Social Media At Its Finest

Disclaimer for this post: I've haven't been using first + last names in the blog since 2007; we'll call it the Katie Z Rule. Even though I'm pretty sure we'd be OK for this post, since the information is public domain which is already being disseminated over the interwebs, we won't take any chances since we're talking about jobs here, and I won't even be referencing my friend by their blog name. Friends of mine should be able to guess who I'm talking about. Random readers will survive without knowing who we're talking about. End legal disclaimer.

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A couple months ago, a writer from New York that I follow on Twitter tweeted something that gave me a chuckle. It was a retweet from a town's police department that simply described what occurred in the police report-- the matter-of-fact tone is probably what made it funny. It simply said "Two men were seen putting four glass mugs in the middle of Tracy Avenue at 1 a.m. Officers removed the mugs from the road."

I chuckled, thought it could be mildly entertaining to follow a police department on Twitter, glanced at the original tweet, and realized OMG I HAVE A FRIEND WHO IS A POLICE OFFICER IN THIS TOWN ARE YOU KIDDING ME WHAT ARE THE ODDS.

So naturally, it was on. I get probably 5-7 tweets a day from their police report, and it's awesome knowing that there's a good chance my buddy is working on at least some of these "cases." And of course, I've started blowing him up with texts such as these:

"Hey, I really hope you catch the guys who threw rocks at Hyalite Elementary School."

"So an officer had to give a woman advice on how to handle her son, who she thinks is doing dangerous drugs-- Pleeeeeeeease tell me you were the one giving the advice!"

"An officer checked on a man who was sitting in a vehicle drinking beer and throwing up out of the door....so were you the officer, or the man in the car? Was it like a Back to the Future situation, like two of you running around at the same time, and you had to arrest yourself?"


Here are some of the other gems from the Twitter feed that I have not texted him about (because, quite honestly, while I want to give him shit, I don't want to text him every two hours when something funny comes up):

- A person reported finding what appeared to be a crack pipe on the floor. It turned out to be a light bulb.

- An officer checked on a woman who fell off her bike. She was fine.

- A woman reported that some juvenile neighbors dug up her dead tortoise that she had buried in her yard, took pictures of it and posted them on the internet. (Editor's note: this one is probably my favorite. That's some shit right there.)

- A man reported that he found his front door open the last two days. Officers said it was possible the wind was opening the door.

- A young man on a bike was chasing geese.

- A person who reported that a mountain lion was outside their cabin at 6:45am called back to say it was actually a black bear.


This Twitter feed is just the gift that keeps on giving. Now, I am aware that I'm picking and choosing the funny ones here, but still...these are pretty awesome. Forget Baltimore, they should've filmed The Wire in this city. All in the game, yo.

Do You See What Happens, Larry?

I pretty much never get cocky whilst watching my teams play sports. I'm rarely even confident. Despite the rash of championships my teams have won over the last decade, I still have trouble forgetting the first part of my rooting career, when my teams lost everything in heartbreaking fashion. I'm still pretty much always waiting for the guillotine to drop. My friends mostly make fun of me for this, which is pretty understandable, especially when I'm standing on a barstool in a packed bar with 100% KU fans, trying to single-handedly calm the pandemonium of a 40-12 lead in a Final Four game. (In my defense, North Carolina DID make a run, and eventually cut it to four before KU blew it open again. Let's just say we were both right.)

There have been two notable exceptions to this gloom-and-doom policy of mine:

The 2003 Final Four, when KU beat Dwyane Wade and Marquette by like 160 points. We happened to have a kegger at Culligan Manor that night, and when I wasn't taking pictures of the passed out Minneapolis girls that Paul, Fundy, and Russell had met in Cancun a few weeks earlier, I was telling anyone who would listen that they could come over and watch the game Monday night if they "felt like watching a banner get hung." We all know how that ended: a barrage of Gerry McNamara threes, a barrage of KU missed free throws, and a barrage of missed homework assignments from me, since I skipped all my classes and didn't talk to anybody for like three days.

The 2011 Sweet 16, when KU steamrolled Richmond by like 135 points, my boy Brady Morningstar was player of the game, and VCU upset everyone in the bottom half of the bracket, to set up what I thought was a favorable Elite 8 matchup. Gangel was in town that weekend, and I told him to stick around if he wanted to see what a Final Four parade was all about, cause we were "gonna hang a banner that weekend." (I LOVE using the phrase "hang a banner" when I'm housed.) Once again, we know how that ended.

And last night was exception #3. Early in the game, it was typical pessimistic Jum, "I feel like every time Longoria steps in the box he's going yard. Don't know why, I just get that feel- oh, yup, three-run homer. AWESOME." But after the Sox tied it up in the 9th, I started feeling emboldened (and also a lil' drunk from all the Mich Golden pounders.) I started chirping, knowing that Koji was coming in for the bottom half of the inning, and he just had one of the best seasons for a relief pitcher OF ALL TIME.

I was explaining to Teens how unhittable Koji is (read: she asked one simple question, and I went into a rant that lasted the entire commercial break and first two outs of the inning-- I hope Teens realizes how lucky she is to be able to watch games with a know-it-all), when, mid-sentence, Jose Lobaton went yammies. Just absolutely crushed it. Walk-off. Game over. Talk about shutting me up.

So once again, I got cocky during a sporting event, and Walter Sobchak came over and smashed up the neighbor's car. I'd like to say I learned my lesson fo' reals this time....but give it a couple of years, and I'm sure I'll be drunk texting my buddies during the ALCS, stuff like "Get ready for the BoSox to hang a banner, you homos! Hey, remember those broads from Cancun that drove up and partied with us at Culligan? Were they sluts, or what!"





Just a heads up if you're watching this at work, this is not the TV version, so good ol' Walter will NOT be saying "This is what happens, Larry, when you find a stranger in the Alps!"

Back In The High Life Again

I get to fully enjoy playoff baseball for the first time since 2009**. I was only 26 years old back then, just a kid, much too young to understand that a string of 95-win seasons and ALCS appearances could all disappear, poof, just like that. I have to admit, even in the shark-infested waters of the AL East, I started taking playoff appearances for granted just a tiny bit. (P.S. I really hate Tampa Bay. The AL East was already a nightmare, what with all the monster payrolls, and then the Rays had to go and turn themselves into pretty much the best organization in the Major Leagues, just to add to the mix. Real cool, Tampa.)

**I apologize to all my Royals friends; I'm not trying to invite sympathy or make that sound like a crazy long time, when you haven't made the playoffs since '85. I was just trying to underscore the point I was making, that after the stretch the Sox had from 2002 to 2008, it's easy to get spoiled enough to where three postseason-less years feels a long time. You know I root for you guys too. But hey, at least you got your first pennant rance this year! Plus they dominated their over/under season win total of 78.5, so really, we're all winners here.**

This year's Red Sox team has been extremely enjoyable (not even CLOSE to the 2003-2005 'Idiots' though, so respectfully disregard any writer who makes that comparison.) When you're following a 162-game season, you need wacky, fun things to break up the monotony of the everyday grind. Everything from all the kids coming up from the minors and contributing (Middlebrooks, Xander, JBJ, etc.)....to the Koji High-Five Routine (HEADS UP VICTORINO!).....





...to the #GetBeard movement, and all the homoerotic beard-touching that goes along with that.

It's just been a lot of fun to follow this team. Even if they wouldn't have made the playoffs this season, I would've welcomed the change from last year, when the team turned on Valentine before the season even started; Youk, Beckett, Gonzo, and Crawford were run out of town; and they couldn't even get to 70 wins. Obviously the goal is to win it all this year, but even if the Sox get swept out of the first round, I'm just happy to be here-- as opposed to the last few postseasons, when I would watch my DVDs of the 2004 playoffs and crush enough beers that I eventually thought the games were actually happening live.

Teens even climbed aboard the bandwagon, to the dismay, and eventually outright disgust, of her family. She had a Godfather Part II "I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart" moment with her mom when she wore Red Sox gear to the Red Sox/Royals games back in August. Teens justified it as "Well, I watch the Sox every time they're on TV now, I can name basically the entire team, and I barely know any Royals anymore, so I guess Boston is my favorite team now."

Also, she recently had a sex dream where a bunch of girls climbed in separate boats to paddle across a river to bang whichever Red Sox player they chose. There was a huge race to get to Jacoby Ellsbury first (obviously; his eyes are like brown diamonds) so she chose Stephen Drew and told him he was her first choice anyway. So she's got that going for her, which is nice.

(In the interest of full disclosure: I'm going with Will Middlebrooks in that scenario. He's definitely never calling you again, but he's at least going to cook you a nice breakfast in the morning, and pay for your cab home.)

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to return to what I've been doing for the last few days: going over pitching matchups and lefty/righty splits, building my weeknight drinking tolerance back up to playoff baseball standards again, and listening to a four-song playlist on repeat:












(I know that fourth song doesn't really fit into the Boston playlist theme, but it's just a really good tune that I'm digging right now. Don't be a dick.)

I'm Sorry Charlie Murphy, I Was Having Too Much Fun

Well, if the goal for last Saturday was to get aggressively drunk, like I stated in Friday's post....Mission Effing Accomplished. The drinking display that Fundy, Morley, T.Nels, Easy E and I put on was rivaled only by our poor decision-making. We drank on Friday night, slept for about four hours, and were cracking beers by about 10am on Saturday. Towards the end of Saturday night, when our group added a couple of gals, the seven of us decided to eschew traditional bar-hopping and instead just pulled Irish Exits on each other. I still don't know why this happened. Seemed like a good idea at the time, I guess.

At one point (after ditching Morley, T.Nels and the girls-- but before I caught up with Fundy and Easy, who had in turn ditched all of us an hour earlier) I ended up solo for about 45 minutes, walking around downtown Minneapolis, eventually going into an unknown bar by myself for a beer, since I was just straight-up lost and clearly needed more alcohol in my bloodstream. Initially I blamed myself, because I was browned out at that point (not quite blacked out, but pretty close) and assumed I was struggling with their directions. However, last night I was going through my drunk texts (Easy and I call them 'Drexlers' or just 'Clydes'), assessing the damage, when I saw this string of texties from Fundy starting just after midnight.

So, maybe it wasn't all my fault. Or maybe cowbOy hoxftM just wasn't a good scene that night. Either way, I hope Fundy's meeting that night was productive.

(Also, the top line is cut off, but it reads that Wiggins tore his ACL in practice, obviously not true. Fundy sends me some variation of this texty pretty much bi-weekly. Clearly I wasn't in the mood for it on Saturday morning.)

Annnnnyway, long story short-ish, I eventually found Easy and Fundy-- although we never did meet back up with Morley and T.Nels, thus never gave them their keys, thus they had to crash downtown, and Fundy had to come back with us to the 'burbs and stay there. By the time 2am rolled around, I was so crushed that when we walked out of the bar and saw the police on horseback keeping the peace, I told the two random dudes that I had just met 15 minutes earlier "Get a look at Secretariat over there, just mad-dogging me right now. He really looks like the kind of horse that can take a punch, doesn't he? For 20 bucks, I'll punch him right in the face." Luckily they didn't accept my offer. Seriously, it was a weird night. Five dudes in their thirties, making decisions and carrying on like a bunch of 16-year-olds with fake IDs, out on the town for the first time ever.

On the plus side, it will fit in nicely with my other favorite ridiculous Minneapolis nights, in no particular order:

- September 2005. T.Nels and I are about to embark on our first Boston trip to see Fenway Park. We're flying out of Minneapolis early the next morning, so the plan is to stay at our buddy Brett's place, "just have a couple of beers", and he'll take us to the airport in the morning so we don't have to pay for parking. We end up having a bunch of beers at his apartment, going to a nearby bar for "just a couple more", then eventually going Uptown, meeting up with a ton of friends from high school, and closing down the bar. We didn't trust ourselves to wake up on time from Brett's apartment, so we just got dropped off at the airport at like 3am and slept in the lobby with the homeless people.

- December 2004. Paul and I went to visit Chelsey back when she lived in the Cities. We met up with some friends of hers and Paul's from the camp they worked at, and they brought a friend along who was both smoking hot and smoking cigarettes at a pretty consistent rate. At some point during dinner, as SportsCenter was playing on an overhead TV, the friend made a comment along the lines of "Yeah, Ben Roethlisberger has a better record right now, but he's just in a better situation than Eli Manning, he has a much better supporting cast. So we can't say who the best rookie QB is yet."

I overlooked her frankly alarming smoking habit, fell in love on the spot, and the evening ended with us making out in the bar, on the ride home, and in Chelsey's building's hallway for like an hour, until her ride was leaving and we had to be physically separated. I came back into the apartment with a sheepish smile, got a high-five from Paul, and a "That was absolutely disgusting" from Chelsey. To this day, any time I see a good-looking gal smoking cigs and talking knowledgeably about sports, I get wistful and think to myself "Damn, what a woman. Wait, what was her name again? Marne? Marty? It definitely started with an M."

- July 2005. Another trip to visit Chels, although this time we added Fundy and Buckley to the mix. We went to a bar that was in a halfway-sketchy location-- sketchy enough that they didn't allow hats to be worn backwards due to possible gang affiliations. This....turned into a problem for me. This was a period in my life where you would rarely find me without a backwards Red Sox hat on. For awhile, life was good at this bar. Billie Jean was played, and I successfully led the entire dancefloor in jumping around to different tiles, pretending to light them up like the music video. It was glorious. Good-looking girls, hipsters, thugs wearing head-to-toe FuBu, douchebags in polo shirts and backwards Red Sox hats thinking they're cooler than they really are....all united in lighting up imaginary tiles. I was the Belle of the Ball.

However, I could NOT keep my hat turned forwards. I wasn't being drunk and belligerent at all, I was just being suuuuper drunk and suuuuper forgetful. The bouncer would come tell me to turn it forwards, I would comply and say "Oh yeah, my bad!", keep dancing, then 30 seconds later my inner monologue would be like "Why is your hat forwards right now? That's weird, we never wear it forwards. Also, let's get some White Castle on the way home, sliders sound fucking amazing right now" and I'd turn it backwards again. Repeat this about six times and I was finally thrown out (at which point I DID become drunk and belligerent.) I went and sat in the parking lot by myself until Buckley finally came looking for me. Right as she found me and started walking over, I projectile vomited across three or four parking spaces. I looked her, smiled, and said "I think I puked a lil' bit."

It's nice to have one more night to add to that list; it'd be a shame if it ended in 2005. We said going into this that we wanted a good old-fashioned shitshow, and we got one. Now I'm never going back to Minneapolis again.

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A couple more notes from the weekend of having too much fun:

- Referencing Friday's post and the lies I was going to tell strangers: All of them were fun, but most of them were failures. However, one of them worked, and worked spectacularly. Morley and I gambled at Canterbury for a couple hours while everyone else went to a bar down the road. Morley went down a couple hundred bucks real quick, borrowed a hundy from me (I was having some success) and lost that too. He shuffled off to the ATM, and some of our fellow blackjack players expressed their sympathy, telling me it's too bad my buddy lost that much money so fast. I had my reply unsheathed before they could even finish their sentence- "Oh, him? Don't worry about that guy. He used to intern at Facebook, got in on the ground floor. He actually helped come up with the 'Like' button. So he's doing juuuuust fine, he can handle a losing streak."

All the players bought it immediately, hook, line, and sinker, and were super excited about it. The dealer, however, has probably seen countless d-bags like myself come through his table, and held his suspicions. He raised an unfriendly eyebrow at me, "That a true story?" And once again, I was prepared, "Yup. He's a lawyer now- he kinda had to become one, what with all the litigation that stupid 'Like' button caused. Lawsuits for years, people trying to claim the idea as their own. He's still in court over it."

Morley, who by this time was playing a different game and making a huge comeback at a table about 30 yards away, was playing his part to perfection without even knowing it. Wearing a garish blaze orange golf jacket and backwards hat, stacks and stacks and stacks of chips in front of him, throwing around money on booze, walking away from his table every once in a while to walk into my line of vision and throw up a gang sign, occasionally coming over with a beer for me and saying things like "As your attorney, I advise you to drink this." The dealer had no choice but to believe me, and pretty soon he was referencing Morley as 'Social Network', and the other players at the table and I were cheers'ing to Facebook after every dealer bust. That blackjack table was a blast-- probably the most fun I've ever had without a single friend at the table with me (after Morley left, of course.) Who says it's wrong to tell little white lies?


- I'm well aware of the fact that my hair is long and shitty right now. I'm in Jared and Steph's wedding in a couple weeks, so I'm trying to wait to cut it so that's it at optimal length for pictures and whatnot. If I had cut it last week, it just would've been long and crappy again by the time the wedding rolled around. Make sense? OK cool.

So I'm fresh off the interstate after a long drive, excited to see my friends, happy to be alive. As I'm walking my bags up to Easy and LZE's apartment, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window and have the thought "I bet these guys are gonna rip on my hair HARD this weekend. Ehh, maybe it's not that bad." 30 seconds later I walk in the door to this greeting:

LZE: James is here!
Morley: Whaaaaat is your hair doing right now?!?!
Easy E: Who do you think you are, fucking Jason Sudeikis???

I hate my friends.


- Easy E and I came back from the bar on Friday night and watched the James Franco Roast, each for the second time. Then we watched most of it again the next morning, and if Easy had his way, we would've watched it AGAIN at 3am on Saturday night. As a result, we spent most the weekend yelling out the line from the clip below whenever we had the chance. If I had a buck for every time I yelled this completely out of context last weekend.....well, then, I guess I'd have a lot more money, and I wouldn't have to try and sell my police horse face-punching services on the streets like a friggin' vagrant. SUCH PHENOMENAL RAAAANGE!

Cities, Of The Twin Variety

I'm about to hit the road for a weekend in Minneapolis with these fools:

As well as this fool. Don't ask me why Schne texted me us TNels' Senior Yearbook photo and why I still have it in my phone; it's a long, sexually confusing story:

I haven't been aggressively drunk in quite a while now, so I'mma see what I can do about that, starting at approximately 7:30 CST tonight. To clarify, I'm talking, like, "Texting the Zidon sisters Journey lyrics without context at 3:45am, asking a blackjack dealer if she'll take my last name when we get married or if she'd rather hyphenate, telling strippers that I used to intern at Facebook and I came up with the idea for the 'Like' button, punting burritos in the Taco Bell parking lot because they forgot to leave off the sour cream" drunk.

Four out of the five of us are engaged/married, so the wingmanning for Morley should be top notch. Last time I was on wingman duty was for Hendo at a wedding a couple months back, and I failed (I got us settled in pretty solidly with a fun group of people, but my middle relievers let us down, then we brought Teens in from the bullpen but she couldn't close anything for Hendo either.) So I've got some motivation. Here are some lines I'm hoping to use at some point over the course of the weekend:

- "See my buddy over there? His dad used to work at Paramount, and they were short on extras one day, so he actually got to be in Forrest Gump. Yeah, he was the kid on the bus who says "Can't sit here." Go ahead, ask him to say the line, he'll only break it out if it's for a girl."

- "I know, you can't even see the scar from where they re-attached his ear, can you? Don't worry, he'll be back and running the marathon again next year. You can't let the terrorists win, you know? Go ahead, say hi. Just make sure to speak into his left ear, the other one is just for show now."

- "Well, he was in L.A. for a couple weeks, working on some development deals, and ended up at some rager in the Hollywood Hills. Long story short....he got Lindsay Lohan's phone number. Wanna text her? It's a ton of fun." (For this one, you need to change the name of one of your phone contacts to 'LiLo' or whatever sketchy celeb is being applied to your situation, and you need a friend willing to participate and cooperate. Don't think we haven't tried this one before. My friend Kelsy played a dynamite Olsen Twin for me a couple years ago.)

Fathers, lock up your daughters.

Casinos, unlock your reserve stash of chips.


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The worst part about this trip (keeping in line with the whole "Every time I leave town something else is going on" theme that is my life) is that I'll miss the Breaking Bad finale on Sunday night, only the most anticipated hour of TV since The Sopranos over six years ago.

I'll be driving home Monday, so it shouldn't be too difficult to avoid internet spoilers until I get to watch the DVR that evening....but if any of my "friends" try and ruin it for me, I will destroy you. I am a petty, spiteful man, and I will come down on you with the force of a hundred Walter Whites. I AM THE ONE WHO KNOCKS.

Friend Zone

I found out recently that KU basketball assistant coach Kurtis Townsend (recently named the #1 recruiter in the country, according to a poll of his fellow NCAA coaches) must live in my neighborhood or something. This was completely new information to me. (As opposed to Bill Self, whose house I knew the location of before they laid the first brick. Sometimes I wake up super early in the morning, drive over and park my car in front of his house, and just watch the sun rise. I've also started leaving things on his front porch. I hope he likes the present I left him the other day-- it's macaroni noodles glued on a paper plate, in the form of he and I holding hands, and a message on the bottom in crayon saying 'Best Budz 4 Life.')

Every morning for the past few weeks, I've seen Townsend on a morning stroll as I drive to work-- me driving East, him walking West, so we're facing each other as I pass. Right off the bat, as I was just processing the fact that it was Townsend, he looked right at me and waved. I was taken aback and looked around for another car near me, as I knew of no reason why Townsend would be throwing me a what-up. Nobody else around. OK, fair enough. The next day, same thing, only this time I was cool, calm, and collected, and waved back. Next day, same thing. Next day, same thing, and every day since then.

So there are two possibilities here: either Townsend thinks I'm somebody else, or he's just being friendly. I can accept that he's just being friendly; not every semi-famous person is required to be an asshole. But then the question becomes: why isn't he waving at anybody else? There have been days since the first one where there have been other cars in the vicinity, and he doesn't wave at any of them, just me. Perhaps he's had the same thought that I've had, and acknowledging it's pretty bizarre that we cross each other within the same 30-yard diameter EVERY single day. I know people have routines in the morning, but this is getting absurd. If I'm three minutes late, then he is. If I'm six minutes early, so is he. Staying within the same 10-second window like this has been freaky.

In any event, why he is waving at me matters not. It's the as a result that matters. And as a result, I'm not going to hesitate to be super comfortable with Townsend next time I see him in public (when one of us isn't driving 40mph in the opposite direction.) If he wants to be boys, we're gonna be BOYS. I've seen him quite a few times at Henry T's, and noticed that we both almost exclusively order the buffalo chicken strips. Next time, I'm envisioning me plopping down at his table, grabbing one of his strips and nonchalantly taking a bite. "Yo, Townsy, how's the family?" I'll say, as he and his friends look startled and try to alert the manager. "Well, see ya bright and early tomorrow morning, my man. Mondays, am I right? Don't forget about those tickets you promised!" Soon after, the harassing phone calls, mutilated family pets, and doorstep macaroni presents will start.

And poor Kurtis Townsend will never go out of his way to be friendly again.

iQuit

I've been balls-deep in ebay auctions for an iPod for like two weeks now, and if I lose one more auction because someone outbids me with like four seconds left, I am going to lose my fucking mind.

I mean, I don't even want to buy a new iPod. My current edition has been faithful to me for almost seven years, and we all know how I hate to let things go. I'm only in the market for a different one for two reasons:

1. My current iPod can't hold a charge for longer than 15 minutes. 95% of the time, this isn't a problem. I have a docking station in my bathroom, at my office desk, and there's a charger inside of Voltron (I neglected to mention that I got a new car a while back, the Element has been retired. The new ride is an Acura MDX, I named it Voltron. I'll let Bill Hader explain why.)





However, when I'm on the treadmill, the iPod isn't charging, and I HAVE to have music rocking, since I'm not even close to mentally tough enough to exercise without music. So when my iPod cuts out without warning after only 10-15 minutes, this is a problem, because I'm gonna shut the treadmill off right behind it. It's not like I'm running marathons or anything, I'm only running 21 miles per month-- the exact amount of running that lets me eat whatever I want, whenever I want, without getting any fatter. Here's the problem: after I tore my meniscus, I had zero physical activity for three months, and I put on 15 pounds quicker than you can say "Well, no, Teens, I'm getting a 'Six-Pack and a Pound' for just myself, what do YOU want from Taco John's?" True story: starting Wednesday afternoon, I have had pizza for 6 of my last 8 meals (not counting breakfast, I don't play that shit. Breakfasts are for rich people.) So anyway, now I need to get back down to my ideal fighting weight of 190 again. The point is, while I'm not Prefontaine or anything, I do have to be running for longer than 15 minutes at a time. Ipso facto, I need a new iPod, post haste.

2. I got called out by a Mom the other day for how crappy my iPod looked. I can deal with all the jokes I get from friends for how damaged the screen is ("That must have been a bummer when that stampede of elephants ran over your iPod-- what's Jumanji like in real life, anyway?"......"I hope they caught the guy who stole your iPod, backed over it with his car a few times, then returned it to your docking station", etc. etc.) But when a MOM is calling me out for having such a broke-ass iPod, now we have problems.


So all I need is a used, old school iPod, 30GB, nothing fancy, whatever. I don't want a new one, or even a newER one than what I already own. Just one in better shape. I'm not being picky here. We're not talking about Tony Stark technology for a new Iron Man suit or something.

But yet, these things still get all kinds of action on ebay. I swear, if I get outbid one more time, that's it. I will go on a multi-state killing spree, strangling every victim with the USB cord. I'll leave a set of headphones on each victim, then paint each body completely black from head to toe. The media will dub me the iKiller. The evidence will finally start to point in my direction, so I'll take to the road. Paul will be my driver, and we'll slowly cruise down I-435 with a swarm of police on our tail while I threaten suicide. This will take place during Game 5 of the NBA Finals. I'll finally give myself up, hire a bunch of high-priced attorneys and go to trial, and I'll be acquitted amidst a controversy that rocks the nation and encapsulates race relations from coast to coast. I'll spend the rest of my life playing golf and trying to find the "real" killer, until I eventually go to prison for an armed robbery gone bad.

Or hopefully I'll just win the next used iPod ebay auction I participate in.

35

On my iPod, I have a bunch of playlists that are grouped together and sorted simply by play count. I love these kind of playlists, since it can lead to sequences like Smokey Robinson > A Tribe Called Quest > Aladdin Soundtrack > Black Sabbath > KC & the Sunshine Band > Cypress Hill > The song from the pennant race montage in Major League.




These are lists for another day, but this song would rank in the top 5 of both "Greatest Movie Montages" and "I'm Hungover As Shit, And I Know It's Only 11am....But You Wanna Crack A Beer Anyway?"


I name these playlists by jersey numbers, so that I can identify which playlist is which. A playlist of songs that have all been played 9 times is named 'Nick Van Exel'. Songs that have been played 19 times, 'Josh Beckett.' And so on and so on. Yeah, I suppose I could just name the playlist 'Nineteens' or something, but what fun is that? Get a fucking imagination.

(This is sorta unrelated, but it always cracked me up when Lane, another big believer in using jersey numbers as identifiers, had to give out his phone number in college. His number was XXX-1413, and he would tell people "XXX, Kent Hrbek, Kent Hrbek minus one." If they couldn't figure it out, they didn't get his digits.)

ANYWAY, sometimes the playlist is named after one of my favorite athletes (as per the above two examples) but sometimes it's just the first athlete that pops into my head when I think of that jersey number. The other day, I created a list of songs that had been played 35 times. I cleared my head, and the first name that flew in there was....Marion Butts. Marion Butts?

I know I spend an inordinate amount of time wishing it was 1994, but this was still pretty weird. I hadn't even thought about him in probably 15 years. It's like having a sex dream about a girl you haven't been friends with since 7th grade- what up, Amanda.

I thought this whole Butts thing was really bizarre (we're talking about Marion again now, not Amanda) so I polled a cross-section of my friends, asking who was the first athlete they thought of when they thought of #35. Here's a breakdown of their answers:


The Obvious Answer: Kevin Durant

- DVJS
- Horp
- Steph
- Hendo
- Myshawn
- Landry
- Matty P
- Chelsey
- Kyle
- JDub- With a secondary answer of Reggie Bullock from North Carolina
- Addy- Secondary answer: the legendary Mark Madsen
- CJ- Secondary answer ALSO Mark Madsen (is this a Minneapolis thing?) Also, discussing the Mad Dog led to this little factoid from CJ which is too good not to share: "He tried to meet up with two different female friends of mine on match.com, surprisingly both turned him down."

The Second Obvious Answer, That Somehow Never Even Crossed My Mind: Frank Thomas

- Easy E
- Dunph
- Bird
- Mangus
- Aly B
- Razor Ramon aka Tom- Secondary answers of Dontrielle Willis and Mike Tolbert- Hey, I'm not the only one to reference a fat San Diego Chargers running back!
- Jonye- Secondary answer of Reggie Lewis
- Gangel- Secondary answer Mike Richter (I love this one for some reason, maybe since it was the only hockey entry. What, no Toby Kvalevog? Sioux Yeah Yeahhhhhhhhhh!)


The Lane Answer

"Reggie Lewis, his fucking number is retired, and he's dead"

Clearly Associated With A Favorite Team, And That's OK Too

I thought there would be a bunch more of these, to be honest. At first I was surprised there were no Minnesota Twins, but after further research, it makes sense. I didn't recognize a single player on that list....but hey, Gardy sports the big 3-5! When he's not wearing sleeveless camo, drinking Old Milwaukee, and shooting animals from his back porch, that is.

- Double D, Schneweis- Jerod Haase (I love this one, obviously)

- Fundy- Reggie Bullock (I would've bet my entire checking account that Bullock would be Fundy's answer, so I would've doubled up...but then I would've given it all back when I let the same bet ride on JDub's answer.)

The Man-Card Revoking

Alfonso: "Nobody, but I'm terrible with sports numbers" (Editor's note: Rule #76, no excuses, play like a champion.)


In closing, I thought this was a strangely fascinating game. If I ever go to grad school, this topic might be my thesis. While the question served a purpose this time (if you count a shitty blog post as a "purpose"), next time I do this it will be for no reason at all. My friends should expect a similar question in the future every time I'm bored. My new drunk texts will be stuff like "heydude,,, #4fourty-7, GO! but firsst lets get an apartment 2gether.. what does it all mean? BeeR."

Hey, maybe a question like this would be a good icebreaker. Let's open up the lines of communication with Amanda after all these years.

A Conversation Between Eminem And His Agent

Eminem: So what's on the agenda today?

Agent: Well, there's this guy, Jum Hammonds, who used to like your music quite a bit a decade ago. But there's a problem: he's barely listened to you since. Quite simply, we've lost him.

Eminem: So we're gonna try and win him back now? After all these years?

Agent: Precisely. We need to come up with some ideas here today. Fire away.

Eminem: Hmmm...how about I dye my hair blonde again? That was what I looked like when he loved my music, right?

Agent: I suppose that's a start.

Eminem: I could play up that whole serial killer angle I was going for a few years ago...

Agent: Eh.

Eminem: Jokes about the Bush Administration? That's topical!

Agent: Nah, when Jum is listening to rap music, he doesn't really want to hear a bunch of bullshit about politics.

Eminem: Are you sure? What about 'By the Time I Get to Arizona'...he loves that song.

Agent: Well, yeah, but there was a good reason for that song. Arizona had banned Martin Luther King Day, for crying out loud. You were just taking potshots at the current administration for pretty uninspiring reasons.

Eminem: OK, I gotcha. Changing gears slightly: how do we feel about burping and farting sound effects during the songs?

Agent: That's basically what lost him in the first place.

Eminem: Yelling like Pee Wee Herman during the chorus? Making fun of Michael Jackson?

Agent: If I can be frank here, I think the further we stay away from anything we did in 'Just Lose It', the better.

Eminem: Oh! How 'bout this? I rap an entire song while doing my impression of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog! Really, I'll be taking jabs at the character, only IN HIS OWN VOICE. Did I just blow your mind or what?

Agent: We already did that, remember? I thought it was genius, but Jum...well, let's just say he didn't go for it. It's weird, usually Jum loves a good diss track. I guess he just prefers that they're directed towards an actual human being and not a hand puppet.

Eminem: Oh yeah, I forgot we already did that. I fucking hate that puppet. I mean, the nerve, to try and mess with me at the MTV awards! ME! Marshall Mathers! I'M the only one who gets to make fun of people! If I could just-

Agent: Stay on track, Marshall....

Eminem: I know, I know. Sorry. We could always bring in Fitty for a song or two.

Agent: You're on the right track....

Eminem: On the right track? C'mon, that's it right there! Bring back somebody from Jum's rap music heyday that he enjoys. He's a sucker for that shit.

Agent: Very true. It's not a bad idea at all. Bringing in 50 Cent is good, much better than featuring Drake or Lil' Wayne or someone like that. It's just not quite what we need; it doesn't change anything about YOU. What can we do to improve YOU in Jum's mind?

~silence~

Eminem: I got it! I'll just straight-up turn myself into a Beastie Boy!

Agent: AND BINGO WAS HIS NAME-O!!!!

Eminem: Quick, somebody get Rick Rubin on the phone!





Jum Hammonds: Good work, fellas. This song is pretty sweet.

Grand Theft Vanessa, Manny Being Manny, & The Nostalgia Therein

Remember this video? With the driving piano and whatnot? I certainly do, because I had a thing for Vanessa Carlton, and this song was playing the first time I ever got laid** so it will always have a special place deep down in my soul. (Then again, we also listened to John Mayer during that magical session when two hearts beat as one for the first time, and that guy fucking sucks. So whatever, I guess.)

Anyway, now that your memory is refreshed, watch this:




There are things in life that get me giggling, and then my laughter snowballs until I can't control it any longer and it gets embarrassing. Sometimes these things aren't really that funny. In high school, Haley and Lane liked to call me Phil, as in Phil from The Tom Green Show, as in the guy who just sat in the background and laughed at everything.

Sometimes it's pretty easy to make me laugh. Sometimes I'm like the quiet sophomore with an enormous crush on the quarterback of the football team, and I bat my eyes and laugh at all his jokes because I desperately want him to notice me, and eventually fingerblast me in the back of his pickup truck. I kinda have the feeling that this video might be one of those things that maybe isn't as funny as I thought it was.

All that said, I giggled for the entire three minutes and fifty-five seconds of this video, so you should at least get a solid 30-45 seconds of enjoyment.

**Fun story: a couple years ago, this song came on the jukebox while we were out playing trivia in a bar. I made a comment about my first serious girlfriend, and how it was "our song." Then, for some reason (hint: beer) I did some weird Sammy Sosa-after-a-home-run-thing with my hands, and pointed to the sky. Of course, none of my Kansas friends know Molly, so an awkward silence fell over the table, and lasted for a few minutes. Finally I asked why everyone was being so quiet and weird, and they said something to the effect of "Well, you just brought up your dead ex-girlfriend, whom you've never mentioned before, out of nowhere, so we didn't know how to respond." I assured them I was just being dumb, Molly was alive and well, and I meant my hand gesture as a tribute to our past love, and we all had a good laugh. Now we'll play that song on the jukebox all the time, raise our glasses in a toast, and yell things like "R.I.P. Molly!" and "I'll never stop loving you!"

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While searching for an appropriate video of Sammy Sosa doing his hand-kissing and pointing routine, I stumbled into this video of Manny Ramirez doing all the ridiculous things that he does. After my initial excitement at the video (when I wrote this post back in the day, I searched forever for video evidence of one of my favorite Manny Moments ever and couldn't find anything. Finally, at the :46 mark of this video, paydirt!) when it ended I realized how much I missed Manny and got kinda bummed out. It's been five full years now since the Red Sox traded Manny, and there's still a hole in my heart.

Bottom line, I don't know what made me more nostalgic: the first girl I ever loved, or some Dominican guy who always fucked up running the bases and once pissed in the Green Monster during a pitching change. It's a toss-up, really.

Thug Life

Listening to hip-hop for most of my life (as well spending much of my childhood wishing I was black) has resulted in a couple of small side effects.  Due to my penchant for turning the 'th' sound into an 'f' sound, there are a few words I struggle to say normally anymore.  'Teeth' becomes 'teef', 'both' becomes 'bof', 'truth' becomes 'truf'...you get it. 

For the most part, I can keep this speech pattern in check during professional conversations (similar to the minor task of remembering not to ridiculously quote movies during inappropriate situations.) But the other day, during a seminar with about 25 other people in the room, when the answer the speaker was looking for was "Word of mouth", I blurted out "Word of mouf!" without turning on my white-accountant-in-his-thirties-filter.  It wasn't the most awkward thing in the world or anything; it's not like I stood up and shouted "Word of mouf babayyyyyyyy! I got ho's in different area codes!"

I caught a few stray glances and half-cocked eyebrows, but most people probably just thought I had a speech impediment, or had food in my mouf or something. It wasn't quite a "When keepin' it real goes wrong" situation or anything. That being said, it won't go down as a high point in my life, either.

It's tough being from the streets. How we ever gonna come up, if this is how we get down?

FOOOOOOTBALLLLLLL

It's about that time of year- one of the greatest times of year, in my opinion. The time of year where you get to sort through all the football columns you can handle, trying to figure out fantasy football and gambling for the year. Here's what I got, starting with my fantasy team, the Double Deuces:

Just a reminder that my team name is a reference to the greatest Swayze movie ever, Roadhouse. Although this year, it takes on a double meaning with #22 Andrew Wiggins.


QB- Aaron Rodgers- I've always wanted him on my squad, and now I've got him. Also, Teens will love this pick, since she is constantly eye-humping the shit out of him when he's on TV. And if we're being totally honest with ourselves here....if he and I are out together in a cozy restaurant, having a nice dinner and some good conversation, and after dessert, the lights are turned down low and the wine is hitting me just the right way, if all of a sudden he tilts his head and leans in close....I'm not sure that I'm turning away.

RB- Chris Johnson- I'm smelling a comeback year from my boy CJ. I took a little bit of shit for this pick, but I've been right on him before, a couple of times.

RB- David Wilson- From the guy who gave you the breakout years of CJ, Doug Martin, Trent Richardson, Clinton Portis, and more...allow me to present to you David Wilson!

WR- AJ Green- I don't have the amazing crop of WRs I had last year, so AJ needs to be a horse for me this year.

WR- Dwayne Bowe- We finally get to see what he can do with a decent QB/coach combination.

WR- Steve Smith- As my third WR, I love him. If he was my second, not so much. At one point in the draft, I was starting to not love my team, but then I got Wilson as my RB2 and Smith as my WR3 in back-to-back rounds, and then I was back in liking my squad. But then I followed that up with...

TE- Kyle Rudolph- My first (and only this year, thankfully) panic pick. I definitely yelled 'DAMMIT FUCK SHIT' as I clicked the 'draft player' button.

K- Sebastian Janikowski- Here's why it's awesome having Bassy, and I try to draft him every year: the Raiders shitty offense stalls out on a lot of drives, and with his big leg, they'll attempt ANY length of field goal. He always gets a ton of shots at 50+, which is almost worth as much as a friggin' touchdown. One of these days he's gonna kick a 72-yarder or something stupid like that, and I'll leap off my couch yelling and celebrating and kicking an imaginary football, and I'll completely shatter my foot on the coffee table, but it will be worth it.

D/ST- Bengals- Normally every year I draft my entire bench before my defense, and just add/drop defenses throughout the year, and it goes about how you would expect it to go. This year, for the first time, I committed to drafting a good defense. We'll see how it goes. I'm pretty much over it already.

BENCH- Vincent Brown- Someone has to be the Charger's #1 WR.

BENCH- Malcolm Floyd- See Brown, Vincent.

BENCH- Eli Manning- He went on the trading block immediately after I drafted him. Guys, this might have been the steal of the draft! I can't believe I lucked into not one, but TWO elite quarterbacks this year! It's just a shame Eli is gonna be rotting away on my bench, it almost seems like he deserves to play somewhere else, you know? Wow, Eli Manning. What a stud.

BENCH- Le'Veon Bell- I'm hoping somebody emerges from Pittsburgh's triumvirate of mediocre running backs to be something slightly above mediocre.

BENCH- Shonn Greene- Handcuffing CJ here, but if it comes to that, I'm fucked anyway.

BENCH- Brent Celek- Whatever.


Now on to the gambling portion of this post, and my favorite type of bet there is: NFL season wins over/unders. Here are the bets I loved the most:


Patriots under 11

It's never a great idea to bet against Belichick & Brady, but I think both the Bills and Dolphins will be tougher this year (oops), and the Pats let every decent WR on their roster go in the offseason, and Aaron Hernandez (in Ron Burgundy voice) probably should have found a safehouse or a relative close by and laid low for awhile. I still think the Pats will win the division, and I might be headed for a kiss-your-sister push at 11-5...but it's tough to get to 12-4 in the NFL these days.

Bears over 8.5

Fuck I hate cheering for the Bears. There are lots of things I dislike about Jay Cutler, not the least of which is that he's married to my boo Kristin Cavallari. But I think they're gonna be decent this year, and there's money to be made. I hate to be a sell-out here, but Cash Rules Everything Around Me, C.R.E.A.M, get the money, dolla dolla bills y'all!



Panthers under 7.5

I can't see how Carolina gets to a .500 record with their schedule and division. Atlanta, New Orleans, Tampa? Figure they go 2-4 there, 3-3 if we're being generous, which means they need to go 6-4 or 5-5 against everyone else. Except they also play Seattle, the Giants, New England, at Miami, and at San Francisco. So they basically need to pull a couple of upsets, or else win every single coin-flip game and avoid being upset once all year. Like Stevie Wonder and the most glorious rainbow in the world, I'm not seeing it.

Redskins over 8.5

There's always one bet every year that makes me feel squeamish literally two seconds after I place it. Just instant regret. I've often wished that gambling websites would offer you a similar message to what happens in Word or Excel when you try to close a document without saving, and it asks you something like "Are you sure you want to exit without saving changes?" I need something like that for win total over/unders. "RGIII is banged up, the league had an entire offseason to try and figure him out, the schedule got tougher, the division ostensibly improved, they're probably due for some regression in the turnover differential department....are you sure you want to exit without saving changes?"

Chargers under 7.5

It feels like Phillip Rivers has been the Chargers' QB for like 25 years instead of seven, and they still haven't won anything with him. At this point, I feel like he needs to hear a slightly adjusted version of the speech that Happy Gilmore's girlfriend gives him as she's breaking up with him. "All you ever talk about is winning a Super Bowl, but there's a problem: you're not any good!" Continuing with the Happy Gilmore parallels, if there was one QB that would take off his skate and try to stab somebody, my money would be on Rivers. Or Cutler, dammit I hate that douchebag.

Stephen from Laguna Beach > Brody Jenner > Jay Cutler


Jets under 6.5

I already thought the Jets would struggle to get to 7 wins...and then this happened. And this happened. And this happened. Today on my gambling site, in the 'bet amount' box for the Jets, I tried typing in "4 bedroom, 3 bathroom house w/ 2 car garage, good neighborhood, Golden Tee NOT included"...but when I tried to submit the bet, it told me that was an improper value. So yeah, I don't think the Jets get to 7 wins.

Bengals over 8.5

Similar to the Jets, I already had an opinion on the Bengals, and had it confirmed by recent events. I thought they would finish with a winning record, and more likely than not make the playoffs....then I watched a bunch of episodes of Hard Knocks at BroMo's place (side note: I had never watched that show before, no HBO and all, but holy hell it is awesome.) Now I think Cincy might go 14-2 and roll through the playoffs with their third stringers, then win the Super Bowl by 87 points while playing with only seven guys per side. Giovani Bernard might run for 3,500 yards this year; you heard it here first, folks.

***************

One more thing: this year I've decided to fulfill a lifelong goal and bet on every single game all season long. I've always flirted with this idea and never done it.

Maybe it's because I'm a little flush in my account right now since I had a good year last year, then didn't touch my account all summer except to bet on the season overs for the Braves and Royals (which should both be winners, knock on wood.)

Maybe it's because I watched Two for the Money the other day and I completely and totally missed the point of that movie. I mean, yeah, Matthew McConaughey got assaulted and got his face pissed on by gangsters, and Al Pacino had a heart attack every other day....but it still made gambling on sports for a living look pretty sweet.

Maybe it's because I'm married now, and within a couple years we'll be trying to have kids (by which I mean I'll be trying to convince Teens that we should adopt a black kid), and there won't be many more opportunities to do something this selfish. I can sense my own single-guy mortality or something.

Or, maybe it's just because Gamblor has finally taken over the last vestiges of my soul, and it's all over now. Move over Wooderson, time for me to get my face pissed on.

Whatever the reason, it's finally happening this year. Sure, there will be some games where I'm not laying more than $10 or $15 (all Ravens/Steelers games, every time I bet against the Titans, any time Michael Vick is within 100 miles of the stadium, etc.) But the point is, if you're sitting at home wondering if anyone you know has money on the game you're watching, the answer is yes. Your ol' boy Jum Hammonds does. Holla at me.

My Weekend In Three Pictures

I only missed one day of work for this trip, but I'm so buried upon my return that it feels like I missed a week. Plus I'm still tired and a tiny bit hungover from all the festivities. PLUS I ate leftover pizza and a giant-ass piece of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting in the same meal today so now I feel like shit. Add it all together, and I can't justify spending more than six minutes writing this post, when I have more important things to do, like work late/puke/die. Enjoy!


Robert Randolph was awesome as always- as was the food

Finally, they performed 'I Need More Love' during their encore, so I can no longer complain that I've never heard my favorite tune live. The Family Band is also coming back to Lawrence in November. I'll see you there.

(Side note: Yes, I wore a Robert Randolph shirt to a Robert Randolph concert. I knew I was being That Guy, and knew that somebody would blow me up on Facebook once Teens posted that picture (it ended up being Alfonso) and I accepted it as so. You don't get off the hook when you decide to be That Guy, and I wouldn't expect to. Here's my question that I genuinely don't understand: Why is it a social faux pas to represent your band at a concert? When people go to a sporting event, the majority of them are wearing at least one piece of clothing representing one of the participants. When I go to a KU game, I wear KU gear. When I go to a Red Sox game, I wear Red Sox gear. When I go to a high school girls volleyball game, I wear sweatpants so it's easier to rub one out from my hiding spot underneath the bleachers. So why is it such a bad move to wear the band's shirt when you're at their concert? Maybe I don't follow that rule because I don't get it.)



BroMo hooked us UP at the Cardinals game

We paid 0 dollars and 0 cents for these baller seats. And how gorgeous is the view of downtown St. Louis and the Arch? It was my first time at Busch Stadium, and I was very, very impressed with it. Hell of a ballyard.



Hey bro, check out my awesome shot on Golden Tee

That's a tap-in for Albatross, son! One of the best shots I've hit in my entire life, no question. However, please ignore the fact that I'm only -2 through seven holes. I like the old school Golden Tee more; it's as we like to call it, "Golden Tee in its purest form", but it's so much different. It's like the difference between the original Super Mario Brothers and Mario 64 or something.

If you asked me what the only negative to owning a 2005 Golden Tee in the basement is, I would say it's that I'm not very good at the newer Golden Tee in the bars anymore, since I'm completely acclimated to the old machine again. If you asked Teens what the only negative to owning a 2005 Golden Tee in the basement is, she would say that it's being kept awake while the boys are downstairs pounding the trackball and yelling late into the night; or that I chew a lot more now; or that she can tell I'm pretending to listen to her story but really I'm debating whether or not I can muscle a 7-iron into this 17mph wind on #12 at Crawdad Swamp; and she would try to keep listing things but then I would cut in and say "I'm a grown-ass man, OK? I am a grown-ass man and I will play Golden Tee whenever I want! Also, what do you think about trying to shape an A-1 6-iron around this corner? Think it'll clear the water?"

Goin' In The Right Direction

I've mentioned before how I have horrible luck when it comes to concerts. I don't like many current bands enough to see their shows in the first place, and when they do come to town, I'm randomly out of town for something else.

And so it almost came to pass again this upcoming weekend; Robert Randolph & the Family Band, one of my favorite bands on the planet, was inexplicably coming to Teens' hometown of Paola the same weekend we were supposed to be in St. Louis. Luckily, Easy E, LZE, and BroMo were all flexible on their days off, and we're going to be able to squeeze both in.

It's not absolutely ideal; in a perfect world, I'd be able to plant myself in my lawn chair, listen to the opening bands, drink somewhere between 13-16 beers, get my face rocked off by Big Show Bob (copyright Gangel) spend about $21 on chili cheese fries for a bedtime snack**, pass out at my mother-in-law's house, and sleep as late as I possibly could. Roots Fest 2013!!! Show us your tits!!!

Instead, Teens and I have to wake up early the next day to drive to St. Louis, and will still have an entire weekend of attending Cardinals games and golfing and boozing, so we'll want to keep the hangover minimal.

However, here's why I can't complain: there is no way that Robert Randolph should even be playing this concert. If you look at the tour dates, it goes something like:

Washington, DC
Boston
Chicago
PAOLA, KS
Chattanooga
Nashville
St. Paul

You tell me which one doesn't fit. To whomever in Paola has incriminating photos of Randolph and blackmailed him into playing Roots Fest....I'm forever in your debt.

Now, if they would just call me onstage to sing Danyel's parts in 'I Need More Love', followed by Robert telling me he's never heard anyone hit those notes as well as I just did, and inviting me to finish out the tour with them, as per my longtime fantasy, then this will be the greatest concert EVER.




**The best part of Roots Fest (besides it being a BYOB event, um YES this cooler is just for my beer, go get your own) is the food. My goodness, the food. It's set up in the town square, which as I've described before, is straight out of Back to the Future or Gremlins or something. On one street is the stage. The North and South sides are lined with t-shirt/souvenir vendors and the BBQ teams who are there to participate in a BBQ competition.

And then on the fourth side, the street is lined with food carts containing various culinary delights. I call it Fat Kid Alley. As soon as we arrive, the first thing I have to do is go on a scouting mission, so I can plan out all my meals and snacks for the day. "OK, we're going to start out with a burger and some jalapeno cheese sticks for lunch. Mid-afternoon snack, I'm feeling some wings. Dinner will be the giant turkey leg, and what the hell, let's throw in a taco salad. I'll crush some cinnamon sticks at some point in the evening, and the nightcap is ALWAYS the chili cheese fries."

Even with the small town festival prices, I still managed to spend something like 60 bucks in 2011. Just obscene.

Honestly, I would write more, but I just worked myself up into a frenzy and I have to go eat right NOW. My stomach has a huge erection right now, and I think I just drooled into the M key on mmmmy keyboard, it seemmmmmms a bit sticky.

Things That Used To Be Awesome. Volume 5.

Hacky sack.

These days, humans have cell phones to fill up our down time when we're out and about in the general public.  (And what a great time-killer those have turned out to be!  I was in the waiting room at the dentist's office the other day, and when my name was called, I actually asked the receptionist if they could just chill for a couple minutes since I was balls deep in Genghis Khan's Wikipedia page. Did you know that because he banged so many women, and all his sons banged so many women, you can find his lineage in 8% of Asian men?!?! Crazy stuff.) 

However, back in middle school, if you found yourself waiting in line, or bored at your Grandparents' house, or messing around in the locker room before football practice, or waiting for the bus, and especially if you had friends with you....you were probably digging in your pocket to pull out your trusty hacky sack.

I can't think of many things that I was definitively better at when I was 13 than I am now (Rollerblading?  Getting chased by dogs on my trailer park newspaper route?  Stealing half-smoked Dutch Masters from my Dad's ashtray?) but hacky sack might be the best example.  We all had some mad hack skills, son.  And you pretty much had to, when you were playing games like Pelt, or any other game where failure meant you stood against a wall and waited for your best friends in the entire world to throw an object as hard as they possibly could directly at your crotch.

After a year or so, the hacky sack craze died down, then was gone altogether. Among other things (my eyeglasses, my Batman Forever soundtrack, my football career), hacky sack didn't make the transition to high school along with me.

And then, almost inexplicably, we had a second hacky sack phase, the summer after Junior year of high school, around the same time my friends and I started listening to a lot of classic rock.**   It was kind of a chicken-and-the-egg situation, in that I don't really know what happened first:  Did we dig our hacky sacks out of the closet because we started listening to Dylan and Hendrix and Pink Floyd, and it seemed like the thing to do?  Or were we already kicking hack, and we looked at each other and said "Does anyone have any acid rock CDs that they can steal from their parents' collection?  This Goo Goo Dolls just isn't setting the mood right now."

In any event, once again, hacky sacks were never far out of reach.  Cargo shorts pockets, glove compartments, lockers...they were back. And, much like the first go-round, it fizzled out after a year or so. In the last 12 years, I've barely even seen, much less participated in, a hacky sack circle. I imagine they still exist, at concerts, or communes, or any location with a sizable hippie contingent....or maybe not. I'm quickly getting more and more out of touch with the kids these days. Maybe the hacky sack era is completely dead and buried.

Or maybe there's an app for that now.

"Bro, I can't believe those Narcs wouldn't let us into the Phish show just because we didn't have any tickets, what a bunch of Communists, we're just trying to have a good time, br- WHOOOAAAAHHHH! WHO BROUGHT THE FOOTBAGS, BRO?!?! Now we can have fun again, forget those Commie Narcs, bro!"


**Other things that, at various points in time in my life, were seemingly extinct, then came out of nowhere to have an unexplained second run of huge importance:  Professional wrestling; MC Hammer; those friendship bracelets you can buy with like 25 tickets at a video game arcade; David Ortiz; Muppets.

Dufner, Royals/Red Sox, Breaking Bad

Jason Dufner is putting me in a real uncomfortable spot here. I've always made the argument that you can't have two favorite teams. You just can't. There's your favorite, and there's everyone else. That doesn't mean that you can't cheer for and enjoy other teams besides your favorite (I'd definitely do some celebrating if the Vikings ever won the Super Bowl, mostly because of my dad) but you can only have one favorite at a time. Any time somebody tells me something like "Yeah the Cubs and Cardinals are my two favorite teams, so as long as one of them wins the NL Central, I'm happy, LOL!!!" I may smile and nod, but this is the face I'm making on the inside. Teens' friend Brianca has FOUR favorite NFL teams (Chiefs, Raiders, Giants, and Colts) and she may as well be the Antichrist, in my opinion.

Back to the lecture at hand. Regarding Dufner and Phil Mickelson, it's getting close to the point where I may have to eat my own words soon. Last year, I made the analogy that Phil was my longtime wife, and Duf was the temptation that ultimately I could stay away from. Well, I think last weekend I may have got drunk, rented a hotel room and cheated on Phil. During the final round of the PGA Championship yesterday, I was pacing around the room, giving myself an upset stomach, drinking Nervous Lites and mashing through chew like someone was going to take it away from me. Now, part of this agony could perhaps be explained by the fact that I stood to win a good amount of money if Dufner held on; but still, I was every bit as nervous yesterday as I was when Phil was going for his first major back in the day. I'm still perfectly happy with my marriage to Phil...but I think I need to hide my credit card statement and delete some text messages from this last weekend.

"Jason, can you please take your name off your phone? Phil went through my phone and may be calling you. If you can, please take your name off that. Huge. Quickly. All right. Bye."

(Tiger Woods voicemail jokes are still funny, right? Good.)


Also, for those who don't know much about Dufner, he once again put the internet in a frenzy and gave the general public another reason to love him by giving his (superduper hot) wife a "good game" pat on the ass during their celebration on the 18th green yesterday. Seriously, is he the greatest or what?




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An update on the Royals' record when I'm in attendance, after we went to a couple of Red Sox games in KC last week:

Royals when I bet $100 against them: 1-0

Royals vs. Red Sox: 4-3

Royals vs. everyone else: 1-19

UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE. I'm not even going to talk about this right now because I don't want to be angry and upset when I'm eating my hot pockets in five minutes. Lunch time is supposed to be a happy time.

One other Red Sox note:

I'm not sure what kind of future Brock Holt has with the Sox. Presumably, Will Middlebrooks, recently brought back up from the minors, will get his shit together soon. Plus, with studs Bogaerts and Cecchini coming up through the system, suffice it to say, the left side of the infield is pretty well set for the future. But I'd love it if Holt stuck with the squad as the utility infielder or something. It's just wayyyy too much fun (Warning: Arrested Development inside joke coming...) to yell "BROCK HOLT!" and throw my hands in the air after every single thing he does.





Normally I haaaaaate emoticons. Semi-colons and parentheses are to be used for grammatical purposes-- not to convey to somebody that you're fucking winking while you're sending your probably shitty text message. I told Sarunas once that every time she texts me an emoticon, this is the face I make. (I'm sorry for recycling that link, but it's just too perfect.) Having said that, I love that if you're following a Red Sox game on Twitter, and you see a tweet from one of the beat writers that simply shows this

\o/

you know that Brock Holt did something good. No further explanation necessary.


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Breaking Bad is back for the last episodes. I won't say too much, since at some point a full breakdown of Breaking Bad vs. The Wire (possibly my two favorite dramas of all time) needs to happen, but if you're not watching this show....you should be. Go get caught up now, there's still time.

A-Fraud

Over the years, I've made my feelings on Alex Rodriguez pretty clear. (Remember this post? And the reaction from Evelyn from the Bronx?) Over the life of this blog, the only athlete who has taken more abuse from me would probably be Tyler Hansbrough-- but a lot of that was joking around. I couldn't stand A-Rod, especially after he went to the Yankees.

I was cheering and throwing air punches in my living room when this happened:

Best part of this brawl: after getting plunked, A-Rod turned and told Varitek "Real cool, throwing at me on purpose" and Varitek replied with "Don't worry, we don't intentionally throw at .240 hitters" and then fed him a mouthful of Rawlings.

I was literally screaming at my TV when this happened (until the umps got together and correctly reversed the call):



I posted the video and not the picture, because in retrospect, it's kinda fascinating to watch A-Rod here. Between the fact that he would even try a bush league move like this; his behavior in the immediate aftermath (clapping his hands and acting pleased with himself as the ball is rolling away); and his reaction at second base and ensuing argument once the call is overturned....I mean, we should've known all we need to know about A-Rod's character right here, right? The parallels of his behavior during both this play and the drug scandal are almost eerie.

And I refused to watch World Series highlights when this was happening.

In a lot of ways, everything that is happening to A-Rod now is more than I ever dreamed of. To steal a line from Silky Johnston from the Playa Hatas Ball, "I hope all the bad things in life happen to you, and nobody else but you."

And yet, even I can't help but feel a little bit bad for A-Rod. Maybe there's a reason why all that's happening now is more than I ever dreamed of. Although part of me laughs at what a joke he has become, the other part of me is a little bummed. For one, it's becoming obvious that his narcissism has reached the point of delusion. I'm not sure he even thinks what he's doing is wrong anymore; moreover, he's starting to think of himself as the victim in all of this. Not to go all Psychology 101 on you here (I only got a B in that class because I got hammered playing flippy cup the night before the final and bombed it) but having delusions of persecution is one of the earlist signs of psychosis. It's almost sad to watch.

Secondly, and more selfishly, when I thought A-Rod was clean, as much as I hated him, I was still cheering for him to break Barry Bonds' home run record, so at least the most sacred record in all of sports wouldn't be held by a cheater.

So yeah, even after years of disliking A-Rod, I still didn't want his entire career to be destroyed. It seems like we're going a bit overboard here. It's like what Great Britain or one of the other Allied Forces in WWII must have felt like after we dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. I mean, yeah, Japan was kind of a dick, and they started it....but you didn't have to NUKE them. Fuck, man.

(Or, if you'd rather have a little bit lighter analogy, it's like Darth Vader at the end of Episode VI, when he looks over in surprise when the Emperor is electrocuting Luke. I mean, yeah, I knew we were trying to get Skywalker to join the Dark Side, and we were gonna fuck with him a bit, but I didn't know you were gonna brutally murder him right in front of me, bro.)

I do have one more selfish reason for disliking this possible year-and-a-half suspension: If it stands, the Yankees get out of his 34 million dollar salary next year, which allows them to get under the 189 million threshold, which means they can spend with impunity for a couple years again without worrying about paying the "repeat offender" tax. I guarantee you that behind the scenes, the Yankees have been doing everything they can to get this suspension to stick. They've been wanting out of this contract for at least a year now; they were probably disappointed that MLB didn't hand out the lifetime ban, as was rumored to be a possibility. The moral of the story, as it usually is, is that the Yankees are fucking evil.

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Side note: this was the 715th post in this blog's history. So if each post represented a home run, this blog just passed Babe Ruth on the all-time list. Ironic, since A-Rod, who was once a lock to pass the Babe, Hank Aaron, and Bonds to break the all-time record, might not ever play baseball again, much less pass The Great Bambino...."The Sultan of Swat! The Colossus of Clout! The Colossus of Clout! BABE RUTH!"