Weezer and Me

I don't know how I have had this blog for so long and not had an extensive Weezer-related post. It seems in the inevitability category along the lines of the Ashton/Demi Moore marriage ending in divorce, or my NBA predictions bursting into flames like Fawkes the Phoenix (sigh).

Warning: This posts gets pretty long. I just have a lot to say about Weezer. Weezer is great.

Weezer is my favorite band. That is to say they WERE my favorite band. I don't listen to them as much as I did in the past, especially not some of the new material, but that's not to say they still aren't my favorite band...because they ARE... because of what they were, and because of what they've meant to me. (I've reread this paragraph about 5 times just now and understand it makes no sense, but upon the 6th reading it might... I stand by it)

Rivers Cuomo and I have a complex relationship despite never having met. It is so strange how people we never meet and who never intended intentionally to impact your life can have such a grip over your mood, your person, your ideals (see Childress, Brad). But, nonetheless I have identified with Rivers's thoughts, dreams, and fears as chronicled through song throughout the years. Blue Album and Pinkerton embodied his plight as a socially conscious neurotic young 20 something Harvard drop out. His outlook on life mirrored my own when I started getting into them during my awkward (whose aren't?)teen years. It made his music so relatable in that it wasn't just empty words and a catchy beat, but rather almost a narrative of his life. As he expressed his dismay over how he felt truly safe alone in his garage writing music, or how he was honestly just tired of sex, you in a strange way were able to pity his struggle and use it to relate to your own.

Chuck Klosterman had an interesting take on Rivers in his book "Eating the Dinosaur" in this same vein that resonated with me. His contention was essentially that Rivers' lyrics are the most literal of any band. He is not trying to have these lyrics be directly relatable to you like other bands (Springsteen comes to mind in terms of blatant pandering) but rather are void of true metaphor or imperonal presence. (I truly only could dissent on "Undone (the sweater song) in that the entire song is a metaphor, but still...his point is solid) Any ability for you to relate is thus not because of Rivers's conscious thought process of attempting to appeal to the masses.

This is most important is terms of how many fans, myself included, have felt increasingly detached to the more recent works of Weezer. I have for some time complained that Rivers is selling out with obnoxious songs like "Beverly Hills" and "Can't Stop Partying". What happened to my Rivers of old?? The answer: He got older. He had different inspirations. He has a family. He has a kid. He is becoming increasingly comfortable in his own skin, and embracing his rock star status.

He is actually doing the exact OPPOSITE of selling out because he is still producing songs that represent his inner most thoughts and feelings. Those ideals and contextualization of the world around him just aren't the same as they once were. We can't expect Rivers to attempt to connect to the Blue Album/Pinkerton fan base with new songs because to do so wouldn't be genuine and wouldn't be Weezer. You can see his increasing confidence throughout Green Album and Maladroit (Keep Fishin/Dope Nose/Don't Let Go/Photograph), with flagship songs decidedly more upbeat and carefree carrying into Red Album and Raditude.

I have seen Weezer twice live and comparing the two performances in hindsight I realized just how black and white they were. I first saw them with PK at first ave when I was a sophomore in high school when they were touring for "Make Believe", which was about to come out in a month or so. It was such a strange band dynamic as Rivers sheepishly would introduce songs with Scott Shriner (bassist) getting revved up to his left, and during songs could be seen bouncing off the walls, and climbing on speakers, and Pat Wilson (drums) keepin' the beat with immense passion behind him. He had a bit of a smirk when many of the members of the audience would sing along with the songs that theoretically hadn't debuted yet, and all the while during the solo's (that usually mirrored the chorus, naturally) he would be strumming so calmly and meticulously, ensuring that he would not strike a note improperly.

I think this was the turning point album in terms of the aforementioned 20-something neuroticism (via the songs Perfect Situation and Peace most prominently) to the new-look Rivers, optimism is tow (via the songs We Are All on Drugs and Beverly Hills). The albums that we see after this one are much more plentiful with songs that could be best categorized with the latter.

The next show I saw with Log/Leah/Kelsey @ Xcel while promoting Red Album had showmanship abound, however. Rivers playfully used Weezer related props, like an old fashioned Weezer radio, and flaunted the bands matching jumpsuits around the stage. Some songs Rivers would play drums, and let Pat Wilson have the sing/lead guitar honors, (He allowed Brian Bell, Shriner and Wilson to all write a song on Red album, they are songs 7-9 on the album I believe, another thing the younger more power-hungry, less about band unity Rivers would not have done). When he soloed, he jammed, and we all jammed with him. He seemed so at peace with himself on stage as he interacted with the crowd, as opposed to almost ignoring them and attempting to pretend he was at a band rehersal.

It's basically taken me all this while to reach this conclusion (To paraphrase the great Denny Green) Rivers is who we thought he is! He is who we thought he is! Maybe Weezer doesn't frequent my "top 25 most played" list on my ipod as frequently as it used to. But that's ok. I will still like a faithful sheep purchase my "Hurley Extended Deluxe Edition" the day it comes out (like I did not long ago) and anything else Rivers throws my way. Because me and Rivers don't have to see eye to eye all the time, I can just savor and remember the times when we did.

It's more than me and David Kahn can say.

Sports (sports) Sports Sports Sports (sports)

I know I'm not alone when I say this is going to be one of the most exciting NBA seasons in...well...ever. The summer of 2010 was unprecedented and has given rise to one of the most hyped teams in..well...ever. I am not at all concerned about who will take the last shot, or how the team will mesh. The only thing that is going to stop this team is if one of the big 2 1/2 (I'm not ready to annoint Chris Bosh superstardom just yet, although I do think he will have a very productive fantasy season given that teams will in no way be able to game plan for him) is injuries.



People seem to forgotten amid "The decision" and the never can be overused line, especially with a tone that implies a less than clean connotation, "taking my talents to south beach", is just how talented the man is. The over under a team that won 61 games last year, that lost its four last games of the year because they rested players/did not care/Mike Brown's corpse was "coaching", having only appreciably lost one player is 30 1/2!! 30 1/2! The astute minds in Vegas whose only job is to analyze this stuff (bless their hearts) say Lebron is worth at least 30 wins to that Cleveland team. Now put that monster on a team with Dwayne Wade (who is admittedly more fragile than Robin Williams in any role that he grows a beard for) and Chris Bosh, who may or may not have came out of that dudes stomach in "Alien." Look Out World!!


Only Boston (because of the Big 3, Rondo, lotta bulk in the frontcourt in the O'Neals) and The Lakers (because of the mamba, and Wallace, Chris) I'm still so upset over the Paul Gasol giveaway- Why Chris Wallace?!? Why?? Did Jerry Buss hurt you? Show us where he touched you! This is a safe place Chris Wallace! (building on previous Robin Williams humor) It's not your fault! It's not your fault! Its..not..your...fault.....

Whew, for that its worth I have a few bold calls:


1) The worst team in the league will be the Raptors. I mean, can you even name a player on this team? And don't you dare say William H Macy because Jurassic Park jokes will not be tolerated!

Plus It's just fun to laugh at Canada isn't it? (I'm not including the Wolves in this prediction, I can't think rationally about them)


2) The Clippers will make the playoffs this year. Just you wait.


3) David Kahn will take off a mask to reveal he is actually a cyborg from the future who had to ensure the Wolves would never win a championship to save the world in 2420.


4) Al Jefferson puts up a 20/10 and the Jazz are a 3 seed in the West. Everyone wonders aloud why "David Kahn" would trade him for 2 future first round picks that will likely be in the 16-22 pick range and a man named Kosta.


5) Greg Oden stays healthy all year. Then reveals he is actually 57 years old to get a discount on his grand slam at Dennys.


And some not-so-bold predictions:

1) Sebastian Telfair and Luke Rindour get into a "who is the biggest defensive liability at the PG position in the NBA" fight. Both win, meaning nobody wins.


2) Darko Milicic panics and starts waving a towel around madly on the bench, until it is revealed he has been brainwashed by Mark Madsen who gets a standing ovation at the Target Center for making Darko borderline useful.


3) Larry Bird and Jerry Sloan get into a "who likes white basketball players more" fight. But end up becoming best friends and crime fighting ninjas. (You'll thank me later Spielberg)


4) A tree will fall in the forest, and nobody will be around to hear it fall.


5)And the least bold call of all- The Timberwolves will be a lottery team, and will not move up in draft position from their projected lottery slot (sigh)

Now, if you'll excuse me Jenn Sterger is expecting a picture message from me any minute now.

Brett Favre does not think Jenn Sterger jokes are funny.

PK's Song

To death do us part, in sickness and health, and for better or for worse. These statements are the backbone of any marriage. I personally took these vows when I was 6 years old and my father took me to my first Twins game. Stuck in the prime of their disastrous run of the 90's (editors note: let's proclaim this the "Jeff Reboulet" era), the Twins became my one true love. Regardless of result, the way they played the game with hustle desire and passion capitivated me and won my respect and my heart.

I stuck with them through the contraction era, where on more than one occasion there were more promotional giveaways than fans to give them to, nonetheless I stood by my floundering team with steadfast adoration. Then, finally, in 2002 my beloved losers made the playoffs and made believers out of a state that had rejected them for nearly a decade. They became a true team at the hands of the "Soul Patrol" and the undying arm of Brad Radke only to fall to the (Editor's censor...involves coitus except with the the anus.... and a few expletives) clutches of the rally monkey and eventual world series champion Angels. For the next seven years I watched the Twins continue to be built around fundamentals and a never-say -die attitude that gave them national accolades. I have never once questioned the attitude or desire of the men in the "Twin Stripes" until last night.

After a thrilling (thankfully only) 162 game season in which they lost an MVP and still battled their way to 90+ wins and a division title, the Twins I have grown to love faltered. After losing two hard fought games at the new Target Field, the Twins ran out one of the most embarassing and gutless performances I have ever witnessed. At Yankee Stadium, one of the most hostile stadiums known to sport, the Twins failed to rise to the challenge of not only representing the State they call home but also themselves. I, like many of you, watched as each Twin complacently took uninspired plate appearances that led to minimal productivity throughout the night.

After Jorge Posada singled in the first run on a (very) poorly located pitch by Brian Duensing, the already deflated dugout collapsed for good. That one run might as well have been ten the way they were carrying themselves the rest of the evening. Every single one of those players should be embarassed for the way they approached that game.

As it were, this love of mine for the Twins can't be broken by another tragic postseason meltdown. The beauty of baseball is that in several months players will report to spring training and that endless pursuit for a title will begin again. But until then each fan in Twins Territory will be left with a sour taste in their mouths, repeating the mantra made famous by the Chicago Cubs, "There is always next year."

-Peter Kelly

If you've seen this man, ask him where he goes during the Postseason

So Many October Jottings, Such Little Time..

I was mingling with some females in the library the other day when I struck up a conversation regarding their penmanship. I was complimentary, marveling that such pristine and crisp words could actually spawn from another person's hand. They shrugged it off, but I grabbed my notebook so we could consider the two handwritings in parallel. They stood by their indifference, one even suggesting that she had decidedly poor handwriting. I argued all girls have absurdly good penmanship and to compare herself to some unattainable caligraphy type level is absurd.

I proclaim this admittedly long winded and unnecessary story to all the land to make this broader point: (Which I shall do in one of those old awesome real men of genius commercial styles, you're welcome world)

Here's to you, every man who ever existed. Your slobbery and overall nonchalance towards manners, etiquette, and really just common decency has set the bar so low for future males that any act of cleanliness or neatness is considered a minor miracle unto itself. You have done this so well, men of old, that even after confronted by my, lets face it, comically and extraordinarily awful attempt at what could even be considered documented English in words with one's own hand, a female thought her concise and reasonable etchings were subpar.

The bar isn't just low, there is no bar. So a drink to you, every man who has ever existed. Thank you for making sure the world doesn't just expect so little from me, but from the fightin' Y chromosomes everywhere.

(No attempt at a transition)

I was watching some of the NATIONAL FOOTBALL LEAGUE (channeling my inner Ron Jawarski) the other day and I saw something that continues to irk me every time it happens, which is more frequently than the amount of times Renee Zellweger has been mistaken for a swamp troll while you've been reading this, but I digress.

It is when the little white 145 lb referee feels obligated to stand in front of the return man after he takes a knee on the kickoff, his arms flailing madly in the air to promote peace. Every human being in the stadium has seen this man kneel, and nobody has or is ever going to tackle him at this time. But he takes in upon himself to go secret service on this dudes ass with more passion and vigor than Sinbad in "First Kid" (Oh no he didn't (other hypothetical sassy person) Oh yes he did!!!) -other aside- Sinbad's finist hour no doubt- go to 4:25 secondish http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e339GJ3Wgd8

Lets get real, 63 year old line judge with high blood pressure and an artificial hip, if one of the specimens currently sprinting toward you were to even accidently graze your shoulder we might have to decide whether or not to pull the plug on your old ass (Must....resist...Terry...Schiavo....joke...too....soon....).

So stop it, just stop it. You throw your little yellow flag, and I'll yell at my TV screen until I see the replay and reluctantly agree that Phil Loadholt did indeed commit yet another holding penalty and that will be the end of it.

If you see this man- play dead, for if you attempt to run past him, there is a 15% he will escort you to your destination like a gentleman, but an 85% chance he will claw at your jersey from an awkward angle then tackle you, rendering you unable to get past him...LOADHOLT!!!!

If I Wrote for The Onion....

David Kahn, lawyer, former sportswriter and current GM of the Minnesota Timberwolves is flaunting his intellect in other facets of life, well outside the sports world. The former Indiana Pacers GM known most prominently for, during his time with Indiana, architecting a draft day trade to secure point guard Jamaal Tinsley from the Atlanta Hawks, has made his presence felt throughout the community in his humble Oregon town.

Most recently Kahn was seen relentlessly polishing his new acquisition, a 2004 Kia Optima, which he received after he traded in his 2009 Acura MDX SUV and $3000 cash. The dealership later commented that they were more than willing to do the trade straight up, but Kahn insisted on throwing in the extra money to “seal the deal.”

The salesman whom Kahn predominantly dealt with during his 3 hours at the Portland Kia dealership, Alan Schierbeck, didn’t mind the encounter on the whole. However, he was annoyed how Kahn insisted on exchanging the $3000 “secretly”, 100 dollars at a time via a variety of different very forced “secret” handshakes. “It was really creepy” admitted Schierbeck.

“I can’t believe they fell for it! That Optima has 3,000 miles less than my Acura, and gets better gas mileage, ” said Kahn after proudly driving away from the dealership. As he rolled down his new sunroof he noted with a wry smile, “AND… the chicks dig it.”
When not polishing his new car, Kahn can often be found haggling with his neighbors over household goods.

Noted neighbor Randy Porter, “I don’t know why David insists on having lengthy negotiations about every little thing. I mean, if he needs to borrow my lawnmower he can, I’m a pretty reasonable guy I like to think.”

“Yeah I robbed Porter blind the other day,” boasted Kahn with little prompting. “You shoulda seen the look on his face!” After staring blankly towards the ground for several moments, Kahn continued, trying to hold back laughter while shaking his head, “I mean to think I only have to trim the Azaleas that border our yards three times a month for a year in exchange for the use of his hedge trimmer today… Well I guess that’s why I’m the president of basketball operations of an NBA franchise and he’s a teacher. “

Kahn was later seen touting his Monopoly track record versus his 9 year old son, Michael. “The thing about Mike is, he totally undervalues the purples. They are right by Go for Christssake! Just the other day, we did a Baltic for Marvin Gardens swap, straight up.”

Kahn’s wife of 17 years, Sharon, began laughing uncontrollably when asked about David’s compulsive need to negotiate at all times.

“I think he still hasn’t beaten Michael in Monopoly”, said Sharon between gasps for air. “He must have gotten up 6 or 7 times last game to get new dice last time they played,” continued Mrs. Kahn. “He really just shouldn’t have given Mike all his railroads for a get out of jail free card. He would have had at least something of a chance if he didn’t execute that gem.”

“There’s a sucker born every minute” said David, after his most recent defeat. He continued, with a gleam in his eye, “You just gotta know where to look.”

A really long post with a somewhat underlying theme.

A while back I was watching baseball tonight, and known political commentator George F Will was brought on to give his expert insight on the game of baseball today as we know it. I do not know why. I mean, I don’t see Larry King bringing on Billy Bean or even the Twins’ allegedly alive GM Bill Smith (who masterfully oversaw the Johan Santana in exchange for several Box Car Children trade) to give their two cents on the Gulf of Mexico catastrophuck.

Anywho… where were we? Ah yes, George Will. Say what you will about him politically, as I have vehemently agreed with him and disagreed with him on a wide array of topics. That is not what this is all about, because politics have become increasingly too polarizing and is making people too unreasonable. What really grinds my gears to quote the great Peter Griffin is that this dude really doesn’t have a clue when it comes to baseball.

He’s a famous fan of the game. I get it. He’s well read, respected, and articulate. Doesn’t mean he knows what the F he’s talking about. The problem with this cat is that he is trying to embrace new age stats, but really doesn’t understand their practical application.
He started prattling on about how the triple crown is dumb. I disagreed, because the triple crown seems timeless. Regardless of live ball eras, dead ball eras, steroid eras, or even the Mesozoic era, you still essentially are the best contact and power hitter in your league that respective year if you win it.

He went on to say that the problem was with the average stat being included, that this should be replaced with On base percentage. Really George Will? Your astute baseball mind thinks average is the problem? Anyone with half a brain could tell you of the 3 stats, RBI’s are the least reflective of how good a player is. That is not to say they have no value whatsoever, but they are a better reflection of how the hitters ahead of you are fairing, not your personal performance. Throughout his poorly educated rant, he failed to even mention VORP and OPS, my two favorite new age stats. OBP is a nice stat, but to make your stand at OBP is comparable to vacuuming while your house is burning down. (I know this is probably a poor simile, but when trying to think of an appropriate one, I pictured Gary Busey doing just this, and I chuckled to myself…just try it, I’ll wait)

I think these sites do a nice job of VORP if you are unfamiliar.
http://www.stathead.com/bbeng/woolner/vorpdescnew.htm (complicated VORP explanation)

http://www.baseballprospectus.com/glossary/index.php?search=vorp (simple VORP explanation)

And OPS is on base percentage plus slugging percentage. So basically any base you achieve from the plate is considered a hit. A walk leads to a 1000 OPS, as does a single. A 1-4 game with a home run would still equal 1000 OPS because the 4 bases would equal essentially 4 “hits”

When I look at these stats I feel I have a lot better picture as to the impact a player has on his team offensively, showing what they do compared to an average player, and how many total bases they get per plate appearance essentially. These stats are all that is good in the world

This got me to thinking- why is punditry such a huge business? It’s rampant in every sector of life. Columnists in various sections of the paper essentially are paid to give their opinion on matters, folks like Bill O'Reilly and Chris Matthews and other political pundits make millions attempting to find unique angles that would be pleasing to their target audience. I, myself have been known to watch two cranky old men argue sports on PTI, and have my very own blog so I can share my opinions with the world. What is its allure?

I think people enjoy listening and reading pundits work because it helps us form our own opinion on matters. I’m not saying we are all sheep that vehemently agree with everything that is said. But, rather, we may not know exactly how we felt about that new bill passing/that big basketball trade/ the latest Hollywood break up until we hear another person’s take on the matter. We can pick and choose things that are said that agree and disagree with, further narrowing the scope of our emotions and thoughts. Plus either way, we can smirk quietly to ourselves at what an idiot the particular talking head is.

Take this NBA draft for instance. As I was watching it with my buddies we had a wide range of emotions (having a few brews in us only aided these mood swings). At first we loved the Wesley Johnson pick, then complained about not moving up in the draft. Then we hated Luke Babbitt, talked ourselves into him after 10 minutes of banter, then were actually upset with the trade with the Trailblazers. It was only after the draft, and after having looked over some analysis that I came to the realization I already knew: David Kahn is a moron.

We netted 3 small forwards from our first round picks, continuing the streak of Kahn feeling the need only to address one position per draft with a serial killer-like coldness. Can we please put someone up there with a brain who understands the game of basketball? We needed a center. He said it himself. K-love and Big Al can’t play together because they are both below the rim power forwards and don’t anyone dare tell me Darko Millicic is the answer or I will stick this keyboard where the sun don’t shine! (gasping for breath while massaging knuckles in fury)

That lovely Timberwolves tangent aside, I was able to articulate these thoughts better after hearing what other people had to say, and molding and melting and rejecting those ideas to form my own unique perspective. So as annoying as pundits are (see Limbaugh, Rush) they do facilitate our processing of information, and with all the outlandish statements I’ve heard them make in my day, if nothing else, have huge cojones.

I will now go lay down a towel, face southeast, get on my knees, extend my hands towards the heavens and proclaim KAHN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! for no fewer than 72 consecutive hours. Good day.

DS/Twins

An interesting thing you’ll note if you grace the halls of Concordia is these posters. The posters consist of advertising for the dining services. There are roughly infinity things wrong with this picture. First of all I’ll equate these to the advertising by the Census bureau in terms of just how flawed it is. Isn’t the census something we theoretically have to do anyway? Why are you wasting millions of dollars to try to convince someone to do something that is considered an obligation in your eyes? I didn’t do my census right away and nothing happened, eventually a guy started coming to our door, until we did it, and that was that. I was not swayed by all of the hip suburbanites who were having such an awesome time telling the federal government they were white in the commercials.

Similarly, I feel DS does not need to waste their time with awful posters around campus. Freshman and sophomores must, I repeat must, (some very crafty sophs excluded), live on campus and have a meal plan. Eating somewhere around twice a day for eight months will lead someone to make their own opinions a million times over. These underclassmen need no posters, they are already going to eat there because they have to. And not one of them after 2 full years doesn’t know -exactly- all of the pros and cons of continuing a meal plan there.

I feel insulted by the posters every time I look at them as well because to think they’d persuade even one person to go from not having a meal plan to having one is appalling. One of them says something along the lines of “20 dollars for an entrée, appetizer and dessert? Not here! With some smiling person in the background naturally eating there less than 20 dollar meal. I don’t drop 20 bucks a pop at any restaurant I frequently attend DS. Nobody is thinking, Hmm where can I pay less than 20 dollars for a decent meal in today’s day and age… where?!?!???

Dumb.

Save yourself some paper, ink, and four idiots time thinking up these posters, probably getting paid too much per hour from my tuition to advertise something that need not be advertised.

I filled out my census (eventually), and I had my mandatory meal plans. Both times have now passed. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to create a propaganda campaign to promote this new wave that will soon be sweeping the country, breathing!

Twins Talk 2010:
The Twinks are in first place and feeling fine. Francisco Liriano looks so great right now. I don’t know what happened. Maybe we all just rushed to judgement (oops), and forgot he’d undergone major elbow surgery, but wow. Fastball touching 97 at times, that same slider that lefty after lefty wave over by 6 inches, realizing only at the last moment how silly they are about to look.

This is not your Twins of old, either. We got guys that can drop bombs. Thome, although we could put against Vlad Guerrero in a “who looks like their legs are filled with country fried steak” contest, still mashes. Cuddyer, Kubel and Morneau are still home run threats. And Span, Hudson and Mauer look to be on pace to put up some crazy OBP numbers. I especially like this team because they are fun to watch. The old pitching and defense teams of old were efficient, and won division titles, but fizzled in the playoffs. Looking back, I was a bit of an optimist to think that an infield of Corey Koskie’s back, Cristian Guzman (guz- MAN) if you’re Jon Miller and have to pronounce everything properly in Spanish to remind us you can speak it sort of, Luis Rivas’s sorry ass, and Dougy fresh.

The lone flaw of the team is spotty starting pitching at times (See Blackburn, N), and of course the compost known in some cultures as Jesse Crain. (See above picture begrudgingly signing autographs to reduce value of goods he is signing) Recently I suggested online that “Jim Abbott’s nub could deliver better pitches than Jesse Crain.” After reflecting upon this further I decided this was a very unfair and unflattering statement to make… to Jim Abbott’s nub. I meant no disrespect Jim, I mean your nub was at least useful, you could put your glove on it when you pitched. To compare it or you in any way to Jesse Crain was wrong of me. Jesse Crain isnt useful. He can best be compared to having a microwave on a deserted island. Sure he throws hard/ can handily heat up food, but there is no plug in available/breaking pitch of any significance/ability to spot up/ soul (in both cases) to be found.

Let it be known that is was right here that America was first reminded that nobody wins the crane game…nobody. I pray every night that I am wrong, but I guess some prayers do go unanswered (sappy acoustic guitar in background) This picture has nothing to do with anything. I just think its awesome.

North by Northwest

Not long ago, I was helping out at the Great Plains Food Shelf, and the experience was a very strange one to say the least. First of all, we were marking, and packaging Ugg boots, loading them by the box onto palate after palate. These things are retailing for 150 a pop. Don’t these people have greater needs than being fashionable? I am picturing a homeless man in south LA wearing a garbage bag- pancho, and Uggs. Let this sink in please. If you haven’t started to gauge your eyes out in frustration read on.

There was a worker there shuffling things around on a forklift, and I happened to ask him where the bathroom was. Reasonable question. He responded by telling me it was around the corner and east of the stairs. East of the stairs? I’m not Ferdinand Magellan over here. I frantically looked up to find the north star, but in vein, considering we were INDOORS. I dislike when people don’t give directions in terms of left and right when I’m outside, but come on man. My pocket contents are typically phone keys and wallet. I typically leave my compass hiking stick, and merit badges at home, so unless you’re getting molested by your troop leader please refrain from telling me stuff is “East of the stairs.” Athank you. (Fumbling for number of good lawyer)

Something every person who takes living in 2010 for granted absolutely must do is re-watch the original “Mission Impossible.” Not only will this make you hate Tom Cruise even more (possible??), you will laugh out loud at the alleged technology. The computers are so clunky and obnoxious. The dialogue in hindsight is completely laughable. And best of all, I think Tom Cruise is wearing a mask, and dramatically unveils himself as someone else about infinity times. Tom Cruise had probably been practicing this maneuver for years in front of a mirror every night, just waiting for his chance to do it in every scene in a movie.

Also, the deaths of all of Tom’s colleagues (way overly done line- very funny—(THEY’RE DEAD…THEY’RE ALL DEAD!!) are so melodramatic and stupid. The old man dying on a bridge then falling into the river, and his female counterpart watching someone being pulled against a gate, walking over there, and being stabbed by the same assailant. Dumb. After Last Samurai I didn’t think I could hate Tom Cruise anymore. I type corrected.

To put this movie into perspective, the N64 was the best video game system in the year it came out… Oh wait, it still is! (Receiving scorn of 1000 nerds who are angerly reaching for their PS3 controllers/inhaler)

Starbucks

I have never been a coffeeshop guy. Maybe it’s because I’m stubborn and have already condemned that entire crowd irrationally as hippie punksters. Maybe it’s because I’m cheap. Or maybe it’s because I don’t drink coffee. Regardless, I recently reluctantly agreed to study at Starbucks, and my world got turned on its head.

There is a harmony about the place, an inexplainable quality. I literally hadn’t been in a coffee shop in years. The employees rocking the dramatic headsets caught me off guard, each one it seemed should be shouting instructions at a pilot, not brewing up a cappacino. Ordering coffee is like a language unto itself, and I realized how unprepared I was as I listened to customers ahead of me in line order extravagantly, using words I had never heard before. I went with the hot chocolate.

When I did muster the courage to order, I noted how the smile of the girl taking my order seemed so sincere, like there was nothing she’d rather be doing that getting me my grande hot chocolate. Such a far cry from what you usually get from fast food joints, whose employees’ eyes are tired, and whose smiles are those who have served too many fries, robotic.

As we sat down to set up shop, I started to take the place in. It had a very distinct style. Unique artwork was plastered all around with no explanation or cohesion. One, a painting of a depression-era building, near collapse, caption-less, next to it, an upbeat collage of bright colors.

There was a certain buzz about the air. The anticipation of caffeine junkies getting their fix, white noise meshing with the soft acoustic music that filled the air, as though people would hear this. No ear was naked, each branding their very own pair of Steve Jobs brand white earbuds, drinking the apple kool-aid. And why not? I was just as guilty as the rest of them, and without hesitation slipped mine in and hit shuffle. I was there for the long haul.

I felt insanely productive. I felt at home. After about 20 minutes, however, my ADD got the best of me and I started to people watch. It was like the coffee shop brought out an inner person some people did not know they had. They exuberantly and feverishly talked with their hands in between sips. Mundane topics seemed so much more intellectual as they bounced off the brightly colored walls that jutted out at random places.

And there I sat for hours on end, entertaining myself as I watched the air traffic controllers whip up their elaborate perky concoctions as others studied, talked, laughed, and consumed. The constant buzz of activity and restlessness willed me on as I stared blankly at my notes, Starbucks making a believer out of me.

Contrary to popular belief Hillary Rodham Clinton is not a Starbucks employee... yet.

N Scott, Gus and Kev

Announcers can make or break a game. Bad announcing can stick out like a sore thumb, and great ones blend seamlessly into the game. But, I’ve decided the top 3 announcers based on the simple test of who I would want to narrate my life. (Which will happen once a billionaire decides to philanthropically donate all his money to me for no apparant reason…just you wait)

3) Gus Johnson. The man will always have a special place in my heart. He gets excited when things are only borderline exciting, and when things are actually exciting…oh boy- look out. This is a man who once nicknamed a white player from Maine “The White Lobster”, and when he hit two threes in a row screeched “THE WHITE LOBSTER (pause for effect) IS COOKIN’!!. Brilliant. I would love to listen to him get animated over me doing something commonplace like brushing my teeth. (He cuts towards the incisors... and look at Molars!?!? He Cant be stopped!! he cant be stopped!!) Check out this clip and try to argue with me that he’s my number 3:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgeqrYxu_YM (Batista with the caahhhhtchhh!!!)

2) Kevin Harlan- Nothing brings back childhood memories like listening to Kevin Harlan’s melodious baritone call a game with such a suave debonair aura about him. AP for 3 was emphatically bellowed, and whenever Tom Gugliotta (my vote for person who would make the best celebrity “guido”) did anything, and I mean anything A googili-googili-oogili!! would be howled for all to hear. Seriously, I think mundane defensive rebounds were given this royal and raw treatment to everyone’s delight. There is no way that everytime Gugliotta was celebrated aloud by Kevin Harlan, an angel got its wings.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nc-DV-RB0mg Not a video of the greatest quality, but watch just to hear his voice, and weep that TNT ever stole him from FSN silently with me.


1) N Scott Momaday (Not actually a sports announcer, but back off its my list)
Complete Bauss. N Scott Momaday is a Native American poet, artist, and historian, and he has the greatest voice in the history of anything. I could listen to him say or do anything. Seriously, he could read every word of the wretched script to “XXX” and it would be absolute perfection. (Listening to N Scott Momaday read a Vin Diesel line just got added to my bucket list) When I rule the world, N Scott Momaday is going to read me a bed time story every night. Elongating words at the most perfect time, and having immaculate and unparalleled cadence.

This video really doesn’t do him justice, but rest assured, you will fall in love with his voice just as I have, and you will thank me. You’re welcome.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1v0zR_VvEco

BAMF