and strike my enemies with a giant bolt of lightning. Hey, a guy like me has enemies, I have needs to be careful. Oh, and my Pokemon should also be small enough to fit into most briefcases or overhead storage bins for easy travel. Cute, deadly and convenient. Is that too much to ask for?

As it turns out, I won’t be getting a real death dealing Poke-creature any time soon. Nor will I be gaining any mutant superpowers either. The world is a cruel place sometimes. The universe rarely makes room to fulfill my desires, be they miniscule or grand. Heck, I can’t even get my hands and the ever elusive Cadbury Crème Egg these days. I guess asking for my own personal harem for Christmas might be a bit much this year. I wouldn’t need that many girls, just one for every day of the week… and possibly another one for the holidays, just to keep it interesting.

Putting my personal fantasies aside for a minute (I still haven’t given up hope on the harem just yet) I think it’s important to note how powerful the Pokemon franchise has become. With video games on the Gameboy, Gameboy Advance, Nintendo DS, Nintendo 64, and the Gamecube, innumerable television series, and a full ten movies. It is literally a multi-million dollar global franchise. And if there’s one thing I respect in this world, it’s money. It doesn’t matter to me if it comes from kiddy toys, illegal money laundering, or good old-fashioned, hard work (pronounced: “suckers”). But with fame and fortune comes a price.

Apparently the Christian faith has had some problems with the world of Pokemon. Some religious groups believe the cute creatures to be Satanic in origin. They think that Pokemon are similar to demons that are summoned to perform specific tasks. Also, the fact that Pokemon evolve into more powerful forms seems to negate the bible’s view on creationism. The biggest problem yet seems to come from the fact that some of the little critters use special powers, be they elemental or psychic or whatever, and that these powers are not derived from God. If that’s the case, then every superhero ever created is a blasphemy as well. Not that Nintendo cares. The religious groups can bitch all they want, but Pokemon are still bringing in millions of dollars every year. And as I said before, I respect that far more than I respect anything else.

It’s ok though, I think I’ve got Christianity covered on this one. Some of the devout may have nothing better to do with their time than to attack popular children’s franchises (let’s not forget Harry Potter), but I do believe that most are intelligent people. All Nintendo has to do is create a new Pokemon type and label it a “priest type.” The way I see it, the priest type would kick the crap out of the ghost and dark types. And as an added bonus, they could get a special power on Sundays called “Preach” that would make all the other Pokemon trainers feel guilty about their shortcomings and want to empty their wallets for the righteous Pokemon. You know, I think that would placate the Christians just fine. Well, so long as they don’t put an “alter boy” Pokemon in the game alongside the priest types. That just wouldn’t be cool.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a video game to get back to. I have a lot of work ahead of me before my Grotle morphs into a Torterra. Then I need to go beat up the nasty Team Galactic. And I should probably try to get another Gym Badge so my Kadabra doesn’t get all unruly with me when he levels up again. I don’t know why people think this whole Pokemon thing is so far out there. I mean, you understood everything I just said, right? Hell, I don’t even know what I just said and I’m the one playing the damn game. But you still think I’m a manly man right? …right?

Apparently I’m a Wuss

2007-04-18T13:35:00.001-05:00

Why does my stomach hurt? It feels as if my abdominal muscles are clenched tightly in fear of some fantastical monster whose sole purpose is to rend the flesh of my midsection. You’ve probably had the same sort of sensation after completing 327 sit-ups in a row. So this feeling isn’t uniquely foreign. The problem is that I haven’t even come close to doing one sit-up let alone the extremely large prerequisite that normal people need to feel the burn on their muscles. Heck, I haven’t even done anything that is remotely similar to an abdominal workout. So why am I in pain?

Well, I did participate in a hockey tournament this past weekend. I played three games in two days, which is a lot of hockey in a 36 hour period. But I’m pretty sure ice skating uses your leg muscles, not the ones in my stomach. I could be wrong about that though. I know it’s hard to believe, but I have been wrong before, even though it was just that one time.

I’m beginning to think that maybe this is some sort of just punishment. To be honest, I deserve some kind of punishment. Let me explain: it was our second game of the weekend and regulation time had expired with our team in a dead 3-3 lock with our opponents. There was no overtime, just a three v. three shootout. And I was the lucky man chosen to shoot first. So there I was, puck in the center of the ice, staring down the goalie in his net. And, well, I can sum up my one on one attempt at the goalie with one word: vagina.

Say it with me now, “VAH-GINE-AH.” Needless to say, I mucked up real bad. Then a few minutes later, we lost, 1-0 in the shootout. Had I put my one shot in (which in all honesty, I should have been able to do) we very well may have won. And, that one loss (our only loss of the weekend) kept us out of the championship game. So yeah, I suck, and I deserve to be punished.

This appears to be a reoccurring theme for me. For the season I am two for twelve on breakaways. Seriously, the easiest way to score a goal is on a breakaway and I’m, for all intents and purposes, incapable of doing so. I have come to the conclusion that there is something wrong with me. I mean, any idiot can score on a breakaway. And let’s be honest here, I’m a perfectly acceptable idiot. Apparently I’m more of a failure at being an idiot than most people are.

As you might already be able to tell, I don’t think I’m going to be joining the NHL any time soon. This is unfortunate since I had planned on spending the rest of my career playing professional hockey. Now that it seems I won’t be capable enough to go down this road, I’m going to have to come up with a back-up plan. Well, my back up plan was to win the lottery and that hasn’t happened yet either. So I need a back-up for the back-up plan.

I may have everything under control. Bowling. That’s right, I said bowling. People actually get paid to be professional bowlers. So I figure, why not me? It has to be the least demanding professional sport there is. I mean, golfers have to at least walk from hole to hole in the PGA. In the Professional Bowlers Association there’s no running, or lifting weights, or even specialty drills needed. All you have to do is throw a ball down a lane. Sounds simple enough.

Now I may not be the world’s best bowler, far from it actually, but I think this is one sport where I can persevere through the training. I mean, it’s the only sport I know of where you can drink beer and eat corn dogs while playing in a tournament. And honestly, I have to respect a sport like that. Bowling is the only activity I know of that actually encourages you to drink while you play. By now I really do hope you know how much I enjoy drinking a good beer.

There is one downside to the PBA though. It may be great for the sedentary lifestyle, but the money isn’t all that fantastic. Sure if you win two or three major events a year (which is very highly unlikely) you can pull down $200,000. But as I said, that’s not an easy task to accomplish. If you remember, the whole point of me becoming a professional bowler was to make easy cash and have a laid back lifestyle. In the end, bowling may just not have the capital I need to be a rich lazy bum. So then, what other options are available?

The perfect solution: I could become a punter in the NFL. Now I know punters don’t make near as much money as a real football player like a quarterback or running back or even an offensive lineman. That’s ok; I don’t think I need to make a million dollars every year. However, I do need to make at least $100,000 each year. And a punter easily makes that much.

Oh sure, place kickers make more money than punters do. I mean, just look at Adam Vinatieri and his near $3 million a year contract. It must be nice to be him. But then again, he’s the guy who always comes through in the clutch. Place kickers sit on the bench all game long and then are forced to come out at the end of the game and take one kick that will either win the game or lose it. That’s a lot of pressure. And to be honest, that sort of pressure is something I don’t need. Vinatieri can have it.

On the other hand, punters have no pressure. They don’t score any points and are never counted on to win games, ever. All they do is go out on the field, kick the ball (between 30 to 40 yards), and then return to the bench. Heck, they’re not even expected to make a tackle when they’re on the field. And why not? Punters are all skinny little white guys, how can you expect them to tackle a punt return specialist? Well, Devin Hester may only be 5’11” and 189lbs. but something tells me he’s not going to get tackled by a punter.

Punters don’t have to run or hit the weight room as much as the rest of the football team. They’re not even considered real football players. You know what, that’s perfectly fine with me. I’m not in it for the glory, I’m in it for the roughly $200,000 NFL minimum salary. Yes, even punters get paid big money in the National Football League. And in all honesty, punters do jack squat.

So that’s my ambition, to do jack squat and get paid ridiculously well for it. So far I’ve got the first part down. The second part is the laboriously tricky. Hopefully I’ll figure that out eventually. Oh, and in the mean time, if you know of any NFL teams that are looking for a new punter, I’m more than up to the task.

The Cadbury Creme Crisis

2007-04-11T04:42:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I slipped off into dusky darkness of night for a secretly planned covert mission. The date was April 10th, two days past Easter Sunday. The mission: seek out and acquire discounted Easter candy still sitting on store shelves. Mission status: unconfirmed.

I’m sure you are all aware of the wondrous joys of the varying Easter Day candies out there. There’s everything from sugary peeps to sweet flavored jellybeans to milk chocolate bunnies. But I wasn’t there for any of that. This particular assignment had me looting for the very best in Easter candies. The royalty of the chocolate realm. That’s right, the Cadbury Egg.

There is something regal about the thick chocolate coating and the smooth creamy inside goodness of a Cadbury Crème Egg. It’s chocolate and sugar and… and well that’s pretty much all there is. But what more could you want? As far as I’m concerned Cadbury Eggs are by and large the top of the line not only when it comes to Easter candies, but any kind of confectionary at all. It’s just that damn good.

So now you see why I was lurking around local grocery store yesterday. I need me some sugar-happy awesomeness. And unfortunately, I wasn’t able to feed my sugar addiction. I don’t know if you can tell, but my hands are shaking at the keyboard even now when I type this. The store was out of Cadbury Eggs. The bastards didn’t have any left. Oh sure, they had all sorts of other sugar related sweets, but I didn’t want any of those second rate Easter goodies.

I need to get one thing off my chest right here and now, while I’m still frustrated and unsatisfied enough to think it’s actually important. To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not all that partial to peeps. I mean, seriously, what the hell is up with peeps? I swear the things taste like chalk. They’re supposedly sugar covered marshmallows in interesting shapes, but I always found them to be more of an insult to my digestive system. If I ruled the world, I’d put peeps on a banned list of foods that could never be served. It would be right up there on the list right next to refried beans. Hey, if you grew up with my brother, you wouldn’t want to see refried beans on the table ever again.

Oh, there were plenty of those peeps there at the grocery store, that’s for sure. They were there in assorted colors, shapes, and flavors. Apparently chalk has differently flavors now. There’s regular sugar flavored chalk, chocolate flavored chalk, and some sort of mint flavored chalk as well. Have you noted my complete and utter disdain for what I consider the redheaded step child of Easter candies? Good. Let’s move on then. (I still think they taste like chalk, damn it!)

I realize that Easter is a holy holiday of sorts and all I have so far only talked about candy. That may have something to do with my thriving need for chocolate coated sugar goo, or it may be that I don’t have a whole grasp on this “Easter” thing. Now, I’ve never been a religious person and I don’t go to church. I’m fairly certain this means I’m going to burn in hell for my sins, or whatever equivalent afterlife awaits me. But that’s ok, I’ve more than come to terms with that. Keeping all that in mind, I have come up with my own interpretation of what the true meaning of this Sunday holiday is all about.

So Jesus died on a Friday and they now call that Good Friday. Why someone would deem it necessary to name the day Good Friday to celebrate the torture and death of their lord and savior, I will never know. Easter is supposed to take place on the third day of the death of Jesus whenhe mysteriously rose from the dead, exited his tomb without moving the giant stone covering the door, and began to pass out chocolates and painted eggs to all of the little boys and girls.

Ok, so I know this isn’t 100% correct. Back in 33AD they hadn’t quite discovered chocolate yet. Chances are, the reborn Christ was passing out shoots of sugarcane instead. I think it might be important to note right here that I have never actually read the Bible. I hear it’s a very popular book and has been translated into more languages than any other literate work, but in my defense: it's a really really big book. Can you actually expect me to read that whole thing? Though, I have heard good things about the parts with the smiting and the hailing bits of fire and brimstone and whatnot. Now that does sound like an exciting read.

Maybe Jesus didn’t pass out sugar and colored eggs. Maybe he truely did rise into heaven to join his Father. Or maybe some grave robbers came and stole his body in the intervening time. Honestly, I don’t know, I wasn’t there. And neither were you, so don’t go trying to correct me. What I do know is that about 2000 years ago a man died. His hands were staked into a wooden cross and he was hung up and left to perish. Now, two millennia later, I get to eat Cadbury Crème Eggs in his memory. And for that, I am eternally thankful. That Jesus guy is ok with me.

Of course, right now I am noticeably without my Cadbury Egg in all its gooey goodness and sweet, sugary splendor. That’s ok though. Today is another day. I will reactivate my mission and go on my convert prowl once again for my coveted prize. It’s nearly the same as your kids looking around the yard and the house for hidden eggs on Easter morning. The only perceptible difference is that I’m willing to stab someone in order to get my egg. Nothing matters except the egg. Not sleep, not work, not money nor health. I will get my egg.

As you can see, I’m going slightly mad with the mere thought of it. So I’d best be on my way. Although, it just occurred to me that as of this minute, I crave that damn egg more than I crave sex. And let’s be honest here, as a 23 year old male, sex is an absolute necessity. I guess it’s best not to dwell on that fact. The sooner I get a Cadbury Egg in my mouth, the sooner my desire is satiated.

If you happen to know of a place in the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill area that one might be able to procure said delectable chocolate coated egg, please, don’t hesitate to contact me. I will do anything it takes to get my hands on one, and I do mean anything. (Note: the word “anything” in this context does not actually encompass all forms of conduct. The author reserves the right to define the word “anything” in this context as “sex with a beautiful woman” or “sex with two beautiful women” or “lounging in a large hot tub, drinking extravagant wines, eating only the finest of foods, and smoking a Cuban cigar, while having sex with two beautiful women” whenever he deems fit. The author is also not responsible for any loss of limbs to any bystanders while he is in hunt for the currently elusive Cadbury Crème Egg. Void where prohibited. All rights reserved.)

It’s Madness and It’s Not Fair

2007-04-04T16:44:00.000-05:00

Well, the month of March has come and gone. Normally an overlooked month, the third full turn of the moon is ripe with plenty of reasons to get excited. St. Patrick’s Day and Steak and Blow-job Day are just two of the many reasons to love the month. But there is one event that engulfs men’s lives and turns them into crazed school children for far longer than their wives would appreciate. They call it the March Madness; the NCAA Basketball Tournament.

Sixty-five teams in four regions competed to get to Atlanta this year for the revered Final Four. For some, its more than a game, it’s almost a religion. This is especially true here in North Carolina, the college basketball capital of the world (hey if I say it’s the college b-ball capital, then it must be true). Not that any ACC teams actually made it to the Final Four this year. Which is honestly is a huge disappointment. Boasting more teams than any other conference in the nation at the big Dance, at a regal seven, the Atlantic Coast Conference was only able to get one team into the Sweet Sixteen.

First of all, what the hell? As good as the ACC is, how is it that only one team can win more than a single game in the Tournament? Duke, Virginia, Boston College, Maryland and Virginia Tech had good records coming into the postseason, but for some reason they all decided to suck it up at the one point of the year when winning actually means something. Oh, and while I have your attention, repeat after me: VER-GIN-YA Tech. That’s right, you’re supposed to say the whole thing (well, the whole name of the state at least). It’s not Vah Tech or V-Tech, it’s Virginia Tech. If you’re one of those douche bags who says Vah Tech, then you’re a loser and a dork… and a douche. And yes, I really did need to put the word “douche” in there twice. I’m just that emphatic about it.

Highlight of this year’s Tournament: watching Duke get knocked out in the first round by Virginia Commonwealth University. As an added bonus, I actually picked VCU to win that game. I’m so glad they didn’t disappoint. There are very few things in the world that delight me more than watching Duke lose. If I had to pick, would I rather have sex with a super model or watch UNC beat Duke in person at the Dean Smith Center? Well, you know, I’ve always said super models are overrated. And besides, this is basketball we’re talking about. Hey, there’s a reason Carolina’s Alma Mater includes shouting the words “GO TO HELL DUKE.”

For the record, I’m an alumnus of the University of North Carolina. I had the good fortune of spending my senior year watching the likes of Sean May, Rashad McCants, Raymond Felton, Jackie Manuel, and Jawad Williams win the National Championship. There are three things I can actually remember from my senior year in college, beating Illinois in the NCAA Final, my graduation ceremony, and beer, lot’s and lot’s of beer. There may have been some whiskey involved in there too somewhere. Honestly, I can’t remember. It’s all pretty hazy.

This year, however, UNC made it all the way to the top eight teams in the country before losing to Georgetown in overtime. Honestly, I wasn’t all that upset. I probably should have been, but I didn’t really expect our team to bring home the championship this year. I’ve been of the mind all year long that next season is when the boys in blue will win it all. Give those young kids another year to mature and they’re going to be phenomenal. Seriously, I’m going to be extremely upset with anything less than a National Championship next year.

Hopefully those talented youngsters won’t make a break for the NBA after only one year of college. I can’t understand why they’d want to do it. I mean, wouldn’t you prefer to stay in school and work on your game instead of going pro? Really, why would anyone jump into the professional league merely for a multi-million dollar contract? There are more important things in life than money. …wait, did I really just say that? I take that back, there is nothing more important than money. Money can buy you everything, including happiness. Or at the very least a happy ending.

I’m going to quit undercutting my own argument here and move on to something much more important. And that’s Florida and Ohio State. These schools met twice this year in National Championship games, once for football and once again for basketball. I would like to take the time right here to tell you just how incredibly unfair that is. Those schools are traditional football schools, and that’s all well and good. But you’re not allowed to be that good in basketball as well. It has to be one or the other, not both.

Now the reason I say it’s unfair is because my school, being a basketball school as you all well know, only managed to win three games this school year on the football field. So I think we can all agree that Florida cannot be number one in both sports. We can also agree that Ohio State cannot be number two in both as well. Actually, that’s kind of demeaning when you think about it. I mean, it is a real tour de force to be that good at both major college sports, but who really wants second place? Congratulations Ohio State, you’re the first loser in both football and basketball. No longer will you be known as the Buckeyes. Today I dub you, the Runner Ups. Your mascot can be Dan Marino, the NFL quarterback who broke almost every offensive passing record but never even made it to the Super Bowl. Yes you’re good, but at the end of the day, no one really cares.

Ok, aside from making fun of Ohio State (and I actually like the Buckeyes, seriously), there are far more pressing matters I must attend to. Namely, how am I going to stop Florida from their NCAA sports domination? And let’s not kid ourselves here, the University of Florida does have a stranglehold on collegiate sports. No one has ever won both championships in a single year, until this past Monday. So apparently, it’s up to me to break that hold. I mean, who else is going to stop them? Ohio State?

I have a plan, but it involves dark voodoo magics so sinister and twisted that most men would have their souls bleed out their eyes just from the mere mention of it. Not that I mind getting into such horrible atrocities, I’m very familiar with dark dealings of the soul. The downside is, and there’s always a downside, I’m going to need some help finding all the necessary ingredients. I have the need to sacrifice a goat, two llamas, a pig fetus, four chickens, and a Republican. It’s going to be hard to get a hold of all that. Have you seen the price on sacrificial llamas lately?

Hopefully, by this time next year I will have single handedly taken down the Florida Gators from their lofty perch. Though I can’t be certain. The gods of sport are often fickle creatures and are known to ignore the pleas and sacrifices of even the most stalwart fans. Truth be told, I’ll probably end up drinking too much beer, and in my oft alcohol induced haze forget all about my dark offerings, and end up throwing the llama meat on the grill. I hear it tastes good with barbeque sauce. And in the end, isn’t beer and barbeque what college sports is all about?

Women are Noise Pollution

2007-03-28T16:15:00.000-05:00

You know, I’m not a religious man. I’ve never been baptized or gone out of my way to go to church or even took time to study the Bible. I know I’m probably the exception rather than the rule, but I’m ok with that. I’m pretty sure that if there was a God in Heaven, and He did love me, then the world would be a much different place. Namely, women would come with a volume control as a standard feature.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that there isn’t a God up there, because, well, there very well might be. What I am saying, is that if He does indeed exist, then He most definitely does not have much love for me. If you know anything about me, then you know that women have always been, and will always be, the bane of my existence.

I enjoy the company of women just like any other man. What can I say? Women are fun creatures given the right circumstances. However, they are evil and vile mortals that want only to drink from men’s souls. They don’t mean to be, it’s just part of their being. It is some sort of inbred genetic code that science and modern technology have yet to crack. And I’m willing to bet that they never will. Such malevolence cannot be undone by mere science.

But I did not want to talk to you to day about the dark arts of the woman. No, today I merely wanted to discuss the reasons they are annoying. Yes, I believe we can all agree that those female creatures are annoying. Even women are aggravated by most of their kind. Foremost among the irritating mannerisms of the womenfolk, is the excessive abuse of the human languages. In other word, women like to talk.

Or to be more precise, for some strange reason, women really like to hear themselves talk. I don’t know what the compulsion is behind this, but it must stop. As I have said before, if there was a just and loving God, He would have put a volume control on every woman born. But since God has left mankind wanting in that regard, I have decided to step up and “fix” that particular feminine problem.

I have come up with an invention so daring, so utterly ingenious that it cannot hope to do anything but succeed. And by that I mean that it will most likely fail miserably. Let’s be honest with ourselves here, I don’t exactly have an endorsing track record here. Have no fear, however, as I still have faith in myself. I may not have faith in my contraption or my abilities, but I do have faith in myself, for what that’s worth.

I could draw you a sophisticated diagram showing off my work and how to replicate it, but I fear that would be a waste of time and paper. It would be much easier to put into words. A picture is worth a thousand words, yes, but it will take just a scant few to relay the ingenious device that I have devised. Please, read on.

Basically, all you have to do is to find an old volume dial from a decrepit television. I’d really much prefer the dial so you can easily and quickly turn to the desired noise level, rather than the much more recent volume +\- buttons that take longer to attune. Once you have found your dial take it, and weld it to the back of your woman. And, well, that’s pretty much it.

Once you have done that, you now have a volume control for your woman that you can use anytime. In reality you can weld it to any part of her body, but I suggest the middle of her back. That way, it does not deform any of the more redeeming physical qualities of the female. And let’s be honest, they can be quite attractive if they ever took the time and inclination to shut up. As far as I’m concerned, women should be seen and not heard.

Now I know there is one fatal flaw in my design. Just because you weld a volume dial to something doesn’t mean that the dial will turn and actually control the variation of noise. This is true. However, I assume that if you’re determined enough (or crazy enough) to forcibly connect a piece of metal into your beloved’s back, then you most likely capable of doing other, more insidious things to her. I know I don’t give women much credit for their smarts, but I do believe they are intelligent enough to know that a man who welds a volume control to her back, he is pretty damned serious when he tells her to be quiet, or else. I think women are smart enough to shut up at that point.

Then again, I’ve known girls who, for some reason or another, just can’t seem to shut themselves up. They continue to talk even when it’s in their best interest to stop. What can I do? I am but one man. I cannot “help” every woman out there. But then again, I’ve never been much help to women. My priorities lie with helping my fellow man. And this is what I have attempted to do here today.

So I beg of you, all of you women out there. Please try not to talk as much. Lower the volume, talk softer and less often. It is not just for me that I ask, but for you as well. Truth be told, women are much more beautiful when they keep their silence. Sure there are a handful of women in the world that actually become more attractive when they talk, but I can assure you that you are not one of them. You belong to the vast majority of women that, although attractive at first sight, instantly lose their physical appeal when that oral organ begins to move and sounds fly out.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Women should be seen and not heard. This is the universal truth that I live my life behind. Sure, there are other, more respectable causes to champion, but I like my ideals just fine. Hey, somebody has to do it. If not for me raising the banner and battle cry for men’s rights, who would?

I realize that women are not mere objects meant for men’s possession, but I’m allowed to fantasize of this dream, right? Guys need to know that sometimes it’s ok to be a man. Most of our lives we melt around the fairer sex and bend to their wills. But you know what, sometimes it’s perfectly all right to sit down, drink a cold frosty beer, watch some football, and tell your woman to shut up. Seriously, it’s ok. You can tell her I said so.

Meat, It’s What’s for Dinner

2007-03-21T15:38:00.000-05:00

Well, I hope you all had a wonderful Steak and Blow-job Day last week. I know mine left a little something to be desired; namely, I didn’t eat a steak and I didn’t receive a blow-job. But you know what? That’s ok. If you know anything about Steak and Blow-job Day and my personal feelings towards the other holidays, then you’ll know why I didn’t get any of the good stuff.

But what is Steak and Blow-job Day? It is a holiday with very recent origins. It takes place every year on March 14th, exactly one month after Valentine’s Day. You see, on Valentine’s Day men get the privilege of treating the special lady in their life to a wonderful evening full of flowers, chocolates, romantic dinners, and many other thoughtful and wallet emptying devices. Some people think it’s unfair for women to have a special day like that while men don’t.

Thus, Steak and Blow-job Day was born. Its founder, Tom Birdsey, explains how the holiday works: “No cards, no flowers, no special nights on the town; the name of the holiday explains it all, just a steak and a BJ. That's it.” We all know how much women love to be fawned over in romantic fashion. The candlelight dinners, the thoughtful gifts, these are the things that make women feel special. Guys are slightly different creatures. The only things we need to feel special are a steak and a blow job. Preferably not at the same time.

I know most women reading this probably think the entire holiday is sexist. Let me put your fears to rest right now, it is 100% completely sexist. Hey, guys have to listen to your whining and complaining all year long and pretend to still love you for it. The very least you could do is to cook him up a nice juicy steak (Outback does curbside take out, if you haven’t mastered the cuisine arts as of yet) and give him one blow job. Trust me, it’s not going to kill you.

I think the problem with this holiday is that it’s not getting enough exposure. Nobody knows about it. I have yet to see a calendar with the venerable Steak and BJ Day clearly marked. This is a momentous problem. How are we supposed to spread the good word about this holiday if we can’t even get it printed in calendars? Well, I for one pledge to not stop for fare or quarter in my eternal efforts to get Steak and Blow-job Day on every calendar in this country!

I figure that it’s can’t be too hard. I mean, every calendar I have ever owned (read: every Anna Kournikova calendar ever made) has included Boxing Day in its winter holiday repertoire. And do you celebrate Boxing Day? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Now, I don’t really know a whole lot about Boxing Day, but I do know that it originated in Great Britain and is still celebrated in Canada today. What are those crazy Canadians celebrating and why is it the day after Christmas? I honestly have no idea.

As a general rule, I don’t like to question our neighbors to the North. I mean, they speak French up there. And that just scares me. Although I have to admit, the Canadians have always been trustworthy allies in times of need. Sure I may poke fun of them every now and then, but in all honesty, the Canucks are all right. I mean, they invented hockey, so they have to be ok. And I’ve always enjoyed their beer.

Back to the matter at hand, however: how to get a new holiday accepted by the masses. I’ve been running a few ideas through my head, and I think I’m on to something. The Cattleman’s Beef Promotion and Research Board might just be interested in a new holiday that revolves around steak. I mean, the US turkey industry would only be a fraction of the size it is today without Thanksgiving. Just think of how much more beef they could sell if only half of every couple in the America bought just one steak on Steak and BJ Day. Now that’s a lot of beef.

I think I can hear cattle produces across the country lining their pockets with our money already. And you know what, I’m ok with that. They provide a valuable service to the community. I mean, they make steak. And steak is good. There is no denying the absolute goodness of steak. So meaty, so juicy, and so yummy… I like steak. Steak, it’s what’s for dinner.

But steak is only half of the holiday. The other half is 100% free of charge. That is, as long as your female partner doesn’t mind giving out the oral components of sex. But, if your woman for some strange reason doesn’t like to go down on you, or refuses to give you a blow-job, then it is perfectly acceptable for her to hire a prostitute as a fill in for this holiday tradition. I’d just like to point out that unless you live in Las Vegas, prostitution is illegal.

I’m beginning to think that Sin City is going to become the US capital for Steak and Blow-job Day celebrations. And when you think about it, that’s not a bad idea. The city could put on a large parade. I could be kind of like St. Patrick’s Day, but with more steak… and more blow-jobs. Hey, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?

Interestingly, Steak and Blow-job Day occurs on the same date as White Day in Japan. See, in the Far East, Valentine’s Day is celebrated by women giving gifts of chocolate or other goodies to men. In fact, a guy could receive gifts from three or four different girls on this one special day. Now, before you all start packing your bags to move to the Land of the Rising Sun, let me explain White Day.

On White Day, one month after Valentine’s Day (March 14th), guys have to give gifts to each and every woman that gave them something in the prior month. Beyond that, the men are expected to spend at least three times as much on the ladies as they did on him. So as you can see, with possibly more than just one woman to spend money on, this could be a very expensive venture.

With that in mind, I think Steak and Blow-job Day fills a necessity in the US. The roles may be reversed in the Japanese holidays, but the theory is the same, and it is sound. I think this is a very important holiday that we all need to jump on as quickly as possible. And it’s not just for the benefit of the men out there. The American economy survives off consumerism. I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again. The fact that you spend all of your hard earned cash each and every holiday is what keeps our economy moving along.

Steak and Blow-job Day extends that holiday period for an entire month. That means more spending, more unabashed consumerism, and more growth for the economy. Remember, the beef industry needs your dollars just as much, if not more, than you do. So it’s time to get this holiday in full swing.

I expect that next year we will have a much larger following for the august Steak and Blow-job Day. I, for one, will not rest until all of America has accepted this holiday. I realize that this is an uphill battle, but for the sake of our economy (not to mention men everywhere) I must not fail. I’m sure that with a little help from the Beef Board and the city of Las Vegas, I will persevere. And please, do your part to make next March 14th the best Steak and Blow-job Day ever!

Real Men Have Big Cables

2007-03-14T00:27:00.000-05:00

So the other day I did the unthinkable. I went to Wal-Mart. Now don’t get me wrong, Wal-Mart has a very large selection of goods at very low prices. There’s nothing questionable about that. I just don’t particularly care to go to the discount super center. It just seems to me that it is much more of a hassle than it is worth.

Even when I try to go during off-peak hours, there still are far too many crowds of people at the local Wal-Mart. This bothers me seeing as I have an absolute disdain for people in general. In addition, they can be even more annoying when I’m shopping. When I’m in a store, I’m on a mission. I’m not there to peruse the stocked items; I’m there to pick up exactly what I need then get out so I can get back to playing video games. I’ve got the mentality of a 14 year old, so sue me.

Now I don’t hate people just because they’re human. I generally just dislike large groups of people. For some reason, when people are large groups, whether it’s planned or not, they tend to act like idiots. I’m not sure if there’s some sort of psychological reason this happens, I never did put much stock in that Freud guy. But I do know that this generalization seems to get worse when people shop. I don’t know why, I don’t want to know why; I just wish people would avoid me when they feel the idiocy about to sting them.

So you may be asking yourself why I would willingly go to Wal-Mart when I hate shopping so much. Well, if you must know, I finally got off my lazy rear end and went to pick up an adapter for my TV. I’m sure most of you have one of those fancy new HDTV’s with about 18 different audio and video inputs available. My television, however, is a piece of shit. And I mean that in the nicest way possible. Well, no I don’t, my TV sucks.

In addition to all of the other things that I’m not overly fond of about it, the TV in my living room has only one input for the audio/video cables. A few months before, that wasn’t a problem. The cable box connects to the cable jack and my DVD player hooked in fine with the familiar yellow, red, and white wires. However, just before Thanksgiving I was lucky enough to snag a brand new Nintendo Wii at its initial release. So then I had to unplug my DVD player just to play with my Wii and conversely, I had to disable the Nintendo in order to watch a DVD. This was clearly unacceptable.

I could duplicate the setup that I have in my bedroom, but to be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure how I managed to get everything to work in there. I’ll just give you a quick run down of my bedroom set-up: I have a mini-fridge that is used to chill refreshing beverages as well as act as a mini-entertainment center. On top of the fridge is my small TV. On top of that lays my Nintendo Gamecube and my Playstaion 2 (new version, much smaller than the original). The space between the fridge and the futon is home to the SNES, some sort of adapter, the cable modem, and a power strip that is probably overloaded far in excess of its safety parameters. How I got the cable and three game systems on an old Sony TV is anyone’s guess. There’s far too many lines back there for me come to any sane conclusion.

I’m sure you know how much trouble it can be to get back there and start fooling around with wires and cables and all that nonsense. It is a veritable jungle behind the mini-fridge with its own ecosystem entirely independent from the rest of the apartment. I’m fairly certain whole species of new creatures have been borne and gone extinct within these myriads of wires, dust, and electrical current.

So this past weekend, I finally relinquished my laziness, broke down, and bought an adapter that allows four separate devices to be hooked into it and then hooks individually into my living room TV. Oh, and it’s fancy too. I don’t even have to press any buttons to choose between using the DVD player or the Nintendo. The adapter automatically recognizes which device is on and will switch to that device without my input.

I know, it’s impressive. So impressive, in fact, that the adapter didn’t come with any cables of its own. It didn’t come with the audio/video cables I needed to hook the adapter into my TV nor (and more importantly) did it come with a power cable. Of course, I didn’t realize it was without the required AC adapter until I started setting it up. I don’t know who thought up the bright idea of making a unit such as that without a readily available means of acquiring electricity from my wall, but whatever person made that decision, they just reaffirmed my beliefs in humanity’s constant idiocy.

Luckily for me, I tend to be a pack rat when it comes to electronical things (and yes, I do realize I just made that word up). I have at least two boxes full of old cables and batteries and all sorts of electronic parts whose origins elude me. Amidst the UCB cables and speaker wire I did find the AC adapter from my old and now defunct laptop computer, as well as another cable to link my TV to the new adapter. In a sense, I was victorious.

So take that corporate America! I realize that you vend your wires and connecters separately so you can charge more and milk us plebeians for our hard earned wages. But as for me, I do not need to additionally purchase your independently packaged wares. I am free of your artificial price gouging. And this isn’t the first time I have escaped your vile clutches either.

When I bought my printer almost a year ago, I was pretty happy since I got it on sale. It’s one of those multi-tasking printers. In addition to putting words on a sheet of paper, it also scans, copies, faxes, fires “Patriot” surface to air missiles, wards my office from the undead, and eats dead orphans. I didn’t exactly ask for that last bit of functionality, it just… um, came with the whole package. What didn’t come in the deal, however, was the USB cable that was needed to connect the printer to my computing machine. This cable is, well, it’s pretty damned important. The printer won’t print, or do any of its various other tasks, without this cable. Oh, and Best Buy charges somewhere around $30 a foot for the stupid cable. Yeah, that’s almost as much as the whole printer cost me. And does the cable eat dead orphans? I think not.

Once again, my pack ratting skills came into play. (Did I just make up another word there?) At the time, I had two unused USB cables lying in a box in my closet. For some strange reason I felt like I had abused the system by not paying an exorbitant rate for a brand new piece of wire to go with my new ultra functional printer. And you know what, it felt good.

With all of those cables hooked up and lying about, it’s no small wonder my apartment has yet to go up in flames. I wonder if my renter’s insurance policy covers electrical fires of gross incompetence. I should probably read over that. But in the meantime, please keep any live orphans away from my printer. The owner’s manual states that it expressly consumes the dead kind of orphans. But I think in this case it’s best to not take any chances.

I’m Such a Wreck, I’m Such a Mess

2007-03-07T03:09:00.000-05:00

I am I horrible, horrible person. But hopefully you already knew that. I’ve been a lazy good for nothing slouch for the past week, and I missed putting up something new last Wednesday. But hey, I have a really good reason for being lazy. I was pretty busy last week. Well, busy for a person who most likely resembles the three-toed sloth rather than a common homo-sapiens.

Last Tuesday I wound up at a friends place playing poker and having a few drinks. Now, if you’ve ever gambled before then you might already know that drinking and betting money is a really bad idea. Trust me, I’ve lost plenty of money that way. Luckily I’m the kind of guy who learns from his mistakes. This time around I only had one drink. And then I still lost all my money. In all honestly, I had a feeling it was all going to end badly. The very first hand I played I folded, but had I stayed in I would have had a full house (twos over threes). So yeah, it was pretty much all down hill after that. Suffice it to say that you won’t be seeing me on the World Series of Poker any time soon.

After playing poker, a few of us ended up heading out to Waffle House for some late night food. And I use the word “food” very loosely here. I’m pretty sure everything on the Waffle House’s menu is comprised mainly of lard fried in bacon grease. And it’s just the most scrumptious cuisine you would ever want to partake in. As far as I’m concerned, it beats the pants off of IHOP. Seriously, if you don’t live in the South, you’re missing out. I mean, White Castle is good and all, but do they stay open 24 hours a day? I think not.

Unfortunately, I was carpooling with one of the other guys, and after getting out of Waffle House in the wee early hours of Wednesday morning, we were actually much closer to his place than to mine. So, I ended up crashing at his place that night (for a grand total of four hours of sleep) and he drove me back home bright and early in the morning. So I left my apartment around 10:30pm Tuesday night and didn’t return until almost 9:30am Wednesday morning. As you may have noticed, I’m a bad, bad boy (and on a school night!).

Honestly, that would normally be ok. The only real thing I have to worry about on Wednesdays is getting to my hockey game at night. Playing hockey is truly the highlight of my week, and I look forward to it each and every time. But, well, this time I kind of screwed up. And by “kind of,” I mean I really and truly did screw up. I did mention that I’m a horrible person, didn’t I?

For some strange reason, I thought that our game was at 10:30pm that night, when in reality it was at 9pm. These are the only two times that we play, so I had an actualized 50% chance to get it right. And if you didn’t already figure things out from my poker playing ability (or lack thereof) my luck wasn’t all that great this past week. Fortunately, I did check the schedule at the last second (although why I never checked earlier in the day baffles me to no end), which put on the ice ten minutes into the first period, with my team already down two goals.

Needless to say, we ended up losing that game. I still say that if I was there from the start we would have won. I mean, I’m allowed to keep my delusions, right? I’m pretty sure there’s no way you can prove me wrong on this, so I’m going to go ahead and keep being delusional. I think I’ve earned it.

Now we’re on to Thursday. Thursday night was windy, pouring down rain, and generally not a nice night to be outside. And for some strange reason I thought it’d be a good idea to go out and run in that kind of weather. For the record, I am not a masochist. I’m merely an idiot.

Well, see, I have been trying to convince myself to get in better shape for over two months now. I had finally worked up the courage to go running, so I went out despite the weather. Hey, that kind of willpower doesn’t come to me very often, so I have to use it when I get it. I might be inclined to think my willpower needs better timing though. Luckily, I got through a whole three miles without too much of a problem. I guess playing hockey every week has helped out more than I thought.

But then I woke up the next morning. And for some reason, my legs no longer worked. The legs were sore and completely unresponsive. My every attempt to get out of bed was met with utter rebellion by the lower half of my body. Let me tell you, this was a huge problem. It was early in the morning, and I desperately needed to use the restroom. Interestingly enough, there’s a window right next to my bed. After several moments though (and trust me, I did think about it), I finally convinced the legs to get in gear and get moving. I fell down three times during the 13 foot trip to my bathroom. All in all, I would call that a success.

Friday was boring, I’ll admit it, so we can skip that. Saturday on the other hand, that was something else. A good friend of mine turned 21 this past Saturday. And, like the awesome pal that I am, I accompanied her to Thee Doll House, an upper class strip club in Raleigh. Yes, that’s right, my friend is a female. It is possible for me to hang out with women and not anger them. Well, it’s possible for me to sometimes hang out with women without pissing them off. And for the record, the birthday girl’s name is Whitney. And also for the record, going to Thee Doll House was her idea, not mine.

So, I’m having a drink, watching a fight on the big screen TV, and watching topless girls dancing while sitting next to a newly 21 year old female. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday night. I’d just like to say that I didn’t get a chance to buy Whitney a lap dance, her boyfriend bought her plenty of them. Heck, she even bought herself a few (she was really enjoying herself). I’d also like to say that I didn’t buy myself a lap dance. It’s not my prerogative to spend a bunch of money on a simple tease. Whitney, on the other hand, definitely bought me a lap dance. And yes, it was enjoyable. Very enjoyable.

At the end of the night I went home to be by myself. Number one, it was late. Number two, I’m not going home with a stripper. And number three, I needed a cold shower.

So, what have we learned here today? I’m a horrible, bad person, but I’m sure you already knew that. I’m also very lazy, but again, I’m convinced you could have figured that out on your own. I love playing hockey, a fact which is also widely known. And lastly, I have a female friend that drags me to a strip club on her birthday and then buys me a lap dance to make sure I’m having fun. Translation: my life rocks.

Enter the Pig

2007-02-21T02:09:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year! Yes, I know we’re already into February, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the New Year. According to the Chinese calendar, the New Year started this past Sunday, February 18th. You did know this right? I mean, the Chinese only had the most powerful and dominant culture on the face of the planet for over 800 years. They had armadas capable of taking on every European power contemporary to them. And I bet you thought they only invented fireworks and ate with chop sticks.

So how did you spend your Chinese New Year’s Eve? You probably weren’t doing the same thing you were on the Gregorian New Years. I know I wasn’t. On December 31st I was a huge loser and didn’t go out or do anything. But this time around, I decided to go out and enjoy myself, which, of course, means copious amounts of alcohol. Hey, what did you think I was going to do? It’s New Years.

In celebration of the New Year, I joined a group of my Asian friends and headed out to downtown Raleigh. If you haven’t had the chance to get to know an Asian person, then let me tell you a few things about them. They like to gamble and they like to drink, a lot. Yes, I know it’s stereotyping, but anyone who likes to booze as much as I do and play poker as much as I do is perfectly ok by me. As far as I’m concerned, most Asians are good people.

We ended up going to Five Star, an Asian themed restaurant right in the heart of downtown. The restaurant stays open for late nights as a night club, and of course, they were all ready to go for the New Year. Or at least I thought they were going to be. When I showed up around midnight, the place was packed with white people. Now, being a white boy myself, I shouldn’t have a problem with that. But here I am, in an Asian restaurant/nightclub on the eve of the Chinese New Year and I’m surrounded by white people. I’m sorry, but I was just a little weirded out by that.

On the plus side it made my friends that much easier to locate. Once I found everyone, I learned the reason why the majority of the people there were not minorities. There was a cover band playing at the time that was supposed to finish up at 12am and let the DJ take over. But all of the white boys kept insisting that the band continue to play. Which for me wasn’t a big deal. That is, it wasn’t until the band played a cover of Aretha Franklin’s I Will Survive. Now don’t get me wrong, Aretha sings a pretty good tune, but this cover was awful, it was truly an insult to my eardrums. The worst part, however, was that all the white boys started jumping up and down and singing along.

Now I know by the stroke of midnight most of those guys had probably imbibed in enough alcohol to knock out a full grown horse, I’m sure. Still, that doesn’t excuse singing along to a crapped out rock version of a classic R&B song. Stupid white people.

Ok, enough with the racial partition. I’m not really sure I’m qualified to talk about that anyway. Luckily enough, the band eventually had to leave and the DJ was able to take over. Originally he began playing some recent hip hop hits, but later in the night he began to play some old favorites. Now, I’m not huge into rap and hip hop. That was always my older brother’s thing. I usually prefer the rock and roll. Hey, I’m a white boy, what’d you expect? But I do enjoy a lot of the older, classic R&B and hip hop.

As the place started to clear out, leaving a mostly Asian group behind (plus me) the DJ started playing such favorites as Boyz II Men, Blackstreet, and Cypress Hill. My friends moved to the dance floor and I adjoined to the nearby sofa to mouth off the lyrics I hadn’t heard in ages. Needless to say, I didn’t bother to get up and dance. Let me assure you, there’s a very good reason why. It’s as much for your benefit as it is for my own. Trust me, you don’t want to see me dance.

Back in college I was given the most wondrous opportunity to watch a video tape of my drunken self attempting to dance. I should probably thank my college buddies for goading me into dancing while I was severely inebriated and then recording it for all prosperity. But considering the fact that they make fun of me even to this day at every conceivable chance, I don’t think “thanks” is the word I’ll be using. Suffice it to say, I keep off the dance floor. Besides, I’m white, I’m not supposed to be able to dance.

Now knowing how my friends are, that they like to take shots throughout the night (many, many shots), and knowing that I had a much longer drive home than anyone else, I decided to be a complete and totally weenie. And you know what, I’m ok with that. I bought one drink and nursed that baby for the entire night. But my friend Kim decided I was going to take shots with her, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Well, not that I’m in the habit of saying no to an incredibly attractive girl who’s trying to get me drunk. Still, I attempted to put up a fight. Well, I sort of put up a fight… for a minute. Ok, maybe it was more like thirty seconds. Did I mention before that I was a complete and total weenie?

It was to no avail however. Not only did Kim manage to get me to down two shots of whiskey (I refused to drink tequila with her), but several other people forced various other forms of alcohol on me as well. It didn’t help that we knew the bartenders working that night and they were very persistent in goading us to buy more booze. Needless to say, everyone in my group was having a good time.

As the night wore on, several of the helium filled balloons that were stationed against the ceiling of the building began to float effortlessly down to us on the floor. But with only a sharp poke to the bottom of the party favor, the balloons would majestically levitate back up to join their brethren. Now, knowing that the balloon fell from its initial perch I realized that it was running low on helium. I began to wonder how little of a force was needed to get the inflatable back up to the ceiling and exactly how long it would be before gravity was able to counteract that force and bring the balloon back to the ground.

It was about that time I realized that I was being a huge nerd. And I blame this squarely on my family. Heck, I don’t even like physics. But if you grew up in my household, this sort of stuff would have brushed off on you too. My dad and brother were both mechanical engineering majors in college, my uncle runs a shop that machines industrial tools, and my grandfather flew airplanes in the Air Force briefly before joining the FAA. At Christmas time, we sit down to play some cards and I end up listening to discussions on thermodynamics and other such scientific hullabaloo. That’s about the time my brain cells start shutting themselves off in boredom (there’s a reason I didn’t follow in my family’s footsteps). And my parents wonder why I keep a fifth of bourbon at their house year round when I only visit for a scant two weeks during the holidays.

Finally, the end of the night came, the DJ turned off the music, and we were all forced to leave. You usually get the feeling you’re not wanted when people are cleaning things up all around you and stealing away the sofa you were sitting in just five minutes prior. I’d like to think I’m subtle enough to pick up on those clues. As we left Five Star, my friends suddenly began asking me over and over again if I was ok to drive home. Sure, they try to force drinks down my throat all night, then they worry if I’m ok to drive. I understand totally. Ok, maybe I don’t. Anyway, I had less than four drinks in a two and a half hour period, and on a full stomach, so I was more than ok to get the job done. Even then, I had to promise Kim I’d send her a text message to her phone when I got back safe and sound. I’m willing to bet she was fast asleep before she ever got that message, but at least I know my friends care about me.

So that was my New Years, and I hope you had a great one as well. Oh, and in case you didn’t know, it is now officially the Year of the Pig. According to the Chinese zodiac pigs are gluttonous animals that enjoy the carnal pleasures in life. So yeah, I think I’m going to enjoy this year.

Maybe Life is Like a Ride on a Freeway

2007-02-14T00:52:00.000-05:00

I’m driving down the interstate, rain is pouring down all around my car, the traffic has slowed to a 55 mph crawl (hey, for the interstate, that’s slow). I just finished playing Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden (which seemed appropriate at the time) and now I was listening to the final seconds of regulation for the UNC vs. Virginia Tech basketball game. Things were starting to get just a bit stressful.

Maybe I should explain better. After watching the Carolina Hurricanes win over the Los Angeles Kings, I had to drive back to my place in Chapel Hill. I was already hyped up from a very physical and close scoring hockey game, so my nerves were a bit on edge. The rain was pouring all around me making it very difficult to drive. I wanted to turn on my rear windshield wiper to clear up the view in my rear view mirror (yes, I drive a station wagon, feel free to laugh at my expense), but then I remembered that the back windshield wiper no longer works. It’s a safety feature. See, the button for the back windshield wiper is hard to locate on the dashboard so I would have to take my eyes off the road for a few seconds to find it. And taking your eyes off the road is just plain unsafe. I should thank my car’s manufacturer for designing my car to meet such rigorous safety standards.

The stress continues to pile up. The road conditions, listening to the boys in baby blue not quite finishing off the game the way they should, the two and a half beers I consumed during the hockey game… it all adds up. I should let it be known that being stressed out is a bad way to drive. Luckily for me, I’m a safe driver. I made it home in one piece and without incident. Unluckily for me, the UNC game went into overtime.

And, as you already should know, UNC lost it in overtime and were swept in both games this year by Virginia Tech. The boys in blue let me down. So that’s why I’m right here, on a Tuesday night, sitting in front of my computer, drinking beer and attempting to write in semi-proper English, which is not an altogether easy task, let me assure you. Ah, beer, you’re my one and only true friend.

Well, that isn’t entirely true. See, I didn’t exactly buy my tickets for tonight’s hockey game. A friend of mine was kind enough to give me a spare she had. It was pretty much a last minute thing, and it is nights like tonight that make me proud to have a near non-existent social life. Hey, if I wasn’t going to the hockey game in person, I would be watching the game on TV anyway. Luckily for me, Andrea was nice enough to take me to the game so I could watch it in person.

Being the nice guy that I am, and we all know how nice I am to women, I took Andrea out to dinner before the game. Hey, if she’s cool enough to take me to a hockey game, I can treat her to dinner. Let me recap for a second just for your benefit: I had dinner with an attractive girl and then she took me to a hockey game. This, my friends, is what we call a win-win situation. Well, not quite as good as winning the lottery then being named the sole heir to Hugh Hefner’s estate, but still, it’s pretty damn good. And Hugh, if you’re reading this, I still expect you to leave me the Playboy Mansion in your will.

So, that was my Tuesday. It was pretty eventful, all things considering. And today, Valentine’s Day, probably won’t be nearly has eventful. I won’t be having dinner with any beautiful women tonight, nor will I be watching any collegiate or professional sporting events. I usually boycott Valentine’s Day because well, as far as I’m concerned Valentine’s Day was invented by the De Beers family. You know the De Beers, they’re the people who basically have cornered the international diamond market. They’re the reason why you have to spend three month’s salary on a shiny, semi-ounce rock that otherwise has no rational value.

If you don’t believe my conspiracy theory about this love-sick holiday, then simply turn on your TV. If you don’t see at least two commercials for jewelry during every commercial break, then I’ll give you 100 carats worth of quarters (which is probably just one quarter… possibly two). But you know what, you really should go out and buy your loved one lots of presents. If you don’t spend a crap-ton of money on your favorite female, then it shows that you don’t love her (1 crap-ton = 100 short tons). Love is indubitably tied to gross materialism.

Don’t let the circuitous media fool you, love isn’t some all-prevailing romantic force. Simply put, love is money. Although, as a quick disclaimer, I feel the need to inform you that I was the guy who spent his entire college career trying to marry into money. Let me tell you, marrying a wealthy chick is a lot harder way to get rich quick than I thought. Seriously.

As far as I’m concerned though, love is money. In fact, I love money. Every night when I go to bed, I curl up with a 100 dollar bill and caress it as I fall asleep. It is my one, my only, my everything. Now if it would just hurry up produce a couple hundred more bills just like it, I’d be one happy and content man. The man who coined the term “money can’t buy happiness” most assuredly was poor. I know that I would be happy if I had one million dollars… actually, ten million, I’d be happy with ten million dollars. Well, you know what, we’d better make that an even 100 million dollars, just to be on the safe side. If I had 100 million dollars, I’d be one of the happiest men alive.

But unfortunately, I don’t have quite that much money right now. I don’t even have the Playboy Mansion either. Apparently, I don’t have much. What I do have is another three beers in the fridge that aren’t going to drink themselves. Hey, the Tar Heels lost today, I’m entitled to my booze. But hey, life could be a lot worse. I could be a Duke fan. What are they ranked again? Oh, that’s right, they’re not ranked. Sucks to be a Duke fan.

I’m Wasting My Time Again

2007-02-07T18:13:00.000-05:00

It was not a good weekend. I’m not ashamed to admit (although maybe I should be) that I cried myself to sleep on both Saturday and Sunday night. And believe me, it was not a pretty sight. Over the course of those two days UNC basketball, the Carolina Hurricanes, and the Chicago Bears all lost. It was a sad, sad time.

And if you must know, I flexed my baking prowess once again this weekend. I made some White Chocolate Chip Macadamia Nut Cookies and some Spinach and Artichoke Dip. My friends that I watched the UNC basketball game with promptly made fun of me. That didn’t stop them from eating the cookies though. Apparently, they were delicious, which shouldn’t be surprised since I just plain don’t make crappy baked goods. But to add insult to, well, insult, the girls present also made fun of me for being capable in the kitchen. And they promised to buy me a nice pink and frilly apron. Luckily for me, I don’t wear the damned things. Aprons are for nancy-boys.

So yes, it was a bad weekend all round. But that can all be changed tonight. Tonight is the Raleigh Llamas sixth game of the season. For those of you who don’t know, the Raleigh Llamas is the beginners’ league team in the Raleigh Adult Hockey League which I happen have the pleasure of playing for. We currently boast a 1 - 4 record and lead the league in the fewest penalty minutes served. Hey, at least we lead the league in something.

Why the Raleigh Llamas? Well, because it vaguely sounds like the Dalai Lama. You know the guy, the spiritual and political leader of the Tibetan people. He personifies compassion, wisdom, and faithfulness. And this is exactly what our team is not. Last season our team captain was ejected from our final game (with only five seconds remaining on the clock) for arguing with a referee. If I learned one thing playing sports, it’s that you can never win an argument with a ref, especially when they don’t mind giving you a 10 minute game misconduct with only five seconds remaining in the entire season.

Tonight is a big game because we are playing the only team in the league that is ranked beneath us. This is a must win game. If we win, we move up into sixth place (out of eight teams). If we lose, we drop to eighth place. I can’t speak for the rest of my team, but I don’t exactly aspire to be last place team in the bottom beginners’ league. That’s just one of those things that makes me want to cry myself to sleep. And honestly, I’ve done more than enough of that lately.

I’m also excited for tonight since we will be getting our new uniforms. We’ve been wearing our old standard royal blue “Wings” uniforms for the beginning part of the season (we just recently changed our names to the Raleigh Llamas). It only took nearly three months to get our jerseys in. I mean, I can order a Carolina Hurricanes jersey online and have it here within two days. Waiting half a season for new team jerseys seems perfectly reasonable. Well, perfectly reasonable by 19th century standards anyway. Well if you want to take a look at the coolest damn hockey jerseys ever, just click on the Raleigh Llamas link over there in the links section.

So you all know I’m obsessed with hockey (well, I’m obsessed with sports in general, but I actually play hockey, so yeah, I’m even more obsessed with that), but there are plenty of other things I do in a given day that don’t revolve around the sports world. In fact, I have so much to do, it’s a wonder I ever get anything done in one particular day. I’d like to think of myself as an expert when it comes to time management. Or more accurately, time-waste management.

If there is one thing I’m good at, it’s finding applicable ways to waste time. It’s kind of a super power I have. Well, no, I wouldn’t say it’s a super power. Pissing off women is my true super power; wasting time is just a slightly more than mild-mannered hobby. But it’s a hobby I take very seriously. Take today for instance: I went out of my way to drop by EB Games so I could pick up a copy of Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney. It’s a courtroom drama type game for the Nintendo DS that I have heard very good things about. But seeing as how I have a backlog of games I have yet to finish, there was pretty much no reason to pick this game up.

So why’d I go out of my way to buy it? Well, I haven’t bought a video game for myself since before Christmas. It’s been almost two months now, and that’s a long time for a video game junkie to go without buying something. What can I say, I need my fix. Luckily I do have a fragment of self restraint. The game has remained unopened, lying on my coffee table for most of the afternoon. Let me assure you, if I had opened the game, I would never have found the time to write this article. As far as I’m concerned, that means I’ve been productive today.

Besides video games, there are plenty of other useful wastes of time for you to engage in. Watching TV, shopping, or even listening to music are all the usual mundane time killers. But that’s old school. This is the 21st century. We have all new ways to take up your meaningless time. The internet itself is a huge tool designed just for this purpose. You can get online and chat away with friends over your favorite instant messaging software, or you can read some of the many web-published comics or you can even read some blogs. If you’re really inclined, you could read the entire backlog of my own blogs. But really, if you have that much free time on your hands, you’d be better off doing something more exciting. Like getting your nails done.

Of course, you can always get on Myspace. Plenty of people use it as their preferred waste of time from any other online site. I must confess, I too have a Myspace account, although I really can’t understand why, I barely use the thing. If you may recall, I’m not exactly fond of the mass majority of humanity. They have a tendency to annoy me. Just to humor you, let’s just check out what I have waiting for me today on my Myspace account. In the messages folder I have “Meet Horny Myspace Singles” and “Meet Hot Myspace Singles” and “10000 Dollar Scholarships.” Yes, thank you for restoring my faith in humanity Myspace.

Well, I’ve probably wasted enough of your time already. I would prefer to waste more, but really, I have an unopened video game laying on my coffee table and a hockey game at 9pm. I have so much to do that I sometimes think my life is just too stressful. Usually when that happens, I open another bottle of bourbon. Alcohol: the ultimate waste of your time.

You Have Entered the Forbidden Zone

2007-01-31T18:43:00.001-05:00

It is now exactly two weeks and one day until we come out of the dreaded Forbidden Zone. I may have mentioned this before, although I’m not sure, but the Forbidden Zone is something that I made up entirely on my own. And don’t worry, it’s not some crazy part of a comic book universe that makes no sense in the overall scheme of things but makes up for it by sounding really cool. No, the Forbidden Zone isn’t even a place, real or imaginary. It’s really more of a state of mind.

Actually, it’s a time frame. The Forbidden Zone is a vastly important time of every calendar year that I observe each and every time around. It begins on November 14th and ends after February 14th. This three month span of the year is dubbed “The Forbidden Zone” because it is absolutely crucial that you avoid relationships during that time span. So basically, don’t let women get close to you, or better yet, don’t date any girls for that whole three month period.

Now bear with me, because I have some very good reasons for telling you this. The winter holidays are supposed to be a time of loving and caring, rejoicing and appreciating. But in reality, and I’m sure we’re all feeling the reality of it right now, those holidays are about making us spend money. Think about it. How much of your hard earned cash have you spent on your loved ones since mid-November? And how thin is your pocket book looking right now? I’m even willing to bet that you have plans to spend even more money (whether or not you can afford it) come February 14th.

Let me tell you that this particular part of the year is very important to our economy. I don’t want you to quit spending money altogether, just stop spending it on dates. During the winter holidays of Thanksgiving, Chanukah, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and whatever else it is that you may celebrate, literally billions of dollars are sent roaming through the economy. And this is a good thing. We depend on this influx of money every year, and without it, our economy would flat-line and the integrity of our country as a whole would be in danger. Whole societies have crumbled beneath the under-indulgent weight of a lackluster winter holiday sales slump. Rome is a prime example.

Sure, the historians say it was a mix of splitting the empire, the increase in barbarian raids, and the unsure method of selecting a new emperor. But I know the truth. We all know the empire was in decline, but they were still rich and they had the largest army on the planet. All it took was one lousy Saturnalia (which is the ancient Roman holiday that takes place around the same time as Christmas). For some reason that we may never know, the great and wealthy Romans decided not to go out and spend massive amounts of money for their holiday. Alas, there were no decorated fig trees, no Saturnalia Games in the Coliseum, and no Roman orgies. Hey, get your head out of the gutter! The Roman orgy was a large party of Roman elites that ate and drank excessively, even to the point of forcing themselves to throw up so they could eat and drink more. It reminds me of college.

So you see, without the large amounts of coin being pass around, the Roman economy grinded to a halt and led to its eventual destruction starting when Rome itself was sacked by the Visigoths in 410 AD. Moral of the story: if you don’t spend lots of money during the holidays, Rome gets sacked by barbarians. Ok, that’s more of a history lesson than even I need.

So why have I designed this Forbidden Zone? We all now know that emptying our wallets during the cold months keeps our country from falling apart. So why would I warn you about this particular time? Well, it’s all due to the one element which is recognized by all scientists to drain your money faster than anything else. It’s woman. The Forbidden Zone is a period in time where you should avoid dating women. If not, you will end up spending more money in this three month period, than you will for the rest of the women you meet for the other nine months combined.

Now don’t get me wrong. If you already have a long term relationship going into November 14th, then by all means, keep it going. You shouldn’t dump a girl just because you’re about to hit the Forbidden Zone. Hey, you got yourself into that mess, don’t expect me to get you out. And if you’re married… well then you have my condolences. You’re beyond even my help.

Honestly, I just want you to do one favor for me. This Valentine’s Day, when you’re planning on taking out a person of the female persuasion, just ask yourself: “Is she worth it?” Take a long look at how much money you’re squandering on this particular female and decide if you’re really going to be happy with the way you’ve spent your hard earned cash.

I mean, if your date is planning on bringing over some girl she kind of knows from her gym later that night to join you, well then by all means spend as much money as you can afford. But if your date is going to give you a hug and tell you how good of a friend you are before leaving you alone for the rest of the evening, well, was it really worth spending $200? Because if your answer is yes, I can just come over there, set your two hundred dollar bills on fire and kick you in the balls repeatedly while you watch your money turn to ash in front of your eyes. That will take all of five minutes, and you can have the rest of the evening to play Halo 2 (or whatever multiplayer game it is your kids are playing these days).

I just want to make on thing straight. I don’t hate Valentine’s Day. The fact is, I’ve never had a date on the holiday before, and that doesn’t bother me one bit. Personally I feel that if there is a girl that I care about enough to take out and spend that much money on, then I’ll do it. But if there isn’t a girl in my life who just is that special, then there’s really no point. I have better things to do with my time and money than waste them on someone I don’t really care that much about. What really gets me angry is all of the guys I talk to feel they need to have a date for Valentine’s Day. It’s like their life is worthless without one. But that’s just not true.

There’s nothing special about February 14th. In reality, it’s just another day out of the year. If you don’t have a date lined up, then please don’t even bother worrying about it. You’ll be saving yourself plenty of money and tons of headaches. Trust me on that one. And if anyone asks you about it or makes fun of you, just tell them that you’re stuck in the Forbidden Zone. Once February 14th passes, you’ll be free to date again. Free to hang out with annoying women who only care about your money and not about who you really are as a person. Ah, the wonderful world of dating, how I’ve missed you these past three months!

Aprons Are for Nancy-boys

2007-01-24T04:14:00.000-05:00

So I’ve had a little bit of free time lately, and I decided to use it to do something productive. Yesterday was clean up day. I figured, after about three months, it was finally time to clear out the mountain of Wendy’s and Hardee’s take out bags that were piled up on top of my trash can. No seriously, the pile was almost as tall as I was. It was getting to be a chess match between me and the fragile prehistoric mound-like edifice I had built. Will one more bag fit on top without everything toppling over? Can I go one more day without having to take out the garbage? These are the questions that plague my mind daily.

So I loaded everything up into four separate trash bags and took everything out. Yes, four trash bags for a one bedroom apartment. I’m not a dirty man, I’m just lazy. Hey, I take my trash out once every three months, that means I’m being clean enough, right? You know what, do me a favor and don’t answer that.

But yesterday was about oh-so much more than taking out the trash. In fact, my dirty clothes had been building a mound society of their very own. Normally I have to pull the hammer out of my tool box so I can use the claw side of it to rip apart the garments that have become cemented together in my laundry basket. I’m actually surprised that the amount of time and pressure exerted upon my dirty clothes in the laundry basket doesn’t fuse two articles together to form some sort of mutated freak of apparel. Luckily that hasn’t happened. Nor did I have to resort to using tools to separate my clothes. For some strange reason, the laundry basket has remained next to my washing machine since the last time I did clothes instead of returning to my closet where it belongs. Hey, I’m lazy, remember.

So instead, I found a large mound of dirty clothes lying on the floor of my closet blocking me from access to my dresser and whatever else I might need. Normally that would be a bad thing, but it’s been at least six months since I folded and clothes and put them away. I have developed a perfectly intellectual system for my clothing cycles. The smelly wrinkled clothes on the floor are dirty. The wrinkled clothes laying on the futon are clean. And of course, if it’s on the floor and it doesn’t smell, it gets relegated to that grey area where it’s ok to wear as long as I’m not going on a date. Well, it’s probably ok to wear on a date as long as I’m not trying to impress the girl.

So after starting a load of laundry, taking out the trash, and cleaning a few dishes (the nice thing about fast food is that you don’t have too many dishes to worry about) I decided to bake a batch of cookies. See, there’s this recipe for double chocolate cookies that I’ve been meaning to try since I’ve never actually done a pure chocolate cookie recipe before. Hey, I enjoy baking. Now I know what you’re thinking, but this does not make me a woman. Guys can be domestic too you know. So before you start making fun of me, let me just remind you that I’m 6’2”, 190lbs, an avid hockey player, and I could totally beat the crap out of your boyfriend.

I think my forays into the mystic realm of bakeries is well documented. So suffice it to say, I pretty much know what I’m doing. And as luck would have it the cookies turned out rather well. I’m enjoying them at least. It was a pretty small batch I made up so I most likely will not be sending any out to friends, which is a break from my normal routine. I believe in sharing, I’m nice like that. Just like when a friend of mine is dating a girl who has a physically attractive sister/roommate/friend on the rebound, I expect them to share. Like I said, it’s the polite thing to do.

I look back now and I see a much cleaner apartment and I feel an odd sense of accomplishment. Granted, it’s not exactly what most of you would normally call “neat” or “clean.” There’s still junk lying out over the coffee table and who knows what sitting on top of the kitchenette bar (seriously, I’m too afraid to find out). Hey, a there’s only so much domestication a guy can do before the NHL All-Star Skills Competition comes on. And yes, I’m that big of a hockey freak that I watch the skills competition every year. What can I say, I love hockey.

Unfortunately, I won’t be able to watch the All-Star game tonight. It comes on at 8pm Eastern Time and I have my own hockey game to play at 9pm. This game is important too since we have a chance at winning that would put us at 2-2 for the season. That would be huge when you bear in mind that we only had two wins all last season combined. I’m not afraid to admit that we suck. And you know what? I’m ok with that. We’re getting better, and with some luck we could finish this season at .500 or better. That’s the goal at least.

In the meantime I should probably finish what I started yesterday. My apartment still hasn’t been totally cleaned up, but you know what, screw it. I’m too lazy. Besides, what did you expect? If you want to see clean and tidy go call up Martha Stewart. If you want to see an apartment that revolves around pizza, beer, and video games then you’ve come to the right place. Now if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I need to go grab another beer…

As a final note I wanted to give some kudos to ESPN commentator Mike Ditka for being the only person on ESPN (both on TV and on ESPN.com) to pick the Bears (DAA Bears!) to win the NFC Championship game over the New Orleans Saints. I’m sure he had personal reasons for picking the Bears to win, but nevertheless, he was the only one who got it right. The rest of you football journalists should pay attention. Mike Ditka is smarter than you. Oh, and Rex Grossman is still my hero. Laugh at me all you want, but he’s in the Super Bowl and you’re not.

Damn It’s Good to Be a Sports Nut

2007-01-17T00:06:00.000-05:00

In case you missed it, I’m going to give you a quick run down of the NCAA National Championship game. This recap is brought to you by the fine folks at Stupid Inventions magazine. “If it’s stupid, we can invent it!”

Ohio State versus Florida (Monday, January 8th, 2007)

Ohio State: We’re the best team in the nation! We’ve got Heisman Trophy winner Troy Smith. We beat two number two teams this year, and we’re gonna flat run over you, Florida!

Florida: Urban Meier is an offensive god. Chris Leak and Tim Tebow are going to duel-mode bitch slap you right back to Columbus.

Ohio State: (SLAP) Ouch… that hurt! Don’t do that. Please… please don’t hurt us again. We’ll roll over and play dead now, just please don’t hurt us.

Florida: That’s right bitch. Now go make me a sandwich.

That was pretty much what happened. I have to admit, I was utterly disappointed in the game. And where was Mr. Heisman that night? I thought Troy Smith drank the nectar of the gods and shitted out rainbows. But apparently he plays like a blinded eight year old school girl. Honestly, I expected more out of him.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Troy Smith. He played exceptionally well all year and deserved that Heisman. But no one cares about that if you can’t pull it out in the one game of the year that really matters. Sorry Mr. Heisman, but you really did get slapped around that game. Unfortunately, it was a bad end to an otherwise stellar season.

Now, as good as a performance that Florida put on (and let’s give credit where credit is due), I still have some problems about them being national champions. Sure Florida beat the best team in the nation and finished up 13-1 on the season with a tough SEC schedule. But there’s one team that finished up the season with a better record. Yes, I’m talking about Boise State. You know that team with the royal blue turf field that you see on TV but never really care about. That’s them.

I’m saying it right now, on the record, so please print this out so you have a paper copy: Boise State should be crowned National Champions. They are the only team in Division I-A football that finished the season undefeated. That’s 13 wins with no losses. The Broncos are the one team out of 119 peer teams to get the job done each and every week of the season. Doesn’t that count for something?

Now I know you’re thinking that Boise State had a weak schedule and that their conference isn’t anything near as difficult as anything the six major conferences have to play through. This is true, and I completely agree with you there. Both Florida and Ohio State had to play much tougher schedules than the Broncos. But allow me dissuade you of your conferential prejudices.

Why do I think Boise State should be number one? Well, did you see the Fiesta Bowl? I unfortunately missed it. And it is one of the biggest regrets of my life. Either my life is really sad or that was the greatest game of college football ever played. I’ll let you decide. But you can’t deny the fact that of all the college football played this season, that Boise State pulling it off against Oklahoma in the national spotlight of a major BCS Bowl is a memorable experience for all (unless, of course, you’re from Oklahoma).

Anyone who can pull off the plays and make the calls like Boise State coach Chris Peterson deserves to have a National Championship. Getting that team back into the game with seven seconds left was miraculous. In overtime, needing only a simple extra point to tie the game and send it to double overtime, Peterson choose to go for two points. Make it, and you win the big game and everyone loves you. Miss and you go back home crying with you head between you thighs like a little girl and wondering what could have been. That’s a tough call. Not only did he make this call, but Peterson had the balls of solid stainless steel, the absolute audacity to call a statue of liberty play for the two point conversion. And it worked. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the statue of liberty used before in college football. And the USA Today Coaches Poll didn’t even place the Broncos in the top five nationally. I’m sorry, but I’m invoking my constitutional right to call: bull shit.

There were five BCS bowl games this year. Those are the biggest end of year games in the country. You’d think the winners of those games would wind up as the five best teams in the nation. Let’s just forget about Ohio State’s season, where they beat a number two Texas and beat a number two Michigan. Ohio State lost. They finished 12-1. Boise State is 13-0. I can’t say that enough. The one undefeated team in the league and they can’t even scratch the top five. If that doesn’t convince you that the system is flawed, then I don’t know what will.

As I’ve said before, Boise State is the best team in the nation. So what if they’re in the WAC? Winning 13 games in one season isn’t easy even in for the Western Athletic Conference. And even then, they had to get through the Big 12 Champion Oklahoma Sooners to pull it off. I think we all need to start showing more love to the mid-majors out there. It doesn’t matter if you do or not. I will. Coach Peterson, you rock. Keep up the good work, and I hope to see you in the BCS again next year.

Wow… did I really just write all of that trying to convince you that Boise State, of all teams, should be number one? That’s a stretch, even for me. Still, Boise State deserves plenty of praise, especially after showing us one hell of a game. And really, isn’t that what football is all about? We’ve already seen some great NFL games this past week with Chicago winning in overtime (DAA Bears!) and the Patriots with a comeback win over the Chargers.

I’m looking forward to the Super Bowl. Will Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts actually win a conference championship and maybe even (God forbid) a National Championship? Will the Patriots continue their dominance over the AFC and deny the Colts in the playoffs once again? Will the Saints continue their miraculous season and come marching home with a championship? Or will the Bears go all the way and do their own Super Bowl Shuffle? I’m just so excited I can’t wait. Boy is it good to be a sports nut.

Some Stuff, Different Year

2007-01-10T00:46:00.000-05:00

You know, I’m not one to be overly introspective. I always expect myself to improve in the things I do, but setting actual goals and time limits, that’s not something I’m really into. That being said, I actually have a few New Years Resolutions this go around. Like I said, I’m not usually one to set resolutions… Well, except for the usual pledge to meet more girls who are quick to get out of their pants. Now calm down. I know what you’re thinking. But contrary to popular belief, my goal every year is NOT to pick up the most sluttish and easiest girls out there. I have been working, for quite some time and with more than a little bit of effort, mind you, on a theory of mine that purports that there is a directly proportional relationship between how annoying a girl is and the amount of clothes she is wearing.

Basically, my hypothesis (technically it’s not a theory until I have a large bundle of documented facts to back it up) is that the more clothes any one girl wears, the more annoying she is. But if she takes off a few layers of clothes, she automatically becomes less annoying. Unfortunately I don’t have enough data to devise an exact mathematical formula to express this interaction. I am still collecting evidence from the field to back up my hypothesis and conclude my aforementioned formula. This is an important project to a cynical man like myself who firmly believes the mass majority of humanity was placed on Earth simply to annoy me. If I can find a mathematical way to make women less annoying, well then that’s just gravy. Suffice it to say, until I come up with that formula, I will continue to be on top of it.

This year, however, I am not choosing to focus large amounts of time and energy into a project that is not totally (or even partially) approved by any major scientific institution. This year, I’m focusing my efforts on something even more important: myself. Let’s be honest here, if I don’t look out for Number One, who will? So without further distractions from chicks wearing far too many clothes, here they are (in order of the number of beers I had to drink to come up with the resolution):

1. Write more, and do more serious writing
2. Get my life put together
3. Play more video games (seriously)
4. Wear pants more often

Ok, let’s just start out at number one. And this is my original resolution that I came up with before drinking any beer whatsoever. Occasionally I can come up with thoughts without involving alcohol in the processes. It just doesn’t happen very frequently. As much as I enjoy writing these blogs once a week (and I really do) and as good as it has been for me to force myself to be creative at least once a week, I need to do more. If I’m ever to truly reach my dream of writing for a living, this non-income producing column isn’t going to cut it in the long run.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to stop writing It’s Supposed to Be Funny (or the Privette Papers, or whatever you want to call it) in the foreseeable future. I just think that there are other projects that I need to work on if I’m ever to get something published, and more importantly, paid for. Because daddy needs some bacon, though I am willing to take that bacon in cash form. I’ll take actual bacon too, I’m not that picky. Hey, bacon is good stuff. Just as long as it’s none of that faux Canadian bacon. Do you realize that that stuff is actually ham? Is Canada really that much different from the US that they have to resort to trying to pass off ham as bacon?

Resolution number two is closely tied to the first one. I have been a huge bum ever since graduating from college. I avoid getting a real job and a real life like everyone else probably because I’m scared I’ll actually grow up. And let’s be honest, being a grown up sucks, there’s far too much responsibility involved. I just don’t see the point in settling down right now. But the fact remains, I can’t keep being a huge bum for the rest of my life. For one thing, it’s hard to pick up chicks when you’re a bum, even if their pants do come off readily.

My first resolution is to write more. My second resolution is to turn that writing into money. I need to quit being a pansy about rejection and start trying to get this stuff published. Or I could just win the lottery. I’d be cool with that too. I think I could survive a few years off of 100 million dollars or so. The only downside is that taxes on 100 million dollars are a real pain in the ass. The government really knows how to take the fun out of winning the lottery.

The third resolution I came up with was after about my forth beer of the night, but really, I could have come up with this vow without the help of my special muse. And yes, I am being serious. The problem is that I have far too many video games that have piled up that haven’t been beaten yet. If I’m ever going to get through all these games before I go out and buy more (and trust me, I will buy more, I’m just a whore like that) I need to start making it a priority to play games more often.

I only need one more dungeon to beat The Legend of Zelda, the Twilight Princess on the Wii. Also on the Wii I need to play through Red Steel, which I’ve barely even touched. For the Playstation 2 (even if I did win 100 million dollars in the NC state lottery, I still wouldn’t have enough money to buy the Playstation 3), I need to play more Guitar Hero 2, and I’ve recently acquired Final Fantasy XII, which I’m sure is going to absorb my soul. There’s also the remake of Final Fantasy III (originally an NES game) for my Nintendo DS. So many high quality games, so little time. And yes, this is important. It’s still one of my biggest regrets that I have yet to beat Super Mario Brothers 3 (you know the game for the NES where you get the raccoon tail and the tanooki suit).

Finally we come to fourth resolution: I really do need to wear pants more often. The problem is, I’ve been living by myself for just about a year now, and since there’s no one around for me to worry about, I tend to go without pants for extended periods of time. If there’s no one here, that’s not a big deal. But after about eight beers with my friends, I tend to get a bit… uncomfortable. I’m not saying that my pants come off after eight beers, but I do ponder the existential existence of my lower legging material. And to be perfectly honest, you probably don’t want to know any more than that. Sometimes, saying less really is more.

Well, there you have it. I look inside at my most ponderous and profound thoughts. Just try not to look too deep or read too much into it. Trust me, there’s not much there. There’s just an enormous empty feeling from not beating Super Mario Bros. 3. Seriously, what guy from my generation hasn’t beaten that game? These are the things that keep me up at night…

See, I told you not to delve too deep. Maybe next time you should listen to me.

Now the Morning Light Has Come and Kicked My Ass

2007-01-03T01:33:00.000-05:00

So I woke up Tuesday morning, went straight to the bathroom, and threw up. Let me assure you, it was not fun. Regurgitation is something I try to avoid as a general rule, mainly because I have a really hard time breathing right after I violently vomit and expel the contents of my intestines. Totally not cool.

To figure out why I was hunched over my toilet praying to the porcelain gods at 9:30 in the AM, we need to rewind a bit to Monday. That’s right, New Years Day. I did not go out on New Years Eve, mainly due to the fact that I’m a huge loser. Personally I don’t consider myself a loser, but if you stay in New Years Eve and go to sleep nursing a cold you caught from your father while visiting the family for Christmas, then by default, you are a loser. And no, I’m not bitter at my dad for giving me his cold just in time for Christmas and New Years. Nope, not bitter one bit.

So here we are on Monday, January First. Or, as I always remember it, Company Holiday Party. We have our party a little bit later than most companies, but trust me, it’s totally worth it. The boys upstairs set up a nice dinner at a hotel, hand out usually five to six tickets for free drinks per person, and get the hotel to offer rooms at a discount for people attending the party. That last little part is especially nice, because after about three fourths of a bottle of bourbon I do not need to be getting anywhere near my car. And that’s something that I can’t stress enough, I drink good old fashioned American Whiskey. I buy domestic and thereby support the hardworking American.

So after a nice sit-down dinner of filet and shrimp (the filet was much better going down Monday than it was coming up Tuesday, trust me) I headed out to the hotel bar to start drinking with the rest of the alcoholics. Well, it wasn’t starting so much as it was continuing. I think I was the first person to show up before dinner so I could hang out at the bar, get the whiskey flowing, and watch some of the Rose Bowl (Unfortunately, I missed the Fiesta Bowl with Boise St. beating Oklahoma 43-42 in an overtime spectacular). Being there that early gave me the opportunity to talk the party organizers into giving me a few extra drink tickets. What can I say, I’m a sucker for free drinks. Now apparently after dinner, while I was at the bar, I missed my name being called out to receive a door prize (an Ipod, I think), so they gave it to someone else. I didn’t get an Ipod because I was busy drinking. C’est la vie. That’s pretty much the story of my life.

Do you mind if I take a break from my current storytelling to ask you a philosophical question? Is it ok to watch a 17 year old girl making out with a 19 year old girl? Or more importantly: Is it ok to enjoy watching a 17 year old girl making out another girl? And I ask for absolutely no reason whatsoever. …except for the fact that the previously mentioned event happened Monday night not three inches from my face. And truth be told, I enjoyed watching, very much so. That doesn’t make me a dirty old man, does it?

There’s a trick to drinking at the company holiday party. Well, there’s a trick at my company party at least. When everyone is hanging out at the bar after dinner, you’ll usually find me drinking with the general managers. Now why would I be spending my time with my bosses at a party where there’s underage female to female tongue action going on? Mainly, my bosses are almost as big of alcoholics as I am. And that’s saying something. So every time I see the big boys trying to decide what shot to order, I quietly slide on over and suggest Red-headed Sluts (Jager, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice). Because really, who doesn’t like red heads?

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Three fourths of a bottle of bourbon and several shots, I should probably not be surprised that I ended up getting sick. I mean, alcohol is not the healthiest of substances. Well, let me assure you that I have discovered, by means of my uncanny intellect and astounding analytical skills, that beyond any shadow of a doubt, it was the steak that made me sick, not the alcohol.

To be perfectly honest, alcohol and I go way back, especially whiskey. We’ve had a very long and fruitful friendship, and I am very reluctant to believe that alcohol would betray my trust like that and cause me to get ill. This is why I choose to believe it was the food at fault. Armed with that knowledge I can now go out this weekend and continue my relationship with alcohol unimpeded by any needless worries.

Luckily I had the foresight to make sure I didn’t have to go into work Tuesday. The last thing I need is to be working with a fragile stomach and light head. Well, actually, the last thing I need is group of ninja assassins stalking me at night. But the being sick at work thing is still pretty bad. I feel sorry for the guys who actually had to go in today. It must suck to be them.

Well, I think that’s pretty much the highlights of my night. I drank a lot of whiskey, watched some indiscretions, and took some shots. How many shots did I have? …no seriously, how many did I have? I don’t have a clue. And this seems like it might be relevant information taking into account the first sentence in this passage.

Although, I have to say, I am proud of myself. I made it to my room, all on my own, and got into my pajamas and into bed. That’s quite an accomplishment. Usually at one of these things, I wake up the next day sitting up in my bed, fully clothed (shoes and all), with the lights still on. I have no idea why I would need to go to bed in a sitting position with the lights on and my pants still unremoved. Apparently, I usually have very good reasons, though I’ll never quite know them fully.

You know what, I just had an epiphany. It is completely ok for me to enjoy watching underage girls making out with each other. No worries there. And yes, I do realize I’m going to hell. I’ve come to terms with that.

So here’s hoping that you had a wonderful holiday season. I hope yours was packed with as much wonder and excitement as mine was. And always remember, just because the holidays are over, doesn’t mean you have to stop having a good time. Getting out and enjoying yourself is a year round affair as far as I’m concerned. As I always say: eat, drink, and be merry!

Stupid Inventions

2006-12-28T00:13:00.000-05:00

I know I’m a little bit late today at posting a new article, but I haven’t had much time to get any real writing done lately. I’ve spent the past week with the family and most of my time has been taken up by playing cards, messing around with my new backpack, and eating junk food. So instead of getting a brand new composition today, I’m going to give you a few shorts that I wrote when I was much younger. I present you with: Stupid Inventions.

The Nuclear Beam Washing Machine

World War II technology being used in your very own home! Very exciting, huh? Your clothes have never been more clean until now. The nuclear power takes out all of the everyday particles that get stuck in between the fibers of your clothes. The secret lies within the power source of the machine. That’s right! You guessed it, it is run by nuclear power. Radon beams get shot through your clothes. This purifies the cleanliness of the articles you wear. If the clothes come out glowing green, don’t worry, it won’t hurt you too much. If your cat that sleeps behind the washing machine starts walking around and sporting two heads, don’t worry either. Your satisfaction is not guaranteed. We are not responsible for your buying and using our product. We use parts from old Soviet nuclear bombs that we just bought for 20 dollars a piece. So hurry up and buy now!

The Pocket Chainsaw

No more lugging around big heavy equipment for sawing. The convenient Jeff’s Army Pocket Chainsaw™ can slice ‘em and dice ‘em like any ordinary one. No more sorry Swiss Army stuff like little old knives. Just pull the cord and you’re on your way to total carnage. If you’re at work and you need to cut a cord that won’t let your knife through it, then you’re stuck. Don’t you just hate that? Just whip out one of our handy dandy Pocket Chainsaws and you’re in business. The cords will scream in terror. Cut those hedges on your front lawn you’ve been meaning to get. So order now! Buy now and you might get a Pocket Chainsaw that actually works! For best results, remember to continuously refill your Pocket Chainsaw since the handheld gas tank only holds four drops of gasoline.

The Little Child’s Choke Chain

It’s time to discipline that little brat you’ve been raising as a kid. One pull from this handy choke chain and he’ll be begging for mercy! You may have one for your dog, but now you need one for your kid. Why, you ask. Because we say so! Someone may tell you that it is just a doggie choke chain. We tell you that they are not… lying. These chains are so good that they work on those nosy adolescents of yours as well. Wow, doesn’t it feel great to have power over someone who is only half your size? We take no responsibility for you using our product. If you buy it, that’s your problem. So buy now!

The Flame ‘em Tank Lighter

Flip the switch and off you go! The Flame ‘em Tank Lighter shoots a ball of flame up to 100 feet. Before you hit the switch to light up a cigarette, make sure you line up the barrel on the tank with your cigarette or the ball of flame will fly in the other direction. (This product is not guaranteed to fire in a straight line or hit its target.) You can blow down your whole house with a shot from this baby. Give them to your friends, they’re great for a joke! Order now! (We are not responsible for any damages or losses caused by our product, the Flame ‘em Tank Lighter.)

The Amazingly Annoying Beeping Watch

Beep…Beep. No more need to look to see the time. The Amazingly Annoying Beeping Watch™ will beep every minute. You know exactly what time it is when you want to or when you don’t. You have to keep track of the time in your head because the watch only beeps, it doesn’t actually keep track of time for you. Well, the watch might not beep every minute, just every 47 to 59 seconds. But that’s alright, because there is only 23 hours and 58 minutes in a day (whatever it is that those two facts have to do with each other). Caution: Watch is not water resistant, use at your own risk in wet or damp or mildly moist or even almost dry (but not quite) areas. Wouldn’t it be a concept if someone could invent something that will actually keep track of time (accurately, of course)? But until then, order our all new Amazingly Annoying Beeping Watch™. Our logo, “Annoy your friends, family, neutral bystanders, and yourself!” Buy now!

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2006-12-20T00:30:00.000-05:00

Indeed, it is the most wonderful time of the year. And for the record, I’m not talking about Christmas. Not that there’s anything wrong with Christmas, although sometimes the holiday does confuse me a tad. A fat man in a red suit with a bunch of elves represents the birth of Jesus Christ; I’m not totally seeing the obvious connection here.

But it is the most wonderful time of the year. With the release of two new next generation video game systems, by Nintendo and Sony, a new age in interactive entertainment has blossomed. However, there’s far more than that going on than just some fancy new consoles. In the past month, more has happened in the video game industry then perhaps the last two years combined. Let us take a quick look at what has happened since November:

Guitar Hero 2 hit the shelves in early November giving me some brand new songs to rock out to. Then we had Final Fantasy 12 hit the Playstation 2 while the remake of Final Fantasy 3 dropped on the Nintendo DS. And as you know, I’m a huge fan of the Final Fantasy series. Hell, I even own Mystic Quest for my SNES (bonus points go out to those you who already know what that game is). Then there’s Gears of War, Children of Mana, Disgea 2, and far too many other titles to name in the space I have here. Oh, and there’s this little known game called the Legend of Zelda, the Twilight Princess too. You may have heard of it.

I think by now, its safe for me to confide in you. I’ve bared enough of my soul over the past nine months that I feel almost comfortable in speaking of my feelings. Almost comfortable, but let’s face it, I’m not exactly the emotional type. That being said, I’m not afraid to tell you that I have wept, on more than one occasion, tears of absolute joy over the amount of high quality content that has come out recently for video game enthusiasts.

There is so much out there right now that I do not have the hours in my day to play all the games that I would like. Well, I guess I could have worse problems. Like cancer. I mean, that would suck, right?

Since Christmas is only days away, I thought I’d give you my thoughts on the must have gifts of the season: the Nintendo Wii, the Sony Playstation 3, and the Xbox 360. If you don’t have one of these items on your wish list (assuming you don’t already own all three), then we just can’t be friends anymore. Hey, it’s not my fault that you’re a loser.

First off, the Nintendo Wii. Ok, I’ll admit, the name scares me. It did the first time I heard it, and it continues to this day. But there are some benefits to it. It’s very catchy in some phrases. Such as, “I’m going to go home to play with my Wii.” Or, “How come girls always look at me funny when I ask them to come over and play with my Wii? I’m sure that if they’d just touch my Wii, they’d love every second they had their hands on it.”

Nintendo’s nomenclature aside, the Wii is very different from its competitors. If you’re looking for the high powered, top of the line graphics, high definition, and all that jazz, then Nintendo isn’t pandering to you. Simply put, the Wii is pure fun. I preordered mine (mainly because I’m a huge dork like that) and it is truly the most fun I have ever had with a console (even my Nintendo DS, which I have been known to take out to a romantic dinner on the occasion).

Case in point: a guy I work with, who had previously mocked Nintendo for their lack of processing power and true next-generation graphics, had a chance to sit down (or stand, as it was) and play a few rounds of the Wii sports package. The next day he was thinking of going out and purchasing a Wii just for that game (which comes included with the console). In all honestly, once you get a chance to get your hands on the console and play a few games, you’ll have the video game experience of your life. And trust me, the best is yet to come. Although, I still don’t understand why girls seem so upset when I ask them to touch my Wii. I just don’t get it.

The downside comes when I turn the system on. For some reason, whenever I power up my Wii, I don’t turn it off until six hours later at the minimum. I can’t tell you how many days in a row I’ve stayed up until 5am playing on that thing. And that can’t be healthy. Oh, and as for the stories going around about people losing their grip on the Wii-mote and having it fly out of their hands and breaking expensive plasma TVs and tearing holes in drywall, well, all I can say is: baloney. Two Fridays ago I was at a party with no less than 20 people who were well intoxicated and took turns playing Wii sports. Not a single Wii-mote was dropped or otherwise inadvertently used as a projectile. And trust me, my shirt reeked of spilled tequila halfway through that party, so I know everyone was enjoying themselves on the liquor front. So if you break something with your Wii-mote, it is 100% completely user error. Don’t blame it on Nintendo. If a bunch of drunken idiots can play without breaking anything, I’m sure you can too.

Well, there’s not much I can say about the Playstation 3 other than the fact that I’m still not convinced that it actually exists. I have yet to see a tangible model. Sure, I’ve seen the creepy TV commercials that feature what appears to be a demented baby (with no actual footage of game play). And honestly, they scare me. But until I get one of these mythical consoles in my hand, I will continue with my skepticism. I suppose I should believe in the Playstation 3. I suppose I should believe in Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy as well. But I don’t. And even if I did, why would I want to buy one? Last I checked, Sony was charging $600, a DNA sample for cloning purposes, the rights to turn your house into a nuclear waste dump, and your firstborn son. And that’s just for the console! Who knows what they’re charging for the games.

Nintendo sells their console at $250 a pop and makes money on every one sold. Sony, on the other hand, loses money every time they sell a Playstation 3 for $600. Just some food for thought.

And now we get to the Xbox 360. This is Microsoft’s second foray into the console market, and to be honest, I’m impressed. Even though it has been out for a year now, the system is still very powerful and plays great graphics, especially in high definition. The price is very attractive at $399 for the “pro” console (only a blind, deaf, mute quadriplegic with down syndrome would ever think of buying the $299 “core” console… and even then, he’d have to be really drunk) since it is a full $200 cheaper than the Playstation 3.

The real strength of the Xbox 360 lies in the fact that it has been selling for an entire year. The ensuing titles launched for the system since its inception make it very attractive, and it is far easier to get a hold of the console than either of its competitors. Gears of War and Dead Rising are two games I would seriously love to play in all their high definition glory. And best of all, I have yet to see the blue screen of death appear on any Xbox console. I would have never guessed that Microsoft had it in them.

So there you have it, my take on the video game season of 2006. And from what I’ve been told, Christmas is less than a week away, so you’d better hurry up with that last minute shopping. I hope the information I’ve provided can help you in that aspect. If the ones you’re shopping for have absolutely no interest in the above, then really, there’s no reason to love them anymore. Oh, and why you’re out, do you think you can find some girls who want to play with my Wii? It’s in dire need of some multiplayer action, if you know what I mean.

I Wish I Was a Sentimental Ornament

2006-12-13T00:09:00.000-05:00

Did you see the game Monday night? I know there’s all sorts of exciting shows about “heroes” on Monday nights (even though I still say the X-Men animated series that aired on Fox back in the 90’s was way better), but how can you pass up a chance to watch Chicago play football? Well, I can’t. Living in North Carolina is nice, but one drawback is that network television doesn’t broadcast NFC North games (that’s Midwestern teams) in this area. But hey, Monday Night Football is nationally broadcasted, thank you ESPN.

So did you see it? Did you see Rex Grossman not cough the ball up a single time? Did you see Devin Hester run for two touchdowns on kick off returns (breaking the single season return for TD record)? And that is especially spectacular seeing as how on his second TD kick-off return the Bears had “the hands” team on the field. Basically that means he had the skinny wide receivers and defensive backs blocking for him, and he still ran the ball right up the middle and into the end zone. Not only is he that good, but after the game in an interview he gave credit for his accomplishments to God, his teammates, and to his mommy. Aww, isn’t that nice? I’m just glad to see that at least one person who came through the University of Miami’s program in recent years isn’t a total screw up.

But hey, if you want to know all about the football game, you can go over to ESPN.com or you can be like me and check out the story on the Chicago Bears official site. Yes, I’m that big of a Bears fan boy. Feel free to make fun of me. Also, Rex Grossman is my hero. Feel free to make fun of me again.

Ok, now that I got all of that out of my system (DAAA BEARS!)… yes, now that it’s all out of my system, I can get on with this weeks silliness. So, it’s the holidays, and yes now that Thanksgiving is over, so it’s officially the holidays. It’s the time of year for so many things: overplayed songs, fat jolly men, elves (when the hell did a Lord of the Rings character get to be a Christmas symbol?), candy canes, and last minute shopping. And I’d like to take some time to talk about the last one, if I can.

I’ve never been a huge fan of holiday shopping. Let’s face it; I’ve never been a huge fan of shopping for anything. Heck, I go clothes shopping maybe twice a year, and that’s only if a cute blonde drags me to the mall so she can pick up a new pair of outrageously priced pants. Have I ever told you how much of a sucker I am for a girl in tight pants?

But I regress. I was talking about Christmas shopping before I got waylaid by images of blonde cheerleaders dancing in my head (sugarplums are totally overrated). You know, there are parts to the holiday that are really fun. On Christmas morning, when you see a loved one open up a present and they are surprised and overjoyed at the wonderful gift you bought them, it’s just an awesome feeling. It would be great if I could do that each and every year. Unfortunately, it isn’t always easy picking out gifts for people.

Let’s talk about my dad for a few minutes. What do you get a man who already has a table saw, drill press, router table, and a planer? At this point in his life he has more variable speed power drills than most small nations, so I can’t get him one of those. Although, let’s be honest here, a man can never have too many power drills, that is just a solid fact. So trying to find a gift for him isn’t the easiest of mental exercises. But I managed to pick him up something that I think he’ll get some use out of… hopefully.

And then there’s my mom. Two years ago I bought her a book. To this day I still don’t think she’s read it. I have to cut her some slack though, since the school she works at made her head of her department this year, despite the fact that she and my dad will be moving next summer (yes, because having someone for only one year in a leadership role makes complete sense). Last year I got her some loaf pans because she’s a bit of a baking fiend around the holidays. And that doesn’t exactly do wonders for my waist line (it’s sad that I have to worry about that, I must be getting old). I moved away from bake ware this year, so I hope she likes what I bought her.

Then there’s my brother. Luckily he decided that we shouldn’t exchange presents anymore. This makes my job tons easier seeing as how my brother has always been hard when it came to the holiday gift giving. Upon hearing this, he quickly rebuked that he was not in any way difficult to shop for. Apparently he forgot all about the nine hour stalk for a winter jacket that spanned between two different cities, back when he was in high school. Let me tell you, those were fun times. And by fun, I mean they were horrible. I already had a winter jacket. All I wanted to do was stay at home and play my Super Nintendo (this was a few year back, you know), but no, I had to be dragged along all over the place just so my brother could finally pick out an overpriced, dull, brown coat. Thanks big brother, you’re really an inspiration to me.

Well, that’s the end of my list. Two gifts, shortest Christmas shopping list ever! As you can see, there are no females to shop for this year. Fortunately, I was able to dodge any and all relationship attempts for the past month or so. I think you all know that by mid-November you need to check romantic interactions and wait for the holidays to pass. Personally I think that between November 15th and February 15th, you should avoid dating and relationships. It saves you tons of money and trouble. And trust me, there’s always trouble.

If you happen to already be in a relationship prior to the avoidance period, that’s perfectly ok. Your girlfriend (or wife or fiancé or what-have-you) has sufficiently stuck around and put up with your crap long enough, that she deserves to be rewarded with a present. Just remember to follow the guidelines: no jewelry for the first year, no diamonds unless you plan to marry her, no puppies at all (yes I know they’re cute, but who do you think is going to have to clean up after it?), and you’re only allowed to get her a scented candle once (generally at your first shared Christmas/birthday/anniversary).

Oh, and just a helpful note. Your feminine significant other might tell you that you don’t have to do anything special for the holiday. Let me translate this for you, since some guys seem to not get the hint. What she’s really saying is: “You have to do something special for me. Because if you don’t I will be very hurt and will feel like you don’t love or care about me. And your chances of getting laid will drop significantly.” Hey, I may not understand women (and I probably never will), but you really need to trust me on this one. You know as well as I do that women tend to misstate the truth at times.

As for me, I have a pretty short list this year. I merely asked for a Gregory Palisade backpack , Final Fantasy 12 for the Playstation 2, and Final Fantasy 3 for the Nintendo DS. And if you must know, yes, I’m a Final Fantasy fan boy as well. So please, by all means, feel free to make fun of me yet one more time.

It’s All Been Done Before

2006-12-06T00:53:00.000-05:00

Apparently everyone is watching this new show called Heroes on NBC. I don’t have much time for TV, especially at night, so I don’t watch all that many shows. But apparently all those normal people who do have time for prime time television tune in every Monday at 9pm to watch. So this week I flipped over to watch part of the show, in between quarters of Monday Night Football, to see what it was all about.

My first impression: I think someone owes Stan Lee some money. The story revolves around regular, everyday people who turn out to have extraordinary powers that they use in an effort to stop some future calamity. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that same storyline before. I could be that it’s been done several times in the Uncanny X-Men which originally appeared back in September of 1963 (and yes, I am that big of a nerd). It’s nice to see that Hollywood writers are being so original these days.

Let’s take a quick look at the characters of this Heroes show. One has the ability to spontaneously heal, just like Wolverine. One guy can enter into a precognitive trance and is capable of revealing the future. That sounds like Destiny. One guy can phase through solid objects just like Shadow Cat (also known as Kitty Pride). There’s a chick that can psychically get people to do her bidding just by talking to them. Heck, Professor Xavier could do that without having to talk. Oh and there’s a guy who can temporarily copy the powers of any other super powered being he is around. Yeah, that was Mimic, who enjoyed a very brief stint with the original mutant X-Men (even though he wasn’t a mutant himself, his mimicry powers were gained in a chemical accident).

Now I know that the X-Men have enjoyed a rather long career in popular culture, and I’m sure it would be hard to come up with a superhero that Marvel hasn’t already covered. But seriously, what did the writers do when they originally came up with this show? Did they get high, read a few comic books and think, “Hey, let’s have a show with superheroes!” Because, honestly, that’s how I pictured this whole thing happening.

And kudos to all of you viewers out there that are tuning in every week to make Heroes such a popular show. I mean, it’s not as if mainstream culture has looked down upon comic books as not only childish, but also as a contributor to juvenile delinquency and a factor in crimes committed by minors. Yes, comic books are destroying the minds of your children. But it’s perfectly acceptable to have the exact same storyline and themes in a television show. I don’t see any hypocrisy there. Nope. None at all.

There is one thing that is really bothering me about this show. This whole “Save the cheerleader, save the world,” line is totally uncalled for. I know that cheerleaders are very popular in this country and yes, we all love them. But when is it ever possible that the fate of the entire planet hinges on a cheerleader? I’m sorry, but I just cannot accept that. The studio execs are feeding on the baser instincts of their viewers by offering up this cheerleader style fantasy. I’m pretty sure this sort of thing in comic books is deemed unacceptable by the populace.

Oh, and the cheerleader, the one with the Wolverine-like healing factor, she’s supposed to be a high school kid who’s only about 17 years old. She’s also one of the few powered females of the cast, and apparently, the most important one. So they’ve dressed up a 17 year old girl and put her in a cheerleading outfit so she can prance around during a timeslot reserved for an older, more mature audience. I’ll like to congratulate NBC for turning out quality TV for pedophiles everywhere. Good job.

I think that the X-Men comics were a much better entertainment venue than this TV show. Mainly, I believe that the Uncanny X-Men were a much deeper and socially motivated enterprise than Heroes. See, the original X-Men comic book debuted in 1963, as I noted earlier, and coincided with the civil rights movement. Even though the original cast of the X-Men was a strikingly homogeneous mix of white protestant types, the relations of mutants to normal humans in the comic bore an intense similarity to the race relations of the day. The hatred and animosity that many normal humans had towards mutants is an artistic symbolism to the civil rights movement and to the plight of minorities in general. The comic series is intended mainly for entertainment value but it obviously includes much deeper social motifs. The TV show “Heroes,” however, is merely exploiting the superhero archetype in order to gain viewers.

I’d also like to point out one other quick reason why X-Men is a better franchise. Colossus could easily kick the crap out of all of the characters on Heroes. Heck, he could probably take them all at once. Not only was he the only mutant capable of standing up to the Unstoppable Juggernaut (whose powers were demonic, not mutant), but he also had a kickin’ Russian accent. This is why he is the coolest mutant ever, not Wolverine. Yes, I know that Wolverine is the big favorite and all, but really, he’s just overrated.

I mean, Wolverine is from Canada for crying out loud (or as I like to call it, American Jr.). Heck, I’m surprised that Department H never used the samples of his blood so they could recreate his healing factor in all Canadians as a part of their nationalized healthcare. Honestly, that would save the taxpayers millions of dollars every year and probably also provide superior healthcare. Hey, that kind of progressive healthcare plan worked wonders for Deadpool, it cured up his cancer real quick.

I do have to say one good thing about Heroes. It comes on right before my favorite show Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip at 10pm. This show has everything: great acting, good original story, and most importantly, amazing writing. It is intelligent, quick paced, and very funny. The show is an entire hour long but I think it’s far too short and doesn’t do the show justice. Hey, it may not have any superheroes or 17 year old cheerleaders, but trust me on this one, I was 17 once, and those high school cheerleaders are totally not worth it.

When the Truth Walks Away, Everybody Stays

2006-11-29T00:05:00.000-05:00

Let’s be honest with ourselves for just a minute, everybody lies. Everyone. You, me, your parents, your minister, and your government officials; they all lie. Lying has become so ingrained in the human conscious that cheating on your taxes, SATs, and family board games has become perfectly acceptable in society. Hey, if nobody notices and you get away with it, it’s not technically lying.

So why do I bring this up? Well, it’s due to the issues I’ve been having lately with women. Yes, it always comes back to women. Now, I’ve always been told that women want me to be honest with them. And this I believed to be true. But as it turns out, as with most of your preconceptions with women, this is completely false. Women prefer being lied to. It’s true, they don’t want honesty. Case in point:

The other day I was talking with some of the girls I know in my never ending quest to discover what actually takes place in the female mind. The talk turned towards relationships, and being that I’m a single guy, the girls thought there was something wrong with me that they needed to fix by finding me a girlfriend. Girls are just crazy like that. So they asked me what I was looking for in a woman. I though about it for a few moments and replied that it would be nice to have a girl that was into threesomes.

Now I didn’t know that there was a wrong answer to a question based solely on opinion, but apparently that was the wrong answer. Now I know what you’re thinking, you think I’m some sort of perverted pig. Well, I won’t argue with you there. But I do want to point out what should be relatively obvious: I’m single, I’m not looking for a serious relationship, and by saying I’m looking for a girl who’s into threesomes, I’m merely looking for a fairly laid back relationship that’s more about enjoying the here and now rather than planning for the future.

Even with those observably palpable facts, I still said the wrong thing. Even if it was the truth, it was wrong. The girls I was talking were clearly upset. After some time thinking it over, I really do believe that they wanted me to lie to them. They would have preferred an affable falsehood wrapped up in a bowtie of white lies. I should have said something along the lines of: I’m looking for a girl who is not only attractive, but intelligent and witty, and has a wonderful personality that really completes me.

Honestly, I have no idea what the hell that means, but it seems like the sort of thing girls go for. What does “she completes me” even mean? Well, if I had lots of money I’d feel pretty complete. Maybe that means I should date a rich woman. But I can’t say that, because it’s the truth. I would need a much more innocent sounding lie. So how about… I really don’t care how much money a girl has, it’s what’s inside that counts the most. (WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…HAHAHAHAHA. Wow, I bet you actually believed that for a moment, didn’t you? Wow.)

Why is it that women prefer lies to the actual, factual truth? Looking back on things I realize that every time I have ever been up front and honest with a woman, I have pissed her off. But then when I lie to them and tell them what I think they want to hear, they end up feeling really good about themselves. Now if I were a simpler animal, one that only responds to the rewards and punishments given to him, I would lie my ass off every chance I got. Luckily, I’m a rational being capable of much more complex and philosophical thought. And all the writings of Sophocles and Plato and Voltaire lead me to one conclusion: Women are batty.

After long nights of introspection and deep cerebral thought, I think I may have solved the conundrum. Women don’t necessarily want to be lied to; they just want the physical reality to shift to a point where it lines up with their ideal world. This means that women want you to be thoughtful and dependable and caring (and let’s be honest, those aren’t exactly your strong suits). They want you to enjoy the chick flick they dragged you out to since it would indicate that you were in touch with your feelings. So next time you are forced to see one of those less-than-Schwarzenegger movies be prepared to tell her afterwards that you thought the movie was deep and that you felt a real emotional connection with the characters. That’s a good lie to use. Don’t tell her the truth; that the movie needed more explosions and lesbian scenes. That’s just asking for trouble.

I think it’s about time we started giving women what they want. The females in this country have had to endure a lot. They have to fight constant sexism at work to get paid 80% of what their male counterparts do, only to come home to a husband/boyfriend who doesn’t always appreciate them. So it is time we did something nice for our women. As I’ve so logically pointed out, women really and truly want to be lied to. So we all need to make a concerted effort to lie to the women in our lives. Tell as many fibs and untruths as you can. Your woman will thank you for it.

I’m sure all you women out there are reading this and are positively upset. You think you want the truth, but that is untrue. Just remember that your words are cheap. It doesn’t matter if you say you want honestly and forthrightness. Guys are more motivated more by your actions than by your words. When you punish a man for being honest and reward him for lying, you drive his behavior. And then you wonder why every guy you ever dated was a lying scum-bucket.

The way I see it, women can’t be upset when I lie to them. They lie to me everyday. They tell me they want guys to be honest, when in reality, they are much happier when they get dishonesty. Women tell me they want a nice guy, and then they always go out of their way to date a complete jerk (the reasons behind this are many and varied and are well beyond the scope of this article). As we can see, women themselves are quite adept at lying, so you shouldn’t ever feel bad about being dishonest with one. Just remember, women want you to lie. And if they ever discover the truth behind your lie, lie even more to cover it up. It’s what they want.

I’m sure now that women out there are loath to date me. And I’m even more sure that I won’t be finding a girl who’s into threesomes any time soon. But that’s ok. I was able to secure a brand new Nintendo Wii at launch just over a week ago. Let me tell you, it is awesome. I really don’t need a woman to take up my time and to pull me away from The Legend of Zelda, The Twilight Princess. In all honesty, video games are much more important than women. And that is the candid truth.

Unga Bunga, Winter is Supposed to Be Cold

2006-11-21T03:16:00.000-05:00

Well, I’m posting this article a little bit early this week. This is because I have to leave early on Tuesday morning to catch my flight to Georgia. I’m off to visit the family for Thanksgiving. It should be tons of fun and I’m really looking forward to it. Mostly I was looking forward to showing off my brand new Nintendo Wii since I preordered mine, and my brother didn’t. But my mom, being the wonderfully kind and loving lady that she is, went to several different stores and by sheer karma was able to purchase the last of only three at a local K-mart for my brother. Well, since I don’t have bragging rights, I guess I can still beat up on him in some Wii boxing.

But here in North Carolina, I’m currently having huge problem with the weather. Just a few days ago it was freezing cold. But now it’s actually somewhat warm outside. It’s the middle of November, it’s not supposed to be 70 frigging degrees! Unfortunately, I have no control over the elements. The warm weather of summer was nice and all, but I’m ready for the winter months. I’ve already pulled out all my sweaters and long sleeved t-shirts, but I can’t wear any of them if it doesn’t get cold again. I really just wish the weather around here would make up its mind.

Mainly though, I wish it would get cold and stay cold. You see, I’m a warm natured person and I have a very hard time getting to sleep if I’m too hot. So during the summer time I have to leave my air conditioning on almost at full blast. But during the winter I don’t even touch the heater. I just like to bask in the coolness of the season. That and it gives me a good excuse to wear my Hugh Hefner smoking jacket, which is a perfect substitute for a robe and is oh-so comfortable. It also does a good job making me look stylish and sophisticated. I’m not exactly a man of fashion, so any help I can get on that front, I will gladly take. Besides, who doesn’t want to be like Hef? The guy owns the Playboy mansion. Need I say more?

Beyond that, I live on the third floor of my apartment building. And as we all know, heat rises, which is diametrically opposite of the president’s approval ratings (bonus points to you if you know the correct meaning of the word “diametrically”). So that means during the winter heat generated on the first and second floors creeps up to my apartment. This make my place somewhat heated even if I don’t turn on the hot air. I like it because I enjoy saving money on my energy bill. And thanks to our wonderful friends in OPEC and those SUV-driving soccer moms, energy isn’t exactly cheap these days.

Now, it doesn’t always stay warm at my apartment when I leave the heat off. When it’s freezing outside, it is very cold inside as well. And I’m fine with that. I happen to be a huge cheapskate, so whatever money I can save by not using the heat then I’ll gladly take it. I also only buy groceries when they’re on sale, which leaves me with a rather interesting collection of corndogs and Lean Cuisine meals in my freezer. I don’t really care if the food is healthy or not, as long as it’s “buy one get one free,” I’m all over it.

Being cold has never really bothered me. The cavemen didn’t have heat, and they did just fine. In fact, I have this theory that I’m actually a step backwards in evolution from normal humans. That would make me closer in relation to the cavemen then the rest of society. I know it sounds silly, but let me assure you that I have plenty of evidence to support this theory of mine. Mainly, I have hair on my knuckles. Well, not just my knuckles, but my toes too. And it’s not just peach fuzz, its bonafide Neanderthal-esque hair. Before you get all grossed out, let me assuage your fears by letting you know that it is neither scary nor freaky. It’s just hairy.

You would think being a not quite fully developed homo-sapiens would make me some sort of social pariah. But this is not the case. I am fortunate to be on the same level as many famous and well respected contemporaries such as: Captain Caveman and the Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer. And that’s pretty good company if you ask me.

Unfortunately there is a downside to being a caveman. Congress is talking about passing an act that would specifically forbid cavemen from producing any offspring. Apparently they don’t want me to pass on my de-evolved genetic material to pollute the future gene pool. My name has been specifically mentioned in the proceedings. Honestly, I think they just fear me and my awesomeness. Nevertheless, the national government seems to want to get up close and personal with my reproductive habits, and that is just wrong. I mean, it’s genetic profiling. That’s just not cool.

But the negative sentiment doesn’t end there. Nope, there are plenty of people in this society who have something against the caveman. I try to tune it out, but it’s hard to do sometimes. GEICO has been airing commercials for a while now that are purposefully malicious to those that are less than sapiens. You shouldn’t make fun of us like that. I may just be a simple caveman. Your ways frighten and confuse me. But I do know when something is spiteful like that. And it hurts my feelings.

If you buy your auto insurance through GEICO then shame on you. You’re actively supporting this unsolicited bigotry and it has to stop. I have already tried unsuccessfully to get a petition signed to have the bureaucratic insurer to cease their current line of advertising. Unfortunately, using cave drawings as a signed petition isn’t very popular these days. None of my supporters could find the cave I was using for the petition and so I didn’t receive any signatures. But don’t you worry one little bit. I have plenty of other options at my disposal.

Apparently, you can use this internet thing to send messages directly to a person or a company. And if you send lots and lots of messages all at the same time, it will slow the company’s internet access tremendously. It seems that this can seriously hurt a business’ ability to operate and will upset many of its employees. I think maybe I should flood GEICO with these electronic messages asking them to stop their recent advertising campaign. “Emailing spam, so easy to do even a caveman can do it!”

Well, chances are I’m already in Georgia by now. While you’re reading this, I’m probably enjoying some wonderful time with my family that I haven’t seen in many months. In all truthfulness, I’ll probably spend all of my time playing on my brother’s Nintendo Wii and ignoring anyone or anything that’s not on the TV screen. I’m sure I’ll take a break now and then to get my hands on some homemade cookies and fudge. Maybe I’ll grab some turkey and stuffing too. Choices are so hard to make sometimes. And to think, I’m the good son… at least that’s what I keep telling myself. Here’s to hoping you’re having a wonderful holiday!

Jeff, the Legend

2006-11-15T02:39:00.000-05:00

Over the past month or so I’ve reconnected with some of my old college mates. I would quickly like to point out, that I haven’t been out of college that long, a little over a year at this point. After talking with several guys I used to hang out with, and with some of the kids who are still in school, it has become apparent to me that I left something of a legacy behind. Apparently, word of my collegiate deeds has spread and I have become a legend. Here I will regale you with the various tales that have accrued to award me with this title.

How does one become a legend? Well first we have to look at what traits the college student admires. Surprisingly, grade point average and responsibility don’t rank very high on the list. Not so surprising is that I don’t exactly place legendary in either one of those categories. The thing I’m most capable at is drinking. And I think we all know how much those college kids love to drink. In fact, I’m so capable at drinking that I managed to get my name put on the wall of my favorite bar by drinking over 200 documented beers. You only need to drink 100 beers to get your name on the wall there, but I’m just so committed that I got it put up there twice.

The other major thing college kids admire in a role model is women. Or better put, they care about the quality and quantity of women a guy surrounds himself with. Well, I didn’t exactly get famous for being popular among the ladies. It’s actually quite the opposite. See, I have this problem where I say the exact opposite of what a girl would expect me to say. This usually ends up in the girl hating me for life. But on the plus side, guys find my actions absolutely hilarious. I just think it’s a good idea to let guys know that yes, every once in a while it’s ok to think entirely of yourself and ignore what the needs and wants of the female. Of course, acting like me is not recommended since you’ll probably be blacklisted by every woman you meet. But hey, it works out for me, mainly because I really just don’t care.

But then again, you could be nice to girls, take them out on dates, and get into that whole relationship thing. I mean, it works out for some people. Though I’m sorry to say, I generally don’t advise it. Case in point: my friend Michael dated a girl for almost a year. They broke up about halfway through our senior year in college. She wasn’t real fond of him after that, but unfortunately, the two of them ran in most of the same social circles. They had a bad habit of running into each other throughout the rest of college and even beyond. It could get pretty awkward, which incidentally is quite fun to watch. The latest of these occurrences happened this last weekend at the UNC vs. Georgia Tech football game.

Michael’s ex pretty much ignored him every time she could and gave him the evil eye. If you’ve ever had an ex-girlfriend then you know what I’m talking about. And this is even though they had been on pretty good terms lately and had spoken together quite a few times. Strangely enough, she had no problem talking to me and even seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Now this is the odd part. Michael dated her and for the most part was kind and generous, that’s just the kind of guy he is. On the other hand, late one night just as we were about the leave a bar (this was after they had broken up), I got into a slapping fight with her and two of her friends. I have to say in my defense, the girls started it. Well, no, maybe they didn’t. To be honest the whole event is kind of fuzzy… alcohol will do that to you. But I do know that it was three against one and those are totally not fair odds no matter how you stack it up.

So what’s the moral of this story? If you date a girl and be nice to her, then she won’t talk to you after the break up. But if you slap her around… well no, I’d better not finish that sentence. The thing is I don’t agree with physically harming girls in any way, shape, or form. Even though I’m an outspoken critic of the female species (and yes, I truly believe they are a different species), even they don’t deserve that kind of treatment. And in all honestly, I am very surprised that Michael’s ex and her friends never got upset at that incident. It could possibly be that they were even more inebriated than I was. Really, it was just one of those nights.

To be a legend is no easy task. There is no cookie-cutter solution to making a man legendary. Drinking copious amounts of beer, getting your name put on the wall of a bar, and getting into a slapping contest with three sorority girls may not make you a living marvel to all of your admiring friends. It just so happened that it worked out for me that way. The most important thing you can do is to just be comfortable with yourself. As it turns out, I happen to hate women. And I’m very comfortable with that. Some guys wouldn’t be, and that’s why they aren’t awesome. And yes, I am awesome; I have proof to back up this statement.

This past Saturday evening (the same night I alluded to earlier), I managed to convince a girl I met in a bar that I was awesome. To be honest, it’s really not my fault. All I did was tell her the truth. Apparently chicks dig honesty. Who knew? The truth, as I told it, was that I came from a very long line of awesome. My brother, my dad, and heck, even my grandpa is awesome. I was raised in sheer awesomeness. So the girl decided to call me by the name “Awesome” for the rest of the evening. I didn’t mind because I really couldn’t find any fault with her nomenclature. Apparently remembering my real name was far too difficult. But you know what I’ve always said when it comes to girls and names: totally not important.

Even if you weren’t created by the fusing of two sets of genetic codes into a zygote of pure awesomeness, you can still become a legend. It just won’t be easy on you. You can get a good start by trying to change your name. If you can come up with a really kickin’ stage name and convince your friends to call you by that name, then you’re well on your way. Eddie Vedder was originally named Edward Louis Severson by his parents. And there’s no way you’re going to be a rock star with the name Edward Louis, even in Seattle. (You did know that Eddie Vedder is the lead singer for Pearl Jam, right? Right? Jeeze, next you’re going to tell me that STP stands for “Standard Temperature and Pressure.” Please don’t be that big of a loser.)

Grunge rock music references aside, there is one important thing I think you should take away from this. Above all else, you just have to be true to yourself and be happy with who you are. I am perfectly content saying things out loud that all the other guys are thinking but never have the courage to say in front of women. Guys tend to think I have balls made out of pure steel. I assure you, this is not the case. I really just don’t care what most women think of me. As far as I’m concerned, good looking girls are a dime a dozen. If you want to be admired as a great person, you only have to be passionate about what you do no matter what it is.

Just be sure that you’re not passionate about pissing off women. That’s my thing, and I’m not going to let you muscle in on my territory. Although, I have to admit, it is a lot of fun and very liberating. Besides, you know what they say: “Nice guys finish last.” Hence, I am very seldom a “nice guy.” And this is why I’m known as a legend.

Hurry Christmas, Hurry Fast

2006-11-08T00:13:00.000-05:00

Listen closely because I’m only going to say this once: If I stab someone before New Years, don’t be surprised. No really, I’m going to stab someone, I’m just becoming that crazy. I could stab myself, but honestly, that would hurt too much. And I’m really not into the whole masochistic thing anyway.

So you’re probably wondering why I have all this pent up rage and unchecked aggression. Well, to tell the truth, it’s all due to Christmas music. See, it’s November 8^th and we’ve already been playing the Christmas tunes for a full week at my work. This is totally and incontrovertibly unacceptable. It is not Christmas, nor is it time to start celebrating that particular winter holiday. I would just change the music myself, but unfortunately my manager at work happens to really like Christmas music.

Yes, I realize that it is getting colder outside, and yes I realize that everyone looks forward throughout the year to Christmas. But there is a rule that I strictly follow: Do not play Christmas music until after Thanksgiving. You could say it’s an unwritten rule and that you don’t have to follow rules that have yet to be set in stone. Well guess what, I just wrote it down and you just read it. So from now on, please adhere to it.

You may be aware that general elections were yesterday. I hope you all went out and voted. Although, I’m not one to vote down party lines or vote for who was going to give the most tax cuts or spend the money on the most welfare programs or anything silly like that. Instead, it’s better to vote for whoever I think would be most likely to support a bill making it illegal to play Christmas music before the Thanksgiving holiday. This is a real issue people. Do you really want guys like me running around with sharp objects feeling the need to draw blood from someone just because we had to listen to the Christina Aguilera Christmas album 13,427 times in a row (and yes, I have been counting)?

The answer is simple: vote to imprison those who play holiday music with impunity. Everyone is getting so worked up about whether or not our military is actually torturing prisoners of war at Guantanamo Bay. (Incidentally, Microsoft Word recognizes and knows how to properly spell “Christina Aguilera”, but does not recognize the word “Guantanamo.” Sometimes I wonder what kind of work those developers over in Redmond truly do.) Does it really matter what’s happening all the way in Guantanamo? I think we should be more worried about the actualized torture going on right here in the heartland of our country. And yes, playing Christmas music for a full two months is torture, even if the Geneva Convention has yet to acknowledge it. Just playing the Chipmunks Christmas CD on repeat is considered an unholy act of war by most people. (And will somebody please give Alvin a hula-hoop this year!)

But I can’t just stop there. No, there are far too many atrocities being committed by everyday Americans throughout the month of November. Some people even have the audacity to put out their Christmas lights before Thanksgiving. It’s blasphemy I tell you! Anyone who puts up their lights before they begin baking their turkey is un-American. There, I said it. It is acceptable to cook a duck or a ham instead of the traditional turkey. However, an entirely vegetarian Thanksgiving dinner is right out. Those people insisting on preparing alternate foodstuffs instead of meat (for instance: tofurky) for their giving-of-thanks day should immediately be put on the terrorist watch list by the Department of Homeland Security. The pilgrims ate turkeys, damn-it. They didn’t struggle to survive through frigid New England winters so you could eat soybean paste.

I think the overlying problem here is that Thanksgiving is getting overlooked as a major American holiday. Everyone gets wound up for Halloween and trick-or-treating and dressing up and whatnot, then afterward, people only want to think about Christmas. And I know that no one outside of the United States has any reason to celebrate turkey-day, but I still think it’s vitally important. It’s one of the few holidays we have that doesn’t have its roots in religion. So this is an important holiday that everyone across the broad spectrum of religious disciplines can enjoy. How often is that possible?

Thanksgiving is the time for family and friends to get together. It is also a time to reminisce about the things you are thankful for in your life. There is a reason it’s called “Thanksgiving” you know. This is why you’re supposed to go home for Thanksgiving, so you can spend time with your family that you have been neglecting all year long. I’m pretty sure most of these holiday traditions were invented in the 1800’s by grandparents who wanted to keep their offspring coming back every year so they wouldn’t get lonely. Although nowadays grandparents lead busy retirement lives: they have to collect Social Security, fill out all those Medicare forms, and generally complain about how computers, video games, and MTV are corrupting today’s youth.

But in the spirit of Thanksgiving, and I truly believe in celebrating and spreading the wholesomeness of this particular holiday, I’m going to list all of the things that I’m thankful for. I’m thankful for next generation video game systems (Wii!), chicks in bikinis, good ol’ fashioned American bourbon, my literally dozens of fans who read this site, chicks in miniskirts, my friends who have actually stuck by me through my many moves and phases of life, chicks in tight pants, and my family, because my mom cooks the best Thanksgiving dinner ever. No seriously, she does. It’s a whole feast complete with no less than three homemade pies every year. My family rocks.

So please, I’m asking you nicely, don’t skip over the great American holiday that is Thanksgiving. Don’t buy into the materialistic hype that has become Christmas right after you finish eating your Halloween candy. Stick with the noble, family oriented November holiday. Hey, it may not be on the same date every year, but by being on a Thursday it practically guarantees you’ll have both Thursday and Friday off of work. And really, can you ask for more than that?

If you don’t respond to niceties and requests, maybe you’ll respond to threats. Don’t forget, I have many sharp and pointed instruments at my disposal and I’m just insane enough to use them on someone. You probably think I should just channel this abusive rage at the manager who insists on playing Christmas music where I work. Well, the problem is: she’s a female, she’s cute, and she is very, very nice. And I’m pretty sure that I’m incapable of harming a nice, attractive woman. Some women just have this strange power like that. It’s really not fair.

And for those of you who insist on putting up your lights and playing your music before November 23^rd this year, this is what I have to say to you.

Sunday, It's More Than I Can Stand

2006-11-05T18:52:00.000-05:00

I have a problem. Ok, actually, I have several problems, most of which are deep rooted psychological issues that we won’t go into today. No, today we are going to go into my problem with Sunday. No seriously, I have a problem with Sunday. And no, this is not one of my acutely ingrained psychological paranoia either. This is a very real and very serious problem.

Every calendar I have puts Sunday as the beginning of the week. Why is that? Sunday is clearly part of the weekend. And I’m pretty sure the word “weekend” denotes the end of the week. I mean, it says it right there. A day can’t possibly be the first day of the week and the end of the week at the same time. There are only seven days in the week, so you can’t start and end with Sunday (that would make eight days, which is totally and punitively egregious). You can only do one or the other. And before you question whether or not Sunday is actually part of the weekend, I’ve looked on Wikipedia, and it says that Saturday and Sunday are considered the weekend here in the good old US of A. And if there’s one thing I know, if it’s on Wikipedia, it has to be true. I mean, the internet has never lied to me before.

So why does everyone insist on having Sunday as the first day of the week? This is probably because most Christians consider Sunday the Lord’s Day. However, the name “Sunday” originates before Christianity. Apparently it was the Egyptians who originally came up with the whole seven days a week scheme. They gave each day of the week a name corresponding to the seven known celestial objects: the sun, moon, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, and Mercury. They exported their development to Rome who used their names for the seven heavenly bodies to devise the week we have today.

It makes sense to me. Moon-day is Monday, Saturn-day is Saturday, and Sun-day is Sunday (in case you couldn’t figure that last one out for yourself). In fact, I know in other cultures, both Sunday and Monday are expressed as the sun and the moon. Specifically, in Japanese the symbol for the sun is used to denote Sunday and the character representing the moon is used to refer to Monday. It’s all interesting stuff really, etymology is like that. But that still doesn’t help me with my problem. Why does everyone insist on making Sunday the first day of the week when they all know Sunday is part of the weekend? It boggles the mind!

Seriously, I want you to think about it. I’m sure you’ve spoken of the weekend in conversation while you were referring to Sunday. I’m sure you’ve done it numerous times. Yet you still have no problem saying that the week begins on Sunday. Doesn’t that sound a bit hypocritical? Sunday cannot possibly be the beginning and the end of every week. And the week does not begin in the middle of the weekend. That defeats the whole purpose of having a weekend!

Are you beginning to see my dilemma now? I’m very confused. Not that getting me confused is a difficult task to accomplish, far from it actually. But when I get confused, I tend to get angry. And you wouldn’t like it when I’m angry. When I get angry I get real quiet and tend to keep to myself. I know it’s not as terrifying as a green, 300 pound, mutated freak throwing SUVs at you, but trust me, I’m no fun when I’m quiet. So try not to confuse me or I’ll be forced into seclusion with a bottle of my favorite bourbon. Yet another reason to drink: things are far less confusing when you’re drunk. Mainly, this is because I don’t seem to pay attention to anything while inebriated.

So people, please, I need some help here. We need to sit down and decide once and for all whether Sunday is indeed the first day of the week or a celebrated part of the weekend. It can’t be both. For my sanity’s sake, we have to choose one or the other. I’d like to quickly point out that there is absolutely nothing wrong with beginning the week with Monday. In fact, most European countries already do this. Usually I hate to agree with anyone who isn’t America, but I think Europe has the right idea here. Computers seem to agree too. ISO 8601, which I’m told is the international standard for date and time representation (I wouldn’t know for sure, I mean I’m a nerd, but I’m not that big of a nerd), places Monday at the start of the week and Sunday at the end.

There are some good arguments for keeping Sunday as the first day, however. Our good buddy America Jr. (pronounced as “Canada” by some) starts its week off with Sunday. Additionally, Judeo-Christian, Egyptian, and Roman traditions all place Sunday at the commencement of the week. I mean, if we got the whole seven days in a week thing from the Egyptians and Romans maybe we should keep their order the same as well. They seemed to know what they were doing with the whole calendar thing. Well, except for Leap Year. Seriously, how does adding an additional day to the calendar every four years make sense?

I realize that we’re trying to keep the calendar year in synch with the vernal equinox. And that’s cool with me. We don’t need December falling in the middle of the summer, which is what would happen in a couple of thousand or so years if we didn’t have a Leap Year. I mean, who wants to celebrate Christmas in the blistering heat and humidity? Well, besides the Australians, whose seasons are the opposite of ours because they decided to put their country on the wrong side of the equator. Would you want a zero percent chance of a White Christmas? I think not. But why should I be forced to remember every four years to add an additional day to my calendar just because the Romans couldn’t come up with a more accurate way of measuring time relative to this vernal equinox thing?

Heck, even with the Leap Year instated we’re still off a little over 0.0001 days every year. As it turns out, we’re not very good at keeping track of time. Did you know that last year one additional second ticked by just before the New Year? That means that instead of having the usual 31,536,000 seconds in a normal year (non Leap Year) we had 31,536,001 seconds in 2005. We are supposedly skipping a second in certain years in order to keep our clocks in synch with the rotation of the Earth. The Earth is apparently slowing down its rotation which makes the days just a little bit longer. I don’t know why we have to let the Earth’s rotation push us around on how we handle our clocks. I think we should simply correct Earth’s rotation instead. I’m sure we have the technology to speed up Earth’s rotation if we wanted to. And while we’re at it, we should fix whatever astrological problem is throwing off our calendar. As far as I’m concerned, the cosmos should conform to us, not the other way around.

But then again, time is a relative thing. We add an extra day or an extra second here and there in an attempt to match certain astrological phenomenon. This doesn’t mean that time is slowing down or that we magically get another day in February every four years. It just means that’s how we choose to measure it. And really, is how we measure time that important? What’s important is how we spend our time. Personally, I choose to spend my time campaigning to move Sunday behind Saturday at the end of the week where it rightfully belongs. I can’t accept a world where the weekend is at the beginning of the week. And yes, I’m still confused and I’m still upset with that. Like I said before, I have problems. Petty as they may be, they’re still problems.

Video Games Eat My Soul

2006-10-25T13:56:00.000-05:00

I had planned on getting some work done yesterday, I really did. Unfortunately, the fates had conspired against me. And by fate, I mean EB Games. While I was running some errands earlier in the afternoon, I passed by the local EB Games store and they had a rather large banner posted. The banner proclaimed that if I bought two used games, I could get a third used game free of charge. Now that’s not a bad deal.

The problem with that is, I really do not need to be buying more video games, used or otherwise. I already owe EB Games more money than I care to with the games I’ve preordered. I currently have preordered the new Nintendo Wii (pronounced “wee,” as in “I need to take a weewee”), two games for the Wii, and Guitar Hero 2 for the Playstation 2. And hopefully you all know how much I love the original Guitar Hero. If Guitar Hero was a woman, I’d make love to it in many varied and exotic positions. And now that you have that wonderfully hideous image in your mind, let’s move on.

I actually didn’t buy any used games while I meandered around the Games store. There wasn’t anything that really popped out at me. There are a few Nintendo DS games I would like to have, but there weren’t used copies of them available. So, I ended up leaving. But then I got home, and after doing one load of laundry, I got bored. I was trying to find a reason to not go back to EB Games and buy something. But apparently I’m no good at that, I’m a bit of a whore for video games, after all. So I went back. And yes, the guy behind the counter did make fun of me for being a loser who can’t stay away from a video game store. I think I need professional help.

I went back for the sole purpose of picking up a copy of Command and Conquer: The First Decade. Command and Conquer is a series of video games where you build up a modern army of tanks and soldiers and go wipe out your enemies. Included in the set are all six games from the Command and Conquer universe along with all the expansion sets to those games as well. Not a bad deal for $30. And of course, I immediately loaded the software on my computer when I got home. I get a strange sense of power and satisfaction when I open up the game menu and see so many different options to choose from. There’s just so many different ways to blow my enemies up. Computerized, simulated war is fun.

It was seven o’clock and I still had plenty of time to get some more work done. I figured I could play just a few games then get to business. Of course, when I have 12 different realities to explore it may end up being more than “just a few games.” That’s ok though, I don’t have a problem doing work at ten at night. I’m a bit of a night owl like that. So I fired up the computer and started playing. Then at four in the morning I finally decided that my rear end needed a break from my rather uncomfortable chair. I also needed to use the bathroom; I had been holding it in for the last three missions.

I think it’s safe to say that video games keep me from getting anything useful done. Of course, that all depends on how you define the word “useful.” If keeping the Soviets from launching a nuclear missile on the western world is “useful” then I’ve been doing pretty damned well. Actually, I like the realism in the game. Using France in an open ended battle is pretty much useless, just like in real life. France’s special weapon, that sets it apart from the other Allies, is a giant defensive cannon that does about as much damage to your own base as it does to the enemies you’re trying to repel. We all know that defense isn’t exactly the French’s specialty. I mean, the Maginot Line just worked out wonderfully for them, didn’t it?

Ok, so making fun of France is a trendy thing to do these days. You don’t need me to go over old stale material. I’d just like to point out that video games keep me from doing any real work. Alcohol, on the other hand, doesn’t keep me from accomplishing anything. In fact, I’m usually the most productive the day after a long night of drinking and mischief. See, the thing is, after drinking a lot, I tend to get dehydrated, so I wake up real early in the morning needing to use the bathroom and get about three cups of water.

But how can this make me productive, you ask. Well, normally I abhor waking up anytime before noon. It just doesn’t seem right to me. And I know doctors say that you usually need six to eight hours of sleep each night in order to get a full rest, but I completely disagree with that. I find that getting eight to ten hours of rest each night keeps me nice and rested. I know that it sounds like I’m a lazy sloth, but in all honesty, I’m much more awake and alert and capable after ten hours of sleep. I don’t need coffee or any other forms of caffeine to keep me going throughout the day like most people. Sleep is good. That is the truth I have come to know and love.

Going beyond my normal sleeping patterns, let’s delve into the reason why I can be more productive with alcohol. Most people usually like to sleep in with hangovers. However, since sleeping in is the norm for me already, a hangover will cause me to wake up early and face the day ahead. Waking up at eight or nine in the morning gives me much more time to do things that I wouldn’t be able to do if I woke up at one or two in the afternoon. Things like taking out the trash, paying the electric bill, and recycling all those empty bottles of beer laying around my apartment (Did I really drink that much last night?). It always gives me a nice sense of satisfaction when I get to be that productive and burn through all the chores on my list. Does this reaffirmation of my self-worth mean that I will be forcing myself to wake up earlier every day to get more done and feel even more confident and industrious? Nope, not even in the slightest. You might want to go read the paragraph above this one more time. But I’ll go right ahead and repeat it here for your benefit: Sleep is good.

I really need to finish this up. I need to do a few more loads of laundry today, especially if I’m going to get my jersey washed in time for my hockey game tonight. You’d think that I would have taken care of all of the laundry already, what with having an entire week between hockey games. But no, I’m just lazy like that. I think the problem lies in the fact that I don’t drink as much as I used to. Now that I don’t have alcohol induced early morning bathroom breaks, I’m not as productive as I used to be. And you know if I’m not forced to get out of my bed before noon, it just won’t happen. I don’t need alcohol, I just need it if I’m going to do something that’s in any way, shape, or form considered work. Say what you want about drinking and the sins of intoxication, but booze really helps me do the things that I need to get done. It’s just a magical potion like that. A magical fairy elixir that makes me feel all warm and wonderful inside.

Now if you’ll excuse me, that beer in my fridge isn’t going to pour itself. Wait, no… I mean laundry. I meant that my laundry isn’t going to do itself. I’ll get right on that. Besides, there’s plenty of time to pour a beer while I’m waiting for the load of dirty clothes to get washed. Not only does beer make my friends more interesting than normal, it makes doing household chores more interesting too!

Street Fighter 2: College Football Edition

2006-10-18T13:57:00.000-05:00

So Monday night I’m clicking around ESPN.com looking up all the latest sports news, including the Bears extremely narrow win over the Cardinals, and I come across something that is somewhat less than pleasant. I was on ESPN’s college football’s homepage, and of course, the major story was still the University of Miami and Florida International University brawl. That was old news by Monday. What really got to me was the “ESPN Headlines” on the right hand side of the page. Here are the Headlines that I found most intriguing:

• Two players at I-AA Albany, NY charged with rape
• Sooners top tackler arrested on two charges
• No. Colorado fullback arrested, faces assault charges
• Syracuse QB apologizes for obscene gesture
• Thomas fired for comments during UM/FIU brawl

Four of those headlines are completely unrelated to the UM/FIU brawl, and three of them illustrate how college football players continue to commit crimes everyday. Have we become desensitized to the violence and indiscretions? Is it perfectly acceptable for college athletes to engage in unsportsmanlike behavior, commit felonies and abuse others both on and off the field? If I ask any coaches or program directors in the league, I’ll likely hear them answer in the negative. But actions speak louder than words.

I’m sure you all know what happened this past Saturday between Miami and Florida International. If not, there are plenty of places online where you can download the video of it. Feel free to go look, I’ve got plenty of time. Larry Coker still has a job in Miami. The University of Miami’s president, Donna Shalala and the executive committee of its board of trustees decided that firing Coker would be a bad idea. Well, it’s not like the brawl with FIU was the coach’s fault. Just like the fight with LSU at the Peach Bowl less than a year ago wasn’t his fault. Nor is it his fault that he recruits known criminals to play for UM (think Willie Williams who had 11 arrests before attending Miami). Do you notice a pattern developing here?

Oh, and you have to love the ACC. The Atlantic Coast Conference initially gave a one game suspension to everyone involved in Saturday’s melee. This sort of punishment will show those kids that violence is a bad thing, and they should never do that again. Actually, a one game suspension was more of a wag of the finger than an actually punishment. The message sent is more like, “Please don’t do that anymore, fighting is bad. So please, no more fighting… Pretty please no more fighting?” Aren’t you glad the University of Miami was recently moved into the ACC? I was just thinking that there wasn’t enough violence in football before Miami joined the conference.

Luckily, ACC commissioner John Swofford came back Monday night and dished out indefinite suspensions to the players who were most involved in the conflict. Good for him. Will that keep fights like the one on Saturday from happening again? The short answer: no. Violence on and off the field will continue to increase in football unless drastic measures are taken. Case in point: A month ago, the backup punter at Northern Colorado stabbed his teammate who was the starter. Why? No really, WHY? The guy was competing to be the top punter on the team. Punters aren’t even real football players, no one cares about them, why would you stab someone for a starting position as a kicker?

Why do things like this keep happening in college football? Sportsmanship and character have always been very important in the league. They’re so important that they rank eight and nine in relative importance. Winning, of course, is the most important, and everything else takes a back seat. People have been demanding for quite a while that Miami Coach Larry Coker needs to be fired. Just check out Cokermustgo.com. Of course, they’re not quite as mad at Coker’s questionable grip on his program; they’re upset that UM has lost two games already this season. For some reason, losing two games in one season is unforgivable in Miami. In stark contrast, take a look at Firebunting.com. The Carolina alumni are upset because Coach John Bunting boasts a 25-41 overall record at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Now even though that record is truly abysmal, at least Bunting punters aren’t stabbing each other.

Larry Coker still has a job because he’s still winning games. Granted, not as many as he used to, but a 4-2 record is a winning record and Miami will likely make another bowl appearance in late December. John Bunting still has a job only because UNC Athletic Director Dick Baddour supports him entirely. Without Baddour’s support, Bunting is likely gone quicker than Brittney Spears after marrying a back-up dancer. Let’s just take a minute to figure out why colleges tend to overlook these on field incidents when their coaches are winning.

The answer: it’s all about money. Yes, colleges and universities are money grubbing whores just like the rest of us. And college football is a huge cash generator. Television networks pay inordinate amounts of money to conferences and collegiate institutions for the right to show their teams on TV. And the best part is, since college athletes are by definition amateurs, the schools don’t have to pay their players any money, unlike the professional leagues. So in essence, colleges have the ability to generate higher profit margins on their sports than do NFL or NBA franchises. Now isn’t that ironic?

As long as coaches continue to win and generate more income for the schools, college presidents and athletic directors will continue to downplay the importance of sportsmanship and player conduct. It will continue to be permissible for universities to recruit known felons as long as they’re really good at playing ball. The needless violence will continue unless something changes. I, personally, think the NCAA needs to step up and take a more active role. And they’re beginning to do just that.

Unfortunately, I don’t think the NCAA is doing enough. The governing body for the vast majority of collegiate sports needs to show colleges and universities that there are consequences for these unacceptable behaviors. And the consequences need to be more severe than a wag of the finger. The league should hit the schools where it hurts the most, the pocket book. If the NCAA imposed heavy fines on schools with repeated offenses, such as Miami, the universities would see a tangible downside to poor character and sportsmanship in their athletics. They would be much quicker and much more adamant about keeping a clean house. As I said before, actions speak louder than words.

But I doubt that will happen any time soon. Things will continue the way they are because the consequences haven’t become dire enough to keep the kids on these teams from their perpetrations. You know that one game suspension most players on Miami received? Well, they’re going to miss their next game against Duke. Oh yeah, that’s harsh, suspend everyone for the one game they won’t be needed anyway (no offense to Duke, but your football team would have trouble beating a junior high girls team). The Atlantic Coast Conference, a tradition of excellence, then, now and always… one on-field brawl at a time.

Lions and Vikings and Bears, Oh My!

2006-10-11T14:00:00.000-05:00

I’m going to go ahead and apologize to Matt Leinart in advance for the beating he’s going to get on Monday night. I honestly do feel sorry for the poor guy. He played a good game last week, but ultimately lost. He’s probably hoping to pull off a nice win in his second start to give himself and the team some momentum. Unfortunately, he’s facing the Chicago Bears (pronounced: DA Bears). Yeah, it’s going to suck to be Matt Leinart on Monday night.

And why is this? Well, the Bears are arguably the best team in the NFL right now. They are 5-0 and the only other undefeated team is the Indianapolis Colts who scored a grand total of 135 points in five games. The Bears, on the other hand, have scored a total of 156 points this season. I know that’s not a huge difference, but when the hell does Chicago outscore Indianapolis’s offensive machine (named Peyton Manning)? No seriously, when did Chicago get an offense?

When I was growing up, Chicago was normally a decent team. The Bears are known for their physically tough and gritty defense, but they’ve never been big on scoring points. But now they’re playing the best football in the league on both sides of the field. It’s simply amazing. And what’s up with that Rex Grossman guy? I know he was pretty decent back in Gainesville, but how does he average over 200 yards a game (with the fourth best passer rating in the league) with Chicago? No really, how is that possible? Back in 2001, I think that Chicago only completed five passes all season long. And those were all against Detroit.

Why am I so giddy over Chicago’s sudden eliteness in the NFL? Well, I’ve been a Chicago fan all my life, but unfortunately, I haven’t had much of a chance to cheer for them. For a long while, they haven’t been very good, and it’s not always kosher to wear the jersey of a team that only won three games in an entire season. But now, now the Bears the best team in the league. They utterly demolished last years NFC champs, the Seattle Seahawks two weeks ago. Right now, the Bears are 5-0, which is a feat that hasn’t been accomplished in Chicago since 1986. So I hope you’ll excuse my sudden enthusiasm since I was only three years old the last time the Bears started a season off this well.

Chicago’s normally staunch defense has gotten so dominantly potent that a recent accord has been added to the Geneva Convention that clearly states that it is “Cruel and Unusual to exercise the Bear’s Defense in an Act of War.” I don’t blame then. I mean, I’m pretty sure I saw Brian Urlacher rip a man’s torso in half using nothing than his right shoulder blade in the middle of a game. He’s just that good. The defense has only allowed 36 points this season (that’s 7.2 points per game for you math whizzes out there). Seven points a game is equivalent to building a ten foot tall brick wall on your own 20 yard line to keep the other team out. Although something tells me this Chicago defense is far more effective than any mere wall.

Unfortunately, I live in North Carolina where I can only see mostly east coast games. There’s only been one televised Chicago game in my region so far this year. Now don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy watching the Carolina Panthers. Well, except when they try to lateral the ball on a punt return and no one is there resulting in a turnover to Minnesota. That was just stupid. But other than that, I like the Panthers. The thing is, I don’t really have a hometown. I was born in Peoria, Illinois, but I’ve never lived anywhere for more than four years. Growing up in a military family will do that to you.

But since I was born in Illinois, I’ve always favored the Chicago teams. In fact, my 13 year old Chicago Blackhawks jersey is still one of my most cherished possessions. This is true even though the Blackhawks haven’t been worth watching for almost all of those 13 years. It will be a while before the Blackhawks get their skates back under them, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is that the Bears are kicking some NFL booty, and no one is going to stop them.

If you don’t believe me, tune in Monday night. I’m pretty positive that the Arizona Cardinals don’t have what it takes to beat the Bears, even with Mr. Matt, I won a Heisman Trophy, Leinart. Incidentally, Microsoft Word does not seem recognize “Heisman” as a legitimate word. Apparently computer programmers don’t watch college football. Way to go Microsoft. Getting back to Monday night, I’m ridiculously happy that I get to see another Chicago Bears football game. I’m sure it will be as ludicrously one sided as the first when Chicago beat a very potent Seahawks team by over 30 points.

I’m sorry to all you Arizona fans out there, but I don’t think that praying to God will help your team’s chances at all. I have it on good authority that Mike Ditka (who won a Super Bowl as a tight end for the Bears and another as their head coach) once beat God in a football game by 42-7. After the game, Ditka barreled over God in a display of pure aggression. God laughed it off and later forgave the Hall of Famer. God is just such a good sport like that.

Well I hope I haven’t bored you too much with all my statistics and overindulgence of one of the greatest sports teams ever. I assure you that next week I will get back to the woman hating and chauvinism that make my writing what it is. And yes, the Bears are one of the greatest sports franchises ever. I mean, Fred Savage wore a Chicago Bears jersey in the movie The Princess Bride. And I think we can all agree that The Princess Bride was an awesome movie.

So all motion picture and Saturday Night Live references aside, I’m going to enjoy sitting down with an ice cold beer and a large meat-lovers pizza to watch the game on Monday. As I said before, I feel sorry for Matt Leinart. He’s going to throw two interceptions and get sacked three times before Monday night’s game is over. Arizona’s offensive line won’t be able to hold up against Chicago’s defense, and this is before Chicago even attempts to send in an extra man on the blitz. They’re just that good. Yeah, it’s going to suck to be Matt Leinart on Monday.

Oh, and bonus points to those of you who figured out that the title for this article was a play on words using three of the four teams in the NFC North division. The Detroit Lions, Minnesota Vikings, and Chicago Bears are represented there. My apologies to Brett Favre and the Green Bay Packers for not making it into the title.

It’s Hard to Rely on My Own Good Senses

2006-10-04T14:01:00.000-05:00

Last week, a wonderful thing happened. Well, it wasn’t as wonderful as it was bothersome and annoying. I had two old friends come over for a visit. Now I don’t want to sound like a jerk or some really crappy friend, but honestly, it’s sad when I end up being the responsible one in the group. I don’t think I’ve ever been known for my responsibility. But hey, stranger things have happened.

I just want to point out that both my friends are just awesome people and I loved every minute of their stay. Well every minute except when they were waking me up early in the morning, using up all my hot water, changing the channel on my TV, and taking up all the space in my refrigerator. But you know what, that’s ok. You have to be willing to put up with some abuse from your friends now and then. I mean after all, they are my friends.

Bill came down from New Jersey so he could do some work with the UNC girls soccer team. I don’t know why you’d want to drive that far just to do some unpaid work, but then again, I’m the lazy type. Michael randomly came up from a dive shop at the beach for a little down time. Honestly, I think he just wanted to check out all the college girls on Franklin Street. Now, I’m not mad that Michael decided to come visit at the last second, I’m mad that he didn’t bring his incredibly attractive older sister with him.

Luckily I have a few extra keys to the apartment, so the guys could come and go as they pleased without bothering me to let them in all the time. And for the most part, the week went by pretty smoothly. Needless to say, we played a lot of Guitar Hero. And honestly, at this point I’ve run out of words to describe how awesome that game is. Both guys were immediately taken by the game and we all spent many hours playing it. Of course, I showed off my considerable skill and outplayed the both of them, doing my best to squash any hopes they might have of ever being as good as me. I’m just a nice guy like that.

The week wasn’t all taken up by video games. We did manage to make our way out to the bars one night. It was nice to throw back a good beer and reminisce about old times. The musings bring back warm and fuzzy memories: like getting slapped by three sorority girls at 2:30 in the morning while I was trying to leave a bar (Ah, good times!). But alcohol and the passage of time tend to loosen people tongues, and I learned a few things that I was not entirely aware of back in college.

Apparently, every guy I knew had a crush on a female friend of mine. Not that I can blame then, she was a very attract and very sweet girl. I’m just glad none of the guys acted on it. Well, to be honest, one guy did, and I ended up having to deal with both my guy friend and my female friend as I wound up in the middle of whatever the heck was going on between them. I guess it could have been worse, but still, if I wasn’t the one to have fun with a girl, why should I have to deal with all the backlash? It just doesn’t seem fair to me.

It really is interesting to learn about all of this stuff. I had three fairly good female friends that I hung out with back in college: Ashley, Alison, and Amy. Yes I know, their names all start with the letter A. Try keeping track of them after about your fourth beer. Let me assure you, it’s not easy. Luckily, names have never really been that important to me. After awhile, I gave up trying to keep track of who was who and just start pointing and saying “Hey you, grab me another beer.” Simple and effective, just the way I like it, although I can’t say the same for the three girls. For some strange reason, girls expect you to know their names and always get it right. What’s up with that?

Now I know I may sound cruel to you, but stay with me here, because there’s a method to my madness. The two guys that visited me last week were both single, which is cool because we did the single guy thing. Mainly, that involves drinking and playing video games, and we threw in some Monday Night Football for good measure. But it’s the guys who have girlfriends who really like to keep me around. See, I have a really bad habit of saying things that girls find distasteful. And for me, that’s ok, I’ve come to terms with it. Luckily, I’m able to rein myself in enough in these situations so that I don’t cause any relationship problems for my friends. Let’s be honest, I cause enough problems for myself, I don’t need to create any for others. This does have an interesting side effect though. My natural abhorrence of civility makes me look pretty bad in front of girls. However, a guy sitting right next to me who isn’t being nearly as bad as I am tends to look like a pretty upstanding guy by contrast.

In fact, when one of my old housemates would get into a fight with his girlfriend, she would usually come downstairs and complain to the rest of us about her relationship issues. Normally, I would kindly suggest in the most statesman-like manner that if she did his laundry more often, she wouldn’t have these problems. After that, she would get so mad and me that by the time her boyfriend made it downstairs she would have forgotten all about being distraught with him, and they would go off happily ever after. I have been party to several scenarios very similar to the above, and just about every outcome is the same. That’s me, Jeff Privette: making you look better by comparison since 2001.

Speaking of girls, when I got back home from my hockey game on Wednesday night, I expected Michael to have a few girls waiting for me at my apartment. Unfortunately, he didn’t come through for me, which was somewhat upsetting. Girls have always flocked to Michael, I don’t know why; it’s just some sort of special ability he has. I’ve tried to copy it, but for some reason when girls herd around Michael, it does absolutely nothing for my own romantic life. It’s funny how that works out. Luckily there’s an upside to that. Like when that creepy girl was hitting on the three of us Tuesday night at the bar, I just pointed her towards Michael, and then made my swift escape to the downstairs portion of the bar. I could have left the place entirely, but then I couldn’t have gotten myself another beer. And that would have been a travesty.

But now I’m home all alone again. There’s no one snoring on my sofa or using my beard trimmer and neglecting to clean it off. It’s nice to have some peace and quiet again. For one thing, it’s hard for me to write and be creative when there are a couple of goobers playing Guitar Hero and totally messing up I Love Rock and Roll. Seriously, what rock and roll fan messes up a classic like that? However, they’re out of my hair now, and I can get back to writing again. Specifically, I can write an entire article making fun of them. Thanks guys.

What’s Love Got to Do with It

2006-09-27T13:53:00.000-05:00

Ambition is a wonderful thing to have in life. Most people want to get a good job, work hard, get married, and raise a family. This is certainly a noble goal. It’s not exactly my goal, but then again, I’ve never been known to be noble. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have ambition. As a matter of fact, I’ve been rather ambitious for most of my adult life. Whether or not my behavior classifies me as an adult is another thing entirely. The law says I’m an adult, and the law is just smart like that.

So, what is the great and wondrous goal that I have been chasing for so many years? No, it has nothing to do with hard work, self-reliance, or even winning the lottery. My lifelong goal is to marry a rich chick. I don’t want to have to work for my money, I want my incredibly attractive and very intelligent wife to work for my money. Meanwhile, I’ll stay at home and play Halo on Xbox Live. This is my dream, and one day, with a lot of hard work and perseverance, it might just come true.

Now I know a lot of you women out there would be outraged with a life plan who’s only two steps involve: marry a rich chick and play video games. But you really have to look past the shallow nature and selfishness of my goal. If you’re paying attention, and I’m sure you are, you’ll notice that I am, in fact, a pioneer in feminism. You should be proud of me, feminists aren’t people I usually associate myself with. But in this case, I really am in league with them. I don’t mind a wife who’s the bread winner and I’d be perfectly happy being a stay at home dad. This is a clear breach in traditional manly values.

Isn’t that what women want: a guy who is comfortable being in the background while the wife is obsessed with work and promotions? If this is what you want, then I’m the guy for you. I’m totally cool with the woman making all the money. And as an added bonus, I can do minor electrical and plumbing work and I can make cookies. How many stay at home dads can say that? If that doesn’t get the ladies’ juices flowing, I don’t know what will.

All joking aside, this is my dream in life. I want to marry an attractive girl who has a good job, and even better prospects for future earnings. In fact, I’m willing to be more lenient on the how attractive my prospective mate is when her projected future earnings are higher. I can do this on a very simple and very unbiased method. Simply discount the projected future earnings of the woman over the next ten years to the present value. Here’s the formula we’ll be using:

AI = AS [( 1 / (1 + .03)^10 )/(.03)]

AI = Attractiveness Index
AS = Average Yearly Salary

In this formula, the 10 represents the number of years my prospective wife will be making her average salary. Each .03 represents an estimated 3% increase in the cost of living year over year. All I have to do is input the estimated average yearly salary for the woman in the “AS” spot and I can come up with a usable number. For every increase of 800,000 in the Attractiveness Index, I’ll be willing to lower my future spouse’s beauty by one point on the classic ten point model (to be furthermore referred to as the Classic Index, or CI). I think we’re all accustomed to the Classic Index with a perfect ten being the hottest girl you’ve ever seen and a lowly one being a woman who looks like the unholy offspring of Jabba the Hut and an abominable snowman.

Now we all know that money isn’t everything. Looks are important too. But we’ve already addressed both of those. Some of you may be wondering how the woman’s personality fits into all of this. Well, let me just assuage your fears: it doesn’t. Let’s be honest with ourselves here, personality is not important. Heck, it’s never been important. When you hear someone say “That girl has a great personality,” what does that mean to you? It means she is neither rich nor physically attractive.

What would you rather have: a spouse who has a wonderful personality, or one that is rich or incredibly gorgeous? May I remind you for just one second that supermodels are both rich and insanely hot? So which is it? The supermodels in bikinis or the girls who can make you smile and laugh? Personally, I think laughing is overrated. Laughs come and go but money, spendola (as it is called in certain European circles) lasts forever.

You don’t believe me about money lasting forever? Just ask your local jeweler. When you go into the store to buy an engagement ring for you fiancé with the superb personality, he’ll tell you that you can make three months salary last forever by buying her a rather small, shiny rock. Oh sure, that shiny rock will be surrounded by gold, which has existential value, but most of your hard-earned cash will be going towards that shiny pebble. I know this is true because a commercial on TV said so, and commercials don’t lie, it’s against the law.

Like I said, marrying for love or trust or even mutual respect is totally overrated. Let’s look at the figures, approximately 40% or more of married American couples will get divorced. And after your inevitable divorce (hey you can’t argue with statistics), what are you left with? The laughs, the trust, the respect, it’s all gone. This is why I am using the relatively short span of ten years for my marriage when discounting a perspective wife’s future earnings. I honestly don’t think that my money making scheme would ever end in divorce, but I’m just going to play it safe anyway. Did I say money making scheme? I meant marriage, my wonderfully happy and splendidly fruitful marriage.

I would like to point out that the formula that I gave you earlier can also be used when evaluating potential investments. The reason I’m using it as a scale for finding a suitable wife is merely coincidental. But hey, who would have thought that I’d actually give you something scholarly in my writing? I’m not only entertaining and informative, but also educational too.

I should be rewarded for providing you with such unparallel educational content. Specifically, I should be rewarded with money. Thank you notes are nice and all, but they waste the life of a tree and add to our already overburdened waste disposal systems. Money, on the other hand, is forever. So prevent over logging and send me some cold hard cash (and no, money is not made of paper; it is created from a unique blend of cloth and fabrics, so you won’t be hurting the forests by sending me money, thank you).

Pork, Chicken, and Steak, Oh My!

2006-09-20T13:53:00.000-05:00

Do you want to know what’s been bothering me lately? Ok, I know you don’t care, but I’m going to tell you anyways, because that’s just the kind of man that I am. I’m the kind of man that’s more important than you are, so listen up, and you’d better listen good too. Here’s the thing: I don’t trust vegetarians. I know this is totally random, but bear with me for a few minutes.

I know a few people who are vegetarians, and I’ve been pretty considerate and kind and doing all that understanding crap. But honestly, I just don’t get it. Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against vegetables. In fact, I eat vegetables all the time. Hamburgers usually come with lettuce and tomato on them, French fries are made from potatoes, and I usually get onions and green peppers on my Philly cheese-steak. But what is the deal with people who don’t eat meat? Not only is it incredibly tasty and immensely satisfying, but meat provides essential vitamins and nutrients that are hard to find anywhere else. Do you know how many beans you have to eat to get your daily supply of protein and iron? Honestly, I have no idea, but I’m just going to assume that it’s a huge amount, since it’ll make my case just that much stronger.

So why is it that I don’t trust people that don’t eat meat? What have vegetarians ever done to me to make me weary of them? Well, nothing really. I mean, besides the fact that they decided, of their own free will and accord, to not consume the wonderfully meaty and delicious creatures of this planet. I just can’t understand that. I don’t know why someone would voluntarily not eat meat. Think about it, there is just no rational explanation for it, which is why I don’t trust vegetarians. What solid reason is there for passing up on some good old fashioned Carolina barbeque? There is none.

Oh, I know what you’re thinking, that those veggie eating fiends have perfectly rational reasons for not partaking in the most wholesome part of the food pyramid. Let’s take a look at these so called “reasonable explanations” for being a vegetarian. Some of those leaf eaters say its healthier being a vegetarian. They say that meat is too fatty and you’ll gain too much weight and unwanted cholesterol when you eat meat. Well that’s true if all you do is sit on the sofa eating nothing but Taco Bell and watching Dr. Phil. The problem is, these crazy vegetarians are eating their meat all wrong. They should go back to the old fashioned way of eating meat: by hunting wild animals down with nothing but a spear and a knife. Seriously, there’s nothing like a three hour long hunt to work up an appetite, and it helps keep off those unsightly love handles. Just a note though, it’s not considered hunting if you end up eating veal.

Another wacko theory is that the cows we raise for beef produce too much methane which adds to the greenhouse gasses that are destroying our atmosphere. Well, I agree that greenhouse gasses are a problem and that global warming is something we all need to deal with. Although, I’m not sure eating nothing but leafy green vegetables is the way to solve that problem. I mean, think about it. If you left those leafy greens in the ground to grow, instead of eating them, they’d mature and do that photosynthetic thing where they turn greenhouse gasses into energy and emit live affirming oxygen. So to all you vegetarians out there: Thanks for eating up all of our natural filters for greenhouse gasses. Good job.

Some vegetarians will tell you that they don’t eat meat because they love animals and they’d hate to eat the cute, cuddly animals. Now that doesn’t make a lick of sense. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that dog is, in fact, not man’s best friend. The pig is man’s best friend. I mean, look at all the things he does for us: bacon, ham, pork, pork chops, pulled pork… and the list goes on and on. But honestly, it doesn’t matter how cute the animal is, you were born to eat meat. God gave you incisors for a reason, to rip apart the charred flesh of the lesser creatures. So get off your lazy butt and eat some pork. Otherwise God will be mad at you for not using what he gave you.

And what the heck is up with tofu? Why are people trying to replace perfectly good meat with that stuff? They make everything from tofurkey for thanksgiving to tofu-dogs for cookouts. Tofu-dogs? Now who in their right mind would refuse to eat a classic American hotdog? Terrorists, that’s who. Now I’m not saying that the Japanese, who invented tofu and use it in a variety of culinary delights, are terrorists. Far from it. But you know those Americanized flavored varieties of tofu that you see in the grocery store, the ones you’re too afraid to go over and look at because you think all your friends will call you a sissy vegetarian for eating them? Those are made by Al Qaeada. So if you’re eating that flavored tofu, you’re supporting terrorism. You vegetarians make me sick on so many levels.

Now if you’re an astute reader (and since you’re still reading this I can assume that you’re not a vegetarian and therefore you are an astute reader) then you probably noted that I referred to tomatoes as being a vegetable back in the second paragraph. If you missed it, then go back up there and check it out, its ok, I’ll be right here when you get back. So if you’re really astute, and I’m sure you are (unless you’re a vegetarian, in which case I don’t want to associate with you terrorist sympathizers), you’ll note that tomatoes are not a vegetable, but rather a fruit, scientifically speaking, of course. However, I was taught, growing up, that tomatoes were vegetables, but somewhere along the line, someone came in and changed it up on me. I think it was those shifty vegetarians. I don’t have any proof of it, but frankly, I don’t trust them.

I’m still going to call the tomato a vegetable, however. This is because in the US Supreme Court Case, Nix v. Hedden, the highest court in this country declared the tomato a vegetable. You can use all the science and botany you want, but that doesn’t trump the Supreme Court. And I for one will follow the Court’s decision because I’m proud to be an American, unlike those vegetarians.

Now I think you know why I don’t trust vegetarians, and I hope you don’t trust them anymore either. They’re a plague on this country as they descend like a pack of locusts to devour our crops and leave nothing but a barren wasteland behind. I for one will not stand for it. In fact, I’m going to show my patriotism and my love for this wonderful, this free, this brave country, this land of opportunity and liberity… by eating a hotdog.

Game Day Fun

2006-09-13T13:54:00.000-05:00

It’s almost fall, and you know what that means: the weather is cooling off, there’s a nice easy breeze blowing through the now colorful foliage, the rush of summertime is gone and life seems to be slowing down, and of course, and most importantly, football! After a long summer season of nothing but baseball and the occasional spelling bee, it’s great to finally get a sport worth watching. Now don’t get me wrong, the Nathan’s hot dog eating contest is a thrill a minute, watching those tiny Japanese guys out eating our oversized American competitors, but it’s just not the same as football. What’s up with that though? We are a nation that thrives on fast food, deep fried Twinkies, and anything that is high in cholesterol, but we can’t win a hot dog eating contest. I think we got screwed on that deal.

Back to the subject at hand: football. I don’t know about you, but I am a huge fan of college football. The NFL is ok, but I usually don’t pay much attention until the playoffs. Well, except for Chicago, I always cheer for the Bears (pronounced: “DA Bears”). When it comes right down to it though, I think college teams play with more heart and passion for the game than do the professionals who seem mostly interested in signing bonuses. I also like the college set-up better. You don’t have to wait until Christmas for the playoffs to begin, in college they begin in September. Lose one game and you’re out of the national championship. Last year the Ohio State vs. Texas game in the second week of the season was probably one of the biggest (if not the biggest) in determining who was going to the National Championship game. Then, Texas beat Ohio State and they went on to win the National Championship. This year the Buckeyes won. Will they be able to pull off a run to the final? We’ll have to wait and see.

Of course, my favorite college team is the University of North Carolina Tar Heels. Unfortunately, rooting for the Tar Heels isn’t the easiest thing to do. The football program isn’t quite on par with its rich basketball tradition. And you know what, that’s ok. You can’t really expect perfection in both programs. But it is nice to watch the football team pull off an upset every once in a while. The first Carolina sporting event I went to was the 2001 football game against Florida State where the Tar Heels thoroughly embarrassed the Seminoles, 41-9. Of course, that doesn’t happen very often, especially now that UNC has to play both Virginia Tech and Miami (of Florida) every year.

For those of you not in the know, last Saturday was the UNC game versus Virginia Tech. I had the distinct pleasure of attending. Ok, maybe it was a pleasure for most of the first quarter, but that’s about it. We don’t need to go into the details about the game, because that would just make me cry again. And you don’t want to make me cry, do you? Let’s just say the Carolina offense seems to take the field with only one goal in mind: to throw an interception. I mean really, that’s how it appeared to me.

Like I said, there’s no need to talk about the game, but I do want to talk about being at the game. College football is an experience like no other. In some collegiate stadiums the fans get so loud when their team is on defense, that the opposing quarterback cannot call an audible on the field because his teammates cannot hear him above the roar (for the record, its doesn’t get quite that loud in Kenan stadium). When was the last time that ever happened at a professional game? So I’ll give you a quick run down of my college football experience last weekend.

First off, since it was a 12pm game, I had to get up at 10am (waking up before noon is, as a generally rule, something I just don’t do). I drove into Chapel Hill early enough to miss most of the nasty traffic and find a decent parking place. Of course, being a college town, parking is a pain in the butt, and there’s people walking all over the place, so it’s far too easy and far too tempting to run over the pedestrians wearing Virginia Tech t-shirts. After getting the car parked, I met my friend on campus and hung out before game time to listen to the band. This is mainly because his girlfriend is in the band. And before you jump to any conclusions there are some pretty attractive band geeks, believe it or not. It is Carolina, and I have it on good authority that Carolina girls are the best in the world.

I have to admit, the band is pretty good. They did a rendition of Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit that was reasonably true to the song. Well, except for the fact that they didn’t have any electric guitars. I felt a little odd about that, I know the band is trying to be hip, but grunge music without the guitars? That’s like eating strawberry shortcake without the strawberries. I mean, yeah the shortcake tastes good on its own, but shortcake has pretty much no point unless there’s strawberries involved in some way.

After the band finished its pre-game rituals, they took off from the quad and marched to the stadium. We followed behind in the mass of people and once again I had to suppress the urge to enact some very random acts of violence on people wearing Virginia Tech shirts. Although I have to admit, the Virginia Tech fans were very well behaved for the most part. Much better behaved than NC State fans have ever been. But I can’t blame the Wolfpack fans, I mean, if I had to walk through a bunch of tractors and cows on my way to class everyday, I’d be pretty pissed off too. What I haven’t been able to figure out though, is how all those cows can graze on NC State’s campus when the campus is completely paved over in bricks. I guess it’s just one of those mysteries of life.

Unfortunately, most of the seats in Kenan Stadium don’t have any shade and the sun can easily overheat you and give you some really bad tan lines. Thankfully, I didn’t have to deal with that, our seats had shade. Looking out over the stadium, you can see a sea of Carolina blue, as all the students, parents, alumni, and even faculty were wearing their school colors. Unfortunately there was a rather large consortium of Virginia Tech fans in attendance who were sitting around our section. By the way, can anyone tell me what a Hokie is? I’ve yet to discover this for myself.

We can just skip the events of the game, and I think you all know why. At least the Carolina dancers were in attendance, which was one upside of the day. Now some of you may be wondering why a school would need a dance squad when we already have a cheerleading squad. Well, let’s see… they're college coeds in tight pants and halter tops. Enough said. Unlike most of the other people in attendance, we stayed for the entire length of the game, even though the game was over probably before the fourth quarter even started. I have always stayed to the end of every game just so I can sing the alma mater. It’s called school pride. Or at least I think that's what it's called. I’m not entirely sure, I skipped most of my orientation when they went over all that stuff. The orientation leaders were all so upbeat and “super happy.” It was annoying.

So what have we learned today? Football is better than baseball, hands down. Yes, there are attractive girls in the band. You just don’t notice them because you’re too busy staring at the dance team and the cheerleaders. Strawberry shortcake makes a horrible metaphor for grunge music. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose, as long as you have more points than the other team. And last of all, Carolina may have lost to Virginia Tech this weekend, but at least they didn’t lose to Akron. I mean, NC State losing to Akron, now that’s just sad.

To Health, Happiness, and Fast Food

2006-09-06T13:55:00.000-05:00

I am a bastion of healthiness and wellbeing. I am in tune with my body and everything it needs to survive and flourish. I just thought you might want to know that. Unfortunately, even though I know what my body needs, I don’t always see fit to give it the required nutritional supplements. So basically, I was being facetious in that first sentence. I’m not healthy, I’m actually rather lazy.

I could blame the problem on the fact that there is a Hardee’s and a Wendy’s right down the street from me. Or that there is a Bojangles and a McDonald’s not too far away either. But is it really the fault of fast food companies that I am eating poorly? Yes, it is. Well, actually no it isn’t. It’s just easier to blame it on fast food chains. Otherwise I’d have to blame my problems on myself, and I’m not really all that great at taking responsibility for my own actions.

But really, I think we should start at the beginning. The major problem isn’t the proximity of fast food joints. My problem is that I have yet to go grocery shopping. Seriously, it’s been like a month. One look in my fridge and you can easily confirm that I’m a single guy. Every bachelor has a fridge with several different kinds of condiments, but no real food of any sort. And no, leftover Chinese take-out does not qualify as substantial real food.

So, upon opening my refrigerator door, you will see a bottle of ketchup, a bottle of mustard, a bottle of Worcestershire sauce (and yes, I had to get the bottle out of the fridge in order to spell it properly), some pickled relish, a squeeze tube of mayo, three cans of beer, and about a pint of milk that may or may not have gone bad already. Seriously, I’m afraid to open it and find out. Luckily for me, I cleaned out the fridge, more or less, about a month ago. It’s a good thing too, some of the stuff I had in there was look really, really nasty. It wasn’t exactly what I’d call edible. And of course, the fridge is devoid of any fruits of vegetables whatsoever. This isn’t because I don’t like eating my veggies, it’s that I just don’t trust vegetarians.

I’m pretty sure I’ve spawned new forms of life in the back of my food cooling unit, but I had to throw those in the dumpster. That may sound cruel to you lovers of prokaryotes out there, but let me assure you, I’m only insuring that the fittest forms of mold and bacterial life are allowed to thrive on this planet. And yes, this is important. I know some of you think that mold growing on food is icky and yucky. Well, that may be, but just remember that penicillin is a form of mold. And it was the discovery of penicillin that helped the Allies win World War II. Too bad fungus can’t be awarded the Medal of Honor. So just remember, the next time you take an antibiotic, you’re ingesting good old fashioned mold. Yummy.

So now you know the conundrum that I’m in. I have no food in storage at my house, so if I’m hungry, I have to go elsewhere to get it. Of course, I could go grocery shopping. But that would take valuable time and effort. And of course, I only think to go grocery shopping when I’m hungry. So why would I want to wait to buy food, then take all that time to cook it up when I can go and get something already prepared and ready for me to eat right now? This is why lately I have ended up at Wendy’s drive through window. What can I say? I’m a sucker for the 99 cent menu.

I have to say though, I have been doing one thing lately that is very healthy. I’ve been drinking plenty of water. In fact, it’s about the only thing I drink these days. Occasionally I’ll have some juice or Gatorade (or milk if it hasn’t turned into cottage cheese yet), but the vast majority of the time, its water. The benefits of this are twofold: One, water is cheap, so I don’t waste money on soda’s like I used to. And two, I’m not drinking down empty calories and needless amounts of sugar. I also don’t drink near the amount of caffeine that I used to. Which means now, if I have a Cherry Coke any time after 2pm, it’ll keep me awake pretty much all night.

How healthy can a substance be if it keeps me awake until four in the morning? Well, caffeine is a natural product that is found in over 60 varieties of plants. So it won’t cause you to go blind or deaf like NutraSweet might. The downside is that caffeine acts as a natural pesticide that paralyzes and kills certain insects that feed on these plants. Congratulations! You’re drinking pesticide. Isn’t that just super?

Although caffeine is relatively safe for humans (apparently we can metabolize the compound rather efficiently compared to insects), there are still some unwanted side effects. Prolonged use of caffeine can lead to irritability, anxiety, insomnia, and hyperreflexia (yeah, I have no idea what that is either). Caffeine can also increase the amount of acid in the stomach and therefore can cause peptic ulcers. So yeah, large amounts of naturally occurring pesticide are harmful to you. I’m glad we were able to figure that one out.

Just remember what you read here the next time you down a Red Bull or Mountain Dew. I may be surviving off of Wendy’s Super Value Menu, but at least I don’t have over-caffeinated symptoms. Well, ok, I might be just a slight bit irritable. But that is only because I find about 90% of humanity to be extremely annoying or incredibly ignorant. And ignorant people are annoying. So just remember, if I seem irritable, it’s not because I just chugged an entire two liter bottle of Live Wire Mountain Dew, it’s because you’re an idiot.

But you’ll have to excuse me, I’m getting awfully hungry just sitting here. I think it’s time to go out and pick up some food. Don’t you worry about me though. Even if I succumb to the siren’s song that is the fast food industry, I will still be able to live a healthy life. I plan on working off all of those calories that I consume today. I’m playing football later tonight. No, not the football with the running and the passing and the tackling. I’m talking about video game college football. There’s nothing like laying back in a recliner and playing some good old fashioned hard hitting All American football. Hey, my thumbs can burn off all the calories I need. Honestly, running outdoors is totally overrated.

Step 1: Admitting You Have a Problem

2006-08-30T13:49:00.000-05:00

I’ve never really thought that I have an addictive personality. I don’t need alcohol to survive, I just need it to function in society. But after this past week, I’ve been beginning to wonder if maybe I have an addiction. I’ve been completely obsessed with one thing and only one thing for the past eight days. It has even begun to permeate to the rest of my life as well.

What am I talking about? Well, it’s Guitar Hero. For those of you who don’t know, Guitar Hero is a video game exclusively for the Playstation 2. Instead of using a controller, you plug in a guitar. Well, it’s not a real guitar, but it’s a simplified replica that is designed to be used with the video game. There are five buttons corresponding to the frets and a switch (that can be pushed down or up) where you would strum the strings of the guitar. The game has you “strumming” your Gibson SG replica to the tune of over 30 rockin’ songs as you try to reach the status of a Guitar Hero.

Simply put, the game is amazing. You get to play songs like I Love Rock and Roll, Ironman, Smoke on the Water, Stellar, and so many more classics. There are four different levels of difficulty so you can take your time and work your way up towards playing like a professional. There’s just something about feeling like I’m actually playing the song that makes me feel all warm inside. There’s nothing like the feeling of being up onstage, rocking out to Eric Clapton, and feeling like everyone is cheering you on. It gets the blood pumping, that’s for sure.

Not only do I get to be a guitar god by playing that game, but I also get to listen to some insanely awesome music. Some times I’ll miss a note or two because I’m paying more attention to the music than I am to the notes on the TV screen that I’m supposed to be playing. Unfortunately, when I miss a note, the guitar track won’t play until I start hitting the notes again. And that just makes me sad. I mean, missing out on a killer song brings tears to my eyes and shame to my soul. Luckily once I get back on track and get the song playing again my mood picks back up and my soul beings to soar.

All of this Guitar Heroing has begun to affect many of my other habits. Now whenever I hear an awesome rock song playing, I immediately attempt to perform it on my air guitar version of my Gibson SG video game replica. There’s something about doing an air guitar imitation of a video game replica that just screams wannabe. Imagine if you will, me walking into a very upscale restaurant, escorted by a lovely looking female, both of us dressed up very nicely, when suddenly I hear Z. Z. Top’s Sharp Dressed Man playing in the bar and without delay I quickly break out my illusionary six-string and begin to play along with all the enthusiasm of a rock star. It is not a pretty picture, I assure you.

Maybe this means that I shouldn’t be allowed to play video games. They obviously have a negative effect on me. Well I agree that I tend to play a lot of mindless video games, but I don’t think that it means that I shouldn’t play them any more. When it comes right down to it, I probably shouldn’t be allowed to participate in society any longer. Let’s be perfectly honest with ourselves, rock stars aren’t exactly the epitome of societal standards. But they can get away with it because they’re friggin rock stars. I, however, am not a rock star. I may be a Guitar Hero late at night while rocking out on my Playstation, but that in no way gives me rock star status in society. So I should just be shunned by all of society at large. I really do think it’s for the best.

So, since I cannot be a rock star, I have decided to lend my considerable mental facilities to those of you who are, or are aspiring to be, rock stars. I’ve taken some time out of my busy video game playing schedule (yes, I do have a schedule that shows what video game I am playing at what time) and have crafted this handy list of dos and don’ts for rock stars. Enjoy.

Do be loud, drunk, and obnoxious while you are playing. If you’re not, then you are not, by definition, a rock star

Don’t get beaten up by Ralph Lauren. I mean, what kind of rock star gets his butt kicked by a fashion mogul? (Hint: the answer is Axel Rose)

Do play an extreme guitar solo. Guitar solo’s rock. Just don’t let your drummer have a solo.

Don’t wear your hair like they did in the 80’s. For the love of God, just don’t do it.

Do get a Myspace.com account. I may think that Myspace.com is a complete waste of time and a cesspool for annoying pre-teens, but as it turns out, those pre-teens spend a lot of money on music. And rock stars should get paid.

Don’t give in to the heckling and play Freebird. The moron in the audience yelling that out just doesn’t know the name of any good songs.

Do be sexually promiscuous. You need to pass on your rock star genes to the future rockers of America. Not all rock stars will live as long as Mick Jagger.

Don’t OD on drugs. We’ve already lost far too many rock stars that way.

Do practice at all hours of the day being as loud as possible so that your condo or homeowners association tries to get you kicked out. Hey, if it doesn’t piss anyone off, it’s not rock and roll.

Don’t smash your guitar into the stage at the end of a show. The guitar is an expensive piece of equipment and a valuable tool in producing art.

Do borrow someone else’s guitar so you can smash it into the stage at the end of the show. Then afterwards, blame the damage on the drummer.

Don’t play the song Fat Bottom Girls by Queen when your girlfriend is around. Trust me, she’ll think you’re trying to tell her she’s fat. Girls are crazy that way.

So that’s it, my list of what to do and what not to do for you emerging rock stars. I hope you’ve learned a thing or two today. I know I did: I should not be allowed to go to nice places with nice girls, I just end up embarrassing everyone. Well, I don’t embarrass myself, I quit being embarrassed by my brash stupidity a long time ago. So luckily everyone else just gets embarrassed. And that’s perfectly ok with me so long as I still get to go home, pull out my Playstation, and be a Guitar Hero.

No More Pencils, No More Books

2006-08-23T13:49:00.000-05:00

As you all are aware, my arch nemesis, Oprah Winfrey, has her own book club. And I’m sure some of you have even read a few books on her warranted book club list. I won’t fault you for that, what’s in the past is in the past. I’m sure you feel like a spineless sea urchin for succumbing to day time talk shows, so I won’t say anything to make you feel any worse. I don’t think you’re a loser at all, nope, not one bit.

You being a loser aside, I’ve decided to do something about this whole book club thing. I mean, really, what’s the whole point of Oprah having a book club? Personally, I think it’s to turn all of America’s women into Oprah zombies. But that’s just a theory. Apparently, the books that Oprah recommends on her show are supposed to enlighten her viewers and open up their eyes to new ideas. These books are supposed to be inspirational and should quite literally change your life. Of course, I don’t agree with that.

Honestly, how is reading a book entitled, Chicken Soup for the Soul, going to change you life? If I have a bowl of chicken soup, will that make my problems go away? I know from experience that a bottle of whiskey can make your problems go away, although that’s only temporary. Seriously though, will any book you’ve gotten from Oprah’s book club change your life the way you need it changed? Will they help you get rid of your credit card debt, buy that dream car you always wanted, or teach you how to pick up that hot blonde on the other side of the bar? The answer, most obviously, is no.

So as a service to you, I have decided to compile a list of books that can actually change your life. These books are serious scriptures that deal with the cold hard facts of what you deal with every day. There’s no dressing anything up, no chicken soup metaphors, no “7 Habits for Highly Effective Illiterates,” or anything like that. Here’s my list:

1. A Random Walk Down Wall Street, by Burton Malkiel
2. Real Money: Sane Investing in an Insane World, by James Cramer
3. The Warren Buffet Way, by Robert Hagstrom
4. The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook, by Joshua Piven and David Borgenicht
5. The Kama Sutra, by Vatsyayana

You’re probably wondering why I have three books dealing with investing. I mean, Oprah talks about several books that are geared toward lowering your personal debt and increasing your financial success. Well, the reason why Oprah’s books suck and the above listed books rule is that the people who wrote these books (aside from the first one) have made a lot of money using the practices outlined in the books. And by a lot, I mean millions of dollars. I don’t think the authors of books like Girl, Make Your Money Grow! ran their own wildly successful hedge funds and retired early. Who would you rather take advice from: retired millionaires or “financial experts” who have to work for a living? I know that if I had the choice, I’d rather not work for a living.

A Random Walk Down Wall Street, is the classic investing work by Princeton economics professor Burton Malkiel where he examines mutual fund managers and other investment professionals’ ability to make a decent return in the stock market. The long term statistics support his theory purported in the book, and hey, there’s much less thinking and worrying involved. Now that’s my kind of investing! Remember, thinking is always the enemy.

Real Money, Sane Investing in an Insane World, is the book that launched Jim Cramer from radio talk show to primetime TV. In the book, Cramer outlines the strategies he took on his path to becoming a multi-millionaire. Well, he won’t be throwing chairs around and sawing the heads off stuffed bears like he does on CNBC every night, but the book is still a treasure trove of investment advice. Buy it, read it, watch the show and try not to get hit by a chair.

The Warren Buffet Way, Investment Strategies of the World’s Greatest Investor is, well let’s face it, pretty much all books on investing are boring. And even the man himself, Warren Buffet, is pretty boring. But you need to believe the title of that book, because Buffet is the world’s greatest investor, hands down. In the early 1960’s Buffet started with $100 of his own money and little over $100,000 of his investors’ money. And today he is worth over $8 billion. Let me say this again: $100 + 40 years = $8 billion. That’s not too shabby. Warren Buffet is continuously one of the world’s top ten richest people, and unlike Bill Gates, he didn’t have to screw over ever PC user in the world to get there.

The Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook is a masterpiece of nonfiction. It is mainly a book meant to amuse and entertain its readers, even though it appears to be an instructional survival guide. I have to admit that yes, it is entertaining. But I would advise you learn your lessons from the book as well. I’m sure none of you ever expect to have an alligator clamp down on your arm, but if it did somehow happen, wouldn’t you like to know how to get it off? (Hint: flick it on the snout.) This book can help you get out of so many hard to survive places that you should never leave your house without it. The authors consulted several experts in their fields to bring you the best survival advice possible. This book could quite literally save your life. Can you say that of any of Oprah’s books?

The Kama Sutra is a book every man must have, period. Vatsyayana lays out not only several varied sexual positions but also how to keep your marriage life active, how to commit adultery, and much more. It’s all part of the sensual side of humanity that we have been learning to discover since ancient times. And who doesn’t want better sex? Heck, get an illustrated version of the book, it will make reading it much more exciting, and maybe a little more instructive too.

So there it is, my book club. The main point here is: get rich. You’ll have fewer worries, more women coming after you, and more opportunities to try out what you learned in the Kama Sutra. So read, enjoy, and try not to get bitten by an alligator. I’m not sure if hitting it in the snout actually works, and I’d rather not have to find out first hand.

One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Whiskey

2006-08-16T13:50:00.000-05:00

As you very well may know, I enjoy the degenerative pleasures in life, mainly stemming from my fascination of all things related to alcohol. And as such, I am devoted to many areas of exploration within the land of alcohol related products. Previously I have delved into the realms of beer and wine, but now I think it is time to take a much closer look at the world of liquor.

See, this past Friday I had a little bit of time off and didn’t exactly know what to do with myself. Seeing as how everyone else was busy (and didn’t want an alcoholic asshole tagging along), I decided to do something I’ve been meaning to do for a little while now. I decided to try to devise some new drinks. Now I know that there are literally thousands of drink recipes out on the web, and most mixtures of alcohol have already been tried before. But I was dealing with some brand new liquors that had just hit the market and had yet to be publicized in new drinks.

Bacardi recently released its Grand Melon Rum while Stolichnaya released its Stoli Blueberi Vodka. Both of these seemed interesting to me, so I went and picked up a bottle of each. The Bacardi Grand Melon actually has a very strong watermelon flavor which makes it much sweeter than a normal rum. This will probably be used in sweeter, fruitier cocktails than your regular and boring rum and coke. The Stoli Blueberi also has a strong blueberry flavor that, as a lover of blueberries, I was quite pleased with. But the liquor still acts like a normal vodka leaving me to believe it can be interchanged in recipes where regular or other flavored vodkas are used.

Now, there are a few things you need to know when playing around and mixing new drinks in your own home. First off, you have to have a decent variety of liquors and these liquors have to be capable of melding together. That means having tequila, vodka, rum and whiskey is not enough! Seriously, trying to mix tequila and whiskey is just disaster. So make sure you get some nice cordials, like some Kahlua, Bailey’s, peach schnapps, raspberry schnapps, crème de cocoa, triple sec, and an assortment of flavored rums, vodkas and brandies. Now you don’t have to have all of this, but it does help to think about what liquors you’ll be mixing together when you go shopping. As I said before, mixing whiskey and tequila is a bad, BAD idea, trust me. You don’t want to know why I already have that knowledge.

That being said, there are a few more important things to know. Mixers, non-alcoholic ingredients you mix in to drinks to influence the taste, are important. Forget the coke, it’s only good for a rum and coke, and that’s pretty boring. But sprite, or 7-up, can mix pretty well in some cocktails. You will also need orange juice, pineapple juice, cranberry juice, sour mix (home made or store bought), ginger ale, club soda, tonic water, and (my personal favorite) white cranberry juice. Oh, and don’t forget that it might be a good idea to spend a little bit more money when shopping. When it comes to liquors, upgrading to the mid-grade stuff, $12-$15 a bottle, will not only taste better, but also leave you with less problems in the morning.

Ok, so back to Friday night. I had my large assortment of liquors, a decent amount of mixers, and a great imagination. So I was ready to go. Of course, my first couple of drinks didn’t turn out quite the way I wanted them to. That’s ok, this is why I was experimenting, trying to fool around until something worked right. And don’t worry if your drink doesn’t come out perfect, the worst case scenario is that if it sucks, you have to drink it. And we all know what happens when you drink alcohol… that’s right, you get drunk! And who can complain about that?

A few drinks I made, I think were ok on the ingredients, but I still need to work on the proportions. I was making smaller drinks and just eyeballing the amounts that went in, which is ok in an informal environment. But if you want to take special care in making your drinks, you need to measure the amounts properly with a jigger. I don’t own a jigger, so I used my eyes, which are notoriously not perfect. Hey my vision may be less than 20/20, but I’m still good enough to drive without glasses legally. This makes you wonder how safe our roads are if a guy like me with crappy eyes can drive around unimpeded.

Although, I did do something important that night, I recorded every drink I made. I have ten drinks that I came up with written down in my notebook. Each drink has a number, the liquors and mixers used, and a few notes written about the flavor and characteristics of the cocktail. Of course, I haven’t gotten around to naming any of the drinks, even though about half of them probably aren’t good enough to need names yet. I thought briefly about naming drinks after comic book characters. For instance: the Dirty Wolverine, the Blue Bishop, or the Raspberry Shocker. But I’m a little bit afraid that Marvel Comics might sue me over copyright infringement or something like that. So I’m stuck on names. I’ll let someone else name them. I’ll focus on creating them and drinking them… and drinking more of them. Hey, it’s what I’m good at.

I have to say, my night of mixing and drinking was at least on some level, a success. I did come up with a chocolate blueberry like drink, and a couple of fruity watermelon rum drinks. So all in all, it was not a bad night. Although, I do wish I had a few people with me to help sample the drinks so I could have more opinions. Having a lady or two handy to sample my fruity drinks would have been very helpful seeing as how I don’t usually drink that girly type stuff. Also, I’m never opposed to being surround by drunken females. Usually, I only drink whiskey. In fact, I’ve been drinking a Mint Julep the entire time I’ve been writing this article. And let me tell you, it tastes absolutely wonderful (and if you don’t know what a Mint Julep is, well, you’re missing out).

Once again, I remain dedicated to you, devising new drinks and test tasting them for the public at large. Thanks to me, you will now have new drinks to try out at parties and your favorite bar. Just remember to always enjoy your drinks responsibly. And by this I mean that you should use real glassware as it won’t detract from the flavor like plastic can. Oh, and use high quality liquors, they won’t make you feel as bad in the morning. There’s something about a designated driver or something like that… but it’s a bunch of phooey. From my personal experience, if you pass out in a bush on your host’s front lawn, the next time he’ll pay for your cab ride home. Most people don’t like hung over drunks posing as lawn ornaments. Just one life lesson that I’m passing on to you.

So Who’s the Arch-villain Here?

2006-08-09T13:51:00.000-05:00

There comes a time in every man’s life when he must face the facts. It’s a time of reflection and understanding, a time to grow and mature. I have reached that time. This is a most profound and joyous day for me. It is the day I attain an arch nemesis.

Now, not everyone can get an arch nemesis. You have to either be a hero or villain steeped rich in fame or infamy. Feel free to categorize me in either of those two slots. I really don’t mind. I like to see myself as a hero to all mankind, espousing my grand knowledge and rational judgments to the benefit of all men who stand for what is good and pure. But then again, there are a few women out there who would disagree with my methods and manners. I really don’t know what women have against me, I mean, I’m a stand up guy. So what if I’d rather play a video game than take a girl out on a date? How often do you get to be a Guitar Hero on a date?

Of course, with all that in mind, I have finally landed on my arch nemesis, and her name is Oprah Winfrey. Yes, yes, I know, I sound just like the Man Show (I’m referring to the original Man Show with Adam Corolla and Jim Kimmel, not the later incarnation of which we shall never mention). But since the Man Show is no long airing new episodes, it has been left to me to take on the fight against the ostentatious machinations which is Oprah.

Now I have nothing against the woman personally, I think it is amazing how Oprah has been able to build up the fame and fortune that she has. And in that regard, I my hat goes off to her. But Oprah has built her empire on the emotions and intellect of women, and that is very dangerous. The power that one person holds over literally millions of women, goes beyond any totalitarian regime in the history of mankind. The ability to pierce this hold that influences probably every woman you know is beyond the ability of any man I have ever met. You don’t believe me? Ask any woman you know what she thinks of Oprah, and after about three minutes if you don’t want bury your head in the sand to end the misery, then you’re a stronger man than I.

But how does she do this? How can one woman hold so much power over every female in America, and many others around the world? So far, this is something that modern science has yet been capable of explaining. I have some of my own theories however. Oprah’s book club focus’s how women spend their time and what kind of reading they do. By controlling what women read she is able to control what kind of information they receive and what kind of thoughts they have. And as we all know, the regulation over knowledge and information is just as strong as any formal power could be.

Oprah also has her magazine, O, her daily television show, her “after the show” show, and her own store. She covers everything from relationships, mind and body, spirit and self, dieting, home decorating, and money. So basically, she covers everything about your life. It’s not like she’s trying to tell you how to live your life, she’s just trying to show you how your life is pathetic and you should live it the way she tells you to. I would argue with that logic, except for she’s insanely rich and well, I’m not. But I’m still suspicious of her, nevertheless.

Let’s not forget that it was Oprah who brought us Dr. Phil. You know Dr. Phil, he’s the guy who gets up on TV and yells at people because their lives are all screwed up. He started out as a regular on Oprah’s show, and now he has his own show. He has several best selling books and people all over the press are raving about how wonderful he is. And why do they do that? Mainly, it’s because he’s a friend of Oprah. That’s all it takes, if Oprah says you’re ok, then you’re in the money, literally.

Although, I didn’t realize it took a PhD in psychology to tell someone that they’re a messed up screwball. Heck, I do it all the time. I scream at people and tell them how screwy and dysfunctional they are and I don’t even have my own television show. I do the work of Dr. Phil for free. And you know why? I enjoy it. Seriously, making fun of people for their shortcomings is one of the few guilty free pleasures of life. And Dr. Phil does it for a living, and people love him for it. I guess that psychology degree teaches you how to trick an entire nation into thinking that you’re making the world a better place by preying on the insecurities of others.

Don’t worry though, I’m not bitter about the Dr. Phil thing. Nor am I bitter about Oprah. I just want to be here so I can offer a counter point to everything they say and do. Remember, just because Oprah or Dr. Phil gives you advice, it doesn’t mean that you should have to follow it. It’s only their theory of how you could live your life; those two don’t know everything. In fact, there is a lot that they don’t know. Just keep in mind that the reason they give guidance is because they’re on TV. They like to have good ratings, so I wouldn’t be surprised if their judgment got clouded because they were trying to give advice that would improve their ratings and their bankroll.

On the other hand, I’m not paid to listen to you or tell you what to do. Therefore, you’re always free to follow my advice. Of course, my advice usually involves getting really drunk and passing out in random places, but hey, that’s always worked for me. You really don’t have to take my advice either, and honestly the more I think about it, the more it seems like a good idea that you never take my advice. “Dump your girlfriend, get drunk, and find the cheapest hooker you can,” is not the best advice for every situation. In fact, that’s probably the worst advice in any situation. But, then again, that’s never stopped me before.

So what is the point of all of this? Well, I just want you, my dearest readers, to know that I am here to oppose Oprah in all her endeavors. Where she strives to keep you in sound mind and body and spirituality, I am here to dirty your mind, corrupt your spirit and keep your body thoroughly inebriated. And let’s be honest with ourselves here, what’s more fun: bringing your spirit in harmony with your mind and body through a bunch of new age hocus pocus, or giving into the carnal and very enjoyable pleasures in life? As it has been said before: Let’s eat, drink, and be merry! And I always like to put an emphasis on the drinking and being merry part.

I’m a Dirty, Dirty Whore

2006-08-02T13:52:00.000-05:00

I recently found myself playing an older video game, Chrono Trigger. This is probably because it’s my favorite video game of all time. It was made way back in 1995 for the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, and even today I think every part of the game is awesome. But why am I playing an 11 year old game when I have a Gamecube, Playstation 2, and a shiny new computer? I mean, besides the fact that I’m a sucker for nostalgia.

The market for console games isn’t so hot right now since both Sony and Nintendo are gearing up for the release of their next generation systems. And I’m eagerly awaiting those systems, mostly the new Nintendo, named Wii. Yes, it’s pronounced “Weee.” I really don’t know what I can say about the name that isn’t painfully obvious. I think I’m going to get a permanent marker and write “REVOLUTION” on the front of my Wii when I get one (Revolution is Nintendo’s old codename for the Wii). I just refuse to say the name Wii out loud. I mean, seriously, I feel like an idiot just reading it.

But that won’t stop me from buying one. The new controller and game mechanics aside, I’m going to buy pretty much anything Nintendo puts out. This is because I’m Nintendo’s whore. They put out a new system or some new games, I buy them. Right now in my apartment I have a Super Nintendo, a Gamecube, a Gameboy Advance, and a DS. And I hope you all know how much I love my DS. Back at my parent’s place I have an old Gameboy, and I co-own a Super Nintendo and a Nintendo 64 with my brother. And let’s not talk about the volume of games I’ve built up over the years.

I’m beginning to think Nintendo needs to pay me money. I could wear a Nintendo t-shirt around and be a walking piece of advertising for them. I mean, they’ve made plenty of money off me in the past, and will continue to into the future, so the way I see it, I’m a good investment. You know how bad it is when you go clothes shopping with a girl… well, I’m probably worse when I step into the local EB Games store. I take my damned time looking at all the new and used games, seeing if there’s anything there worth buying. And well, it doesn’t matter if anything is worth buying or not, I still walk away with at least one game in my hand.

It’s not like I’m obsessed with Nintendo games or anything. But I’m probably the only guy you know who has a list of things to do before I die that includes: Beat all of the Metroid games and beat all of the Legend of Zelda games. And I’m kind of behind on that. I still haven’t beaten the original Metroid on NES, Metroid 2 on Gameboy or Metroid Prime 2, even though I own the last one. I have yet to beat the first two Zelda’s on the NES or either of the two Zelda’s on Gameboy Color. I need to get to work on that. It’s not for a lack of game playing skills that I have yet to beat those games, that’s for sure. I mean, I may not be able to beat Super Mario Bros. 3 in only 11 minutes, but I’m still pretty damn good with a controller in my hand.

So yes, I am a complete and total Nintendo whore. But what do I get for my dedication to Shigeru Miyamoto and company? Well, let’s see: The newest Zelda game, The Legend of Zelda, the Twilight Princess, has been postponed several times and may not come out until Christmas this year (it was originally slated for October of last year). Nintendo didn’t even bother to come out with a Metroid title for the Nintendo 64 making me wait for several years before Metroid Prime came out for the Gamecube. There has yet to be a sequel to Mario RPG, and NO, Paper Mario does not count. Yoshi Story for the N64 was a horrible game, nothing like the awesomeness that was Yoshi Story for the SNES. And no more sequels to Perfect Dark, Conker’s Bad Fur Day, or Donkey Kong Country for Nintendo systems (of course, this is due to Microsoft buying up the developer Rare and forcing them to make really crappy sequels on the X-box).

To be perfectly honest, I feel let down and abandoned. How could Nintendo do this to me? I’ve been a loyal and faithful whore all these years. Haven’t they noticed? Certainly not. They never remember my birthday and as I pointed out before, they took away my Christmas present last year when they postponed the Legend of Zelda, the Twilight Princess. But being the whore that I am, I will give them one more chance. I will wait for them to make amends. The Wii (and I shudder every time I write that word) better come out in time for this Christmas, and it better rock my world. And it had better launch with the Twilight Princess. I’m going through some serious Zelda withdraws, mainly because the Wind Waker didn’t quite give me the Zelda fix I needed. It only managed to tie me over for a little while.

If Nintendo fails on this, if they don’t come through for me at the end of the year, I just don’t know what I’ll do. It would be as if my whole world crashed in upon itself and crushed me like an insignificant bug. I know that probably sounds pathetic, having my life revolve around video games and one console especially. But let’s think about this a minute. What do I really have to look forward to in the real world? The developing troubles in the Middle East that will only get worse before they get better. The end of cheap gas and energy that won’t just increase the fuel I put in my car, but also the cost of most of the goods I buy. The fact that we elected a president and national government that can’t seem to be capable enough to balance a budget. Should these things excite me and make me happy day in and day out?

The answer, for me at least, is no. This is why I prefer to get my news from the Daily Show and the Colbert Report. I may not get all the facts, but hey, the facts are upsetting and depressing, and who wants that? So I enjoy playing video games. In Chrono Trigger, I guide a group of youngsters who must master time travel in order to save the planet from a great evil threatening to consume it. And while doing so, the group saves humanity from evil forces in several different eras of time. See, its uplifting, good triumphs over evil, and one of the characters is a frog. I mean, who doesn’t like a talking frog?

And I’d like to state for the record that video games do not make me violent. Just because I can hack and slash and shoot people up in a video game does not mean I’m going to go do it in the outside world. Well, ok, if Twilight Princess doesn’t come out by this Christmas, I may buy a one way ticket to Japan and go postal on some Nintendo employees. But that doesn’t prove anything. Video games have not taught me violence is ok, I know for a fact that violence is wrong. It’s just that I’ve come to depend on video games like a drug, and if I don’t get my fix… bad things tend to happen. So if you don’t want bad things to happen, write a letter to Nintendo and tell them to send me a free copy of the Legend of Zelda, the Twilight Princess as soon as it’s ready. Thank you!

Light Beer vs. Dark Beer: The Showdown

2006-07-26T13:31:00.000-05:00

I want to start off by saying that yes, this is a complete rip off of National Lampoon’s Van Wilder. But this is such an important topic, I thought that it needed to be studied in detail. And seeing as how the movie didn’t go into the intricacies of light and dark beers, I shall attempt to do it here. So prepare yourself! You’re about to take a journey into the depths of your own soul. Or maybe it’s the journey to the bottom of a bottle, I’ll let you decide.

First things first, I’m going to have to define the many different varieties of beer to put them in either of the two categories. I will be leaving out some types of beer if they fail to fit into one of the categories properly. In the category of light beer I will include: Belgian Wheat Ales, Hefeweizen, American Wheat Ales, Pilsners, American Standard Beers (Budweiser, Coors Original, etc.), and American Light Beers (Bud Light, Coors Light, etc.). In the category of dark beer I will include: Brown Ales and Nut Brown Ales, Porters, Stouts, and German Bocks. I have left out most Amber beers, Pale Ales, IPA’s, Oktoberfest beers, and other seasonal brews for this discussion because they are either in between light and dark in terms of color and body or they have other unique characteristics that fall into neither camp.

Ok, now that that’s out of the way, we can begin our discussion. The first thing I want you at home to do is to pour yourself a glass of your favorite beer. Not only will you be able to sample firsthand the characteristics of the beer while I talk about it, but you will also introduce alcohol into your system. And I have found that when talking about beer, it’s a good idea to already have that alcohol flowing through your bloodstream. Go ahead, I’ll wait for you to grab a beer out of the fridge, I don’t have anywhere else to be right now.

The most important characteristics that will divide the beers are color, body, and flavor. The color of the beer describes what you can see. Light beers tend to range from light orange or amber to almost pure white, while dark beers start from a deep amber in color and end up in opaque black. The body of a beer will vary from light to medium to heavy. Light beers tend to be lighter in body while dark beers tend to be heavier. This will affect how easy it is to drink a particular beer and how filling it will ultimately be. Meanwhile, beers can be flavored with hops or malt and can be bitter or sweet. The composition of the beers ingredients and the method it is fermented will usually decide the beer’s flavor.

Let’s talk about color! How important is a beer’s color to you? No seriously, I want you to stop and think for just a minute about that. What does a beer’s color mean to you? Does it make the beer look tasty and refreshing? Does it alert you to what flavors you should expect from the beer? These are all important questions that you should keep in mind when analyzing your beer.

I hate to say this, but when it comes to color, its pretty much all in the eye of the beholder. The color of the beer is a unique distinction that needs to be mentioned, and it hints at what other characteristics you can expect from the beer, but it is not what ultimately makes or breaks a beer. Flavor will make the beer. Color is a matter of preference that is derived from your taste in beer. Suffice it to say that color, although important in alerting your other senses, does little to adequately score points in this battle of the beers.

Now then, we can move on to a discussion about body. And no I’m not talking about Carmen Electra, I’m talking about beer! We will talk about Carmen another time, with lots of pictures, mainly in bikinis... Lighter beers tend to have lighter bodies and are therefore easier to drink and tend to be less filling. Meanwhile dark beers have heavier bodies which make them harder to drink and more filling. I think everyone knows that drinking Guinness, arguably the most popular dark beer, is like eating a whole loaf bread, in a pint glass. Thus, we can make one important distinction:

Light beers are easier to chug and therefore, much easier to drink quickly and get drunk quickly. I think this is quite evident on the collegiate campus where light beers appear in abundance. Score one point for light beers, they win the college crowd. Just take into mind that this point does not come from taste or the flavor of the beer, but from its ease of drinking and affordability to quickly and efficiently get coeds drunk. But hey, I’m ok with that. Drunk: it’s a noble goal.

Now let’s talk about taste. Which beers taste better? This of course, is a matter of opinion, but I want to go through it logically and methodically. First off, I want to throw out all American Standard and Light beers because, well they suck. They are pale and have a low hop flavor with an emphasis on having less actual flavor and taste making them go down more like water. Enough said. Ok, moving on. Belgian and American Wheat Ales and Hefeweizen have a very light and slightly fruity aroma and taste sweeter than other beers. Pilsners, on the other hand, taste highly of hops and they leave a cool and clean feeling on the pallet.

Dark beers have a different range of flavors. Brown Ales tend to have a nutty flavor as exemplified by Newcastle Brown Ale. Porters are very thick beers that are usually somewhat bitter and taste heavily of hops and malt (the two main ingredients of beer). Stouts are similar to Porters in that they are both very thick and heavy beers. Most Stouts tend to be bitter and dry, while some Stouts can be sweeter and creamier. German Bocks are your classic dark rich beer flavor with very little in the way of hops.

I know that most people drink lighter beers and that light beers outsell dark ones in the USA. But I’m still giving this point to dark beers. The problem with the statistics here is that all American Standard beers are light beers, and the Big Three (Budweiser, Coors, and Miller) have a stranglehold on the marketplace with their enormous advertising budgets and distribution networks. As I said before, I’m throwing these beers out. Anheuser-Busch continues the trend to make its beer taste more like water with its Budweiser Select and Michelob Ultra labels. And I don’t applaud bottle water marketed as beer. Furthermore, some light beers have a fruity and sweet taste, and I stand on record right now saying that anything that is fruity is not beer. So, throw out the Big Three from the US and the fruity stuff, and you end up with dark beer winning in the taste category.

My final category, which I failed to allude to earlier, is chicks. What kind of beer do chicks drink? And yes, it is important. If you can’t get the girls to drink beer, then what’s the point of buying the beer in the first place? For isn’t existence just a long overdone attempt to get girls drunk? I imagine cavemen were offering primitive moonshine to the more attractive pre homo-sapiens women in an attempt to get under their leopard skins. How else do you think those hideously hairy cavemen got lucky? So, what kind of beer do chicks drink? Hefeweizen and Belgian Wheat Ales tend to be popular among the ladies, as do other styles of light beer. Women just don’t seem to have a pallet for the dark beers. And that makes this point go to light beer.

So at the end of the day and the end of this story, we have a final score: Light Beer 2 – Dark Beer 1. Light beer wins the showdown. Personally, I’m a fan of dark beers, Stouts most especially, so it pains me to see my chosen beer go down on the field of battle. But that’s ok, people’s tastes change over time, and maybe one day dark beer can win this fight. But until that time, I will be right here, continuously providing you with all of the important facts and semi-truths of beer, liquor, and alcohol in general. It is a never-ending quest, and my promise to you that I will continue to explore the world of beer and bring you only the most important and critical information. So until next time, drink up!

Wild, Wild Horses Couldn't Keep Me Away (This is the conclusion to the story I began last week. Enjoy.)“

2006-07-19T13:32:00.000-05:00

No, they’re horses,” I replied while watching three small horses walk up from the beach and into our camping area. Now this didn’t come as much of a shock to either of us since Shackleford Island is somewhat famous for being home to wild ponies. The ponies were left there a few hundred years ago by the Spanish and they survived on the island as wild horses, up to this point. Now I’ll have to admit that I was a little bit anxious about the horses. I didn’t want them coming up and going through our gear or food in the middle of the night. And the horses did look rather heavy, I was sure if one stepped on me while I was sleeping that it would hurt, and it would hurt a lot.

But my tent mate didn’t share my worries. In fact, it was quite the opposite, he was overcome with excitement and wonder at the sight of the wild beasts. He quickly snapped a picture of ponies and quietly slid out of the tent. He really wanted to pet them for some strange reason. Maybe he had some wild fantasy of riding a pony barebacked down the beach with only the light from the moon and the stars to guide him. Or maybe he really wanted to catch rabies from a wild animal, honestly, I just don’t know. But the horses would have none of it. They had boldly and quietly walked over towards our encampment to see who we were and what was going on. Now that Michael was trying to touch them, they simply turned around and walked off not paying us any more attention. They were acting like they were far too cool to acknowledge us any longer. Apparently we weren’t cool enough for them. It was like high school all over again.

Finally, we lay down for the night. It was then that the refried beans made themselves know, and they were absolutely horrible. The noxious gas filled our tent and almost made me pass out from a lack of oxygen. I would have gone outside to get some fresh air except for the flesh-eating zombie bugs that awaited me outside. Take my advice: do not bring Mexican food on camping trips, ever. But I had finally made it into the realm of sleep when the neighing of a nearby horse woke me up with a start. My pulse began racing as I scanned through the mesh of the tent looking for the horse that I could have sworn was standing right next to us. As it turned out, sound travels quite well on a quiet night and the beast was about thirty yards away at the time. He neighed a few more times before trotting off to bother someone else. I’m not sure if he was marking his territory or doing his best to scare us, but he definitely succeeded in the latter.

Michael and I watched for the pony who had so suddenly woken us up for a few minutes before retiring to bed once again. Of course, I had some trouble sleeping on the ground, I didn’t realize that sand made for such a horrible sleeping surface. You might be wondering why I was sleeping on the ground when I brought along an air mattress. Well, this is a good story. When we arrived at our embarkation point earlier that day and began loading up the kayaks we realized that Michael’s sleeping bag wasn’t designed to be squished into small spaces, unlike mine. So we didn’t have the room for it and we resolved to leave it behind. Now Michael was upset since he left his blanket back at his house on a last minute decision. He has a habit of making last minute decisions that don’t turn out right. So, he packed his only towel for his use as a bed sheet. Now, since he had nothing to put between himself and the ground, and I at least had a sleeping bag, I was so incredibly considerate to allow him to use my air mattress, which he said made things much more comfortable. He repaid my kindness by letting loose a series of farts that released the foul toxic smell from his refried beans nearly chocking me to death. Thanks Michael.

The next day I awoke with a sore back and sore sides from the harsh ground. But complaining is for wienies, so I left it at that. We had a very light breakfast that morning and packed up the campsite early. We made the ten minute hike back to the other side of the island and found our kayaks right in the place we left them. Now a quick note: always remember to pull your kayak up to the tree line, this way you can assure the tide doesn’t come in and whisk your kayak away leaving you stranded. I think that’s pretty important to remember. Luckily, Michael and I had remembered to do that. So we loaded our gear back into the kayaks and pushed our craft back into the water.

Since it was early Sunday morning still, we decided to paddle around the island for a while and basically just goof off until we headed back in. While paddling around the island we came across another group of horses. Michael once again, jumped out of his kayak and approached the majestic beasts. And once again, the ponies were far too cool to be seen socializing with us, and they turned and walked off slowly in the opposite direction. Well, damn.

Back in the kayaks we paddled around the island watching the seagulls sweep into the water and pluck out their breakfast. The sea life in those shallow waters was actually quite active. There were small fish, conks, hermit crabs, fiddler crabs, sand dollars, and many other living creatures whose names I am not familiar with. Hey, what did you expect, I’m a camper, not a zoologist (definition zoologist: person who knows the names of lots of different forms of life with no applicable skills to serve society).

On the way back we once again tried to cut through the wetlands, but this time we wanted to zigzag our way through the middle of them. Part of the way through my kayak got stuck. I quickly realized that a squid was holding me in place and would not let me go. The only things I had to combat the menacing squid were my oar and my wit. Luckily my wit is as sharp as a razor and it stings with the ferocity of the deadliest hornet. I quickly pointed behind the squid and asked “What is that?” When the squid looked behind him, I smashed him in the head with my oar and quickly paddled away and back out of the marshes. Once again I proved that Darwinism has a way of selecting against lesser and more gullible intelligences.

Well, either I was attacked by a squid, or it was low tide and my kayak got stuck on the silt bottom of the wetlands. I’ll let you decide how I got stuck. Either way, Michael and I retraced our path and left the wetlands. At one point we even had to get out of the boats and walk across some seaweed to get to deeper waters. But it was worth it, because once on the other side we spotted some dolphins not 300 yards away. We quickly paddled out to greet them. But the dolphins were moving away from us, much in the same way the horses had avoided us. Apparently we weren’t cool enough for the dolphins either. But still, it was a sight to see the dolphins swimming among the shallow waters within the sound.

Finally we turned our boats to our destination and went back home. All in all, we were gone for about 24 hours. Not exactly a grand adventure, but it was a great trip nonetheless. Although, all we had to show for it were a handful of pictures, about 100 bug bites each, and for me a not so pleasant sun burn. Hey, I’m white; the sun isn’t exactly my best friend. But the memories will last a lifetime for me, and I can’t wait to do it again. And as always we followed the camper’s adage to take only pictures and to leave only footprints. Good stuff.

So, what did we learn from this weekend? Number one: chicks who own kayaks are awesome. Number two: do not, under any circumstances, feed your tent mate refried beans, or any beans for that matter. Number three: always remember to bring a knife of some sort while camping, even a Swiss Army Knife can prove invaluable in many situations. Number four: do not leave your tent door open, you only invite in the most bloodthirsty creatures of the night, mosquitoes. Number 5: ponies are way too cool to hang out with me. And number 6: I don’t care about the indigenous animals or other dangers of the trip; wild horses couldn’t keep me away from having adventures in the great outdoors.