Things I Think About During Songs. Volume 6.

'Rock and Roll Part 2' by Gary Glitter.





Three things about this song:

1)  Everybody on this great planet, especially when they're drinking, always has grand "You know what we should do someday?" ideas.  One of my favorites is one that Lane and I have talked about since I moved to Lawrence, but never pulled the trigger on:  we want to take Lane's trumpet and set of bongos, set up shop on a street corner downtown, and play this song on a loop, just to see how much money we'd make-- or more accurately, how much we could offset the cost of the amount of beer we'd have to drink before we were ready to actually do this.  To go along with our instruments (Lane on the trumpet, me on the bongos) we would take requests from the crowd on different categories, and yell out as many as we could name in the chorus before moving on to the next category.  For example, if the category was "Members of the 1991 Minnesota Twins" our chorus would sound like:

"Dah dah dahhhhhhhh dah duh, HEY!  KIRBY PUCKETT!  Dah dah dahhhhhhh dah duh, HEY!  SCOTT ERICKSON!  Dah dah dahhhhhh dah duh, HEY!  CHUCK KNOBLAUCH!"  And so on and so on.  We've always thought it would be a crowd pleaser, not to mention a welcome change from every other downtown Lawrence busker with his acoustic guitar and/or harmonica.  Alas, now Lane & family moved to Rhode Island, and I'll probably never realize this dream.

2)  You know what you're telling people when you tell them you don't like this song? You're telling them that you hate fun. I can't have you in my life if you can't appreciate this song on some level, and I don't think that's too unreasonable.  Listen, I've made concessions before with girls in my past. I dated a girl who didn't think that Anchorman was that funny, and definitely didn't like Chappelle's Show.  I've dated a Duke fan.  And in probably my worst offense, I was friendsies with bensies with a friggin' Yankees fan.  (We tried dating for real and it lasted like two weeks.  Either we didn't work well as an actual couple, or subconciously I was more pissed than I thought I was that the Yanks signed Mark Bellhorn away from the Red Sox that summer.)

However, everybody has a line in the sand, and mine happens to be drawn in front of this song.  I was at a party during my freshman year of college and met a girl. It was the classic tale of romance: boy meets girl at a party, girl finds boy charming and witty, boy thinks girl is cute in a hippie sort of way (and will make the current girl he's chasing after appropriately jealous), boy and girl do a couple rounds of whippits, boy and girl end up making out in the basement, Rock and Roll Part 2 comes on, girl says it's the dumbest song ever, boy extracts himself from the situation and never talks to her again.  The moral of this not-quite-Shakespearean love story?  You don't EVER talk bad about this song in front of me.

3)  So why was I thinking about my history with this song the other day?  Because of an epiphany I had: this song is called Rock and Roll PART 2.  It stands to reason, then, that there is a Part 1.  Why haven't I ever heard of Part 1?  Was there even really a Part 1, or is the title some kind of inside joke?  Why was Part 1 excluded from the Jock Jams and/or Jock Rock CDs?  Why do you never hear it during a sporting event, or any of the Mighty Ducks movies?  So I did some investigating.  And it was worth it:





Here's what makes me love Part 1 (besides the fact that instead of just three minutes of this glorious song, I now have six):  The chorus is absolutely hilarious.  I had never heard this version of the chorus in Part 2 before.

You know when you're at a karaoke bar, and you're about six beers past being capable of putting on a decent performance, but you go up there anyway?  And then you're too busy winking at some cougar in the second row and strolling around the stage, swirling your drink around in your glass like you're Frank Sinatra, so you forget the lyrics, and you don't know where you're at on the screen, so you completely melt down and have to make up some random lyrics on the spot?  And everyone quickly realizes what you're doing, so you start getting heckled, and now the cougar won't make eye contact with you anymore, and you're trying to laugh it off, but inside you're rattled, and you know that you're just dying up there, and the heckling gets worse, and you spill some of your drink on your shirt, and eventually you get booed off the stage?  That's what the chorus reminds me of: some drunk karaoke guy panicking and improvising lyrics.  "Rock and roooooooll!  Rock and roll!  Rock and roooooooooll!  Rock and roll!  Rock and rolllll, rock!  Rock and roll!" 

Just ridiculous.  If you played the instrumental version to an eight-year-old, told him the song was called Rock and Roll, and asked him to write the chorus using crayons and construction paper, that's what he would write.  Verbatim. 

Gary Glitter, don't ever let anybody tell you that you're not the man.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

After a few years of gellin' like a felon, I shaved my head the other day.  In "Drunk Slough at the Kentucky Derby" voice:  My reasons....for this.....are threefold:

1.  I'm married now, my personal appearance doesn't matter anymore.  I'm taking this one all the way, folks.  Since I tore my meniscus, I haven't been able to exercise for a couple months-- but instead of altering my diet to help offset this fact at least a tiny bit, I find myself having conversations with the employees at Yello Sub that include questions like "Wow, you already have enough stamps for another free sandwich?  Didn't you just turn one of these cards in?  How often are you eating here?"

2.  It's been a typical Kansas summer, meaning every single day for the last month or so, it's been right around Nick Lachey, with few exceptions.  It's effing hot, all the time, and it's nice to not have a lot of hair.  (Get it?  98 Degrees?  Nick Lachey?  Ahhh, you get it.)

3.  I needed to do an inventory on my hair.

To speak in generalities, there are two ways to go bald.  You can start with the receding hairline in the front, like Steve Carell in season 1 of The Office (before he got plugs or a transplant or whatever), or you can get a bald spot in the back like Manu Ginobili, and have it spread from there.  For the last year or so, I've been developing a tidy little Ginobili, and watching it slowly spread its tentacles of baldness across the rest of my dome.  So I needed to buzz the rest of my hair off and assess the exact damage here.

(Just to confirm, we are NOT talking about the small bald spot on the back of my head.  I've dealt with those questions since 1st grade, when I fell through a trap door in the school library, landed on my head, and killed the hair follicles in that spot forever.  A favorite game of mine when I was a douche younger was to wait until the hair stylist held up the mirror, pretend that she was the one who screwed up and took a chunk out of the back of my head, and get really angry for a few seconds before telling her I was joking.  Then one day I happened to catch a young lady on her first ever solo shift, and she instantly started crying before I could tell her I was kidding.  That was the end of that game.  But I digress.)

Anyway, all things considered, I'm not horribly concerned about going bald.  I would've thought that I would handle this much worse, but I'm not losing any sleep over it or anything.  I'm also not exactly doing the Happy Drunk Ron Swanson dance over the news either, but whatever.  It happens to something like 70% of men.  Such is life.  There are worse things.





Here's the only reason I'm pissed about it:  my entire life, all I've ever heard is that male pattern baldness is dependent upon your maternal grandfather.  If he doesn't go bald, then you're safe.  I've heard some version of that "rule" dozens of times, and never heard anything that refutes that statement.  And yet, my Mom's Dad is in his nineties, and he's running around with a full head of hair, slicking it back like he's Michael Fucking Coreleone.  So why exactly am I going bald?  Who's been lying to me here?  Why did you let me get my hopes up?  That's my main beef in all of this.

I've always been a big believer in "Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst."  Actually, it's more like "Expect the worst, and distrust everything else until it becomes reality."  This is the same reason why I don't want to buy a new iPod, even though mine is almost eight years old and the screen is mostly shattered.  I'm convinced that with my luck with computers, if I plug a new (but unfamiliar) iPod into my computer, my iTunes will crash and I'll lose all my music in the blink of an eye.  It's the same reason why, when KU was up 40-12 in the Final Four against North Carolina a few years ago, and the entire bar was spraying beers and celebrating, I was standing on my chair and motioning for everyone to settle down because there was too much time left.  It's the same reason why, when I spray a tee shot near the water, the absolute worst thing you can say to me is "I'm sure it stayed dry- you're fine, dude."  Because if we drive up to that ball and it's in the lake, now I'm taking my anger out on you for telling me I was OK, when I was already prepared to take a penalty stroke.  On the flip side, it's the same reason why I can have such a good attitude if I lose money gambling (relative to most gamblers.)  To me, that money was spent the second I deposited it into my online account; in my head I'm expecting to lose every bet I make.  If I cash anything out, it's bonus.  Just let me assume the worst, and I'll be pleasantly surprised if that turns out not to be the case.

If I would've known that my potential baldness didn't rest entirely on the shoulders of my full-follicled Grandpa, I would've better prepared myself for the possibility of going bald.  But instead, I've been going along all these years, taking my hair for granted, not ever thinking I was living on a shortened timeline.  Now I feel like an asshole.  An asshole who will probably be bald in a few years, hooking tee shots into the water, crashing his iTunes, and wondering how it all slipped away.

I blame you, Grandpa.

Fandom

As a sports fan, things were not a lot of fun for me in 2003.  (Although everything else in 2003 was the shiiiiiiit.  We had more rooftop Culligan parties than Picasso had paint.)  I was heavily scarred by all my teams coming close but never winning it all.  I'll admit that at least being in contention is preferable to cheering for teams who don't ever really come close at all-- you know, "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" or whatever.   But still, all the near-misses were driving me literally insane.

First off, we have KU basketball.  After years of excruciating March Madness losses as a 1 seed, things were topped off by this game.




Then we have the Red Sox.  After years and years of decent but not great teams, and a couple of playoff disappointments, not to mention the Yankees getting championships like Rambo got bullets, things were topped off by this game.




The Oilers/Titans, among other disappointments, were busy coming up one yard short in the Super Bowl.




The Knicks spent the 90's alternating between thrilling playoff wins and devastating losses, but I won't dwell too much on those.  While they were crushing at the time, I can't look at myself in the mirror and call myself a true fan anymore.  (And I won't even mention the Philadelphia Flyers, since it's been a solid 12 years since I watched one of their games in its entirety.  The Eric Lindros era was pretty tough, though.)




Meanwhile, Phil Mickelson was practically inventing new ways to finish second place in a major.




Add everything up, and I couldn't have been in much worse shape as a sports fan in November of 2003.

But I have to admit, everything's been coming up Milhouse since then.  The Red Sox won a couple of World Series-- the first one in the coolest way possible, coming back from 0-3 down to beat the Yankees, in New York, in seven games.  KU won a championship in the coolest way possible, overcoming the Roy Williams demons in a dominating Final Four win, then making an insane comeback, hitting a buzzer beater, and beating a John Calipari-coached Memphis team in OT.  The obscenely brutal March Madness losses certainly haven't stopped, though.  It's a good thing KU got that title in '08, or I may have burned down a few buildings or strangled a bunch of prostitutes or something by now.

And now, after winning the British Open yesterday, Phil has majors like Carl Sagan has turtlenecks.  (Sorry, I'm super tired today since the Sox game went 11 innings last night and I was too wired to sleep after the walk-off homer, so instead of coming up with my own metaphors, I've been stealing them from Beastie Boys songs.)

I've gone from being snake-bitten to being ridiculously spoiled.  And because of all the heart-breaking losses, nobody appreciates the wins more than me.  As Jason Lee so eloquently put it in Vanilla Sky, the sweet is never as sweet without the sour.  Being a sports fan is much more fun now.

I'm off to finish my lunch break.  Yo, I got more pizza rolls than JD's got Salinger.

The Top 5. Volume 21.

My Top 5 Most Unstoppable Video Game Athletes.

A little preamble:

After years and years and years with a healthy obsession of the Madden video games, I haven't been a gigantic fan of Madden for PS3 compared to PS2, so I haven't bought the game in a few years now.  However, during those last few years, I've watched Lane play countless games of Madden, sitting alongside him on the couch, drinking beers and helping him run the offense (Finn runs the Special Teams.)  So if you're scoring at home, the dude who used to run through 6-7 full seasons every year for roughly fifteen years, now gets his kicks by playing Offensive Coordinator for his buddy while he shit-talks teenagers on an online headset.  I'm like the pothead who quits smoking weed, but still sits in the car with his buddies every time they decide to hotbox their 1991 Honda Civic with 38 bumper stickers on it.

A few months back we've got Madden fired up; Lane is the Giants, and he's playing the Redskins. And Robert Griffin III is just putting on a show.  Scrambling around in the pocket for 10 seconds, then either launching a 40-yard completion, or taking off and running for 15 yards.  Even when Lane had three defenders ready to wrap him up for a sack or miniscule gain, zip!  See ya.  20 yard gain.  Lane usually plays a grind-it-out, ball-control, you-better-score-every-time-you-touch-the-ball-because-you're-only-getting-four-possessions-bro-type of style.  And somehow this online kid hung 42 points on him.  There wasn't much that could be done.  RGIII was basically unstoppable.  And it got me to thinking about the biggest video game studs of my lifetime.

(Note:  this is a personal list.  These are the video game characters that have brought me the most success.  I outlawed players who the game was named after.  Playing as the Seattle Mariners isn't even fair or realistic in Ken Griffey Jr. Baseball; ditto for Charles Barkley, Frank Thomas, the list goes on and on.  Also outlawed from this list:  Bo Jackson.  It's not even an argument that Bo is the most unstoppable video game character of all-time; somebody should write a book about it, if they haven't already.  Starting with Tecmo Bowl for Nintendo, and continuing through every video game we ever played, we outlawed every team that Bo played for.  Even as elementary schoolers, we tried to keep it a Gentleman's Game.)


5.  Charlie Ward/Kordell Stewart, Bill Walsh College Football '93

College football has mostly fallen off the map for me now, and I've sorta become a KU fan only because I live here and I might as well be since the tailgates are fun.  However, when I was a kid, I was actually a diehard fan, and followed the sport as much as any other.  Florida St. was my team, and Charlie Ward my favorite college player of all time (even more than Deion Sanders, which is saying something.)  However, in the fall of '94 I went to Boulder with my Pops while he gave a presentation at the University of Colorado, and while we were walking on campus, I bumped into Kordell Stewart and got to talk to him, a couple weeks after this happened.  I was 11 years old, starstruck, already a sucker for black scrambling quarterbacks with accuracy issues, and boom:  I had a favorite player dilemma on my hands.  One that quickly carried over into Bill Walsh College Football on my Sega.

I was equally capable of putting up a 400 yard throwing/150 yard running/8 TD type of game with either one of them.  I probably had a little more success with Kordell, but that can be explained by the fact that he was throwing to Michael Westbrook and Charles Johnson, rather than Kez McCorvery and Tamarick Vanover.  I could never choose between them.  If this was a Beverly Hills 90210 ultimatum, and tiny digital Charlie Ward had asked me to marry him, and tiny digital Kordell Stewart asked me to go on a trip around the world with him (Kordell would definitely be the Dylan) I would have to pull a Kelly Taylor and say "I've made my choice, and I choose me."





4.  Reggie Miller, NBA Live '95

This list HAS to have a three-point shooting representative from NBA Live '95, and Reggie got the nod over Nick Van Exel, Dan Majerle, Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf, and others.  Few video game scoring binges were more fun than a good old fashioned NBA Live '95 three-point binge.  Also, there was this game.  Reggie Miller lookin' good.



3.  Koopa Troopa, Super Mario Kart

EVERYONE (or to be more specific, everyone that I'm interesting in being friends with) knows that Koopa and Toad were the two best Mario Kart characters for the Super Nintendo version.  Mario and Luigi's steering was too loose, and it took way too long for Bowser and Donkey Kong to get up to top speed.  I suppose Princess and Yoshi are decent in a pinch, but really they're just back-of-the-rotation starting pitchers: they'll eat up some innings, but you don't want them involved in Game 7 of the World Series if you can help it.  But Koopa and Toad: Cy Young winners.  Good acceleration, precision handling.  Their top speed left a little to be desired-- but you don't need to worry about anyone catching you from behind when you're hugging the inside lane perfectly on every turn and running through the track exactly how it's designed to be run.



2. Michael Vick, Madden '04

In my Madden heyday, I never liked to play seasons with amazing teams. Anybody can go 14-2 and win the Super Bowl with the Patriots in 2005-- you're not proving anything, bro. I would always take mediocre teams, or young teams who barely made the playoffs and were on the cusp of breaking out. Teams with sweet jerseys were always a plus. For all these reasons I was excited to start a season with the Falcons in 2003 (as well as the fact that Vick was a BLACK.  SCRAMBLING.  QUARTERBACK.  With  ACCURACY ISSUES.)

Then I started the first game and realized that for some reason the game programmers made Michael Vick a god. In old school video games, you're supposed to rack up unbelievable stats; those games are only supposed to be difficult when you're a little kid. As you get older, you're supposed to dominate. But this is Madden we're talking about. There are higher difficulty settings, and it's supposed to be more realistic-- you're not supposed to be able to throw for 400 yards and run for 200, with 7 TDs. And yet, that's exactly what I did with Vick, virtually every game, all season long. Of course, in real life, Vick broke his leg and missed most the season, and the programmers brought his attributes back down to Earth the next year. But every Madden gamer will always remember Michael Vick in 2004.



1.  Steve Yzerman, NHL '94

Stevie Y was the pinnacle of my video game powers.  There was nothing I couldn't do with him.  You know those real-life stories of players like Jordan or Bird, who would get bored with their competition and start screwing around during games to make it more fun for themselves, like shooting left-handed, or telling their defender what play they were going to run and the exact spot on the floor where the game-winning shot was going to come from?  That was the kind of stuff I would do with Yzerman:  I'm not going to attempt a shot with him this game, but he is going to have 17 assists.  He's going to hold the puck for the entire second period without losing it, then he's going to give it to Dino Cicarelli, who will go down the right boards into the corner, then sling it back to Yzerman coming down the middle, and bury a one-timer.  I'm going to win this opening face-off, go right down the ice, and Yzerman is going to score, and exactly seven seconds will have run off the clock.  You just didn't fuck with me and Yzerman. 

I often used to play with my buddy Marcus and his older brother Chad, who was your typical older brother antagonist.  He'd mercilessly roll Marcus, wiping out his players with vicious checks, while chanting "GOON IT UP!  GOON IT UP!" and scoring 10 goals with Steve Larmer and yelling "SOUND THE ALARM-ER!!!!" after each one.  But when it was time for Chad to play me, he quickly quieted down and took the game seriously, since he knew he was about to run into Yzerman and me.  A player good enough to shut up a cocky older brother?  In the video game world, that might be the ultimate sign of respect.

#Sharknado

So the other night Twitter was ON FIRE with Sharknado references-- Sharknado being one of those ridiculous SyFy movies that feature physically impossible predators, laughable special effects, atrocious writing, worse acting, and at least one washed-up star from a previous decade-- in this case, you get a twofer:  Tara Reid AND Ian Zeiring, a.k.a. Steve Sanders from Beverly Hills 90210.  (Side note:  stuff like this is one of my favorite random things about Twitter, how a few funny or sarcastic tweets here and there start to snowball, and boom!  Something like Sharknado starts trending. Rush Sanders would be so proud of his boy.)

90% of the time, Teens and I can watch TV together.  Most of our favorite shows overlap, and we can usually tolerate the other person's crappy shows, too.  I can halfway pay attention to Teen Mom 2, since I have a liiiiiittle bit of a crushski on Chelsea.  Holler at me boo, Sioux Falls is right along my drive up to North Dakota!  My main exception is Grey's Anatomy; usually I'm in the room reading or something, and will only pop my head up from my book to make a bunch of jokes and try to ruin it for Teens.  In her case, there are two notable exceptions: 1)  She won't stick around for American Horror Story (she doesn't do scary, especially since I insist on watching in the basement with all the lights off) and 2)  If she walks in on me watching a SyFy original, all I get is a disgusted shake of the head and an immediate peace out.  But I love these movies, and I don't care who knows it.

Believe me, Sharknado has been DVR'd, and I'll definitely get around to watching it sooner rather than later (I celebrate Ian Ziering's entire collection)....but I just wanted to point out, Internet World, that if we're joyously celebrating so-crappy-they're-awesome SyFy shark movies, don't sleep on Two-Headed Shark Attack.  That movie is tremendous as well.  You've got Carmen Electra, Brooke Hogan, Not-Jerry O'Connell, nameless bimbos in bikinis, and a ton of gruesome deaths, even by SyFy movie standards.  Oh yeah, and a FUCKING TWO-HEADED SHARK.





Here's a top 5 list I never thought I'd get to do (who knew that shitty SyFy movies that I love so much would become topically relevant?)  My Top 5 Favorite SyFy Original Movies:

5.  Two-Headed Shark Attack

4.  Yeti: Curse of the Snow Demon

3.  Dinocroc (Yes.......)

2.  Supergator (YES......)

1.  Dinocroc vs. Supergator (YES!!!!!!!!!!)

The Loss Of Innocence

 In this age of advanced statistics, sabermetrics, and unprecedented coverage of the inner workings of an entire baseball organization-- combined with the unrelenting inertia of growing older and (theoretically) wiser-- I've found that for me personally, following a baseball team is much, much different than it used to be. It's just as intense, but a lot of the romance and misguided passion has been lost.  In its place is a whole lot more sensibility and pragmatism.

I didn't totally realize that it had happened to me, that I was one of "these" kind of fans now, until a few days ago, when I heard that Red Sox reliever Koji Uehara was one of the five nominees for the All-Star Game Final Vote, and my instant reaction was "Oh no, I hope he doesn't get many votes, he needs some rest right now." That's nowhere near how I ever would've thought about the Red Sox and the All-Star Game, at any other point in my life....

Age 5: All-Star game? So all the best players in the entire sport play together in one game? That seems fun! I hope Roger Clemens makes it. He's my favorite player, mostly because I have a weird obsession with the letter 'R', and my stuffed animal that I sleep with every night is Ricky the Raccoon, and my imaginary friend's name is Roger Sanchelly-- but that's besides the point.

There were two things in this picture that applied to this post that I wanted you to see:  this random yellow hat with just an 'R' on it, which was my most prized possession as a little kid, and Roger Sanchelly.  Then I realized that the 'R' doesn't show up because of the lighting....and I'm the only one who can see Roger.  So I went 0-2.


Age 10: So pumped for the All-Star Game this year! Three Red Sox players in the game, not bad! Last year, I bet my dad one week's allowance on the game, and he tried to teach me a lesson about gambling by actually taking my money when I lost, no matter how much I begged him to let me off the hook. YEAH, I BET THAT WORKS. LESSON LEARNED.  I'LL PROBABLY NEVER GAMBLE AGAIN.

Age 15: I can't believe Pedro didn't get the start for the All-Star Game, he's by far the best pitcher in the American League. I'm perfectly willing to argue that fact with you for the next 45 minutes, and if you still don't agree with me, then I'll just tell you that you don't know anything about sports and end the conversation by walking away from the table and heading back up to the a la carte line to get another couple of Nutty Bars. Hey, have you heard of Smash Mouth? They have a song called 'All-Star', it's pretty legit!

Age 20: No Red Sox starters this year? Not even Manny? That's pretty fucking typical...lemme guess, the Yankees had at least half the team, right? Whatever, we'll still have an All-Star Game party at Culligan either way. Also, I hope the Red Sox and Yankees play in the ALCS this year, and that it goes seven games. If it does, I think a great plan for Game 7 will be to drink a case of beer during the game, then when the Red Sox lose to the Yankees on an extra-innings walk-off, I can go on a drunken destructive rampage and legitimately scare some of my friends. Yeah, that'll be sweet.

Age 25: So we can just text this phone number and submit our vote for one of the nominees, and the winner makes the All-Star Game? Damn, I love technology. Now we can get Okajima in the game like he deserves! He should've made it anyway. Fucking Yankees, bunch of goddamn assholes.

Age 30: Guys, we can't vote for Koji to make the All-Star team. Seriously, his velocity is down lately since he's been so over-worked, and now his peripheral statistics are starting to suffer. Have you seen how his WHIP is starting to tail off in June? And how about his BABIP? It's through the roof! With Hanrahan and Miller out for the year, Morales on the DL, and Bailey and Tazawa struggling, I'd rather Koji get a few days off than pitch in the All-Star Game. Maybe we need to make a move at the trading deadline. We're gonna have to leave prospects like Brentz and Almanzar unprotected for the Rule 5 draft in November anyway, why not ship a couple of them now for some bullpen help? And did you listen to Smash Mouth yet? They're still pretty sweet.

Naaaaaaaaature! Goulet.

So the other day Teens and I were driving home, and during a red light, a butterfly landed on her windshield wiper and stayed there, even after we started moving again.  Pretty soon, we were going almost 40mph, and this little guy was defying the laws of physics or gravity or inertia or something (Science was my worst subject in school) and still hanging on somehow.  It was some real Teen Wolf showing off on top of the van shit.  I'll be a sonofabitch if he didn't stay on the wiper for over a mile, all the way until we stopped again at the intersection pictured above, when he casually flew off like he was riding a bus and we just arrived at his stop.  I don't know if he panicked when we initially started moving and just froze, or if he takes rides like this all the time just for kicks, or if it was some sort of butterfly frat house initiation (Pi Butta Phli?  Sorry, had to) or what the deal was, but it was bizarre.

Anyway, it was a fun moment, made even more special by the fact that I desperately needed some positive interaction with animals and nature.  Others things that have happened within the last week or so:

1)  We had a bird's nest fall in front of our house, so we had three dead baby birds literally at our doorstep, and a fourth that survived for almost 24 hours (we were giving the parents a chance to rescue them) until I had to put it out of its misery with a friggin' snow shovel like I was the creepy neighbor from Home Alone. 

2)  During a round of golf, I was buried in the trees, and needed to hit a punch shot that stayed extremely low to the ground for about 60 yards- not an easy shot to hit.  I executed the shot well....except for the fact that there was a rabbit about 40 yards away, and I plugged him right in the side.  The rabbit was hobbling a bit, and his buddies will probably nickname him 'Titleist 3' since that is now branded into his fur forever, but he ultimately seemed OK.  But in the meantime, my ball ricocheted off him into the woods, and I ended up making a double bogey on the hole.  Can I get a ruling on this one?

3)  Our back yard runs into some woods, so we constantly have rabbits, possums, foxes, etc. running around our neighborhood.  However, they all (understandably) run away the instant a human comes near, so we never really get a lot of up-close interactions.  So I'm chilling in the driveway, enjoying a chew after mowing the lawn.  I see our neighbor and his young daughter transfixed in their yard, and I glance over to see that a little bunny has moseyed up to within five feet of them, not scared at all, just maxin' and relaxin'.  It's a magical moment for a little girl....until I walk over to within about 25 feet, spit, and the loud splatter of my chew on the driveway scares the rabbit and he takes off, back into the woods.  The daughter starts crying, the dad shoots daggers at me, and I slink away like an asshole.  Awesome.

I hate animals.

The 2Pac & Snoop Of Dinner Cuisine

Last week JDub and Ashlee took Teens and I out to dinner as a belated wedding present, since there was a death in the family and they had to bail on going to Florida at the last minute.  We went to a semi-classy downtown establishment-- not quite the kind of place where you need to be wearing a tie to feel like you belong, but the kind of place where the prices are listed in the menu as simply '14' or '24'-- no dollar signs, and certainly no cents, because fuck you and your broke ass if you think that extra 79 cents makes a difference on whether or not you order the Pappardelle Bolognese.

Something on the menu caught my eye immediately; a combination of words that I never knew could co-exist in the same sentence, unless it was as part of a list of my favorite foods:  Tuna Spaghetti.  Initially, I felt incredulous, like 2Pac must have felt before he was about to shoot a music video with Snoop Dogg.  You put two of America's most wanted in the SAME muthafuckin' place at the SAME muthafuckin' time???  After that, I went through a wide range of emotions in a short span of time:  confusion bordering on bewilderment; excitement; suspicion; trepidation; cautious optimism; and about 45 minutes later, ecstasy, and uncomfortably full.  Is 'full' an emotion?  (Judges: we'll allow it.)  But as a few days have gone by, a new emotion has been gnawing at me:  frustration, mixed with betrayal.

Guys, what the hell?  These two things exist together on the same plate and nobody thought to tell me?  I had to find this out for myself, 30 years into this crazy little thing we call life?  I don't know exactly how long you're supposed to eat baby food for, but I figure that's at least 28.5 years of potential tuna spaghetti time that has been completely wasted.

So let me get this straight.  I can spend my childhood getting mercilessly ripped on, because I didn't eat hot lunch until like 5th grade, and I brought raw tuna for lunch probably four out of every five days until then.  In addition, I'm so easily pleased by spaghetti that before I moved to Kansas, I asked Lindsey to give me the recipe for the delicious spaghetti she had been occasionally cooking me, only for her and Myshawn to bust out laughing and tell me "Uhhh, dude....it's Market Pantry Original sauce".....but yet, nobody comes across tuna spaghetti somewhere in the world, puts two and two together, thinks "Hey, maybe Jum would like to know that two of his favorite foods on the planet can be co-mingled together and enjoyed in the same forkful" and fires me off a quick texty?  NOBODY?  I see how it is.  No, no, really, don't apologize.  It's cool.


**Important note: the above picture is a Google image search result.  My actual dinner was much better looking, there were big hunks of mozzarella in it, and the presentation was tremendous....but I couldn't bring myself to take a picture of my plate in the restaurant.  I'm not gonna straight up hate on people who do that kind of thing, since I don't want to alienate a large portion of my friend group....but you'll probably never see me post a picture of what I'm having for dinner on any given night.  Probably because it would mostly be depressing; I wouldn't be a very valuable addition to the Instagram community.  Pictures with captions like "KFC again tonight-- who says four times in one week is too many??" or maybe "Here's a rule of thumb that's always served me well: for every additional pizza roll above the 18 you already have on your plate, just add another eight seconds to your total microwave time" would probably just bum people out.**

She's Drafty...She's Just My Type

NBA Draft night is one of my favorite nights of the entire year.  Since 1999, DVJS and I have watched together every year except for 2008 and 2010.  But it was only last year that we started the Cupcake Game.  Hannah makes a batch of (ridiculously delicious) chocolate cupcakes.  DVJS selects 25ish draftees, from lottery picks to late second-rounders, and everyone draws those names out of a hat, usually resulting in about 5 cupcakes apiece.  When the player is drafted, you eat that player's cupcake.  Not before, not after.  So for most people, it's mostly uneventful; you just get to enjoy a steady stream of (ridiculously delicious) cupcakes all night. 

Sometimes, however, it's not so fun.  Last year Double D got three picks in a row, and was completely sugared out by the second bite of the second cupcake.  Meanwhile, Teens didn't get a player until the 40th pick, so she had to sit there for over three hours watching us enjoy cupcakes in front of her while she unsuccessfully tried to move some picks in order to move up in the draft.  If you get screwed by the Cupcake Game, it can be as bad as a drinking game.  The look on Sam's face last night when he had to eat two cupcakes within three minutes, shortly after he crushed wayyyy too much Pizza Hut, was eerily similar to my face on my birthday when I've already done five shots in the last half an hour, and someone pushes a tequila shot in front of me.

One change for next year though:  we decided there needs to be more punishment.  The only "bad" thing that can happen is that you have to eat a bunch of cupcakes in a short amount of time, and you feel like shit for awhile.  For next year, we're making cupcakes along with a batch of turnips or beets or something.  Every draftee gets an appropriate draft range, and if your draftee falls below that range, you don't get a cupcake anymore, you get some shitty vegetable.  That way, you're in the same boat as your boy, and if he suffers, you suffer.  For example, Nerlens Noel's range last night probably would've been 1-4.  When he fell to #6, boom.  Brussell sprouts, mother fucker.  Anything that results in somebody staring longingly at the tray of cupcakes, mirroring the facial expression of their draftee, is a good rule in my book.

Anyway, quick thoughts on the actual draft:

- You know it's gonna be a good draft when the very first pick makes everyone in the room yelp in surprise.  Anthony Bennett?  For real?  I happen to like him, but there was absolutely no chatter about him going in the #1 spot-- that I heard about anyway.  In this day and age, with insane media coverage, Twitter, and all of that....it's nice to be surprised every once in a while.

- Long story short (I'm probably going to post about this in the future) I am without a REAL favorite NBA team right now.  When Ben McLemore was available for Phoenix at #5, I was thinking there was a chance that the Suns could be my new favorite team, if Benny Mac was teamed up with the Morris Twins.  Even if they took Nerlens at 5, I could get on board with that.  Just wash the Calipari stink off of Nerlens, and he could be one of my favorite players.  Alas, they look Alex Len (boring) and I'm not sure Los Suns can be my amigos now.

- Biggest laugh of the night, by far:  This interview of Russian Sergey Karasev-- it's probably my favorite draft interview ever.  Ahhh America, such a melting pot.  Everybody click that link and watch it, it's only 50 seconds long, but every second is hilarious.  (Quoting Karasev became a phenomenal running joke for the rest of the night.  After JDub had to put down three cupcakes in about 10 minutes, he put on his worst Russian accent and cracked "I can't feel it now....I think...couple monthses...I gonna feel it.")

- This KG and Paul Pierce trade to the Nets is absolute garbage for the Celtics.  Getting back Gerald Wallace's crappy contract and three first-rounders sure to be non-lottery picks?  Just brutal.  Danny Ainge's assistants really let him down here.  The meeting where Ainge pitches that trade to his staff needs to go down like Tom Smykowski talking about his Jump to Conclusions mat.  Complete disgust and brutal honesty.  "That's the worst trade I've ever heard in my life, Danny."....."Yes, is horrible, this trade."





- The definition of an X-factor:  Shabazz Muhammad.  I've flip-flopped on him a million times over the past couple years, starting with his recruitment in high school.  He's got an awesome name, and KU is one of his finalist schools:  I'm in.  He's a lefty with a sweet shooting stroke and some old man up-and-under moves:  I'm allll the way in.  He wears gold shoes in high school, and by all accounts is kind of a dick:  I'm leaning out.  He chooses UCLA over KU:  I'm out, fuck you 'Bazz.  He gets suspended to start the year:  I'm way out.  Once he gets reinstated, he tears it up, and is extremely fun to watch:  I'm back in.  His body language is horrible, once even refusing to celebrate a game-winning buzzer beater because his teammate took the shot and not him:  I'm out.  The story breaks that his family has been pulling a Danny Almonte for years, and he's actually 20 years old, not 19:  I'm all the way out.  He falls in the draft down to the Timberwolves at 14:  I'm intrigued, and possibly back in.  He doesn't show up when he's initially drafted, then gets introduced later and has this bizarre entrance, trying to walk away from Stern without taking pictures, with body language that says he'd rather be anywhere else:  Ehhhhh, I've got a foot out the door again.  I'm sure I'll be back though.  He game still projects well to the NBA, and getting him at 14 is great value for the T'Wolves.  I think he could easily be a poor man's James Harden.  I think I'm just a sucker for fellow lefties.

- Most entertaining Google search of the night:  After getting a look at Dennis Schroeder's hair, an impromptu Demolition Man conversation broke out, and we couldn't remember what the violation for cursing was called.  "Verbal Morality Statute" was the answer we were looking for.  Demolition Man, tremendous movie.  People forget about that one.

- Players I don't like and/or went too high:  Alex Len, Michael Carter Williams, Steven Adams, Kelly Olynyk, Shane Larkin, Tony Snell, Mason Plumlee, Allen Crabbe, Lorenzo Brown, Colton Iverson.

- Players I like and/or went too low:  Victor Oladipo, Dennis Schroeder, Gorgui Dieng, Solomon Hill, Reggie Bullock, Andre Roberson, Isaiah Canaan, Tony Mitchell, Jamaal Franklin, Ricky Ledo, Erik Murphy, Romero Osby, Deshaun Thomas.

- Shout-out to Myck Kabongo for not getting drafted last night.  His cupcake was fantastic for breakfast this morning.

Movin' On Up

I'm proud to say we've come a long way as a tailgate crew for the College World Series.  Gangel and I came from very humble beginnings.  In our 2009 debut, similar to Will Smith and his son, or Dr. Evil and Mini-Me, it was just the two of us...and we got kicked off the premises within half an hour for not being "committed to a particular tailgate."  We spent most of our afternoon sitting on a tree stump across from Rosenblatt, drinking beer almost literally as fast as we could, since we had no cooler and it was 90 degrees outside.  We were much more prepared in 2010, but we still ate dinner at McDonald's, and I was pretending to be a TCU alum in order to snake sandwiches from a Horned Frog tailgate all day.  We slowly got our act together, year by year, and 2012 was our breakout summer.  Gangel had morphed into a grill master, so we ate like kings all day long.  We had a steady stream of friends visiting throughout the day, so every time we ran low on beer or ice, we had reinforcements on the way.  And not unlike Jesus the great carpenter before him, Addy built Jumbo Jenga with his bare hands, making us the most popular tailgate in all of Lot B, and earning us some pub in the Omaha newspaper.

So where do we go from here?

College logos on the Jumbo Jenga blocks, for one.  Once again, Addy got all arts & crafty on us, and we quickly turned his new wrinkle into multiple drinking rules.  Instead of just pulling out a block and replacing it up top, now you try and guess which of the 66 schools is represented on your block.  If you're right, everyone else has to chug a beer-- nobody else could take advantage of this rule, as I was the only person to correctly predict my block, and I did it three times, as pictured above with Sparty.  If you draw one of the eight teams who were playing in the College World Series, then you have to chug a beer.  This rule came back and bit me, as well.  Many times.  Also, my most embarrassing moment was when I guessed UCLA, pulled UCLA, started running laps and telling everyone to chug a beer and suck my dick since I guessed it right again....then was reminded that UCLA was in the CWS, so I had to chug one too.  Alcohol's a hell of a drug.

My favorite rule was after you pulled a team, as you replaced the block, you had to name one athlete from that school.  Any sport.  Any era.  No repeats.  So now we're testing both body and mind.  Jenga is already nerve-racking, as the tower gets taller and less stable.  It's even more difficult when I'm up in your face, pointing, taunting and yelling "Uh-uh, mother fucker!  Kevin Durant was already named!  Find another Longhorn, you whore!"  (Love you Teens.)

Also gone were the days of using some other random tailgate's beanbag set.  Here's how the scenario played out in past years:  Gangel and I mosey over and make friends with the tailgate, humble all the way.  We "discover" that they have beanbag boards, and ask them if they want to play a game or something.  Winner stays, of course.  Fast forward three hours, and Gangel and I are still holding the court, defeating all challengers and talking crap the whole time.  Just an absolute hijacking of the unfortunate tailgates's beanbags; the guilt of which has been washed away six beers ago.  But no more:  Gangel took a page out of Addy's book and constructed these classy little gems:

So now, when Gangel and I are still holding the court, defeating all challengers and talking crap the whole time....at least it's at our own tailgate.

In addition, our food options were even better this year.  Any combination of the words "bacon", "jalapeno", and "cheddar" assures that I'll be happy.  We lost Emily and her crew, but we added Nicole-- which means we added Nicole's cooking.  Our organization wins that trade-- Emily's crew was mostly just expiring contracts anyway.

So what's next for 2014?  Setting up a canopy?  Satellite TV?  Deep-frying a turkey?  Inviting Tommie Frazier?  Constructing a massive wind-blocker to eliminate the effects of wind and maintain Jumbo Jenga's structural integrity?  Orrrrrr maybe just purchasing tickets and actually attending a game? 

Nahhhh, let's not get too ambitious or anything.

This picture of me and the Arizona block is really just a gratuitous excuse to link to one of my favorite youtube videos of all-time.  It has no other relevance here....but couldn't you say that that being Wild about the 'Cats is relevant to everything?  Think about it.  W!  I!  L!  D!  CATS!

OK, Let's Just Calm Down For A Minute

Here's my attempt to offer a tiny bit of perspective before tonight's NBA Finals Game 7, amidst the Miami Heat bash-fest and San Antonio Spur love-fest that's going on right now:

I get why a lot of people hate the Heat.  I really do.  I've defended them before-- I've gone on record saying that The Decision wasn't nearly the nuclear holocaust that people make it out to be, and some of the more popular reasons to hate LeBron are pretty baseless, in my opinion.  However, the whole Welcome Party thing was an absolute embarrassment; Dwyane Wade is a prick; I can think of at least 20 NBA cities whose fans deserve a great team more than Miami's do; LeBron and Wade constantly costing their team points by whining to the refs instead of getting back on defense is out of control; Bosh has become more and more unlikeable as time goes on, etc. etc.  So it's cool if you hate Miami and you want the Spurs to win.  Completely and totally defensible. 

But.  BUT.  Let's not classify the Spurs as lovable underdogs here.  Let's not forget, America, that it wasn't so long ago that we all hated the Spurs.

Tony Parker banged his TEAMMATE'S wife and destroyed two marriages in the process.  (Won't somebody think of Eva Longoria?!?!?!  What's she supposed to do now?  How is she supposed to live?)

Manu Ginobili-- besides leading the Argentinian team that beat Team USA in 2004 and resulted in our only non-gold medal-Olympics since we started using professionals-- is basically the Outbreak Monkey of flopping in American basketball, which we all know is a gigantic problem at all levels of basketball right now.  Between Ginobili and Coach K, flopping has increased 720% in the last 20 years (all statistics approximate.)  If flopping was the disease from Outbreak, and the NBA was the town of Cedar Creek, Donald Sutherland would be arguing with Morgan Freeman right now over whether or not to proceed with Operation Clean Sweep.  Pleeeeeease don't forget this about Manu Ginobili.  To paraphrase Billy Madison:  Ginobili is a bad, bad man!

After this many years in the league, Tim Duncan is now a Distinguished Professor at I've Never Committed A Foul In My Life University (and I'm the first to admit, Mario Chalmers is currently working on his Doctorate there as well.)  Yes, Duncan has had an unbelievable career, is a solid professional and all-around decent guy.  I admire him.  But when Twitter is blowing up about how he represents everything that is good about the NBA, and LeBron and the Heat are everything that is bad, remember this face:

Or this one....

Or this one....

Or this one....

Or this one....

Or this one....

OK, fine, that last one isn't really Duncan.  You got me.  But under my Google image search, this picture of Jaromir Jagr came up for some reason, and holy fuck!!  Look at that mullet!  OK, so anyway.....

I'm not even sure who I'm cheering for tonight.  I dislike both teams; I've just been cheering for a great series and a Game 7.  So far we've received both, and after Game 6 was one of the greatest games I've ever watched, now I'm gonna get greedy and ask for another instant classic tonight.  I'm not trying to tell you you're wrong for hating the Heat....just remember that the Spurs aren't this scrappy bunch of overachievers.  (Cue up The Breakfast Club ending.)  I see them as I want to see them, in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions.  Between Parker, Ginobili, Duncan, Gregg Popovich, and Danny Green, they are:  an adulterer, a flopper, a whiner, an asshole, and one hot-shooting lucky son of a bitch.

Enjoy Game 7.

Stupid Emotions

I believe it was Larry David that said "You know who wears sunglasses inside?  Blind people and assholes."

I'd like to add a third category to the esteemed Mr. David's list:  People who walk into Yello Sub to pick up a sandwich, five minutes after saying goodbye to some great friends and their four-year-old son before they move to Rhode Island, and they're still tearing up a bit and they don't want anyone to see them because they're a GROWN-ASS MAN. 

I know it detracts from the brevity of the original quote, but I feel it has some accuracy.

Take care, Leedahl family.  (Actually, mostly just Finn and Skye-- Lane can get bent for all I care.)

Side note: counting this and my wedding speech, that's twice I've been choked up in public in two months.  Am I pregnant or something?  Is Teens and all her crying during TV shows (about 20 times through 17 epsiodes of Season 1 of One Tree Hill the last few weeks) starting to rub off on me?  Did I suppress my feelings after KU blew that lead in the Sweet 16, and now they're leaking out all over the place?  Questions abound.

My Preciousssssss

For those who don't know, I'm left-handed.  I'd been dreading having to wear a wedding ring.  Not because of what it stands for, but because it's not comfortable, I hate finger jewelry, and since I'm usually playing basketball, or golfing, or circle jerking with the rest of the Sons of Sam Horn message boards over all the young talent coming up through the Red Sox system right now, I knew I'd constantly be taking it on and off all the time.  Some sort of tattoo on my left ring finger is probably in my future, and luckily (or perhaps it's not luck-- these are the types of reasons I married her, after all) Teens likes the tattoo idea.

But in the meantime, for the first couple of weeks of marriage, wearing a ring was killing me, so I decided to give it a shot on my right hand.  It was much more tolerable, so my next step was to research what it meant to wear my wedding ring on my right hand.  It couldn't be that big a deal, could it?  What I found wasn't enouraging.  Being left-handed was at or towards the bottom of most lists.  From multiple websites, here are the top three reasons they listed for wearing your wedding ring on your right hand:


1.  Being gay or lesbian

I'm not too worried about projecting this image.  People who know me know that I'm obviously married to a woman, and if strangers meet me and think I'm gay, so be it.  More than once in my life, I've pretended to be gay in order to avoid a weird girl at the bar.  One time in a gay bar in San Francisco, the bartender was digging me, so I pretended like I was gay and in the military, flirted back, and got about $150 worth of drinks comped for me, Easy E, and ADawg that night.  Whatevs.  And really, if you watched Paul and I interact, or knew how much we slept in each other's beds in college, it's probably not that far off base. 

2.  Establishing economic independence

This one was mildly confusing.  I guess it's geared towards women who make a lot of money; wearing their ring on their right hand is their way of saying "Hey, I didn't need my man to buy my rock for me, I dropped $30K myself to get the ring I wanted!  Hide the money, y'all!  There's poor people around!  Witcha' broke ass!" 

I had never heard of this reason before, but I like it!  I'm 'bout it 'bout it:  "My ring cost $85, son!  Yeah, getting 'UNITY' engraved in it was an extra 20 scrill, so we're talkin' triple digits now, but ain't no thang!  Rich people don't write checks!  Straight cash, homey!"

3.  Being willing to cheat on your spouse

Apparently wearing your wedding ring on your right hand is code that you're married, but absolutely available for some affair action.  From some of the comments I read, certain middle-aged people know all about this code, and are presumably looking for it specifically before they make their move.  Going to the Sandbar with my ring on my right hand would be like wandering into a cougar den dressed up as a deer with a broken leg.  (Get it?  There's a lot of cougars at the Sandbar?  Cougars meaning older women?  And actual cougars eat deer?  And a deer with a broken leg would be easier to take down?  Ahh, fuck it.  I swear that metaphor sounded awesome in my head.)  Anyway, this is a VERY interesting vibe to put out there.

So if you see me drinking at the College World Series this weekend, with a guy on one arm, making out with another, throwing my independently earned money around....don't worry.  All that doesn't mean anything.  I'm just left-handed.


UNITYYYY!!!!!

A Day At The Ballyard

Bulleted:

- It was "K-State Day" for some dumb reason, so they were giving people purple KC hats and crap like that.  So all through the stadium, "Let's go Wildcats" chants were breaking out when the Royals would mount a rally, and basically the whole thing was just annoying.

- Alex Gordon's walk-up song is 'Stranglehold' by Ted Nugent.  This makes me respect the hell out of Alex Gordon.

- My wife filling out her All-Star Ballot.  Hot.  (Even though she went the girl route and only voted for players she thinks are good-looking, like Stephen Drew, Jarrod Saltalamacchia, Jacoby Ellsbury, Gordon, etc.....it was still fun to watch her punch her ballot.)

- The Royals beat the Astros, and are now 4-22 when I am in attendance.  Of the other three wins, two came against the Red Sox, and in the third, I lost a hundystick betting against the Royals.  So this was officially the first time I walked out of Kaufmann happy that the Royals grabbed a W.

- From the "I couldn't even make this up" category:  Matty P and I were throwing Wedding Crashers quotes around, and talking about how amazing that movie was when it came out, blah blah blah.  During the 7th inning stretch, we had to pause our conversation, as the PA introduced the singer of 'God Bless America', Sarah McInerney or something like that.  In the silence immediately following the introduction, some dude about 10 rows back yelled out "Courtesy of Sarah McLachlan!"  You probably had to be there, but it was unbelievable.  What are the odds?

- After a personally devastating two-year absence, the best chili cheese fries in the world are baaaaaaaaaaack!

- It was only Matty P, Teens and I at the game, so we weren't *tailgating* as much as we were just chillin' by our car, having a couple BL Smoothies before the game.  We started talking to the two dudes in the car next to us, who were also just kinda hanging out.  These dudes (Curtis and Grant) were a riot.  Among many other topics, we had spirited and hilarious discussions about the mysterious saga of Cullen Finnerty; driving times in the Baltimore/Washington DC area; the side effects of getting violently electrocuted; and the best baseball stadiums in the league, as a math equation factoring in the beauty of the ballpark multiplied by how easy it is to sneak booze into said ballpark.  Within 15 minutes, it felt like we had been friends for years, and when it was time to go into the stadium, I was legitimately disappointed that the conversation was over.  Just in time for the College World Series next weekend, I was reminded of the interesting dynamic that takes place while tailgating.  You can make a bunch of amazing friends within the span of a couple hours....and then never talk to, or really even think about, those people ever again for the rest of your life.

- There are three main reasons why I wish the Royals would finally put it together and just be decent already:

1.  I am monetarily invested on them winning at least 77.5 games this year.

2.  Most of my friends down here are Royals fans, and most of them have never even experienced a pennant race in their entire life.  The last time the Royals made the playoffs was 1985, and they've only been within striking distance of the playoffs a couple times since.  These poor bastards deserve it.

3.  The country would find out how awesome Kaufmann Stadium is.  Just a great place to watch a game.

Uh Oh! Guess What Day It Is!

Simply put, this is one of my favorite commercials of all time.  I'm not going to say anything else, since sometimes I have a problem with hyping things up too much.  Normally I would talk about how everything about this is great; the voice, and delivery, the writing. Maybe I'd talk about how it's as close to comedic perfection as I've ever seen in a commercial, or maybe go on and on about how it's only a 30-second commercial, but I already have like six different favorite lines, and then describe why I love each of those lines....but I'm not going to do any of that.  If you watched it and ended up only *kinda* liking it...I just couldn't live with that disappointment.

However, I will say that thanks to this commercial, you do NOT want to be my co-worker on Wednesdays anymore.  I am going to be super annoying next Wednesday, and every Wednesday, for the rest of the Wednesdays of my life. 

(This is where one of my co-workers would chime in "You mean MORE annoying than you already are?"  And in turn, I would respond "HUMP DAYYYYYYY!!!)

Disabled List

I was going to write a longer post about my knee injury, but I thought DVJS already did a wonderful job giving details here.  Long story short: unless I tear the meniscus further and require surgery, wearing a knee brace and regular rehab-type exercises is part of my athletic life now.  You know that broken-down old dude you see in the corner of the Rec Center gym, doing 45 minutes of weird exercises just to play a couple games of pickup basketball?  That's me now.  At age 30.  Fuck, man.  This is probably foolish, but I'm going to at least talk to my buddy Zim (physical therapist) to see what could happen I don't wear the knee brace, "try" to tear the meniscus further, and then get surgery so it's fixed.  I know that sounds stupid, but it also sounds stupid to me that this injury isn't bad enough to need surgery, but yet I have to run around with a knee brace the rest of my life like it's 1948?  C'mon now.  Let's use the technology.

The one funny thing in all this is the new nickname I've picked up at the office.  When I sit at my desk for long stretches, then try to stand up and walk, my knee is all kinds of jacked up, and I limp and hobble pretty heavily.  But after I walk around for a bit, I loosen up and feel better, and can walk with more or less a normal gait.  So in a stroke of genius, one of the grad students started calling me Keyser Soze.  Well played, bro.





That video totally just spoiled the ending of The Usual Suspects, by the way.  But seriously, if you hadn't seen that movie yet, you were probably never going to.  If you're upset about the fact I just ruined the twist ending of a movie from like 20 years ago, you can come to Kansas and punch me in the left meniscus.  Maybe then it will require surgery.

Hey, Have You Guys Heard Of The Strokes?

Every once in awhile I get made fun of on The Boards because of my tendency to be wayyyyy behind on popular music.  They'll call me Ace, as in Ace of Base, as in supposedly I've just heard of, and am just now listening to, the Swedish pop group Ace of Base who dominated the airwaves in 1994. 

And I have no comeback; the nickname fits.  For every Vampire Weekend or Lumineers or Robert Randolph or Ludacris that I'm in on from the beginning, there's multiple artists that I don't listen to until years after they're popular. Obviously, at the height of their respective popularity, I'm aware that all these bands exist....I just don't really listen to them. 

Just to be clear, we're talking about bands that I was old enough to get into when they were popular.  Obviously, when I discovered Led Zeppelin or Run DMC or Bob Marley, etc. etc. etc., I was years or even decades behind, but for obvious reasons.  Also, we're not talking about shitheads like Justin Bieber or Nickelback or Taylor Swift.  Not listening to their music is an active lifestyle choice I'm making.

It seems like every year, I have at least one band that, for one reason or another, randomly slides into my life, and I decide I'm going to dive in all the way and see what all the fuss was about.  The recent list looks like this:

2008- Hootie & the Blowfish:  Ohhhh, so THIS is what everyone was going crazy about in 6th grade!  (Note:  I don't mean that sarcastically.  Dammit, those songs are catchy.  I can legitimately see why they were so huge back in the day.  So much fun to sing along and do your best Hootie voice.  WHAT DO YOU THINK THAT LIIIIFE IS LIIIIIIIIIIKE!  Classic).

2009- Weezer:  It's good to know that this band exists outside the realm of "Buddy Holly", which I loved when I was a youngster.  I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed a bunch of their other songs.

2010- White Stripes:  Is it bad that I sorta patted myself on the back for getting into the Stripes only seven years after they were at their coolest?  Probably.  Also, is it cool to shorten it up and just call them the Stripes?  Was that ever a thing?  Probably not.

2011- Nirvana:  I don't know if this makes me a poseur or not (I realize that becoming a Nirvana fan 17 years after Cobain ate his shotgun makes me a poseur already, but just work with me here) but my favorite Nirvana song is Sliver.  The premise of the song is kinda bullshit, which makes me think that *real* Nirvana fans probably look down on it, but whatever- that song effing rocks.  Zidon sisters, back me up here.

2012- Dave Matthews Band:  This one actually wasn't my choice.  Gangel, one of the most diehard DMB fans I've ever seen, burned me a CD full of his favorite tracks and gave it to me as a gift-- either because he truly enjoys to share the music he loves....or because he was tired of listening to my iPod and never having any DMB options.

(Side note:  I used to do this all the time with old girlfriends, back in the days before iPods.  I'd burn a CD with a bunch of my favorite songs, stash it in their glove compartment, then "find it" when we'd be riding in their car.  "What are we listening to?  John Mayer again, huh?  Oh word, what's this CD you have laying around?  It doesn't have any writing on it, let's try it out!  All riiiight, little Public Enemy?  Nas?  ANNNND Westside Connection?  Nice!")

Anyway, here in 2013, the new music in my life belongs to The Strokes....a full 11 years after they burst onto the scene.  You guys should totally check them out.  They could be the next Ace of Base!