Running Bases...

When I was younger we used to play a game on my block called "Running Bases". In retrospect, it was a pretty stupid game, but I remember playing it a lot. The rules were simple. There were two bases. Two people would throw a ball (usually a tennis or whiffle ball, but occassionally a baseball) back and forth while the other kids would try and run between the bases without being tagged. The ballsier kids would try and run back and forth as much as possible. The lamer kids would wait until there was a bad throw and then run. There was always some nerd who would camp out on one of the bases with their arms crossed and when the "thrower" at his base would throw, he'd take his foot off the base and then quickly put it back when the ball was thrown back. There wasn't any real point to the game other than to expend energy. My question is whether this was a game we only played in my neighborhood (Frank, Phil, and Grant-did you guys play this?). Do people outside of the midwest remember playing a game like this or am I just adding to the mounting list of evidence that midwesterners are hayseeds?

For The Record...

Henceforth, I shall cease to refer to you as "Chachi" and instead refer to you as "Bob Loblaw", one of the greatest television names ever invented.

I just finished working my way through the DVDs of this series. Like "The Sopranos", I didn't watch it in its original run. To those of you who loved this show, I'm sorry. I was wrong.

Man, a Zmed post AND a Baio post in the same day. Creepy...

Obscure Punctuation...

This is an Interrobang. I had no idea such a thing existed. I think this bad boy should be standard on every keyboard. Does it have a cool fucking name or what (note: I would end this sentence with an interrobang if I could.)

Zmed Is In The Fucking House!...

Mr. Zmed is performing at the Mackinaw Theater. Just knowing Adrian is nearby makes me sleep a little easier at night. Who ever said Northern Michigan isn't a cultural Mecca?

Heartfelt Thanks To The Ladies...

One of the things I've come to like about this blogging business is the unpredictability of it. I just never know what will hit and what will miss. Like, I thought the Brooke Shields nose-probe photos would garner a greater response. On the other hand, I had no idea my first "Perfect Day" post would be met with such adulation, despite the charges of ulterior motives from one reader (*cough*Vikki). If you ladies had any idea what a jamoke I am (Frank, back me up) when it comes to wooing women, you'd understand what an ego boost you gave me with your comments. I've heard some men referred to as "players". I represent their polar opposite. Thanks to you all, I've finally worked up the nerve to ask out this woman I've seen around town. She works at the sewage treatment plant in Boyne City. Here's a picture for all you busybodies. Keep your finger's crossed for me! This could be the one!

**Edited to add: If there is a hell, surely I am bound for it.

Friendly Competition...

There aren't too many things that get my competitive juices flowing. The board game Sorry! is one of them. I rarely play it, but when I do, look out. Usually it gets dragged out during the holidays at my house. It seems benign enough - pick cards and move your pieces around the board until they are all in your "goal". However, the creators knew the hook to this game would be the ability to fuck with the other players. The other facet is that you are often forced to decide which opponent to screw over. Sometimes it can be strategic, other times it can be based purely on revenge. I also like that the games aren't necessarily over quickly. That way, any deep-seeded resentment that has been buried for years between opponents has a chance to bubble to the surface and be confronted openly. It can be very cathartic.

Birthday Wishes...

Today is my buddy Guido's birthday. Contrary to popular opinion, he is NOT a killer pimp. Happy birthday, pal!

Sea Urchins...

My junior year of college I studied in Versailles, France. I was very lucky and my trip was partially funded by a generous relative. We had our classes in the old stables across the street from the palace. It was a magical year.

Part of our curriculum included "Travel-study breaks" where we were supposed to go and sketch famous buildings. For the most part, these breaks were vacations with a little bit of sketching mixed in. One of my trips was to Spain, one of my favorite European countries. We happened to be in Cadiz along the southern coast during their huge Carnival festival. There was an outdoor market selling all types of seafood. One stand was selling halved sea urchins. Someone in my group said they had heard sea urchins had psychedelic properties, so we bought a plate of them. There is very little meat inside, but what there is is quite nasty - a purple-ish slime with a gritty texture. Sadly, it was a dirty pack of lies. There were no trippy side effects whatsoever.

Come On, Americans...

I'm not a big fan of polls. I think the media is far too reliant on them. I also question their accuracy. In my life I have never been polled regarding politics. However, polls exist and so I'll comment on them.

It has come to my attention that over the past few weeks President Farty-Pants has seen a rise in his approval ratings. To the five percent of you that have recently changed your minds I ask:

Are you fucking insane?

Are you seriously going to keep buying this douchebag's snake oil? How many times does he have to be wrong for it to sink in. He's in-com-po-tent. You disapproved just a few weeks ago. What changed? Was it his recent speeches about how there is an Islamo-path in your closet right now, with a scimitar, ready to jump out and make falafel out of you unless you vote republican? Are you that gullible? I know the hyper-christians are a lost cause, but you fence-riders better get your asses back over on this side. Pretty please? How about if I promise you cookies? No? What about porn?

The REAL Freedom Haters...

There is a free weekly newpaper out of Traverse City that I read. It's along the lines of the Chicago Reader, but with much less content. I noticed a letter to the editor that typifies an argument I've heard many times from conservatives. It regards a cover photo from a previous issue featuring a peace march across the Mackinac Bridge. It's entitled "Baghdad Express?" (the name of the weekly is the Northern Express, how fucking clever.) Here it is in its entirety:

I really didn't care for your cover on this issue. There is such a thing as freedom of the press, but I think this was tasteless. For those of you who don't like it here, you are free to go to Iraq or any other country of your choosing. However, I wonder what would happen to you if you were to put a cover like that denouncing the head of or policies of that country! (Note: The cover in question had signs visible that read "Impeach Bush", "Bring The Guard Home", and "Get Out Of Iraq") You and I both know you probably wouldn't live to put out another issue! -Signed, Some Yutz (Real name withheld)

I hear this sort of thing a lot. It is a popular conservative gambit. If you don't like it here, then leave. Let's logically dissect this: This person says she doesn't like their cover photo because it shows people protesting U.S. policies. Her solution is for the editors (and I'll assume the protesters as well) to move somewhere without freedom of the press. What the fuck kind of sense does that make? We're the ones that like the freedom of the press. We celebrate it along with all the other freedoms granted us. She, on the other hand, seems resentful of this freedom. Sounds to me like she's the one who needs to move to a more repressive country. She'd fit right it! Conservatives love to boast about all the freedoms we have here in the U.S. until people start to want to exercise them.

I Feel Like An Idiot...

I pride myself on my knowledge of pop culture and recognizing obscure actors and their roles. Actually, I take that back. I guess I'm not proud because it's nothing to be proud of. Let's just say I'm confident in my abilities. "Animal House" has been playing on the movie channels lately. I hadn't seen the uncut version in a while and there was nothing else on, so I watched it. I kept thinking that Pinto's 13-year-old girlfriend looked a lot like Maggie, Noonan's girlfriend in "Caddyshack". My suspicions were confirmed by IMDb.com. Her name is Sarah Holcomb. It says that she had a drug problem and quit acting. I'm embarassed not to have noticed this earlier. I'm gonna blame it on the fact that I was distracted by her flawless Scottish accent (Tanks for nuttin'!). Let the ridicule begin...

A Perfect Day In The Future, Part Two...

In my last entry of this kind, I won (and quickly lost) the admiration of some of my female readers with my description of a perfect day spent with a still fictional wife and kids. It relied upon both my ability to find a suitable wife AND the potency of my sperm. This entry relies on a different set of circumstances: that some of my friends and I remain single AND that we get our thumbs out of our butts and make enough money to afford the following venture.

In an area along the northern shore of Lake Huron, there are many small islands, some of which can be found for sale at any given time. Due to a mounting frustration with U.S. foreign and domestic policy, my friends and I have dreamt what it would be like to pool our money and buy one of these islands, preferably one that straddles the Canadian border. Once the deal was made, we would declare our island a sovereign nation and ask that we be allowed to secede. I don't imagine there being any problem with this (don't forget, it's a dream). Our new nation will have one law, one that should be familiar to all - the Golden Rule. There will be no prohibitions of any kind. If you want to cook your heroin with a burning flag, so be it. If you want to marry a llama, who are we to judge? We will be a self-sufficient nation. This dream has more to do with a situation than a single event, but since we're dealing with one day, here's what it might look like:

• Wake up.
• Take a dump.
• Have a beer as I walk through the woods, foraging for nuts and berries.
• Come back to the house and watch a rerun of Dawson's Creek.
• Sit outside on a big rock in the sun and do some woodcarving (or, as my southern readers call it - whittling).
• Cook a frozen pizza for lunch.
• Finish a tough New York Times crossword puzzle.
• Chop firewood.
• Take the kayak out for a spin.
• Return to find my friends have grilled up various types of meat.
• Watch Jeopardy.
• Watch the sunset from a hot tub.
• Fall asleep in the kind of bed that is so comfortable that it becomes a part of you.

Granted, this one may be a tad more far-fetched than the last one. Another dream deals with a Costa Rican banana plantation, but we'll talk about that another time...

Sleeping Pants...

I can't say enough about these. As important a fashion innovation as the little black dress. The soft caress and soothing toastiness of flannel makes these a wardrobe must for any northerner. For the record, they are NOT pajamas. Pajamas are for women and little kids.

Michelle Corleone?...

I saw this somewhere on the internets. It's not so much the ice cream stain that caught my eye, but Mr. Pacino's appearance. When was it that he morphed into Selma Diamond from "Night Court"?

Fox News Roll Call: Brit Hume...

• Stupid name: Check.
• Head the size of a bison's: Check.
• Standard issue conservative helmet haircut: Check.
• Talks like he's got a mouthful of marbles: Check.
• Condescendingly parrots every last Republican talking point: Check-a-roony.
• Every opinion offered is like a stank turd falling into a vat of rotten onions: Checkity Check.
  

This guy was genetically engineered to helm Fox News.

Guesses At What's Being Said Here...

• "So, wait a sec. When the big hand is on six and the little hand is between four and five, what does that mean again?"
• "Wow! Twenty seconds without invoking 'nine-eleven'. That's a new record!"
• "Dick, Davey & Goliath comes on in five minutes. Could we go over that new terrah threat some other time?"
• "I told you to get the watch that has Pac-Man on it. Now I get to play and you don't, sucker!"
• "T-minus 30 seconds before the whole shithouse goes up in flames!"
• "No, Mr. President. You see, Animal House is just a movie. Just because Otter and Bluto synchronized their watches doesn't mean we have to, too."
• "3:00! Time for Ho-hos!"
• "Looking at my watch, I can't help thinking what a simple-minded, lying, moron fuck I am. That ever happened to you?"
  

Feel free to add your own...

Twenty Bucks The Shields Girl Picks Her Nose...

It doesn't matter how glamorous you are. Everyone picks their nose. However, NOT everyone chooses to savor the fruits of their picking expedition.

Maybe she's still got sand in there from shooting "Blue Lagoon". And to all you out there feigning disgust, screw you! You do it, too, and you know it!.

A Glimmer Of Hope...

Yesterday, amidst his lie-filled "Meet The Press" appearance, Dickles made a prediction that Republicans will retain both houses of Congress in the next election. Thankfully, nothing he says ever actually happens (greeted as liberators, last throes, etc.), so the bums might get thrown out after all.

Doesn't this guy's face exude love and compassion?

A Grocery Heads-Up...

I might be way behind on this one. The supermarkets where I live are about half the size of those around big cities, so our selection is often limited. I've always loved Drumsticks. I've now found an excellent twist on this dessert favorite - Drumstick Ice Cream. It's made by Edy's and it's vanilla ice cream with little chunks of Drumsticks blended in - cone, chocolate, and peanut. It's fucking good.

Must fight urge to comment on significance of the day...

Some Red Meat For My Male Readers...

To start with, I got pummelled in fantasy football. If LaMont Jordan of Oakland scores more than 62 points (210 yards rushing and 7 TDs?) in tonight's game, I'm golden, but chances are extremely slim.

In other news, the mighty, mighty Chicago Bears went into Lambeau and man-handled the Packers of Green Bay. They gave Brett "I should've retired" Favre his first career shut-out. In Lambeau. On opening day. Playing THE BEARS. Most of you probably don't realize the significance, but my fellow lifelong Bear fans who know about the rivalry understand.

On a separate note, I noticed the refs have new uniforms this season. What this means is some knucklehead said, "Hey, you know, we're really missing out on those potential fans that haven't been tuning in because they don't like the referee's jerseys." Referee's should not be cool in any way. Ref's should fade into the background. They should look like what they are - complete lame-os.

To the ladies: I'm sorry for the lack of romance in this post, but stay tuned...

A Perfect Day In The Future, Part One...

I spend a lot of time on this blog grousing about the state of the humanity. That doesn't mean I don't have dreams for the future. Notice I say "dreams" - plural. You see, I have many dreams based on many different contingencies. I'd rather not lock myself into the pursuit of one dream. Here is one of them:

The location is some secluded lake, maybe in the mountains. I'm thinking somewhere like British Columbia. I have friends there and they really love it. I think Canada would be a good fit for me, but it could also be a lake in Vermont, upstate New York, or even here in Michigan. I am sitting on an Adirondack chair on a stone patio under a natural canopy of pine boughs, looking out towards a glassy lake that reflects the forested opposite shore. There is a green lawn that ends and becomes a sandy beach. There are no boats other than a couple of kayaks pulled up on the shore. There is also a long, narrow pier that reaches out into the lake. Sitting next to me is a wife whose face is not yet discernable. We are watching our two kids, a boy and a girl, who have just reached the age when they feel brave enough to jump off the end of the dock by themselves. They cannot get enough of this newly discovered activity. I put my hand above my eyes to shield the glare of the sun so I can watch them laughing and splashing. I look over at my wife and she looks at me and quietly says:

"This is fucking awesome."

I laugh in agreement as we both run down to the dock to join in the fun. Later, after the sun sets, we start a fire and sit around it, stuffing our faces with snacks and trying to make each other laugh with goofy songs and stories. A full moon is now reflecting off the lake creating a beautiful glow to the surrounding woods. A feeling of complete and utter contentment washes over me.

Remember, this is just one of many. There is another one where my other single male buddies and I buy one of the many islands for sale between Michigan and Canada, declare our sovereignty, and secede from the United States. We'll talk about that one later...

Time For A Change...

As you can see, I've changed my profile picture. I was sick of looking at the one that resembled a cross between Ted Kaczynski and Ricky Schroeder.

I think this picture is more in keeping with the wide-eyed optimism and youthful vigor that my blog represents and that my readers have come to expect. It also represents the last time women found me attractive.

**Edited to add: In addition, I've added Big Orange, Lulu, and GETkristiLOVE to my blogroll. There are a few of you that are on the bubble, but I'm waiting to see more content to determine your worthiness.

I'm A Songwriter!...

I have friends that are songwriters. I have great admiration for that talent. It's something I'd never imagine being able to do. Until now! My song is topical, easy to remember, and touching. It came to me last night like a bolt of lightning. It goes like this:

(Sung to the tune of the refrain for "Rock Me, Amadeus", by Falco)

Nine Eleven Nine Eleven...Nine Eleven
Nine Eleven Nine Eleven...Nine Eleven
Nine Eleven Nine Eleven
Nuh-Nuh-Nine Eleven
Na-Nine Eleven Nine Eleven (Repeat x3)

I've been watching way too much news lately.

Evolution Of A Blog Post...

I'm sorry about the lack of posts today. I was in a bit of a mental rut and didn't have anything worthwhile to share. As you can see, it's the end of the day and I'm still drawing a blank. I thought I'd spend some time talking about how one of my blog posts go from my brain to your screen:

1. Wake up
2. Take a dump. While sitting on toilet, consider the myriad of blog possibilities for the day.
3. Wipe up.
4. Drive to work. In the car, decide whether it will be a childhood memory post, a pop culture post, a rant, a post that recommends something, or potpourri.
   
5. Get to work and comb through my daily blogs to see what people are talking about in order to avoid repetition. For example, I would've probably posted something about the Suri Cruise pics, but I noticed a few people already had. I also have a lingering guilt due to the fact I once thought Katie Holmes was super-cute. What the fuck was I thinking!?
6. Post a quick, hopefully relevant entry about something mildly amusing, yet ultimately inconsequential.
7. Spend the remainder of the day lamenting the fact that my morning post was stupid.
8. After the workday is done, really try to crank out a thoughtful post, but end up with something that is equally lame.
9. Drive home thinking of a million better ideas for hilarious shit I should've done.
10. Forget all aforementioned ideas before falling asleep.
11. Go to Step 1.
    

A Belated Message To Nancy Reagan...

I just remembered something I wanted to say in case I ever had a public forum like this. Screw you, Nancy Reagan! How dare you drag the Drummond family into your evil web of lies! Have you no shame?