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.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
We’re Gonna Party Like It’s Your Birthday
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Fultron, Defender of the Universe
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!
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!
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Philanthropic Mansion
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Bye, Bye Mr. Grossman
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
All That Glitters is Golden
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!
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!
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Seasons Greetings
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.
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.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Sex Feedback Questionnaire
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
My Wii is Totally Bigger Than Yours
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
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
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
I Wanna Be Like Mike
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
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
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Friend Find, Look Behind
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
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
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
I Do
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
More Than Meets the Eye
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Summertime Sports Spectacular
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, 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.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
No More Teacher’s Dirty Looks
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.
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.
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