Thursday, January 31, 2008

i've figured out who i'm going to vote for in 08, based solely on recipes

There is nothing in the world more controversial than who makes the best potato salad. NOTHING!

Someone should start a... a..... website? a... a.... a blog? or something with each candidates recipes for potato salad. And if you don't put hardboiled eggs in it, then you probably never had a chance with the American Public anyway. In my opinion.

Good luck, politicians.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

cornobble: to hit with a fish

courtesy ever-rad JHopper: Wik's list of protologisms.

anatidaephobia: the fear that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you.

anti-bananist: One who is opposed to bananas. Capps and myself.

Deutschbag: A German douchebag

pseudoantiprotologistophilia: baseless opposition to the recreational preference of people who enjoy adding to lists of newly created words

vampireware: a project capable of sucking the lifeblood out of anyone unfortunate enough to be assigned to it which never actually sees the light of day but nonetheless refuses to die

Y'all ready for this?

We need a new Monk or Davis or G because jazz is about to lose its crown as the preeminent American art form.

Right now, it goes...
  1. Jazz
  2. Stadium pregame player introductions
  3. Dinner theater
  4. Radio commercials featuring two people talking to each other about buying jewelry
I’ve been to Europe and seen soccer games. Both teams come out holding hands with little kids in an attempt to teach fair play or some crap. They take a team picture holding a scarf or something and then play.

I’ve been to Asia and seen Ultimate Frisbee games in Tiananmen Square, basketball in the Forbidden City and that game where you play volleyball with a wicker ball and feet. They didn’t do any sort of pregame introduction.

And I’ve been the Charlottesville and had my friend yell at me because I was walking too slowly and we were going to miss the pregame introductions. We saw a specially made animation of a man with an ironic mustache on a horse shoot bees with his sword, lasers, some sort of sled that shoots 2 foot flames and a blimp. And this was just to watch crappy Georgia Tech smoke ever crappier UVA after being down 13 at half.

The only thing close to this on the international level is the opening ceremony at the Olympics or any event in North Korea. And the Olympics only does it impress their masters at NBC. It also hasn’t been cool since that Spanish guy used his bow and arrow to light the cauldron.

So, unless we can beat flaming arrows, I think the US needs to dial it down a notch. Halftime shows featuring Tom Petty are still acceptable, however, and encouraged.

Monday, January 28, 2008

About a gross of days

I’m not sophisticated enough to comment on what the DCiever is talking about over here. In fact, I don’t even understand it. But I do know the only reason to watch Waitress is to see Andy Griffith continue to kick ass after 450 years in show business. If you’ve ever been to the Outer Banks, you know that he starred in the original version of the Lost Colony, a theatrical retelling about the group of English settlers who disappeared from those parts around 1587. Strangely, the original Griffith version was staged for the first time two years before the settlers actually vanished.

I believe some of the DCiever’s concerns should be addressed in the film 4 Luni, 3 Săptămâni şi 2 Zile but its not in wide release yet, so I don’t know. Don’t bother googling the English translation, however. It’s mighty unhelpful.

also there is no hot water in my office this morning, wtf.

I left my bed for all of 2 hours this weekend. I watched an entire season of repeats (Season II) of America's Next Top Model (AMANDA IS GOING TO BE BLIND BY AGE 30 AND ALSO USES CRYSTALS.) I made make cupcakes at some point. The most-dressed I ever managed was some time on Sunday, which still involved sweatpants.

All this might be a part of the non-blogging going on right now here. I know you all must be terribly upset, but carry on.

Friday, January 25, 2008

Flophouse: go Goat!

The G: but goats are our future. bears are our past, capps.

Kriston: i should think not. your jet goat is some kind of ron paul internet phenomenon.

The G: goats believe they can fly, like R kelly.

The Pygs would like to state, for the record, that koalas are indeed cute. So are pandas. And polars.

But we here at PIAB mostly stay away from Bear Contests completely. A reminder to vote Pro Goat in '08. Intrepid reporter also S. comments : "hi, goats climb trees."

Goats for the future! Goats climb trees! Goats believe in the space program!


Those frosted sugar cookie things that come in packages of 12 from the bakery at Safeway? Nast. Are they even baked? Seems to me these sugarbombs are mostly composed of raw flour and butter and splenda, then smoothed into a puck and frosted with delicious pink frosting. and sprinkles.

They are the most disgusting two of anything I have eaten today.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Bombs away

Three things about old things.

I called Grandma on Saturday and the entire conversation revolved around me growing up. Not in the past tense, mind you, and there was no reminiscing about my childhood. She thinks I need to grow up and start acting my age. Unsaid, but understood, was that this wish extends to the Governess as well.


Why is fishmonger still a word? All the other –monger ending words have new and contemporary replacements.

Costermonger - grocer
Whoremonger - pimp
Warmonger – hawk
Ironmonger – General Motors
Rumormonger – blogger
Cheesemonger – cheese making blogger
Woodmonger – rednecks from out past where Rt 66 ends who drive by your parents house on Sundays and offer to cut down their trees


Listen, I’m not a monster movie guy. I’m a zombie/vampire movie guy. But I do know that to make a successful monster, you can’t have it vary wildly in size throughout the film. See The Hulk.


Through the entire movie, the Jjbramstein monster is giant. We are led to believe it’s at least Statue of Liberty big or 39 stories big based on things that happen off camera. It’s also big enough to take the majority of a B-2’s Mark 82 dumb bomb payload directly to the spinal column and survive. And it reacts to this attack by taking down a 50+ story building and knocking helicopter circling at several hundred feet out of the sky.


Yet when it shows up to Central Park and kills Hud, its about 40 feet tall, tops. A motionless Hud should have been too small for the monster we’d so far seen for the entire movie to have even notice.

To illustrate further –

On the right, Hud prior to an incredibly violent helicopter crash that should have killed everyone on board. On the left, Hud after.

Imagine standing over a single Nerd candy on the floor. Now try to bend over and snatch it in your teeth in one quick dart.


Imagine sitting at a table with a generic Cobra officer in front of you. Now bite that.

Other than that one small fault, I found nothing wrong with Cloverfield. It was a cinematic tour de force, genre reinventing film, the jokes about character soiling themselves were off the hook and the wildly unstable camera movement certainly didn’t cause headaches in me or nausea in my already woozy wife.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Remember the Tit...

Having vowed to play in all possible weather conditions, I showed up in five layers of clothing for a football game on Sunday morning. The Sunday morning of 10 degree temperature and frozen nose airs. Playing on icy mud in cleats is no different than playing on asphalt in cleats and I have the shooting back pain and swelling to prove it. And again, pineapple juice has done dick. If your keeping score: industrial strength male injuries – 2, crackpot internet theories about exotic fruit juices – 0.

I knew that five was the proper number of layers since I’d tested different combination during a dog walk earlier that morning. We hiked through the park behind TC Williams and while he chased squirrels, I caught up on Alexandria history. Dotting the paths are small signs the recount the unknown tales of the city’s past. For instance, there were Indians and freed slaves. And sugar plantations. And sinful outdoor sex acts.

Props to the TC student and his learned use of the thesaurus. Back in high school, I would have gone an opposite and baser direction when looking for salty graffiti synonyms.

Minding the cold, I hoped this wasn’t a recent copulation. It probably wasn’t, though, since someone’s raggedy ass would still be frozen to that sign.

PS – If you actually want to remember the Titans, you better swing down to King Street soon. While a new building stands next-door, the school from the movie is almost completely torn down.

PPS – contrary to what the G may remembers, Hayden Whatsherface and Kate Bosworth were both in Remember the Titans. Hayden played the daughter of White Coach. Kate played Racist Girlfriend #1.

Rather too comfortably, I might add.


Best photo essay ever? Indeed.

Friday, January 18, 2008

even the dog squad showed up!

Last to comment on Corey Worthington, Teen Heartthrob of the Year, but I'd like to thank him for my new gmail signature. I am never not going to use "I suggest you take a long hard look at yourself." "I have. Everyone has. They love it."

Additionally: in 1000% agreement with ABalk's comment on this being probably the easiest/best Halloween costume ever. If only Fickeween was tomorrow.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Dear Library Patron: Don't print GAO reports out on the color printer.

It was impossible to forget that the Expo was sponsored by Channel 4 since their booth and displays were front and center when you walked in. There was also a 30 foot tall inflatable Channel 4 logo and a guy in a peacock suit terrorizing children.

Of all the lines we could have stood in to get free junk, the longest was the one that started immediately when you stepped off the escalator and ended in Bob Ryan’s lap. Well, technically not his lap since he was standing behind a waist high desk, but at least right up in his grill. Seriously, the queue was Kings Dominion Shockwave circa 1986 long, minus the blunt force head trauma but plus the feelings of nausea. Your reward for patience was an autograph from Ryan, Jim Vance, a certain sports anchor with whom I may have attended college and have pictures to prove it, and the beautiful Doreen Gentzler.*

If the line had been Kings Dominion Shockwave circa 2007 long or a line to the Doreen Gentzler kissing booth, I may have considered it. But a chance to meet the #2 Morning Traffic Reporter was not worth any line torture. So the D and I, wandered around had the adventures I mentioned earlier.

We was at a booth we had ignored earlier because it was extolling the virtues of walking or eating healthy or some nonsense, when I noticed a pleasing looking figure sitting by himself with absolutely no line of people trying to talk to him. He was so close, in fact, that I had to take few steps backwards to really get a grasp of who he was. I said to my sister, probably too loudly, “Is that Jared?”

Sure enough.

His handler saw us staring and asked if we wanted to meet him. Since I ‘d forced the D to stalk down McGruff the Crime Dog for an earlier picture, she said it was my turn to pose with a demi-celebrity. I introduced myself as a big fan of his work with legitimate appreciation but quickly realized I had no follow up compliment. What do you say to a guy who’s notoriety was obtained after losing half of himself 10 years ago? “Congratulations for not putting it back on?”

Actually, that is exactly what I ended up saying. He stared silently for a moment and then looked down to start signing an autographed photo. With all confidence quickly evaporated, I asked for a picture and tried to scurry on my way. But as I was leaving I noticed a pair of his old, giant-sized jeans on the table. I asked if I could wear them, but was told by Jared’s people that while I could pose with them, I could not try them on since they were on loan from the Smithsonian.

Okay. That very last part isn’t true. But I still wasn’t allowed to wear them.

So we left again because we were late for our appointment to kick the guy in the peacock costume in the crotch.

*While looking up the spelling of Gentzler’s name, Google Firefox tried to suggest the name Doreen Virtue. I ignored it a first but went back later in the hopes that it was the stage name of a porn star. Even better. She's kinda a big deal. She's the world's most renowned practitioner of Angel Therapy.

“DOCTOR Doreen Virtue is a spiritual doctor of psychology and a fourth-generation metaphysician” who believes “everyone has guardian angels, and these angels perform God's will of peace for us all.”

It’s like The Secret but with more fat, porcelain cherubs.

The same thing happens to me when I hear Mr. Boombastic

Sounds like a job for Seizure Man!

Chug, chug, chug!

I’m not going to lie and pretend I know what these two guys (the second video) are talking about. That’s for other websites.

I have time spent in Arkansas, though, so I know how things work. But someone should still pull him aside and suggest he not drink water out of jam jars like the one my grandfather brings with him when he comes over for Thanksgiving.

on learning

Things I googled yesterday: "why high people love wonderpets" and "where was scott storch born?"

Answers: still unknown but the capes/flying boat probably has something to do with it; nova scotia.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

This will be Czarniak-free post

In what may become a new family tradition, The D and I rambled over to the Channel 4 Health Expo at the convention center on Saturday in order to celebrate everything that is Channel 4 and causes strokes. I’ve secretly wanted to go since I was 10 because all the commercials showed people my age playing some ridiculous new sport like indoor rock climbing or walking. But just like a hilarious joke I read today for the first time ever on some college dude’s shirt, I got older while the games stayed the same age. We were denied entrance to every semi-fun event. It left us with little to do but walk around, try to score the best free stuff and volunteer to have our bone marrow sucked out of our hips with giant gauged needles.

1. Highlights include a comic book too poorly designed to be included in Highlights. Zing!

Contrary to what I hoped when I picked this up, Seizure Man’s power has nothing to do with causing his seizures in his enemies. Instead, he prevents them in complete strangers he sees collapsed on the playground surrounded by their do-nothing classmates. Actually, he doesn’t even prevent them; he just makes you comfortable while you’re having one. Also, he can fly. And it’s unclear if he actually has any enemies but if he did I’d have to go with Japanese cartoons or the guy who sells cheap strobe lights at Radio Shack and asks if you want Monster cables with that.

And, conversely to everything my 7th grade gym teacher taught us in state mandated health class, you should never put anything in the mouth of someone who’s seizing in order to prevent them from swallowing their tongue. This is because (which seems obvious know that I’ve thought about it) it’s not physically possible to swallow your tongue.

2. It was also impossibly dry on the Health Expo floor. But there was only one working water fountain and it had a line and was poorly motion controlled. The Expo Center got in the healthy spirit by selling water at a healthy $2.75 per tiny bottle. Fortunately, there was a guy giving out free DTV water bottles. Unfortunately, you had to stand in a long line and spin a magic wheel to win one. During the 10 minutes while we waited, nobody won the grand prize water bottle since its slice of the wheel took up only 1/50th of the total pie. People were begging the booths operator for water but he didn’t budge. Most folks got crappy pens or Post-it notes reminding them that their over-the-air TV signal was going dead on February 17, 2009 because they live in the 50’s or Montana.

It should be obvious where this story is going. Of course, I won the water bottle because I watch so much Price Is Right. But, I also yelled an excitable yet perverse exclamation that resulted dirty looks from all surrounding parents and invitation to excuse ourselves from the floor.

3. Just about the only activity designed for children that they let us take part in was the sobriety walk simulator. Basically, it was a pair of goggles that distorts your vision, designed to show teenagers the effects of alcohol. It was fun watching the kids stumble around after two fake beers. It was also fun watching me nearly knock several people over when I tried on the pair that supposedly equaled 4 beers per hour, plus two Goldschläger shots right before you leave the bar.

The D tried on the same goggles but with less hilarious results. Because her legs are so long she covered the course in 3 strides. It took me 8 stuttering lunges.

OK, this is much longer than I intended it to be, so I’ll wrap it for today.

One more tomorrow.


even I will admit, AV commenters: Sterling will never be hip.

Monday, January 14, 2008

pleasure vessels

Destroyer's Foam Hands? (Here?) Good stuff.* March. I will probably buy. Probably. Probably download. Probably however it is people procure new music these days. Brainbeam?

* I don't usually like this. And I don't like the lyrics, I don't think. But I do like the music, I do think. God, I'm tired today.


Dear Internet Crackpot,

I jammed the bejesus out of my thumb on Saturday. It doesn’t bend, my palm is bruised and it’s so week that I couldn’t press the button in on the gear shift of the car. I’ve been drinking pineapple juice nonstop but it hasn’t done dick. You and your theories are insane.

Yours gimpily,


home again

Back from LV. I did not attend the Playaz Ball (sorry, DCvr) but I did have an awkward encounter with a group of naked-from-the-waist-down-ladies taking a smoke break by the elevators on my floor. Not needed in Vegas: Self respect. Needed in Vegas: razors.

The encounter included some glowering-type looks from them directed at yrs truly (natural blonde, what), and I just started a storm of fake-texting to avoid all eye contact. Dude, I was just leaving my room for some Haagen Dazs. Damn. Some cold shit.

Amanda sent me this this morning, imagining it was narrated by me (no).

Thus ends LV stories, or at least for another approx. 9 weeks. Yeah, that's right, I'll spend a good part of the month of April there too. Sigh.

Friday, January 11, 2008

The most hyphenated post ever

Since we are nearing the Super Bowl, its time to dust an old favorite.

I don’t know what these kids are up to but I earnestly approve of anyone willing to put together a shot for shot recreation of one of those old Holiday Inn commercials.

I’ve also since found that most, if not all, of the originals are up on the Utubes. Included is my favorite, which I didn’t realize features the before-he-was-“famous” black guy from 40-Year-Old Virgin as Guy-You-Call-When-The-Room-Next-Door-Hires-A-Too-Loud-Stripper.

I like these commercials so much because the main character, Mark, reminds me of my friends older brother, also named Mark. If you’d like to verify, he still hangs out at the Cowboy Café in Arlington on Tuesday nights, when the burgers and the shirts of Marymount co-eds are half off.

Thursday, January 10, 2008


Desert filing:

1. The head waiter (Bouffant Tim) at a restaurant that I (and most remaining Mafioso) frequent often when in LV REMEMBERED ME last night. This bodes well in my future plans to eventually move to Vegas and quick-marry a guy named Salvatore with a bouffant and an unquenchable thirst for raising a ruckus/protecting The Family. I’m practically a goddamn local already. I gave Tim a warm handshake (using both hands in a loving yet vaguely threatening grasp) and told him I’d see him in 9 weeks or so.

2. Toby Keith’s “I Love This Bar and Grill.” Still funny. Never stops being the truest words ever marketed.

3. The only thing on the local news tonight: A local man just had his thumb amputated and replaced with his big toe. The commercials re: Mr. ToeThumb have been running incessantly. Nevermind that Hil’s in town, and Obama arrives tomorrow.

4. The chair in my hotel room is half a foot too short for the desk. I have been typing to you via booster seat. My legs swing comically. I’m the Eloise of the Monte Carlo.

5. Pr0n convention starts tomorrow. Tera Patrick is throwing a party at the Venetian tonight. The only clothes I’ve packed are sensible Aerosole flats (which I’m wearing with socks?) and black work-suit type things. I’m pretty sure they’ll let me into the various Adult Video Awards shindigs dressed like a 65 year old substitute algebra teacher, if just for the comedic value of it. (I will be their makeover candidate! My porn name will be Eloise. I will be dressed in her classic jumper, but no shirt! Eww. I just grossed myself out. Do you think there are people who fetishize children's book characters? Porn Eloise? Babar as a furry? Oh God I am disgusting.)

6. Last day of the show floor: Saw Bumblebee. Was underwhelmed. Heard the Black Eyed Peas on loop in 45 different booths. Was overwhelmed.*

* The Motorola booth, beyond having BB’s** in white gogo boots, let you perform Humps or whatever in front of green screen and then inserted you into a Fergie video. As a backup dancer. It will go down as one of my life’s greatest regrets that I did not return to the booth before the day ended to get myself on video doing just this. Actually, I can’t talk about it anymore, I’m tearing up.

** I thought we all agreed that the booth babe thing was a dying trend, and that we were all moving towards Hot Business-suited Blonde Professional Demonstration Actors instead? When did the pleather miniskirts come back? Was there a committee meeting about this? Why wasn’t I informed? Anyway, convention fashion report in brief: The Sharp girls were mostly awesome in young/Community College /Admin Assistant wear (tall black pumps/tight Express shirts/black minis); the Real booth went “rave” or whatever (knotted Real tees/black ruffled minis/blue fishnet tights/pigtails), Motorola did Japanime/go-go boots, Hitachi went with all white suits and silver sequin tops with matching shoes (verrrrry fancy), some company I can’t remember were bedecked in knee-high boots and runner’s leggings with tight fleece jackets and no shirt (very bizarre), and basically, any automotive company went with straight-up lady o' the night gear. I thought I even saw some with whips, telling stereo transmitters they were very naughty stereo transmitters. Anyway. Did I do anything besides check out other women’s clothes all day? Neigh. When did this become a clothes blog? I don’t know, and I’m teary again. Now, I will kill myself by eating 8 McRibs. Take that, Dr. Phil.

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

McRib is a wild taste that allows customers to experience the fun and magic of the Animal Kingdom without going to Orlando.

While driving about the city a few weeks back, the G and I pulled up to a stop light and got canyon-ed by two rumbling Metro buses. Both buses sported the same panel ads so we got surrounded by the giant photos of the boneless, sauce covered, faux-pork delight known as the McRib.

If you are at all familiar with the McRib (or the Simpson’s Ribwich) you know that MickeyDees keeps the sandwich rotating through its menu as a clever advertising stunt. Proclamations like “McRIB IS BACK for a LIMITED TIME!!!” or “HURRY UP and GET ONE because McRIB will soon be as EXTINCT as the PTERDACTYL or MINATURE SCHNAUZER!!!,” work the lesser pork consumer into a frenzy.

Neither bus ad was clear about whether the McRib was coming or going, leaving us unsure about how fast we needed to hurry up and continue not going to McDonalds. But when presented with such large and inviting advertisements, you are pretty much forced into the flabby arms of the internets and its all-tasting tongue of knowledge and discovery.

Unfortunately, there were few recent clues about its local availability. I assume this is because, like most Metro bus advertisements, these were as outdated as the ones currently displaying Daddy Day Camp images. I am tempted to pass on what I found out about how McDonald’s advertises the McRib but I don’t want to endorse this manner of schilling. However, I will share one amazing thing I discovered.

Via Wikipedia –

Yes, that says “MC Hammer once ate 7 McRibs in a competition with Dr. Phil, to raise AIDS awareness.”

Can this be true? Eating seven McRibs isn’t something that one does nonchalantly, like wolfing down seven Gusburgers in attempt to prove that Charlottesville is filled with lame wimps with weak constitutions. This gastronomical feat was for charity. The other cultural references were ones I was familiar with (it was parodied on the Simpson’s, the MST3K line “I'd rather watch David Crosby eat a McRib sandwich than watch this scene”, etc) so why couldn’t Dr Phil have scarfed 6 McRibs? I was required by feline curiosity to find out.

Unfortunately, the only reasonable way of getting hold of Dr Phil is being a psychotic pop singer. I was left with no course of action other than writing him this letter through his website:

Dear The Doctor Phil Program,

I’ve been a big fan of Dr Phil for many years now and have appreciated much of the advice he has passed along since some of his patients’ problems mirror my own. Unrelated, I am also a fan of McDonald’s McRib sandwich.

That being said, in the Wikipedia article about the McRib sandwich it says “MC Hammer once ate 7 McRibs in a competition with Dr. Phil, to raise AIDS awareness.” There is no footnote that verifies this claim and I know that some of the information on Wikipedia is often fabricated. My independent research has also not been able to find any other reference to this event.

Did Dr Phil lose a McRib eating contest to MC Hammer? If so, do you know when or where it took place and under what circumstances? I have tried contacting Mr. Hammer but have been unable.

Thanks for your time,


Several weeks went by and I got no response from either Dr. Phil or anyone affiliated with his show. I even marked the box on the site saying I’d be willing to be on the program. I checked the Wikipedia entry several times in the hopes that the shows producers read my letter and altered the site. But there was nothing.

Until Monday.

In fact, the updates have been coming in so furiously they’ve locked the site down. I’m not sure if this is a confirmation in one direction or another, but for the sake of history, let’s just say it’s an affirmative.

Let it be known - for the rest of internet eternity - that unlike most Americans, Dr. Phil is not man enough to eat 7 McRib sandwiches.


Here is the best of several quotes I found about the McRib while researching its distribution schedule:

"Responding to criticism that the cross-promotion of Disney's Animal Kingdom with the McRib sandwich seemed incongruous, a McDonald's spokesman said, "Animal Kingdom is very much a wild experience, and the McRib is a wild taste that allows customers to experience the fun and magic of the Animal Kingdom without going to Orlando."

You can't tell but he's also wearing brown short shorts. It's hot today, yo.

Gibbs? Eh.

Admittedly, I didn’t bother turning the volume up. Still, does anyone know Channel 5 had the UPS guy commenting on the old ball coach’s retirement?

"Well, Chip, the old Gibbs estate is my first delivery of the day. He came out and said 'Jimmy, I'm getting to old and the game's past me by.' Then we cried a little and prayed on the lawn like Nixon and Kissinger."

vegas, babe

i leave tomorrow to catch the last few days at CES. I'll actually be there all day Friday as well, with little work to do (i think) if anyone has any suggestions on what to do beyond gamble/eat/get drunk/flirt with skeevy IT dudes/see a show (hahaha, no I won't)/try to steal the rumored eleventy-billion-foot Bumblebee at the Dolby booth.

I occasionally feel like I am in LV more than I am in DC.

Monday, January 07, 2008


who has recommendations for a mid-price hotel in PDX? Not too pricey (lucia), not party central (jupiter motel)?

Friday, January 04, 2008

didn’t eat all my Clams Casino if you want some.

Our bucolic and Wii-ful vacation was partially derailed last weekend when the power went out for most of the day. At first it was fun – Scrabble, Pit, crashing remote controlled helicopters into remote controlled mutant dragonflies – but when the girls figured out that no electricity meant no water pump and so no toilet things got less amusing. It also meant no Redskins. So the guys shambled off to a bar while the girls went and bought Yankee candles or feathers for tickles fights or whatever girls buy when the lights go out.

At this crappy beach bar is where we met a man. Probably in the back half of his 30’s, he latched onto to us after the other table of female Steeler fans to him to get the fuck away. In our 30 minutes of interaction he got disturbingly and uncomfortably drunk. Here’s the abbreviated version of what was conversed:

Are you guy fucking redskins fans or not, youre not are you. OK maybe you are.I am the biggest fan in here, watch this play because Crooley will catch a touchdown on this play. We’re going to get a safety if we can sack the other guy. That girl in the Roethlisberger jersey is looking at me. I’m married. If the redskins get more than f fumbles they usually win. You’re not a real redskins fans. Do you guys like pool cause the place I’m staying has a mini pool table. I didn’t eat all my Clams Casino if you want some. Do you guys have some bud. This is the best bar for ten miles until Hooters. Can I have a ride home later. My wife may not pick me up. Is the game over. What are you guys doing tonight later. Why isn’t the game on. Whats the score again. My kid is a bigger redskins fan than that guy. You guys wants some of these clams because theyre good. If the redskins win I’m going to give that girl over there a hug. She says she’s 33.

He disappeared a few minutes into the 3rd quarter and we hoped that his wife did come pick him up. The bar hoped that he was with us because he didn’t pay his tab.

I like to have a good time. I like to go to bars and watch sports. But if I ever go out by myself and eat clams and try to score weed from strangers and flirt with some old hag at 5 on a Saturday, then you have my permission to smother me with my Clint Didier throwback jersey. And if one of the strangers I tried to score bud from sees me passed out the next day at the beach with my kid, I won’t expect either of them to move me when the tide comes in. I don’t deserve it.

*Hair of the dog.


Morning breaks in Washington, DC. Everyone's lips are moving re: Obamabee, but no one is talking about Bobby Trendy's candlelight vigil for BSpears.

Fuck you guys, seriously.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Let’s just say I can no longer claim to be “shacking up with some chick in her twenties.”

I won’t say the age, but the G has reached a point where she and 7 of her friends can not float a single ½ keg of Yuengling after 3 days of boozing.

Likewise, I’ve long past the point where spilling beer is the unconceivable sin it was in college. Now, as I pump the keg empty onto the grass, I wonder if the organic bits will work as a fertilizer or if the alcohol will kill the lawn outright.

Scientifically, I figure it’s a wash.

blerg! blergball!

As far as I can tell, I only accomplished a few really noteworthy things in 2007:

- One, introducing the N's cousin to "Trapped in the Closet,"

- Two, question #48 on the "Rolling Stone Almost Impossible Rock and Roll Quiz" - TOTALLY 1000% CORRECT. (The question for those curious is "Which of the following are pothumous Tupac Shakur albums and which are Steven Seagal movies?" I owned the SHIT out of that question),

- Three, coining the term "when in doubt, bet on soup," and

- Four, getting a prison pen pal.

I'll be looking for that Person of the Year award plaque in my mailbox any day now, Time Mag.

In other news, I think Becks once put it: "3OMG." We spent the last few days down at the beach, making Miis and drinking a keg and bad chardonnay and falling asleep on the couch at 12:15 on New Years (me) and wearing sweatpants and eating lasagna and 1000 pounds of cookies and oh my god the eating and reading a book about mountain survivalists and inventing a new drinking game called "blergball." I'm really bad at the wii tennis, yo. And we didn't have power for the first day! It was cold! We were like beach pioneers!

I'm looking forward to this whole new year/new me thing, I think. 29 was pretty okay I guess, especially when compared to, say, 21 (oh fucking god what a nightmare) and 27 (balls. BALLLLLLLLLLLLLZ.) But I'm thinking odd numbers are not so much my thing.

May we all live forever, each and every one. I cannot wait until you see me so drunk I start fights this weekend.