Kaleidoscopes

The Albums of 2010.

2011-01-06T20:48:00.000-08:00

Although this blog has sat dormant for much of the year, often receiving little to no attention for months at a time, a top ten list is a great excuse to resurrect it. My Albums of 2009 post from last year is chock-full of stellar releases, accompanied by occasionally humorous descriptions to boot. This year was not nearly as fertile as last, and seeing that I don't incredibly dig on LCD Soundsystem, the National, Arcade Fire, and (gasp) Kanye West, it's safe to say my list should at least differ a tiny bit from the onslaught of lists that are currently bombarding my Twitter and RSS feeds. I did a top 15 last year because I was being overly ambitious. Let's just keep it to a top ten this year. Again, these are (for the most part) in no particular order.

1. Black Breath - Heavy Breathing - I can't think of another album from this year that I've worn myself out listening to more than this Seattle thrash/metal collective's debut full-length. Black Breath are the sonic equivalent to a viciously pleasant swan dive off a three-story building into a swimming pool filled with cinder blocks. They play fast, loud, and they hate God. There are no frills about it. Disfear, Entombed, Motorhead, and Tragedy broken down and carefully reformed into a volatile, pissed-the-fuck-off stick of dynamite. Man, I love these dudes.

2. Maserati - Pyramid of the Sun - My recent interview with Maserati guitarist Coley Dennis focused more on the passing of drummer Jerry Fuchs and the band's uncertain future plans. It didn't go into great depth about the Athens, Georgia's outfit's first album of new material since 2007, but Pyramid of the Sun undoubtedly deserves attention. Hypnotic krautrock rhythms swirling through an eerie, drugged-out soundscape rife with sequencers and synths. The grooves melt into your brain before you even realize what's happening. An album that should come equipped with a fog machine and weirdo back lighting.

3. Sleigh Bells - Treats - Candy-coated crack rocks. This duo is comprised of airy, cutesy female vocals gently positioned atop loud-as-all-hell distorted pop beats created by a former Poison the Well bro. Does that even remotely sound like it should work? Well, it does. The album is just so damn infectious, and "Rill Rill" is one of the best singles of the year. Just try and not like it. The holy hype machine heaved a smothering amount of praise on Sleigh Bells in the early going, and according to that new-ish Honda commercial with a clip of "Riot Rhythm," it was well-deserved and accordingly well-received by the masses.

4. Daughters - Daughters - One of the bigger bummers of the year is that Daughters released this gem and promptly broke up (without touring on it, mind you). The band proclaims it's still together, and it may very well put another album out, but primary songwriter Nick Sadler skipped out to join the pretty OK but not as blistering Fang Island. So, as far as I'm concerned Daughters has broken up until further notice. This album runs alongside the phenomenal Hell Songs with chaotic guitar work and thumping shitstorm drumming backed by the sassy drawl of vocalist Alexis Marshall. Only this time, the whole shebang is complimented with multiple flourishes of straight-up rock. It's more mature and generally more awesome. Way to fuck it up, guys.

5. Beach House - Teen Dream - This album is a summer hammock of sleepy, graceful, and beautifully orchestrated indie rock. Maybe due to its release at the beginning of the year, Teen Dream was forgotten by many top ten lists? If that is in fact true, I'm plain confounded by it, particularly because those same lists didn't forget to include Animal Collective last year. Victoria Legrand's vocals are more sultry and soulful than on 2008's Devotion, creating a mosaic that is as haunting and eerie as it is serene. Wading through the album's uber-haze of barbiturates and pixie dust elicits a perfectly pleasant limbo, orbiting somewhere near the blurred line that separates consciousness from comatose.

6. Ted Leo + Pharmacists - Brutalist Bricks - How can anyone not love Ted Leo? He's an absolutely magnetic front man who writes shining, melodic indie pop/rock songs while maintaining a slightly anarcho-punk aura and finding ways to name drop the Flux of Pink Indians into his often politically-charged lyrics. Brutalist Bricks is yet another Ted Leo-sponsored summer picnic of suspicion, an ice cream social of skepticism. I see no reason why he would even think of slowing down. One of the most consistently solid songwriters working in a terribly clusterfucked genre.

7. Dillinger Escape Plan - Option Paralysis - This video may be from 2005, and the lineup may have changed by a guitarist and drummer, but watching singer Greg Puciato literally run on top of heads never ceases to be incredible. I just saw Dillinger this past year, and they have yet to ease their collective foot off the throat when it comes to performing live. Option Paralysis may be my least favorite album of theirs, but it's still a romp or mathematical hardcore/metal genius that's better than 99 percent of the muck that tags itself to the genre. Utilizing Puciato's range was an inevitability, so bitching about sing-songy asides and plodding melodic dirges is nonsensical. Fact #1: Dillinger will never put out an album that doesn't rip. Fact #2: They will always fucking kill it live. Fact #3: I speak the truth.

8. Buke and Gass - Riposte - Reader contributor Jessica Hopper cleverly wrote that the name Buke and Gass "sounds like an Austrian law firm." She's absolutely right. But the name has a direct purpose--the Buke is a baritone ukulele, and the Gass is a guitar and bass hybrid. The duo of Aron Sanchez and Arone Dyer wield these mutated instruments to create a quirky indie pop that spirals its way from demented to mesmerizing in the matter of a measure. Dyer is the charm and vocal talent, while Sanchez (whose day job involves constructing instruments for the Blue Man Group) is the rhythmic backbone. I love them both.

9. Glasser - Ring - This album gracefully shoved its way onto to the list because I've been listening to it a ridiculous amount as of late and because I am required to pay homage each year to at least one mesmerizing female vocalist. Cameron Mesirow aka Glasser is reminiscent of Bat for Lashes and Fever Ray in that she lulls you into a dreamy yet haunting wilderness of electro-pop through her seductive vocal stylings and quasi-tribal beats. Just being her debut, Meisrow will certainly construct other bewitching tropical wonderlands with her siren-like voice. I'm such a sucker for it.

10. Cleric - Regressions - This spot could have easily gone to any of the artists below, but I reserved it for Cleric because they released quite possibly the most outrageously ambitious album I've heard this year. Out of control crazy 19-minute-long Mr. Bungle-ish schizophrenic metal fits. There's an interlude on the album that is made to mimic the sound of an indescribable beastly entity slowly creeping toward you. It's goddamn terrifying. A lot of ego-driven, yawn-provoking metal bands weave their way through exhausting, derivative songs to prove they can write an epic. These dudes are not bullshitting. It's harsh and fucking inspired madness.

Honorable Mention: Strange Boys - Be Brave, Black Mountain - Wilderness Heart, Fresh and Onlys - Play It Strange, Torche - Songs for Singles, Sleepy Sun - Fever, Damien Jurado - Saint Bartlett, Wavves - King of the Beach, Jonsi - Go

15 Years Later.

2010-10-07T15:19:00.000-07:00

Note: I'm resurrecting this blog to pay proper homage to the 2010 Cincinnati Reds baseball season. Maybe I'll even crap out a blog post here and there from this point forward. Who can say?

I was 14-years-old in 1995. It was three years prior to my brief "I'm too cool for sports" phase when I attempted to adopt the 7 Seconds song "I Hate Sports" as some sort of anthem. It was a ridiculous and trivial facade. In late elementary school and throughout junior high, I was a sports junkie. I wore a killer Florida Marlins Starter jacket and a St. Louis Blues wool hat as my day-to-day uniform. There was no rhyme or reason to my choosing these teams as articles of clothing. I just wore anything affiliated with sports. I mean, why the fuck did I have a St. Louis Blues hat? Aside from playing NHL '94 on Sega Genesis until my thumbs cramped up, I didn't really hold much affinity for hockey or really follow it a lick, aside from occasionally checking the sports section of the Cincinnati Enquirer to see how the Cincinnati Cylones--a minor league rogue hockey team--had fared the night before. I actually think I still have a signed Ray LeBlanc hockey card tucked away somewhere. But I digress . . .

Baseball was always my focal point growing up. I was a chubby, timid kid with little skill at running and even less desire (or parental consent) to seek full contact. If it hadn't been for a grueling streak of conditioning my freshman year of high school, I may have even stuck through tryouts and made the junior varsity team. It was possible. I swear I didn't suck. Sure, I played the "just stick him there" position other than right field, but I was serviceable at first base and most importantly, I could hit. I never played on shitty teams (a few flirted with state tournaments), always had solid chemistry with teammates/friends, and was raised by great coaches who possessed the rare desire to both win and teach the kids a thing or two in the process.

I remember watching every game of the 1991 World Series between the Minnesota Twins and Atlanta Braves and still legitimately think it was the best seven-game-series I've ever witnessed in my life (sorry, 2004 Red Sox). Aside from two games, every game of the series was decided by one run, and three of them went into extra innings, including a decisive Game 7 that ended in a 1-0 Twins victory with a Gene Larkin single to score Dan Gladden from third (I was actually forced to go to bed and didn't catch the end of the game. You're damn right I haven't forgiven my mom for this injustice). The Reds had swept the A's in four games the year before, and seeing that the Twins' Kirby Puckett was my baseball hero, you can probably see why the two year stretch was a bit of a defining moment for me in baseball terms. Add in a Joe Carter walk-off home run against the Phillies' Mitch Williams to win the Series in 1993, and you have a wicked stretch of baseball that had me digging my heels in.

The strike came in 1994. Already 114 games into the season, the Reds were in the midst of a solid 66-48 season (with the poor Expos at 70-44, believe it or not), quite possibly losing another chance at an extended playoff run. The 1995 season had a delayed start due to the eventually resolved labor dispute and only contained 144 regular season games. So, until this year the Reds hadn't earned a trip to the playoffs following a proper 162-game regular season since the team's World Series run in 1990. That's just kind of fucked, isn't it?

With a roster that included pitchers like John Smiley, Pete Schourek, David Wells, Frank Viola, Dave Burba, and the one-and-only Jeff Brantley and fielders by the name of Barry Larkin, Hal Morris, Bret Boone, Deion and Reggie Sanders, and Ron Gant, the Davey Johnson-managed ballclub found itself in the NLCS against a far superior Atlanta Braves team that promptly swept them on its way to the team's only World Series under the supposedly immortal Bobby Cox.

So, what happened in the 15 years between playoff appearances? Well, aside from the blip in 2000 when the Reds lost a play-in game to the New York Mets, the simple answer is that the team adopted a system that sucked unless you had assloads of money to throw at players that would probably end up heading to New York or Boston anyway.

Now, I was as big a Ken Griffey Jr. fan as anyone. I stood by his side as he never played more than 150 games in any of his nine seasons in Cincinnati. I stood by his side as he played a position he just wasn't suited for any longer and consequently injured himself by forcing his body to do things it couldn't. I stood by his side when he showed obvious disinterest in his team by lazily running out ground balls. Let's be honest, though, Griffey was a massive part of the problem for the Reds between 2000 and 2010.

The Reds built a home run hitters ballpark with a short right field so hitters like Griffey and the epitome of all evil, Adam Dunn, could tear the covers off the balls as we all watched wide-eyed while home run after home run landed in the Ohio River. Actually, check that. The Reds built that ballpark for Griffey. No doubt about it. Maybe the steroid era is to blame or maybe ownership had diluted itself to think that all the city needed was a hometown hero. Regardless, we threw big money at a big name player all the while expecting him to make everything well and good. Like I said before, if you're not the Yankees and can't attract a slew of A-Rods and Mark Teixeiras, this approach is straight bullshit. Living in Chicago, I (happily) watch the Cubs fuck up each year as they heave stupid amounts of money at second tier players (Soriano, Lee, Ramirez, etc) that simply weren't worth the Yankees or Red Sox time of day. They give superstar money to eventual stiffs and wonder what the hell went wrong? Sorry, Cubbies, it's not about any sort of a curse. You just suck as an organization.

So, why has baseball become king again in Cincinnati (well, at least until the Bengals fool the public into thinking they're worth a damn), and why am I so damn excited about the playoffs? It's plain and simple, and you've heard it before--building from the ground up by recruiting some seasoned, hardened baseball players who have been there and done that (Scott Rolen, Orlando Cabrera) and surrounding them with young talent that has worked it's way through the farm system and/or college ball (Joey Votto, Jay Bruce, Drew Stubbs, Homer Bailey, Mike Leake). That's how small market teams like the Tampa Bay (Devil) Rays and Cincinnati Reds become worth a shit.

I've waited 15 years for this. I don't expect the Reds to win the World Series, and I'd probably keel over if they even made it there, but it's nice to see my devotion to baseball, the Reds, and even Cincinnati sports for that matter finally starting to pay off. Now, if we could just rally together to send the Astros to the four-team AL West so all of the MLB divisions will be equally fair with five teams, and abolish the travesty that is the season opener on Sunday night, thus restoring order by allowing Cincinnati to host the first game of the proper baseball season, I'm pretty sure all would be right with the world.

Note: I began writing this the Tuesday evening prior to the opening of the postseason in which we were all treated to a no-hitter by Roy Halladay. It was utterly painful and initially put a damper on this blog post. I said fuck it, though, and finished it anyway. I'm glad I did.

Under Construction.

2010-07-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

Does anyone read this thing regularly?

Well, it's going on hiatus until I can redesign and rethink. Needless to say, there haven't been many posts recently. Not to worry, though, because I still have a fuck ton of shit to say and complain about, but I'm just searching for the right context and chasm in which to throw my thoughts. Please stay tuned.

Also, I've had more than one friend tell me to post the shit I write for the Chicago Reader on my blog because they always forget to pick up a Reader, or can't find the time, or live in Cincinnati, or whatever. Aside from being a sad yet perfect microcosm for the dying newspaper industry, the request is valid because I'm always saying, "Hey, pick up the Reader, I wrote up so and so. They're kind of [ridiculous amalgamated genre tag] with some [obscure late 80s/early 90s hardcore band] influence mixed with [random, inexplicable drug reference].

So, here are links to some bands I've recently written up.

Sleepy Sun
Fang Island
Damien Jurado
Them Crooked Vultures
Black Breath
Los Campesinos!

I'll now leave you with the trailer for one of the most unintentionally terrifying films of all time, costarring the venerable 80s icon Jeffrey Jones and Marty McFly's mom.

The fact that Howard the Duck isn't fully revealed in the trailer makes it all the more frightening.

Coming, Going, and Lately.

2010-06-08T18:41:00.000-07:00

I just got a haircut. It's short.

Carley Manning skips town next Thursday and heads back to the NKY (that's Northern Kentucky to you uneducated folk). Before moving to Chicago, I hunted her down at the Southgate House in Newport during one of her bazillion visits back home to inform her that we would be hanging out when I moved. We did. She stuck around for three years, and now she's rolling back. She will be sorely missed. That's my girl right there.

This is the last blog post you will see in this format. Shit is getting overhauled very soon courtesy of Adam McIver's brain. Soak in my novice, uneducated layout and design while you still can.

I haven't blogged in like a month. I really have nothing to blame for this. I often convince myself that I'm busier than I actually am. A lot of it has to do with the fact that I generally dislike sitting down, so I keep myself "busy" even while I'm hanging around my apartment. This often consists of doing random sets of pushups, cleaning my bike, listening to records while dusting, or fiddling around in my garage space.

I have too many modes of transportation and too little money. Something's gotta give soon (and I have a feeling it's going to start with a "mo" and end with a "ped").

Running is my therapy, and I've been doing it an obscene amount recently. That's not to say I'm depressed by any means. I've just felt the need to run more and more recently. Interpret that however you want. Actually, I can't wait to go running tomorrow because my hair's short again. Here's to not feeling like my flowing locks are creating a stupid amount of wind resistance and holding me back from reaching lightning speed.

Right arm half-sleeve-ish tattoo on its way. June 19th as a matter of fact. Better late than never (my motto always and forever).

Michael Short and Kenneth Roa are homeowners. I went back to Cincinnati over Memorial Day weekend to confirm. It's true. Each has bought a westside home with windows and working plumbing. My heart is swelling with pride and joy. All I want now is to see each of them cutting the lawn in a wifebeater, cut-off jean shorts, and flip-flops while sipping on a can of Budweiser. I can't imagine anything more majestic.

This blog post has no real theme, and I'm okay with that. Actually, I'm so okay with it that I just mentioned it. You know, like right HERE. Nothing better than a good ramble.

Ken Griffey, Jr. retired. It makes me sad that he never made it as a Red. It makes me sad that he was a walking injury. It makes me sad that the team crippled itself for years because of his contract. But in spite of it all, it makes me sad that he's not going to be playing anymore. Yeah, I'm blind and ignorant, but I don't give a fuck. I was and will always be a fan of Junior. So, check out Justin's blog post on Griffey and help him choose the right point of view concerning the Kid's legacy (if you know what's good for you, lean towards the sentiment I just expressed).

I've begun a quest to become somewhat of a beer connoisseur/snob. I expect to be good at it but never great.

Justin Bragg moves up here this weekend, and Heidi Bragg follows shortly thereafter. It's surreal to see this string of events come to fruition. It's literally been a year since these plans were lightly discussed and even joked about. Who knew that they'd actually materialize? My goal is to make them love this city, even though it wants to slap you around here and there.

Chicago summers rule and negate the winters completely and totally. Justin and Heidi will soon understand.

After two years of riding somewhat illegally, I finally procured my motorcycle license. It was a banner day in the Warwick household.

Don't look now, but the Reds are actually worth a shit (even though they're losing to the Giants as I'm typing this). It's painful that I haven't been to a game this season and even more painful that I'm not able to revel in the optimism and buzz enshrouding the city of Cincinnati at the moment. Baseball hullabaloo far exceeds football hullabaloo.

I'll be going on vacation in early August. I'm thinking Pacific northwest.

There's Bologna in Our Slacks.

2010-05-10T20:44:00.000-07:00

So, the gang I run around with up here in Chicago has recently been taken in by old school 80s and early-90s cartoon theme songs. And yes, this of course involved a drunken night of scrolling through Apple TV and consecutively watching as many as we could find on the worldwide Internet computer web.

We grew up listening to these songs ad nauseum. They're seared into our brains. It seems unbelievable, but the tunes weren't candy-coated fluff, but actual songs, complete with 80s hooks and synth movements abound. I mean shit, Mark Mueller, composer of both the DuckTales and Chip 'n Dale Rescue Rangers theme songs, has had three Billboard top ten singles and a number one adult contemporary "hit" during his career (I'm not too sure an adult contemporary song should be called a "hit" in any fashion). Let's face it, Disney straight had its shit down in the 80s.

This post highlights the picks of the litter from my childhood (and maybe early adolescence). Enjoy.

DuckTales (1987-1990) - There's just not a better theme song. Check out the end of this post for cringe-worthy bonus material involving the singer of the original theme song, Jeff Pescetto.

Chip 'n Dale Rescue Rangers (1989-1990) - I was always partial to Monterey Jack myself.

Tiny Toons (1990-1995) - Warner Bros. knew what it was doing as well. Early 90s after-school gold.

Animaniacs (1993-1998) - Another Warner Bros. vehicle. Legitimately witty. I watched this religiously, despite an awareness that I should be growing out of cartoons.

ThunderCats (1985-1990) - Infused with epic, flaming guitar solos. Uh, it's fucking ThunderCats.

He-Man & the Masters of the Universe (1983-1985) - I probably beat my little brother up after I watched this cartoon. You know, to prove my manliness and shit.

Muppet Babies (1984-1990) - I was never the biggest "live action" Muppet fan, but I know that I watched Muppet Babies regularly. This admission discounts the manliness that I previously mentioned.

Alvin & the Chipmunks (1983-1990) - This cartoon series was later raped by a couple of terrible live action movies. I'm sure a third is in the works. Stay tuned.

Bobby's World (1990-1998) - Howie Mandel has always been a pretty big shitbag. This was his show before he became a bald shitbag that wasted your time for an hour with some banker and a bunch of suitcases.

Bonus Junk: Some turd named Josh tracked down Jeff Pescetto and beat around the bush for about eight minutes before he finally asked him to sing the theme song from DuckTales. It's a little sad and painful.

Dark Lord Day.

2010-04-26T19:43:00.000-07:00

I attended my first Dark Lord Day this past Saturday. If you're unfamiliar with this magical, alcohol-drenched pandemonium, it's a full day of beer euphoria presented by Three Floyds Brewery. Each year, the brewery unleashes its batch of Dark Lord, a Russian imperial stout sold for one day only. With the craft beer revolution in full force, friends have detailed the growth of this beer festival these past few years, and from what I was told, this year marked an exponential growth in attendees and just general pleasantry between craft beer snobs and advocates.

Now, I'm not going to feign to have vast knowledge about craft beer and the culture. To be completely honest, I'm still in the midst of learning. However, I do know that I enjoy beer, and I do know that I generally enjoy those who dabble in the production and promotion of hard-to-find brews.

Dark Lord Day only elevated my interest and subsequent passion for the pigeonhole of craft beer. A few friends and I arrived at the Three Floyds compound in Munster, Indiana around 2 PM on Saturday and were immediately bombarded by a behemoth line of Dark Lord enthusiasts. We assumed the massive line was for the purchase of Dark Lord (the beer has become so popular that you actually have to purchase hard-to-snatch tickets from the brewery's website in order to have a chance to buy Dark Lord). We opted to head into the brewery first to check out a scene in which there was no shortage of beer up for sale. Aside from Dark Lord, I was downing Three Floyds Alpha King (a favorite of mine), Samurai Gazebo (a delicious summertime lager), and Popskull (a hearty and robust collaboration with Dogfish Head).

But what made the festival so awesome was the uninhibited friendliness of the rest of the attendees. After checking out the compound and the stage area (oh yeah, the festival also boasts a solid lineup of bands for your entertainment), we settled in the line for our chance to get at the Dark Lord. The line was ridiculous (we waited in shifts for about three hours), but it didn't even matter. Other attendees troll the lines offering up their own beer for your tasting. Growlers and liters make their way into each nook of the festival as those with tickets patiently wait with their coolers, backpacks, and open arms to haul whatever they can pack away.

I semi-documented the day with my digital photo taking device. Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, I got a tad tipsy as the day wore on and wasn't able to take as many photos as I would've liked. Regardless, here they are in absolutely no order whatsoever.

I'm an Adult (Maybe).

2010-04-04T17:25:00.000-07:00

It's true that this past Thursday was my 29th birthday, and yes, it's also true that my 30th is hiding in the bushes around the corner waiting to pounce and stab me to death. So, in honor of my newly inherited age, I figured it'd be fun to subjectively list off some of the "adult" qualities I've inherited over the years, as well as many of the "immature" qualities I've maintained and cultivated since birth.

Please feel free to study each list and determine for yourself if it's appropriate and just for me to state that I'm 29-years-old. I mean, I'll stop if you feel like I'm insulting adulthood by being 29 at this moment in time. No worries, I'll understand. But if you do feel like my new age is justifiable, then I guess I'll be out tomorrow buying a new cardigan and finally learning how to play golf.

Adult

I maintain a nine to five job to some degree, meaning I work at least 40 hours a week.

I own a relatively expensive suit and several ties.

I run and exercise regularly.

I make my bed every day.

I dust.

I have impeccable credit and always pay my bills on time.

I have short hair and an expensive pair of glasses.

I take several vitamins a day.

I remember the last time the Reds won the Wold Series.

I own my own knife set and many other kitchen utensils, including an electric can opener.

I am not embarrassed to go out to eat with my mom.

I pretend to read the New York Times, just like every other adult.

I am generally debilitated by a hangover the next morning.

I remember the last time the Bengals were in the Super Bowl.

I generally spend at least $15 on myself alone when eating out.

I watch my diet and am careful to include vegetables, proteins, and what not in my meals.

I don't like PBR, and I truly think Budweiser is a good beer.

I have a coat rack in my apartment as well as a couch from Ikea.

I am obsessively punctual and own more than one watch.

I am meticulous about remembering all of my friends birthdays.

I am a good tipper and care about the specials at restaurants.

I make dentist and doctor appointments simply for checkups.

I can maintain a thoughtful conversation with anyone if it involves sports.

I read novels averaging over 300 pages.

I play fantasy baseball.

I don't understand your haircut because it's too damn complicated.

Not so Adult

I drive a '97 Honda Civic with a cracked windshield and a missing side view mirror.

I don't shower daily.

I wear whatever I want to work, primarily consisting of (skinny) jeans and t-shirts (several with holes).

I don't separate my laundry into color categories.

I still use my college ID for student discounts at the movies.

I have never bought a pair of pajamas.

I am single and not even remotely close to having a child.

I know I am too irresponsible to care for any pet.

I can eat an entire frozen pizza without even feeling challenged.

I don't own my own set of dishes or silverware.

I am reliant on my mom to remind me about daylight saving time.

I have a CD collection devoid of Built to Spill, Modest Mouse, and Beck albums.

I still use milk crates as a prime organization tool.

I want to get more tattoos.

I cannot grow any facial hair, ever.

I can skip town on a whim for vacation or camping without any real consequences.

I cook many of my meals in a toaster oven.

I have a job that encourages me to know a shit ton about music and go to shows for free (all the time).

I don't live in the suburbs.

I have never worn cologne and generally find coffee disgusting.

I will occasionally put potato chips on a sandwich because it's delicious.

I own too many pairs of sneakers and too few dressy, fashionable shoes.

I would play hide-and-seek, laser tag, or enjoy a moonbounce at the drop of a hat.

I spit constantly.

I have framed band posters hanging on my wall.

I have absolutely no idea why Two and a Half Men is the #1 comedy in America.

I love to curse at any appropriate or inappropriate time.

So, what's the verdict? I've offered up two solid lists here, and lord knows there's no gray area in the argument. It's either one or the other (now that I think about it, my lack of wishy-washyness probably could've been added to the adult side of things).

With all that being said, let's completely change gears and take a look at my motherfucking stellar fantasy baseball roster this season. That's a pretty fucking adult thing to do. Don't you think? You're goddamn right it is.

C Geovany Soto
1B Joey Votto
2B Dustin Pedroia
3B Ryan Zimmerman
SS Stephen Drew
OF Justin Upton
OF Carlos Lee
OF Andrew McCutchen
UTIL Ben Zobrist
Bench Denard Span
Bench Chris Davis
Bench Alcides Escobar

Pitchers: Tim Lincecum, Dan Haren, Tim Hudson, Matt Garza, Hiroki Kuroda, Gavin Floyd, Andrew Bailey, Brian Fuentes

Fuck yeah.

Fighting for Pages.

2010-03-24T17:12:00.000-07:00

The Stranger's Eli Sanders recently wrote an absorbing feature on the San Francisco alt-weekly debacle that's been escalating since 1995 when Phoenix's New Times (now of Village Voice Media fame) decided to pit its recent purchase, SF Weekly, against the San Francisco Bay Guardian for absolute bay area supremacy. As you begin plodding through the sprawling column (weighing in at around 11,000 words), it becomes evident whom Sanders is siding with. His allegiance is obviously with the Guardian, which was founded in 1966 and has since been locked arm-in-arm with the ever-burgeoning city through decades of both progression and controversy. Whether you interpret it as such or not, Sanders reveres the Guardian as a San Francisco institution that quite frankly deserves better than to be undercut by a brash, uneducated entity with its eyes set on extinction, not coexistence. I agree with him.

The Chicago Reader (my alt-weekly and employer) has gone through similar trials and tribulations since 2007 when it was bought by Creative Loafing, a small alt-weekly chain owned by Ben Eason that attempted to branch out by purchasing both the Reader and the Washington City Paper and ultimately failed (well, Eason failed when he went straight bankrupt). Creative Loafing is still in tact, however, minus the Eason clan and is now owned by its once largest creditor, Atalaya Capital Management. The Creative Loafing alt-weekly chain consists of papers in Chicago, Washington D.C., Atlanta, Tampa Bay, Charlotte, and Sarasota. Since Atalaya won the chain in an auction in August of 2009, Creative Loafing has been an ever-changing beast, adding and subtracting publishers, marketing gurus, and CEOs.

Sounds pretty confusing and boring, huh? Well, maybe it is, but the parallel I'm trying to draw between Sanders' column is that these institutions (and mind you, the Reader is a 40-year-old Chicago institution) are beginning to get undercut, regardless of their reputations. Is it right? No. Do these fluff-driven, chain-building conglomerates give a shit? No. Whether it's internal or external, it's damn frightening and the publishing industry is weak and cracked enough to let them weasel in. The fight may come, but it often means taking a few good pops to the jaw.

Make sure to read The Great West Coast Newspaper War by Eli Sanders. It's fantastic.

This One Isn't About Sports.

2010-03-14T16:50:00.000-07:00

I know you don't read my sports posts. I know you don't care that I find sports to be the epitome of physical competition, infinitely fascinating, and a blanket solution to social disruption and prejudice. I know this. It's cool. So for this post, I think I'll recap my trip to California (mainly in photo form). Nothing too over-the-top. You know, just a nice and quick non-sports-related post with pretty photos. Everyone loves pretty photos, right?

Last weekend (March 3-7), Michael Short (Shorty) and I journeyed to San Francisco, California for a long overdue vacation chocked-full of fancy hotels, sunshine, staring at crackheads, good eating and drinking, scenic drives up California Route 1, Alcatraz visits, and solid hangouts with San Fran friends. It really was a delightful time. Emily Williams, an accommodating ex-girlfriend-turned-good-friend (a rarity, I know), played the part of "This is where we should eat because it's delicious, and I love it" for the trip. She pretty much ruled and directed us to little nooks of the city that I had never visited before. She gets a gold star.

Other friends harassed on the trip included Ryan Garrett, who turned 29 during our stay and valiantly took it upon himself each night to drink 47 gin and tonics and hit on anything that appeared to have breasts. He's swell and entertaining. And although the hangouts were sadly limited, we also enjoyed time with one Jason Crase and a true Cincinnati westsider in Jennifer Paff.

Anyway, here are some of my favorite photos from the trip, along with a little commentary (none of which has anything to do with sports):

Emily and Jason on the first night we got there. We ate at Katana-Ya and then headed to this endearingly shit dive joint called the Nite Cap. Emily knew the bartender who upon being told that she had friends in town asked, "Why the fuck did you bring them here?"

That lighting was completely by accident, but let's just act like I did it on purpose anyway. The other gentleman in the photo is Emily's boyfriend, Graham. Everyone is watching these dudes:

Phantogram. Decent shit electro-duo with a doofusy, aging scenester who found his golden ticket when he enlisted a dreamy, hipper-than-thou female singer. Heard this story before? Artsy projection and light show guaranteed.

The next series of photos was taken during my and Shorty's drive up the much-gushed-about California Route 1 on Thursday. You know what I'm talking about, that curvy road along the Pacific Ocean that shows up in every Audi and Mercedes commercial. I was definitely most apprehensive about this part of the trip because I'm the one that really pushed to do it. I mapped it all out, rented the car, and everything. Given, Shorty's about as easy going as they come, but I was still relatively nervous about the day crapping out. Luckily, the weather ruled, and so did I for planning such a spectacular day of touristy bullshit (commentary unnecessary).

During the day on Friday we visited this heap:

Alcatraz! I mentioned Sean Connery (The Rock) and Clint Eastwood (Escape From Alcatraz) at least three separate times because I think I'm fucking hilarious. Probably the most touristy thing we did, but who gives a shit? It's goddamn Alcatraz. Audio tour highly recommended.

Photos from what became a marathon of a Friday night, including a Nobunny show.
Saturday included some shopping, burritos, and music, but to be honest, I got tired of taking photos and decided to ditch my fancy new camera at the hotel. We did however check out what remains of Sutro Baths.

And there you have it. Definitely one of my better vacations. Now, I get to prep myself for Justin's five-day solo visit beginning this Wednesday. Oh, goodness gracious is it ever going to be a romp. I plan on having my camera in hand throughout much of it, so expect another photo blog very soon. I know everyone loves those.

Hockey and the Olympics: A Conversation.

2010-02-28T19:12:00.000-08:00

Well, the Olympics are over. Another host city is left with a crippling debt, and NBC has likely lost millions and millions of dollars over the span of a mere two weeks. Similar to every other Olympics I've endured, I basically maintained partial interest throughout. The Olympics are a channel-surfing compromise.

Now, I'm not saying that the Olympics as a whole are obscenely uninteresting. For instance, I was actually somewhat riveted by cross-country skiing and figure skating. Yeah, you heard me right, I said figure skating. And aside from the idiotic move not to broadcast the first USA vs. Canada hockey game on network television, I'm not poopooing NBC's exhaustive coverage either. Simply put, it's hard to maintain a wholehearted interest in such a sprawling escapade of sports, many of which you don't really see but once every four years.

That being said, I did manage to get loosely wrapped up in hockey mania. It was kind of like being confined to a straitjacket, but having one arm free. I could have escaped if I had really felt like it, but it was kind of entertaining and funny to play along. So, that's what I did. It also helped that Canadians are excited about two things in life: hockey and syrup, in that order. The whole country was obviously abuzz, thus adding to an already throttling intensity. Canada probably would have spontaneously combusted if its hockey team had loss to the U.S. twice in the same Olympics. I mean let's face it, everyone hates us. Can you blame them?

Therefore, due to the unabated hysteria of the USA vs. Canada gold medal hockey match, Justin Bragg and I had the brilliant idea to conduct a live chat during the culmination of the Olympics. Throughout the game, we took unwarranted cheap shots at each other, displayed our overall lack of hockey knowledge, and maybe even cracked a joke here and there.

This is a real conversation that took place on Sunday, February 28 between two adult males in their late 20s. It's rather long and not for the faint of heart.

The chat begins at 3:02 PM EST.

Justin: What are the chances that the USA vs. Mexico will happen in World Cup this summer?
Kevin: Zero chance. Let the hockey live chat begin!
Justin: They said the same thing about USA in the finals of the Winter Olympics.
Kevin: Hockey!
Justin: I believe in miracles.
Kevin: That's why they have Al Michaels on.
Justin: Good point. Did you hear that tickets for this game were running 5k +?
Kevin: Dear god. The Canadian police were shutting down liquor stores and shit or something. That Canadian beer is potent. I just can't imagine a riot in Canada.
Justin: A riot in Canada would include mass-consumption of round bacon discs and the excessive pouring of maple syrup on pancakes. Wild stuff.
Kevin: Excellent. When I played this fest in Toronto, we were hanging out with some Vancouver kids and all they did was talk shit about American beer and say how great Canadian beer was.
Justin: Something has been bothering me this whole Olympics. Where is Torino?
Kevin: Italy! You're dumb.
Justin: I'm surprised that Canadian kids would talk shit on anything American. Don't they know that everything they do is weaker than anything we do?
Kevin: But the beer is more potent. That's probably why they were so pompous about it.
Justin: What, a Molson is more potent than a Miller? Who cares?
Kevin: Haha! God, they're still talking about 1980!
Justin: I should have watched Strange Brew in preparation for this chat/viewing of hockey, so I could have boned up on my Canada knowledge.
Kevin: Please end the flashbacks!
Justin: We have a time machine and can go back to one moment in time . . . should we go back to 1980 and watch that hockey game?
Kevin: No way.

This is in reference to the U.S. win over the heavily favored Russian hockey team in the 1980 Olympics. It's as if we abolished Communism with the win or something. Anyway, these Olympics commemorate the 30th anniversary of the historic game and the media has had a collective boner over it for about a month. The stories pretty much got old forever ago.

(3:12 PM) Justin: Where would you go in our time machine? Back to 1990 for the last time the Reds were good?
Kevin: The Reds went to the playoffs in '95. I may go back to the 1991 World Series. Twins and Braves. Best series I've ever seen. Jack Morris near perfection in game seven. You?
Justin: The day I met you. Best day of my life
Kevin: That's true. Is there a way I could go back and meet myself? The euphoria would be indescribable.
Justin: I feel like you would be disappointed.
Kevin: Prediction before the game starts? I say Canada 4-2.
Justin: You would pick Canada. You would dodge the draft if there was another war too, wouldn't you?
Kevin: Yes, I would. I'm not allowing my pride to step in front of my common sense. I mean, I assume that since I'm picking Canada, the U.S. will win. I'm terrible at picking games. See what I'm doing here, Justin?
Justin: Brian says "If USA scores first, they win. If not, they lose." Heart says 4-3 USA. Brian says 4-1 Canada. My prediction: US 2-1.

First off, I am terrible at picking games. I actually really enjoy gambling but am terrible at it. Pretty smart, right? Anyway, Justin crushed me at betting and picking games throughout the football season, so I'm trying to use a reverse jinx here. Justin just doesn't recognize it because he's a dimwit.

Secondly, "Brian" refers to Justin's good friend Brian Kazarian who works for the Dallas Stars, a real life hockey team. Brian actually knows what he's talking about with hockey, so you'll see his name pop up regularly.

(3:19 PM) Kevin: That's stupid, Justin. There'll be at least five goals scored. Fights?
Justin: Why? That's the stupidest thing you have ever said.
Kevin: I say two fights. Three goals? You don't know you're hockey. Not like me.
Justin: You don't know "your" grammar. Not like me. Burn!!!!
Kevin: Bah! I want them to bring the pink-hockey-puck-dot back for this game. Marketing genius!

Back in the mid-90s, NBC (I think) had the brilliant idea to shadow the puck with a pink dot so the television audience could see it better (think the yellow first down line in football, only dumb and pointless).

(3:21 PM) Justin: I seriously can't see the puck at all. My glasses are in the car, and I can't see shit.
Kevin: Man, you'll be 30 soon. It becomes more and more evident each day I talk to you.
Justin: I just texted Brian, "Hockey would be a lot better if it was basketball." That will piss him off. I love making fun of hockey with him.
Kevin: I'm getting excited for the NBA playoffs. Wait, did I just say that? I'm rooting for the Nuggets. Fuck you.
Justin: Me too. I've been catching some more games here and there lately. Watched the whole second half of Hawks vs. Warriors the other night and enjoyed it.
Kevin: I'm starting to become disinterested in college basketball and more engaged with the NBA. I have no problem with this development.
Justin: I've been there for a long time. Aside from the tournament, which is only good a the beginning because you get to watch all the surprises, it's a vastly inferior product.
Kevin: It's true. Play-by-play hockey announcers remind me of the Micro Machines Man.
Justin: Ha! That's awesome. Great comment. You take the early lead in "cleverest and coolest things said today."
Kevin: Would you live in Canada? I'd have no problem with it at all. I kind of think it'd be awesome.
Justin: Never. I have no intention of moving any further away from Mexico than I already am.
Kevin: But it's full of manly things. Like trees, lumberjacks, Sasquatch, hockey, and beards. You're not manly?

Justin often has bouts of manliness with a few of our good friends. This often involves doing pushups, eating raunchy amounts of meat, or growing beards (see above).

(3:30 PM) Justin: How dare you. I could live in Canada with no problem, I just choose not to.
Kevin: Haha . . .
Justin: Your description of Canada was a perfect description of my hometown . . . aside from the hockey.
Kevin: Sasquatch?
Justin: You bet. Bigfoot is huge up there.
Kevin: Really? Oh man . . .
Justin: Willow Creek is the area with the most "sightings" of Bigfoot in the U.S.
Kevin: One of my favorite mythic figures. That and Sarah Palin.
Justin: Bigfoot museums, Bigfoot tree sculptures, Bigfoot t-shirts. All over the place up there. Sarah Palin . . . look at you making political jokes all casual-like.
Kevin: Politics! Okay, back to sports and obscure pop culture references where I belong.
Justin: So is the U.S. team all the guys with last names like "Miller" and "Johnson," and the Canadians are all the strange names I can't understand.
Kevin: Precisely. I was just thinking the same thing. They just said that the U.S. is the home team. This is nonsensical.
Justin: Higher seed. It's like dugouts in Little League. It doesn't matter.

Because the U.S. went into the game undefeated, including a preliminary game against Canada, they were designated the home team. I found this to be both understandable and strange.

(3:37 PM) Kevin: I get it. It's just weird. Wouldn't you say that pretzels are generally mediocre? I eat them all the time because they're not fattening, but I rarely enjoy them. And I'm not talking about spiced exotic pretzels. Just plain old whatever ones. Hockey makes me want to eat pretzels.
Justin: That's because hockey is pretzels. Generally mediocre.
Kevin: Canada scores!
Justin: Uh oh. It's all over now.
Kevin: That's what Brian said right?
Justin: It is. And he actually knows stuff.
Kevin: Brian works in hockey. How could he be wrong?
Justin: I'm okay with Canada winning . . .
Kevin: Shut up!
Justin: It doesn't matter what the U.S. does in this game . . .
Kevin: You're such a turncoat. I refuse to let you give me shit for picking Canada and then change your mind and choose them too.
Justin: Either way, it will be talked about for two days in the U.S., and then everyone will go back to forgetting that hockey exists . . .
Kevin: Act American proud.
Justin: But this will make 2010 for Canada if they win, and destroy them if they lose. The USA just doesn't care.
Kevin: This is my whole point. Get off my coattails.
Justin: Which actually makes me want USA to win all the more. I take back my Canada winning sentiment. I want to humiliate them and embarrass them.
Kevin: You'd rather see a county ruined, right? That makes you a true American.
Justin: Me to Brian, "So it's over now right? Do I have to watch anymore?" Brian to me, "Yes, you can watch The Karate Kid, Part III now."

If you have any knowledge of either one of our blogs, you're more than aware that Justin and I hold a strong affinity for the Karate Kid franchise. It just so happens that ABC family was plowing through the epic tail at the same time we were having this chat. Inspiring? Fuck yes.

(3:45 PM) Kevin: Haha! I don't know what offsides mean in hockey. And I played a lot of NHL '94 growing up. I always turned offsides off.
Justin: Oh yeah. That's the best part in all of Swingers.
Kevin: I don't know what you're talking about.
Justin: You've never seen Swingers?
Kevin: I saw it . . . like ten years ago.
Justin: They play NHL '94 (or '95?) all the time in that movie. Vince Vaughn says, "I'm going to make Wayne Gretzky's head bleed." Those scenes are the best parts of the whole movie.
Kevin: NHL '94 is notorious for being the only year of the game that fighting isn't included. Cam Neely, Ray Bourque, Adam Oates. These are the Boston Bruins of '94.
Justin: I know. And the fact that Jon Favreau included that in the movie is fantastic.
Kevin: That's the extent of my NHL knowledge. Too bad he's a hack now.
Justin: Chris Chelios. Jeremy Roenick.
Kevin: Yzerman.
Justin: Jaromir Jagr.
Kevin: Lemieux.
Justin: Curtis Joseph (Cu-Jo).
Kevin: Whoa!
Justin: Brett Hull
Kevin: I can't think of any others.
Justin: I'm running out quickly now.
Kevin: Ummm . . .
Justin: Ha.
Kevin: The Detroit Red Wings were unbeatable. Who else was on that team?
Justin: Messier!
Kevin: Messier!
Justin: Not on that team, but another name.
Kevin: Hahahaha! He was on the Rangers.
Justin: Gordie Howe?
Kevin: Hmmmm . . . I really enjoyed it when we name random players off of baseball teams from the 90s.

We've done this several times sitting around on warm summer evenings guzzling cans of Budweiser. We just pick a sports team (mainly baseball) circa any year and start rattling off names of players. It's even more enjoyable than it sounds.

(3:51 PM) Justin: Sergei Federov (more recent, but he's been around for a while). Moises Alou.
Kevin: Federov is a good one. The Expos! Andre Dawson. Pedro.
Justin: Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd.
Kevin: Tim Raines. Fight!

Some hockey ruffians just started hitting each other in the face. Shit's bound to happen at some point.

(3:52 PM) Justin: I need to do exercises like this regularly to keep my mind sharp . . . now that I'm almost 30.
Kevin: That's number one for fights.
Justin: How many did you say? I didn't make a guess.
Kevin: I said two.
Justin: Are the Special Olympics only every four years? Are there Winter Special Olympics?
Kevin: I have no idea. I do know they're not called the Special Olympics anymore, though.
Justin: What are they called?
Kevin: Nevermind . . . they are. Sorry. I thought it was changed for political correctness reasons. "Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt." That's the motto. Okay, we should probably back out of this topic before we say something stupid and offensive.
Justin: Agreed.
Kevin: What do you think Ralph Macchio is doing right now?
Justin: I think he hangs out at the Playboy mansion a lot now. I don't know why I think that. It has something to do with Adam Carolla or something.
Kevin: You think he's gonna show up in the Karate Kid remake? Why wouldn't he?
Justin: Apparently he shows up in Ugly Betty episodes from time to time and has a Law & Order: Criminal Intent coming up soon.
Kevin: I'd rather he be doing nothing other than wallowing in a gutter somewhere.
Justin: He has a family to support.
Kevin: I wonder what that's like. Seems too expensive.
Justin: I feel like USA is doing nothing that remotely resembles anything close to scoring a goal. I could be wrong because I have no idea what is going on.
Kevin: My interest is waning. I assume I'll be engaged again in the last five minutes of the third quarter.
Justin: Hockey should just be one period. Or three periods of five minutes. That would be enough.
Kevin: Would I care more if I had an NHL team to follow? Probably.
Justin: I guess. I've never had success in trying to care.
Kevin: This shit is toast! How could they lose?

Canada scored again.

(4:16 PM) Justin: Yeah, USA has no heart. Canada is finally getting us back for stealing Gretzky.
Kevin: So, that's what this is all about? I get it now.
Justin: Time to settle the score. Brian just told me that these refs are terrible. I have no idea what he is talking about. Do you?
Kevin: Absolutely not. Hockey has refs?
Justin: Ha.
Kevin: Power play!
Justin: USA scores on this power play.
Kevin: Have they had one shot on goal all match? Doesn't seem like it.
Justin: I don't think so. Does the U.S. still have most medals and most golds in Olympics? That's all I care about.
Kevin: Not the most golds. If Canada wins this, I think they have the most golds.
Justin: Dang. That's what is most important as far as I'm concerned. I believe No Fear said it best, "Second place is the first loser."

The U.S. ended up with the most overall medals (37), but Canada had five more gold medals (14-9).

(4:25 PM) Kevin: Hahahaha! I miss football.
Justin: If the Malone on the USA team was Karl, we might have a chance to win this thing.
Kevin: I like what you did there, but Karl Malone was a perpetual loser. Jerry Sloan's been the coach of the Jazz for 75 years but hasn't ever won shit. Utah seems content with being adequate. The entire state seems content.
Justin: The only thing Utah has to offer is a strange lake with too high of a salt content. Is that even a good thing? I doubt it. How did Salt Lake City get an Olympics?
Kevin: Ohhhhh! Score! Patrick Kane! He plays for the Blackhawks. I feel like I had something to do with that goal.
Justin: How did you have anything to do with that? You were making fun of Utah.
Kevin: Because I live in Chicago and know that he plays for the Blackhawks.
Justin: Oh, I can't believe I didn't make that connection . . . it's so obvious and logical.
Kevin: Exactly. Thank you for recognizing.
Justin: Patrick Roy. Can't believe we forgot that one.
Kevin: He was around in '94?
Justin: I don't know. But he played hockey
Kevin: Very good, Justin.
Justin: If you publish this, are you going to correct my capitalization and grammar?
Kevin: Yes, yes I am. I can't help it.
Justin: You are ridiculous.
Kevin: I can't help it. I need the uniformity.
Justin: I will capitalize any comments that I think will be funny from now on.
Kevin: Hahaha.
Justin: Do you have an opinion on this issue the NHL is raising about whether to allow the players to be in Olympics in 2014?
Kevin: I think it's disgusting not to allow the best players in the world to represent their countries. Doesn't that go against the whole idea of the Olympics?
Justin: It would be good for Cincinnati Cyclones hockey. Maybe some of those guys would get a chance, and more of the world would be introduced to Twister.
Kevin: That comment was definitely capitalized.
Justin: It wasn't too long ago that pros didn't play in basketball. And they still don't in baseball, right?
Kevin: What are you talking about, dude? The World Baseball Classic! That's what it's all about.
Justin: The WBC doesn't even get the best players. I'm worried about Heidi coming home soon and taking the computer away from me. No way she lets me control the Internet and the TV. It just doesn't work like that around here.

The looming fear that Justin's delightful wife, Heidi, would come home and steal him away from an even more delightful chat about a sport she doesn't care about at all began making us a little uneasy.

(4:39 PM) Kevin: You're gonna miss the third quarter?
Justin: Umm, it's third period you jackass. Your stupidity has lowered the reliability and validity of our commentary.
Kevin: Yes, yes it is. That's as dumb as getting sick. And showing your vulnerability. Like a weakling.

The same man that once proclaimed his blood could cure AIDS has been sickly for an extended period of time. The only acceptable reaction from his friends should be incessant ridicule.

(4:42 PM) Justin: What if people figure out that we don't know anything about hockey? It would ruin the whole thing. By the way, I'm sending you a letter right now. And yes, it's laced with Anthrax. We will see how "tough" you are when you get Anthrax.
Kevin: Well, at least I won't be telling jokes relating to something that happened five years ago. Maybe seven years.
Justin: Anthrax is timeless. Are you getting this World Equestrian Games commercial? Apparently it takes place in KY. I might go.
Kevin: What are you talking about?
Justin: The World Equestrian Games. Did that commercial play in Chicago?
Kevin: No. Why would it?
Justin: Because it's the World Equestrian Games. It's kind of a big deal.
Kevin: It's not a big deal at all, and you don't really care about it, do you?
Justin: No, no I don't.
Kevin: Kentucky just seems like a wrong fit for you. Chicago's more manly and bustling. More your style. You should probably move here. What do you think?

If you were unaware, Justin and Heidi are in fact moving to Chicago this summer.

(4:50 PM) Justin: We will see what happens. Can I fish and hunt in Chicago? That might be a deal-breaker.
Kevin: Uhhh . . . Wisconsin is a mere hop, skip, and jump away. I'm going to a shooting range soon. To shoot shit with guns.
Justin: Awesome. Nothing better than shooting guns.
Kevin: Hockey would be more interesting if crossbows were involved.
Justin: Is the entire state of Wisconsin just a frozen tundra of wildlife and nature?
Kevin: Wisconsin rules.
Justin: How are you going to get crossbows involved in hockey?
Kevin: How could I not get crossbows involved in hockey? Stupid, Justin.
Justin: Eh. Sounds pretty far-fetched. Not nearly as practical and interesting as adding guns to bobsled.
Kevin: That's true. Shooting targets as your barreling down a sheet of ice? Great idea. You know how many random Sasquatch will probably be killed due to stray bullets?
Justin: Sasquatches (Sasquatchi?).
Kevin: Sasquatchen. Like oxen.
Justin: And mousen.
Kevin: Nah...that one is meese. Like geese. How do you not know this? Canada's full of caribou, right? Caribou are the ferocious human-eating cousin to the moose right?
Justin: Caribou are the weak, effeminate, distant relative of the elk.
Kevin: I'm pretty sure they eat humans.
Justin: You have your large game beasts all mixed up. Icing!
Kevin: No, they eat humans and woolly mammoths. I know what icing is! It's one of the few rules I get.
Justin: I don't. But don't explain it to me, because I don't care.
Kevin: Will do.
Justin: Momentum left the U.S.
Kevin: I'm cool with not scoring until five minutes left when the intensity rises ten-fold.
Justin: As long as it isn't 3-1 or worse by then.
Kevin: No TV timeouts is the best thing ever.
Justin: True. Football is the worst for that.
Kevin: Just terrible.
Justin: Crosby has been nowhere this whole game. Isn't he supposed to be good, or something?
Kevin: I suppose. I like Alexander Ovechkin. He seems fiery.

We tried acting hockey-intelligent for a second by throwing out names of current NHL superstars. It didn't work.

(5:05 PM) Justin: I am told that he is fiery, but I have never witnessed it.
Kevin: He's fiery. Can you ice skate?
Justin: Not a chance. I can't roller skate, so there is no way I would even get on the ice
Kevin: I'd call you "old stiff legs" if I saw you rollerskating.
Justin: No you wouldn't.
Kevin: The announcer makes me want to pump my fist. He's great and intense as fuck.
Justin: It's getting furious. Can you feel the pressure building?
Kevin: I sure can. This may be the point when we include exclamation points with every message so that we can translate the intensity. Like this!
Justin: I don't like that idea!
Kevin: Fair enough!
Justin: Now I am just laughing out loud!
Kevin: I've been sitting on this extremely uncomfortable couch for far too long!
Justin: So have I! My ass and lower back are throbbing!
Kevin: I'm developing blood clots in my legs!
Justin: I am getting testicular cancer from holding this laptop over my junk for so long!
Kevin: You topped me! Five minutes left!
Justin: Offsides halts momentum! I love that horn!
Kevin: I want to play sports in the cold so it's acceptable for me to blow snot rockets on camera!
Justin: I want to play baseball so it's acceptable for me to adjust my scrotum on camera!
Kevin: Icing!
Justin: Put the puck in the back of the net is great innuendo!
Kevin: It really is! Crosby sucks!
Justin: Crosby chokes! AHAHAHAH!
Kevin: THE INTENSITY HAS NOW CONVERTED TO ALL CAPS AND EXCLAMATION POINTS! TWO MINUTES LEFT!
Justin: ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DO THIS?!
Kevin: No I changed my mind. All caps is terrible!
Justin: Save it for the really big moments!
Kevin: I'm freaking out over here! Pull the goalie! This is for the gold medal!
Justin: Pull the goalies! That's great! Get in a fight!
Kevin: Do you think the American coaches speak English and the Canadian coaches speak Canadian?!
Justin: Break the glass surrounding the rink with the puck!
Kevin: Maul the fans!
Justin: They squeak and honk like geese! EMPTY NET!
Kevin: EMPTY NET! Time to step it up!
Justin: APOCALYPSE!
Kevin: Damn, all these timeouts are killing the momentum!
Justin: TIME OUT!
Kevin: Damn! I want crackhead-like intensity!
Justin: The timeouts are my favorite part of hockey! Face Off! Travolta! Cage! SCORE SCORE SCORE!
Kevin: Oh man!!!!! SCORE SCORE SCORE! Bedlam! Do you think they're rioting in the DC streets yet!?!

Already in an outright frenzy, the U.S. scored to tie things up. Shit was intense.

(5:28 PM) Justin: Overtime!
Kevin: I'm not in the mood!
Justin: All of the sudden I'm getting all these texts from people who I didn't even know were watching!
Kevin: Me too! Shorty and Russ! They're the worst!

Unbeknown to us, we had other friends wrapped up in hockey mania. Wild, right?

(5:33 PM) Justin: Shorty probably thinks it is soccer, and Russ is just drunk and watching Full House reruns!
Kevin: Russ is probably just watching a Law & Order episode, and he just figured out who the real killer is! Should we kill the exclamation points!?
Justin: Most likely. Especially when the game is not on.
Kevin: Phew . . . I'm exhausted. Jeremy Roenick is being a little too excited.
Justin: Next he is going to flash a metal sign. Heidi will be home in five minutes. I can't get kicked off now.
Kevin: This is the commercial I was talking about! It's awesome. Nike commercial.
Justin: What band is this? LT! LA!

I got really way too excited about a new Nike commercial I like a bunch. Justin's referring to LaDainian Tomlinson and Lance Armstrong, who both show up in the commercial.

(5:39 PM) Kevin: I don't know who the band that is, but the commercial rules. The fact that LT is in it is a disgrace. What a whiny bitch. Please don't let Heidi kick you off the Internet. That'd be a travesty.
Justin: What about Lance Armstrong? That's even worse.
Kevin: What? Lance Armstrong has accomplished a ton of things. Say what you want about his personality, but the dude's a winner.
Justin: You mean whiner.
Kevin: Good one. LT was amazing . . . was. Now he can go away and stop thinking he's worth a shit anymore.
Justin: Leave him alone. At least he has balls.
Kevin: Lance has one. I think.
Justin: I think the band in that commercial is the Hours.
Kevin: They're playing "The Final Countdown" over the speakers at the arena.
Justin: The song is called "All in the Jungle" and is from their 2007 release, "Narcissus."
Kevin: Thank you for that, Justin. I feel like the U.S. wins this thing now. Canada's gonna play tight.
Justin: I told you. Too bad you're a traitor.
Kevin: You're the worst.
Justin: I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free.
Kevin: Yeah, Canada's like Iran.
Justin: Have fun in Canada. Brian says this thing will end this period. I don't know why.
Kevin: Someone's gonna score.
Justin: That comment would have been better with an exclamation point: "Someone's gonna score!"
Kevin: I'd have multiple heart attacks if I was a goalie!
Justin: We could never do it!
Kevin: I was a goalie in soccer and couldn't hack it!
Justin: I never played soccer!
Kevin: Whoa!

Canada's golden boy, Sidney Crosby, scored the winning goal. Game over: Canada wins 3-2.

(5:53 PM) Justin: Of course.
Kevin: Well, there you have it!
Justin: Should have seen that coming.
Kevin: Of course it was Crosby. It looked like a fluke.
Justin: That kid's legacy is going to just keep growing.
Kevin: Okay, so we beat them once and they beat us once. Best out of three right?
Justin: This crowd seems to be enjoying this
Kevin: Yes they do. I'd enjoy a replay of the goal.
Justin: Well, you got what you wanted. Congratulations. It should be two of three. What a dumb rule. We beat them a few days ago.
Kevin: But that was a "preliminary" game. Whatever that means.
Justin: Single elimination is the only way a tournament should be played. So, I guess that's about it. Perfect timing.
Kevin: Bye bye! I should have this up on Monday or something.
Justin: I just watched an entire hockey game! With overtime! I feel very proud of myself.

The end. I hope you enjoyed the Olympics as much as we acted like we did.

Peyton and Jack: A Couple of Heroic Letdowns?

2010-02-09T19:06:00.000-08:00

It's crucial to note that I initially conjured the clever idea to compare the strengths of two of television's greatest and most powerful figures, Indianapolis Colts quarterback Peyton Manning and fictional Lost hero and heartthrob Dr. Jack Shephard. The much-anticipated premiere of Lost's final season was this last Tuesday and the Super Bowl was this past Sunday. A pair of television firecrackers stuffed into the same week? Count me the fuck in.

There was one problem, though. Everyone (myself included) thought the Colts couldn't lose. The former mild-mannered Colts coach, Tony Dungy, went as far as to say that "[Peyton's] going to have those rings Sunday night. I don't think it's going to be close." Guess what, Tony? Peyton threw maybe the most crucial interception in Super Bowl history, thus sealing the game for the upstart New Orleans Saints. Final score: New Orleans 31 and the Indianapolis Colts 17

Now, I'll forever be near the front of the Peyton Manning fanboy line. Those who know me well have undoubtedly heard me say, "Best quarterback you've ever seen in your life" at least a couple of times when referring to Peyton. However, when the game's big and the pressure's on, Peyton has had an incessant and uncanny knack for crippling letdowns.

Let me take this moment to address Justin Bragg specifically. You see, Justin's a hater and doesn't fully recognize the brilliance and innovation of Peyton Manning. He was privileged to be raised a 49ers fan who consequently basked in the good fortune of stellar teams with a great quarterback. As a bitter lifelong Bengals fan, I obviously think Justin's an ass.

Anyway, he repeatedly refuses to acknowledge that Manning single-handedly carried a Colts team on his back for seven years, until they were able to concoct some semblance of a defense. He's afraid that Manning will surpass Montana or Young, even though we all know he's already leaps and bounds better than Young ever was and is more than on the heels of Montana.

Listen, Justin, I'm only having a slight lapse in faith right now. My acknowledgment of Manning's imperfections should not be taken as literal defamation. It's more about me being upset that the Super Bowl ruined a perfectly brilliant juxtaposition of two of the nation's most heroic characters.

Needless to say, the second half of the Super Bowl was a bit of a chore to endure (primarily because I was forced to scarf down my own words). The Colts took the game on in a stiff-like, stuffy manner while the Saints exuded passion and guts. I was left with nothing to cheer for but a stomach full of beer, chili dip, and pizza. The holiday was over, and I had failed at another week of football. Good thing I get to type this because I don't know how I would ever even mouth the words, "Peyton let me down."

Therefore, I've elected to change gears and focus instead on the few weaknesses shared between Peyton Manning and Lost's primary protagonist, Jack Shephard. If you're unfamiliar with Lost, well then you've missed out on five full seasons of riveting mystery, meticulous character development, love triangles, general creepiness, an absurd amount of conjecture, fantastical settings, and time travel (that's about as general as I can make it). It's a brilliant television series and will undoubtedly go down as one of the most intriguing of all time. I urge you to get into it.

Unlike many other Lost connoisseurs, I like Jack's character, and while we're at it, I even like Kate a little too (so suck on that). Maybe I'll get hated on because Jack can be such a goddamn polarizing character. But when it's all said and done, he is crucial to so many plot lines that I feel like I know him better than anyone on the show. His stubbornness and/or intelligence never surprise me, his actions are almost always altruistic, and he's the obvious leader of the Oceanic flight's passengers, without question. Sounds pretty similar to Manning's roles (quarterback, offensive coordinator, captain, generally nice guy).

Like Peyton Manning, though, he's obsessive and a notorious over-thinker. He rarely seems satisfied with a result and has a tendency to go on benders, like the drunken pill-popping rampages he embarked on following the Oceanic Six's return to Los Angeles from the island ("We have to go baaaack, Kate! We have to go baaaack"). Jack often tries to do too much, pushing himself to the brink of absolute exhaustion. As a spinal surgeon, the fact that he thinks "nothing is irreversible" (an obvious omen in season six) is so detrimental to his psyche, causing him to fall apart with each whiff at perfection. The best way to control Jack is by not allowing him to be a factor. For instance, one of his lowest and most helpless points in the series (not eating, making maniacal escape attempts) occurred when he was caught by the Others and locked in the aquarium. He had no control.

Similarly, the Saints did the wisest thing possible during the Super Bowl. They didn't allow Peyton Manning to beat them. Instead of trying to defend him, they kept him off the field. The onside kick to open the second half is a prime example of the outrageously loony balls Saints' coach Sean Payton showed during the game. In any other situation, that call is a fucking abomination, but because it was Peyton Manning who was sitting on the sideline plotting an inevitable touchdown drive, the call bordered on brilliance. Peyton barely existed in the second half, and it showed. He lost control of the game and spiraled into oblivion, which was painfully evident with the two interceptions he almost threw right before the heart-wrenching, pull-your-hair-out pick six.

Where's the compromise? Often, I feel like it's either all or nothing from each one of these "characters" (while Jack Shephard is an obvious fictional character and Manning is an obvious real person, the fact that I've never met Peyton and the fact that he is often beheld as a little more-than-human quarterback-wise allows me to view him as fictitious, in a sense. Oh, and it also helps me perpetuate this comparison). Plainly stated, I'm sticking to my guns. Despite their weaknesses, I will forever remain an avid Peyton Manning fan and always loyal to Jack Shepard. I'd rather put my trust in an obsessive, over-analyzer than a schitzy, nutjob of a character with very few redeeming qualities (i.e. Brett Favre or Hurley).

So, I'll see you next season, Peyton, and I'll see you next episode, Jack. And I'll undoubtedly be in your corner, rooting away.

The "Mystique" of Brett Favre.

2010-01-30T14:34:00.000-08:00

It's been a tough decade thus far. One flake of snow becomes a small mound, then becomes a massive snowball, and before you know it, you have a mutating monstrosity hurling down a hill picking up more and more steam with each subsequent yard covered. That's kind of how January was for me. The month limped in the door with the heart-wrenching Bengals season flopping in the playoffs (check out my bitter analysis for more) and progressively had larger and larger dumps taken on it in the form of a towed car, blown muffler, general sickliness, ever-present relationship problems, and heaps of money lost, among other delights. With the NFC and AFC championship weekend, though, the world finally seemed to be righting itself and leveling off into a euphoric wonderland of congruity. Why did this happen? What possible explanation could there be for such a sudden turn of events? It's surprisingly simple. Brett Favre fucked up again.

Now, this is going to seem insignificant to the casual Brett Favre voyeur. I mean, how could the well-being of an entire month and even a fledgling decade be contingent on whether or not a 40-year old, Wrangler-slinging quarterback fucks up or not? Again, I have an easy answer. Brett Favre is a fuckup. He's not the 33 touchdown and seven interception quarterback you saw all season. He's not the 107.2 quarterback rating. He's not the fiery yet lovable leader of a multi-talented Minnesota Vikings team. Favre is a walking mistake, and he proved it again in the NFC championship game last weekend.

Throughout much of the second half of the Minnesota Vikings vs. New Orleans Saints championship game, I was Internet-ing with the one-and-only Justin Bragg (you may remember him from such hilarity as our Karate Kid text-a-thon). Justin and I both carry a heavy disdain for Brett Favre, which I'll get to in a bit. Anyway, with the score tied at 28 and time winding down, Favre seemed to be driving the Vikings down the field for a shot at a winning field goal (they got as close as the Saints 33-yard-line). As the suspense mounted and Justin and I fetched razors from our medicine cabinets to slit our wrists with, we began toying with the idea of Favre throwing an interception and the Saints running it back for a touchdown. We figured that such a wondrous moment would result in both of our heads exploding from sheer elation and each member of the collective Vikings fan base vomiting simultaneously.

You see, Favre had a good season. As much as it pains me to say that, he did. He was placed in the perfect situation, supported by a well-oiled offensive juggernaut. This is no secret. Favre was a definitive cog in the operation but not the ignition key. It appeared as if he recognized this. For the most part, he shut his mouth and wielded his tools (Peterson, Rice, Berrian, Taylor, Harvin), while reaping the benefits in wins, stats, and media adoration. However, when the game was on the line, Favre felt like he was the one to make the play. He was the reason they were going to win. He was the team. And that's why the Vikings lost.

The interception was vintage Favre. Justin and I were being about as prophetic as we could be, calling a fumble or interception with each approaching play. But on third-and-15 from the 38-yard-line, the stars aligned. Under pressure, Favre rolled right and threw across his body into the middle of the field where he was picked off by the Saints' Tracy Porter. A sweeter and more predictable moment in sports, these eyes have never seen. I could listen to the KFAN play-by-play of the interception until my ears fell off. Paul Allen's reaction is absolutely priceless. For Justin and me, the entire season of badmouthing Favre had been salvaged because he did what he does best. Favre fucked up.

I'm often asked why I harbor such hostility for Brett Favre. Since starting this blog in late 2007, I've devoted several posts to him (check the archive), each revolving around his supposed retirement announcement and subsequent abduction of the football world's attention. Favre has loitered around the league in order to collect all of the quarterbacking records, including interceptions (done), give a middle finger to the Packers by succeeding with the Vikings (done), and win another Super Bowl (fail). He's been to the Super Bowl twice (1996-97), with the only title coming against Drew Bledsoe's New England Patriots over 13 years ago in '96. It's time for the old man to realize that when the playoffs roll around, he's much more the problem than he is the answer.

Favre is a notorious choker, which becomes more and more apparent each year as he chokes on following through with his retirement. The "gunslinger" mentality that has garnered so much lovable press just doesn't translate to championships. The media's enamored with the mindset because it can admiringly call him the "definition of a football player" and point out how much he seems to love the game, but it will always work against him, as this past NFC championship game illustrated so beautifully. Favre can put on the mask of a team player and supposedly respect the fact that he's part of the circus rather than the ringleader, but when the moment counts, he will feel the need to take over, and he will fuck up.

So, I guess I owe Brett Favre a huge thank you. When I levitated from my couch in some sort of loony ecstasy following the interception, I knew that all was right in the world again. The shitstorm that had enveloped the month of January had subsided, and I was able to sleep peacefully again knowing that Brett Favre fucked up. I can hardly wait to see the disaster again next season.

Text-a-Thon: The Karate Kid (Part II)

2010-01-17T15:14:00.001-08:00

Yesterday morning, I woke up poorly rested and a bit hungover. Instead of retreating back to my bed, I did a quick channel surf and landed upon VH1, generally a channel with garbage programming. However, the think tank over at MTV's shitty little brother recently decided to show classic 80s movies from time to time. Today's choice: The Karate Kid. Now, I've blogged about The Karate Kid before. It's one of the most re-watchable movies ever (in a pretty close foot race with Hoosiers), and let's be honest, it probably has the best 80s movie montages (Rocky IV runs a close second).

Anyway, my first inclination was to immediately text my good friend Justin Bragg. No doubt he'd be awake channel surfing as well, basically killing time until the day's slate of NFL playoffs started. Much to my surprise (or not really at all), Justin had already texted to notify me about VH1's showing of The Karate Kid. Feeling a bit down in the dumps as it was, I made no real attempt to get my day going. Instead, Justin and I took part in a biting commentary on the nuances of The Karate Kid, one that no doubt made each of us laugh out loud repeatedly and one that may not be found humorous by anyone else. We're fine with that, though. Trust me.

Justin went to painstaking and tedious measures to transcribe the conversation in its entirety (with pieces of his own commentary added in), and I'd feel dirtier and cheaper than usual if I ripped off his text to post on my own blog. Therefore, I'm going to have to ask everyone to take a trip to Justin Bragg's blog, This Is Jeopardy, and read a juvenile conversation between two morons about a movie made 25 years ago.

I also feel like it's worth mentioning that neither Justin or I own magic space phones that do everything but cook you dinner and wipe your ass. The transcription of this conversation involved probably way more time than it was worth, and the often hurried texting process involved several misspellings and more than a fair share of punctuation and grammar mistakes (Justin probably doesn't care about noting this, but I certainly do).

THE ENTIRE CONVERSATION.

The Worst Bengals Season of My Life.

2010-01-14T18:18:00.000-08:00

Back in 2005, a streaking 4-1 Bengals team met an overmatched 2-3 Texans team. The Texans were a team mired in mediocrity, never having found their way since entering the league in 2002. The Bengals were a team on the rise with a dynamic offense headed up by soon-to-be Pro Bowler Carson Palmer and surrounded by an outspoken and talented receiving core. Things were meshing for the Bengals, aside from their defense of course. Still trying to find its way under "defensive mastermind" Marvin Lewis, the defense basically relied on the offense to outscore opponents. As we all know, that didn't quite work out, albeit a solid effort. The season ended with the Bengals limping into the playoffs, and Carson eventually boarding the infamous shame-mobile and being carted off the field with a shredded ACL. Only two plays into the playoffs, and the offensive juggernaut and season were shut down.

So, why am I bringing up that Texans game, anyway? Well, I vividly remembering watching that Texans game and being hopelessly frustrated the entire time. Sure, the defense was playing well enough, but the offense was sputtering and not putting an inferior team away. Final score: Bengals 16 Texans 10. Yes, we won. That's all fine and dandy, but there's no reason a punchline like the Texans should've hung around like that. I've watched what seems like 43 trillion games in which the Bengals were the punchline, and the opponent impolitely put its cleat on our team's collective throat. However, this game was an exception to what proved to be a season of potent scoring and lackluster defense. Which would you prefer?

So, who was really confident going into the playoffs this season? I suppose several of us, myself included, were foolishly confident. Big mistake. The team scored over 20 points in only six games during the regular season. They didn't score a second half touchdown in six consecutive games (unreal). Carson threw for over 300 yards once all season (a loss to the Chargers in which our offense looked semi-competent and the game was actually entertaining). Awful teams like Kansas City, Detroit, Cleveland, and Oakland stuck around in games and in Oakland's case, actually won. Wins are wins, and I understand that, but the frustration and anxiety expended by the possibility of having to watch shit teams attempt onside kicks at the ends of games is unforgivable. Finally, the fact that the Bengals had to wait until the end of overtime to beat the worst team in the NFL at the moment (Browns) is straight disgusting. That game made me want to dropkick the TV.

Everything came to a head in the Jets game last Saturday. The Bengals had been sliding along the floor on their asses for the majority of the season and barely eeking out games. They deserved to lose and we, the Bengals supporting public, were appropriately left unsatisfied by the game, the season, and the team as a whole. I don't know about you, but I'd much rather watch a viscous offensive stallion rampage teams and leave it up to an okay defense to hold its ground. If it doesn't happen, that sucks, but at least I got to watch a goddamn entertaining football game. Those were few and far between this season. Just fucking entertain me. That should be your business. Being content can be a dangerous thing. AFC North champs? Big whoop. Hosting a playoff game? Pffffft. Yeah, you best believe I'm still bitter.

Suck it, Bengals.

Rant over.

A Few Quick Christmas Thoughts.

2009-12-25T10:27:00.001-08:00

I'm currently sitting in front of my mom's fancy brand new computer with an oversized screen and fast-as-all-hell Internet and reminiscing about the glories of Christmas in Cincinnati. First off, staying at my mom's house is the equivalent to a luxurious vacation. I have an unlimited amount of treats awaiting me each and every time I come into town. For instance, I arrived around 5 PM on Wednesday with a hankering for LaRosa's. I walked in, suggested it, and was stuffing my face an hour later. Her appreciation for seeing both me and my brothers has ratcheted up significantly in the past few years, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to take advantage. Maybe "take advantage" is the wrong way to say it. Um, let's instead say enjoy the countless amenities my mother provides. There, that's better.

Sitting in the Northside Tavern on Christmas Eve with some close friends, we came to the obvious conclusion that Christmas has lost all its luster. Who knew this could ever happen? I have no real interest in getting presents and basking in the glory of the holidays. Instead, I'm most excited to sit at a bar (like the Northside Tavern) with close friends and discuss how Christmas has become more of a reason instead of a result. I'm cool with this development of a semi anti-Christmas sentiment. Number one, I knew it would happen eventually. No big shock. Number two, it still gives everyone a reason to truck into town, get drunk at old haunts, reflect on the past year with rarely seen friends, make plans to visit one another (knowing you never actually will), and eventually continue on your own merry way. I love this about the holidays (for real). Number three, the trite and cheeseball frills of the holidays aren't as prevalent as they once were because you've diligently worked the past few years at surrounding yourself with equally jaded and sarcastic friends and family members. Definitely the best part.

My stomach anticipates the coming of Christmas and New Year's Eve and rallies to house as much shit food and alcohol it can possibly handle. It then refuses to tolerate any such action throughout the rest of the year (just ask the last couple of camping trips I've been on). I can only assume it's some type of camel-like quality that provides me with supernatural strength and intelligence throughout the following year. Seems like the most obvious answer.

Okay, I'm heading back to watch snippets of A Christmas Story (without ever actually seeing it in its entirety) and eat homemade chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. Happy holidays and all that.

The Albums of 2009.

2009-12-07T19:16:00.000-08:00

It's that time of the year again. Time for my annual "Best Albums" feature where I act like I'm knowledgeable and insightful when it comes to discussing current music trends. Sounds like a fun game, right? It's inevitable that I will leave off several notable albums this year, but if I can't remember them off the top of my head, then they're not really worth noting (for the most part). I glanced back at last year's list and realized that I was completely right on all counts. So, why would this year be any different? I'm both a year older and a year wiser. This was a spectacular year of releases, so I'm bumping it up a notch from last year and giving you my 15 top albums of 2009, in no particular order (I think).

1. Converge - Axe to Fall - This gets my vote for album of the year for three reasons. First, Converge is one of my all-time favorites, and they can do no wrong. Second, this album runs step for step with the quartet's masterpiece, Jane Doe, which is a lofty statement to say the least. Third, Converge went on an inspired face-melting mission and guitarist Kurt Ballou hitched a ride on a dream cloud to the Xanadu of brutal riffage and bought a townhouse there. The first five songs are reason enough to worship this onslaught of sonic dynamite. Fucking brilliant.

2. Pissed Jeans - King of Jeans - Surlier, dirtier, and louder than Hope for Men, complete with an endearing basement show ambiance of sweat, blood, and booze. You can practically feel the spit from the slurs and growls of frontman Matt Korvette. It's the kind of performance that reminds me of an overly exerted, red-faced singer puking in the corner after practically killing himself while attempting to entertain 18 kids at a shitty bowling alley basement show. All out, all the time.

3. St. Vincent - Actor - I'm in love with Annie Clark, and she's in love with me, or so I repeatedly tell myself (over and over and over). Regardless of our passionate love for one another, her shining album as St. Vincent is a meandering trail of sugary yet astute indie rock that isn't afraid to get messy and noisy from time to time. Clark is the quintessential bandleader, with a talent for beautiful quirk and a charismatic charm that could persuade me to eat a heaping bowl of dirt.

4. Fuck Buttons - Tarot Sport - This Bristol duo ditched much of the abrasiveness from its debut, Street Horrrsing, and produced a haunting soundtrack of noise that builds ominous beat upon ominous beat as snippets of sound ricochet from one quadrant of a song to another. The album's personality is the equivalent to the perfect sci-fi horror movie scene, littered with blood thirsty aliens probing petrified victims with eight-foot long needles beneath blinding spotlights. The climactic closing track, "Flight of the Feathered Serpent," is goddamn chilling.

5. Sleepy Sun - Embrace - A hearty slice of stoner rock pie. This sextet doesn't attempt to disguise their certain Sabbath allegiances, which is actually kind of refreshing. I saw these guys in an intimate theatre with seating. Although they were slightly off-put by playing to 35 seated concertgoers, it didn't temper their charming enthusiasm. Fuzzed-out, weed-scented guitar licks galore, with Rachel Williams (who can straight fucking bellow) and Bret Constantino's vocals casually strolling alongside. A good trip.

6. Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion - I loved the audacity Stereogum exhibited when it named this the album of the year directly after it's release way back in January. Seems brash, presumptuous, and just a little fucking ridiculous, doesn't it? Well, the readers elected it album of the year in Stereogum's recently published Best of 2009 Extravaganza. Of course they did. Either Stereogum dangled a mutant-sized carrot in front of its impressionable readers' faces for 11 months, or I'm calling a goddamn conspiracy. I mean, who wants to turn around and see his own foot in his ass? All that being said, the album does in fact dominate.

7. Box Elders - Alice and Friends - Poppy low-fi garage goodness with a Dead Milkmen-like charm. This album is by no means mind-blowingly spectacular, but it's so damn fun that I can't deny it from this list. I feel like I've missed seeing these guys something like eight times (they're always coming through Chicago), and I'm reminded of my brazen stupidity each time I spin this album. Mindless, head-bobbing good times.

8. Baroness - Blue Record - While Red Album proved to be Baroness's coming out party, it lacked cohesion. This album, though, is an equal-part batter of metal doom riffs, transcendent melodic guitar, guttural and fiery vocals, and intricate, shitstorm drumming. It has eerie valleys and triumphant peaks abound, and there are unusual moments where it sounds like I'm being chased by gaggles of demonic trolls. Currently the best prog-ish metal band calling the state of Georgia home (in case you didn't know, Mastodon's from Atlanta).

9. Double Dagger - More - These guys pair perfectly with a sweaty and sticky art space show that has a fridge full of dollar PBRs, a 20-minute bathroom wait, and thin clouds of smoke hanging just overhead (I experienced this dream setting over the summer). Bass, drums, vocals, and enough frenetic energy to make a five-year old shit right through his pants. Is it just me, or does Baltimore have an outstanding music scene?

10. Bat for Lashes - Two Suns - I cheat on St. Vincent's Annie Clark with Natasha Khan of Bat for Lashes. That's just how shit rolls, ya know? They both understand. Plus, Khan's albums are spells. They literally sound like a benevolent sorcerer concocted them, sprinkling sprite dust and unicorn ashes over each tune. Two Suns is enchanting and daze-inducing. Check out the video for "What's A Girl to Do" off of her debut Fur & Gold and convince me you're not mesmerized. Sounds like magic.

11. Magik Markers - Balf Quarry - The apparent u-turn that was 2007's Boss proved to be the fantastic realization of a newly mapped route as duo Elisa Ambrogio and Pete Nolan moved toward more structured ways of songwritng. Balf Quarry continues in that direction with drone noises and blips loosely held together by Ambrogio's ominous, echoed vocals and Nolan's rudimentary drumming. Once you think you're contently dazing off (see "State Number"), the album inflicts multiple blows to the solar plexus (see "The Lighter Side of...Hippies"), leaving you disoriented by the album's polarity, but still quite content.

12. Dan Deacon - Bromst - Heard this story before? A classically trained electronic musician (whatever that means) who wears garish neon clothing, seems to barf arty bullshit, and looks like he'd molest your children? That's Dan Deacon, alright. I respect ambition, and Deacon's got so much it makes him seem like a pretentious, holier than thou fartbag. The simple fact is that the man is a talented whatchamacallit, and this album is a swirling grab bag of electro-excellence. Critics have called it "darker" than Spiderman of the Rings. Whatever. It's still a fun romp and makes me feel like I'm forever jumping on a moonbounce inside an abandoned Chuck E. Cheese.

13. Lightning Bolt - Earthly Delights - I shouldn't really have to go into much detail here. Uhhh . . . there was a new Lightning Bolt album this year--the first since 2005's Hypermagic Mountain. It's fucking Lightning Bolt. No drastic shift musically. They still sound like the apocalypse. Lightning Bolt, fuck.

14. Future of the Left - Travels With Myself and Another - With enough piss and vinegar to drown a little league baseball team, the Welsh trio's sophomore album expands on the ferocity and simplistic crunch of 2007's Curses with a scorcher of middle-finger-right-up-in-your-asshole-face punk rock. No longer stuck in the "ex-Mclusky" pigeonhole, Future of the Left has rightfully secured its own identity and the splendidly volatile mixture of anthemic jaunts coupled with pissed-off, snarly poundings prove that the Welsh boys are worth looking up.

15. Wye Oak - The Knot - This is the third Baltimore band/artist on my list. What the fuck is up, Charm City? Anyway, there's just something adorable and endearing about this indie rock duo. Since their debut If Children, Jenn Wasner's vocals matured with a heartfelt soulfulness and the cultivated songwriting now peeks into rooms of complexity, working with cascading melodies and almost tangible emotion. Wye Oak reminds me of eating a giant banana split sundae at an ice cream parlor on a dreary spring day and watching an unaffected dude break up with his sobbing girlfriend in the booth across from me.

Honorable Mention: Health - Get Color, Deer Tick - Born on Flag Day, Passion Pit - Manners, Phoenix - Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix, Drug Rug - Paint the Fence Invisible, Obits - I Blame You, Anni Rossi - Rockwell

A Thankful Thanksgiving (Pretty Much)

2009-11-26T10:42:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting at my computer at 12:43 PM on Thanksgiving in Chicago. For the first year ever, I'm not celebrating Thanksgiving with my family. There are various reasons for this, and they're all understandable. With that being said, I'm pretty cool with it and looking forward to this Thanksgiving more than any other in recent memory. Loren (also not making the trip back to New Jersey) and I are going to prepare a feast consisting of Lasagna, Tofurkey, cornbread, mashed taters, and broccoli. We're going to cook, devour, drink beer, watch football, and go to the movies. Pretty stellar day if you ask me. Plus, I saw Baroness last night and will once again behold the glory of the Jesus Lizard this Saturday.

Anyway, I feel like it's important to compile a rundown of things I'm thankful for (a rarity). While many may see me as a sarcastic, dry, paranoid, rigid, and pessimistic person, I am actually thankful for various people, influences, and relationships in my life. All that being said, I refuse to make this list a sappy lovefest of bullshit.

First off (and because they're both loyal readers), I'm thankful that this man and his wife are moving to Chicago. Justin got a job with Teach for America, and I supported him through the painstaking phases he had to endure. It was not an easily accomplished task and we're all very proud of him. What makes this so amazing is that things like this don't happen. Justin and I tend to share a brain from time to time, and yes I know I hold an overall advantage because I beat him in a push-up contest, but the point is that while this moved seemed imminent, neither of us felt truly confident it would come to fruition. We're just not lucky like that. Well, now it's time to keep our fingers crossed that the July 2010 doesn't get jinxed. Regardless, I'm pumped.

I'm thankful for my job. Given, work is work, and it can straight fucking blow balls, but I kind of lucked out (aside from compensation). The advantages of my job at the Reader are as follows: No rules on clothing (see these four year old jeans with the whole in the crotch? Yeah, I'm wearing those to work), everyone I work with pretty much rules, cursing is well-accepted and often encouraged, perks upon perks (mostly music related), and the Reader's a goddamn respected institution in this city with brilliant writers and editors. I often want to complain about my job, but I really just can't.

I'm thankful for sports and all sports-related programming, podcasts, magazines, and discussion. We can just leave it at that.

Not really. I'm also thankful for commercials that air during football games. Not because they're good or intentionally funny, but because I love how blatantly they target what is deemed the typical football watching crowd (married men ages 35-60). My personal favorite is a Viagra commercial where a middle-aged man is confronted by his "other self" during a trip to the doctor. The man seems flabbergasted and embarrassed by the "other self's" suggestion that it's time to discuss his erectile dysfunction with the doctor. Although initially shocked by the proposal, the old fart is easily convinced. Leaving the doctor after talking about his wiener problem, he high fives his "other self" gives it a content nod of the head and meets his wife in a pleasant-looking park for an early evening stroll and dinner. I can only assume that they later go home, and he bangs the shit out of her. Viagra and cornball Kay Jewelry commercials have more unintentional comedic moments than most commercials on television, and they each revolve around some doofus showing his wife or significant other either his boner or a big fat fucking diamond--they usually seem more excited about the diamond.

I'm thankful for my two mopeds, two bikes, motorcycle, and car because it's obvious that I need each one of them. I'm not even going to lie--I love to look at all of my two-wheeled modes of transportation. I fucking love it, and I want more.

I'm thankful that I've maintained long term (and basically lifelong) friendships. I've know one Michael Short since I was eight and have been super tight with Russell "The Love Muscle" Vance, Michael "Juggernaut" Coates, Zach "Spazz" Thomas, Kenny Roa, and Billy Hartmann for over a decade. I greatly appreciate this, not because they are good people, but because the amount of joke material I have on each one is recyclable for eternity. They'll never go away and neither will I. And although I've only known him since 2007, I'll also include Justin Bragg in my list. Mainly because he's so damn exhausting to be around, it feels like I've know him for practically twenty years.

Finally, here's a quick list of things I'm thankful for that don't warrant their own paragraphs: My ability to find amazing parking spots, my chiseled jawline, Heidi's butterscotch cookies, my superior amount of Seinfeld knowledge, Logan Square, my mom's never ending tolerance of me and my brothers, adrenaline, never having gotten pulled over on the highway, Peyton Manning, my TV series DVD collection, my awesome apartment, Chicago brunch, and recliners, among many other treats that are escaping me at the moment.

P.S. I am not thankful for the way that Brett Favre and Vince Young are currently playing quarterback. Justin and I have been talking shit on them for years, and they're currently taking a crap on us. Stop it! Stop playing well and making us look like we don't know what we're talking about. We've always seen ourselves as trailblazing thinkers and great sports hypothesizers.

Favre: I'm going to need you to go to your Mississippi farm and run over your right arm with a tractor.

Young: I need you to go flunk another test so we can continue to make fun of how dumb you are, dummy.

You guys suck.

Indiana Cabin Weekend and Halloween: A Polaroid Story.

2009-11-01T16:36:00.000-08:00

So, I've recently become a big fan of Polaroid photos, and I decided to lightly document my last two major weekends using Polaroid film. A couple of weekends ago, a top-notch group of us went "camping" in Who the Hell Knows Where, Indiana. Actually, as I was driving through the local sticks listening to the radio, the area was being referred to as Kentuckiana, a more objectionable, awful description I cannot recall. Anyway, we spent the weekend playing cornhole, drinking beer, hiking, playing cornhole, listening to Kenny make crude comments, basking in a campfire, watching Justin grill things, and slurring curse words together. It was a goddamn delight.

Note: I mistakenly left Zach Thomas's name off the "posse" Polaroid. It should read "Posse minus Russ, Zach, and Brian." My fault, Robert Zachary Thomas.

Click on the photos for larger versions.

This past weekend contained the best day of the year. The one day where it's socially acceptable to walk around in a cheetah leotard or flaunt an obscene amount of cleavage. Does it really matter what you even do on Halloween? As long as you're at some party, bar, or random gathering where people are dressed up and maybe slightly intoxicated, everyone's fantastically happy. I know, I know, I went as zombie. Cliche as hell, right? Well, fuck off. It was my and Carley's idea because she's been plowing through her fear of zombies and we had a good "makeup artist" to take care of us (Ricki). Regardless, it was a blast of a night. I ran out of film much too early to document much of the debauchery that ensued. Bummer.

A "Fun" Theory About a Mind-Boggling Contraption.

2009-10-22T18:36:00.000-07:00

My roommate introduced me to the recent theory concerning the Large Hardron Collider that's located in the countryside near Geneva, Switzerland. Instead of trying to explain the device and its purpose (I'd inevitably botch the description), I'm going to refer to a June 2007 article from Popular Mechanics:

"Inside the Large Hadron Collider (LHC), massive, powerful magnets chilled to a few degrees above absolute zero — colder than outer space — will zip beams of superenergetic protons and lead nuclei in a loop at speeds within a hairsbreadth of the speed of light, then collide them head-on. The energy released will be so vast that the impacts will recreate conditions in the universe as they existed just a fraction of a second after the big bang. If the LHC performs as expected, it could at last nail down that holy grail of contemporary physics, the Higgs boson — known as the “God particle” because it is thought to lend mass to matter. It may even finally unveil the secret of dark matter, the mysterious entity that makes up 85 percent of the universe — thereby shedding light on as-yet-unexplainable motions of galaxies."

Daunting shit, right? Regardless, the brains of the world have had a hell of a getting this thing to operate properly and are becoming rather frustrated with repeated disappointments. The initial startup date (November 2007) was delayed when a "cryogenic magnet support broke during a pressure test." Operation was again delayed in 2008 due to a "faulty electrical connection between two magnets." In July of this year, leaks were identified, once again delaying what is being deemed as the "start of operations."

Doesn't it seem a little wacky that the world's preeminent physicists and scientists can't get this terrifying monstrosity cooking? Well, others agree. Because of the prolonged difficulties, rational theories are beginning to be tossed by the wayside. The newest and best theory is that the Collider is being sabotaged by forces/humans from the future who are traveling back in time to halt operations and avoid an imminent disaster that would disrupt the future's equilibrium and possibly suck the Earth into a black hole.

This is some Terminator 2: Judgment Day kind of mind-melter shit. It's being compared a lot more to Back to the Future, but that's too PG-rated and campy for me. I tend to envision the scene when Arnold, Eddie Furlong, and Linda Hamilton go after (basically attempt to murder) Dr. Miles Dyson of Cyberdene Systems Corporation to prevent the future self-awareness of Skynet, a catastrophe that would result in the "rise of the machines," mass destruction, and a couple of subpar sequels.

To be honest, I'm not even poking fun at the free thinking theorists. I just find it humorous and entertaining when all rational thought has been expended and the next logical explanation is time travel. Fucking brilliant.

Good Work, Levi's.

2009-10-12T18:54:00.000-07:00

Seeing that I haven't blogged in over a month, I'm going to keep this one simple and in list format (kind of). My recent trend of hooded sweatshirt wearing and pumpkin beer hunting means it's probably about time for my annual Fall blog, consisting of the best and worst parts of the standout season (although we all know that summer will always dominate the head-to-head battle). Because I'm neglecting to look back at last year's blog, there's no doubt I'm going to tread over some old thoughts. I don't mind being repetitive, though, and there will always be unavoidable holdovers from year to year. Also, I'm aware that Simmons recently wrote a "Why October Is Great" article; however, I had the idea first, so I'm calling dibs. Justin's probably the only one that would raise a fuss anyway. You know, because he's a crybaby. So, without further ado . . .

Fall means new jeans. I beat the hell out of my jeans from bike riding, mountain climbing, tomato gardening, hang gliding, buck hunting, moped fixing, and bare-knuckle street-fighting, among my other typical Summer activities. Anyway, it appeared as if Levi's had dropped the ball and fucked their 511s fit way up. One size was too small, the next size up was too big. This pair had four pockets, this pair had twelve. It was a disaster. I've been wearing Levi's for the past decade and had both my size and fit down. So, I panicked and bought some Marc Jacobs jeans. That's right, you heard me. I'm a fancy fuck now (not really because they cost like 80 bucks). I am happy to say, though, that Levi's recently came out with a Fall collection and got their shit straight and returned to form. I can only assume this was a result of me bitching about the altered fit every time I went into a Levi's store. So, those of you who are hopelessly devoted to the 511 skinny jean, you're welcome.

Fall means a sports orgasm. October is simultaneously overloaded with the baseball playoffs and football. The two best sports in bed together in the same month. It's like late Saturday night Cinemax programming. *I did go further (much further) with this analogy, but then opted to delete it. Probably the wise move.*

Fall means pumpkin beer. Already mentioned in the introduction, pumpkin beer has become a fixation (maybe a vice) of mine over the last few years. If I see a variety I've never had before, I always buy it. When Winter porters begin usurping shelf space, I hoard the shit like a hobo hoards pop cans. It's my elixir and makes me invincible.

Fall means empty bike lanes. I get some sort of sick enjoyment out of riding my bike through the blistering Chicago cold. In the summer, the Milwaukee Avenue bike lanes are teeming with shorts and tanktops perched upon fixed gears, but once sub-50 degree weather hits, the lanes thin out and the hardcore cyclists are the only ones left. Nothing better than pulling up next to a fellow insane person in ten-degree weather, nodding your head, and saying, "Fuck, it's cold."

Fall means bonfires. Is there anything better than sitting in a camping chair, drinking Budweiser out of a can, and flicking finished cigarettes into a raging bonfire? If I could bottle the scent of bonfires, I'd call it "Autumn," sell it to suckers like Kenny and Russ, and make a bajillion dollars. I can't wait for my late October camping trip with the posse (minus a couple), so that I can drench my hooded sweatshirts in the bonfire smell and purposely not wash them for the rest of the season.

Fall means darkness at 4:30 PM. One thing I miss about Cincinnati is that it's on the edge of the eastern time zone, resulting in a later sundown time. Here in Chicago, though, the sun gives us the middle finger around 4:15 or 4:30 PM. Given, that's during the heart of winter, but there's nothing worse (or more depressing) than when fall starts hitting and you notice the day shrinking. Ugh. I hate walking out of work and into the dark.

Fall means Halloween. Chock-full of haunted houses, dressed up buffoons, and copious amounts of candy shoved in your face, Halloween is the best holiday of the year. Plus, I've become obsessed with tracking down the guerrilla Halloween costume outlets that pop up in vacant storefronts around the city. It's the perfect business model. Fill a store with a bunch of campy, hideous holiday shit and when it's gone, it's fucking gone. No restocking and practically no cleaning up. Have you ever been in one of those places on October 30? It's the damn apocalypse. A delightful disaster of desperate vagabonds running around in a bleak, desolate wasteland of clown wigs, vampire teeth, and fake blood. Absolutely terrifying.

Fall means more blogs from yours truly. I've been massively disappointed with my general lack of recent blog production. To be completely honest, I haven't been able to find any time. I'm a busy bee during the warm weather seasons because I gotsta to keep up my appearances and shit (not really). Anyway, with fall comes the security of fearing the cold, wind, and premature darkness and just packing it in for the evening. The results? I'll spend a shit ton less money and be able to post up one of these gems on a weekly basis, regardless of length. That's my new goal, and I sure as fuck plan on following through. I wouldn't dare deprive the public (or Justin) any longer from my words of wisdom.

My Preface to the Upcoming NFL Season (NFC).

2009-09-06T16:12:00.000-07:00

Since posting my AFC preview, there have been two disasters. Number one: I fractured my right wrist when a car decided to hit me while I was on my bike (don't worry the bike appears to be okay). Number two: Brett Favre returned to the NFL with the Minnesota Vikings. I don't have it in me anymore to discuss number two, and as a matter of fact, I'm making a pact with myself to avoid his name in upcoming blogs concerning football, painkillers, or Wrangler jeans. I have no more words. As Simmons put it, Favre's new nickname should simply be "VD" because he just won't go away.

Anyway, the fractured wrist deterred me from attempting the NFC blog because I would've had to practically operate my computer left-handed. Seeing that I've basically disowned my left hand for the first 28 years of my life, I didn't really expect it to forgive me and cooperate. My apologies, left hand. I'll never treat you like a 15-year old heroin-addicted, pregnant daughter again.

Regardless, my right hand can now sufficiently operate well enough to complete my NFL preview. Plus, I would've felt like a real fuckface if I just had an AFC preview and blamed it on an injured body part. I know that I'm cutting it close with the season starting on Thursday, but better late than never, right?

As was said with the AFC preview, I'm not going any further than the teams that are going to get in the playoffs.

NFC EAST
Dallas Cowboys (10-6) - Let me preface this with saying that I hate this division. Why else would I have picked the Cowboys to win? It's always overblown and consequently disappointing. That being said, Jerry Jones did build a fifty kajillion dollar stadium and shrewdly sabotaged the opposing punter with an enormously outrageous scoreboard that acts as a huge psyche out. As sad as it sounds, after superficially evaluating the other quarterbacks in the division, I've got to go with Romo. Yep, I just said that I'm going with Tony Romo.
Philadelphia Eagles (9-7) - Remember that discussion about Anquan Boldin heading to the Eagles. Remember how it didn't happen? Remember how the Eagles never did bring in a big time receiver? Have a good time leaning on a second year prima donna (DeSean Jackson) and a rookie (Jeremy Maclin). Oh, and Michael Vick used to electrocute dogs.
New York Giants (7-9) - When Plaxico Burress was suspended last season, the Giants pretty much fell apart. Why this wasn't regularly talked about on the ESPNs confounds me. Dear New York, Eli Manning has no one to throw his knuckle-balls to anymore. You're totally fucked. Justin and I are actually still in shock that Eli Manning is a "Super Bowl Champion." Just doesn't sound right, does it? So, why not give him a huge extension and a ton of money? This shit is just too wonky. Tyree got released yesterday. The Super Bowl mojo is done and gone. You ruined a perfectly good Super Bowl and my chance to witness the perfect season. Screw you, Giants.
Washington Redskins (5-11) - When you make rumblings on two separate occasions about chucking your quarterback, you've basically given up on him as part of your future. Don't get me wrong, I like Clinton Portis and Santana Moss, and I'd really like to see Jason Campbell succeed. He just won't.

NFC NORTH
Green Bay Packers (12-4) - I know that the Green Bay Packers are a sexy pick right now. Am I jumping on the bandwagon? Yes. Yes I am. The fact that Aaron Rodgers has succeeded since the Brett Favre debacle elates me. Plus, this division isn't the beast everyone's making it out to be (see below).
Chicago Bears (10-6) - I applaud you, Bears. You stuck your neck out and made a big move. Congrats on bringing in Cutler. By the way, who in almighty hell is he going to throw the ball to with three minutes left in the 4th quarter of a playoff game? The fact that Devin Hester is a number one receiver is a joke. He's a backup cornerback and a good special teams player. That's it. It's like a statistical nerd getting hired as the GM of a basketball team just because he's a whiz at crunching rebounding numbers and shooting percentages. Oh, wait...
Detroit Lions (5-11) - Giving the Lions five wins is a bit of a stretch, but I'm a pretty big Calvin Johnson fan. Unfortunately, I feel like the Lions are going to start Stafford over Culpepper (I found this out to be true a couple of days after writing the preview), so Johnson's numbers aren't going to be as glaring. Carson Palmer played backup for a year. Rivers did it for two. So did Rodgers. Seems like a logical decision to me considering Culpepper still has some gas in the tank. Plus, I just want to see him do his touchdown arm roll celebration thing.
Minnesota Vikings (2-14) - Brett Favre.

NFC SOUTH
New Orleans Saints (11-5) - I don't know why New Orleans isn't getting any love this year. Drew Brees almost conquered Marino's single season passing totals last year. Sure, their defense is suspect, but it really comes down to the fact that this is the least interesting division in the NFL, and the Saints are the most likable (Katrina aside). Also, I can't believe Mark Brunell is still puttering around. Here's two more points for the wily old veteran that couldn't throw five yards if he had gun to his balls.
Atlanta Falcons (8-8) - Time to float back down to reality, Matt Ryan. Whenever you're being interviewed by Sports Illustrated alongside real quarterbacks (aside from Romo and Roethlisberger) about the "toughest job in sports," you know you've blown your load too soon. The Gonzales pickup was nice, but isn't Atlanta notorious for having an all-around terrible fanbase? No wonder the city could only win one World Series in the 53 tries they had during the 90s.
Carolina Panthers (6-10) - Dear Carolina, Jake Delhomme isn't good anymore. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure he ever was any good. You remember last year's playoffs, right? I've never seen anything quite so disgustingly horrendous. It's as if I was watching the Hindenburg disaster, only I was laughing the entire time. I predict Delhomme's head will explode following his fourth interception in the first 11 minutes of the first quarter of the opener. What a putz.
Tampa Bay Buccaneers (2-14) - I really don't know if there's going to be a worse team in the league this season. I think they're starting the guy who vacuums my apartment building's stairs at quarterback. Where's Jeff Gracia when you need him? I also have no idea who the coach is. I honestly can't think of his name or what he looks like at all. That probably doesn't bode well.

NFC WEST
Arizona Cardinals (11-5) - I'm not going with the sexy Seattle Seahawks pick. Partly because I'm still bitter over losing T.J. Houshmandzadeh but mostly because Arizona's offense is a fucking juggernaut. Boldin's still there, Fitzgerald is the best receiver in the league, and old bones Warner has been rejuvenated. The reason? I can only assume that he's got a great offseason training program of constantly banging out his wife now that she turned good looking overnight. Oh, and God's on his side.
San Francisco 49ers (8-8) - That's right! Shaun Hill is going to lead the old boys back to the glory land. Well, not really. They'll continue to swim in mediocrity for at least the next five to six years. Crabtree's never going to sign, but it doesn't really matter because Shaun Hill's the quarterback. Am I right? Dear 49ers, Take this opportunity to groom Alex Smith. You remember him, right? He's that one guy you drafted first overall. Did he really get a fair shake, or were you too busy crapping out a heaping mess of diarrhea all over his confidence? All that being said, I just glanced at the roster. Oomph...
Seattle Seahawks (8-8) - Is it just me or do way too many ignorant analysts view Matt Hasselbeck as an elite quarterback? I suppose the Seahawks could take a few steps forward this year, but I'd prefer to see Hasselbeck continue his back injuries and fall by the wayside. To be honest, I'm really still just bitter over the fact that the Seahawks let the '05 Steelers win the Super Bowl. The pain I went through with those playoffs is indescribable.
St. Louis Rams (4-12) - I mean, who really gives a shit about the Rams anyway?

Division Champs: Cowboys, Packers, Saints, Cardinals
Wild Cards: Bears, Eagles

Please appreciate the effort I put in to get this thing up before the Thursday night game. It would've just felt wrong otherwise. Good to have you back, football. Hugs and kisses.

My Preface to the Upcoming NFL Season (AFC).

2009-08-11T04:49:00.000-07:00

I'd be doing a great disservice to myself (and maybe even Justin) if I didn't preview the upcoming NFL season. The first preseason game aired last night, and while it was a throwaway game versus two throwaway franchises, the Titans and Bills were wearing throwback jerseys, and for at least half of the first quarter, they were actually playing a little football. As I watched Vince Young throw a TD pass against a second or third string defense that was probably recruited outside of a Waffle House, I couldn't help but get a little giddy. Football is here (and Brett Favre is nowhere to be found).

The Cincinnati Reds must have wanted me to write this blog because they decided to tank the season and forget how to score runs, or really just make a game entertaining to watch. Therefore, instead of writing about the tight race in the NL Central and my utter disdain for all things Cubs and Albert Pujols related, here I am writing a football preview. Thanks, guys.

On a bit of a tangent, is it possible for Joey Votto to play first, pitch, manage, and be the first base coach simultaneously? On second thought, I wouldn't trade Billy Hatcher in for anything. I'm biting my tongue right now. Sorry, Billy. You keep tapping Willy Taveras' ass every time he beats out a slow roller in the infield.

Regardless, what's done is done, and the Reds can file away another forgettable season. Actually, just change the name of the file to Baltimore Orioles, Kansas City Royals, or Pittsburgh Pirates. No one will be able to tell the difference, and the Reds can maybe save some face.

Enough baseball talk already. So, I'm going to go division by division, and rank the teams in order of how they're going to finish. And of course, there will be a quip or two added. I'm not going any further than the teams that are going to get in the playoffs. If I did otherwise, what will I have to talk about in December and January?

AFC EAST
1. New England Patriots (12-4) - I don't want to do it, but I think Belichick has been worshiping Satan a bit more than usual this offseason hoping that this doesn't come true. Oh, and Randy Moss can still jump over everyone and catch touchdowns while doing his taxes.
2. Miami Dolphins (10-6) - Sure, Chad Pennington has had eighteen rotator cuff surgeries. Sure, he has a tendency to sound like a derelict that was birthed from a moonshine barrel. But he always wins, and he always seems pissed. I hopped on the Chad Pennington bandwagon a few years ago and have been throwing off naysayers ever since. I'd still like to see someone kick Joey Porter in the balls, though.
3. New York Jets (7-9) - Sorry Mark Sanchez, you only played what, about two and a half games in college? Plus, it's going to be a tough transition from banging girls on some posh, warm California beach to banging girls in a pile of trash outside of Meadowlands stadium in late November weather. Also, not unlike Brian Billick (former offensive "genius") and Marvin Lewis (former defensive "genius"), Rex Ryan will probably decimate his defense as a result of a ballooning ego and the pressure to be better than his dad.
4. Buffalo Bills (5-11) - Terrell Owens aside, I like the receiving core (Lee Evans, Josh Reed, Roscoe Parrish), and I sure as hell like the fact that the J.P. Losman distraction decided to asphyxiate his career by joining the soon to be defunct UFL. However, it is the Bills, and they lost four Super Bowls in a row (1990-1993). Logical argument? Not at all. But the ghost of Scott Norwood will forever haunt the proud franchise.

AFC NORTH
Pittsburgh Steelers (12-4) - Those who know me well realize the pain this causes. I hate no team in sports more than the Steelers. Is it because, like Belichick, they made a pact with Satan to regularly compete for a division title? Yeah. Is it because they use their "Terrible Towels" to wipe their asses after they shit out the Bengals twice a year? Yeah. Is it because the world loves Hines Ward, the most abominable shitbag on the planet? Yeah. Fuck it all, just go back and read my Super Bowl blog from earlier this year. It pretty much sums it up.
Cincinnati Bengals (11-4-1) - Flip last year's record upside down. Why not? I just got done watching Hard Knocks on HBO, and I'll be damned if it didn't get me riled up. Seeing Carson Palmer delegate and tutor always gets me excited. Plus, who doesn't love hearing football players curse openly? I don't trust anyone who doesn't throw around some four-letter words from time to time. With their schedule and an offense that seems to gelling into something lethal (Chad's back), this team could be worth a shit this year (but, let's be honest, I say this every year).
Cleveland Browns (7-9) - Big step forward this year. The record won't indicate it, but the Browns are going to be in some tight ones. Mangini's a solid coach. He mainly lost his job last year because of the cancer that is Brett Favre, who would have been just as well off throwing the football to the popcorn vendor or the field goal post.
Baltimore Ravens (3-13) - Did the world (aside from me and Justin) really buy in to Joe Flacco? Really? He looks like the assistant manager of a Piggly Wiggly in Montgomery, Alabama and is about as exciting as a haircut from Great Clips. I'm also still waiting for someone to take Ed Reed's head off during one of his ridiculous patented interceptions for a touchdown. Then he'd be dead, and the Ravens would only be able to score seven points each game. Oh, and Ray Lewis seems like he's running purely on fumes of cocaine in this stage of his career.

AFC SOUTH
Indianapolis Colts (13-3) - I've never been shy about my love for Peyton Manning. How can I not appreciate watching the best quarterback of my lifetime who has completely redefined the position? However, the Colts are in the waning years of their dynasty, so this year is going to be the team's final big push. The offense will continue to run like a fucking machine. Now, if only Tony Dungy hadn't left to counsel a dog killer for his own self-fulfilling, soapbox reasons. Shit, that bugs me.
Houston Texans (9-7) - Didn't see that one coming, did you? The Texans have been abysmal since they were brought into the league in 2002, and something's got to give. Andre Johnson is a legitimate man-child, Schaub may actually be for real, and Mario Williams turned out to be the right choice. The jury's still out, but I'm taking a leap this year. Now, if they could only figure out how to beat the Colts.
Tennessee Titans (7-9) - Big step back for the team that played over its head more than anyone last year (except for maybe the Ravens). The defense lost Haynesworth to Washington for a kajillion dollars, Collins has no one to throw to (Justin Gage?), and while I do like Kerry Collins, he is a haggard 58-year old man, while his backup is (and always has been) an overrated mess of a glorified running back.
Jacksonville Jaguars (5-11) - Why in almighty hell does Jacksonville have a football franchise and Los Angeles doesn't? This travesty needs to end, and the NFL think tank needs to buff up on its LOST episodes and figure out a way to move the Jacksonville stadium and fanbase to LA. By the way, Del Rio's job is toast this season.

AFC WEST
San Diego Chargers (10-6) - I hate Philip Rivers. I think he's a cocky shit who would rather taunt fans and whine then approach the game with a dignified passion (a la Manning and Palmer). That being said, this division is utter garbage, and when I heard that Rivers is 14-0 in December since he took over the reigns from Brees, the Chargers just can't really be denied. Oh, and LT is a whiner too. And Merriman is a roided-out cokehead whose heart is probably going to explode on the field. Man, fuck the Chargers.
Denver Broncos (7-9) - In his NFL career, I never felt like Kyle Orton got a fair shake. A Bears divorce was necessary (who did he have to throw to on that team anyway?). Given, this is another example of a Patriots whiz kid-coach coming to a team and thinking he can turn it upside down and still succeed with a discarded quarterback, but I am rooting for Orton this year. If Brandon Marshall gets his shit straight, the receiving core can't be denied. The defense, though, is a whole other story.
Kansas City Chiefs (7-9) - I'm not saying the Matt Cassel rise to stardom isn't a good one, but what does this team really have to offer? I can't think of one redeeming quality off the top of my head. I'd say Tony Gonzales if they hadn't foolishly dumped him to Atlanta. I just looked at the roster and no one jumped out at me. Wait, wait, I do like Dwayne Bowe. There you go, Kansas City. You're got Dwayne Bowe. Give 'em hell Dwayne.
Oakland Raiders (2-14) - Al Davis needs to die for this team to succeed. Tom Cable, I repeat, Tom Cable is their coach, and they drafted Darrius Heyward-Bey with their first pick. Also, JaMarcus Russell is worthless. Can you do it all by yourself, Jeff Garcia?

Division Champs: Patriots, Steelers, Colts, Chargers
Wild Cards: Bengals, Dolphins

Here's hoping that my NFC preview will be up before the start of the season. Stay tuned.

Why I Was Doomed to Never Become a Professional Athlete.

2009-07-27T21:00:00.000-07:00

This marks my and Justin's first joint blog. We've been toying with the idea for a while but couldn't ever get our shit together and decide on a topic. That being said, I said fuck it and just picked a topic myself. We'll see how well it works.

KEVIN: I crack under pressure. Over the past few years, I've come to grips with this. It's not something I'm proud of, but something I've learned to deal with and even joke about (even though with each joke, my confidence crumbles just a little more, and I slip deeper into a chasm of inadequacy).

Anyway, this last 4th of July weekend, I visited Cincinnati to enjoy the annual event my friends and I have succinctly titled "Let's go watch $2500 worth of fireworks get shot off in Billy's backyard." Before the "oooohs" and "aaahhhs" commenced, a large group of us were playing a muddy, sloppy game of backyard volleyball (another tradition). Normally in large groups, I'm an adequate and sometimes even good "athlete." I hang back, do my part, and even occasionally put someone in there place with a completely unintended and perfectly placed shot.

(In order to salvage a few scraps of pride, I want to quickly make the point that I'm not like Smalls from Sandlot. I don't close my eyes and stick my hand up in the air and have a phenom (Benny) cover for me by hitting a perfect fly ball right into my mitt. My asshole doesn't tighten when the ball's heading toward me. I know how to play sports, and those of you who know me can attest. By the way, if Benny was so good, why the hell was he being put in as a pinch runner at the end of the movie when he was playing for the Dodgers? Sure, he stole home, but I've already seen that happen like three times this baseball season, so big deal. And everyone knows that pinch runners are usually shitbag players. Terrible directorial decision).

Okay, now back to my point. We weren't keeping score in this volleyball game, so the main objective for anyone with competitive blood was to get in a solid block or swat that shit back in an unsuspecting 15-year old girl's face. What else could the objective possibly be? Finally, after about an hour of playing in the rain and waiting for my opportunity, a ball was lofted my way. In moments like this, I don't even think about choking. I used to, but now I feel like it's become so ingrained in my psyche that my brain doesn't really need to expend any energy in embarrassing me. It just does. So as the ball was getting larger and larger in my eyes, I jumped up, cocked my arm, and whiffed with such an intensity that the ball hit me in the head on the way back down. Laughs ensued, and I played it off by laughing as well (this is a recent development in my cracking under pressure personality trait. I used to get bent out of shape, but now I find it almost comical enough to the point where I laugh as well . . . almost).

JUSTIN: I was there when Kevin whiffed on the volleyball, and I can tell that it was hilarious. Classic choke-ery.

As a fellow struggling CUPA (crack under pressure anonymous), I can affirm that this syndrome is crippling. I should ask our friend Heather, who is a therapist, if there is a diagnosis in DSM IV for this condition. Perhaps we can be prescribed medicine that will alleviate our daily pain.

I could share stories about all the times I have cracked under pressure, but I already wrote about it on the blog a few months ago so I'll skip reliving those traumas now. As i think about it, perhaps the key is going back to our pasts and examining what went wrong early on in order to discover the underlying factors that contribute to this inadequacy.

Blame rests squarely on the shoulders of my parents. They were too supportive. My dad wasn't athletic and never yelled at me to try harder or do better. If i had the dad from Varsity Blues, I probably would have experienced more success. If I was afraid to fail, because I would be beat or verbally abused when I got home, I would have learned to deal with the pressure would have been a better sportsman because of it. It worked for James Van Der Beek. All of this "I'm proud of you son" and "as long as you did your best..." talk did nothing but make me mentally weak. Thanks a lot, Dad. My son will get no support whatsoever and will thank me for it when he's older.

So am i screwed? Is there hope for things to get better? Probably not. But perhaps it can be overcome in another way. And I'm talking about performance enhancing drugs (PEDs) here. Listen, we kill athletes who crack under pressure. Alex Rodriguez can hit the cover off a baseball in innings 1-8, but when the game is on the line, he wilts like a delicate rose in the Sahara desert. For years Barry Bonds was considered a failure under pressure ('02 Series performance changed that), Donovan McNabb has thrown up on the field, Tony Romo can't hold a snap, and on and on. These guys are infamous in their mishandling of pressure. Hell, it can even extend to an entire organization (New York Mets in previous two years, Boston Red Sox until '04, Dallas Cowboys in the playoffs, etc.) Peyton Manning can't handle the pressure. Neither can Lebron James.

I'm not suggesting that all of these players are on steroids, but I'm making the point that one can be extremely successful in spite of his/her inability to perform well under pressure. So, what is the PED that you and I can stick in our own ass (figuratively)? The key for guys like you and me is to inflate our "stats" in the 99 meaningless scenarios in our lives, so that when the pressure cooker is turned up, the whiff won't define us.

Here's my other ray of hope to offer: ESPN2 is showing "NFL's Greatest Games" right now - 99 playoffs: Niners vs. Packers. Terrell Owens dropped four passes throughout the course of that game and looked like the ultimate goat. I remember watching that game and being disgusted with the whole thing. I wanted to murder Terrell Owens. Jerry Rice, the greatest wide receiver of all time is catch-less while T.O. is playing football with concrete blocks fastened to his hands. Brett Favre, the ultimate under pressure guy is looking like he gets to add another fourth quarter comeback to his bloated resume, and I'm about to cry/vomit/commit suicide. Jerry Rice uncharacteristically cracks under pressure and fumbles (oh wait, the officials decide to intercede and make a terrible call to keep the drive going) and then what happens? As if God himself decided to intercede on behalf of all chokers everywhere, Terrell Owens gets his wooden hands on a ball thrown by Steve Young with three seconds on the clock to win the game 30-27. redemption under pressure.

So there are the two options we have in order to overcome this disorder: inflate our regular season stats to diminish the failures in pressure situations, or blow it repeatedly and wait for God himself to give us one shining moment of glory. You decide.

KEVIN: I think you're trying to bait me in with the Peyton Manning comment, so I'll bite. Cracking under pressure when you're a Super Bowl winner immediately disqualifies you. Sure, he's had some wayward moments in the playoffs, but he got it done in 2006, thus voiding all previous chokes. There is no argument to be had here. I'm right.

Wilts like a delicate rose in the Sahara Desert? Wow. That was quite the wing-dinger. Anyway, I'd like to think we could inflate our "stats" to supersede our choking in pressure packed moments, but you're basically disproving that theory through your list of athletes who put up monster stats but never come through when it matters. McNabb has been in five NFC Championship games in the past decade and has no Super Bowl to show for it. That's outrageous. You think people are going to talk about his consistent playoff prowess or his inability to win the big game? It'll be the latter every single time. Remember that clip of Steve Young having the imaginary monkey pulled off his back before he finally won a Super Bowl during the years of Cowboys domination? No way is he looked at in the same light unless he wins a Super Bowl and proves that he's some kind of equivalent to Montana (even though we all know he's not).

Daniel LaRusso was right. During the heart wrenching scene in the locker room following his leg mutilation at the hands of the Cobra Kai, Mr. Miyagi tells Daniel that he had nothing more to prove. He had accomplished the necessary steps to earn respect. I say fuck that. Daniel knew that if he forfeited the championship match, then that's what he was gong to be remembered for, and it would never be square in his mind. So, he sucked it up, raised a middle finger to the pressure, and went out and crane kicked Johnny Lawrence's ass right back to Beverly Hills. And you know what happened? Johnny handed Daniel the trophy and told him he was "all right." While, I thought the final scene was forced (given the collective personality, shouldn't the Cobra Kai be made up of bitter, enraged sore losers?), it solidified Daniel's reputation as a winner who could meet the pressure head on. Plus, he probably got to fuck Elisabeth Shue later that night in the ball pit at Golf N' Stuff.

JUSTIN: Kevin is forcing me to type this with correct capitalization because he can't handle my free-wheelin' ways. I don't conform to the archaic and tedious rules of grammar that Kevin, the editor, is a slave to. A period is sufficient to mark the beginning and end of a sentence, and a capital letter is unnecessary to convey this meaning.

That being said, you're right Kevin, I was baiting you with that Peyton Manning comment - and it worked. I have nothing more to say about that.

Daniel Larusso is a classic example of somebody who spent his entire life cracking under pressure, but was able to overcome because of a completely unpredictable event that changed the course of history. Had Johnny Lawrence not swept Daniel's leg, I'm relatively certain Daniel would not have been able to pull that figurative monkey off his back. Aside from his completely unrealistic swagger and confidence in courting young women, there is no indication that Daniel was ever up to the task of completing an objective under pressure. Dude was a whiny little girl who threw his bike in the dumpster 'cause he fell and skinned his knee.

If Daniel can do it, then so can we. I mean it, if Hollywood has taught us anything about anything, it is that the improbable can and will happen. Johnny Utah, star quarterback for Ohio State, cracked under pressure in the Rose Bowl three years ago (actually his knee got folded about 90 degrees the wrong way, but my point is better made if he failed because he couldn't handle the pressure).

Do you Remember the Titans? Of course you do. You remember this team not because they won a game (Did they win the state title? I don't even remember), but because they overcame adversity. Sure, we might not have to overcome racism or any other -ism to succeed, but we have to succeed.

This is how we settle it: You, me, and two vehicles on an abandoned stretch of road for a game of "chicken." That's right, two motor vehicles barreling toward each other at excessive speeds with the result of one man standing tall and the other man most likely flying off a cliff in a burning inferno of flaming car. If you and I would put everything on the line, one of us would have to be victorious. Although one of us would have to deal with the pain of failing under pressure once again, at least one of us (most likely me) would break out of the funk. This has to work. It can't fail.

KEVIN:Is it too much to ask to capitalize the first word of every sentence? Aren't we all adults here? Damn you, Justin Bragg!

You're assumption that you'd be able to rebound out of a life full of cracking under pressure is beyond me. How you got married, I'll never know. I admit that took balls, but I guess by the time the wedding's actually happening, you can't really back out anyway. Who's going to eat all the shrimp cocktails and drink all the Keystone Light? By the wedding day, you're already in so deep, it's pretty much impossible to puss out. It would almost be more courageous to call the wedding off the day of instead of go through it. So, I take it back (this is no slight to Justin, or Heidi for that matter. Their wedding was a fucking blast).

Obviously, I'm being cynical, but who's really surprised with that? Even though you don't really believe it, I appreciate your confidence in breaking out of our lifelong funks, Justin. It's an admirable trait.

I'm going to wrap up my side of this inaugural joint blog post with a little blame heaved on my parents. I lacked toughness growing up. I lacked the guttural spunk and drive that could've easily catapulted me through junior high and high school with an air of confidence. Why is that, though? I played competitive sports growing up (soccer, baseball, basketball). However, I was forbidden to play football, regardless of my pleas and demands to do so. Herein lies the problem. While some don't need a solid contact sport to make them tough and succeed at not choking, I'm confident it would've aided me in my efforts. As of right now, I enjoy Project Runway more than I probably should; I only have one tattoo; aside from a creepy strip of hair on my upper lip, I can't grow facial hair; I'm pretty much pale as fuck most of the year; The end of the movie A League of Their Own brings a tear to my eye every time; and so on. These aren't tough qualities.

If I had been raised playing football, an at times violent brute sport, I'm positive I'd be somewhere chopping down redwoods, putting out a forest fires, walking over hot coals barefoot, or playing tight end on a playoff bound football team. No doubt about it. Given, my mom was looking out for me because it's pretty much guaranteed that at some point in my football career I'd dislocate a shoulder, tear an ACL, or break a wrist, but shit, how fucking tough would I have looked then?

For now, I've accepted my role as a strange hybrid of a diehard sports fan/hipster/nerd/person. Am I doomed to crack under pressure for the rest of my life? Who knows. I don't think we really even answered the fucking question. I occasionally come through in the clutch. But this mainly happens when I play video games by myself or shoot a crinkled up piece of paper into the trash can. Whatever, I'll take it.

JUSTIN: Well, I'm cured.

For those of you who weren't there, I visited Kevin up in Chicago this weekend and had a blast. Late Saturday night (roughly 3 a.m. or so) in the back room of some bar that we were hanging out at because Kevin is hip and cool and has connections now, there was a game of pool being played that inevitably would change my life. Kevin and his foul-mouthed female associate against me and a dude named Phil. I talked up my game before we started, and proceeded to miss every single shot. Phil knocked in every one of our solids while I engaged in a comedy of errors. My game was a wreck - until the pressure was on. That's right, 8-ball staring me in the face. I leaned down, surveyed the table, lined up my shot, and broke the curse, while breaking the spirit of my opponents.

In Independence Day, those aliens thought they were pretty special. They thought they had it all figured out, and for a second there, it looked like they did. It was sad to see Alex, from Saved By the Bell: The College Years get blown up by a giant tractor beam from a UFO while standing atop that funky building in Los Angeles. All was lost. Even Jeff Goldblum had given up because he was smarter than everyone else and saw the handwriting on the wall.

Do you remember who saved the day? Of course you remember Will Smith as the conquering hero, but do you remember his life up to that point? Rejected time and time again from NASA (apparently because his girlfriend was a stripper? Not sure what that had to do with anything), unable to decide whether to pull the trigger and get hitched to his girl, and meddling in an uneventful life with his dog, Boomer.

When the moment was the most tense, the pressure was greatest, the stakes the highest, and the fate of humanity itself on the line, the NASA reject saved the world. Will Smith flew an alien ship into the belly of the beast and killed all the tyrannical aliens. I made an extremely easy shot to win a game of pool against some drunk people - I think the two are congruous. I'm ready to move on.

Lazy Summer Evening Mind Wanderings.

2009-06-29T19:36:00.001-07:00

Crunchy peanut butter will forever and always reign supreme over smooth peanut butter. I cannot fathom why someone would ever choose the latter. Skippy now has an "extra crunchy" choice, which is both genius and fantastic. I don't know about you, but I prefer dynamic over stasis any day of the week. It's like pussing out and going to the second-rate after-prom party. Sure, you know everyone and it's an okay time. Maybe a couple of people even get a little drunk. But you're missing the Can't Hardly Wait party where Jennifer Love Hewitt's strutting around looking for you and people are vomiting in the swimming pool and fucking in the bathroom.

What was I thinking buying a bunch of size small t-shirts and other random forms of cotton from American Apparel when I worked there? It seemed like a good idea at the time because I was a slim lad, but now I prefer the comfort of a medium. So I have all this discarded cotton in my closet that I can't imagine wearing again. Time for another trip to Buffalo Exchange. Also, I may slightly regret my past fixation with v-necks. Not yet, but maybe soon.

There are those that say they'd work even if they had money coming out of their assholes. I'm sorry, but if I were rich I wouldn't be working. If there's one thing I learned from my recent two week vacation it's this: Sure, you can get bored from time to time without a job or profession, but it's still a lot better than working.

In essence, there's really nothing on TV but sports, re-runs of Seinfeld, and solid Eddie Murphy flicks, such as Trading Places and Coming to America. What else is there to watch? Please don't recommend any HBO programs, rich shitbags.

Brett Favre will return to football because he is the Antichrist, and he wants to steal the public's collective attention so that he can piss all over it and hand it back to them. I used to just think he was the Devil, but I feel like the Antichrist would be a little bit more cunning and sneaky in the process of making you miserable. He makes you feel like he's your friend and pal until he pulls down your bathing suit trunks in the middle of the after-prom Can't Hardly Wait party with Jennifer Love Hewitt looking on. What a bastard.

I'll be in Cincinnati for the 4th of July. This is a recent development but is making me more and more excited as the time nears. My weekend will consist of the Northside Festival and watching Billy's brother and family shoot off $3,000 worth of fireworks. I did both of these activities last year, and I have to say that I would try again and again. For the next blog post, I'm actually hoping to photo document my 4th of July journey to Cincinnati. We'll see if that happens. Stay tuned.

I didn't ride my bike for four days straight. It was totally pissed at me. I played tourist for the weekend to my mom and stepdad (a fun yet exhausting and draining endeavor), and therefore spent way too much time on the train. My bike missed me, and I missed it. We made up.

Who the fuck is this Jon and Kate, and why is everyone all of the sudden so interested in their well-being or lack thereof? I'm sorry, but if you have eight kids, you deserve to be a little miserable. Are they getting divorced? What do you think put a strain on the marriage? Give me two boys, born two years apart. I can teach them how to play sports, give them pointers on the opposite sex (or not at all), and watch movies with explosions and decapitations.

I recently moved from a rather large office to a cubicle. My job is reorganizing its floor plan, so I really had no choice in the matter. Aside from missing my window that looked out onto a parking garage, the move isn't really bothering me because I generally prefer feeling cozy and secure in my immediate environment.

I hate the word "cozy" but it often seems like the most appropriate choice.

Working for an alt-weekly is peppered with perks, and the best one is the holy, blessed press pass. I just went to a $20 beer tasting for free and was able to sample new beers from Great Lakes, Flying Dog, Breckenridge (damn, I love you vanilla stout), and several others. Plus, you feel important and shit.

What's up with the wonky weather this "summer?" I'm wearing a flannel and jeans on July 1st. Listen here, Weather, I suffered through your winter and dealt with another year without a spring. Now, give me the fucking summer or I'm going to be forced to slaughter a goat as a sacrifice to the almighty weather deities.

Speaking of slaughtering goats (which I often do), Drag Me to Hell was a fantastically campy and wildly entertaining movie. I saw it by myself at Logan Square Theater ($4 movies) on a Tuesday afternoon during my recent vacation. I used to be a puss about going to shit by myself, but thankfully I'm getting over it. That's right, I'm 28.

That's good enough . . .

And here's my patented semi-sporadic, semi-regular list of shit I'm currently listening to:

Future of the Left - Travels With Myself and Another
Tortoise - Beacons of Ancestorship
Deer Tick - Born on Flag Day
Chain & the Gang - Down With Liberty . . . Up With Chains!
Japandroids - Post-Nothing

Trips.

2009-06-15T16:02:00.001-07:00

It's been far too long since my last post, but I have a good excuse. I was in cars and planes for what seemed to be an eternity. Let's map this shit out. On Saturday morning (6/6), I found out my grandfather had passed away on my mom's side. He had extremely advanced Alzheimer's, and we were expecting this, but it still blows balls. Anyway, I had scheduled a vacation to visit Russell the Love Muscle in D.C. on Thursday (6/11). So, I went into work on Sunday for like nine hours (I don't know if there's a more helpless feeling then getting to work on a Sunday at 9:30 AM, sitting down in your office, and realizing you have to work) because my work deadlines changed due to the funeral.

After working for nine hours Sunday and then seeing my lover St. Vincent play at the Metro, I went into work at 9 AM Monday and worked until 8 PM. I then drove home, shoved food into my mouth, packed, and headed to Cincinnati. I got in at about 3 AM and promptly went to bed. The next morning, I hopped in the car with my stepdad at 8 AM and began the trek to Harlan, KY, which is about four and a half hours away. After the funeral, which ended around 8 PM, I ate Pizza Hut and basically went to bed (I'm obviously avoiding any sort of funeral details. Simply put - it fucking sucked). The next morning, I woke up at 9 AM for the burial, ate more Pizza Hut (Harlan doesn't have a heavily diverse food selection), and headed back to Cincinnati. I got in at 4:30 PM or so, fed my mom's dog, and drove back to Chicago, arriving around 9:30 PM on Wednesday night. On Thursday at 10:30 AM, I flew my tight ass out to DC.

So, that was the wildness of last week before I made my trip to visit Russ. It felt like a week crammed into two and a half days, and it wore me the fuck down. Luckily, I remained spry and virile enough to vacation in the nation's capital. When I arrived at the National airport in D.C., I became afraid that the plane had accidentally landed in Cincinnati. See, Chicago's weather has been a heaping pile of diarrhea lately, chocked full of rain, wind, crappy temperatures, and other bullshit that made it feel like the beginning of fall, as opposed to the beginning of summer. When I walked out of the airport, the stifling humidity of D.C. kicked me in the assdick. Not as bad as Cincinnati, but still tough shit. I was actually wearing a flannel at the time and had packed a jacket, amongst other sweatshirt-type materials. Needless to say, I'm an awful packer, and I suspect I always will be because I tend to overcompensate for everything all the time.

The trip was a damn solid time. I've driven through the capital on tour but never actually visited. Here are my lasting impressions and other highlights:

-D.C. traffic is just fucking terrible. Magda put it best when she said that the city never really decided whether it wanted to be considered a public transit city or a car city. It's caught in some sort of transportation identity limbo, and everyone is suffering because of it.

-The city as a whole is much more racially integrated than any Midwest city I've been to or lived in. This is a good thing, and I enjoyed the characteristic.

-The Nationals ballpark is less than exciting and really just not too fucking impressive. It was about as impressive as the Reds deciding to lose to the Nationals on my first day in town. Good job, shitbags.

-Russ should get a job as a professional smoker. He's fucking good at it and has taken it up a couple of notches in his quest for perfection. That boy knows how to smoke, and he does it a whole fucking lot. More than I've ever seen before.

-The Capitol Building and the White House are imposing buildings where important people do important work.

-There's a strange sense of southern hospitality about D.C. (I know, I know. The city's not in the "South," but that's my way of describing people who aren't rude shitbags, so suck it). Everyone I met was super fucking nice and hospitable beyond belief. I don't think I really saw too much of the scenester scene of the city, and maybe that's a good thing. I commiserated with late 20/early 30-something groups, and I appreciated them greatly. Being judgmental is for the birds.

-Shit's expensive.

-This may seem obvious to others, but I was way in to the multiple dialects being spoken on random street corners throughout the city. Must be all those damn embassies.

-Russ and I succeeded this weekend in stringing together as many obscenities and objectionable words as we could to make new exciting amalgamations. Examples include assdick (see above), slitcunt, fuckbitch, pussytwat, and so on.

-The Mexican restaurant we went to didn't have black beans. I question their authenticity, or just their intelligence in general. The weekend's food in general was pretty okay, and the city has a lack of brunch options. This is no good.

-I'm a big fan of hearing drug dealing stories and other crackhead themed tales.

-Dance parties that break out at 1 AM with twelve people on a tiny-ass patio will always rule.

-I didn't see Ian MacKaye or any other iconic D.C. musicians. Bummed.

-It felt poignant to be leaving the nation's capitol on the country's most heralded day. You guessed it, Flag Day.

All in all, I would try again. Recommended.

Just a Little More Industrious.

2009-05-27T18:27:00.000-07:00

My stepdad once told me that to become more industrious and handy, one must just throw himself or herself into a project. It's often a learned process and not some ingrained, instinctual trait.

Admittedly, I am by no means a handy person. I've always wanted to be. I like the feeling of accomplishment, especially one that involves tools and greasy hands. A couple of weeks ago, I set out to hang up several frames and posters in my room. Seems like a simple task, right? Wrong. See, I constantly second guess myself, which I'm trying to get better about. So, I ended up with one, two, and three misguided holes in the wall and crooked frames. Maybe it's all because I like using my cordless drill (a highly recommended and practical purchase), but it's really just because I'm not that adept at certain calculations. The whole project took me the better part of a day (hey, it was a lot of shit), and I did eventually get everything hanged correctly. But it made me take a step back and realize that I need to throw myself into a project, for the sake of confidence, if nothing else.

This is somewhat paralleling Justin's post from a few months back about installing a clutch in his truck (and we're all still very proud of you, Justin). However, Justin is inherently handier than I am because he grew up in the wilderness of northern California where he had to cut down trees, ford rivers, and hunt to survive. You know, just like in Oregon Trail. Anyway, I've never really been tested, and I grew up on the westside of Cincinnati with a silver spoon in my mouth (not really). So as one of my summer goals, I've set out to get this bastard of a moped running.

Some of you may remember me purchasing this thing back in '07, and I admit that it was probably not the wisest purchase I've ever made. First off, I bought it broken and not running, which is a big no no for someone who really had no knowledge of transportation and the steps needed to get it moving. Mopeds are relatively simple machines, so I should have initially just dove in myself (I had much more time in '07 and much less to do with my life) and started tinkering away with it. Of course, I relied on others to help me get the thing sputtering, which it did for a short time last year, however sad and pathetic it was. Well, it's back in an idle state again. So now, I'm determined to upgrade this thing to operational. Thus far, I'm actually somewhat pleased with my progress.

Basically the thing's got some wicked rust in the tank, and I'm taking the necessary steps to rid it of all the evil that lives inside. I've taken the carburetor off and apart and cleaned the fuck out of it. I've stripped the gas line and drained the ancient premix out of the tank. The next step is to de-rust. Obviously, that's the biggest step because the rust is what's clogging up the carb and causing it to run like garbage or just not run at all. Regardless, and I know this seems sad, I'm impressed and happy with myself for getting this far. I'm cautiously optimistic that I'm going to get the thing running by mid-June, and then I can go on to upgrade it cosmetically to the point where it looks like a semi-decent two-wheeled mode of transportation.

Hobbies are the best, and I do feel like I have my fair share already. But I wouldn't mind becoming some sort of an adolescent grease monkey because, as was stated before, who doesn't love the feeling of accomplishment that a couple of greasy, dirty hands brings? Since moving to Chicago, I've already gained a little bit of this feeling from what I've learned about bicycles themselves. I'm by no means as knowledgeable as Zach Thomas, nor do I think I ever will be. Cycling is more than a hobby to Zach, which I greatly respect. On the other hand, it is nice for me to know how to change a flat if need be.

Basically, I just want to feel like I don't need to refer to an "expert" with certain shit (cars, motorcycles, mopeds, bicycles). It'd be nice to have a facility that doesn't involve sports or Seinfeld trivia. It's obviously a practical skill to be able to maintain your particular modes of transportation, but for me, it'd feel a little more worthwhile. This is mainly because I would have taught myself through the painful (and I'm sure it'll be painful) process of trial and error. Here goes nothing.

It's been tough to listen to music recently because I've pretty much devoted my free time to working on this fucking moped and catching up on old Lost episodes in extreme anticipation of the sixth season (get into it, Justin). However, I have managed to fall in love with St. Vincent (yes, in that way) and gain a new found respect for ambient black metal.

St. Vincent - Actor
Wolves in the Throne Room - Black Cascade
Julie Doiron - I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day
Transistor Transistor - Ruined Lives
Deer Tick - War Elephant

Upcoming.

2009-05-17T11:14:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, I've got a few things on tap for the Summer aside from drinking Mexican beers and showing off my pasty white legs in cut-off jean shorts.

At the end of the month (May 30th), I'm heading to the city of Milwaukee to catch a Reds vs. Brewers game. To many of you, this probably seems like a meaningless, ho-hum trip. However, I get excited with each subsequent ballpark I visit. During a ridiculously tumultuous trip to San Francisco in 2006, I went to AT&T Ballpark and caught a Giants vs. Braves (I think) game. Even though it was a game between two teams I could care less about and Bonds wasn't even playing (this was the year he was chasing the homerun record), it was an awesome ballpark and a damn good time. The garlic fries didn't hurt either. It actually almost made up for the overall terrible trip.

So, Milwaukee it is. I've only heard good things about the ballpark. Plus, I'm just interested to check out the city. Mid-major cities intrigue me for many reasons I can't explain, but I'm sure most of it has to do with the fact that I was born and raised in a mid-major city. Every city has its charm and interesting characteristics (yes, even you Detroit) if you're willing to search it out. Chicago's easy because there's a ton of shows, events, and shit to do here all the time. Not to say that's a bad thing. I initially had a negative view of Cleveland until I visited it on a regular basis back in '05. Great city if you're patient and optimistic enough to enjoy it.

On June 11th, I'm taking my first well deserved and lengthy vacation from the Reader. I'd feel like I was cheating myself if I didn't take some sort of trip, so I'm flying to visit Russell the Love Muscle in Washington, D.C. I've been through D.C. on tour but never actually stopped to give a shit about it. As if scheduled by God himself, I land at 1:05 PM and the Reds are playing the Nationals at 4:35 PM. How fucking great is that? Another ballpark down, even it is the Nationals. Hey, at least I can throw my voice out yelling at Dunn and all of the other discarded Reds rotting away on the Nationals bench. Man, I can't wait to yell at Dunn. I miss that so much.

I plan on being a wreck most of the trip and embarrassing Russ in the city that he lives. Actually, Russ was here not too long ago for work and we went to a bar I tend to frequent. Unsurprisingly (but not in a bad way), Russ took upon himself to get smashed on a Tuesday night, and I spent the rest of the night pleading with him to not to become the belligerently drunk Russ we all know and love. Believe it or not, I enjoy this process. It's a worthwhile nostalgic experience. Aside from all of the ballyhoo (nice word!) that is sure to ensue once I arrive, I'm also excited to shoot the shit with Obama and see how he's been doing since leaving Chicago.

The last weekend of June marks the arrival of my mom and stepdad. I mean, it's only taken them over a year to come on up. That's cool, though. I like my mom because I know she'll be excited even if we just piddle around the lobby of the Sears Tower and eat Pizza Hut buffet the entire trip. She's great like that. Unfortunately, I wanted to take my stpedad, who's a huge baseball fan, to Wrigley to watch the shitbag Cubs play a game, but they'll be out of town trying to act like they're not a fraud of a baseball club. So, I need some ideas of what to do with them. I've got a few already (architectural tour, Signature Room in the Hancock Tower, Shedd Aquarium), but one or two more wouldn't hurt. Plus, I don't know where to take them to eat because there just isn't a LaRosa's in Chicago. Regardless, I'm confident this'll be a good time because my mom and stepdad don't go on enough vacations, so I know they'll have a solid time one way or another. Plus, they'll be toast by like 9:30 PM, so I won't be kept away from my scandalous and outrageous weekend escapades (pfffftt).

The weekend of July 10th-12th will mark the annual camping trip with those I hold most dear, or just those that have yet to be utterly sick of me. Massive amounts of shitty food and awful beer will be consumed, and I will more than likely end up with some sort of wrenching stomach ache. I love the posse camping trips where everyone converges on a designated spot for a weekend of "Hey, we may not live near each other anymore, but we can and will still pull out the same humiliating jokes we've been badgering each other with for years." This is a great weekend and has become a much deserved tradition. Now, if we can just find a solid spot to do it this year. Last year, Indiana once again proved how much it sucks.

Pitchfork begins on July 17th and has a decent amount to live up to from last year. I was a decent wreck most of the time (thank you job perks) and actually couldn't hang on Sunday to see Spiritualized. If you are at all aware of my love for Jason Pierce and Spiritualized, then you can probably understand how much of a disaster I was. Regardless, festivals usually disappoint. I've come to accept this. However, last year was my first Pitchfork experience, and it was a delight for the most part because the afterparties and aftershows push it into a whole different realm of festival. I anticipate even more antics this year.

I have no doubt other occurrences will be peppered in, but truth be told, I can't plan past mid-July, so I'll just have to leave it at that. Chicago Summers dominate. That's what tends to happen when you have a three month window in which to cram all warm weather activities.

I didn't do this last post, but here is what I've been listening to lately:

Thee Oh Sees - Help
Trap Them - Seizures in Barren Praise
Papercuts - You Can Have What You Want
Black Flag - My War
Passion Pit - Manners

Decks, Jean Shorts, Tans, and the Devil.

2009-05-06T18:37:00.000-07:00

The Chicago Winter drags. No doubt about it. I refused to complain, though, because everyone I know up here kept telling me, "You're going to hate the winter. It's the worst. Constant layers of clothes and blah, blah, blah." So, solely out of spite, I didn't complain about the cold. I just sucked it up and dealt with it.

About a month ago, however, I started getting antsy. It wasn't freezing, but the weather kept teasing me with a warm 65 degree day followed by a 40 degree day. It's like the 100 calorie packs of chips and cookies that some devilish marketing genius conjured up. Sure, the seventeen Baked Cheetos I just ate tasted good, and I enjoyed them, but just give me the whole fucking bag to gorge myself on. I was ready to gorge myself on warm weather because I was getting sick of this single serving shit.

Well, the warm weather is finally creeping up, and I'm beginning to get spoiled with its consistency, so I figured I'd construct a long overdue list of great warm weather occurrences, food, pleasures, etc (I probably did one of these last year too, but I just don't give a fuck, and my tastes may have changed):

-Decks, patios, porches, gazebos, or anything else I can stand on outside with my friends as I drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes.

-Mexican beer with lime and Bells Oberon.

-Bike riding all the time everyday.

-Sweat stains created from my messenger bag while riding my bike.

-Sweat and sweat stains all together.

-Rolled up jeans and flip-flops.

-Cut-off jean shorts and t-shirts.

-Motorcycle (and hopefully moped) riding.

-The baseball season and going to baseball games. If all goes well, I should be able to add Miller Park in Milwaukee and Nationals Park in Washington to my growing list of attended ballparks.

-Seven dollar nachos at ballgames.

-My annual late and failed attempt at any sort of tan.

-Occasionally not taking a shower after I go running in 90 degree heat and feeling the sweat dry.

-Music festival season and the perks from my job that go along with it.

-Tank-tops and sunglasses.

-Milkshakes, ice cream, and Italian ice.

-Walking to El Cid for veggie burritos.

-The sound of fireworks in the distance.

-Having that extra bounce in my step when I go running.

-Milwaukee Avenue getting sexy.

-Reading a book indoors with all the windows open.

-Consuming more fruit, particularly oranges and strawberries.

-Annual camping trip with the posse.

-Eating outside practically everywhere in Chicago.

-Logan Boulevard and the farmer's market.

-Listening to all forms of thrash while riding my bike.

-Sweatbands and no socks.

-Dirty, sweaty basement shows.

-Closing my bedroom door so that it's an icebox from the trapped air conditioning coolness.

-The smell (not the oily, shit feel) of sun tan lotion.

-Sunroofs and all windows down.

-Flag Day.

Finally, although summer is the best, it brings what has become an annual NFL offseason circus. Needless to say, I have to address my and Justin's most hated subject while the pot is still simmering. You guessed it, Brett Favre - the evils of all evils - is inundating ESPN right now. There are rumors of his possible return to the Vikings, the same team you may remember the Packers went to great lengths to keep him away from last year. Anyway, the team doesn't matter, or the fact that he's 39 with an arm that's falling off and really can only make bad decisions and throw interceptions when it does work just the slightest bit. It's Favre as a person. What are you doing to everyone Brett? Justin and I are pretty much fucking psychic geniuses because we cursed you years ago, before anyone else saw the absolute toil you were going to wrap the sports world and collective public in as you threatened retirement, retired, wanted to come back, came back, switched teams, failed, retired, and just didn't go the fuck away.

One thing I can root for is the sullying of any sort of good ole' Mississippi country persona that Favre has painstakingly built over his 18 years in the league. Brett, your ego has been shitting on your public persona for a couple of years, and now it just clogged the damn toilet. Congratulations fuckface, you've screwed your legacy (just like Manny Ramirez . . . but that's a whole other topic).

Reports from Favre's agent have very recently surfaced to quell any sort of Vikings talk, but I'll believe that when I don't see Brett Favre on a sideline in the fall. For now, I'm not buying it. Favre continues to be the amazingly beautiful girl at the party that no one's talking to. Confounded, you go talk to her, hit it off, and consequently wake up with genital warts. Sometimes it's best to just stay away.

Just stay away.

Podcast Heaven.

2009-04-29T19:42:00.000-07:00

So, Justin and I pretty much religiously listen to a podcast from a ESPN sportswriter named Bill Simmons. If you know us well enough, I'm sure you've heard us speak fondly of him before you got bored/annoyed and left the conversation. Anyway, we basically both aspire to be this man because he has the best job in the world. He writes about sports and talks to his friends on podcasts. Occasionally, he writes a book about sports, usually with some sort of a Boston angle. See, Simmons is a Boston sports fanatic. He was born and raised there on a steady diet of Celtics, Patriots, and Red Sox. Needless to say, his columns tend toward the Boston ideology and his overall love and obsession for Boston sports. This can be both understandable and irking because the view is so skewed. After reflecting, one can't really complain, however, because if I had the choice, I'd sway the way of Cincinnati every single time.

One of the discerning qualities about Simmons is that he's not solely schooled on sports. He was once a writer for Jimmy Kimmel Live!, which I'm sure only helped the comedic development of his voice as a writer. It also aided him in leading five thousand million riveting conversations concerning such cinematic classics as the Karate Kid and Rock IV: Rocky Defeats Communism (I've convinced myself that Stallone truly fucked up by not adorning the film with its full proper name). There's obvious comedy there and a kind of scathing, biting sense of humor. He's the perfect hybrid of a columnist and podcaster because he touches on a collective of interests, thus resulting in a higher entertainment value. Seems like a simple formula.

Simmons' columns and podcasts weave pop culture into sports and vice versa. There's no lack of Real World and MTV references. He can talk to Adam Carolla about the latest Fast & the Furious installment for 40 minutes and somehow make it utterly entertaining. By the way, one of my favorite things about the podcasts is that Simmons has this group of semi-celebrity studded buddies (Kimmel, Carolla, Chris Connelly, Jon Hamm, etc.) he brings onto the podcasts, and all they do is bitch and describe the painful minutiae of random bullshit that contains little to no intelligent substance whatsoever. You know, the shit people actually want to talk about when they don't give a fuck about spouting off a bunch of regurgitated facts on recent political and socioeconomic developments just to impress people who probably don't give a damn in the first place. I think I just appreciate hearing friends bullshit without encumbrances or cares. It's like being a fly on the wall.

Simmons once spoke about success as being a gradual occurrence in which you basically have to suck it up, take a dick in the ass for a year, make little to no money, and work your balls off. I've always had a similar outlook concerning the "foot in the door" kind of mindset. I slaved away for about a solid six month period, interning for an alt-weekly, slinging pizza as a server at Dewey's, all the while applying for grad school. It sucked hard, but I understood it to be a means to an end . . . to use a fucking terrible cliche. Not to say my job is mind blowing now, but it's a decent job with good people, and I know I wouldn't have gotten it had it not been for that six month period. It's nice to reflect on that from time to time.

Okay, now that I'm done with that aside (and basically nestling Simmons' balls), I want to make the point that I plan on recreating this kind of podcast heaven created by Simmons. I have Summer goals and this is one of them. Justin and I just got done texting back and forth with each other for about two hours during the epic Bulls/Celtics game, all the while knowing that I should've been taking notes during the game so I could be talking to him right now on a podcast about the game and random Seinfeld moments. This is really all I want in life: To talk about sports, music, and random Seinfeld moments. Occasionally, I wouldn't mind a slice of pizza too, or some of Heidi's cookies.

Ending this here seems abrupt, so I'll just end it right here, or after I point out what I'm listening to right now.

Pig Destroyer - Terrifyer
Damien Jurado - Caught in the Trees
Bat for Lashes - Two Suns
Converge - Jane Doe
Crystal Antlers - Tentacles

Here.

Social Network Overload.

2009-04-19T17:08:00.000-07:00

I remember Friendster. Shit, I remember Makeoutclub. I assume these are still around in some sad form or another, but whatever. I didn't actually enter the world of Internet social networking until MySpace. Like so many people, I long scoffed at the idea of joining because I wanted to make myself think that I was too cool for school, but eventually I was coaxed in by the idea of seeking out a sort of confrontation loophole where you can communicate via impersonal messages and random comments (very similar to the fine art of texting). You can track people down through the Internet, judge them and form an opinion without ever meeting them. All this based on a few photos and vague, ambiguous personal info comments. Just beautiful. And not to say it wouldn't have happened anyway, but MySpace played some sort of a role in old relationships, both in the initial dating phase and in the "fuck you, this shit's over" phase. See, both are much easier because you don't actually have to confront the person. I find that I'm much more efficient in all secondary forms of human to human contact.

Anyway, within the past year, I've added three different social networking vehicles to my daily life. Is this necessary? One was kind of forced upon me because of work. Hello, Twitter. Don't get me wrong, the idea of Twitter actually appeals to me. The several genius thoughts I have throughout the day can now immediately be reported, in 140 characters or less. To be honest, I use it mainly for work. Journalists and journalism as a whole love Twitter because it gives them the ability to report the news immediately, beating others to the punch. Or, they just continue to regurgitate the same stories over and over until the public is drunk with them and collectively vomits. Makes sense to me. I rarely "tweet" (I don't even know how to express my hatred for that word) outside of work. It's something we were asked to sign up for, and so I did. I mainly keep track of music news (for instance, Pitchfork and Stereogum are at Coachella right now, and it's interesting shit to read their thoughts), sports news, occasionally laugh at my friends' comments, and that's pretty much the extent of it. However, with all social networks, it's a distraction. I admit that every time someone I'm following "tweets," I take the second to check it out, and then maybe I visit the link he or she posted, and then maybe read the article, and you can obviously see where this is going. Do I need the distraction? Don't I have enough to pay attention to without detouring my day of work so I can read a three-page story about some sadly intriguing story about an NYC hipster grifter? I don't know.

Then, there's this blog. I define it as a social network, but I have completely different feelings about it. While I love the comments from random people (hey, it's happened once or twice), this thing is really just a kind of communication with friends. I like doing it, and it allows me to expound on subjects instead of just trying to explain them in 30-word intervals. Plus, it's just good for me as a writer, which I'm not necessarily claiming to be, but in the sense that I'm not trying to pose as anything. It's good for me to develop my own voice because that's really what all this shit is. No editing or revisions. Just shit I find interesting and feel the need and/or desire to spew forth in my own words. Some sort of self-constructed podium for my own amusement. Maybe that doesn't make any sense, but it does to me, so whatever. See how it works?

Finally, this past week I took the Facebook plunge. As Justin can attest, I've stayed away from this thing like rabies. Similar to MySpace, I attempted to display some sort of disdain for Facebook in the thoughts that I was too good for it or something. Why I do this, I will never know. The funny thing is that I've had a fledgling Facebook account since grad school, when it was solely designated for the educated. What a fucking dumb, discriminatory concept. You can only sign up for it if you're in some sort of higher learning institution. Whatever. Anyway, I never did anything with the account, and it just stagnated in the cesspool of social networks. However, within the past year or so (I may be too dense here to really nail down any sort of timeline), Facebook has become the revolution of social networking. The CEO of Sprint mentions it in commercials, parents get on it and embarrass their kids by posting revealing baby pictures, and people I haven't seen since I was a senior in high school track me down and ask me to befriend them. Too weird. I mean, I like the idea of keeping contact with some of my favorite people from the ancient days of high school, but I'm not a fan of some random guy searching out my Facebook to point out some minor error I made in something I wrote for the Reader. Kind of overstepping the bounds yeah? I guess that's one of my main points in this diatribe.

A few years back, my mom set up an invisible fence for her dog Linus. Obviously, when Linus looks around the backyard, he sees a ton of land to roam, and does so accordingly. But he also knows where that invisible fence is because he's been bitten in the ass by it more than once. So, he instinctively stays away. He's been taught that. It's discipline. However, if he's let out the front door without his collar, it's a complete change of environment. The invisible fence no longer applies. He's forgotten about it and runs wild. See where this is going? Where are the boundaries in social networks? Everyone appears too quick to choose the front door and let all inhibitions fly out the window. Given, because I involve myself in several social networks, I may be making a hypocrite of myself by writing some of this. That's fine and dandy. I just think it's important for people to be able to buy tickets to the circus without feeling entitled to confront the trapeze artist after the performance and tell him or her how to swing. With blurred boundaries, there will inevitably be a select few who feel it's always okay to cross.

This thing got long and kind of out of hand, and I probably didn't get to touch on everything I had in mind when I started, but I'll just "tweet" it, post it on my Facebook and MySpace, or blog some more if I happen to remember what I overlooked. Sounds good.

Addendum: Coates noted that I forgot to add my list of the five things I'm listening to. Thanks for the heads up Juggernaut.

These Are Powers - All Aboard Future
Jesus Lizard - Inch (box set of seven-inches)
Various Artists - This LP Crashes Hard Drives
Zombi - Spirit Animal
Cursive - Mama, I'm Swollen

A Triumphant Return.

2009-04-08T19:43:00.000-07:00

I have the Internet at my house again! Damn, that's exciting. Not only that, but it seems to be consistently working. Amazing. These past three weeks have been rough, and I've actually been rather discouraged about not regularly updating my blog. I feel like it's worth my while to spew out random bullshit thoughts onto the Internets. Anyway, I'll update my four loyal followers as to what has recently been going on in my life.

First and foremost, I moved. I stayed in the delightful Logan Square neighborhood because, to be honest, I have no desire to live anywhere else in Chicago. Close to a bunch of shit without having that bunch of shit directly in your face. A little pretension, which is always necessary, but not enough to choke you to death. Community-like flavor, just like Riddle Road. Anyway, my apartment is fucking big and sweet and a five-minute walk to the train, as opposed to being a 12-minute jaunt. Pretty exciting. The sun actually enters through these things people call windows, which were few and far between at my old place, located in the nutty, circus-land Polish neighborhood. Oh, and when I walk outside at my new place, I don't get the crook eye, stink eye, evil eye, or any other eye you can conjure up. You'd think living in a neighborhood for a year people would get used to you. Not true. I eventually just started shaking my head at the gawkers and staring them down. I dominate staring contests. All that being said, however, I do miss the smell of pierogies. And I'm not being prejudice or anything. My street really did smell like pierogies all the time.

Since I was 19, I've lived in nine different places. Nine. That's kind of outrageous. What's great though is that of those nine places, I've been on the top floor in six of them (I'm not including houses I lived in). Sure, the move sucks and your legs feel like they're going to buckle at the end, but being on the top floor is dynamite. I can jump rope, break dance, roller skate, and drop anvils on the floor and shit doesn't affect or bother me because there's no one above me that can do the same. Plus, you feel like king of the mountain or something. I rule this apartment complex. If you haven't lived on the top floor before, I highly recommend it.

I turned a well-seasoned 28 years old last week. Because my birthday was in the middle of the week, no great festivities were planned. A middle-of-the-week birthday should consist of dinner with friends and drinks afterward. No big time partying allowed. That's for weekend birthdays (this is beginning to remind me of a Patton Oswalt bit so I'm gonna stop right here). Anyway, we went to Kuma's Corner (Justin and Russ would love this place) and were actually able to get a table in less than an hour. Let me remind you that it was fucking Wednesday. This place is ridiculously packed all the time. However, it was delicious, and I enjoyed the company of friends.

In thinking back on my birthday, I'm reminded of a discussion/argument I had with my oldest friend, Michael Short (Shortie). I received several heartfelt texts last Wednesday wishing me a happy birthday (Billy was the only one to drop the ball). I appreciated every single one, but do I really have to text everyone back saying thanks? Is that necessary? I don't think so (plus I was running out of valuable texts anyway). However, because Shortie needs verification that his text didn't go unappreciated, he feels acknowledgment is necessary. In response, I told him that I've known him for something like 20 years and he should probably just call me to wish me a happy birthday. Seems appropriate yeah? However, that would almost involve human to human contact, and Shortie prefers the informal communication of a text message. That's all fine and dandy, but I'm not going to reply to it. Can't have your cake and eat it too. Regardless, he knows me well enough to know that I would want him to call me on my birthday (let me repeat . . . my birthday) so that we can have a short powwow. I'm right and I win.

Now, on to sports. The NCAA tournament was a letdown, because it was kind of dull and because my bracket blew up in the first round. I had Wake Forest in the finals (my picks obviously didn't mirror my previous blog post). What was I thinking? Sometimes, you try to outdo yourself and eventually end up doing yourself right in the ass. Well, that's what happened. I did, however, enjoy running a pool this year for the first time ever. I can see that becoming a habit. Well, that and gambling. My two most hated college athletes won titles this year (Tyler Hansbrough and Tim Tebow), plus the Steelers won the Super Bowl. Another rough year on my sports psyche, no doubt.

Baseball season has begun, and with that has come my second year of fantasy baseball. I'm kind of thinking last year was a fluke. I finished third in a league with a bunch of Pennsylvanians (the boys in Sadaharu and their buddies). Given, they're a bunch of Pennsylvanians, which doesn't bode well for them, but they seem to know about baseball. I'm pretty uneasy about my lineup this year. So, guess what? I'm going to show it to you right now. Everyone aside from Justin can begin not giving a shit:

C Victor Martinez
1B Joey Votto
2B Brandon Phillips
3B Adrian Beltre
SS Rafael Furcal
OF Josh Hamilton
OF Carl Crawford
OF Raul Ibanez
UTIL Carlos Delgado

Bench: Lastings Milledge, Alex Gordon, Milton Bradley, and the immortal Ken Griffey Jr.

Pitchers: Tim Lincecum, Dan Haren, James Shields, Erik Bedard, Edinson Volquez, Bobby Jenks, and Heath Bell

The whole lineup kind of makes me uneasy (why the fuck did I take Beltre) because I went with some of my big producers from last year, which I feel like won't bode well. I'm not gonna lie, I just didn't do enough research this year. Not having the Internet will do that to you. Once Justin and I start our podcast, maybe I won't bother blogging about sports anymore because I'm pretty sure that's primarily what the podcast will consist of. Well, that and Seinfeld references. Oh, and if you think I'm joking, stay tuned. We're really going to start a podcast. We just need to think of snappy name for it. The material's already there. Have you met our brains?

Finally, I'm going to end every blog from now on with a "What I'm listening to" kind of deal. Just five. It's not meant to be elitist or "Hey, look at me, I'm so in the know about all things music." I just read a lot of music blogs, and I enjoy them. So, I'm going to straight cop that shit.

Yelle - Ce Jeu
Black Dice - Repo
Dan Auerbach - Keep It Hid
Bun B - II Trill
Dan Deacon - Bromst

Quick.

2009-03-16T16:51:00.001-07:00

Seeing that I'm on a foreign computer (a Mac laptop at that . . . how do you even work this thing?), I'm going to give a quick update. Spring is brushing my face and with that comes the NCAA Tournament, which is one of the best sporting events ever. Unlike Justin, I kept up with college basketball this year, which basically means he'll probably end up dominating me in whatever pool we happen to get in (I'm currently taking applications).

So here are my quick Final Four picks:

Pitt - I hate Pittsburgh with a passion, but I can't deny the brute force of these fuckers. It's like a rugby team that occasionally feels like playing basketball.

Oklahoma - Weak, weak bracket, and I'm not going to pick North Carolina. You know why? Because fuck North Carolina. A bunch of smug bastards and I actually think Tyler Hansbrough is the abominable Anti-Christ . . . well, it's a competition between him and Tim Tebow. Blake Griffin is a man-child freak of nature bohemith.

Louisville - I've always liked Rick Pitino. He has a wicked New York accent, and always sounds like he's chewing a big piece of cake or something. Michigan State likes to choke in the tournament and I don't see this turning out any differently.

Purdue - Bleh, I hate this bracket, and I don't want to pick all #1 and #2 seeds. There's gotta be one sleeper. I've seen Purdue play a lot this year, and I've stopped in Lafayette, IN several times in my regular journeys back and forth from Chicago to Cincinnati. Nice little college town. Plus, their name's the Boilermakers. This is my "I don't know why the hell I picked these guys to go to the Final Four. They're getting crushed by a #12 seed" pick.

Gone Fishin'

2009-03-10T17:29:00.001-07:00

The internet at my house has ceased to work for no good reason and seeing that I'm moving this month, it doesn't really seem worth the trouble to bitch about it. Therefore, the blog may be suspended for the month, which I'm sure will devastate several of you, but what can I do? I do still have the internet at work, so all hope isn't lost, but it just kind of seems inappropriate to sit in my office for two hours writing a blog post about the Karate Kid.

Hopefully, I can spit some shit up on this thing soon. Looks like you'll have to just keep checking in to see.

"Johnny, You're a Cream Puff!"

2009-02-28T14:16:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here blanking on what to write for this short Reader review I'm doing on Maserati, so I figured I'd just spew out some random Karate Kid thoughts. That'll be a more efficient waste of time . . . right?

The Karate Kid trilogy has been on all day (if you count The Next Karate Kid as being part of the series, then you're an idiot). I already texted Justin about this, but my absolute favorite line from the original Karate Kid, is after Daniel Larusso gets done making up and making out with Elisabeth Shue (who is outrageously out of Ralph Macchio's league) at Golf N' Stuff and shows her that real swanky, vintage yellow car that Mr. Miyagi gave him for his birthday. How a janitor at some rundown apartment complex has ten cars and seems to live in some sort of Xanadu-like Japanese flat in California is beyond me. Anyway, Daniel (Macchio) gives the keys to Ally (Shue) and she says, "You want me to drive?" to which Daniel replies "Hey, it's the 80s!" This makes me laugh every time and always will for the rest of my life.

Cobra Kai is a dynamite band name, and I'm glad that a fantastic band from Cincinnati got to use it. I watched them at the old Buzz coffeehouse one time with I think Russ and Coates. We were standing on a couch to get a view of them playing on the ground, which they were required to do because they were a screamo band, and right when they started, the crowd surged and the legs of the couch gave in and split. The couch, with about 500 pounds of sweaty dude perched on it, fell directly on this kid's foot. How we didn't break that kid's foot or at least turn it into a cartoon-like pancake is beyond me.

Karate Kid, Part III was just on, and is it just me or is Ralph Macchio fat as fuck in the final, dramatic installment of the classic film series? You'd think that the producers, directors, or whoever is actually in charge of making movies would've made him take a couple skips of jump rope before shooting began.

By the way, I love it when trilogies stray away from what made the first movie popular by trying something different in the sequel, only to realize they should've stuck with the formula all along. Karate Kid, Part III reverts back to the same karate tournament, along with Cobra Kai, from the first movie. Die Hard felt the need to bring back a Gruber to play nemesis to John McClain in its third installment. Finally, Indiana Jones knew exactly what was missing from Temple of Doom. That's right, fucking Nazis. So, it wisely has Indiana duel with them again in The Last Crusade. You just can't beat the entertainment value of killing Nazis.

ABC Family is showing The Next Karate Kid right now! Fuck that. Just because Mr. Miyagi is in it doesn't make it true to the catalog. The titles contain "Karate Kid" not "Small Japanese man that wants you to paint his house and sand his deck in return for a couple of defensive moves that could've been learned in 15 minutes of training."

If you didn't know or remember, Hilary Swank is the "Next Karate Kid." Is Hilary Swank good looking? I know this was a subplot of a recent Office episode, but it's a good question. I say yes. Plus, Million Dollar Baby has been on AMC or something recently, and I like it the more and more I see it. Conclusion: I'm a Hilary Swank fan.

Did you know the part of Marty McFly from Back to the Future was initially offered to Ralph Macchio and he turned it down? I heard this at some point in my life and have since rendered it a fact. Just think, Macchio could've also played the role of Doc Hollywood, Teen Wolf, and other Fox roles that are probably just as bad. Still, it would've been a step up for Macchio, who I'm pretty sure only had one role after Karate Kid, Part III and that was Vinny's cousin in, you guessed it, My Cousin Vinny.

That's all I've got for now, plus I don't want to tread over anything Bill Simmons has mentioned before in his podcast or column. Regardless, I'd have to rank the original Karate Kid as being in the top three of my most re-watchable 80s movies. The other two are probably Rocky IV: Rocky Defeats Communism (I've reinvented the title for dramatic effect) and Airplane!

Living Without Cable.

2009-02-18T10:48:00.000-08:00

I've got a major decision to make. I don't give two shits whether or not it makes me seem shallow and too dependent on an entertainment medium that's primary goal is to dish out mindless garbage. I know several people that don't have cable and seem to be somewhat well rounded individuals. That's all fine and dandy, but to be honest, I can't keep an eye on them every hour of the day. So who knows how their over stimulated mind is occupying itself the rest of the day? They could be plotting some sort of cult-like mass suicide or a way to wipe out all of the newborn kittens from the planet. The possibilities are endless. Sickos.

First and foremost, I use cable to watch sports and keep up on excruciating soap operas, such as Brett Favre hoodwinking an entire nation of football fans into thinking he's the greatest quarterback ever or A-Rod injecting muscle makers and sullying his stellar career (I literally just got done watching a half-hour SportsCenter segment on a press conference. A fucking press conference. You just can't deny the entertainment value of nitpicking, bit by bit, each facial expression and slight movement A-Rod makes in a public apology). Aside from sports, I also utilize cable for the Food Network, History Channel programs concerning the Nazis and World War II, Rocky marathons, and the occasional Seinfeld rerun.

Let it be known that I grew up without cable, so this wouldn't be some sort of life altering change. The cable guy would come to my house on a monthly basis and tell my mom that we were the only family on the block that didn't have cable. I guess he was trying to guilt her into not being a part of the westside Delhi click of cable users. She laughed in his face, and said she didn't care. I always thought that was awesome of her. I mean, who gives a fuck that we don't have cable?

Anyway, I'll be moving into a nice new place next month in Chicago's lovely Logan Square neighborhood. The guy I'm moving in with doesn't have cable right now, and I've been debating whether or not it's worth my while (from an expense standpoint as well). Not living in Cincinnati makes it a little easier because I'm already missing the Bengals and Reds losing on regular occasions. No big problems there. I've recently been sifting through all the extracurricular activities I'll be able to accomplish without feeling responsible for watching three different ESPN sports variety shows that hash over the exact same topics.

I could begin gardening and raising squash, become part of a mystery book club, learn the ins and outs of cajun cooking, build a model ship in a bottle, knit a sweater, eat a block of cheese the size of a car battery, finally alphabetize my records, wax the kitchen floor, shred whatever I can find in my paper shredder, take my computer apart just to see what's inside, flip my mattress, become a Big Brother to a troubled inner city youth, learn how to do a handstand and a proper cartwheel, or write the great American novel. These are all fine occupiers of time.

Right now, I'm leaning towards cable because I can't imagine getting rid of it before the start of March Madness and the baseball season. That would just be too painful. Plus, they've been showing First Blood a lot on AMC recently, and lord knows that I'll never go against Rambo.

Flying Body Parts.

2009-02-08T13:39:00.000-08:00

I've gotta admit that I've been having some bad luck lately. Probably not too many things more terrifying than riding your bike and having your handlebar stem snap, thus leaving you with nothing to rest your hands on and anticipating an imminent doom. Needless to say, I braced myself for a spill and somehow flipped over my bike and landed on my tailbone, relatively unscathed. Unreal.

Now, I was initially a bit shaky getting back on the bike following my brief and violent meeting with a car in early January. After a couple of rides, though, my knee was feeling fine and so I hopped back on the horse. Then this happened. I know that it may seem like good luck in a way because I've pretty much come out of both accidents with minimal damage. Still though . . . fuck. I'm sick of falling off my bike for shit that wasn't my fault. The concrete hurts my bones and skin. I'm a relatively cautious and aware rider, and I know this happens, but my brittle, old body just can't take much more.

The Pro Bowl's on right now. Who knew that or even gave a fuck? It's about time for a baseball preview don't you think? Baseball's the best. Stay tuned.

Footballs and Oscars.

2009-01-28T13:42:00.000-08:00

If I didn't make some sort of Super Bowl post, I'd feel like I was defying my identity or something, and ultimately, I would just be devastating my readers (all five to seven of them). I know this, and that's why I must forge ahead. The Super Bowl this year is leaving a lump in my throat for a few reasons. The most obvious reason is that it involves my most hated sports franchise. Of course, I'm talking about the Arizona Cardinals. Damn those fuckers for toiling in obscurity year after year and never amounting to more than an abandoned shit in an outhouse. I hate them for having a battered, seasoned quarterback making comeback number three and one of the best wide receivers I've seen in my life (I know that's hyperbolic, but his stretch in the playoffs has turned me into some sort of freak believer). The Cardinals don't deserve anything. They should crawl back to the rotting, rancid cesspool they climbed out of and die.

Not buying it? Of course not. It's ridiculous to think that anyone could hate the Arizona Cardinals. I don't even think Pittsburgh Steelers fans hate them. How could anyone hate a team that has simply been piss poor for as long as he or she can remember? I don't hate the Cleveland Browns. I feel sorry for them. Probably like the rest of the world feels sorry for the Cincinnati Bengals. Whatever. On the other hand, the real scourge of the football world and really just society as a whole is the Pittsburgh Steelers. The evil of all evils.

Let's take a journey back to the 2005-2006 season. The Bengals were having some sort of bizarro world year where the defense was like +30 in turnovers and, alongside the precision accuracy and genius of Carson Palmer, our offense was like the Ivan Drago training scene in Rocky IV, minus the steroids. Intense and balls out. Anyway, we obviously made it to the playoffs and then the ACL tear thing happened on the second play, thus destroying our chance to win the game. I don't necessarily think the Kimo von Oelhoffen hit was on purpose, but it without a doubt made us lose the game. The Steelers then went on to cruise through the playoffs on Carson Palmer's torn ACL and win the Super Bowl. Watching those playoffs was like being treated to repeated papercuts on your eyeballs and genitals. It was excruciating, and the Bengals haven't been the same since.

Now the Steelers are back in the Super Bowl and playing a team that they're basically better than. My solace in the situation is that I'm awful at choosing Super Bowl winners (I'm obviously rooting for the Cardinals, but actually believe the Steelers will probably win . . . as much as it pains me to say that). The only one I've picked correctly in recent years was the Colts, but really how could they have lost that game? If you don't remember, it was against the Bears. One of the most overrated teams in recent memory. If you haven't caught on, I hate the Steelers more than the Plague. They are a team of derelicts. A team comprised of individuals who would sell their sisters and mothers into a massive ring of prostitution trafficking. A team that would go to the pound, adopt several puppies and kittens, and throw them out of moving vehicles. A team that is the root of all evil. We all know that in this economy, if you need to hate one thing, it's important hate the Pittsburgh Steelers.

So before the game, I'm going to need everyone to kneel and pray for the following things to happen:

Troy Polamalu will be chasing down Fitzgerald after yet another amazing catch, grab onto the back of him, and begin choking on one of Fitzgerald's dreads. After finally detaching himself from Fitzgerald and watching him run into the end zone, Polamalu will begin grasping for air again as he realize he's choking on his own mop of hair.

The much too excited Mike Tomlin (Omar Epps) will go to chest bump Willie Parker after a three yard run or some other fool after a shoestring tackle and consequently be knocked back into a group of Steelers, creating a domino effect of morons falling over on the sidelines.

Ben Roethlisberger (Benny Burger) will get get destroyed on a blindside blitz resulting in his face getting creamed into the ground and his helmet turning completely around and leaving him blinded. Then as he's stumbling around with his arms out trying to find his way (not realizing to turn his helmet back the right way), a Cardinals defensive lineman will get on his hands and knees as another Cardinal pushes Roethlisberger over. This will be replayed for eternity, and everyone will laugh every time.

In addition, Benny Burger will finally be discovered as a mediocre quarterback who often gets away with holding onto the ball too long and chucking passes that have no right being thrown, a la Brett Favre. Why the fuck did the Steelers give him so much money? It baffles me.

Hines Ward (the Devil) will simultaneously have both legs and arms broken on a freak play in which he gets tackled by eight Cardinals. As he's laying motionless on the field still shining those pearly whites with that big smile, I'll jump out of the stands from my seat on the 50 yard line and punch his fucking teeth out.

If all of these things happen: Cardinals 89 Steelers 4

One thing that greatly saddens me about the game this year is that it doesn't appear as if there's going to be a blow out Super Bowl party. As many of you know, I take great pride in my Super Bowl parties, which were usually organized alongside Mr. Joe Lamb. It's a holiday without all the obnoxious chores. Gorge yourself, drink alcohol, watch football, and yell at the commercials. If there's a better sounding life option than that, I have yet to hear it. We've thrown a Super Bowl party four years running, and I always kind of thought of it as my baby. Bummer. Okay, I better move on to part two of this gigantic post before I start tearing up.

Every year I hear about all this Oscar buzz all these fancy shmancy movies are getting and how great they are and blah, blah, blah. Initially, I blow them all off because fuck you for telling me to go see something. It's like the Seinfeld episode where Jerry buys Elaine the Orodent toothbrush because of how great it is and how much better he knows it to be from her old toothbrush, but she doesn't give a shit about getting it primarily because he raves about it so much. She's just not interested (Man I'm so glad I could squeeze a Seinfeld moment in). Anyway, every year I wait until the Oscar nominations come out and suddenly feel impelled to see everything that was nominated for any kind of noteworthy award (i.e. best picture, actor, director, and so on). It's like I have to give them some sort of approval for nominating the movies for such "big fucking deal" awards. So, I've recently been doing the rounds, and here's my short synopses of three of the more touted movies of the year.

Slumdog Millionaire - I fully enjoyed this movie. It's brutal about the truths of the Indian slums, and some of the scenes, such as the straight burning of the kids eyes at the "foster/prison camp," are intense. Plus you can't beat watching a kid jump into a hole full of shit. The game show question parallels to the character's pratfalls and triumphs weave throughout the movie pretty seamlessly. I definitely wished it hadn't resorted to focusing on the love plot at the end because I really thought that whole plot line was taking a more appropriate backseat throughout most of the movie. All of the sudden, it was the focus. It was the most forced part of the movie, and it hurt the ending.

The Wrestler - Mickey Rourke, who won the Golden Globe for best actor, looked like a fucking trainwreck in this movie. Just amazing. Is it just me or did anyone else expect the Wrestler to be bleaker? I mean, it's an Aronofsky movie. Gotta admit that I was a little let down by that. The daughter subplot seemed forced, and Marisa Tomei's character kind of annoyed me. Rourke definitely carried the movie even though Tomei was naked throughout most of the film. She's 45 by the way. Yikes. Is that the only way she gets movie roles now? Anyway, go see it for Rourke's performance if for nothing else and the fact that it's about old school 80's wrestling. That definitely elicited some nostalgia from me.

Frost/Nixon - I don't know shit about this era of history and to be honest, I thought there were going to be some parts in the movie I was going to have to trudge through. Plus, I was super tired when I saw it, so I though my concentration would suffer. Wrong on both accounts. My expectations were exceeded, particularly by Frank Langella's performance as Nixon. He should without a doubt win the Oscar. I thought it was unreal, and what the hell do I know about Nixon? This movie inspired me to research the actual Frost/Nixon interviews. That doesn't happen too often. Bacon, Sheen, Platt, and Rockwell all played their roles beautifully. Best surprise of the year for me. Who knew I could be so intrigued by a character/president that hasn't been in office in my lifetime?

I refuse to go see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. That movie looks like the equivalent to having a four-hour long lobotomy. No thanks.

Whew, longest post ever. That's what I get for waiting so long to talk about the Super Bowl. Damn ESPN's mind numbing, never-ending coverage for souring my own unique analysis of the game. Oh and by the way, I still hate the Steelers.

Crippled.

2009-01-20T19:19:00.001-08:00

Some of you may or not know that I busted my knee on January 2nd of this young year due to a negligent driver being an idiot. Idiot drivers are the worst kind of idiots. I've been patiently waiting for it to fully recover ever since; however, a dull ache remains, and if I hit it or touch it accidentally, it fucking throbs. I guess flying off your bike and grinding your knee against straight concrete will do that. Anyway, I thought I'd take the time to go ahead and let the 5-6 people who read this blog know how feeling crippled has affected my everyday activities.

Now, I'm a bit of complainer. I know that and have come to grips with it. I actually really do love that as you get older, you realize your strengths and weaknesses more and more. It's refreshing and you adapt better in situations prone to evoking a certain emotion . . . if that makes any sense. Anyway, because of my knee the complaining has ratcheted up, and my friends have been forced to take the brunt of it. I feel sorry for them and I apologize, but I feel like in the end it's a pretty good trade for driving their sorry asses around all the time. Of course, I'm kidding. I just drive their sorry asses around most of the time.

Exercise has become impossible. No running. No bike riding. It's depressing. I went running the Monday after the accident naively thinking I was all better and consequently spent the rest of the day walking around like my leg was perpetually asleep. It killed. Now, if this was the summer, I wouldn't be able to stand it. I mean, how would I sweat? I've definitely been going through adrenaline withdraw, and that's kind of okay because it's winter. It's hard to do a lot of shit in -25 degree weather anyway. Push-ups and pull-ups are pretty much the norm. Regardless, I can feel myself getting fatter. Is there any worse a feeling than feeling yourself gain weight? Sounds vain as fuck huh? Well whatever, everyone's vain as hell. Most are just too vain to admit it.

I'm 27 and will soon be 28. I typically think of myself as a vivacious, healthy rascal operating on unadulterated energy. I don't drink caffeine or take any stimulants. With this injury, however, I've become sadly brittle and old as I ache around my apartment and office trying not to bend me knee or accidentally bang it up against anything. I should probably go cane shopping tomorrow. I've also been finding myself blankly staring at webmd.com and checking for ear hair. I assume I should make an appointment for a colonoscopy pretty soon. I'm an old man. Thank god for Justin and Zach, though. They're ancient.

In conclusion, I did make an appointment to see a sports medicine doctor. I'm kind of looking forward to this because I can ask him about all of the ridiculous sports injuries that my favorite athletes have had to endure. Can you please explain to me what Tommy John surgery is? Will Carson Palmer ever return to form from his ACL surgery? What exactly is "turf toe"? Plus, I may get to have my first MRI, which is exciting, just as long as my whole body doesn't have to go in the tube. Is that the only type of MRI because if so, no thanks.

All in all, I suspect I'm fine. I just need some sort of explanation and fully plan on being told to just "try and stay off it and take some ibuprofen to stunt the pain." Pffft . . .

Recent Happenings.

2009-01-04T14:25:00.000-08:00

Justin and I recently had a conversation about how our lives have slowed down a bit, thus leading to a decrease in our mildly entertaining, whimsical blog posts. We obviously blame the cold. There's no way it could have anything to do with us getting older and becoming more boring or doing less interesting things. Not possible. Anyway, the past few weeks have yielded a string of entertaining, painful, and hilarious events that are worth me ranting about for a while (and illustrating) just to affirm the fact that I remain a spry, young troublemaker.

I went back to Cincinnati for Christmas and in comparison to my Thanksgiving trip, I had no high aspirations or grand schemes as to what I was going to do. I went to enjoy the company of my friends and maybe run into a couple of people I hadn't seen in a while. I ate at Dewey's, got the highly anticipated paper shredder for Christmas, played some vicious tackles football (the brutes beat the speedsters down, and trust me, I'm no brute), enjoyed 70 degree weather during the tail end of December, didn't get a fucking cold, ate whatever I wanted, went to a delightful Christmas party, and capped it all off with a nice trip to the Comet 20 people deep. Here are some photos from the Christmas party and the burrito party.

Christmas party:

Kenny in his amazing cane vest

Killing cream cheese salamis. Heather appears to have pissed herself.

The obligatory group shots. Coates' head appears to be floating behind everyone in the second photo, and you can see my gold underwear.

Comet:

Brian attacking me.

Kenny drinking sour cream. By the way, he didn't do this to pose for the photo. I caught him doing it.

Table shots. People appear happy.

Rebecca's best moment ever.

I left Chicago in a snowy state when I returned to Cincinnati for Christmas. However, due to the abnormal weather, I came back to seemingly clear streets. I was pumped because I hadn't been able to ride my bike for like three weeks due to the weather. Plus, I had just had a bunch of work done to it and I knew it was going to ride like a thick slice of heaven. So on Monday, I layered up and got ready to head to work on the Falcon. Not two minutes from leaving my house, I bit it hard on some black ice sneakily hiding on one of the three turns I have to make the entire trip. Ouch. A bit dazed, I decided to suck it up and cautiously move onward, which I did just fine.

It turns out that this was all a precursor to this past Friday when I was heading southeast on Milwaukee during a relatively slow traffic day (not many people working the day after New Year's Day...except for me of course) when a Mini Cooper owned by a suburbanite unfamiliar with the laws of bikes, decided to pull out, make a left turn from a parking spot, and clobber me. The only thing I could muster to say as I saw the accident forming was "Oh shit!" and then I braced myself for the hit, finally ending up lying on the concrete with my bike about 7 feet down the road. It sucked. My knee got fucked up and has been damn painful ever since. The funniest thing about it was that although the lady was extremely apologetic and worried, she had no idea that bikes have the same right as cars on the road. When I talked to her yesterday, she was using phrases like "dual responsibility" and "whoever caused the accident" to the point where I had to stop her and tell her that the incident wasn't my fault one bit. She honestly didn't think that bikes had the same rights as cars and that bicyclists are supposed to yield to cars. Give me a break. From the suburbs okay...that dense though? Please. I knew that when I was like 12, and I'm from the suburbs.

Anyway, my knee is getting better, and she is going to be paying for any necessary repairs. Oh, and she's definitely going to be buying me a new pair of jeans. That's for damn sure. Shit got ripped. Jesus.

Finally, here are a bunch of pictures from my fancy New Year's Eve. I drank several adult beverages. There's no progression to the photos.

I like this photo.

The Burlington.

Can't remember that dude's name. Priceless face.

The $60 included plastic noisemakers. Fancy ass shit.

I'm not looking at anything.

This is Loren's alcohol drinking face.

Attacking Robyn.

I have a weak tongue.

Loren thinks she looks super good in this photo. She told me so.

I can't get rid of the red eye in this one. Too bad Carley. Great picture.

Uploading photos takes forever, and I'd probably say that this has been my most time consuming blog post ever. I just really wish I had a photo of my mangled body lying in the middle of the street after the bike wreck. That part of the post has got nothing without an illustration. Oh well...

The Albums of 2008.

2008-12-18T19:16:00.001-08:00

It's been a trying day. I was able to narrowly escape an editorial cleansing. Lots of nail biting, smoking cigarettes, and overall turmoil. I survived, however, and will live another day in the dying industry of print publication. All that being said, I'd be remiss not to highlight the albums of the year. I'll undoubtedly leave some out by accident, but here they are in no particular order.

1. TV on the Radio - Dear Science - May be my vote for album of the year (yes, I agree with Spin). For once they didn't blow their load in the first half of the album. Funk elements, undeniable swagger, enough catchiness to asphyxiate a young child. Perfect.

2. Fleet Foxes - S/T - Justin and I bought this together the same day at Shake-It because we're lovers. Melodies that'll melt your damn heart. They pull that shit off live too. A slice of pop heaven.

3. My Morning Jacket - Evil Urges - I'm getting the big boys out of the way first. Not my favorite album of theirs by any means. They tightened the songs up, which I think is kind of sad, but Jim James knows how to deliver a dizzying, hypnotic delight.

4. Los Campesinos - Hold on Now, Youngster & We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed - These upstart Welsh boys and girls released two albums this year. Sprawling pop songs with catchy fucking hooks all backed by spiteful lyrics. Both albums are great.

5. Beach House - Devotion - I don't care if this duo is mind numbingly boring live. This album pours fruity, Skittle-like dream pop everywhere and I'll eat it all up...every single time.

6. Titus Andronicus - The Airing of Grievances - Angst through and through, but done with a slight, condescending smirk. Distorted, cracked vocals hanging over dirtiness. Just really, really good.

7. Racebannon - Racebannon IV: Acid or Blood - My vote for best album cover of the year. Look it up. Less insane than previous Racebannon albums, but still fucking nuts. A little bit more order to the chaos making it feel more plotted and demonic, if that makes any sense.

8. Spiritualized - Songs in A&E - I actually haven't listened to this as much as I should. However, I want Jason Pierce to be my older, strung out brother who comes to family gatherings, never takes his sunglasses off, and appears to have a tick in every conceivable part of his body. Yeah, that's what I want.

9. Plants & Animals - Parc Avenue - Did this album get its just due? A little wacky, a little Queen-ish, but damn catchy. I could listen to the song "Feedback in the Field" and whistle that damn melody until I went nuts.

10. Night Marchers - See You in Magic - John Reis makes magic every time. No Drive Like Jehu or Hot Snakes, but still...I just really like John Reis and that's why this album's in here.

11. Fucked Up - The Chemistry of Common Life - I recently saw these guys live and the rather large singer (Damian Abraham) stripped down to his boxers, did the "mangina," and then broke up a fistfight between a bouncer and some 17 year old kid. That's how shows should be. Future of hardcore? Maybe not, but they sure have something figured out.

12. Blitzen Trapper - Furr - I called it when Wild Mountain Nation came out. Didn't I? They recently did a show I went to at Schubas and sold it out. Next stop, Empty Bottle a few months away. Their next album will be a big deal. This one's the big buzz maker.

13. Arms Exploding - Ruminari - My friends are in this band, and I like this album a lot. Not just because they're in the band either. I swear. I happen to know the people in the band, and they happen to be my friends.

14. Howlin' Rain - Magnificent Friend - Psychedelic, classic rock with all the trimmings. Perfect for a sunny day sitting on the porch with some beers and a couple of your loser friends.

There's more, but this seems like a good place to stop. Plus, I can't really think of anymore off the top of my head, and I don't feel like sifting through my CDs, records, and Itunes.

Christmas Retarded.

2008-12-08T18:12:00.000-08:00

I love that as you get older, Christmastime begins to lose its luster and allure you often associated the holiday with as a kid. For instance, I have no fucking clue what I want for Christmas. I feel like I should have several grandiose presents mapped out in my head, but all I can think of are practical gifts. I just don't care that much. It becomes more about the stress of what you're going to get others instead of stressing out about what you're going to get. I don't know which one's better or worse. When asked, I told my mom I wanted a paper shredder...a paper shredder. This is what popped in my head. I also need new shoes. Not to be fashion conscious or anything. Simply because my current shoes are falling apart. Why can't I be more creative with what I ask for? Do I not have it in me anymore?

I can possibly attribute this transformation to my childhood when I asked for a Power Wheel every year of my life until I was probably around 15, and I never got one. This obviously has scarred me terribly, and I've never recovered. Being disappointed year in and year out had such a negative effect on my psyche that I'm surprised I ever learned how to tie my own shoes. My older brother (he's 31) is getting a Wii for Christmas this year. That seems like fun, but I can't ever imagine having one. I can, however, imagine getting a paper shredder.

I'm not gonna lie, Christmas has just kind of become a headache. I'm not good at getting presents for people either...just not creative enough. I've come to grips with that. So, that doesn't bring me great joy because I always feel like the recipient is just a little bummed out that he or she got another gift certificate to Best Buy, Target, etc. My uncle, whom I haven't seen in like four years, gets me a gift certificate to Best Buy. See, now that makes sense. I wish I could go to a self-help seminar solely dedicated to teaching the gift-giving-disabled how to properly purchase a creative, heartfelt present and deliver it to its intended recipient.

I can't even imagine what it would be like if I had a family consisting of more than five people. That'd be fucking tough. The mental energy I'd have to spend trying to think up presents would probably result in a painfully crippled mind that wouldn't fully recover until after January...at least.

All that being said, I am kind of looking forward to the paper shredder. I'm a dork.

Ode to Thanksgiving.

2008-11-23T17:17:00.001-08:00

Along with Halloween, I'm pretty sure Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I'm taking both the day before and day after Thanksgiving off from work to return to my birthplace and enjoy the company of friends and family. Let me take you through my anticipated schedule of entertainment (just the highlights) once I get back to Cincinnati.

I'll probably get in around mid-afternoon on Wednesday and immediately do a shit ton of laundry at my mom's. That's right. I'm driving dirty laundry from Chicago to Cincinnati. This doesn't seem as illogical to me as it does to others. Because of my eccentric landlords, I have weird ass time constraints on when I can do my laundry at my house. I often work late, and I never have fucking quarters. My mom's washer and dryer are efficient and free. I'm looking forward to this. Doing laundry is like a 3 hour vacation. You're doing something, but not really.

Wednesday night marks the biggest drinking night of the year. I've never really understood this. People feel the need to get loaded before they meet up with their family the next day. Wouldn't it be more uncomfortable to be hung over around a bunch of relatives expecting you to make inane small talk? This is why I love my family. It's fucking tiny. No small talk required. Me, my brothers, stepdad, niece, and mom. Nice and simple. Anyway, Wednesday night will almost definitely be spent hanging out with everyone that is awesome to me at one of three places I drink at in Northside, Ohio. I'll get drunk and become louder than usual.

Thursday will be spent loafing around my mom's house and foolishly not eating in anticipation of a hearty meal. I make the same mistake every year. I don't eat all day because I think I need to maintain maximum capacity for all of the starch (mashed potatoes, stuffing/dressing, macaroni & cheese, rolls, etc.) I'm going to delicately pack in my gut. This system is no good. My stomach's so small by the time I eat that I can only handle three helpings of mashed potatoes. Unacceptable and embarrassing. And as I'm writing this, I know I'll do the same thing this year. Of course football's on, but I honestly can't remember the last time I watched an entertaining game on Thanksgiving. I'm assuming this has something to do with the fact that the Lions are always fucking dreadful and I despise the Cowboys. Regardless, it is football, and I will both watch and enjoy it. At the end of the night, we'll eat pumpkin pie and my mom will ask what we want for Christmas all the while repeating she can't spend too much money this year. None of will have an answer and none of us will believe her.

Friday will hopefully be tackle football day. Is there any other kind? I want it to be just like the Brett Favre Wrangler jeans commercial too. That's how I envision it. A bunch of old-school hardcore kids getting passes thrown to them by Brett Favre as he discusses the advantages of Wrangler jeans and smiles that sweet Mississippi smile. Oh by the way, every throw will be well out every receiver's reach forcing him or her to dive into a endless swamp of mud to make the grab. Sounds great. I will be horribly sore the next day from moving muscles that aren't used to getting any action and having the shit kicked out of me for two hours straight. Can't wait.

The Thanksgiving trip will culminate on Saturday night with what is sure to be the matchup of the millennium. The geniuses of the world have finally decided to come out with a Seinfeld Scene-It and the top Seinfeld aficionados in the universe (me, Justin, Kenny, and Billy) will battle it out for ultimate nerd supremacy. We've been talking for years about the possibility of this thing coming out and someone heard our prayers. I've had more than one friend tell me that they just want to be there to watch the battle. It will be both ridiculous and great. Amazing and pathetic. Fun and sad.

Sounds like a good trip to me.

Common Denominator.

2008-11-11T18:09:00.000-08:00

Justin and Heidi came up this past weekend and we had a grand old time. We ate Ethiopian food, explored the city, discussed the ins and outs of the great cinema classic the Fugitive, and finally got in some much needed sports talk. Justin is my primary sports confidant in this world because we pretty much have the same outlooks, witty opinions, and disdain for certain players and/or announcers (looking at you Favre and Berman). Anyway, after they left and I got done sobbing into my pillow, I started thinking about how awesome it is that I can talk sports with anyone. Sports knowledge creates a common denominator across different realms of society and has really helped me out in certain situations.

First and foremost, I get along with parents, particularly parents of someone I'm currently dating. I attribute this to sports for the most part. Being around a girlfriend's parents is always going to be slightly awkward, but it's a little less when you have a universal subject of interest that you can dissect intelligently. Parents, especially fathers, aren't usually the most approachable people when you first meet them. I've greatly benefited from my sports smarts with the last couple of girls I dated because I can always retreat into a discussion about the Reds or Bengals or Bearcats or whatever. It's awesome. A father can disassociate me from being the kid who's dating his daughter, and instead just look at me as some kid who knows Aaron Harang's ERA or the score from yesterday's Ohio State game. Plus, there's always something to talk about. Uncomfortable silences are for suckers. I usually get along better with the fathers than the daughters, and I'm kind of okay with that.

Sports talk also puts you in touch with a different ilk of people. Not terrible people, just people I may not normally hang out with or talk to. For instance, a friend of mine came into town a couple of weeks ago with a few of her co-workers. My friend and I went out to eat Indian food and later met up with her boss and co-worker at an absolutely atrocious piano bar where they covered "Sweet Home Alabama" and various Kid Rock songs...on the piano. Ugh. Anyway, as I stood there uncomfortably around a bunch of people I would probably never talk to or have anything in common with, her boss (an outspoken, wealthy Republican) and I got to talking about the Bengals. With the screeching hell of people singing "And I'm proud to be an American..." in the background (and he was enjoying the place mind you), we had found a common ground. Although I was still uncomfortable, the pain was alleviated if just for a moment. Just long enough for me to get the fuck out of there.

Also, and I'm not trying for this to sound cocky even though it probably will, I like the fact that people are surprised when I can talk sports with whomever I want. More than one person has said it's "weird" that I know so much about sports, but I can't help the fact that it's just one of those things that sticks in my mind. This weekend Justin and I were discussing Larry Johnson's "Grandma-ma" character of the early 90s when he was a semi-impressive player with the Charlotte Hornets trying to hock sneakers. Why the hell do we remember that era? Why can I recite every World Series and Super Bowl winner since 1990? Sports trivia sticks in my head, and while I went through an "I'm not going to pay attention to sports because I'm way too cool for that" period, I'm fucking glad it didn't stick. Otherwise, what would I have to talk about?

Yesterday.

2008-11-05T19:37:00.000-08:00

I went down to Grant Park last night for Obama rally just to "take it all in" and meet a couple of friends all the while knowing I wasn't going to stay. Guess what? It was a happy mess of madness. I may have stayed longer had I had somewhere or something or someone to hook my bike to. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. So, I huffed it back home on the delightfully desolate streets of Chicago. Seriously, I've never scene Milwaukee Avenue that empty at 9 PM. It was great. Chicago has been abuzz in anticipation of the election, and it's been a sight to behold. One of its own was soon to be anointed, and while I have never claimed to be the most politically savvy or knowledgeable person, excited people smiling make me smile and excited.

This election seemed quick. Particularly because the first election I truly followed was the 2000 election with the Florida debacle. I was up until 3 in the morning watching that thing, and went to bed not knowing who won. I equate it to watching the entire 1991 World Series between the Twins and the Braves (best series I've ever witnessed) and going to bed after the ninth inning with the score tied at zero. It killed me to go to bed, but I just couldn't stay up anymore. Obama took care of his shit in this one though, and we can all really thank the key swing state of Ohio because once he got the heart of the country, it was pretty much over. Not a moment too soon either. Obama looked like he was going to pass out from sheer exhaustion when he was making his impressive speech.

Where it goes from here, I don't know. The stock market threw-up some more today and a few Wall Street big shots took a few steps closer to that open window as the economy nears the middle of the toilet bowl. The Reader eloquently summed it up with this issue's cover reading "Don't Screw It Up." I like my job.

Oh and by the way, California voted yes on Proposition 8, only recognizing heterosexual marriage as a legal union. This is happening literally on the heels of the Supreme Court legalizing gay marriage only a few months ago. Now, several once legal marriages are unfairly suspended in limbo. What the fuck? That's sad.

This is as political as I'm going to get. Sorry for the strangeness. I'll go back to sports next post. I promise.

This Is Going Nowhere.

2008-10-27T18:21:00.000-07:00

My senses are being flooded by the 5th and potentially last game of the World Series and the Colts vs. Titans game. I don't know which one I want to watch more and can't seem to make any sort of decision, so I've retreated to this blog, which I had to blow the dust off of from a general lack of use.

One of my best friends (Shortie) came up here this past weekend with his girlfriend, and Justin's coming up in two weeks (I'm keeping fingers crossed) with his lovely wife Heidi. This greatly pleases me because lord knows I need someone to talk to about sports, and just someone to rehash two-year old jokes with that no one in this bohemith of a city understands. I like my friends.

Anyway, Shortie and I got in the discussion about work and the effects working a "real job" inflict on your psyche. Shortie slings mail for a living, and I'm pretty sure he dislikes/despises it overall. No other way of saying it. Now, I have my first "real job" in my life in which I wake up at 6:30 AM and go to bed at like 11 PM. This is no good. Along with Shortie, I was one of those people who said that I could never go to bed before midnight. It would virtually be impossible for me to even yawn my before the change of day. Yeah, well we were both full of shit.

Given, I'm taking a big step back here, but we talked about how we used to stay up until 6 in the morning every night when we were just out of high school. Everything moved much slower to the point of a delirious yet enjoyable boredom. All of my friends, and let me remind you that we didn't drink or do drugs, used to sit in a pathetic park, which basically consisted of a single gazebo, for six hours and just bullshit about nothing. It almost seemed like there were too many hours in the day to fill with interesting activity or just entertaining fluff, but as you get older, the time dwindles down to about three hours after you get off of work. I'm not really bitching or trying to get all introspective, it's just strange to think about. It just gives you a different perspective when you can talk to people you've been friends with since you were like 15. You can kind of map out the journey/movement of your life over the past 12 years because you both basically went through the same shit.

I like my job for the most part. I work tons and don't make that much money, but I get to basically deal with music all day and wear whatever I want to work. It's a relaxed environment and no one's breathing down my neck. You've gotta appreciate that. But it's just strange to know that I'm going to be going to work Monday-Friday and that I'm probably going to be in bed by 11 and waking up at the time I used to go to bed 10 years ago.

Similar to one of Justin's posts from a couple of weeks ago, I started into this thing without a topic in mind, and now I've spent too much time writing to delete it. Maybe there's a nugget or two in there, but this is really just a comment on my friend visiting me this weekend and a conversation we had when we were both drunk.

So there you have it.

Golden Age of Sitcoms.

2008-10-09T16:43:00.000-07:00

So, I wake up every morning and watch ESPN (my news channel) as I'm eating breakfast. Part of the routine. Nice way to start the day in my opinion. However, there are times when I'll flip through the channels during a nauseating segment involving any of the football analysts, Chris Berman, or some fluff, sentimental garbage. On rare occasions when I'm flipping channels, I'll run across some early morning episodes of Saved by the Bell, and to be honest, I kind of get excited. I used to fucking love Saved by the Bell when I was growing up and genuinely looked forward to getting home from school, plopping myself down in front of the TV, and watching a good solid hour of some high school hi-jinks orchestrated by Zack Morris.

But when I try to sit through an episode now, hell even ten minutes of one, I find it absolutely unbearable. The show's terrible...fucking terrible. A.C. Slater wears tank tops to school everyday. Lisa Turtle finds any way to insert "dork" into every sentence involving poor Screech (How about I make a dork omelet out of you? What?). Zack Morris owns a cell phone the size of a pineapple in 1990. Jesse Spano is an uptight, snobby bitch. Mr. Belding has way too much time on his hands mainly as a result of only having to deal with about 24 students, which seems to be the entire population of Bayside. Two classrooms, a hallway, and a gymnasium the size of a garage. Oh, and I don't even know where to begin with Screech. No one would be friends with Screech, especially the "cream of the crop" of Bayside High. The only person I accept is Kelly Kapowski because she's good looking.

My main point is I used to watch a lot of unfunny shit as a kid. We all did. Saved by the Bell is nostalgic, and I understand that. But could you really sit through an entire episode right now and enjoy it? I'm going to say no. When I watch any of the sitcoms I once loved, I'm baffled. Well, not baffled. I know why I liked them then, but it's just funny to see it from a different (older) perspective and realize how unfunny something is that you thought was hilarious. There are a few mainstays, though. One of them being the Cosby Show because it was clever. While it had it's cheeseball moments, it knew what it was trying to accomplish and usually did so effectively (well, not in the later seasons...that's when it started sucking). Anyway, I'm going to ramble off a few of the shows I used to ritualistically watch and quickly explain why I now find them to be examples of unbelievably bad TV.

Home Improvement - This is the one sitcom that was "family time" for me. My entire family loved this shit and we made a point to sit down together and watch it each week. The story is the exact same every episode. The intolerable Tim Taylor gets into a pickle, asks Wilson's advice, misinterprets it, makes the situation worse, and then somehow wraps the show up unscathed. Tim Allen is so far from funny it's astonishing.

Full House - Wow...where do I even begin? Sentimental, "cute" comedy, moral-laden terribleness. All of the characters are bad, so I'll just focus on the worst - Joey Gladstone. I don't remember one point during the lifespan of the show (and me watching it) in which Joey said one funny thing. Not one. And if you didn't notice, that's his deal. He's supposed to be a fucking comedian. When the show first started, he lived in an alcove. A grown man living in an alcove. How he didn't blow his brains out, I'll never know. Did Joey Gladstone ever get laid throughout the history of the show? I don't see how he could have. His Popeye impression may be the root of all things evil and wrong with the world today.

Growing Pains - I agree with Bill Simmons when he says that the fact Mike Seaver had a friend named Boner is hilarious. It is. That's all the show has. Nothing really memorable aside from Tracey Gold being anorexic and Kirk Cameron freaking out, going militant religious, and basically refusing to doing anything in the show that was even slightly controversial or risky for his character. Those were the most popular story lines of the show and they weren't even relevant to the actual sitcom. That should tell you something. And by the way, Alan Thicke is the star and central figure of the show. Enough said.

Webster - Man, I wish I could have lived in the mansion that the Papadopolis' had after they moved out of their apartment. Remember all the secret passageways and strangeness? Awesome. If I ever have the opportunity to live in a house with a dumbwaiter, I'm taking it. No questions asked. All I would do is hide and freak people out all day. Damn, that shit would be so much fun. Oh yeah, this show kind of sucked. But I sure do love saying Papadopolis.

Others that are coming to mind but I'm not going to expound on: Perfect Strangers, Step by Step, Family Matters, Boy Meets World

Shows that pulled it off most of the time: Cosby Show, Wonder Years, Family Ties, Roseanne

Fall Highlights.

2008-10-01T18:26:00.000-07:00

Football and the Baseball Playoffs - first and foremost. October is the best month for sports...hands down.

Pumpkin Ale - this shit should be served year round. I always try and stock up before Winter when you're bombarded with a bunch of seasonal porters.

American Apparel Flex-Fleece Hoodies - these things are the best and I have like five. A definite plus to having worked there.

The smell of bonfires/campfires/nature burning - can this smell be bottled into a cologne form? I know a lot of people hate on it, but I have some nice memories.

Going to Shows - Time to be inside a little bit more, and why not go watch great shit? Fall is an excellent time to go to see music, and tons of notable bands come through town this time of year.

Running in Sweatshirts and Sweatpants - doesn't sound too appealing right? Remember, though, I like to sweat.

Fashion Options - there are just way more layering opportunities and other possible fashion transformations. More clothes...duh.

Halloween - haunted houses are the fucking best. When some sort of ghoul, zombie, or mass murderer catches me off guard I clap my hands and curse. It's like I've been foiled or something, and I'm mad at myself. I love it.

Soup - basically eat (or is it slurp) soup consistently throughout the season. Put some lentil soup in an IV for me and I'm all set.

Tackle Football - complete soreness the next day, but it's the kind of soreness that makes you feel like you've accomplished something.

Sleeping - wrapping yourself up in extra blankets is always a great idea. Especially with a space heater sitting right next to you.

Done.

Within the Past Year.

2008-09-25T19:03:00.000-07:00

Man that was a great season premiere of the Office. Lots of bombs dropped. I can't get enough of that show. Aside from Curb Your Enthusiasm (which I can't watch anyway because I don't have fancy HBO), best show still making new episodes on TV.

Okay, now that I've got that out of my system, I was thinking yesterday about how different my life is from one year ago. I went through this thing with my friends every summer where we'd talk about how life-changing the next year of our existence was going to be. I had to have had this conversation with Coates on at least three separate occasions. We loved to talk about this shit. You know what though? Not much ever really happened. We continued onward in school or at work and did the same shit. There's nothing wrong with that, and I absolutely love the fact that I have been able to maintain a strong core of great friends that I've had since high school. I actually even had the great opportunity to add a few more good ones. How about that?

Anyway, this past year has been a whirlwind, some good, some bad, and I thought I'd take this time to reflect.

-I haven't played music in like a year. I was in a semi-serious band for five years. We gave a shit a lot more at the beginning, and even gained a little notoriety. But we began going through the motions near the end. This was kind of obvious to me, and it was probably time to hang it up, but I definitely miss it. Our last show was 9/08/07, and I've gotten together with a group of people to "jam" (I loathe saying that) just once...once. This is a bad change from the past year. Time to get it going again.

-I don't live in Cincinnati anymore. Did anyone notice? Partially facilitated by the band breaking up and getting my master's degree (get to that in a second), I skipped town. I had talked about this for a while and just felt like it was something I needed to do for my own peace of mind. Love Cincinnati, always will. Strangely enough, though, I've kind of got it all right up here. Good job at an alternative newsweekly in the music section (don't feel like making a separate entry for this one. I worked at American Apparel and now I work at the Chicago Reader. Biggest difference? I don't have daydreams about stabbing myself in the neck with a letter opener), decent living expenses, enough friends to keep me occupied, and tons more shit to do to the point where it's actually kind of overwhelming. I got to at least one show a week, usually two. I went to three last weekend. Every band worth a shit comes through here. Quite different from Cincinnati.

-I have a fucking my master's degree. This was one of the hardest and most rewarding things I have ever accomplished, and I 'll be goddamned if I'm not completely proud of myself. If anyone ever wants to discuss the epistolary conventions in Shakespeare's King Lear or the masturbatory impulses and metaphors littered throughout the modern American classic the Day of the Locust hit me up. Oh, and that's right I just dropped a bunch of shit that makes me seem academic. Too fucking bad. I wrote one too many 30 pages papers not to at least prove that I know a little.

-I'm actually kind of involved in my community. I loved Riddle Road more than life itself, but did I ever really do anything for it aside from spending thousands of dollars at the neighborhood's mainstay, it's lifeline, the Riddle Road Market? Not really. Tonight, I went to a membership meeting for the Dill Pickle Food Co-Op, a soon to be up and running co-op (just signed the lease to the space!) that I've been a member of since I moved here and volunteer for on a regular basis. It's kind of nice to feel like you're doing things for the community...sounds ridiculous right? I also kind of give a shit about what happens in Logan Square, hence the affiliation with the food co-op. It's the first place I've really known well outside of Cincinnati, and I kind of take pride in that and care about it. Shocking.

-Things that haven't changed: I still know more than you about sports, am still the reigning king of Seinfeld trivia (ask Kenny), still part my hair on the left side, still make a big ass breakfast when I wake up in the morning, still grudgingly exercise, still can't grow facial hair. These are constants. These are forevers.

Eating Slop.

2008-09-11T18:52:00.000-07:00

I recently went out to eat with Kenny (who decided to visit me because he's great), Zach, and Allison. We went to Ethiopian Diamond, and it was delicious. If you haven't had Ethiopian before, it's basically fantastic slop placed on a huge platter, and you're give skin-like bread to scoop it up with...no utensils required. Zach and I always seem to discuss our collective affinity for eating an amalgamation of different foods in an almost disastrous, gelatinous form, and this was no different. It got me thinking about all of the great food that comes in slop form, and how much I love it.

Mexican food - This is obvious. If you throw a bunch of black beans, onions, peppers, tofu (or meat if you like that shit), guacamole, hot sauce, garlic, and whatever else strikes you into a big fucking skillet and cook it...you win. Then you place it in a nice tortilla shell, and you have Mexican food. Zach and I make this meal probably three times a week because it's quick, easy, and not completely terrible for you. Go out to a traditional Mexican food restaurant and it's really just a bunch of slop thrown together on a plate with each section separated by a thin layer of air. Eventually, everything all comes together...it's unavoidable, and I could eat it all with a spoon.

Indian food - Can't beat it. Give me some rice, and a fine dish of cream, oil, spinach, cheese, mushrooms, and some hot ass spices, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to mix all that shit together and dip some goddamn bread in it and tear it apart. I'm not good at making Indian food, which is a bummer, but I will always jump at the chance to go eat it. One thing I definitely miss about Cincinnati is our regular Friday night Indian food trips to Apna, in which we would all get way too much food and eventually begin mixing all of our dishes together because who gives a shit? It's all delicious slop. I don't know how it's made (and really what's in it) or what the fuck is going on back in that kitchen, but I'll eat it all. Great.

Thai food - Same deal. Just add noodles. I'm just trying to pigeonhole cultural dishes here as much as possible...right? Anyway, it's just a big wilderness of spicy shit intertwined between tender noodles. Pad thai? Yep, give it to me, and add as many nuts as possible. I like fried tofu, egg, mushrooms, peppers, and some authentic spices prepared by an old Thai woman and tossed on a big pile of carbohydrates...who doesn't?

Breakfast food - This may be different for others, but when I wake up, I like to make a real breakfast. Not much of a cereal guy. I basically wake up an hour before I have to for the sake of breakfast. The whole deal...hashbrowns, fake sausage, toast...maybe some faux bacon too. Whatever. It doesn't matter. Because guess what happens? I really just mix it all together, so that I can solidify my love for slop on a plate. Isn't mixing a bunch of things together better than eating them separately. Would I rather have three or four good sides, which I can eat individually and enjoy, or construct a massive cornucopia of euphoric ingredients that I can eat as a whole? I choose the latter.

I love eating food.

How Can I Not Talk About It?

2008-09-03T19:01:00.000-07:00

Football. As another disappointing Reds season winds down, football begins to take precedent. Let me preface this, however, with the fact that the 2006 year was probably the best in most recent memory for Cincinnati sports. Particularly because the Reds played over their heads most of the season and made it interesting to be a sports fan in late August/early September. It was enigmatic year for Cincinnati sports. The Reds were in the hunt for the Wild Card (before they choked it away), and the Bengals were coming off their first playoff appearance in years. I dispel this as a fluke though, which will now allow me to continue towards my initial discussion. Football.

Football brings out the fake sports fans, God love them. People who just can't handle the vicious ups and down one must endure throughout the entire sports year in order to truly call himself or herself a sports fan. Football's one day a week (well two...well three), and doesn't take as much plot deconstructing. That's cool. It is. Because if any sport warrants an all-out flurry of fanaticism, it's football. As intense as it gets, and that's why I love it. Regardless of the posers that come out of the woodwork when the season begins (that's right I just climbed up that high horse and am now confidently perched at the top), I still love it.

However, I've run into a bit of a snag since moving to Chicago, well aside from Cubs fans (see the reference to "posers" above), I have to now seek out the Bengals game. No more rolling out of my bed at 10:55 AM to begin the pregame festivities. Oh and by "pregame" I don't mean drinking. I mean getting ready to coherently watch eight full hours of football. That's what it's all about. Anyway, the Reds season hasn't been that bad because they suck, and I canceled my mlbtv.com subscription a while ago. I mean I'm kind of looking forward to going to a bar or something to watch the game because I think it'll be fun, but that also means that I have to go to a bar at noon and watch football for four hours. That could get old really quick. Hopefully it doesn't because I'm definitely the type that will watch the entire game, regardless of the score. I always hold the hope that my team (football mind you) can orchestrate some miraculous comeback.

Another thing that bums me out about being in Chicago for football season is that there will be no more football get-togethers, which I absolutely fucking love. I really can't remember the last game I watched alone because friends will always come over and listen to me rant and rave at the players, announcers, or commercials for hours on end and not seem to get too annoyed. This brings me great pleasure, and that will be missed. Well, I will get to subject Carley to it...poor sap. I will still be back in Cincinnati for the Super Bowl though because there is no way that I will miss out on throwing or being involved in the fantastic Super Bowl parties we have been hosting for going on four years. Aside from finding parking spots, it's one of the best things I do and is always a fucking good time.

Now on to the Bengals. I hold hope for this season for several reasons, many of which have recently been occurring. First off, no more Rudi Johnson. Hooray! Never bought into him from the get-go and I have witnesses who can attest to my consistent doubts concerning his running back abilities. He's a poor man's Sean Alexander, and dear God that's not saying much.

Number two, we got Chris Henry back. The analysts on SportsCenter have to lambaste this Bengals maneuver (meaning it would look bad for ESPN as a whole to do otherwise) because he's had so many run-ins with the law, but they all fucking know that Henry is a goddamn great receiver and shows flashes of brilliance. It comes down to this...I want my team to win, and if that means taking chance after chance on a troubled but great receiver...so be it. Ray Lewis murdered someone and Jamal Lewis snorted cocaine out of a hooker's butthole and they were forgiven and seem to be doing okay.

Third reason, Carson Palmer...enough said. I want him to be my roommate and make me pancakes in the morning. I bet he'd be awesome to sit down with and watch an episode of the Cosby Show. He makes me happy because he's awesome and keeps the team together...in a quiet manner.

Final reason, Chad Johnson has to play well because if he doesn't, the city of Cincinnati will tear him to pieces as a result of what happened in the offseason. If he plays well...okay then, we can deal. If not...fuck you, you worthless piece of shit. You don't want to be here? Take a fucking hike. He basically has to win a city back, and the only way he's going to do that is to catch everything all of the time. I rate this as being good pressure.

My prediction for the AFC North? Bengals 10-6, Browns 9-7, Ravens 7-9, Steelers 1-15

Steelers subplot: Hines Ward is killed in a freak skeeball accident, Willie Parker shatters both of his kneecaps simultaneously after falling off his roof while in the process of re-shingling, and Benny Burger realizes that all he has to throw to is a pretty okay tight end in Heath Miller, a rookie wide receiver, and Santonio Holmes who will be on the verge of suicide all year from a crippling depression sparked by USC's utter annihilation of the Buckeyes at the Coliseum. Burger will therefore break his own right arm with a sledgehammer because he knows he's fucked without Hines or a running game...you know, because he's not really any good. Get it?

I fucking hate the Steelers.

The Olympics: In Retrospect

2008-08-25T18:01:00.000-07:00

Okay, I never did muster up the effort to do an Olympics running diary, and to be honest, I'm kind of disappointed in myself. I kind of just blame Justin for not taking the initiative that would've, in turn, spurred me on. Regardless, like many others, I watched way more Olympic television than I had initially anticipated. Well, it's all over now, and I'm just going to spat out a few lingering thoughts.

It doesn't matter how much coverage it got or how much it was talked about - the Michael Phelps spectacle was fucking awesome. During many of his races, I was in Wyoming (see below), and my mom and I would wake up each day and immediately find out what time his races were. My mom gave a shit. This woman doesn't have one interested sports bone in her body, and she was sucked in. This is amazing to me. I saw the first relay when Lizak came back to win, and I saw the butterfly when I seriously thought that the Olympics were orchestrating a complex conspiracy to ensure Phelps the eight golds. I was convinced he didn't win that race, but thanks to Sports Illustrated photos, I have since been proven wrong. The naked eye can be deceiving. Regardless, the first week of the Olympics was goddamn captivating, particularly due to Phelps.

I really have no desire to play volleyball - sand or indoor. I just don't think it's that much fun, and it makes my fucking wrists/forearms burn and sting like nothing else. However, I get sucked into watching volleyball. I have no idea why. It probably has something to do with my propensity to watch anything that involves competition. I genuinely feel for the athletes and their plight/elation. Lame sounding? Yep...but the intense emotion each man/woman has to be feeling during the Olympics is beyond my realm of thought. Or at least I think it is.

On that note, I've been listening to sports commentators for two weeks bitch and make fun of seemingly "absurd" Olympic sports like handball, badminton, or trampoline. Fuck that. I say make up more outlandish competition. The fact that a pair of men have devoted their livelihoods to perfecting the sport of badminton is amazing to me. I eat that shit up. I mean, I used to play badminton in my backyard all hours of the day/evening when I was growing up (my family was big into it for some reason). And while I'm dicking around and playing on a late summer evening, some eleven year old kid in Poland is waking up at six in the morning and being berated into how to properly strike the shuttlecock (never thought I'd actually type that word in my life). I just find all that shit intriguing. Devoting your life to handball is fucking devotion. You have to bail on hanging out with your friends at the local swimming hole to go practice your skills at handball...awesome. Finger boarding, break dancing, thumb wrestling, and dodgeball should all become Olympic sports in 2012.

The female Chinese gymnasts creep me out. There's no way they're 16, and they're way too dolled up. It freaks me out for some reason. I immediately switch the channel whenever they pop up. Eesh.

The USA basketball team won the gold and no one really seemed to notice or care. The only thing that would've made news is if they lost, like in Athens. They're supposed to win, so they did, and no one gives a shit. Neat. There's no reason they should've lost and they didn't. Woo-hoo. I guess it is kind of cool to see a bunch of NBA superstars yakking it up and being friends though. That was kind of cool. I still dislike LeBron James, though, and I think Kobe Bryant is the second best basketball player I have ever seen in my life. The first? You guessed it...John Starks. Ha.

Wyoming.

2008-08-17T17:38:00.000-07:00

I think Justin's had three posts since my last one. I'm seriously lagging.

Anyway, I just got back from Wyoming...yep, Wyoming. It was actually pretty amazing. I had been slightly dreading the trip. Not dreading seeing one of my best friends get married, and seeing tons of Chicagoans and Napervillians I hadn't seen in a while, but just dreading the actual traveling. I had to wake up at 3:45 AM Wednesday morning after working a 12 hour day and drive to Indianapolis to meet my mom. We dropped our cars off, got a 45 minute ride to the airport, flew into Denver, got a rental car (a Mazda6 that I proceeded to fall in love with over the weekend), and then drove to delightful Laramie, Wyoming. It took fucking forever.

Now, I really had no idea what to expect from Wyoming. All I knew was that it is the least populated state in America, which I find to be charming. The population is so minuscule that the state actually boasts a "smallest town in America." That's right, Buford, Wyoming on I-80: population one. Of course I had to stop at this gold mine of schticky Wyoming parephenilia. I actually stopped there on three separate occasions during our trips between Laramie (where the bride and groom live) and Cheyenne (the wedding location). That guy has to make a fucking killing. Who's not going to stop at a town with a population of one? It's a house and a gas station/trading post. That's it...literally.

Another fantastic highlight of the wedding/vacation was the mountain trip we took into the Rockies on Thursday. It took about an hour to drive up, but it was seriously beautiful. All of the typical things you've heard. Crisp, but thin air, lakes so clear and blue you can see straight to the bottom, snowcapped mountains in August, and just amazingly scenic greatness. Here are a few pictures of me perfectly posed in front of mountains and lakes:

The wedding was a success and I made a pretty damn good speech if I do say so myself. Right off the top of my head. I do wish the best man speech could be done before the wedding ceremony, so I didn't have to think and fret about it all night and really only get to enjoy the last three hours of the evening. I demand a societal change.

There's really tons more to say about the greatness and strangeness of Wyoming, but I just don't feel like typing anymore. So, here's one of my patented lists:

-Everything moves slower in Wyoming. Everything. Not to say I'm some big city boy or something, but I personally find it ridiculous that it takes two hours to check into a hotel room. Or ten minutes to get a drink at a bar with a whopping five people in it. The whole population is in no hurry, and they're making no attempts to hide it. Partly charming, partly annoying.

-I did get the "You're not from around here are you?" line. I had been waiting for it all weekend, and I got it my first day in Cheyenne. I asked a sales clerk about a pair of polyester Wrangler pants in a Wrangler store, and I got the line. Does that make sense to you? Not to me.

-Everyone in the state seems to own at least 25 acres of land with multiple horses and/or livestock. It's a requirement.

-The highways are always empty and you can go five thousand mph on them. It's fucking great. I was in Wyoming for almost five days, and I saw two cops...two. The driving in the state is fantastic. The highways are in perfect condition and the drives are scenic as hell. They even have highway signs labeled "Point of Interest" when anything extra Wyoming-like is approaching so that you can slow down or pull off to take it all in. My favorite: a tree growing out of a boulder. Definitely a huge "Point of Interest" to me.

-Every bar has its own microbrews, which I found to be a pleasant surprise. Pretty good beer too.

-Strangers wave at you on the street and say hi. Most people know my feelings on community...I eat it up with a spoon, and Wyoming is teeming with lovely country hospitality. There's something wonderfully endearing about a rugged dude in a cowboy hat and boots, smoking a filter-less Marlboro Red saying hi to you. Awesome.

I was delighted by the whole trip. Good times.

Itching Bug Bites.

2008-08-04T18:41:00.000-07:00

Camping has a fantastic set of unwritten rules that many of us would never adhere by throughout a typical, run-of-the-mill weekend. It's part of the allure, part of the ambiance. I've been camping an innumerable amount of times, and it never fails. I always shed my inhibitions.

- I don't change one piece of clothing throughout the duration of the weekend. Now, I always bring other clothes believing that this is the year that I'll change my underwear. It never happens. Gross? Maybe. Do I care? Nope.

- Bathing does not happen. I'll wash my hands if I have the means, but no other body part is going to get cleaned, unless I go swimming in the lake. And it's debatable whether or not I'm really getting cleaned by doing that anyway. Lord knows what the hell is in that lake. Brushing your teeth is also hit and miss. This is really the first year I ever went out of my way to brush my teeth. I don't know why. I'm actually kind of disappointed in myself.

- I'll eat an ungodly amount of garbage, shit food and drink way too many piss beers. This past camping trip (two nights) I had to have eaten an entire box of Cheez-Its (a camping necessity), ten S'mores, a full bag of chips, half a jar of peanuts, four veggie burgers, 25 granola bars, and whatever else was put in front of my face. I also drank way too many beers in cans. Ugh. The combination of junk food and make believe beer (and let it be known that I wasn't at all drunk) caused a near puking moment; my first in 7 years. God, that would've been disappointing. Oh, and I smoke about 18 more cigarettes a day than usual.

- Sleep is optional. Actually, let me rephrase that. Finding a comfortable place to sleep is impossible. I'm not the pickiest sleeper in the world, but falling asleep for three hours in the back of a van fucking blows balls. And that was probably my most comfortable option. You have to go into the weekend assuming that you'll probably only get about six hours of total sleep.

- Sun tan lotion is poison. I'm a pale motherfucker, and I hardly ever think about putting sun tan lotion on when camping. Getting burnt seems like an initiation rite. I almost kind of like it. Tank top tans are beautiful. You know it.

- Pissing in public, and I mean wherever you're standing at the time, is appropriate and necessary. You're in nature. Get a clue.

- No shoes or socks. Get bug bites. They make you tougher.

And after the weekend is all over, and you've shoved that last hot dog down your gullet, and played your last game of cornhole, you look like these suckers - exhausted, gross, but content as hell.

Action!

2008-07-25T19:41:00.000-07:00

The Brett Favre plot thickens. I found out today that he's going to show up to training camp in hopes of pushing Aaron Rodgers out. What a complete dick. Again...just go the fuck away Brett Favre. Dear god.

I saw the Dark Knight yesterday, and I gotta admit, the hype is well warranted. The film is fucking amazing. It's dark, action packed, smart, with just the right seasoning of funny. Yes, Heath Ledger is perfect, and it's a bummer what happened to him. I was seriously blown away by how great the movie was. I'm a batman fan to begin with, and even I think that each nuance of the movie was beautifully executed. Well done.

On that note, the Dark Knight left a lasting effect on me today as I sat in my office, and I began to ponder great action movies that simply have all the elements that make them re-watchable over and over; action movies that are pure entertainment and just a fucking good time to experience. Here's my little list.

The Die Hard Trilogy

Pretty obvious I know, but you have got to respect this quirky, shoot-em-up-and-explode-em trilogy. Disclaimer: I'm not including the fourth installment of Die Hard because although I thought it was well done and entertaining, it doesn't maintain the same sense of nostalgic qualities the original, authentic Die Hard Trilogy does. Therefore, no discussion of it will be made.

What makes this entire trilogy amazing is simple - the Gruber brothers. Not many people talk about Die Hard 2, and even though I feel like it is a massively underrated film, it strayed from the formula of the Grubers (similar to how Indiana Jones strayed from the Nazis in the Temple of Doom, but we'll get to that later). Plus, it's slightly political and complex, dealing with the forceful release of a highly controversial political prisoner by a gaggle of turncoats. This is just too much. The audience of an action movie doesn't want to have to think too much. That's why the geniuses behind Die Hard with a Vengeance made it simple. A man wants to kill John McClain and in the process makes him solve a bunch of riddles and puzzles. Brilliant. I love riddles. But Gruber's vendetta against our heroic protagonist makes the films. McClain is a vagabond who just happens to be a cop. He's the "every-man" the public loves, and he's a fucking funny, smart-ass who kills bad guys. Sounds simple, but damn that shit works. Plus, in Die Hard with a Vengeance, the brilliant minds of Hollywood decide to pair him up with Samuel L. Jackson. Perfect move.

Die Hard with a Vengeance formula: Renegade cop + Street wise black man + Hazardous but entertaining riddles and puzzles + A bunch of bad foreigners (I mean, who likes foreigners anyway right?) + Big explosions and gunfire = Picture perfect action film.

The Indiana Jones Trilogy

Again, I'm not going to mention the most recent installment. Mainly because it wasn't that great. Aliens at the end? Really? And also because Harrison Ford just could not maintain the same spry attitude that epitomizes Indiana Jones. Different movie all together. Not that impressed.

As was said before, Indiana Jones also fell out of the "what works every time formula" when it made Temple of Doom. I've had this conversation many a time with my friends, but Temple of Doom is too campy; it's too cheese-ball. And it gets away from what will always work in any movie - fucking Nazis. Indiana Jones has all ready got tons of shit going for it because it deals with archeology. I love archeology because it's about cryptic, mysterious shit that we can only imagine ever seeing. However, Indiana Jones is always out finding it. Again, I'm going to focus on the highlight of the three films, which is Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Like Die Hard with a Vengeance, the makers of the films figured, "Hey we got it right the first time, we can experiment a little with the second film," only to get a firm slap on the wrist when they stray a little too far. Formula works with action films. That's why there's a formula. Gruber's = Die Hard and Nazis = Indiana Jones.

Also, in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Sean Connery is thrown into the cauldron as the dense, yet intelligent father to Indiana. Similar to Samuel L. Jackson, the addition is perfect and adds just the right amount of spice to the film. Plus, they're searching for the Holy Grail. You can't get much more archaeological than that. Did, I mention the Nazis are after it too? Beautiful.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade formula: Dashing, attractive professor by day and charming yet daring archaeologist by night + veteran Scottish actor with a beard + search for the Holy Grail (I mean come on, it's the Holy Grail) + Retro setting (for nostalgic factor) + fucking Nazis = Picture perfect action film.

Okay, okay, I kind of went off on several tangents with those trilogies because number one, they're trilogies and number two, they're six of my favorite action movies of all time. i do think it's fantastic that the third installment in each series is my favorite. Everyone wants to laud the original, but that's just because they feel like they have to. It's like giving every movie from the 1930's four stars or saying that the 72' Dolphins team is the best team of all-time. Trust me, have them play the 2007 Dolphins (uhhh...1-15) and they'd get fucking smoked. People feel like they have to say the 72' team is the best because they went undefeated. Whatever, they played like 4 teams with winning records. Whoa, whoa, whoa...sorry, the sports sidebars just sneak up on me.

Anyway, the formula was tweaked and perfected with each installment, thus resulting in two amazing action films: Die Hard with a Vengeance and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

Here are some other amazing action films and the reasons why. Disclaimer #2: I'm going to try and stay away from sports movies at all costs. They belong in their own category. Okay then...I'm gonna try to sum the rest of these up in two sentences or less.

Terminator 2: Judgment Day

The special effects still hold up and Arnold is in his motherfucking prime. Plus, you can't beat those creepy sound effects maintained throughout the movie

Speed

Keanu Reeves' crowning moment. Three-quarters of the film takes place on a goddamn raging bus. Pieces of highway are missing, Sandra Bullock actually kind of looks okay, and Dennis Hopper is a creepy bastard. Plus, it's the first rated-R movie I ever saw in the theaters.

Cliffhanger

Sylvester Stallone vs. John Lithgow

First Blood

Just Sylvester Stallone. The film really has no plot, and that makes it all the better. Oh, and there's a big ass fucking knife.

Predator

I realize I'm really just promoting Sly and Arnold films here but is that such a bad thing? The Predator's a frightening beast, and the geniuses of Hollywood figured out a perfect formula: Don't Let Arnold talk, and cover him in mud.

Any Steven Seagal Movie

It's simple. Seagal has one signature move. He grabs a body part and forces it the way the joint doesn't want to go, thus popping a bone out into open air. I could watch this over and over again, and thankfully there are many Seagal gems that allow me to do so.

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

These movies finally made me into a verifiable dork (I had been avoiding Star Wars mania for years). Epic, and I mean epic, action scenes, Liv Tyler looking amazing, and talking trees. Done and done.

Braveheart

I know Mel Gibson is a jackass, but this movie spurned a series of forgettable "epics." William Wallace has his limbs ripped from his body and his innards strewn about at the end...absolutely vicious. When he yells "Freedom!" I wanted to lose it. There's no shame in that right? This movie made me want to buy a sword and take more pride in my Scottish roots.

The Dark Knight

Go see it.

Okay, there's definitely more, but I'm done for now.

dear brett favre,

2008-07-15T18:51:00.000-07:00

you suck. for real. i didn't believe you when you said you were retiring, and it looks like i can heap another load of "i told you so's" onto my all ready expansive ego. why do you keep doing this to everyone? we all know why you came back last year. you just wanted the records because you're selfish. then, when your team showed some amazing progress, you thought to yourself, "maybe i can beat this dead horse a little while longer." you hold your team hostage year after year because you think you have some sort of righteous entitlement to do so. well, i guess you did win that one super bowl...like 12 years ago. good job chief. we're very proud.

and as the football season slowly approaches you've once again gotten "the itch" to play again. shocking. i didn't see this coming at all four months ago when you mentioned that if aaron rodgers got hurt you'd be tempted to return. and let's talk a second about aaron rodgers. what are you doing to this poor man? he had to sit behind you for four years and hear about how great and spectacular you are, all the while secretly knowing that you're really not that great (that's right, i can read minds), and now he finally gets his chance only to have it spit right back in his face. the funny thing is, i think aaron rodgers will be a good quarterback in this league. really, i do. but how can he get comfortable when he constantly has the old chucker lurking in the shadows year after year after year.

also brett, why are you so upset that the packers are being kind of cold to you? you fucking retired! right? am i dense or did i not witness you weeping at a press conference as you stated that it just wasn't possible to go through another season. you couldn't mentally do it. should the packers have sat around twiddling their thumbs wishing and praying that you just might return. i think the organization is sick of your shit, and i don't understand how any rational, level-headed human being can blame them. they were optimistically moving on with a quarterback they had confidence in and you snuck back in. it's ridiculous. you are so quick whine to espn, and unfortunately it's a slow time in the sports world so they are willing to listen and blow the story way out of proportion. make it stop. please make it stop.

will someone make brett favre go away? i'd be ever so grateful.

your community market.

2008-07-10T18:06:00.000-07:00

i was in cincinnati this past weekend for the 4th of july and my mom's birthday. i got to eat and drink for free, play cornhole, toss a baseball around, hang out with the posse, and watch $2,000 worth of fireworks be shot off in a backyard. all in all, it was a damn fine weekend.

one of my favorite parts, however, was the five minutes i spent in the riddle road market. if you know me well, you know all about the strong affinity i hold for the hole in the wall market on the corner of riddle and marshall. for a couple of years, i lived in a house across the street from there and frequented it daily. regrettably, i moved away in 2006 only to move back to riddle in 2007, partially just to be close to the market again. i fucking love that place. there are various reasons.

i'm a neighborhood kind of person. i love where i live in chicago because it has a neighborhood feel that areas like wicker park or wrigleyville lack in my opinion. it has a small, unimpressive, yet beautifully charming farmer's market on sundays. people smile and say hello to complete strangers in passing. the neighborhood's striving to open up a food co-op that i recently became a member of. bricks were thrown through windows when a starbucks began construction to open up a store last fall. see what i mean? neighborhood and banning together.

the market is the central nervous system of the riddle neighborhood. i walk in there and they know my name. they seem to know everyone's name. they know what i'm getting to drink and what kind of cigarettes i'm buying. this is a reassuring and comforting feeling. a gatorade costs a dollar. i don't want change and the market doesn't give it to me. they host a block party and cook out hot dogs on random occasions. they sell single cigarettes. the owner john comes to parties on the street at like 3 in the morning with alcohol, and if we run out we go get more at like 5 in the morning for free because guess what? he's got the keys. this has happened on several separate occasions. at the beginning of each quarter of school john purchases a wall of nati light that enshrouds the windows of the market and you get to slowly watch it get chipped away at by the uc frat dudes. the market was robbed three times in the span of three months and john got shot in the leg because he basically refused to give the criminals shit. when it snows outside, he snowblows the sidewalks up and down the street, not just in front of the market.

my ex-roommates and i are also slightly suspicious that john is the leader of a drug ring and the market's the hub of operations. pretty sure drugs are dealt out of there. that's as neighborhood as it gets.

given, i latch on to places and romanticize them to everyone. i know i do that. whatever. however, any place that will still cook me a pizza on a pita even though they stopped making them like two years ago is typically gonna be a fucking solid and reliable establishment.

this post is really going nowhere and i didn't really intend for it to. it's an ode. i miss cincinnati for reasons like this. places like the market make me smile. i used to go out of my way to drive there during the few rare occasions of my life when i didn't live on riddle.

and every time i visit, i still make it a point to stop by.

cynicism explored.

2008-07-02T19:09:00.000-07:00

now, don't get me wrong ESPN, i still love you. we wake up together in the morning and go to bed together at night. you provide me with endless podcast entertainment throughout the day. i watch and read you like it's my job and even dabble a little in your fantasy leagues. when no one else wants to give me sports, you never hesitate. you complete me.

that being said, i cringe every year around this time because the channel/website/magazine i so admiringly adore churns out some of the most exploitative bullshit ever. if you are even somewhat in tune with ESPN programming then you're probably familiar with the "My Wish" segment of the show. In this ten minutes of torture, ESPN spews forth the most trite, watered down, and inexplicably unwatchable puff pieces i've ever seen. and to top it all off, they have chris connelly narrate. dear lord.

i'm sure you're probably thinking right now, "come on kevin, why do you have to be so cynical? sure it's a puff piece, but they're touching stories and athletes are involving themselves in order to make these kids feel better." this is true. but to what end does ESPN involve itself? the athlete thing is neither here nor there. he (i'm forgoing the he or she for the sake of brevity) shows up for about a half an hour, talks to the kid who idolizes him, signs some shit, and takes off. occasionally he'll play a game with the kid. and you know what? that's great because the kid seems happy that he just got to meet his hero, and he's fucking stoked. i'm all for that. good times. thumbs up.

it's how espn approaches it though. i'm sorry, but the transition just can't be there. you can't go from meticulously evaluating and covering brute, violent sport to a puff piece. the network airs a vicious fight between the rays and the red sox and subsequently discusses the necessity of throwing a 90 mph fastball at a batter in order to protect your team. i mean the announcers were literally pinpointing the part of the body you should sling the ball towards. have you ever been hit with a baseball? it fucking hurts...bad. and they were discussing why a pitcher needs to intentionally do this at times. and within 20 seconds of finishing that analysis,the channel transitions to a story about a kid with terminal cancer who finally got to meet alex rodriguez, his idol. the whole thing screams of desperation on ESPN's part, and it sucks. i mean, puff pieces are puff pieces. there's no escaping them, and 90% of the time they're bullshit, but i just feel like ESPN is exploiting the hell out of unfortunate kids for the sake of appealing to more of a mass audience that really isn't watching anyway. people who watch ESPN watch it for the sports. that's it. stop bullshitting around and stick to what you know.

oh, and did i mention chris connelly narrates? ugh.

please don't take this fired up rant as any kind of knock on anyone performing charitable acts for disadvantaged kids. if you are taking it that way...then you're dumb.

seasoned.

2008-06-22T15:43:00.000-07:00

okay, so i was having this conversation with a few people yesterday about what the prime season is. i'm sure everyone has had this conversation at some point. we went back and forth for a while. one said fall and one said late spring, which is the equivalent to just choosing any piece of a season and saying it's the best. it doesn't work that way. you can't just say my favorite season is the two weeks at the end of december because they contain christmas and new year's. i don't think so. anyway, it has become obvious to me over the last couple of years that the best season is and will always be summer.

fall is the easy answer, and i used to claim it as the best time of year as well. you know why? because it contains a keen sense of nostalgia. definitely the most nostalgic season of the year. cool weather, campfires, leaves falling, football...all that shit. i think the smells are the most apparent during fall in comparison to any other time of year. such things leave nice impressions on young impressionable minds. however, now that i'm old and crotchity, you begin to realize all the bullshit of the change from summer to fall. no one, at least not me, wants to have to start wearing heavier clothing and layers. why would i want to have more clothing on when i could easily have less? i know the fashion possibilities and creative layering that can occur with season changes, but let's try to keep those separate. i'm talking about comfortability. shorts and a t-shirt sound better than jeans and a hoodie to me.

you know what else? i like to sweat. actually i kind of love it. it makes me feel like i accomplished something. like i was sent to complete a task, and goddamnit, i took care of it. i like going running or biking more in the summer because i come back as a hot, disgusting mess. it's an indescribable, refreshing feeling. you just can't get that same sensation with other seasons.

also, the hang out time is maximized in summer. porches and decks rule all, and there is definitely something to be said for spending an entire night hanging out on someone's porch and drinking adult beverages. is there anything you'd rather do than hang out with friends outside on a warm evening and rehash the same jokes and stories you've been telling for years? honestly, that sounds pretty fucking good to me. you don't want to sit inside during summer. you want to be active. it sounds simple and kind of dumb but outside is better than inside. absolutely.

i guess one of my main points to this rant is that i feel summer is underrated in the midwest because of the actual appearance of seasons (unlike southern california). people maintain affinities for those that are the "changing" seasons, like spring and fall, because of the certain amount of "feel" that comes along with that. nostalgia's great and all, but does it ever make you feel great? i don't really think so. even the good times are viewed sadly as pieces of life that can't and won't happen again. kind of a bummer. i feel that summer is more respected and enjoyed in the moment, without any preconceptions. or maybe i just want to think and remember less. that's always a possibility too.

oh by the way, i'm not really even going to mention winter. it's just fucking cold.

scattered everywhere.

2008-06-11T19:14:00.000-07:00

random thoughts i have in the morning (in chronological order):

-should i hit the snooze button?

-what's the weather like?

-i wonder if kevin (my roommate...yes, his name is also kevin) is in the bathroom.

-i hope the water pitcher is full of cold water.

-hashbrowns and buttered toast or granola and a banana?

-fuck mike and mike in the morning. they get more annoying every passing day. i'm just gonna watch sportscenter.

-why do the reds always lose to the cardinals (cubs, brewers, etc, etc)?

-goddamn, i don't feel like running.

-what's the weather like?

-what converge album am i going to listen to while i'm running?

-i'd love to live on logan boulevard. look at all the trees, strollers, and fences. so neighborhood like.

-i'm a fan of sweating.

-do i have time to take a shower?

-eh, fuck it. i'm fine.

-water, vitamins

-what pair of dirty, mismatched socks am i going to wear today?

-what piece of american apparel is it going to be today?

-why do people at the train station look down the tunnel to see if the train's coming? trust me, you'll be able to hear it coming.

-i wonder if i get reception down here? let me check. (i never do).

-i'd rather just stand on the train. i have to sit down all day at work.

-everyone on the train is trying to act like their reading a book or listening to music. in actuality, they're all taking quick glances at everyone else and sizing them up.

-i wonder if there's a quicker way/shortcut to work. (i'm obsessed with shortcuts).

-do the people at 7/11 look forward to seeing me everyday? they seem like it.

-water, vitamin water, or smoothie?

-i'll always take the stairs. i like feeling like i'm getting some kind of exercise.

-i can never get comfortable in my office. if only i had something to put my feet up on.

diners.

2008-06-02T19:14:00.000-07:00

i know that justin and i have had this conversation before, but i'm watching diners, drive-ins, and dives right now and wondering how guy fieri is not a disgusting, fat behemoth. when you think of best jobs in the world (i.e. bill simmons) guy fieri always comes to mind. the food network pays for him to go around the country and eat whatever the hell he wants as he visits some of the most delectable looking greasy spoons i have ever seen. and damn does he eat everything. it's fucking awesome. i don't eat meat, but some of the greasy, cheesy, and utterly delicious shit that he shoves down his gullet looks like it's been baptized by the gods.

what makes this show so great and seemingly brilliant in comparison to other food network shows is that it showcases what america really craves. not those rachel ray low calorie, spinach-ridden abominations, but meat that's been marinated in other meat juices, then sauteed in 12 pounds of garlic and topped with five different mounds of cheese. served with fries on the side of course.

and he eats it all. they just got done with a chicago diner, and he literally ate a cheddar burger, a polish sausage, a massive hot dog, and a whole heap of italian beef. it's awe inspiring. now, fieri is by no means in shape, and i don't think he'd ever really want to be (it'd like ruin his street cred or something), but he should weigh about 50 more pounds. maybe it's all those "healthy" california diners that level him out. i don't know.

no one in these restaurants looks healthy. those who are quick to say, "i've been coming here for over 20 years" typically aren't the type of people who choose the stairs over the escalator. however, for the split moment when they're eating, and the food network is there to capture it, they're happy. and that makes me happy.

(my god, they just showed guy how they make their cheese sauce. then the chef made a pancake that is literally the size of a pizza and topped it with a burger, sausage, bacon, hash browns, eggs, and said cheese sauce. to top it all off...the dish was served to one, single, solitary man to eat. i don't know how that's even legal).

anyway, guy fieri looks like a turd. justin tells me that it's the "northern california look" because that section of california is typically 5 years behind the rest of the "hip" parts of the state. fieri wears bowling shirts, spikes his ridiculously bleached blond hair, and puts his sunglasses on the back of his head. oh, and don't forget the nautical tattoos. all of this used to distract me, but i don't even remotely fucking care anymore. he's one of the coolest people on tv because he's a happy dude and has the privilege to have one of the best jobs in the world. he knows it too. i mean...i really want to hang out with him. i think it'd be an entertaining time to roll around in his convertible and pound budweisers. no joke.

okay...this post has been distracting me from watching the show. time to end it.

talking to computers.

2008-05-24T13:35:00.000-07:00

i am not a fan of the "revolutionary" technology in which you call to pay your cell phone, car insurance, or cable bill and a computer talks to you and allows voice recognition answers. this is bullshit. it takes double the time to pay your bills and the computer tries to be your friend, although it rarely understands you. i start yelling at it and gritting my teeth, but it just doesn't get the hint that it is completely fucking awful.

is the world full of a bunch of derelicts who found it much too difficult to just punch numbers in on a keypad? i personally don't think so. so what's the point? i mean, the computer never understands me and constantly apologizes. it makes me so angry...angry enough to immediately make this post.

end this madness.

hard to believe.

2008-05-15T20:05:00.000-07:00

so i got a job. this fact has prevented me from posting a blog for a while. no more luxurious lifestyle of doing whatever the hell i want and really only completing tasks that are of interest to me. when i moved to chicago i thought to myself, "it'd be fucking great if i got a job at the chicago reader." well guess what...i lucked my way into just that. i'm the new music listings editor, and i have an office. imagine that. the job is intensely vicious, and i work tons (45 hours in 4 days...no joke), but i like it. i'll like it even more once i can do it without thinking. i have 5,000 tasks to accomplish daily, and considering my last job consisted of refreshing espn.com every five minutes and looking at colors with glazed-over eyes all day, i'd say it's a bit of a change. however, everyone i work with is cool as hell, i get to work downtown, which makes me feel oh so professional, and i get free shit. not too bad. i'm pretty proud of myself, and it only took three weeks.

working with deadlines is a whole different kind of beast. when i wrote for citybeat, i had deadlines and shit, but i wasn't nearly as involved with the operation of the paper like i am at the reader. i actually feel like if i fell apart, the paper would be fucked, which frightens me because i tend to crack under pressure...a sad fact of my life that i have to grips with. i'll be good though. well, at least i keep mumbling that to myself as i get a barrage of emails at work that make my head want to explode.

check the paper out here

it's the citybeat of chicago, only bigger and way way better.

now that i got that out of my system, lets discuss the most fucked up news of the year thus far. michael christopher coates is getting married on saturday. yikes! i was in town for the bachelor party last weekend, which russ and i organized, and i'd have to say that we did a pretty good job. it exceeded expectations of drunken rowdiness, culminating with coates being obliterated (cigarette in mouth), shirtless, in a wheelchair. i can't even begin to express the amount of joy that night gave me. almost all of my best friends (minus justin) gathering in one place and watching coates get straight hammered. fucking glorious. i'll spare you all of the details because i'm going to post some pictures on here that read like a beautiful, seamless narrative.

so, i'm the best man and have to make a toast/speech. those of you who know me well know that i could be all loud and talk forever, but i think i'm going to keep it simple. no one wants to hear me blabber on and tell inside jokes for a half an hour. i'll spare the world. the whole thing is so strange though because i've known coates for over a decade and he's the first of the original "click" that is getting married. fucked up. i don't think i could've ever imagined that a man who stripped down naked and pissed on the capital building in charleston, west virginia would be getting married. again...fucked up. somewhere along the line, coates got sophisticated and grown up. we're all very proud of him, and we're quietly anticipating his inevitable purchase of a house so that he can have another firesale and all of us can get nice, expensive shit for practically nothing. that's what it's really all about right? absolutely.

anyway...i won't stall any longer. here are some of the choice pictures from the drunken escapade that was coates' bachelor party.

so content.

they gave us free shots. gross.

penick was on fire that night. too funny.

coates said i felt super light. that made me happy because i'm concerned with my looks.

yep. that's his underwear.

i asked him to smoke and drink at the same time. it really didn't take much convincing either.

you guessed it. ending the night in a wheelchair. this one's my favorite...hands down.

cross it off.

2008-05-01T09:49:00.000-07:00

i make lists. if you know me well, then this shouldn't really be much of a surprise. it's one of my neurotic tendencies. i sincerely enjoy constructing a long list of tasks to complete over a week or two. it makes me feel accomplished when i can cross off something from one of my many lists. i may draw a line through "trader joe's" or "new shoes" or "mother's day." it's how i get shit done. my mind is always moving a thousand miles a second because i've got so much shit to do, and the lists will destroy me if i can't come through. well, not really...

i only mention this because as many of you know, i recently shifted more midwest. so, i've began constructing lists of places that i need to frequent (bars, bookstores, thrift stores, movie theaters, etc.) and most importantly, food that i need to eat. now, i had visited chicago many, many times before i moved up here. my best friend growing up used to live here, so i'd spend months up here in the summer. it's different, though, because you're kind of at the mercy of that person to take you where he or she feels is most appropriate, which is all fine and dandy. however, now that i am able to dictate everything i do all the time (kind of), it's been fantastic to taste different parts of chicago.

everyone knows my strong affinity for all things cincinnati, but let's be honest, the vegetarian selection is severely lacking. try to argue with me. i dare you. the best thing about chicago is the plethora of vegetarian options, and i'm not just talking about going to a burrito place and having the option to get a vegetarian burrito. i'm referring to restaurants that are either completely vegetarian or have a huge vegetarian selection to their menu. also, brunch in this city rules. and again, vegetarian chorizo, bacon, and sausage are not hidden treasures. i don't know, i know i'm kind of ranting, but it is so damn nice to have multiple options to dine at any given time. i have yet to be really disappointed with any vegetarian dish i've purchased, but it is possible i'm just kind of mesmerized by the bright lights. who knows...

so my lists are growing, and for once, it's not making me nervous. it's a good time discovering a new city. i gotta admit it.

flat ground.

2008-04-24T15:19:00.000-07:00

i rode my bike like 10 miles yesterday, all the way to the lake and back. that may not seem like so much to some of you bicycle enthusiasts (i see you zach) and cocky sons of bitches, but to me, not too shabby. jeans, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes. nice and simple. annnyyway, my main point is that it's just strange to now live in such a flat city. i was born in the delhi hills of cincinnati. i'm used to going up in order to inevitably come down. from the top of a cincinnati hill, you can see skylines and even pieces of kentucky if you really feel like it. hills are one of the most endearing parts about cincinnati's landscape.

i was excited, however, to move here and go running because i thought to myself, "man, no more trekking up Riddle, MLK, or Clifton Ave. this is gonna be fantastic." god, i hated running up those bohemiths. i should've known better though. it does blow balls to climb up those hills, but then you get to partake in a nice leisurely jog back down them. in good old chicago, though, it's just a constant heave. no dynamic to it. i haven't decided on which one i like better. exercise wise, i actually think it's better here and not as tough on my legs and knees. oh, by the way, i'm sure this running diatribe probably seems like common sense to some of you, but aren't you always supposed to have grandiose expectations of a new place? otherwise, why would you go there? plus, i go running like almost every day. in my mind, i envisioned an entire city comprised of moving walkways in which i could run something like 5 miles in 20 minutes.

i don't think i can get my next few thoughts in before this website goes under maintenance at 4:00pm, which i just noticed. my next post will almost definitely be food related because goddamn this city has good food. more to come...

more midwest.

2008-04-17T17:05:00.000-07:00

i completed my move to chicago on monday and have been settling myself in ever since. moving in and of itself is a pain in the ass, much less to a different city. however, the apartment is looking pretty well put together, which i attribute to not having a job. oh, by the way, i absolutely love our landlords. they're eccentric old polish people (i basically live in the heart of polish chicago) who are EXTREMELY accomodating and really have nothing to do except for go to church and make sure their little community is running like a well-oiled machine. good people. i think i genuinely enjoy listening to people talk in abrupt, halting languages. that's probably why i took german in college. you can make a couple of simple words sound like a death threat. it's all in the attitude.

anyway, my first evening here i made plans to meet zach and allison for dinner. i don't remember where we were going to meet, and it doesn't really matter. i had zero concept of direction or destination because it takes me a second to process a new location and realize what's north, south, east, west. i bascially equate it to not being able to figure out percentages in your head at the drop of a hat, which i definitely cannot do. also, i didn't have the internet, which only perpetuated my problem. it's amazing how helpless one feels without the internet. i mean...how am i supposed to get around without google maps? guess? please. so i got viciously lost and wanted to kill the world because i was fucking starving and because i had no idea which direction to go. i willed myself back to my apartment somehow, ate plain couscous by itself, and went to bed completely unsatisfied, from a hunger standpoint. i love zach to death, but we both later agreed that we probably should have met somewhere a little closer to my residence.

i have since realized the glory of the grid system and feel more than semi-confident in my ability to navigate the city.

that was my monday adventure. tuesday i spent most of the day unpacking and setting shit up. later on, i met zach for dinner. we drank and held hands as we walked along the beach of lake michigan. it was sublime.

yesterday, i went to wrigley field to watch the cubs slaughter the reds. the stadium is amazing, and i was pretty much in awe of it. no jumbotron. no cushy seats. no plastic, superficial feel. pretty damn authentic, right down to the barrage of obnoxious cubs fans. man, this city absolutely fucking abhors dusty baker. for a team who hasn't won anything in like a millenium, you would think that they'd be somewhat appreciative of a manager who took them to the NLCS five years ago. i don't get it. it just seems irrational to me. but then again i'm the most level-headed, rational person i know, so i understand the intricacies of the situation and am willing to take a few steps back and view the situation objectively. no?

regardless, the whole experience was awesome. the energy coarsing through that stadium is knee-buckling. now, if only the reds could have stayed in it for one inning. man, that would've been dynamite. i love going to other stadiums, though. i'm one of those guys who wants to make a tour of every baseball stadium at some point in my life. it's all about the atmosphere. definitely.

so...i'm here now. still in the initial shock phase. you'll have that though.

minus a select few, i'm pretty sure most of the others that read this thing live in cincinnati, so just wanted to say that i miss you guys and expect to miss you more and more in the next couple of weeks. that's why i'm going to come back like three times in may. well, that and weddings, but we'll just pretend.

brett favre is a fraud.

2008-04-10T20:22:00.000-07:00

news flash!

favre hadn't "retired" before this year because he wanted to capture all of the noteworthy nfl records from dan marino, which in my opinion is kind of selfish bullshit. he's got those now, though, so he's "retired." but has he? still hasn't filed those retirement papers. still says that it'd be tough to shrug off a return to the packers if aaron rodgers got injured. still throws his face and voice all over the media.

if he's so certain that this is the right choice and his poor, battered mental state (a mental state mind you that is repeatedly massaged and babied by the media and all other football kingpins) just can't go through the routine of the offseason then officially retire then please. i call bullshit.

he won the big game 12 years ago. that's a long long time. and he only won one. i don't particularly care for tom brady, but i have to give him credit for orchestrating three rings. that's an accomplishment. ever since the 1996 championship, favre has repeatedly choked in the playoffs, which we got to see yet again this year when he handed a basket full of lollipops to the giants by tossing up another chucked turkey to corey webster (i still attribute much of his early career prowess to having talented, athletic receivers who could simply go up and steal those lobs out of the air).

i'm going to stop this now because i could go on forever...

i'll leave it with this: please go away brett favre. i beg you. leave the packers and poor aaron rodgers alone. let him have the team he deserved two years ago. stop making people compare him to an exaggerated, "all-american" talent. file your retirement papers, and go back to mississippi.

p.s. remember when favre was addicted to painkillers? why doesn't anyone ever talk about that? matt leinart gets lambasted for a couple of absolutely harmless pictures of him at a party with **gasp** alcohol, but favre gets a free pass ... ALL OF THE TIME. i don't get it. is everyone oblivious except for me?

a series of events.

2008-03-31T15:30:00.001-07:00

today was opening day, which is one of the most glorious days of the year. the baseball season is upon us once again and all seems right...sort of. the reds lost 4-2, mainly because they continue to grasp onto hopes that players like edwin encarnacion and adam dunn still have more up side then down. dead wrong. you can only give a player so many years to prove you wrong, over and over again. regardless, the loss doesn't really concern me because there's an air of optimism around the team this year, and for once i'd say that it's well warranted.

not only do i get to bask in the first pitches of the baseball season, but i also get to celebrate my birthday, which jokingly falls on april fool's day. 27 years old seems fucking old, especially for someone who currently doesn't have a job and is moving to chicago with little to no prospects. it's hard to explain, though, because i know i'll be all right. i'm really not worried. honestly, i feel like i know myself more now than i ever have before. strengths and weaknesses and all that shit. i like to think i have some charismatic and personable qualities. i can manage. i can adapt.

it's all coming to head, though. no turning back now. i'm progressively moving the next two weeks, and then i'm out of here. i love this city to death, but i've gotta do it for my own peace of mind. maybe that doesn't make sense, but it kind of does to me. the change is necessary?

out of that introspective shit, though. i'm an expert packer. i've moved like eight times in nine years or something like that and have focused the process of packing down to a precise science. i hate it more than green beans, but there's some sort of strange satisfaction i get out of maximizing the space in a cardboard box and finding just the right combination of dvds and books that will fit without giving me a hernia while lifting it. there's just something about it. it's like when i make one of my many lists of things to do and methodically cross off the tasks as i complete them. i get complete satisfaction from drawing a line through "go to the grocery" or "pay car insurance." it makes me feel accomplished, and lord knows i need that encouragement.

annnyway, this is a rambling post, and i kind of like it that way. tomorrow for my birthday i will be heading to the comet for food and drinks. my last great birthday was at the comet, so i'll make a small attempt at recreating that. my friends will be there, and i'll be happy. that's it.

ho hum.

2008-03-25T16:18:00.000-07:00

this not having a job thing has caught up to me. i liked it for a little while. i mean...who wouldn't? i'm ready to get going again though.

my birthday is a week from today. i'll be older than everyone.

give me stuff so that i can stare at it.

thanks.

fantasy dive.

2008-03-18T12:10:00.000-07:00

this is my first time ever playing fantasy baseball. i used to be anti-fantasy because i simply did not care for the idea that i would be rooting for teams and players that i would want to shit on if they were playing against the reds. the idea just made me sick to my stomach. however, because baseball is so wrapped around statistics and is such a soap opera of a season, i figured it'd be a good time to dangle my legs in the fantasy pool (plus, i'm in a league with a bunch of my friends who live in lancaster and are huge phillies fans, which will make it more fun...you know, because of the multiple opportunities to shit-talk).

anyway, i'm decently excited about the prospect of becoming even more immersed in baseball this season, which seems practically impossible right? trust me, though...it's possible.

here's my starting lineup:
C Brian McCann
1B Mark Teixeira
2B PHILLIPS!
SS Rafael Furcal
3B Miguel Cabrera
OF Curtis Granderson
OF Vernon Wells
OF Delmon Young
UTIL Jason Bay
Bench Gary Sheffield, GRIFFEY!, Jeff Kent, Jhonny Peralta

Pitchers Brandon Webb, HARANG!, Tim Lincecum, Ben Sheets, CORDERO!, Huston Street, Jeff Francis

note all of the reds i picked. that seems slightly ridiculous, but those are damn good reds to pick in fantasy if you ask me. all in all, i'm pretty happy with my team, especially considering that this is my first go around with fantasy.

i plan on dominating.

p.s. i know this isn't really interesting to anyone that reads this blog (except for maybe justin). i apologize if you read this whole thing and now feel like you wasted a moment of your life. too bad.

oh, and if you haven't seen it yet, here's a pick of me with the 1990 world series team. lou pinella smelled like a weird mixture of tuna and gasoline.

nice and quick.

2008-03-13T12:09:00.001-07:00

if i spend too long writing this i'll just end up cursing myself because it's damn gorgeous outside and that's where i should be.

first motorcycle ride today. it took me a second. i fell once but got it going after a bit. still only in first gear though. baby steps people. i let russ ride it as well. he fell once...in the mud. luckily, however, my bike is perfectly fine, which is the most important thing. right?

i went to justin and heidi's last night for a fucking awesome meal of potato tacos, beans and rice, and some fantastic tortilla soup. i was served beer out of a jug and we watched return to oz, which i had been badly wanting to see. i watched this movie religiously as a child and remember how creepy it was. it was great of course and i had to have said at least fifty times, "i remember this part," which for some reason was reassuring to me, like i needed to confirm to myself that i had seen the movie multiple times as a kid. whatever.

wednesdays are the new fridays. take a hike weekend. you're overrated.

oh by the way, i found a new job. it's sitting around and waiting for baseball to start. it's a lot more work than you may think. damn stressful.