My Friends Are Pussies

Last night was what I call Christmas for Drunks: The end of Daylight Savings Time, which means an extra hour of bar time. Seasoned barflies know and hate Michigan's cursed 2am cutoff time. There's just one night of the year when a drunk can blearily squint at the clock behind the bar, see that it says 2, and defiantly order another drink. And another. And another.

So even though I was tired from drinking until 4:30 on Friday night, I had to round up a crew to celebrate Christmas. There were around a dozen of us at The Arena, throwing back Two Hearteds, Jager bombs, gin and tonics, and what-have-you. It was going great.

But you know what? One by one, people started to bail. I tried to shame them, insult their man- or womanhood, and otherwise harangue and cajole, but to no avail. I was by myself by 1:30 or so. It was up to me to press on alone.

And I did. Because unlike my friends, I'm not a pussy. Unlike my friends, I have Christmas spirit. And unlike my friends, I'm a manly, seasoned professional who has perpetrated several all-night New Orleans benders. And in comparison, this was amateur stuff.

So I continued with more shots and beers with the good folks who work there, until I was properly thrown out at 3. I mean 2.

Merry Christmas, all you real drunks.

$avings Time

Hey, man. Daylight Savings Time may be ending, but you can still $ave this weekend at Borders, yo. As in 25% off:

• A book
  
• A DVD
  
• A CD

You're welcome.

Getting to Know Me

So yeah, someone at work sent me one of those emails with the five billion stupid questions that you are supposed to answer and send to all your friends so you can get to know them better or something. I'm too lazy to perpetuate this farce, so I'm posting my answers below and my damn friends can come and look for themselves.

1. What time did you get up this morning?
I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me.

2. Diamonds or pearls?
I like a big-ass gold chain like all my other niggaz.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Factotum.

4. What is your favorite TV show?
Off the air: Arrested Development; still going: Lost

5. What did you have for breakfast?
Breakfast is a waste of valuable sleeping time.

6.What is your middle name?
Awesome.

7. What is your favorite cuisine?
Meat.

8. What foods do you dislike?
Vegetables.

9. Your favorite potato chip?
Ruffles have ridges!

10. What is your favorite CD at the moment?
Stolen Babies, There Be Squabbles Ahead.

11. What kind of car do you drive?
My new super-secret prototype Ferrari; it gets .5 miles to the gallon but it's a sweet-ass ride.

12. Favorite sandwich?
Would involve roast beef and cheese in some way.

13. What characteristics do you despise?
People who ask too many damn questions.

14. Favorite item of clothing?
Scarlett Johansson's birthday suit.

15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?
Greece, maybe, or Tanzania... oh wait, I AM going to Tanzania, bitches!

16. What color is your bathroom?
Who cares?

17. Favorite brand of clothing?
Any as long as it's made by oppressed 10-year-old orphan slave girls.

18. Where would you want to retire to?
Probably New Orleans, if I don't get there sooner.

19. Favorite time of day?
Happy hour.

20. Where were you born?
Somewhere in Michigan.

21. Favorite sport to watch?
Footbaw.

22. Who do you least expect to send this back?
Your mom.

23. Person you expect to send it back first?
My mom.

24. What laundry detergent do you use?
Tide.

25. Are you a morning person or night owl?
If I were ruler of the world, morning would be banned.

[Note: In case you're wondering, the stupid email skipped 26 and I'm not renumbering this crap.]

27. What size shoe do you wear?
See if you can guess it when I put my foot in your ass.

28. Do you have pets?
There is a tie for the title of Awesomest Cat in the World and it's between my two boys.

29. Any news you'd like to share with everyone?
I rule.

30. What did you want to be when you were little?
I always wanted to spend 40 hours of my life every week in a shitty cubicle staring at a computer screen -- guess I got my wish.

31. Favorite candy?
Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, I guess.

32. What is your best childhood memory?
Being molested by "Uncle" Buster... I rocked his world.

33. What are the different jobs you've had?
They all sucked.

34. Nicknames:
Ruler, King, etc.

35. Piercing?
My gaze is.

36. Eye color?
Some kinda greenish gray thing.

37. Ever been to Africa?
Technically, yes -- Morocco.

38. Ever been toilet papering?
Every morning after I TCB.

39. Love someone so much it made you cry?
Why the hell would I ever admit this?

40. Been in a car accident?
No.

41. Favorite restaurant?
Still looking for it.

42. Favorite ice cream?
Cookies 'n' Cream.

43. Favorite flower?
Hey, I'm not gay so how about I list my favorite American Gladiator or something instead.

44. Disney or Warner Brothers?
They suck.

45. Favorite fast food restaurant?
Don't have one.

[Note: Someone still can't count.]

47. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
After that woman got out of the hospital and I performed 4369 hours of community service, they let me pass.

48. Before this one, from whom did you get your last email?
How many damn questions are there?

49. Which store would you choose to max out your credit cards?
Credit cards are for wimps.

50. What do you do most often when you are bored?
Answer a lot of dumb questions.

51. Bedtime?
No earlier than midnight.

52. Who are you most curious about their responses to this questionnaire?
No one.

53. Last person you went to dinner with?
Me.

54. What are you listening to right now?
The sound of people other than me working.

55. What is your favorite color?
Blue.

56. Lake, ocean, or river?
Lake Michigan... oceans suck.

57. How many tattoos do you have?
Let me pull down my pants and show you.

58. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
Shut up.

59. How many people are you sending this email to?
Probably none since my friends would punch me in the face for sending this.

60. Who sent this to you and what is something you learned about them?
Kris, who apparently wastes as much time at work as I do.

61. What materialistic thing would you ask for if you had one wish?
A different hot nymphomaniac every night. All of whom were rich. And owned breweries.

62. Time you finished this email?
Suck it.

We're All Behind Our Baseball Team...

I'm not really a baseball fan. As a sport, it seems only marginally more interesting than soccer, which ranks somewhere between "paint drying" and "men kissing" in terms of something I'd like to watch. I can probably count on both hands the number of Tigers games I've been to in my entire life. And I just haven't paid much attention to the Olde English D since, oh, around 1984 or so. (That hat always looked so cool on Tom Selleck.)

But there are undeniably times when baseball does get exciting, when it seems to live up to its hype as the national pastime -- something so quintessentially American it inspires and unites even citizens who would ordinarily be at odds in every other walk of life. "Oh, look, homo environmentalist hippie communist, let's leave off our bitter abortion debate -- the Tigers are in the World Series!" "Sure thing, right-wing Jesus freak gun nut -- that Maggs, he's my Tiger!"

For better or worse, baseball is our soccer, in both senses: a mostly boring sport, yes, but a venerable one that still somehow inspires passion in a great many people who invest bits of their identity in their favored teams.

With all that said, how great would it have been to be at the ballpark for that final victory over Oakland? One chap who was there was kind enough to post his video of the moment when Ordonez sealed the deal:



So I, the very fairest of fair-weather fans, join with the rest of Detroit in saying, for what it's worth: Go get 'em, Tigers!

Rowr.

Da Best Toast, More or Less

I've been friends with Greg for approximately half my life, going all the way back to our teenage days of mullets and Metallica. (For anyone who wants some embarrassing pictures, see me later.)

So when he asked me to be his best man, I was both honored and thrilled. At least until I realized the awesome responsibilities that came with the job, not the least of which is delivering this toast.

The key to the best toasts, the experts tell me, is levity and brevity. So let me keep this light and short and we can get on with the more important business of merrymaking.

When I first met her, Colleen thought I didn't like her. Since that time, I've become better able to disguise my feelings.

No, I'm kidding. I'm kidding. Actually, when I met Colleen, it became quickly apparent just how great she was. And how good she was for Greg and, by extension, for us, his friends.

For example, Greg's parties showed immediate improvement. They began to feature things like food and napkins and plates and silverware.

Eventually his place improved, too. Tasteful decorations soon replaced the usual mainstays of Taco Bell wrappers and empty beer bottles.

Now Greg and Colleen have a beautiful new house together. And a dog, too. It's almost like my headbanger friend has grown up.

So, on behalf of Greg, thanks, Colleen, for the things you've brought into his life. For the record, they include stability, patience, good taste, joy, and -- yes -– love.

And for those nights when we're still not quite being grown-ups, thanks for letting him stay out well past his bedtime.

Now to Greg, I don't need to tell you how lucky you are. I know you know it. I –- and everyone who knows you -- can see it on your face whenever you and Colleen are together. And even when you are not. So to you I will just say: well done, sir, well done.

And to everyone –- let's raise our glasses to these crazy kids. To their health and happiness and to the many, many years ahead of love and togetherness and driving each other crazy. My dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. S--, 'til death do you part. Cheers!

It Just Doesn't Matter!

If I woke up one day and found out I was America's new Overlord of Marketing, my first official act would be to categorically ban any and all advertising that uses that stupidest, tiredest, lamest, most hackneyed of expressions, "Size does matter!" As in:

Dumbass Annoying Announcer Voice: Hey, hey, hey consumer! Why use Widget X when you can use Acme® Brand Retard-O-Widgets, which are 20% larger? Size does matter!

Yeah. So what's the problem?

First, you're comparing your product to penises. Male genitalia. Cocks, schlongs, rods, johnsons. Unless you are a manufacturer of artificial wee-wees, this is probably a bad idea.

Further, to get the "clever" joke, your audience has to be fully aware that you are talking about dicks. Again, do you really want people associating your product with a 12-inch meat puppet?

And third, the whole "size does matter" thing was funny one time. Maybe. In 1989. Now it's beyond the groaning stage and into the that's-when-I-reach-for-my-letta-opener-of-death stage. Just stop it.

Any agency in this day and age that takes perfectly good money to come up with this witty, original campaign for a client deserves to have its offices razed and salt poured in the earth where once their lazy, unimaginative employees wasted billable time surfing the Internet. And any company whose marketing department comes up with this brilliant, paradigm-changing advertising assault all by itself... well, let's just say I know a way said company could shrink its payroll expenses a bit...


"Size does matter... that's why we need to fire you."

De-Bachelory

Saturday's bachelor party for Greg went well. Keg of beer? Check. A buttload of chicken wings? Check. Michigan and Tigers victories? Check. Limousine full of idiots? Check. Slayer, Ministry, and Wesley Willis? Aw yeah. Naked boobies? Check and check.

But a picture speaks a thousand words, so here's a 22,000-word photo essay.

National MSU Sucks Week: Let the Hating Begin

Most years, the Michigan State Spartans start out looking pretty good, then they play Michigan, lose, and enter a death spiral so gravitationally intense not even light -- or a bowl game -- can escape from it.

The death spiral began early this year, with major occurrences of Spartaneous combustion first against Notre Dame and last week, Illinois. (Really, can you get any lower than losing to Illinois? At home? During homecoming? Sparty, you been Zooked!)

Long-term, MSU's football program mostly follows this similar pattern. Game-to-game, however, they are as unpredictable a team as there is in college football. But this time, with MICHIGAN ENGLISH in the house, Javon Ringer out, and Drew Stanton banged up, it's as sure as John L. Smith is batshit insane that Michigan is going to pummel Sparty soundly.

In anticipation of said pummeling (and in recognition of my growing opinion that YouTube is the best thing to happen to the Internet since broadband), I present some choice MSU highlights.

In Ann Arbor, party games involve things like euchre, beer pong, quarters, and maybe volleyball and Frisbee in the warmer months. But in East Lansing, when State students are not out torching police cruisers, they gather to play such classics as "Try to Break the Window with Your Bare Fist or, Failing That, Your Head."



One week after the Notre Dame loss (and one hour after losing to Illinois), John L. Smith is still focusing on ND coach Charlie Weis's claim he was slapped by an MSU player in an endearing but typically crazy-ass John L. Smith way.



And finally, credit for this goes to a commenter on Every Day Should Be Saturday: "Although there is no 'I' in team, there does appear to be a big one in the middle of your field."



Bonus: If you haven't heard it yet, 1270 AM sports talk host and Spartan fan Mike Valenti's 15-minute on-air meltdown over the Notre Dame loss is pure chocolate-covered schadenfreude. I recommend listening to the whole thing, although the fireworks don't start until about 8 minutes in.

It goes to show that MSU fans' relationship to their team is akin to that of a battered wife to her aggressive but sweet-talking husband: They keep getting abused but ultimately always take the bastards back when they promise to be better.

Stay classy, East Lansing.

Halloween Music

It's been a while since I've talked about the free room and the cool, dumb, or bizarre stuff I find there. This time I'm going to introduce you to Stolen Babies, one of those bands who randomly attracted my attention via bizarre cover art and, yes, a strange name. In this case, I was further intrigued by the liner notes, which list band members and guest artists who play such instruments as toy accordion, glockenspiel, jaw harp, tuba, euphonium, and "unsheathed daggers." Now I had to listen to this.

Before I give my take, here's how their website describes their music: "quirky-Goth, prog-pop, metal, cabaret, punk, art-rock, thrash, industrial, and 'I don't know what the hell fun songs.'"

I'm going with "Halloween music." Perhaps it is because of the time of year, but I was hooked right away by the band's weird Gothy metal carnival sound, and I've listened to nothing but this album all day at work. In fact, the album, There Be Squabbles Ahead, is out in stores just today.

I don't know that Squabbles is something I would listen to on a regular basis, but there are some really cool and interesting songs on here, among them "Filistata," "Lifeless," and "Push Button," the video of which is cool in a Tim Burtonesque kind of way.

I couldn't help but think of Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes or The October Country, beloved classics to me, when listening to these guys. But there's a down side: The singer, Dominique Persi, has a lovely voice and really can sing, but in many of the songs she lapses into this emo-metal-hardcore-grindcore-whateverthefuckcore screaming that shares a greater kinship with nails on a chalkboard than with singing. This won't bother fans of such things, but it tends to make me cringe. So, unsurprisingly, my favorites on the album are the ones where the screaming is minimal or nonexistent.

Overall, a cool find. Check out the neato video for "Push Button," see their label site, or visit their MySpace page for more songs.

Doh, I Suck

Yeah, I know, I suck as a blogger. I've let other stuff get in the way of my obligation to provide both of my readers with pointless rants and stupid links. Beer, bowling, girls, football, bachelor party planning, work, freelance biz, and other things have somehow become higher priorities than this here repository of drivel from my addled brain.

I've let you down, and you should know I feel just terrible.


Mel 2 is pretty cute, though.

But to prove that I'm still here and posting and stuff, here's this video I know you'll enjoy. It's what happens when a turtle bitch don't give it up to a male mackdaddy: He bust a cap in her shell. (Thanks Grr.)