"He shall from time to time give to Congress..." RJR

For those that don't know, I have a lot of time on my hands these days. I won't get into the reasons why I'm unemployed (ok, laziness), but this leads to me watching a lot of television. That's why I was especially disappointed when I flipped on the TV yesterday to find nothing but the State of the Union address on all four major networks. I'm not what you might call "knowledgeable" about politics and current events, especially since the writers' strike took the Daily Show off the air for a couple of months.

There must be others like me, who could care less about hearing President Bush talk for 15 minutes and be clapped at for another hour. Why doesn't one of the networks schedule a sweet movie or a normal show instead, just to shake things up? For instance, NBC should have scheduled the triumphant return of "American Gladiators" for the same time slot. It would have gotten great ratings, and I'm guessing there wouldn't have been much crossover between the two.

(Side note: the wikipedia entry for "Anticipation is better than the actual event" should have two pictures: 1) a Christmas tree with presents under it, and 2) Hulk Hogan and Laila Ali hosting the new American Gladiators show).

Another idea for State of the Union night: Comedy Central should have aired a live "Mystery Science State of the Union 2008" with Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, and maybe Lewis Black and Dennis Miller (you know, to keep it fair and balanced). Nothing but those four sitting in the front of a movie theater telling jokes and commenting on the speech. Noah, you need to make this happen, even if it means scabbing during the writers' strike.


Was that a Chris Mah post? Tough Call.

Cape League IS Baseball 1/27/08 jpw

I recently finished a pretty interesting book about the Cape Cod summer baseball league called The Last Best League. I recommend it highly. Before starting, I was wondering if my friend Scott Thoms or his dad (who is the GM of one of the teams) would play a prominent role in the story:

p. 9 In the attached one-car garage at Charlie Thoms's house, racks of neatly pressed uniform tops hung in four groups.

p. 17 Scott Thoms, Charlie nineteen-year-old son, squeezed five or six A's into the Yukon to go four-wheeling on North Beach.

Oh yes. That didn't take long. What a great book. There is even an acknowledgement to one of my undergrad engineering profs for his studies with wooden bats as well as mention of a certain A's tee shirt with a certain slogan that a certain friend of mine currently wears about three days each week.

Who Wants to Wrestle Uncle Kevin -bh

Last weekend I drove out to Dripping Springs for my buddy Sean’s 30^th birthday party. Sean used to work with me before he moved to a better job. On the weekends, when he’s not a systems analyst, Sean is flying across the country on someone else’s dollar to play softball. The party was full of other semi-pro softball players, youth football coaches and screaming wives and kids.

I suspected the wives and kids would be the fun police, but it turned out to be just the opposite. An 8 year old made me a vodka tonic that would knock out David Hasselhof and the over-under for Sean’s wife passing out was 10pm. She passed out on the counter at 10:20. Right before her head hit the linoleum we had a moment. She was sluring so badly even a Denny’s waitress wouldn’t be able to understand her, “I’m glaaaad you came,” she said. Unfortunately, she was zombie drunk and hit me in the mouth when she tried to hug me.

One mildly sober woman was juggling a wineglass and a knife, trying to cut the cake. The kids lined up like ducklings and as the first kid got her cake, Sean's brother Kevin swooped in and grabbed it right off the plate. He lost his balance, fell onto the counter, and then spun acrobatically into the cake. The little girl glared at Kevin, now frosted and on the floor and called him a mean drunk. The cake dispenser put her knife on the counter and pulled down Kevin’s pants with help from the line of kids.

Once he got his pants back on, Kevin walked towards the door hunched up like a clown ridding a tiny bike and passed out in peace outside. I stepped over him on my way home.

Just When I Thought I Was Out... 1/23/08 SGM

Here's a dialogue that took place a couple weeks ago between me and a female bartender (I think, named Courtney or Corey) at a bar in New Haven called El Amigo Felix that, as far as I've been able to tell, on any given weeknight caters only to me and 7 Puerto Rican ecstasy dealers, all of whom are best friends. For future reference: Always remember to tip correctly, or risk looking like an ass.

I walk into the bar and try to ignore some "hostile" staring, and, smiling brazenly ask the bartender for a Dosequis, the cheapest beer available that I could be certain hadn't been brewed on site by the bar's owner and his pack of stray dogs.

Me: Hi. Can I have a Dosequis, please?
Courtney: Five dollars.
Me: (handing her what I'm pretty sure is $6) Here's six.
Corey: (after examining the money) This is four.
Me: Uh.

Was that a Liam Butler story? Tough call.

How a Resurrection Really Feels 1/17/08 jpw

Like Michael Jordan, Larry Holmes, and Roger Clemens, the blog is back. Just as Big Daddy Drew from the widely read deadspin website is running out of NFL games to make completely inappropriate jokes about while dropping an inordinate amount of F-bombs (subsequently causing me to laugh out loud and then having to blatantly lie to my Mormon labmates about what I'm reading), a blog with a readership of approximately 4 written by a guy less than half Big Daddy Drew's size who isn't very funny to begin with decides to make a comeback. Coincidence? Not a chance.
Format has changed. It is now an open blog celebrating community in the tradition of the Communist Kitchen. No reason to label your own personal cereal boxes on this blog. Enjoy.