Before I tell this story, remember that it is just that- a story. On the record, I admit to nothing. Just think of this as the equivalent of when OJ was gonna write the book "If I Did It, Here's How It Happened."
**************
You know how everyone has that one thing they've done in their life (and in some cases, many many more things) where all they can do is shake their head and say in a disappointing fashion "Man...I'm going to hell." Those things you've done that there is absolutely no justification for, and if God doesn't take mercy with you, you can't really blame him? Well, in the spirit of Christmas I'm going to tell mine (this has nothing to do with Christmas spirit, but it's kind of a Christmas tale in a sick, twisted way.)
Many years ago, probably in high school sometime, my friends and I started referencing Baby Jesus whenever something happened that was unexplained. (All I know is that it was 2001 at the latest that we started making these jokes, so when Talladega Nights came out in 2006, and all of a sudden everyone and their mother were making Baby Jesus jokes, I was very unhappy. Will Ferrell fuckin' copied us. Then again, 70% of my personality is derived directly from Anchorman...we'll call it even.) Examples include, but are not limited to:
"Who took the last cold beer and didn't stock the fridge?"
long pause, no one comes forward...
"Baby Jesus?"
"Oh man, what was the name of that one kid in our 8th grade history class who always talked to himself and tried to race the bus home on foot every day?"
"I'm pretty sure that was Baby Jesus."
And so forth. I am fully aware that this joke isn't even funny in the first place, but it was funny to us. I've never said that my friends and I AREN'T idiots.
So one cold, snowy, fateful night in December of 2001, a few of us were sitting around at the tail end of a partiularly rowdy party, freshman-year style (meaning I was in the middle of my Schmidt's phase, so I had put together a showing that would've made any 67-year-old lumberjack on welfare proud...you can't argue with $10.99 30 packs, OK? You just can't.) The question was posed, that with all the Baby Jesus jokes we make, wouldn't it be pretty awesome to have our own Baby Jesus sitting there, so we could point at it and say things like "This is all YOUR fault!" and throw empties at it? The answer, of course, was a resounding YES, followed by Jake, Ike and I piling into Ike's pickup truck to go about fulfilling our newfound dream.
By fulfill our dream, of course, I mean to say that we went into random people's front lawns and stole the Baby Jesus from their nativity scene. Jake and I accomplished ours with relative ease. I felt like Danny Ocean out there. Ike, however....I'm pretty sure his attempt was one of the deleted scenes from Bad Santa. He couldn't get Baby J out of the manger without pulling out the electrical cord and lightbulb that was illuminating his swaddling clothing. So he ended up yanking on it until he knocked over Joseph, Mary, the three wise men, Moses, Pontious Pilate, Samson, Delilah, Abraham, Adam and Eve, and whoever else was present (I'm kinda sketchy on the 'birth of Jesus' story.) As he yanked, he fell over, kicking down part of the nativity scene in the process. For real, there was gold, frankincense and myrrh all over the place. Then he calmly stood up and triumphantly walked back to the truck, covered in snow, with the cord dragging behind him.
And the next few months, all was well with the world. We felt occasional pangs of guilt, but hey, we've got our own Baby Jesii now (I'm almost positive the plural form of Jesus is Jesii.) Stories were told, laughs were shared...all at the expense of the person put on this Earth to die for our sins.
One day, however, it stopped being funny. I believe the exact conversation was
"Dude, there is a fucking BABY JESUS sitting in that chair over there with an old bottle of High Life in his lap...that is fucked up!"
"Dude...you're right. We've got to get rid of these things. Dammit this is ridiculous! Whose idea was this, anyway?"
"I dunno...Baby Jesus?"
"Hahahaha, nice! Up top, bro! Very ni- no, no, wait, WAIT! That's not funny! That's what got us here in the first place! We gotta get these out of here, dude."
And so the next problem presented itself. How do you dispose of a Baby Jesus? It feels wrong to throw it in the dumpster. You can't very well return it to the house you stole it from..."Hello, ma'am? I believe I have something that belongs to you- funny story, actually..." And there's no black market or chop shop for this kind of thing. I checked. Apparently the Second Wise Man is really in demand, though. Especially if he's wearing the green robe instead of the blue one. It's like having a Ty Cobb rookie card with the name misspelled. Error cards are worth serious money, yo. But that's neither here nor there.
Eventually, after much debate, I threw mine in the dumpster behind Culligan, and started praying for myself every night. The Baby Jesus jokes were officially discontinued that summer, but I still catch myself dropping one every once in a while.
A couple years ago, some co-workers and I were telling random stories of Christmastime tragedy....and one girl told the story of how someone had destroyed her friend's nativity scene and stolen their Baby Jesus. I asked her how long ago this had occurred, and she said somewhere around 6 years ago. All I could do was put my head down and shuffle away, knowing that it was me and my friends. And I have to live with what I've done, for the rest of my life.
And that is my Christmas story. Don't be like me, kids. Baby Jesus is a savior, not a punchline. No matter what Will Ferrell tells you.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Merry F*%#ing Christmas, New York
I went to sleep last night with a stack of presents under the tree with my name on them. When I woke up this morning, my parents informed me that the New York Yankees offered them $180 million dollars in exchange for my gifts, so now I don't have anything to open today. Even though the Yankees had already shelled out $161 million and $82.5 million for a couple of other kids' presents within the last couple weeks...and even though in Christmases past, they have coughed up $275 million and $189 million, they still didn't think twice about swooping in at the last minute and throwing more cash around and ruining my Christmas.
"That's awesome that you signed with the Yankees, but guess what.....now I'm going to have to kill you. I'm gonna pop a fucking cap in your ass. You're dead, you're Tupac, you are fucking Biggie. You piece of shit, I hope you fucking die or drop the chair and kill that fucking kid. I hope your plane crashes. Peace, fucker!"
Merry Christmas.
"That's awesome that you signed with the Yankees, but guess what.....now I'm going to have to kill you. I'm gonna pop a fucking cap in your ass. You're dead, you're Tupac, you are fucking Biggie. You piece of shit, I hope you fucking die or drop the chair and kill that fucking kid. I hope your plane crashes. Peace, fucker!"
Merry Christmas.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Suit Up!
We were searching for a little inspiration to spice up our Saturday night out on the town. We found it in the form of Neil Patrick Harris' character Barney from How I Met Your Mother (one of the 5 funniest non-animated shows I've ever watched.) He is continually trying to get his buddies to SUIT UP! when they go drinking and is continually denied. We decided to heed his request and we suited up. Minus the jackets, of course. I've only got one suit jacket and it's probably not gonna see the light of day until my next job interview. I don't really need that thing smelling like raspberry body spray and coated in body glitter (to give you an idea of where our night ended up.)
Since we looked like a bunch of fools who just came from a wedding reception, we figured we should have some kind of a backstory, so we dusted off some fake names (Lily Aldrin, Mike Burton, Ed Stevens, Ted Moseby, Doug Dorsey, and Robyn Scherbatzky) and told people we were an investment group out of Spokane, Washington, looking at purchasing the Woodlands race track in Kansas City (which is turning into my go-to fake backstory.)
Some guy at Sandbar was absolutely grilling us on what we were doing in town, which actually helped in the long run, since it forced us to tighten our story up. The key is knowing your details, folks. Anyway, the highlight was when we told him we worked for Hurley, Brand, & Hill (a fairly obvious reference if you follow 1990's college basketball) and he paused, rolled it over in his head and replied, "You know, I think I've heard of them." Ummmm, no you haven't.
We eventually took our shitshow to Brother's (holler!) and then to the Ninth Wonder of the World....The Outhouse. Noles had heard the tales of wonder and mystique that can only occur at a BYOB strip club, and needed to experience it for himself, so who are we to stop him from accomplishing his dreams?
Anyway, there are no outstanding stories from The Outhouse.....I mean, decent ones, but after Paul successfully jacked $20 out of a stripper's G-string, the bar has been set pretty high. Just know that strip clubs are already fun, but when, instead of a chair, you're sitting on a big cooler like you're at a picnic or a softball game or something....strip clubs become more fun.
I realize that this post is pretty weak sauce, and I'm not paying proper tribute to our night of shenanigans, but I'm leaving for North Dakota in t minus now, so this baby needs to get put to bed. OK, pretend this is like a review session for a final exam, and you need to know the main points so you can update your study guide (you nerd.)
1. Things that make an otherwise normal night of partying much more awesome:
- SUITING UP!
- Fake names and backstories
- BYOB strip clubs
2. Actual names of successful consulting firms:
- McKinsey & Company
- Oliver Wyman
- Towers Perrin
3. NOT an acutal consulting firm:
-Hurley, Brand, & Hill
4. Hammen's Theorem on Objects Used as Seating Options:
Coolers > Chairs
5. Which method of obtaining a drink in a strip club is most desirable?
a. Going up to a bar and paying $9.50 for a bottle of Bud Light that tastes like it sat in the trunk of a car all afternoon
b. Having to give your credit card to a topless server, then hoping they don't randomly add $70 to your bill at the end of the night when you're too drunk to realize it
c. Rummaging around your cooler looking for a keg cup in which to pour your $8 bottle of champagne
Answer: C
6. Here's a question I won't tell you the answer to. Out of our six fake names, three came from a current TV show, two came from a show cancelled about 5 years ago, and the sixth came from a 90's movie. What were they? No googling.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Each Word More Useless Than The Last
--Noles was in Kansas City 'on business' this week so he's coming to Lawrence tonight for the weekend (wow...does that read as douchey as it sounds in my head?....'on business'...I am not a fan of being at this age now, when friends are in town 'on business.' Alas.) We'll be going to the Fieldhouse for a KU game on Saturday- his first visit ever, my first this year. From what I've heard about the new pregame video culminating in Mario Chalmers' shot, I'll probably have to bring an extra pair of socks, cause the pair I'm wearing will be rocked right off. Unfortunately, the way KU is playing so far this year, that video could very well be the highlight of the game for me.
--We had a tax seminar at the Harrah's in KC a few days ago, and I put on a FIERCE eating display at the lunch buffet, much to the amusement of my co-workers, who are all around 15-20 years older than me. The prevalent thought in their minds is "I hope this ranch dressing on my salad doesn't aggravate my ulcer" while I'm thinking "I know that I already had dessert- and damn, that soft-serve ice cream and those giant pieces of german chocolate cake WERE delicious- but that prime rib just looks fantastic right now. Fuck it, I'm getting back in line."
--Wednesday night I played my worst stretch of baskeball since I was probably 9 years old. I didn't count the exact number, but I know that there's no way I shot over 10% for the night. I personally cost my team at least two wins. And my team kept giving me the ball and telling me to keep shooting. When you play pickup ball in a church, everyone's so nice. If this would've happened at Hyslop in North Dakota, most of my team would be pissed at me, and J.J. or Eddie (or both) probably would have jumped me in the parking lot afterwards. And to be honest, I liked that style of ball better. Nothing like the fear of getting your ass kicked by black guys to make you play better.
Anyway, it got so bad that when I finally hit a 3, everyone was APPLAUDING ME (this does not happen in pickup basketball unless you're Corky from Life Goes On or something) and I went sprinting down the court with my arms in the air like Christian Laettner after the shot against Kentucky. I feel like you should know these things, because next time, when I talk about how awesome I am, you can bring this up. Hey, Hammen, remember when you missed like 20 shots in a row at pickup ball the other night? You're so gay.
Well that may be....but at least I didn't sleep with Lumberg.
(Side note: I think lines like that are the funniest lines from Office Space. All those other people with their "PC load letter? What the fuck does that mean?" and "I think someone has a case of the Mondays!" That's how you know they've only watched that movie once or twice. Watch it like 83 times, and you find out what's really funny.)
-- When I googled Christian Laettner looking for the above picture, I found this little dandy, which is one of the best commercials in ESPN history, if not THE best. Sometime in elementary school, Dunph and I recreated it in his basement on a 5 foot plastic hoop, stuffing pillows in Aaron's high school jersey to emulate Chris Farley. I can't remember if that was for school, or we were just being idiots. Either way, I'd pay like $200 to watch that home video now.
It's the last weekend before Christmas break...let's get out there and get stumbly. Unless you're traveling, then please travel safe. Click it or law enforcement will ticket.
--We had a tax seminar at the Harrah's in KC a few days ago, and I put on a FIERCE eating display at the lunch buffet, much to the amusement of my co-workers, who are all around 15-20 years older than me. The prevalent thought in their minds is "I hope this ranch dressing on my salad doesn't aggravate my ulcer" while I'm thinking "I know that I already had dessert- and damn, that soft-serve ice cream and those giant pieces of german chocolate cake WERE delicious- but that prime rib just looks fantastic right now. Fuck it, I'm getting back in line."
--Wednesday night I played my worst stretch of baskeball since I was probably 9 years old. I didn't count the exact number, but I know that there's no way I shot over 10% for the night. I personally cost my team at least two wins. And my team kept giving me the ball and telling me to keep shooting. When you play pickup ball in a church, everyone's so nice. If this would've happened at Hyslop in North Dakota, most of my team would be pissed at me, and J.J. or Eddie (or both) probably would have jumped me in the parking lot afterwards. And to be honest, I liked that style of ball better. Nothing like the fear of getting your ass kicked by black guys to make you play better.
Anyway, it got so bad that when I finally hit a 3, everyone was APPLAUDING ME (this does not happen in pickup basketball unless you're Corky from Life Goes On or something) and I went sprinting down the court with my arms in the air like Christian Laettner after the shot against Kentucky. I feel like you should know these things, because next time, when I talk about how awesome I am, you can bring this up. Hey, Hammen, remember when you missed like 20 shots in a row at pickup ball the other night? You're so gay.
Well that may be....but at least I didn't sleep with Lumberg.
(Side note: I think lines like that are the funniest lines from Office Space. All those other people with their "PC load letter? What the fuck does that mean?" and "I think someone has a case of the Mondays!" That's how you know they've only watched that movie once or twice. Watch it like 83 times, and you find out what's really funny.)
-- When I googled Christian Laettner looking for the above picture, I found this little dandy, which is one of the best commercials in ESPN history, if not THE best. Sometime in elementary school, Dunph and I recreated it in his basement on a 5 foot plastic hoop, stuffing pillows in Aaron's high school jersey to emulate Chris Farley. I can't remember if that was for school, or we were just being idiots. Either way, I'd pay like $200 to watch that home video now.
It's the last weekend before Christmas break...let's get out there and get stumbly. Unless you're traveling, then please travel safe. Click it or law enforcement will ticket.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tyler Hansbrough Writes Some Haiku
lonely as a kid
become a basketball star
a friend for tyler?
lacking in talent
will compensate with hustle
awards to follow
gerald henderson
elbow makes blood on my face
here come the tears now
become a basketball star
a friend for tyler?
lacking in talent
will compensate with hustle
awards to follow
gerald henderson
elbow makes blood on my face
here come the tears now
jumping off the roof
pool surrounded by my peers
i am pscycho t
shot soon to be blocked
look for men in stripes to help
they will bail me out
when we play ping pong
removal of shirts encouraged
though not required
biggest game of life
pressure makes insides rumble
who's this cole aldrich
down forty to twelve
dreams crumbling all around us
will roy still love me?
nighttime is so long
eternal quest for soulmate
can anyone hear me
Monday, December 15, 2008
Discouraging
Somewhere around my 4th or 5th Gusto last Friday night, I suddenly had a realization that stopped me in my tracks and made me do quite a bit of soul searching.....I kinda like the song 'All Summer Long' by Kid Rock.
Maybe it was because I had spent the last three hours drinking in a bar where the only people under age 55 were the bartender, Jud, and myself (tons of fun by the way- I highly recommend drinking at such an establishment every once in a while.) Maybe it was because every other male in the bar (and half the females) would beat me in a contest of "Who's More Grizzled?" and subconsciously I needed to feel like more of a man. Maybe it's the fact that I could listen to a group of infants screaming and crying and running their tiny infant fingernails down a chalkboard...as long as the piano beat from 'Werewolves of London' is playing in the background. Whatever the case, I immediately went home, ripped the sleeves off all my t-shirts, started spitting on the carpet, and smacked Alex around a little bit (but to be honest, that last one had more to do with her ruining the tuna casserole than me listening to Kid Rock.)
Needing a second (read: sober) opinion, I downloaded the song and have listened to it a few times since that night....I still kinda like it. I let it crawl into my brain and now it's in there, and it's getting comfortable. I need the 2008 Very Schneweis Christmas CD to get here quick, or else this is the rubbish I end up listening to.
Singin' Sweet Home Alabama all summer loooooooooong!
Maybe it was because I had spent the last three hours drinking in a bar where the only people under age 55 were the bartender, Jud, and myself (tons of fun by the way- I highly recommend drinking at such an establishment every once in a while.) Maybe it was because every other male in the bar (and half the females) would beat me in a contest of "Who's More Grizzled?" and subconsciously I needed to feel like more of a man. Maybe it's the fact that I could listen to a group of infants screaming and crying and running their tiny infant fingernails down a chalkboard...as long as the piano beat from 'Werewolves of London' is playing in the background. Whatever the case, I immediately went home, ripped the sleeves off all my t-shirts, started spitting on the carpet, and smacked Alex around a little bit (but to be honest, that last one had more to do with her ruining the tuna casserole than me listening to Kid Rock.)
Needing a second (read: sober) opinion, I downloaded the song and have listened to it a few times since that night....I still kinda like it. I let it crawl into my brain and now it's in there, and it's getting comfortable. I need the 2008 Very Schneweis Christmas CD to get here quick, or else this is the rubbish I end up listening to.
Singin' Sweet Home Alabama all summer loooooooooong!
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Sometimes Facebook Makes My Soul Hurt
Travis Releford is a basketball player at KU who hasn't been getting much playing time, and his Facebook status said something to the effect of 'hard work is gonna pay off' or something. Then people started commenting on his status, and a turf war over Releford's profile broke out. I cut and pasted for your enjoyment. Sometimes this blog just writes itself.
Martez Lsnhooper Artis at 10:20pm December 14
dont u go to ku
Chris Bol at 10:22pm December 14
umm idk since his profile pic is him wit a ku jersey?
Martez Lsnhooper Artis at 10:23pm December 14
u tryna be smart ass i didnt look at his profile
Chris Bol at 10:24pm December 14
umm maybe u should then u would know smartass
Martez Lsnhooper Artis at 10:25pm December 14
yeah ok trick
Chris Bol at 10:26pm December 14
ok then bitchassnigga
Martez Lsnhooper Artis at 10:26pm December 14
yeah uo mama
Chris Bol at 10:27pm December 14
ight then nigga were u at muh fucka!
Martez Lsnhooper Artis at 10:27pm December 14
haha nigga i aint stupid
Chris Bol at 10:28pm December 14
yea caus if u smart u not not to talk to me like that...imka fuckin beast
Martez Lsnhooper Artis at 10:30pm December 14
yeah ok nigga ...u talk shit ta me ima talk it rite back
Chris Bol at 10:31pm December 14
nigga WE GO HARD!!!!!
Martez Lsnhooper Artis at 10:32pm December 14
?????????????
Chris Bol at 10:33pm December 14
nigga u sound like a girl get ure game up.....????????????????????
Martez Lsnhooper Artis at 10:36pm December 14
ok nigga im done argruin with uo bitch ass.. is time ta grow up do u can add comments im done
Chris Bol at 10:36pm December 14
ok cya bitch
Jim Hammen at 10:43pm December 14
ohhhhh snaps! you just got served Martez! call the burn center, dawg!
Nah I'm just kidding I didn't add that. I should've though. cuz if dey smart dey best not talk to me like dat....imka fuckin beast, muh fuckas.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Jennifer Aniston Looks Decent On The Cover Of GQ....
....but that has nothing to do with this post. I just thought you should know.
-- A little while ago, I received my Christmas/Birthday present from Alex: a piece of the court from last year's Final Four. I was so excited I didn't know where to put it. I wanted it in the Fortress of Solitude, so I could stare at it there. I wanted it at work, so I could stare at it there. Eventually I decided on the living room, where it makes a great conversation piece. As in, every single piece of conversation in that room will now revolve around it:
Random Person X: So, Jim, how have you been?
* my eyes are constantly darting over to the piece of the court. A shit-eating grin is plastered on my face*
Me: Oh pretty good...can't complain...how are you?
*I begin rocking back and forth on the couch, biting my fingernails in excitement*
Random Person X: Oh, good, you know...I actua-
Me: That's great. Hey! Did you see that block of hardwood over there? It's part of the actual court used during the Final Four last year. Yeah, right here in my living room. No big deal, really....what were you about to say?
Annnnnnd scene.
-- I'm usually a big believer in not getting my hopes up for things, and I normally cling to the worst-case scenario until the last possible moment (beautiful example: when KU went up 40-12 on North Carolina in the Final 4 last year, and the entire bar was going bananas, I was standing on the rungs of a stool facing the crowd, screaming and motioning for everybody to settle down- literally angry that people were celebrating like the game was over. I have problems.) But you know what, screw it: I am absolutely giddy at the thought of the Red Sox signing Mark Teixeira. He's always been one of my favorite random players. He's in his absolute prime. He has a good attitude, good clubhouse character, just an all-around good guy. I guess it's pretty safe to say I'm a little bit gay for Mark Teixeira. Just a little bit, though.
-- A little while ago, I received my Christmas/Birthday present from Alex: a piece of the court from last year's Final Four. I was so excited I didn't know where to put it. I wanted it in the Fortress of Solitude, so I could stare at it there. I wanted it at work, so I could stare at it there. Eventually I decided on the living room, where it makes a great conversation piece. As in, every single piece of conversation in that room will now revolve around it:
Random Person X: So, Jim, how have you been?
* my eyes are constantly darting over to the piece of the court. A shit-eating grin is plastered on my face*
Me: Oh pretty good...can't complain...how are you?
*I begin rocking back and forth on the couch, biting my fingernails in excitement*
Random Person X: Oh, good, you know...I actua-
Me: That's great. Hey! Did you see that block of hardwood over there? It's part of the actual court used during the Final Four last year. Yeah, right here in my living room. No big deal, really....what were you about to say?
Annnnnnd scene.
-- I'm usually a big believer in not getting my hopes up for things, and I normally cling to the worst-case scenario until the last possible moment (beautiful example: when KU went up 40-12 on North Carolina in the Final 4 last year, and the entire bar was going bananas, I was standing on the rungs of a stool facing the crowd, screaming and motioning for everybody to settle down- literally angry that people were celebrating like the game was over. I have problems.) But you know what, screw it: I am absolutely giddy at the thought of the Red Sox signing Mark Teixeira. He's always been one of my favorite random players. He's in his absolute prime. He has a good attitude, good clubhouse character, just an all-around good guy. I guess it's pretty safe to say I'm a little bit gay for Mark Teixeira. Just a little bit, though.
His eyes are like brown diamonds.
-- This Sunday, suppose you're in the same situation I am. Your fantasy team missed the playoffs (thank you Domenik Hixon for dropping a wide open 85 yard TD pass; and thank you DeSean Jackson for throwing the ball in celebration BEFORE you crossed the goal line. Without those two plays, I win my division. Oh well, I can't bitch, everyone's got their own tough-luck stories, plus I'm in my championship grace period.) Your real life team is pretty much locked into their playoff or non-playoff position (Tennessee has already clinched a first-round bye, home field throughout the playoffs is close.) You're looking for a little something extra, to give your Sunday on the couch watching football a little pizzazz. A little something to hold your interest. And I'm here to give it to you.
I had so much fun gambling on every single baseball game on the board one day in Vegas, that we decided to do it again. We've got money involved in every NFL game this weekend. So if you'd like to see us win money, join along in cheering for these teams to cover the spread. If you're kind of a jerk, and you'd like to see us lose money (Lane, Dunph, Jon-Jon....I'm looking in your direction) then cheer against these teams. Either way, if you're bored and surfing the internet while watching football on Sunday, you can click over here and check to see how we're doing. We took a push in last night's Bears/Saints game, so we're off to a rollicking 0-0-1 start.
Packers (-2.5) over Jaguars
Lions (+17.5) over Colts
Redskins (-7.5) over Bengals
Seahawks (-2.5) over Rams
Falcons (-3) over Buccaneers
49ers (+6.5) over Dolphins
Jets (-7) over Bills
Chiefs (+6.5) over Chargers
Titans (-4) over Texans
Broncos (+7.5) over Panthers
Steelers (+2) over Ravens
Cardinals (-3) over Vikings
Patriots (-8.5) over Raiders
Giants (+3) over Cowboys
Browns (+14) over Eagles (Monday night)
Happy Friday.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Cotton-Headed Ninny Muggins
The Question of the Day is inspired by Paul and his strangely captivating, potentially marriage-ending project entitled "24 Days of Elf." He is on Day #9, and according to him
"Elf is going fantastic! I'm not sick of it at all! Today I saw a baby in the airport and I asked his mom what his name was and she said 'Francisco' and I was like 'Francisco...that's fun to say...Franciscoooo!' and she smiled and I was trying not to laugh in her face the whole time! What are the odds? OK bye I love you."***
***according to the voicemail message left on my phone this morning
So, the Question of the Day: if you were being forced to watch the same movie, every single day, for 24 days in a row (put yourself in Mandy's shoes here, but be careful- they're pretty small) what movie would you choose?
I have a little bit of experience here. It wasn't 24 days in a row, but I know Paul and I watched Anchorman about 15-20 times in a single week back in October 2004....yet ANOTHER reason why that is probably my favorite month of my entire life.
Also, in the summer after 6th grade, my brother, the Bergman brothers and I watched Dumb & Dumber an obscene, OBSCENE amount of times. Figure there's roughly 90 days in summer....we easily watched it 60 times. If not more.
{Side tangent: one day in 7th grade we were in Mr. B's social studies class, copying notes off the overhead and bullshitting. At this point I had seen Dumb & Dumber upwards of 75 times, and I was running my mouth, claiming that I could recite the whole movie, word for word (things like this impressed girls back then.....I hope.) So Mr. B, ballbuster that he is, tells me to prove it in front of the whole class. Without hesitation, I launch right into "Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to the medical school? I'm supposed to be giving a lecture and my driver's a bit lost...."
25 minutes later, with class winding down and me still reciting lines for the class while simultaneously taking notes about South American volcanoes or llamas or something, Mr. B finally admits defeat by telling me to shut up, and as my 'reward' the student teacher had to take my notes for me the next day in class. And this is, without a doubt, one of the proudest accomplishments of my entire life.}
{Side tangent to the side tangent: how awesome of a teacher was Mr. B? Probably top 3 of my childhood. I had him in 7th grade, then he moved up to 8th grade the next year, so I had him again, and by the time I was a senior in high school, he was teaching 12th grade econ, so I had him AGAIN. He was one of those teachers that would pretend to get mad at you when you pulled shenanigans, but secretly he enjoyed them. Like when Ike, Jake, and I decided to be Mortal Kombat characters, and refused to answer to our real names anymore, and even started signing our papers 'Sub Zero, Rayden, and Johnny Cage'.....he secretly enjoyed that. Oh and by the way, that was a 12th grade stunt, not a 7th grade stunt like you might think. Yep, 17-18 years old when we thought that was funny . Awww, sad.}
So back to the task at hand, if anyone still remembers it. Movie you could watch 24 days in a row if someone made you. Go.
At first I was going to choose a comedy, but decided against it, as I didn't want to risk ruining any movies that I really love (which I'm concerned Paul is doing right now to himself.) I tried to find a delicate balance between a movie that is very re-watchable, but not good enough to make me care if I hate it when the 24 days are up.
After a couple minutes deliberation, the choice became clear: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace. Every time I watch it, I only hear half the lines anyway because we're too busy ripping on it. So even though, in a roundabout way I like watching it- and more importantly, can watch it a bunch of times in a row without shattering the special features disc and slitting my wrists with the broken shards- I realize that it's a pretty bad movie, and thus don't care about potentially burning myself out on it.
As long as I can fast forward through the podrace.
"Elf is going fantastic! I'm not sick of it at all! Today I saw a baby in the airport and I asked his mom what his name was and she said 'Francisco' and I was like 'Francisco...that's fun to say...Franciscoooo!' and she smiled and I was trying not to laugh in her face the whole time! What are the odds? OK bye I love you."***
***according to the voicemail message left on my phone this morning
So, the Question of the Day: if you were being forced to watch the same movie, every single day, for 24 days in a row (put yourself in Mandy's shoes here, but be careful- they're pretty small) what movie would you choose?
I have a little bit of experience here. It wasn't 24 days in a row, but I know Paul and I watched Anchorman about 15-20 times in a single week back in October 2004....yet ANOTHER reason why that is probably my favorite month of my entire life.
Also, in the summer after 6th grade, my brother, the Bergman brothers and I watched Dumb & Dumber an obscene, OBSCENE amount of times. Figure there's roughly 90 days in summer....we easily watched it 60 times. If not more.
{Side tangent: one day in 7th grade we were in Mr. B's social studies class, copying notes off the overhead and bullshitting. At this point I had seen Dumb & Dumber upwards of 75 times, and I was running my mouth, claiming that I could recite the whole movie, word for word (things like this impressed girls back then.....I hope.) So Mr. B, ballbuster that he is, tells me to prove it in front of the whole class. Without hesitation, I launch right into "Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to the medical school? I'm supposed to be giving a lecture and my driver's a bit lost...."
25 minutes later, with class winding down and me still reciting lines for the class while simultaneously taking notes about South American volcanoes or llamas or something, Mr. B finally admits defeat by telling me to shut up, and as my 'reward' the student teacher had to take my notes for me the next day in class. And this is, without a doubt, one of the proudest accomplishments of my entire life.}
{Side tangent to the side tangent: how awesome of a teacher was Mr. B? Probably top 3 of my childhood. I had him in 7th grade, then he moved up to 8th grade the next year, so I had him again, and by the time I was a senior in high school, he was teaching 12th grade econ, so I had him AGAIN. He was one of those teachers that would pretend to get mad at you when you pulled shenanigans, but secretly he enjoyed them. Like when Ike, Jake, and I decided to be Mortal Kombat characters, and refused to answer to our real names anymore, and even started signing our papers 'Sub Zero, Rayden, and Johnny Cage'.....he secretly enjoyed that. Oh and by the way, that was a 12th grade stunt, not a 7th grade stunt like you might think. Yep, 17-18 years old when we thought that was funny . Awww, sad.}
So back to the task at hand, if anyone still remembers it. Movie you could watch 24 days in a row if someone made you. Go.
At first I was going to choose a comedy, but decided against it, as I didn't want to risk ruining any movies that I really love (which I'm concerned Paul is doing right now to himself.) I tried to find a delicate balance between a movie that is very re-watchable, but not good enough to make me care if I hate it when the 24 days are up.
After a couple minutes deliberation, the choice became clear: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace. Every time I watch it, I only hear half the lines anyway because we're too busy ripping on it. So even though, in a roundabout way I like watching it- and more importantly, can watch it a bunch of times in a row without shattering the special features disc and slitting my wrists with the broken shards- I realize that it's a pretty bad movie, and thus don't care about potentially burning myself out on it.
As long as I can fast forward through the podrace.
Monday, December 8, 2008
I'll Bet You 10 Bucks That Gambling Is Awesome
It's pretty well documented that I love gambling. Even as a little kid I liked to spice up sporting events a little bit by having a little monetary interest in it. I was running a March Madness pool by third grade. I have a distinct childhood memory of losing a week's allowance to my dad because the National League lost the 1990 All-Star Game when Julio Franco broke open a scoreless game with a 2-run double in the 7th inning. I was 7. I begged and pleaded and even cried a little, hoping my dad would let me off the hook for the money. My dad, no doubt trying to teach me a lesson that I shouldn't be gambling, kept my allowance and then broke both my thumbs for trying to get out of paying. My mom (the video game hater) was initially angry with this blatant child abuse, but then she realized that without working thumbs, I wouldn't be able to play Sonic the Hedgehog for a couple months, and she mumbled under her breath "Two birds with one stone...score" and then her and my dad performed their secret handshake while I sobbed through the pain.
Years later, it's apparent that the only lesson the big guy taught me was that gambling is awesome. I don't even care how much money is involved; I'll cheer just as hard to win a dollar as I would to win a hundred. It's not about the money, it's about making things interesting.
It was in that spirit that we went to Shaun and Nelle's wedding on Saturday. I found plenty of eager participants, and soon I was scribbling down guesses of the length of the ceremony on a bar napkin. Ringer guessed 25 minutes, the actual time was 23:20, and when the ceremony ended she immediately whipped her head around from her seat a few rows in front of us and pointed at my watch in anticipation of her victory.
We bet on the length of Jud's best man speech. Katie won that one, but she had inside info since she is dating the best man; after some controversy and deliberation we let it stand, but she is now barred from the Hall of Fame, Pete Rose style. (Side note: Lane, Tucker and I had spent the last month trying to convince Jud to incorporate some famous quote from the world of sports, eventually settling on Jimmy V's "don't give up...don't ever give up" as our choice. He wasn't drunk enough to sneak that one in there, but he did manage to use the phrase "outkicked his coverage" so we were satisfied.)
We bet on the length of Jen's maid of honor speech (the best I've ever heard, it was basically a 3 minute and 13 second roast of Shaun- barbershop quartet style.) I was victorious in that bet and will be investing my winnings sometime this week. Investing them in two chili cheese wraps, a cheeseburger with mayo and no tomatoes, and a large strawberry limeade, that is.
We also had a prop bet of "will they hook up or won't they" with the line set at 5-2. We won't mention any names, but I talked to the girl involved yesterday, and it is official: they didn't. I told her about the bet and that I was the bookie. She wasn't offended, but now she wants a cut of the proceeds because "an attempt was made but it was unsuccessful."
Also from the wedding dance: for months now Shaun has been hearing how awesome the Apache dance is. He assured us that it would be played at the wedding. What we came to find out later on is that Lane and I would be announced by the deejay, and we would be on the dance floor by ourselves for the first verse so that the entire wedding can watch us, learn it, and then join in. Luckily I had been double-fisting beers and jungle juice for a couple hours already (open bar, dudes!) so I was drunk enough that I could've gone out there naked and not been too concerned about it. It went well, everybody enjoyed themselves, but the moral of the story is: if you constantly talk about how awesome you are, every once in a while you are going to be asked to prove it....maybe in front of a large group of people.
Congratulations Shaun and Janelle.
Years later, it's apparent that the only lesson the big guy taught me was that gambling is awesome. I don't even care how much money is involved; I'll cheer just as hard to win a dollar as I would to win a hundred. It's not about the money, it's about making things interesting.
It was in that spirit that we went to Shaun and Nelle's wedding on Saturday. I found plenty of eager participants, and soon I was scribbling down guesses of the length of the ceremony on a bar napkin. Ringer guessed 25 minutes, the actual time was 23:20, and when the ceremony ended she immediately whipped her head around from her seat a few rows in front of us and pointed at my watch in anticipation of her victory.
We bet on the length of Jud's best man speech. Katie won that one, but she had inside info since she is dating the best man; after some controversy and deliberation we let it stand, but she is now barred from the Hall of Fame, Pete Rose style. (Side note: Lane, Tucker and I had spent the last month trying to convince Jud to incorporate some famous quote from the world of sports, eventually settling on Jimmy V's "don't give up...don't ever give up" as our choice. He wasn't drunk enough to sneak that one in there, but he did manage to use the phrase "outkicked his coverage" so we were satisfied.)
We bet on the length of Jen's maid of honor speech (the best I've ever heard, it was basically a 3 minute and 13 second roast of Shaun- barbershop quartet style.) I was victorious in that bet and will be investing my winnings sometime this week. Investing them in two chili cheese wraps, a cheeseburger with mayo and no tomatoes, and a large strawberry limeade, that is.
We also had a prop bet of "will they hook up or won't they" with the line set at 5-2. We won't mention any names, but I talked to the girl involved yesterday, and it is official: they didn't. I told her about the bet and that I was the bookie. She wasn't offended, but now she wants a cut of the proceeds because "an attempt was made but it was unsuccessful."
Also from the wedding dance: for months now Shaun has been hearing how awesome the Apache dance is. He assured us that it would be played at the wedding. What we came to find out later on is that Lane and I would be announced by the deejay, and we would be on the dance floor by ourselves for the first verse so that the entire wedding can watch us, learn it, and then join in. Luckily I had been double-fisting beers and jungle juice for a couple hours already (open bar, dudes!) so I was drunk enough that I could've gone out there naked and not been too concerned about it. It went well, everybody enjoyed themselves, but the moral of the story is: if you constantly talk about how awesome you are, every once in a while you are going to be asked to prove it....maybe in front of a large group of people.
Congratulations Shaun and Janelle.
Friday, December 5, 2008
I'll Take "Sitting On My Ass Doing Nothing" For $400, Please
After a long Thanksgiving weekend full of partying and driving, all I wanted was a week or two of laying low and doing nothing. Both my wallet and my liver needed a little break. However, this was not in the cards.
After I got back, Vampire Hunter D was scheduled to perform at open mic night at The Bottleneck. Very few people reading this know of VHD, but the few who have experienced his freestyling firsthand (cough- Amber!- cough) know that I couldn't very well skip that. $1.50 beers turned into $1 beers turned into free beers, yada yada yada...we ended up at a strip club that night.
The next night I had to run errands and get groceries because I had eaten every single scrap of food in the apartment before going home for Thanksgiving. Let the record show that I seriously contemplated drinking a jar of spaghetti sauce for dinner, that's how bad I wanted to just stay home and avoid shopping.
The next night, Dunph was in Kansas City for the day, so we went and visited him and watched college basketball and had dinner and beers and whatnot. Couldn't really skip that, unless I wanted to read a bunch of texties from Dunph that said things like "get a ballsack or get bent, you fucking pussy" or "you're gayer than 8 dudes blowing 9."
Last night was trivia night at Zig & Mac's. I suppose I could've skipped this if I realllllly wanted to, but I wanted to redeem myself after I basically cost our team the victory last time we were there. (We were in second place out of 15 teams going into the final question, the category was sports, I convinced everyone to wager all of our points...and I got the question wrong. If you can tell me who the Associated Press named 'Sportsman of the Decade' for the 1960's without googling it, then you're a better man than I.) And we finally got over the hump and won last night anyway, so it was worth it.
And now this weekend is Shaun and Janelle's wedding. This is my first wedding in 16 months where I am simply a guest, and have no actual responsibilities as a member of the wedding party. Additionally, since this is the first wedding we've attended featuring our "Kansas friends", I don't personally know most of their family members. So, after a bunch of weddings consisting of friends' moms asking me all about my life since they last saw me in 1998 (while I try and answer coherently and pretend like I didn't just get done shotgunning three consecutive beers with the high schoolers in the parking lot) I'll get to have the kind of mom conversations I truly enjoy. The kind where I tell them my name is Greg Maddux, and I work at the law firm Avery, Smoltz & Glavine.
The senior partners and me. After our firm hit a low point in 1990, we experienced the greatest one-year turnaround in privately-owned law practice history, and went on to win the highest percentage of cases in the country for 14 consecutive years, until falling off a bit in 2006.
In the last two weddings I attended where I wasn't weighed down by the troublesome burden of "staying constructively sober" these were the results:
- When the deejay played 'Whoomp! There It Is,' Paul and I grabbed the best man/maid of honor speech microphone and karaoked along to it, which erupted into a multiple person, mulitple song sing-along that ultimately had to be ended by the bride and groom.
- I stayed up all night drinking, and when 7:00am rolled around, Jennifer and I loaded up two plates of donuts, fruit, and other stuff from the continental breakfast and wandered around the hotel for an hour, looking for the newlyweds' room so we could "serve them breakfast in bed."
So needless to say, all bets are off tomorrow night.
And then I'm gonna be an antisocial bastard for two weeks. Fo' serious.
After I got back, Vampire Hunter D was scheduled to perform at open mic night at The Bottleneck. Very few people reading this know of VHD, but the few who have experienced his freestyling firsthand (cough- Amber!- cough) know that I couldn't very well skip that. $1.50 beers turned into $1 beers turned into free beers, yada yada yada...we ended up at a strip club that night.
The next night I had to run errands and get groceries because I had eaten every single scrap of food in the apartment before going home for Thanksgiving. Let the record show that I seriously contemplated drinking a jar of spaghetti sauce for dinner, that's how bad I wanted to just stay home and avoid shopping.
The next night, Dunph was in Kansas City for the day, so we went and visited him and watched college basketball and had dinner and beers and whatnot. Couldn't really skip that, unless I wanted to read a bunch of texties from Dunph that said things like "get a ballsack or get bent, you fucking pussy" or "you're gayer than 8 dudes blowing 9."
Last night was trivia night at Zig & Mac's. I suppose I could've skipped this if I realllllly wanted to, but I wanted to redeem myself after I basically cost our team the victory last time we were there. (We were in second place out of 15 teams going into the final question, the category was sports, I convinced everyone to wager all of our points...and I got the question wrong. If you can tell me who the Associated Press named 'Sportsman of the Decade' for the 1960's without googling it, then you're a better man than I.) And we finally got over the hump and won last night anyway, so it was worth it.
And now this weekend is Shaun and Janelle's wedding. This is my first wedding in 16 months where I am simply a guest, and have no actual responsibilities as a member of the wedding party. Additionally, since this is the first wedding we've attended featuring our "Kansas friends", I don't personally know most of their family members. So, after a bunch of weddings consisting of friends' moms asking me all about my life since they last saw me in 1998 (while I try and answer coherently and pretend like I didn't just get done shotgunning three consecutive beers with the high schoolers in the parking lot) I'll get to have the kind of mom conversations I truly enjoy. The kind where I tell them my name is Greg Maddux, and I work at the law firm Avery, Smoltz & Glavine.
The senior partners and me. After our firm hit a low point in 1990, we experienced the greatest one-year turnaround in privately-owned law practice history, and went on to win the highest percentage of cases in the country for 14 consecutive years, until falling off a bit in 2006.
In the last two weddings I attended where I wasn't weighed down by the troublesome burden of "staying constructively sober" these were the results:
- When the deejay played 'Whoomp! There It Is,' Paul and I grabbed the best man/maid of honor speech microphone and karaoked along to it, which erupted into a multiple person, mulitple song sing-along that ultimately had to be ended by the bride and groom.
- I stayed up all night drinking, and when 7:00am rolled around, Jennifer and I loaded up two plates of donuts, fruit, and other stuff from the continental breakfast and wandered around the hotel for an hour, looking for the newlyweds' room so we could "serve them breakfast in bed."
So needless to say, all bets are off tomorrow night.
And then I'm gonna be an antisocial bastard for two weeks. Fo' serious.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Navigating I-29
One man's game plan for driving to North Dakota, which is still being tinkered with but is nearing perfection:
First, right before I leave Lawrence, I hammer down a nice Sonic lunch. The benefits here are threefold:
1. I can get my daily intake of 11,000 calories all in one shot
2. It fills me up for like 14 hours, so I don't have to stop and get food the entire trip, which saves me time
3. Sonic is fucking delicious
As I'm leaving town, I usually play something like the Beastie Boys or Wu-Tang. For some reason I like a little rap to start off the trip.
As soon as I hit the interstate, it's time to rock out. I've got a playlist that consists primarily of my top 50 most played songs. It continually evolves so that it always contains the songs I like the most at the time (it is named 'Boner Jams 08' as an homage to the scene from 40-Year-Old Virgin where Paul Rudd has the box of porno and names one "Boner Jams '03...A collection of all my favorite boner scenes from the summer of 2003.")
The only criteria for this playlist is that it must begin with 'You And I' by Rick James. There is no better way for me to begin a road trip than with 8 minutes of my boy Rick James telling me to dance on the funk. When Alex is in the car with me, I never cease to be amazed at her ability to sleep during this stretch of the drive. She's just snoozing away while I'm playing air drums, air guitar (sometimes both at once....whooooaaaa look out!) and singing most songs as loud as I can- cause I have to be able to hear my award-winning voice over the insanely loud volume, duh. (Just so I don't come across as an asshole boyfriend, I ask her every time if I should turn it down, or put in headphones, and she says no every time. Not to say that I'm NOT an asshole boyfriend....just not in this situation.)
On my way up for Thanksgiving, I was pounding the steering wheel so hard during 'My Sharona' that it popped out of its locked position and I had a minor heart attack while I tried to steer and get it back into place. The surprising thing is not that I knocked the wheel loose; I've been waiting for years for this to happen to me. The surprising thing is that it happened during a song like 'My Sharona.' What can I say, that guitar solo that starts around the 2:45 mark is badass. I've got this playlist timed to end between Omaha and Sioux City, right about when I need to get gas for the first time.
After I fill up on gas, I will usually check my phone, which I mostly ignore while I'm jamming. By this point, Bergman has probably called somewhere between 3 and 14 times, so I'll call him back first, and anyone else who may have called or texted.
After my phone time, I usually take it down a notch or so. Maybe some Zeppelin or Stevie Wonder. My favorite part of the whole drive is going through Sioux City. Memories of watching the Sox win Game 4 of the 2004 World Series at the Argosy come flooding back every time I drive through, and as I drive past that big, beautiful riverboat casino full of happy memories, I'm unintentionally doing my best Lloyd Christmas impression right after he drops Mary off at the airport.
First, right before I leave Lawrence, I hammer down a nice Sonic lunch. The benefits here are threefold:
1. I can get my daily intake of 11,000 calories all in one shot
2. It fills me up for like 14 hours, so I don't have to stop and get food the entire trip, which saves me time
3. Sonic is fucking delicious
As I'm leaving town, I usually play something like the Beastie Boys or Wu-Tang. For some reason I like a little rap to start off the trip.
As soon as I hit the interstate, it's time to rock out. I've got a playlist that consists primarily of my top 50 most played songs. It continually evolves so that it always contains the songs I like the most at the time (it is named 'Boner Jams 08' as an homage to the scene from 40-Year-Old Virgin where Paul Rudd has the box of porno and names one "Boner Jams '03...A collection of all my favorite boner scenes from the summer of 2003.")
The only criteria for this playlist is that it must begin with 'You And I' by Rick James. There is no better way for me to begin a road trip than with 8 minutes of my boy Rick James telling me to dance on the funk. When Alex is in the car with me, I never cease to be amazed at her ability to sleep during this stretch of the drive. She's just snoozing away while I'm playing air drums, air guitar (sometimes both at once....whooooaaaa look out!) and singing most songs as loud as I can- cause I have to be able to hear my award-winning voice over the insanely loud volume, duh. (Just so I don't come across as an asshole boyfriend, I ask her every time if I should turn it down, or put in headphones, and she says no every time. Not to say that I'm NOT an asshole boyfriend....just not in this situation.)
On my way up for Thanksgiving, I was pounding the steering wheel so hard during 'My Sharona' that it popped out of its locked position and I had a minor heart attack while I tried to steer and get it back into place. The surprising thing is not that I knocked the wheel loose; I've been waiting for years for this to happen to me. The surprising thing is that it happened during a song like 'My Sharona.' What can I say, that guitar solo that starts around the 2:45 mark is badass. I've got this playlist timed to end between Omaha and Sioux City, right about when I need to get gas for the first time.
After I fill up on gas, I will usually check my phone, which I mostly ignore while I'm jamming. By this point, Bergman has probably called somewhere between 3 and 14 times, so I'll call him back first, and anyone else who may have called or texted.
After my phone time, I usually take it down a notch or so. Maybe some Zeppelin or Stevie Wonder. My favorite part of the whole drive is going through Sioux City. Memories of watching the Sox win Game 4 of the 2004 World Series at the Argosy come flooding back every time I drive through, and as I drive past that big, beautiful riverboat casino full of happy memories, I'm unintentionally doing my best Lloyd Christmas impression right after he drops Mary off at the airport.
"Goodbye my looooovvvvvvve!"
About an hour past Sioux City is when I first start to crash a little bit. I start listening to slower music, I'm starting to get a little bored with driving after 6 hours, and South Dakota is awwwwwwwful. Seriously, the highlight of this stretch is when I send the traditional "I'm in Moody County" text to Schneweis (inside joke, don't ask.) Except cell phone reception sucks in South Dakota, so there is a 71% chance he doesn't even get that text.
I usually get gas in Watertown, and since they added a tiny little bar in the same parking lot, I have made it a habit to stop in and get a beer. There are always some interesting characters in there, and one time the bartender liked the bullshit I was talking so much that she sent me on my way with a free six pack of PBR.
For the next stretch, I throw in a movie, almost invariably a comedy from the group of Superbad, Knocked Up, 40-Year-Old Virgin, Anchorman, Wedding Crashers, etc. I've been working on finding the right angle to set the DVD player on the passenger seat so I can see the reflection while facing straight ahead. Playstation in the windshield, son, how balla is that?
The movie gets me inside of Fargo, and for the last 45 minutes or so, I'll just put the iPod on shuffle and return some more phone calls. Even though during the drive I feel like I'll never get to Grand Forks, once I do arrive, the last 10 hours feel like they went by in 20 minutes.
(Note: the drive back to Kansas at the end of the weekend is an entirely different story. I'm usually hungover, sick of most of my music, and as soon as I hit South Dakota there's a blizzard, or a monsoon, or the fucking dinosaurs from Jurassic Park got loose or something. As long as it makes me drive 35 mph and kills my time, it will happen during the drive back.)
Monday, December 1, 2008
Fatsgiving Weekend
--No crazy shenanigans to report from the weekend. There were the usual shenanigans (smelling girls' hair while trying not to get caught; friends pretending to be passed out and watching other friends make love; getting my spitter thrown across the floor by a rather heavyset woman in an argyle sweater) but no crazy shenanigans. There will be at least twice as many of our friends back home at Christmas than Thanksgiving. That fact, combined with our relatively low-key behavior this weekend, means that somebody is probably gonna get their house burned down somewhere around the 26th of December.
--This was a lot more fun when we had places to after-party that weren't our parents' houses. This was the thought I had at approximately 2:37am on Sunday. I had just dropped T. Nels off for the night, and had spent the last 5 minutes idling outside the driveway, assuring him that no, I really didn't want to come in to his pitch-black, dead silent IN-LAWs' HOUSE for a couple beers at 2:30 in the morning.
--My Thanksgiving eating performance was disappointing, to say the least. I still ate double what anyone else at the table did, including my 275 pound father (and my 275 pound aunt-- zing!-- just kidding, she couldn't be a pound over 250...just kidding again, I don't really have an obese aunt) but it wasn't up to my lofty standards. Probably how Tiger Woods felt like when he was winning all those tournaments with his self-proclaimed C game.
--Another disappointment was my big unveiling to my family that I occasionally chew now. In my mind, I envisioned my dad and brother giving me heartfelt handshakes, my dad getting a little teary-eyed and saying "I always wanted a second son..." then inviting me out to the garage to take apart a transmission or clean some shotguns or something....but instead they just indifferently shrugged their shoulders while my mom immediately started giving me a lecture on how disgusting it is.
--Plaxico Burress is a dipshit. Next time you accidentally shoot yourself, please make it severe enough so that you can never play football again, and there is no chance that you end up on my fantasy team ever again.
--Today is Day 1 of Paul's first annual "24 Days of Elf." He will be watching the Will Ferrell movie every single night from now until Christmas Eve. In a related story, Mandy's Christmas present to Paul this year is going to be divorce papers. Mandy, you can probably just get this thing annulled, it hasn't even been 3 months yet.
--This was a lot more fun when we had places to after-party that weren't our parents' houses. This was the thought I had at approximately 2:37am on Sunday. I had just dropped T. Nels off for the night, and had spent the last 5 minutes idling outside the driveway, assuring him that no, I really didn't want to come in to his pitch-black, dead silent IN-LAWs' HOUSE for a couple beers at 2:30 in the morning.
--My Thanksgiving eating performance was disappointing, to say the least. I still ate double what anyone else at the table did, including my 275 pound father (and my 275 pound aunt-- zing!-- just kidding, she couldn't be a pound over 250...just kidding again, I don't really have an obese aunt) but it wasn't up to my lofty standards. Probably how Tiger Woods felt like when he was winning all those tournaments with his self-proclaimed C game.
--Another disappointment was my big unveiling to my family that I occasionally chew now. In my mind, I envisioned my dad and brother giving me heartfelt handshakes, my dad getting a little teary-eyed and saying "I always wanted a second son..." then inviting me out to the garage to take apart a transmission or clean some shotguns or something....but instead they just indifferently shrugged their shoulders while my mom immediately started giving me a lecture on how disgusting it is.
--Plaxico Burress is a dipshit. Next time you accidentally shoot yourself, please make it severe enough so that you can never play football again, and there is no chance that you end up on my fantasy team ever again.
--Today is Day 1 of Paul's first annual "24 Days of Elf." He will be watching the Will Ferrell movie every single night from now until Christmas Eve. In a related story, Mandy's Christmas present to Paul this year is going to be divorce papers. Mandy, you can probably just get this thing annulled, it hasn't even been 3 months yet.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Fatsgiving
Tomorrow I head back to North Dakota for Thanksgiving. I'm sure it will be like -4 degrees when I get there yeahhhhhhh, sweet. At least there's Red Pepper waiting for me though. The first thing I'm doing when I pull into town is crushing a turkey grinder (with taco meat, natch) and two cheese tostadas. For a perpetually hungry kid like me, Thanksgiving is the greatest day of the year, and now it's even better since I moved away, as throughout the weekend I get to go to all the old food places in Grand Forks, some of which I miss more than my friends still living there. We were discussing the eateries that we miss the most on The Boards a couple weeks ago, and I almost started crying right there at my desk.
I've already begun training my stomach in preparation for this year's Thanksgiving meal, which I have entitled "Enter the 36 Chambers." I emailed my mom this morning and told her to get that kitchen fired up, because I plan on putting on an eating display for the ages, to which she replied "What else is new. You say this every year." Yeah, but still. Mom also gets bonus points for asking me how she should schedule dinner around football (she knows what's up, son.) I told her that Tennessee played at 11:30, so we should eat late in the afternoon, which confused her because she thought my favorite team was the Houston Oilers....which was entirely correct in 1996.
I don't know if I'll be able to holla at ya the rest the weekend. At my parents' house, the computer with internet access is in Brother's room, and if I'm on it for more than 3 minutes, he starts yelling at me to get out of his room, and I tell him to relax and quit being an angry elf, and he tells me that I don't live in this house anymore so I can't just go and use the internet without asking, and I tell him that I gave him the wireless router for free so I will use it whenever I want, and he tells me that blogs are gay, and I tell him to go spend more money pimping out his pickup truck, and he tells me to go move 10 hours away because of a college basketball team oh wait you already did, and I tell him why don't you go get your ear pierced like a woman oh wait YOU already did, and he tells me that he's not changing my oil anymore, and I tell him that I'm taking back the Nintendo 64 that I left for him even though I won't even play it anyway, and he tells me that he's returning my birthday present to the store, and I tell him I'm returning his Christmas present to the dumpster I dug it out of, and he tells me he wishes he was an only child, and I tell him well you kind of are because you are adopted.
And so on.
Everyone have a good holiday, eat food, drink beer, travel safe; if you see me on the interstate, I'll be the one dancing the robot while I drive, as Styx tests the volume limits of my balla-ass factory speakers.
I'm pretty sure I know what I'm most thankful for this year....
I've already begun training my stomach in preparation for this year's Thanksgiving meal, which I have entitled "Enter the 36 Chambers." I emailed my mom this morning and told her to get that kitchen fired up, because I plan on putting on an eating display for the ages, to which she replied "What else is new. You say this every year." Yeah, but still. Mom also gets bonus points for asking me how she should schedule dinner around football (she knows what's up, son.) I told her that Tennessee played at 11:30, so we should eat late in the afternoon, which confused her because she thought my favorite team was the Houston Oilers....which was entirely correct in 1996.
I don't know if I'll be able to holla at ya the rest the weekend. At my parents' house, the computer with internet access is in Brother's room, and if I'm on it for more than 3 minutes, he starts yelling at me to get out of his room, and I tell him to relax and quit being an angry elf, and he tells me that I don't live in this house anymore so I can't just go and use the internet without asking, and I tell him that I gave him the wireless router for free so I will use it whenever I want, and he tells me that blogs are gay, and I tell him to go spend more money pimping out his pickup truck, and he tells me to go move 10 hours away because of a college basketball team oh wait you already did, and I tell him why don't you go get your ear pierced like a woman oh wait YOU already did, and he tells me that he's not changing my oil anymore, and I tell him that I'm taking back the Nintendo 64 that I left for him even though I won't even play it anyway, and he tells me that he's returning my birthday present to the store, and I tell him I'm returning his Christmas present to the dumpster I dug it out of, and he tells me he wishes he was an only child, and I tell him well you kind of are because you are adopted.
And so on.
Everyone have a good holiday, eat food, drink beer, travel safe; if you see me on the interstate, I'll be the one dancing the robot while I drive, as Styx tests the volume limits of my balla-ass factory speakers.
I'm pretty sure I know what I'm most thankful for this year....
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Legend Of The Liquid Swords
As of 4:55 pm Friday afternoon, your plan for the night was to go have a couple of 5 o'clock beers, eat dinner, and go home for the evening and stay out of trouble. Watch a movie or two. Maybe even a trilogy. I don't know, I don't know if we'll have enough time. That was your plan, anyway. And we all know that plans were made to be broken.
Flash forward. 6:30 pm. After an hour and a half of casual drinking at an old-man bar, potential plans are being discussed. Some words catch your ear specifically. Words such as "Sandbar" and "The Outhouse" and "party bus." These are important words. Night-altering words. For the first time, the thought enters your brain that this night is about to be turned on its head. Adventure? Excitement? A Jedi craves not these things.
Flash forward. 7:45 pm. Dinner plans are being bandied about. Do you go next door with Jud and Wing for sushi? Do you to West Coast with Lane and Tucker for chicken wings? Do you go with Shaun and Janelle to Henry T's? No. You go home by yourself, microwave a hot dog and wrap it inside a piece of toasted bread. You take this hour to "sober up and refocus." On your drive home, and during the entire hour off of drinking, you listen to 'Baba O'Reilly' by The Who on repeat, because it's the greatest song in the world right now.
Flash forward. 9:00 pm. You meet everyone back out, at Sandbar now. Your achilles heel. Your archnemesis. Your kryptonite. You start back pocketing beers, a sure sign of trouble. You are talking to moms left and right. You get in an spirited discussion with a 31-year-old, divorced schoolteacher about the proper music to listen to when seducing a woman. This schoolteacher thinks your name is Adam Banks, and that you are part of an investment group, in town from Seattle, looking at purchasing the grounds for The Woodlands in Kansas City and converting it from a dogracing track to a horseracing track. You get your first glimpse of what the end of your night looks like. It looks like a plane crash. There are no survivors.
Flash forward. 11:00 pm. You are leaving for Jonny's, where you will then get on a party bus, put together by Katie. One of your new games while talking to randoms is to speak in song lyrics, verbatim, and see how long it takes them to bust you on it, or at least look at you weird. When you tell your schoolteacher that you are leaving, you tell her "I hope you know...I hope you know...that this has nothing to do with you. It's personal, myself and I, we got some straightening out to do. And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses that blanket, but I've got to get a move on with my life. It's time to be a big girl now, and big girls don't cry." You get all the way to the big girl part before she looks at you weird. You consider that a success. On the drive to Jonny's you listen to 'Police On My Back' by The Clash on repeat, because now this is the greatest song in the world right now.
Flash forward. 11:45 pm. You are now on the party bus. You know Katie, Jud, Wing, Tucker, and Tucker's woman, and everyone else on the bus is a stranger. But there's beer, and that's a plus. The first stop is Abe & Jake's. The last time you were at Abe & Jake's, Skye ended up on crutches after you guys tried to re-enact the lift from Dirty Dancing. So you've got some history there. The alcohol has definitely hit you now, there's no turning back. You're in it to win it, for better....or worse.
Flash forward. Time unknown. Wing has been buying you shots like it's your birthday. It might as well be, because if someone were to ask you right now, you might not remember the actual date. Suddenly, you find yourself talking in a circle of people that includes Travis Releford, Tyshawn Taylor, and Markieff Morris. At least you think it's Markieff, but it very well could be Marcus. It's a 50/50 shot, anyway.
Flash forward. Time still unknown. You are back on the bus. You have made a new friend, but you can't remember her name for the life of you. As the bus pulls out, you realize that of the 5 friends you originally boarded the bus with, zero are on the bus now. You can roll with this, though. It's almost expected on a party bus. You wouldn't have it any other way.
Flash forward. 1:30ish am. You are walking into a bar in a hotel somewhere. You don't know where. You think there is a chance that you're only a few blocks from your apartment, but you may as well be in Topeka, for all you know. Why is this a stop on a party bus, you ask. The bar is closing up, but everyone promises the bartender we'll tip a shitload, so he stays open for you. You and your new friend spot a karoake machine. The two of you go fire it up despite protests from the overwhelmed bartender, and now you're in the little deejay booth, fiddling with knobs and switches like you're Dr. fucking Dre mixin' beats in the studio. This is the first time you feel like you're outside your own body, watching yourself be ridiculous. You hear yourself say "What's that? You wanna do 'Knockin' On Heaven's Door'? Lemme check...yeah I got that. You're third on the list. I'm just gonna adjust the treble a little here, this dude singing 'Sweet Caroline' is coming in a little off-pitch. Grab me a white russian, would you please? That'd be super."
Flash forward. Time unknown. The bus is dropping everyone off at the house of your new friend, since she was one of the organizers. From there everyone is supposed to find their own ways home. You consider asking her to let you crash on her couch, as you think you remember hearing sometime during the evening that her roommate is Jud's girlfriend, so you would have a ride home in the morning. But as she starts walking away, you realize that you still have NO IDEA what her name is. You remember that your schoolteacher thinks that Jimmy Buffett is horrible, so you played 'Cheeseburger In Paradise' two times in a row on the jukebox just to spite her. You remember that the spread in the North Carolina game was 19, and they only won 84-67, so you lost money. You remember that your bill at Sandbar was $22.75. You remember all these things, yet you can't remember the name of basically the only person you've conversed with in the last two hours, and as a result, you have a long walk in front of you. You chuckle at this irony.
Flash forward. 2:30 am. As you cross the Mass Street bridge, you text Noles telling him that you're "crossing the Kansas River by foot." Apparently your night has turned into Oregon Trail. Do you try and ford the river and risk losing valuable oxen?
Flash forward. 3:00 am. You are home safe. You just got done crushing another hot dog/toasted bread delight. Then you throw up. You listen to 'Tyler' by The Toadies on repeat, because it's the "greatest song in the world right now." Before you crawl (literally) into bed, you text Shaun, who smartly decided not to get on the party bus, that "winning that bus ticket was the worst thing that ever happened to me." You are trying to be clever with a quote from Titanic. That is poetically appropriate, because your entire night was like being on a sinking ship.
As you pass out, Leonardo Dicaprio appears in your mind, and makes you promise that you'll never give up, no matter what happens. Promise him, and never let go of that promise. "I'll never let go, Jack" you tell him. "I'll never let go."
Flash forward. 6:30 pm. After an hour and a half of casual drinking at an old-man bar, potential plans are being discussed. Some words catch your ear specifically. Words such as "Sandbar" and "The Outhouse" and "party bus." These are important words. Night-altering words. For the first time, the thought enters your brain that this night is about to be turned on its head. Adventure? Excitement? A Jedi craves not these things.
Flash forward. 7:45 pm. Dinner plans are being bandied about. Do you go next door with Jud and Wing for sushi? Do you to West Coast with Lane and Tucker for chicken wings? Do you go with Shaun and Janelle to Henry T's? No. You go home by yourself, microwave a hot dog and wrap it inside a piece of toasted bread. You take this hour to "sober up and refocus." On your drive home, and during the entire hour off of drinking, you listen to 'Baba O'Reilly' by The Who on repeat, because it's the greatest song in the world right now.
Flash forward. 9:00 pm. You meet everyone back out, at Sandbar now. Your achilles heel. Your archnemesis. Your kryptonite. You start back pocketing beers, a sure sign of trouble. You are talking to moms left and right. You get in an spirited discussion with a 31-year-old, divorced schoolteacher about the proper music to listen to when seducing a woman. This schoolteacher thinks your name is Adam Banks, and that you are part of an investment group, in town from Seattle, looking at purchasing the grounds for The Woodlands in Kansas City and converting it from a dogracing track to a horseracing track. You get your first glimpse of what the end of your night looks like. It looks like a plane crash. There are no survivors.
Flash forward. 11:00 pm. You are leaving for Jonny's, where you will then get on a party bus, put together by Katie. One of your new games while talking to randoms is to speak in song lyrics, verbatim, and see how long it takes them to bust you on it, or at least look at you weird. When you tell your schoolteacher that you are leaving, you tell her "I hope you know...I hope you know...that this has nothing to do with you. It's personal, myself and I, we got some straightening out to do. And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses that blanket, but I've got to get a move on with my life. It's time to be a big girl now, and big girls don't cry." You get all the way to the big girl part before she looks at you weird. You consider that a success. On the drive to Jonny's you listen to 'Police On My Back' by The Clash on repeat, because now this is the greatest song in the world right now.
Flash forward. 11:45 pm. You are now on the party bus. You know Katie, Jud, Wing, Tucker, and Tucker's woman, and everyone else on the bus is a stranger. But there's beer, and that's a plus. The first stop is Abe & Jake's. The last time you were at Abe & Jake's, Skye ended up on crutches after you guys tried to re-enact the lift from Dirty Dancing. So you've got some history there. The alcohol has definitely hit you now, there's no turning back. You're in it to win it, for better....or worse.
Flash forward. Time unknown. Wing has been buying you shots like it's your birthday. It might as well be, because if someone were to ask you right now, you might not remember the actual date. Suddenly, you find yourself talking in a circle of people that includes Travis Releford, Tyshawn Taylor, and Markieff Morris. At least you think it's Markieff, but it very well could be Marcus. It's a 50/50 shot, anyway.
Flash forward. Time still unknown. You are back on the bus. You have made a new friend, but you can't remember her name for the life of you. As the bus pulls out, you realize that of the 5 friends you originally boarded the bus with, zero are on the bus now. You can roll with this, though. It's almost expected on a party bus. You wouldn't have it any other way.
Flash forward. 1:30ish am. You are walking into a bar in a hotel somewhere. You don't know where. You think there is a chance that you're only a few blocks from your apartment, but you may as well be in Topeka, for all you know. Why is this a stop on a party bus, you ask. The bar is closing up, but everyone promises the bartender we'll tip a shitload, so he stays open for you. You and your new friend spot a karoake machine. The two of you go fire it up despite protests from the overwhelmed bartender, and now you're in the little deejay booth, fiddling with knobs and switches like you're Dr. fucking Dre mixin' beats in the studio. This is the first time you feel like you're outside your own body, watching yourself be ridiculous. You hear yourself say "What's that? You wanna do 'Knockin' On Heaven's Door'? Lemme check...yeah I got that. You're third on the list. I'm just gonna adjust the treble a little here, this dude singing 'Sweet Caroline' is coming in a little off-pitch. Grab me a white russian, would you please? That'd be super."
Flash forward. Time unknown. The bus is dropping everyone off at the house of your new friend, since she was one of the organizers. From there everyone is supposed to find their own ways home. You consider asking her to let you crash on her couch, as you think you remember hearing sometime during the evening that her roommate is Jud's girlfriend, so you would have a ride home in the morning. But as she starts walking away, you realize that you still have NO IDEA what her name is. You remember that your schoolteacher thinks that Jimmy Buffett is horrible, so you played 'Cheeseburger In Paradise' two times in a row on the jukebox just to spite her. You remember that the spread in the North Carolina game was 19, and they only won 84-67, so you lost money. You remember that your bill at Sandbar was $22.75. You remember all these things, yet you can't remember the name of basically the only person you've conversed with in the last two hours, and as a result, you have a long walk in front of you. You chuckle at this irony.
Flash forward. 2:30 am. As you cross the Mass Street bridge, you text Noles telling him that you're "crossing the Kansas River by foot." Apparently your night has turned into Oregon Trail. Do you try and ford the river and risk losing valuable oxen?
Flash forward. 3:00 am. You are home safe. You just got done crushing another hot dog/toasted bread delight. Then you throw up. You listen to 'Tyler' by The Toadies on repeat, because it's the "greatest song in the world right now." Before you crawl (literally) into bed, you text Shaun, who smartly decided not to get on the party bus, that "winning that bus ticket was the worst thing that ever happened to me." You are trying to be clever with a quote from Titanic. That is poetically appropriate, because your entire night was like being on a sinking ship.
As you pass out, Leonardo Dicaprio appears in your mind, and makes you promise that you'll never give up, no matter what happens. Promise him, and never let go of that promise. "I'll never let go, Jack" you tell him. "I'll never let go."
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Tyler Hansbrough's Facebook Status: November 19th
7:38 am
Tyler Hansbrough is soooo tired, late night playin world of warcraft...bow to the new king of Azeroth :)
8:08 am
Tyler Hansbrough is mmmm...coffee...
8:46 am
Tyler Hansbrough is dreading class today :(
9:58 am
Tyler Hansbrough is a 5 page paper due on Monday? WTF, prof?!?!?!
11:57 am
Tyler Hansbrough is who wants to grab some lunch....meet me at the Union!
1:09 pm
Tyler Hansbrough is pretty lonely lunch today...everyone must still be in bed...lolz
1:52 pm
Tyler Hansbrough is time for a much-needed nap!! zzzzzz.....
2:16 pm
Tyler Hansbrough is can't sleep...turn down the speakers, neighbors! don't make me go Psycho T on you...
2:49 pm
Tyler Hansbrough is kinda want to skip class...anyone up for some ping pong? promise i won't beat you too bad :)
3:37 pm
Tyler Hansbrough is really, history class? who cares about the Civil War lol
5:28 pm
Tyler Hansbrough is ramen again? please send money, mom and dad...i'll pay you back next year ;)
7:42 pm
Tyler Hansbrough is ready for practice! tar heels, what!
9:54 pm
Tyler Hansbrough is tired from ball, but still down to party...what's goin on 2nite?
10:07 pm
Tyler Hansbrough is cracking his first beer! let's party, where my tar heel boyz at?
11:30 pm
Tyler Hansbrough is kinda buzzed...ready to hit the town...who's with me?
12:13 am
Tyler Hansbrough is drunK, jusst wahtcin' some game Film..,.no paRties i guesss :(
1:33 am
Tyler Hansbrough is NO CaLLs, really? whhere IS eVVery7one 2nit!!!!111!!!
2:28 am
Tyler Hansbrough is mayybe shouLdv e' gon NBA las5t yearrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
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Tuesday, November 18, 2008
The Top 5. Volume 9.
This started out as a Top 5, but more I thought about this, the more I kept coming up with, so it's been expanded to a Top 10, plus a couple honorable mentions.
Here are the top 10 fictional sporting events that I wish I had gone to in person (assuming, of course, that they're real.)
HONORABLE MENTIONS:
Teen Wolf
The championship game or whatever it is (actually, I don't think the movie ever mentions what the significance of this game was...whatevs) This would be an inspiring underdog victory to witness, as Scott Howard plays as himself, not the Wolf, and his team still pulls off an impressive comeback victory.
Keeping it out of the top 10: at the end of the game, when Scott is shooting free throws with no time left on the clock, the refs allow Mick (the bad guy) to stand underneath the basket and glare him down. In the crowd, I would've been throwing such a fit that they were allowing this, I most likely would've been removed by security. Also, Scott's supporting cast was so bad, I have a hard time believing that they were actually playing that well.
I officially redact everything bad I just said about Edward Norton.
The fact that Marguerite Moreau was the right wing for the Mighty Ducks is really just a cheap excuse to get a picture of her up here. I think she's my all-time #1 weakness. If I were to stalk one Hollywood actress, it would be her. She's just so girl-next-door, right? Like, I feel like I would have a real chance with her, you know what I'm saying? I would show her what the 'Flying V' is, and here's a hint: it takes place on my face, not on a hockey rink. The things I would do to that girl.....I think I just blacked out for a second. What are we talking about? Sports movies?
2. Victory
The Allied POW Team vs. Germany during WWII. The only factor keeping this game out of the top spot is that it's soccer. I don't dislike soccer, I could get into it if I tried, but I'm just not knowledgable enough about it for this game to be #1. Otherwise, it would be on top by a large margin. A dramatic comeback, goals left and right, the Allied Team overcoming the Nazi refs who are blatantly cheating, topped off by a fantastic shootout (featuring Sylvester Stallone as the Allied Team goalie.) Plus, at the end, when the crowd storms the field and tramples the Nazi guards to help the POWs escape, how great would that be? How often do you get to cheer against FUCKING NAZIS? Awesome.
Here are the top 10 fictional sporting events that I wish I had gone to in person (assuming, of course, that they're real.)
HONORABLE MENTIONS:
Teen Wolf
The championship game or whatever it is (actually, I don't think the movie ever mentions what the significance of this game was...whatevs) This would be an inspiring underdog victory to witness, as Scott Howard plays as himself, not the Wolf, and his team still pulls off an impressive comeback victory.
Keeping it out of the top 10: at the end of the game, when Scott is shooting free throws with no time left on the clock, the refs allow Mick (the bad guy) to stand underneath the basket and glare him down. In the crowd, I would've been throwing such a fit that they were allowing this, I most likely would've been removed by security. Also, Scott's supporting cast was so bad, I have a hard time believing that they were actually playing that well.
Not quite Pippen and Horace Grant.
Karate Kid
The All Valley Karate Tournament Finals. Again, an inspiring underdog, and when they announce "Larusso's gonna fight! Larusso's gonna fight!" I would be crawling with goosebumps.
Keeping it out of the top 10: Daniel LaRusso was such a baby it drove me insane. I would've probably ended up cheering for Johnny Lawrence during the fight. Maybe even started up a chant of "Sweep the leg! Sweep the leg!"
10. White Men Can't Jump
Watching any of these games would be sweet, but I think I would choose the initial meeting of Wesley Snipes and Woody Harrelson, so I could see Woody hustle the shit out of everybody with his goofy ensemble of clothing and silky smooth jump shot. To this day, Woody's character gives me inspiration. Why do you think I wear a headband when I play basketball? Opposing teams say "Look at that dork" and the ensuing lack of defense played against me is usually good for 4-6 points a game. Booyeah.
9. American History X
The pickup basketball game where the whites are playing the blacks, loser has to leave the courts forever. This would be a great game to watch for the intensity alone, but it receives negative points because Edward Norton somehow wins the game on a steal and reverse dunk like he's fucking Dominique Wilkins or something. In real life, Norton would struggle to throw down on 9-foot rims. Plus no team, EVER, would win a basketball game against black guys with the fat guy from Mallrats and My Name Is Earl as its power forward.
I officially redact everything bad I just said about Edward Norton.
8. Rudy
"Rudy! Rudy! Rudy!"
7. He Got Game
The one-on-one game at the end between Jesus and Jake Shuttlesworth (Ray Allen and Denzel Washington.) Another game where the stakes are obscenely high, making it fantastic. Rumor has it that in the script, Jesus was supposed to beat Jake 11-0, but Spike Lee told them to just start playing and they would start filming (assuming that an NBA player would destroy Denzel in one-on-one.) But Denzel started firing up some garbage shots that went in and jumped out to a quick lead, and Ray got legitmately pissed and took over the game, and that's why there is such real intensity during the scene in the movie. That could be complete bullshit, but if you can't trust Spike Lee, who can you trust?
6. Happy Gilmore
The final round of the Tour Championship between Happy and Shooter McGavin. Between the 400-yard drives, Happy getting run over by a Volkswagen, and the TV tower collapsing on the 18th green, that's about as much drama as you could ask for on a golf course.
5. Above the Rim
The championship game where Shep gets shot afterwards. Intensity, rim-rocking dunks, shaky defense, rap music, trash-talking, noticeable lack of white people, Tupac, concealed weapons...this tournament embodies everything I love about basketball.
This movie taught me that when Tupac says "Take care yo' bidness" it really means "I have provided you with a handgun. Go shoot that gentleman when his attention is diverted elsewhere."
4. Rocky/Creed II
I could've went with any of the Rocky fights here. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for Clubber Lang, and the Rocky/Ivan Drago fight would've been a dandy, but it would've been awesome to see Rocky break through and beat Apollo Creed in probably the best boxing match of the whole series.
3. Mighty Ducks vs. Iceland
I'M NOT GOING TO DEFEND THIS ONE! I JUST LIKE IT, OK?!?! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK!
The fact that Marguerite Moreau was the right wing for the Mighty Ducks is really just a cheap excuse to get a picture of her up here. I think she's my all-time #1 weakness. If I were to stalk one Hollywood actress, it would be her. She's just so girl-next-door, right? Like, I feel like I would have a real chance with her, you know what I'm saying? I would show her what the 'Flying V' is, and here's a hint: it takes place on my face, not on a hockey rink. The things I would do to that girl.....I think I just blacked out for a second. What are we talking about? Sports movies?
2. Victory
The Allied POW Team vs. Germany during WWII. The only factor keeping this game out of the top spot is that it's soccer. I don't dislike soccer, I could get into it if I tried, but I'm just not knowledgable enough about it for this game to be #1. Otherwise, it would be on top by a large margin. A dramatic comeback, goals left and right, the Allied Team overcoming the Nazi refs who are blatantly cheating, topped off by a fantastic shootout (featuring Sylvester Stallone as the Allied Team goalie.) Plus, at the end, when the crowd storms the field and tramples the Nazi guards to help the POWs escape, how great would that be? How often do you get to cheer against FUCKING NAZIS? Awesome.
Hello, new desktop. I can't believe I found this, google rocks my socks sometimes.
1. Major League
The one-game playoff against the Yankees. When the Indians bring in Wild Thing in the 9th to face Haywood with the sacks jacked and a tie game, and the whole stadium is rocking and rolling and singing "Wild Thing"...I mean, WOW....I could watch that scene a thousand times in a row and still get goosebumps on the 1,001th. And then the Tribe wins and everyone storms the field (developing theme: major bonus points for movies where the crowd gets to storm the field.) Lordy, I love playoff baseball.
"Enjoy it, Charlie. It's all downhill from here. This is what we in the industry like to call "peaking." Ever heard of Two and a Half Men? You will.
What'd I miss? And don't bother mentioning the homoerotic shirtless game of beach volleyball from Top Gun. I already thought about that one....long and hard (that's what she said.)
Monday, November 17, 2008
Friday, Saturday, Sunday
The Robert Randolph concert on Friday night was fannnntastic. My expectations were very high, and they still managed to top them. I briefly considered quitting my job, buying a van, and following them around the country as they tour, but chili cheese wraps don't pay for themselves, so I will stick with the steady paycheck.
I think Robert Randolph has officially entered the category of "I just can't argue with you." Basically, it's where I can't even argue with you for liking/disliking something, because I can't even understand your opinion because it's so crazy to me. Like if you were to say "Dude...the Red Sox are so gay, they're pretty much the new Yankees" I certainly wouldn't agree with you, but I could see where you're coming from.
But Robert Randolph & the Family Band...if you listen to their music and it doesn't get your toe tapping and/or put a smile on your face, then I can't even argue with you. If you don't think The Office is a hilarious TV show, then I don't understand your sense of humor. If you've never received a handjob from a homeless guy in exchange for your half-eaten Sausage Egg McMuffin, then I don't know what to tell you. Like Vito Corleone would say, "How do you reason with people like that?"
"How do you reason with people like that?"
Told you.
One thing that I had kind of been thinking since I moved to this town, but was confirmed without a doubt at the concert: I love hippies. Love them. They truly don't care about anything people might think about them. In the middle of a packed venue, they dance like they're Napoleon Dynamite practicing alone in his bedroom. They have funky clothes and smelly hair, neither of which has been washed in months. And they talk to any random stranger like they've known each other for years. Because of these reasons, I got much love for hippies. Coincidentally, these are the same reasons why Jud hates them with a burning passion.
Some hippie came up to me at the concert with a giant Dixie cup of whiskey. He simply pointed at my beer and said "Chaser?" Probably because I was so taken back, I agreed. He took a giant chug out of his styrofoam cup, then a pull of my beer, paused a moment, finished his whiskey, took another sip of beer, said "Thanks, brother man" and walked away. I thought it was hilarious, but Alex was slightly grossed out that I let him drink out of my beer (in retrospect, she's probably more right than me.) Apparently, my boy didn't forget the nice gesture. My payback came around a half an hour later, when he strolled up, pulled a gigantic marijuana leaf out of his jacket, stuck it under my nose, and exclaimed "Smell THAT shit, bro! This shit's the BOMB!" I concurred that his shit did indeed smell like the bomb, and once again he was on his merry way.
From tailgating on Saturday: An interesting game has developed at the Budweiser tent these last few weeks. The name of the game is basically "Make Jim drink the shittiest/girliest beer in the cooler all day long." The rules and object of the game are explicitly stated in the name, conveniently enough. I have to admit, this game is more my fault than theirs. A couple weeks ago Lane gave me a Michelob Ultra in a skinny can. If I would've just laughed it off, chugged the beer, and went and got a Bud Light, all would've been forgotten. Instead, my pride got in the way, and I told them to go fuck themselves and that I would drink Ultra all day long (which I did.) Flash forward to Saturday, and I find myself drinking Michelob Ultra Pomegranite Raspberry, and Tuscan Orange Grapefuit, and getting made fun of by every single person I encounter all day long. After around 5 hours of me drinking girl beers (which some may call 'losing' but I proudly call 'winning') they upped the ante, and finally broke me with a Mojito in a can. It tasted like apple Kool-aid if you were to add 4 times the amount of sugar. I don't know how you ladies drink that rubbish.
Lastly, a story from Sunday. File this under "I wasn't there, but dammit I wish I was":
Ike's mom Margo is in Vegas this weekend. Saturday night she sits down at a blackjack table, and starts good-naturedly talking shit with the guy playing $500 hands sitting next to her. She makes fun of him once for not doubling an 11, to which he replies, "Hey, lady. I'm playing $500s. You're playing $25s and $50s. Get real." They eventually form a nice little relationship, giving each other crap, buying beers for each other, blah blah blah. At some point Margo tells him "You remind me of my son's friend Bergman because you never shut up!"
Later on (many, many beers later) Margo tells the man "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Ben Affleck?" This draws a round of laughter from the table. The man replies, "Ma'am....I AM Ben Affleck."
So basically, Margo was talking shit all night with Ben Frigging Affleck without even knowing it.
Second favorite part of the story: Margo compared Ben Affleck to Bergman, which I did awhile back and Bergman didn't agree. Now we know for sure...you can't argue with Margo, dude.
Favorite part of the story: Later on that night, Ike's dad Terry, who was elsewhere during all of this, wanders over to the table to see how Margo is doing. Margo points at her new friend and says something to the effect of "Look, Honey! I'm playing blackjack with Ben Affleck!"
Terry's straight-faced reply: "Who the hell is Ben Affleck?"
Dammit I love Ike's parents, and I'm also more than a little jealous. I've been to Vegas four times and haven't see anybody famous (one time I had pretty much convinced myself that Doug Flutie intentionally shoulder-bumped me next to a street vendor selling jello shots, but more sober participants assured me that it was not him.)
Happy Monday, here's to next weekend arriving quickly.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Making A Concerted Effort
Tomorrow Robert Randolph & the Family Band are coming to Lawrence, and I am muy excited to be in attendance. I am normally not what you would call a live music aficionado. I like to rock out, but mostly in the safe confines of my car or the Fortress of Solitude, where I can cry and/or masturbate to Robert Plant's voice without fear of interruption. Concerts aren't normally my bag, baby. I have to be either
a) really, really into the band, or
b) really, really into some alcohol and/or illicit drugs
to enjoy myself at a concert. Otherwise, it's just terrible. I've made the argument that going to a concert when you're not 100% into it is about an awful of a night as you can have. I would rank the Aerosmith concert at the Alerus in 2001 as one of the worst nights of my life. Fo' serious.
However, Robert Randolph is on the very short list of concerts I would be enthusiastic to go to: (it's on top of the list, in fact)
1. Robert Randolph
2. Led Zeppelin
3. The Clash
4. MC Hammer
5. Vampire Weekend
6. Zack Attack (and that would mostly be for the opportunity to ogle the shit out of Kelly Kapowski)
As you can see, only two of those musical acts are currently intact in their original form, although I'm fairly confident I can hire MC Hammer to perform at my Sweet Twenty-Six birthday party in a few weeks.
In fact, if I remember right, I have not been to a concert in almost 6 years. I'm not counting WeFest, because although I was technically there in both 2004 and 2005, the number of girls who slapped me in the face or otherwise physically abused me (3) is higher than the number of concerts I actually attended (2.) So I've got that going for me, which is nice.
My top concert memories:
Styx, 2003
My girlfriend at the time gets to go on stage and introduce the bands, but this does not lead to me meeting Styx, which is incredibly disappointing and probably played a small role in our eventual breakup....we are all only 20 years old, but we run into Jake's mom there, and she keeps us adequately supplied with booze the entire night, while getting housed herself....she eventually enjoys a long, slow kiss with Paul in front of Jake....not a great night to be Jake, but probably top 5 greatest nights of Paul's life.
The Monkees, 2000
This was at the state fair or something, and is uneventful except for the fact that Podge and the other 16-year-old girls we were there with were invited backstage to "party" by Davy Jones (age at the time: 55)....I tried to caution the ladies as to why, exactly, they were being invited back there, and they promptly blew me off....half an hour later they were back, creeped out of their skulls....guess what happened.
Styx, 2001
There's nothing like the first time you get to see your heroes perform live....we collectively put together a strong, strong effort in the "drinking in the car from Grand Forks to Fargo" department....when Styx finishes their set, plus a couple encores, without playing Mr. Roboto, I am almost inconsolable.
Snoop Dogg, 2001
General admission at the Civic Center, so I ended up in the third row for $17...felt completely comfortable in my whiteness, even as I was shouting lyrics to "Gin and Juice" at the top of my lungs....probably because I was at least 230% higher than I ever had been in my life up to that point....marijuana is a hell of a drug.
Speaking of pot smoking, one of my favorite rappers of all time, Ol' Dirty Bastard, died 4 years ago today. I'm proclaiming the next week to be Ol' Dirty Bastard Appreciation Week, and the only music I will listen to will be ODB and/or Wu-Tang. Ummm except when I'm at the Robert Randolph concert. Dammit, ODB Appreciation Week is ruined already.
a) really, really into the band, or
b) really, really into some alcohol and/or illicit drugs
to enjoy myself at a concert. Otherwise, it's just terrible. I've made the argument that going to a concert when you're not 100% into it is about an awful of a night as you can have. I would rank the Aerosmith concert at the Alerus in 2001 as one of the worst nights of my life. Fo' serious.
However, Robert Randolph is on the very short list of concerts I would be enthusiastic to go to: (it's on top of the list, in fact)
1. Robert Randolph
2. Led Zeppelin
3. The Clash
4. MC Hammer
5. Vampire Weekend
6. Zack Attack (and that would mostly be for the opportunity to ogle the shit out of Kelly Kapowski)
As you can see, only two of those musical acts are currently intact in their original form, although I'm fairly confident I can hire MC Hammer to perform at my Sweet Twenty-Six birthday party in a few weeks.
In fact, if I remember right, I have not been to a concert in almost 6 years. I'm not counting WeFest, because although I was technically there in both 2004 and 2005, the number of girls who slapped me in the face or otherwise physically abused me (3) is higher than the number of concerts I actually attended (2.) So I've got that going for me, which is nice.
My top concert memories:
Styx, 2003
My girlfriend at the time gets to go on stage and introduce the bands, but this does not lead to me meeting Styx, which is incredibly disappointing and probably played a small role in our eventual breakup....we are all only 20 years old, but we run into Jake's mom there, and she keeps us adequately supplied with booze the entire night, while getting housed herself....she eventually enjoys a long, slow kiss with Paul in front of Jake....not a great night to be Jake, but probably top 5 greatest nights of Paul's life.
The Monkees, 2000
This was at the state fair or something, and is uneventful except for the fact that Podge and the other 16-year-old girls we were there with were invited backstage to "party" by Davy Jones (age at the time: 55)....I tried to caution the ladies as to why, exactly, they were being invited back there, and they promptly blew me off....half an hour later they were back, creeped out of their skulls....guess what happened.
Styx, 2001
There's nothing like the first time you get to see your heroes perform live....we collectively put together a strong, strong effort in the "drinking in the car from Grand Forks to Fargo" department....when Styx finishes their set, plus a couple encores, without playing Mr. Roboto, I am almost inconsolable.
Snoop Dogg, 2001
General admission at the Civic Center, so I ended up in the third row for $17...felt completely comfortable in my whiteness, even as I was shouting lyrics to "Gin and Juice" at the top of my lungs....probably because I was at least 230% higher than I ever had been in my life up to that point....marijuana is a hell of a drug.
Speaking of pot smoking, one of my favorite rappers of all time, Ol' Dirty Bastard, died 4 years ago today. I'm proclaiming the next week to be Ol' Dirty Bastard Appreciation Week, and the only music I will listen to will be ODB and/or Wu-Tang. Ummm except when I'm at the Robert Randolph concert. Dammit, ODB Appreciation Week is ruined already.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Nicknames
So the other day I was flicking channels and came across something with Lou Diamond Philips in it. This reminded me of an old guy in one of my college classes that Weisser and I called Sweet Lou Diamond Stone Philips Magnavox (don't ask.) Then my stream of consciousness got me thinking of other nicknames we had for random people. Either these were people that we didn't know personally, but needed a way to describe them; or people that we did know, and we called them something without them knowing; or in a few instances, they knew about these names and were not happy about it.
(Side note: after compliling this list of nicknames in my head, I realized that most of these are really mean, and most involve random girls from college. So be it. Also, basically this whole post will just be a series of inside jokes. But at least a handful of people will enjoy each paragraph, and I will enjoy all of them, and as long as I'm happy, that's all that I care about.)
Two-Face
This was a girl in the Accounting program who had multiple classes with Weisser, Noles, and I. This girl, when she wore makeup, was pretty good looking. Decent anyway. However, when she came to class au naturale, not only was she horribly unattractive, but she looked like a completely different person. The first time we noticed it, I leaned over and asked Weisser who the new girl in class was. After probably 35 minutes of deliberation, we realized it was the same girl, sans makeup. She pulled that stunt a few more times throughout the semester, and it freaked us out every time.
Crazy Karen aka KCK aka KCKCK
This was one of Paul's friends with benefits years ago. As the nickname implies, she was crazy. One of those crazy chicks that you can tell is crazy within the first 5 seconds you meet her, but she never (at first) shows it in an obvious way. The only thought running through your head when you first meet her is "damn, I bet this girl is CRAZY." After awhile, Paul broke it off, because, well, you know...she's crazy. And a couple years later, she proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. I had dated one of her friends, and subsequently broken up with her at a very unexpected time (not my finest moment, but it had to be done right then. It was for the best. Sometimes you just gotta rip the band-aid off in one motion.)
Annnnyway, KCK was very unhappy about all this. A large group of our friends were eating at Green Mill. KCK saw us, stormed over to me and told me that she heard what had happened with me and her friend. As I opened my mouth to offer up my lame explanation, she reached over me, grabbed a fistful of sour cream that was on the side of my plate (I hate sour cream, but that's not important right now) and SMEARED IT ON MY SHOULDER. Then she stomped off again without saying a word, leaving us to pick our jaws up off the floor. Looking back, I don't know why I was so surprised. I knew that she would pull something like that someday.
Oh yeah, I forgot, the KCK comes from when Paul would tell a story about her. He would start off by saying, "OK, so Karen came over-" and me, being a dick, would interrupt "Oh, you mean Crazy Karen?" and Paul would look annoyed and say "Yeah. Anyway..." and I would do this everytime he brought her up, so she became Karen- Crazy Karen, or KCK, and then eventually Paul accepted it and went along with it, so our interactions became
"Karen-"
"Crazy Karen?"
"Crazy Karen."
Hence the KCKCK. And around these parts, people call the portion of Kansas City that lies in Kansas "KCK" and I giggle inside every time.
Grandma Face
A girl who was, umm, involved with Z a few years ago. It was agreed almost unanimously that she had a rocking body, but her face looked like she was about a week from being 79 years old. Hard to describe without seeing it, really. There was also another nickname that went along with this one, but I am not comfortable typing it out. I'm sure Lane will just put it in the comments anyway, so whatever.
Bonus nickname: one night Z and Grandma Face had what the kids these days call 'anal sex.' The incident was quickly renamed Z's "Poop Chute Riot" (remember the song Zoot Suit Riot...yeah, that's the one.) And for the next few months- actually, scratch that, if we still lived in Grand Forks we'd still do it- every few hours, no matter where we were or how many people were around, Haley would yell out "Poop chute riot!" and the rest of us would yell "RIOT!!!" and Haley would return with "Z's got a dirty mung!" You knowww, like, we took the tune of the song, but changed the lyrics so we could make fun of Z. You don't have to tell me how clever we are, we already know.
Mom aka Jim's Mom
This was a girl who was a senior in high school when we were sophomores. Our regular lunch table was next to her friends' lunch table, so we saw her often. Also, in the interest of full disclosure, our lunch table consisted of a bunch of assholes. She had a definite 'Mom' look to her, but not the kind of look that I usually love and often hit on. She had a Mom haircut and dressed like a Mom, and when we heard her talk she had sounded like a Mom telling her son to go clean his room or something. I don't know really know why, but she became my Mom, as in "Jim, while you were up buying a Cyrstal Light, your mom told us that you had to have all your homework finished before you go out tonight" or "Jim, your mom says that dinner is at 5:30 SHARP tonight!"
So years later, I'm probably 20 and she's 22 or something like that, I run into her at a party (turns out she's friends with a girl I worked with.) Late in the night, she starts hitting on me aggressively. I maintain for a while, and truth be told, she was looking much better those days, and if she were someone else, or if I was a little further in the bag, I probably would've accepted her advances. Instead I finally tell her "Look, I'm sorry. I can't go home with you." She basically ignored me and continued to molest me as I fought off laughter. Perhaps fueled by my 20-odd beers that night, I finally told her EVERYTHING, finishing with, "...so it would be like hooking up with my mom."
If it was a 1980's movie, she would've definitely poured her beer over my head or something. As it was, she just said "I can't BELIEVE you just said that. You are an asshole." She walked away, and I never randomly saw her again. Looking back now, I should've totally done it, it would've been a better end to the story, especially if I would've called her Mom or something during the deed. You can't put a price on that.
{Editor's note: I have an old picture of this group of girls that was taken on their last day of senior year (remember, I became friends with one of them, and she thought this pic was hilarious so she gave it to me. I wasn't taking pictures of random seniors and creepily ogling them for 9 years and counting. At least not those girls, anyway.) In this picture is 'My Mom' and the rest of their lunch table, smiling, linking arms, enjoying their last day of high school together. In the background you can see Lane giving them a look representing his disgust with their constant squealing and picture taking, and above the crowd you can see someone (my money is on Ike) raising his arm and extending his middle finger toward the camera. Just totally destroying their picture. Like I said, we were assholes.}
Indian Bob
This is one of my favorites. Bob was Lane and Logan's suitemate freshman year of college. He was a pretty cool guy, but Lane and Logan decided to make him their bitch. They were still friends with him; but they basically made his life hell. Despite the fact that Bob had blonde hair and blue eyes (a quite beautiful blue, I might add. Like the Pacific Ocean. I could get lost in those eyes for days.....) they decided to tell everyone that he was Native American, and called him Indian Bob. And they pounded this into everyone else's head at every opportunity, so we all had no other choice but to call him Indian Bob as well. Lane and Logan also started a rumor that they came home late one night and went into Indian Bob's room, and found him rubbing his dong in taco salad from Wilkerson late night dinner. They ALSO trapped him in his room by wedging his door with a hockey stick, when he had a big test that morning. Now, normally, I don't condone this kind of behavior, I hate it when people pick on other people. However, this was funny because Indian Bob was a very popular guy, and it was obvious that he'd never been on this side of hazing before, and it completely baffled him. My favorite part was that you could see the look on his face every time one of these events occurred: What the fuck is going on? I'm popular. Girls like me. I have lots of friends and nice clothes and a sweet car. Seriously, what the fuck?
Side story: one night a few years ago, I was at Stormy Sledster's or Down Under or something, up at the bar getting a couple drinks. Indian Bob grabs me out of nowhere, with a wild, desperate, but mostly shitfaced look in his eyes. He tells me I have to find Lane and tell him to stop telling people it's his birthday. Apparently Lane had told the whole bar that it was Indian Bob's birthday (it wasn't) so everyone was buying him random shots and getting him completely fucked up when he had class in the morning. I sympathized with his situation, even joining him in calling Lane a few names, and then my drinks came: a beer for me, an Irish Car Bomb for Indian Bob (Lane had already found me and told me what was up.) So I just grinned, slid the car bomb over to Indian Bob, and yelled as loud as I could, "Haaaapppyyyyy Birthdaaayyyy!!!" As I walked away, I heard someone at the bar exclaim, "Bob, it's your birthday today? Bartender, I need a shot!" and, as I walked further away, I could hear Indian Bob wailing "It's not my FUCKING BIRTHDAY!!! God dammit Laaaaaane!!!!"
OK I had more but this is spiraling out of control and I've got city league basketball in 45 minutes so I'm wrapping this up. I'm interested to hear your stories, or maybe some other good ones that I forgot...
(Side note: after compliling this list of nicknames in my head, I realized that most of these are really mean, and most involve random girls from college. So be it. Also, basically this whole post will just be a series of inside jokes. But at least a handful of people will enjoy each paragraph, and I will enjoy all of them, and as long as I'm happy, that's all that I care about.)
Two-Face
This was a girl in the Accounting program who had multiple classes with Weisser, Noles, and I. This girl, when she wore makeup, was pretty good looking. Decent anyway. However, when she came to class au naturale, not only was she horribly unattractive, but she looked like a completely different person. The first time we noticed it, I leaned over and asked Weisser who the new girl in class was. After probably 35 minutes of deliberation, we realized it was the same girl, sans makeup. She pulled that stunt a few more times throughout the semester, and it freaked us out every time.
Crazy Karen aka KCK aka KCKCK
This was one of Paul's friends with benefits years ago. As the nickname implies, she was crazy. One of those crazy chicks that you can tell is crazy within the first 5 seconds you meet her, but she never (at first) shows it in an obvious way. The only thought running through your head when you first meet her is "damn, I bet this girl is CRAZY." After awhile, Paul broke it off, because, well, you know...she's crazy. And a couple years later, she proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. I had dated one of her friends, and subsequently broken up with her at a very unexpected time (not my finest moment, but it had to be done right then. It was for the best. Sometimes you just gotta rip the band-aid off in one motion.)
Annnnyway, KCK was very unhappy about all this. A large group of our friends were eating at Green Mill. KCK saw us, stormed over to me and told me that she heard what had happened with me and her friend. As I opened my mouth to offer up my lame explanation, she reached over me, grabbed a fistful of sour cream that was on the side of my plate (I hate sour cream, but that's not important right now) and SMEARED IT ON MY SHOULDER. Then she stomped off again without saying a word, leaving us to pick our jaws up off the floor. Looking back, I don't know why I was so surprised. I knew that she would pull something like that someday.
Oh yeah, I forgot, the KCK comes from when Paul would tell a story about her. He would start off by saying, "OK, so Karen came over-" and me, being a dick, would interrupt "Oh, you mean Crazy Karen?" and Paul would look annoyed and say "Yeah. Anyway..." and I would do this everytime he brought her up, so she became Karen- Crazy Karen, or KCK, and then eventually Paul accepted it and went along with it, so our interactions became
"Karen-"
"Crazy Karen?"
"Crazy Karen."
Hence the KCKCK. And around these parts, people call the portion of Kansas City that lies in Kansas "KCK" and I giggle inside every time.
Grandma Face
A girl who was, umm, involved with Z a few years ago. It was agreed almost unanimously that she had a rocking body, but her face looked like she was about a week from being 79 years old. Hard to describe without seeing it, really. There was also another nickname that went along with this one, but I am not comfortable typing it out. I'm sure Lane will just put it in the comments anyway, so whatever.
Bonus nickname: one night Z and Grandma Face had what the kids these days call 'anal sex.' The incident was quickly renamed Z's "Poop Chute Riot" (remember the song Zoot Suit Riot...yeah, that's the one.) And for the next few months- actually, scratch that, if we still lived in Grand Forks we'd still do it- every few hours, no matter where we were or how many people were around, Haley would yell out "Poop chute riot!" and the rest of us would yell "RIOT!!!" and Haley would return with "Z's got a dirty mung!" You knowww, like, we took the tune of the song, but changed the lyrics so we could make fun of Z. You don't have to tell me how clever we are, we already know.
Mom aka Jim's Mom
This was a girl who was a senior in high school when we were sophomores. Our regular lunch table was next to her friends' lunch table, so we saw her often. Also, in the interest of full disclosure, our lunch table consisted of a bunch of assholes. She had a definite 'Mom' look to her, but not the kind of look that I usually love and often hit on. She had a Mom haircut and dressed like a Mom, and when we heard her talk she had sounded like a Mom telling her son to go clean his room or something. I don't know really know why, but she became my Mom, as in "Jim, while you were up buying a Cyrstal Light, your mom told us that you had to have all your homework finished before you go out tonight" or "Jim, your mom says that dinner is at 5:30 SHARP tonight!"
So years later, I'm probably 20 and she's 22 or something like that, I run into her at a party (turns out she's friends with a girl I worked with.) Late in the night, she starts hitting on me aggressively. I maintain for a while, and truth be told, she was looking much better those days, and if she were someone else, or if I was a little further in the bag, I probably would've accepted her advances. Instead I finally tell her "Look, I'm sorry. I can't go home with you." She basically ignored me and continued to molest me as I fought off laughter. Perhaps fueled by my 20-odd beers that night, I finally told her EVERYTHING, finishing with, "...so it would be like hooking up with my mom."
If it was a 1980's movie, she would've definitely poured her beer over my head or something. As it was, she just said "I can't BELIEVE you just said that. You are an asshole." She walked away, and I never randomly saw her again. Looking back now, I should've totally done it, it would've been a better end to the story, especially if I would've called her Mom or something during the deed. You can't put a price on that.
{Editor's note: I have an old picture of this group of girls that was taken on their last day of senior year (remember, I became friends with one of them, and she thought this pic was hilarious so she gave it to me. I wasn't taking pictures of random seniors and creepily ogling them for 9 years and counting. At least not those girls, anyway.) In this picture is 'My Mom' and the rest of their lunch table, smiling, linking arms, enjoying their last day of high school together. In the background you can see Lane giving them a look representing his disgust with their constant squealing and picture taking, and above the crowd you can see someone (my money is on Ike) raising his arm and extending his middle finger toward the camera. Just totally destroying their picture. Like I said, we were assholes.}
Indian Bob
This is one of my favorites. Bob was Lane and Logan's suitemate freshman year of college. He was a pretty cool guy, but Lane and Logan decided to make him their bitch. They were still friends with him; but they basically made his life hell. Despite the fact that Bob had blonde hair and blue eyes (a quite beautiful blue, I might add. Like the Pacific Ocean. I could get lost in those eyes for days.....) they decided to tell everyone that he was Native American, and called him Indian Bob. And they pounded this into everyone else's head at every opportunity, so we all had no other choice but to call him Indian Bob as well. Lane and Logan also started a rumor that they came home late one night and went into Indian Bob's room, and found him rubbing his dong in taco salad from Wilkerson late night dinner. They ALSO trapped him in his room by wedging his door with a hockey stick, when he had a big test that morning. Now, normally, I don't condone this kind of behavior, I hate it when people pick on other people. However, this was funny because Indian Bob was a very popular guy, and it was obvious that he'd never been on this side of hazing before, and it completely baffled him. My favorite part was that you could see the look on his face every time one of these events occurred: What the fuck is going on? I'm popular. Girls like me. I have lots of friends and nice clothes and a sweet car. Seriously, what the fuck?
Side story: one night a few years ago, I was at Stormy Sledster's or Down Under or something, up at the bar getting a couple drinks. Indian Bob grabs me out of nowhere, with a wild, desperate, but mostly shitfaced look in his eyes. He tells me I have to find Lane and tell him to stop telling people it's his birthday. Apparently Lane had told the whole bar that it was Indian Bob's birthday (it wasn't) so everyone was buying him random shots and getting him completely fucked up when he had class in the morning. I sympathized with his situation, even joining him in calling Lane a few names, and then my drinks came: a beer for me, an Irish Car Bomb for Indian Bob (Lane had already found me and told me what was up.) So I just grinned, slid the car bomb over to Indian Bob, and yelled as loud as I could, "Haaaapppyyyyy Birthdaaayyyy!!!" As I walked away, I heard someone at the bar exclaim, "Bob, it's your birthday today? Bartender, I need a shot!" and, as I walked further away, I could hear Indian Bob wailing "It's not my FUCKING BIRTHDAY!!! God dammit Laaaaaane!!!!"
OK I had more but this is spiraling out of control and I've got city league basketball in 45 minutes so I'm wrapping this up. I'm interested to hear your stories, or maybe some other good ones that I forgot...
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