Warning: Contains Woody Allen Appreciation and Amateur Philosophy

I first saw Woody Allen's Match Point back in March, and I wrote here about my impressions of it then. Last night I watched it for the second time, courtesy of Netflix, and happily it had the same mesmerizing effect on me as it did before, compelling me to put down some more thoughts about it. (Warning: If you haven't seen Match Point but intend to, you might want to skip the following long-winded blather.)

Now, first let me say I'm an unabashed fan of Woody Allen movies in general. Not every one of his movies, of course, as even his most ardent admirers know he has made some real clinkers. But when he's on, he's on, whether he's dishing up screwball comedies like Sleeper or Love and Death, bittersweet romances like Annie Hall, or gut-wrenching melodramas like Another Woman or Crimes and Misdemeanors. The key underlying all of Woody's best movies, of whatever genre, is that he assumes his audience is neither ignorant nor stupid. It sounds like such a little thing, but it really is not. (It might not be a coincidence, either, that Woody Allen is more or less alone among Hollywood directors in retaining complete creative control over his films.)

As a semi-neurotic, insecure, introspective adolescent convinced of his own misfittedness (look ma, a neologism), I found refuge in Woody Allen movies. The suburban kid from the Midwest raised as a Catholic may have known nothing of New York or of being Jewish, but Woody's bumbling, humorous explorations of the Big Questions struck an immediate chord with me. What is the nature of attraction? Why do we begin relationships with others? Why do we end them (or have them ended for us)? Is romantic love real, or is it only a polite veneer we attach to lust or selfishness? Can we really know other people? Can we even know ourselves? What is the ultimate meaning of our lives on earth? Does that meaning depend on God? And if God does not exist, is meaning even possible?

As a semi-neurotic, insecure, introspective adult convinced of his own misfittedness, I find these questions still haunt and fascinate me. Their echoes show up almost automatically in any fiction I write. They sometimes occupy the wee hours as I lie awake in bed, or they come out all a-jumble in one drunken bar conversation after another. Always I am groping for answers and sometimes I feel, as the fella once said, "The more I see, the less I know." At any rate, Woody Allen showed me that all this angsty questing was shared by many like minds, and that there could also be a beauty and humor to it all.

Is that enough background?

Now, Match Point. Some critics have noted the differences in this movie as compared to much of Woody's previous work. The most obvious is that it's set in London, not New York, and features an almost all-British cast. Two other things are that it's devoid of humorous one-liners as well as the inevitable goofy Woody or Woody surrogate character. (Although this is not the first of his movies where either or both of those things were absent: see, e.g., September, The Purple Rose of Cairo, or the aforementioned Another Woman.)

But thematically, it's classic Woody. His conviction that there is, and can be, no God is the starting point and, as in Crimes and Misdemeanors, the rest of the action is a working out of what the absence of a divine moral order means in terms of guilt, innocence, justice, and our most basic notions of right and wrong.

Some people, including me, have referred to Match Point as a noirish film. It has noir elements, to be sure. But because it inverts the basic premises of noir, it could never have been made in the Hollywood of the 1940s and '50s. For one thing, the Hays Office never would have allowed the criminal to not only go unpunished but to actually be rewarded. For another thing, in noir, the criminals are always undone -- murder will out! -- and this fact is intended to confirm the truth of the existence of a moral order. In other words, every true noir movie thematically depends on a belief in justice and the rule of natural (or supernatural) law. In Match Point the main character ultimately exists outside of any moral order and, consequently, outside of justice. Luck, not fate, is the movie's watchword.

Woody is, of course, far from the first to question our assumptions about a moral order, to explore matters of right and wrong in a Godless universe, or to inject a chilling note of dog-eat-dog into our ideas about human civilization. But he's one of the few American filmmakers to continue asking these perennially vital questions while creating entertaining drama in the process. For that, I am grateful. I like silly comedies as much as the next fellow (Beerfest is in my Netflix queue, after all), but sometimes I want to see a filmmaker use the medium for something more ambitious than fart jokes.

Having said all that, it is my belief that there is a moral order and, further, that the ultimate source of this order is God. But I've questioned these beliefs many, many times in my life, and I love and appreciate Woody Allen's thoughtful, probing explorations of the topic, if only to be reminded that the alternative to God is more terrifying than anything out of Stephen King's worst nightmare.

Have We Won Yet?

President Bush gave a speech recently on his new Iraq policy. I didn't watch the whole thing, but the relevant part is up on good old YouTube.



Now, I'm no hotshot political analyst, but this seems like the same old Iraq policy to me. In fact, it seems like almost every other Bush policy, foreign or domestic.

Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

Work has been kicking my ass for the past week and a half, so that's why I haven't had a lot of time to post any new brilliant thoughts here.

But I'm still thinking about both of my loyal readers, and to prove it, here's a picture of Scarlett Johansson to enjoy while I slave away at work overtime.


OSU fans: If you're looking at this at the library, press print and then go home before you jack off.

More Scarlett (Homer drooling noises) here.

(Thanks Grr.)

Just Another Manic Carl Monday

Well, another college football season is in the books, and for the sports-inclined, that's the cue to start pretending to care about the regular season of pro basketball and/or hockey.

Ohio State's 41-14 assraping at the hands of Florida makes me feel a little better about Michigan's Rose Bowl loss, if only because our guys didn't look quite as useless and pathetic as the Buckeye squad did in Glendale Monday night. Sure, I would have preferred some Big Ten pride to be represented so we didn't have to listen to another year of bullshit about "SEC speed." But there's also something satisfying about seeing Cheatypants Sweatervest and his team kicked in the balls on national TV. Yes, for the record, I do not like THE Ohio State University Buckeyes and their assclown fans. This is as it should be.

And speaking of Ohio State fans, now that their national championship aspirations have been dashed, they will no doubt be going back to their usual activities: wacking off in public libraries.


Carl Monday is watching OSU fans masturbate.

Note: Although this was a broadcast TV report, YouTube requires you to sign up to view the "adult material" (even though there is none). If you don't feel like doing that, the original broadcast is here.

Note 2: It's a longish video, but totally worth watching.

Note 3: The Daily Show picked up Carl Monday's expose of OSU fan Mike Cooper's library jackoff scandal here (You Jackin' It?) and here.

(Via Deadspin.)

Should All Acquaintance Be Fucked Up

The New Year's Eve party went off great. Thanks to everybody who came. (And to those who didn't: You suck and I hate you.)

I still need help killing the leftover beer in the kegs. Come on over this weekend and help, you slackers.

Anyway, here are some pictures from the sordid event. Somehow the cops weren't called, so I figure it's a victory.

Apocalyptic Zombie Horror + Valley Girls = Genius

Got home from work late tonight, put on the boob tube, flipped through the many movie channels that show the same damn movies all the time, and then—I struck gold, Jerry, gold! One of the Flix channels was playing Night of the Comet, a stupidly awesome movie I haven't seen in many, many years.

Shortly after it came out in 1984, it made the rounds on HBO, Showtime, and Cinemax. Among those three channels, it seemed like it was on about a dozen times a day. And 13-year-old me watched it every time.

This personal history was clear when, watching it again for what must have been the first time in nearly 20 years, I found I still pretty much knew all the dialogue and even the choreography.

In short, this movie sucks in the best possible way, which means it really rules. It's a great blend of dumb comedy, armageddonish horror, 1980s kitsch, and goofy sci-fi. It obviously owes a lot to George Romero, plotwise and thematically, but it's much more lighthearted. And features Cyndi Lauper music.

The good news is it's finally going to be released on DVD this March. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for this jackass movie, so maybe I'll pick up a copy.

(Also, it seems I'm not the only one who recognizes NOTC's brilliance. I feel simultaneously validated and bummed out that others know my secret.)


Daddy would've gotten us Uzis.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Prunes

When I was a kid, I wanted to be Indiana Jones. He got to shtup Karen Allen and kick Nazi ass in the process. Then he nailed Kate "Mrs. Spielberg" Capshaw while kicking some child slave ring ass. In the third movie, he didn't pork that fine blonde Nazi babe, but I see how that whole Hitler thing can kill the romance dead, so I guess I don't blame him too much. (I'da still hit it, though.)

Well, apparently the esteemed archaeologist-globetrotter is going to be back for a fourth movie, despite the fact that the old geezer will need a wheelchair to outrun the boulder this time. But hey, if Rocky Balboa can lace up his Depends and get back in the ring, then Grandpa Jones can put in the dentures for one more adventure. Count me in, George, Steve, and Harrison.

It's New Year's Eve, Not New Year's Steve

Busy getting ready for a party here, but I wanted to wish everyone a Happy New Year, from our tribe to yours.*

Back with more awesome bloggy stuff in 2007.

* I'm reading a book called Urban Tribes, about folks in their late 20s and 30s who delay marriage and form a sort of makeshift "family." I'll explain more later.

I Feel Dead

So, yeah, James Brown died on Christmas. In tribute, here's a nice video of him drunk or high or both on a TV interview:



You know who else is dead? Gerald Ford. Unfortunately, I can't find any video of the former president drunk on TV and also, because of that whole copyright thing, there are no clips of Chevy Chase falling down the stairs on YouTube. So here's a transcript of an SNL skit with Chase as Ford instead.

(Thanks Verd.)

We Wish You a Merry Christmas

I know it's a little late in coming, but the staff of S&S (that's me and Sam and Max) would like to wish you and yours a very merry Christmas, even if we haven't been able to get into the spirit this year. At least it's not as bad as these guys:



Speaking of Christmas and YouTube, here's a bunch of those old holiday specials from the 1960s and '70s that have been edited and re-dubbed for cynical Scrooges and perverts.

And finally, remember all our troops overseas this Christmas... by turning up the Freedom Rock, man!

Catch y'all on the flip side, yo.


Meowy Christmas from the S&S staff.

(Thanks Verd.)

My Dating Life: Or, For the Love of God, Can Something Just Go Right for Once?

In the span of the past 36 hours, two girls I like have both sprung hitherto unknown boyfriends on me.

In times past, this would have aroused in me a veritable storm of disappointment, anger, and soul-sapping despair. But these days, I can no longer fail to see the humor in the train wreck that is my supposed love life.

Actually, it's more like watching the Detroit Lions play. Once you let go of any attachment you as a fan might have, it's just damn funny to watch the many and varied ways the Lions find to lose games. It's as if, week in and week out, no matter how big a lead they might have (the times they have one) or how terribly the other team plays, by the end of the game they inevitably, ineluctably keep their appointment in Samarra.

(Note: This may be the first time anyone has used both football and a W. Somerset Maugham story as a metaphor for the futility of dating. Yay me.)

I may try giving a ring to one other girl tonight and see how that gets screwed up. After that, I think it might be time to go on romance hiatus for a while. I do have plenty of books I'd like to read, and to my knowledge none of them has a boyfriend.


This man is not me.

If I Make It Through December

Last year around this time, I compiled a list of some of my favorite yuletide tunes. This year, because I've been unable to muster any enthusiasm at all for Christmas, I present a Scroogian list of the holiday songs that I hate the most.

"Wonderful Christmas Time" by Paul McCartney
Does anybody like this piece of shit?

"The Little Drummer Boy" by Various
I've never liked this damn song. All those stupid pa-rum-pa-pa-pums annoy me, and let's be honest: Why would an infant trying to get some sleep want some moron kid around him banging on a bongo? Baby Jesus was just being nice.

"Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" by Elmo & Patsy
It was kind of funny once. In 1984.

Anything by Mannheim Steamroller
One of the things that would keep me awake at night shuddering with fear and rage (if I let it) is the fact that there are people who buy albums from the fucktard known as Mannheim Steamroller. I mean, a lot of people. I don't know any of them, thank God, but the thought that they are out there -- flying airplanes, running Fortune 500 companies, quarterbacking the Detroit Lions -- fills me with dread.

"Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" by John Lennon
Yoko Ono shrieking "a very merry Christmaaaaaaaas" makes my ears bleed. And war is obviously not over, so you were wrong, dipshit.

"Happy Birthday, Jesus" by Unknown
There are two songs with this name, and the one I'm talking about has this retarded chorus:

Church bells ring-a-ling, angels sing-a-ling,
"Happy Birthday, Jesus."
Snowflakes ting-a-ling, sleigh bells jing-a-ling;
"Happy Birthday, Jesus."

I don't know who sings it, and in fact I haven't heard it in more than 20 years, but circa 1978, WJR in Detroit played it so often it got burned into the part of my brain normally reserved for memories of being molested by priests. Every now and then I remember the priests and this song, and they're both so terrifying I promptly repress them again.

"All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth" by Spike Jones, Various
How about all your teeth, kid, after Santa brings you a nice knuckle sandwich?

"Do They Know It's Christmas?" by Band-Aid
No, they don't. Now shut the fuck up.

Merry freakin' Christmas, dear readers -- wake me up when the Rose Bowl is on.

Fall 2006 Bowling League Report

It's been a rags-to-riches-to-drinking-Sterno-in-the-gutter roller coaster ride of pin-busting strikes, inopportune gutter balls, laser-guided pickups, and headache-inducing splits. A regular Cinderella story, only it includes the part of the story where Cinderella's in her mid-40s, 150 pounds overweight, addicted to crack, and working a shit job to care for her six squalling brats while Prince Charming, disinherited for the very public scandal known throughout the kingdom only as "Goatgate," sits on his ass eating pork rinds and downloading Internet porn.

Hey, I'm just trying to capture the spirit of the thing.

So, yeah, after busting out to an early first-place lead -- the zenith of which was in October with an asskicking, nigh-untouchable 23-5 record -- our team collectively caught the dreaded suck flu and we've been unable to recover. It looks like we're going to be limping into third or fourth place with a rather less impressive 34-27 finish. My final average will still resemble that of an untrained chimpanzee. We feel shame.

Damn. I was already clearing a spot on my toilet for another trophy, but it looks like that will have to wait at least until winter league, when I hope the suck flu clears up and we get back to delivering a world of pain to our opponents. A world. Of. Pain.

The Beast from the East?

There seems to be a thriving wigger hip-hop scene down in Columbus, which some say may upset the balance in the East Coast-West Coast rapper rivalry. Especially since this dude locates Ohio in the east. Maybe he meant the Eastern Midwest.

Anyway, Florida now gets to experience the subliterate Ohio State rage that is normally reserved for Michigan. This l33t all-star gangsta makes the "Sleepy DJs" look all Eminem and shit, yo. Wait, Eminem's from Michigan...


Dayum, yo shit be up in mah faaaaace!

(Via EDSBS.)

Be Adequite

I missed this originally, but it's pretty funny. Attention-seeking slut Actress Lindsay Lohan apparently issued some typo-filled, incoherent statement after Robert Altman (M*A*S*H, A Prairie Home Companion) died:

I am lucky enough to of been able to work with Robert Altman amongst the other greats on a film that I can genuinely say created a turning point in my career ... He left us with a legend that all of us have the ability to do.

I hope when the time comes for her memoir to be released that she writes it all by herself. Then at least it would be funny. Maybe more pictures of her boobs (NSFW, you pervert) would help too because, you know, sluts are cool.

In other movie news, "director" Uwe Boll has been challenged to a game of trivia by a consortium of dorkwads:

We've met him on his terms, in the boxing ring. Is he man enough to meet us on our terms, in the trivia ring? Or is he willing to admit that he's too chickenshit to take on a bunch of wimpy, pasty nerds in something where he might lose?

At this point, it's probably fair to wonder if this isn't just Boll's next publicity stunt. Like Shatner before him, he's starting to become too self-aware and exploitive of his own suckiness to make it very much fun. Pity.

An Eccentric Day

Friday was Eccentric Day at Bell's Eccentric Cafe in Kalamazoo, and the beer flowed freely (well, I paid for some of it) and so did the drunken stupidity. I started drinking at 1pm, and finished the night about 13 hours later in the back of a van full of random strangers in the Burger King drive-through. I don't know who those people were, but I do know that never before had a Whopper tasted so good to me.

I made it home Saturday around 7pm, by way of Arcadia in Battle Creek and Dark Horse in Marshall. And then what? Straight to Arbor for a few more beers. Needless to say, my Sunday wasn't very productive.

Pictures: Mine | Mike's

Food Fight

This little controversy has been going on for a while, but I'm only just now getting around to paying attention to it. In November, GQ food critic Alan Richman wrote an article (with accompanying podcast) in which he slammed not only the cuisine of my favorite city, but also the city itself. He said, among other things:

I know we are supposed to salvage what’s left of the city, but what exactly is it that we’re trying to cherish and preserve? I hope it’s not the French Quarter, which has evolved into a illogical mix of characterless housing, elegant antiques stores, and scuzzy bars, a destination for tourists seeking the worst possible experience.

He concluded with a sentiment I agree with:

I think people either take to the city or they do not. They buy into the romance, or they abhor the decadence. I know where I stand.

Although I might add that the reverse is true as well: the city takes to you or it doesn't.

The Times-Picayune immediately lambasted Richman for ignorance and inaccuracy, and columnist Lolis Elie also hammered home the point that Richman doesn't even understand the difference between Cajun and Creole. (Lots of people don't, but lots of people aren't award-winning food writers, either.)

Finally, Richman responds to the Times-Picayune ("a third-rate newspaper") in an interview with a New Orleans web site.

My take? I'm not a food critic nor do I possess a sophisticated palate, but I'll repeat what I've said on numerous occasions: I've dined in Paris and I've dined in New Orleans, and for my money New Orleans more than holds its own.

So I guess you could say I know where I stand too, and it's not with Mr. Richman.

Yet More College Footbaw News

Not so fast, Florida. According to America's Finest News Source, the BCS has determined that no team is good enough to play in a title game against Ohio State.

BCS Determines No Team Worthy Of Facing Ohio State In Championship Game

COLUMBUS, OH—In what many BCS officials are citing as "proof that their flawless system indeed works," no Division 1-A college football team was found to possess the sheer excellence required to face Ohio State, the No. 1 ranked team since...

The Onion also reports on what gifts players are getting from the different bowls.

Meanwhile, a Buckeye has seized control at college football blog Every Day Should Be Saturday, and his Nickelback-loving ass is making some changes...

Don't let the sweatervest fool you: As reported here last month, OSU coach Jim Tressel worships Satan. Also, he seems to have a problem disciplining all those top "student/athletes" that play for him.

Here's hoping for a meteorite to strike Glendale on January 8. Go meteorites!

Only 18 More Shopping Days Until Christmas

Shopping under normal circumstances sucks. Shopping in December really sucks, especially when you have no idea what to buy anyone. I'm not particularly motivated to get out there right now, either.

Holiday Advertisers Seek Coveted Dicktard Demographic

I suppose there's still time to order stuff online, which would at least allow me to avoid all the dicktards. But I still don't know what to order. And I'm broke.

Screw it. Maybe all my family members and friends are getting crap from the free room at work this year.

Update: For you dicktards who aren't too lazy to shop, here's some couponage:

Friday, 12/8 only:

• 40% off DVD box sets

Thursday, 12/7, to Sunday, 12/10:

• 25% off a book
  
• 25% off a CD
  
• 25% off a DVD

Boils and Goils

Monday morning I woke up with this huge boil on my neck. It was red, sore, pulsating, and threatening to murder my cats. And it's all due to this stupid ingrown hair that I tried unsucessfully to pluck for about two weeks. I've had ingrown hairs before, but this is my very first boil. Needless to say, it sucks.

The experts (read: "Google search") say the best thing is to put a hot compress on it, and maybe some trusty antibiotic ointment. So after a few days of doing that, it's still red, sore, and pulsating, but it's lightened up considerably about the cats.

In totally unrelated news, I've set a new record on the dating sites. That's right: an email written, sent, read, and ignored all in the space of about 20 minutes. Why bother with all the suspense of waiting, anyway?

Stupid Beer News: Frank Booth isn't the only one who hates warm beer. I probably shouldn't be trying to date anyway; it could lead to marriage... and death.

Urban Meyer Is a Bitch

Following November's Football Armageddon, I was lukewarm to say the least about a second Michigan-Ohio State game on January 8.

But I'm totally disgusted by the screw job Michigan received today, courtesy of the BCS voters who vaulted a not-that-good Florida team over Michigan for a chance to play in the title game against OSU. Not because Florida has done anything spectacular in the last two weeks (it had a lot of help from Reggie Fish to beat Arkansas), but mainly because the voters and numbnuts media talking heads didn't want to watch the Wolverines face the Buckeyes on a neutral field.

But there is no "no rematch" clause in the BCS. You're supposed to vote for the two best teams, which I believe an honest appraisal shows is Ohio State and Michigan. Therefore, I believe many of the voters who snubbed Michigan were not voting in good faith. And I think most of the arguments against Michigan amount to "We don't want to see a rematch." Not valid arguments.

I won't rehash my objections here, but instead point to Brian at Mgoblog's excellent rebuttals to the lame objections to Michigan.

So the system that was instituted after the last screw job Michigan got in 1997, when it "shared" a title with Nebraska, is now delivering the same screw job to the Wolverines. Not to mention forcing me to root for a 92-0 Ohio State victory over the Florida Gators, whose head coach, Urban Meyer, is a shameless, whiny bitch who has been lobbying BCS voters like a cheap politician for the past few weeks.

At least Lloyd Carr and Michigan will never sink to that lame level.

Anyway, time to crush USC in the Rose Bowl. That's something Bo would have loved to see. Not to mention something I'll love to see.

Ah, college football...

Buying Indie in Ypsi

A few awful pictures from the weekend's Shadow Art Fair are up on Flickr. I mostly bought myself a bunch of stuff I don't need, instead of getting other people Christmas gifts, as I was kinda sorta intending to do. That's because I'm a selfish jerk. Oh well, either way, I'm helping to Keep Ann Arbor Funky and Keep Ypsilanti Real. Word.

Art and Beer: The Foundations of Civilization

Don't believe me? Ask any reputable historian and he'll tell you.

This weekend, the locus of civilization is in Ypsilanti, at the second Shadow Art Fair being held at the Corner Brewery. I'll be there, barring horrendous weather conditions that prevent me from driving the Little Engine That Couldn't. (As of this moment, it looks like our area will be spared the worst of the winter storm, but unfortunately it doesn't take much to send my poor little pickup spinning into a ditch.)

It's a great kickoff to the upcoming Buy Local Week, December 4-10, sponsored by Think Local First. Why wait until December 24 to do all your shopping this year? Get off your ass, get some great gifts, and help support local artists and business owners in the process. Oh, and have some great beer, too. See you there.

Tia Jacobs Is a Filthy Whore

So I have these nude photos of Tia Jacobs, and I was thinking of putting up a site to show them off to everyone on the whole Intarwebs. But then I thought, no, she's such a skanky ho bag that she doesn't deserve her own web site. So enjoy my blog instead.

All right, so I don't have any idea who Tia Jacobs is. I think she's some wrestler's wife or something, but loads of people still get to this page by searching for her on Google. And this is all because over a year ago I posted my spam poem epic and "Tia Jacobs" was one of the spammer/authors.

Anyway, here are some other interesting recent searches that led people to my blog:

• bums drinking listerine
  
• ann arbor bar maynard kick stomach
  
• hells angels smoking cigars
  
• tiki bands located in Michigan
  
• God protects drunks and fools
  
• video of couple caught in affair
  
• captain picard's homepage

But mostly it's all about Tia Jacobs. That filthy, filthy whore.

Mad Season

We're nearing the end of the Mad Season, and I'm not talking about a crappy Matchbox 20 album. I mean college football season, which has been mostly good to us Michigan fans, who now are waiting to find out what bowl the Wolverines will be in and who they will play.

So that means I'll be going back to posting about beer and getting drunk and bowling and all the other quality stuff you've come to expect from this awesome blog.

To start with, here's a Stupid Beer News link (courtesy of Verd) that goes to show it's possible to make Coors even worse by burying it in the sand for 50 years.

Fuck

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck hate Ohio State fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Next year? Next. Fucking. Year.

Columbus Delenda Est VI: Final Edition

It's The Day of The Game, and all hyperbole and Important Caps end here. It's where every prediction, analysis, prognostication, expectation, and wishful thought meets the turf.

Almost no talking head is picking Michigan to win.

I think they don't know Michigan.

Let's introduce them.

This final installment of Ohio State Hate Week is going to be brief because there's tailgating needs doing.

I think nothing sums up the difference between Michigan and Ohio State better than this video of a Buckeye fan being arrested while a Wolverine documents it.



Every Day Should Be Saturday has their "Factor Six" preview of The Game up. They pick Ohio State. Ha.

Everyone's favorite Buckeye rappers have a swell new video:



Idiots.

And finally, a fitting end to OSU Hate Week:


Captain Picard tells the Michigan Wolverines to make it so.
(Image shamelessly stolen from Maize 'n' Brew.)

The Wolverine That Roared

I have to interrupt Ohio State Hate Week to say a few words about today's sad news.

Bo Schembechler came to Michigan two years before I was born and coached his last game a few months after I began taking classes at UM (remedial algebra, but that's another story).

We all know the basics of what happened in those amazing years between 1969 and 1989: how he revived a wavering Michigan football program, how he ramped up the greatest rivalry in college football against his old mentor Woody Hayes, and how, along the way, he became the winningest football coach in what is now the winningest football program in all of college athletics. We know that, to those who knew him personally, the gruff, combative coach off the field was as generous and loyal a man as they ever knew.

And yet in all that time, I never attended one of Bo's games, and I never met the man. But that doesn't mean I don't have my own personal memories of him. (To a Michigan fan, it's all personal.) For example, I'm old enough to remember the warm early autumn Saturdays playing in the leaves while my mother worked in the yard and hearing the voice of Bob Ufer on WJR calling the Michigan games, honking his horn whenever Bo and the boys scored. I remember watching Rose Bowls with my father (who would have to watch his language when we lost another one). In fact, in those years, Michigan went to the Rose Bowl so often my childish mind didn't understand it wasn't our right to be there; Bo's teams went out and earned all those trips to Pasadena.

So I've been a Michigan fan since I measured my age in single digits. (I probably knew the words to The Victors before I knew the national anthem.) Not the type of obsessive fan who remembers every win and loss, every final score, every player from every year, or even watches every single game. Not like that. But inside, I always felt "Michigan" and, thanks to my parents, when I was of college age I got to be Michigan.

Now, with Bo gone, it's hard for me as a Catholic to try to relate God to football. The more seriously religious among us would chastise me and tell me God doesn't care about football games. The atheist would agree in his way: "If God existed, of all the things he'd care about... football?"

They'd both be right. But sometimes I'm still inclined to think cosmically. The timing of Bo's death means something. I don't know what. Maybe it means Michigan loses this Game of the Century, this Football Armageddon tomorrow, and Bo didn't want to stick around to see his already weak heart broken.

Or maybe the crafty, fiercely loyal old coach wanted to give the football team he loved and to whom he meant so much an extra motivation, an edge to push them over the hump to this most important of victories in a long and storied line of them.

That's what I'd like to think. Even if God doesn't care about Michigan football, I do.

Hail to the victors. Hail to Bo.

Columbus Delenda Est V: (Cl)ass Clowns

OK, let's talk about class.

You know, the thing that Ohio State students rarely attend and Buckeye fans completely lack.

I know I'm beating a dead horse at this point, but it can't be overemphasized how obsessive, uncouth, idiotic, and just plain lame the typical OSU goon is.

Exhibit A. The Detroit News has an article on Michigan fans living in "Ohio's version of Baghdad." Telling excerpts:

An Ohio State administrator wrote a column in the school paper Wednesday asking students not to assault Michiganians, vandalize cars, set fires or riot like they did the last time their school played in such a big game....

[Vice President of Student Affairs Rich] Hollingsworth told a reporter that, after the September fires, he was horrified to hear a student explain that that was how Ohio State students honor the team: "This is what we do."

The Columbus Dispatch writes about what it's like for "traitors" -- Columbus guys who played for Michigan then moved back to their native shithole, for God knows what reason:

"They’ll toilet paper my yard in Blacklick," [former Michigan defensive back Jeff] Reeves said with a laugh. "I know they will. That’s OK, I’m fine with it. It’s about class. Michigan fans have class. Ohio State fans have a one-track mind: football and drinking beer. Win or lose, those idiots will tear up the city."

Exhibit B. Now just take a look at this dipshit's website and go down the list. Stupid, annoying music that sounds like it came from a Commodore 64 SID player? Check. "Design" reminiscent of a 12-year-old's Geocities/Angelfire homepage from 1997? Check. Crude pictures, violence, and plenty of references to pissing on Michigan things? Check. (What is the deal with that last item anyway -- don't they have toilets in Ohio?)

I begin to wonder if a Michigan fan didn't put this site up just to make Buckeyes look retarded. But no, Buckeyes need no help in that department.

Exhibit C. A Michigan blogger explores the differences in literacy and intelligence between the two fan bases when it comes to sign creation and library smack talk. It's always nice when you can remind Bucknuts that one of their favorite traditions -- the script Ohio -- was actually started by the Michigan band. (Bucknut response: LOL!!!1 scUM IS LAYM!11)

Exhibit D. Ann Arbor is a whore. Hahaha. Get it? The kind of cleverness that could come only from East Lansing. But Bucknuts add their own particular brand of white-trash thugitude to come up with an even more hi-larious t-shirt (click on the back view). Only problem is that it's the wrong style of shirt. Now get me another beer, bitch, unless you want another black eye!

The list could go all the way to Exhibit Z, but for now I have to take a break. Or a shower. Just talking about Buckeye fans makes me feel dirty.

Columbus Delenda Est IV: De Rigeur Edition

All right, I know a lot of what follows started life as blonde jokes or someone switched school names around or whatever. But S&S has lately been getting quite a bit of traffic from Ohio folks, and I worry that my humor might be a bit too subtle or sophisticated for them.

So for the latest installment of Ohio State Hate Week, I offer up some standard chestnuts that get the point across: Academic standards at Ohio State are, um, not quite the same as they are at Michigan. Basically, I think a pulse is sufficient to get into OSU.

Anyway, these are for you, Buckeye Nation. Enjoy.

---

It's been reported that OSU coach Jim Tressel will be dressing only 20 players for the Michigan game. The rest of the players will have to dress themselves.

***

Did you hear that the Ohio State University library burned to the ground? All five books were completely destroyed. The football team in particular is really upset as they hadn't yet colored in two of the books.

***

Q: What's the only sign of intelligent life in Columbus?
A: The one that says, "Ann Arbor: 187 miles."

Q: What does the average Ohio State University student get on his SAT?
A: Drool.

Q: How do you get an Ohio State grad off your front porch?
A: Pay him for the pizza.

Q: What did the OSU grad say to the Michigan grad?
A: "Welcome to McDonald's. May I take your order?"

Q: Why is ice no longer available at Ohio State football games?
A: Because the senior who knew the recipe finally graduated.

Q: What are the three longest years of an Ohio State football player's life?
A: His freshman year.

***

A young man hired by a supermarket reported for his first day of work. The manager greeted him with a warm handshake, gave him a broom and said, "Your first job will be to sweep the store."

"But I'm an Ohio State grad," the young man replied indignantly. "I even played football there!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that," said the manager. "Here, give me the broom; I'd better show you how."

***

Two Ohio State football players were hootin' and hollerin' while partying on campus when a bartender asked them why they were celebrating. The smart one said proudly that they had just finished a jigsaw puzzle and it took them only two months. "Two months?!" exclaimed the bartender. The Buckeye proudly replied, "Yeah, the box said 4-6 years!"

***

A Buckeye football player was almost killed today in a tragic horseback riding accident. He fell from the horse and was nearly trampled to death. Luckily, the manager of the Wal-Mart came out and unplugged the horse just in time.

***

A little boy and his mother were walking through an Ohio cemetery when they came upon a headstone that read: "Here lies an Ohio State graduate and a good man." The little boy turned to his mother and asked, "Mommy, why did they bury two people in there?"

***

Coaches Jim Tressel and Lloyd Carr were walking down the beach talking about the rivalry between Ohio State and Michigan. As they walked, Lloyd tripped over something in the sand. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a genie's lamp.

The genie appeared and said he would grant each coach one wish. Tressel offered to go first: "I want an impenetrable wall built around the entire state of Ohio so that none of those stupid Michiganders can ever get in. I want it as far down into the ground as it is high and I want it to be completely sealed in so that we can finally have our peace!"

"It is done," said the genie, clapping his hands and magically whisking Tressel off to his new paradise. Turning to Lloyd, the genie said, "Well, what is your wish?"

"Fill it up with water."

Columbus Delenda Est III: Jones vs. Tressel

We're at the midway point of Ohio State Hate Week, and S&S has had a shocking realization, courtesy of righteous Columbus resident Carol J. Shelton. Earlier this week, Ms. Shelton fired off a nastygram to the Columbus Dispatch castigating the Rev. Jim Tressel for holding a prayer meeting with his players starting his own Christian Football Cult. The vigilant Ms. Shelton fearfully describes Tressel's growing power and influence:

Jim Tressel, the putative co-president of Ohio State University as well as head football coach, is now exercising his near-sovereign powers at this government-supported institution by violating the country’s centuries-old mandate of separation of church and state...

After reading Ms. Shelton's letter, it hit me. Jim Tressel? Jim Jones? Could it be the suave football coach/aspiring religion-founder and the late cult leader/homicidal maniac have much more in common than a first name? The answer is... well, let's just say I've put together a chart that should prove extremely disquieting to Buckeye fans and anyone who values cyanide-free Kool-Aid.

Jim Jones	Jim Tressel
Head of fanatical cult of weirdoes	Head coach of team worshipped by fanatical cult of weirdoes
Investigated by authorities for financial improprieties	Investigated by authorities for financial improprieties
Father was member of disreputable organization (KKK)	Father was student at disreputable organization (OSU)
Arrested for soliciting gay sex	Well, just look at those sweatervests...
Ordered followers to commit suicide before killing self	A fellow can dream

There you have it, ladies and gentleman. Can it be much longer before Columbus is renamed Tresseltown? Ms. Shelton might want to start looking for a new place to live. (But please, not Ann Arbor. We have more than enough Carol J. Sheltons here already.)

Columbus Tresseltown delenda est!

Sony is Teh SuXX0rz

Maddox finally updates his website to say he's tired of Sony's bullshit (complete with unsubtle animated graphic).

Amen. Sony blows.

Columbus Delenda Est II: Come On, Feel the Hate

Ohio State Hate Week continues here at S&S...

We like to make lots of jokes about classless, white trash Ohio State fans and the general rowdiness and hostility of Columbus during The Game. Is this just hyperbole from us opposing fans, or is there some truth to it?

First off, let me say I've never personally been to a game at Columbus. But I have friends who have gone in years past, and they all have stories about their cars getting keyed, having beer thrown on them, or even being tackled by drunken morons. I, of course, have been in Ann Arbor for The Game, and I have never seen or heard of anything remotely like this happening to OSU fans. Obviously, I can't say it never has, but I don't know anyone else around here who has seen it either.

All that being said, let's roll the tape. This is video of the assholery before, during, and after The Game in Columbus in 2002, when Ohio State went on to win the National Championship:



Brian at Mgoblog also recounts his harrowing trip to R'lyeh Columbus in that same year.

Okay, so all that happened four years ago. Maybe things have improved down there. The city and university and the saner Buckeye fans are making efforts to rein in the hooliganism and general dickheaditry directed toward Michigan fans. Nevertheless, the University of Michigan still felt compelled to send this warning email out to its students:

We are sure that you are excited about this Saturday's football game versus Ohio State, and the possibility of capturing the Big Ten conference title and playing for the national championship.

...

We know that it can be uncomfortable being in an opposing team's environment, especially when the stakes are so high. We would like to offer a few suggestions in order to help you stay safe and have a positive experience this weekend:

--Try carpooling to the game; if possible, drive a car with non- Michigan license plates.
--Keep your Michigan gear to a minimum, or wait until you are inside the stadium to display it.
--Stay with a group.
--Know and obey the laws regarding alcohol use.
--If you are of legal age to drink, use alcohol in moderation. Stay in the blue.
--Stay low-key; don't draw unnecessary attention to yourself.
--If verbally harrassed by opposing fans, don't take the bait.
--Avoid High Street in Columbus.

If at any time you feel unsafe, you should call 9-1-1 for assistance. U-M campus police also will be available in Columbus to support our fans. You may call them with non-emergency concerns at (734) 216-9159.

Does tOSU feel the need to send emails to their students warning them about the dangers of Ann Arbor?

I rest on your face.

More hate to come. Columbus delenda est!

Update: Drew Sharp in the Free Press reports that Columbus is "preaching sportsmanship but preparing for anarchy."

Those who dare don the opposing colors at Ohio Stadium have been verbally harassed and allegedly sprayed upon with fluids not necessarily from a concession stand.

The late, great Bob Ufer was right to describe an OSU home crowd as "10,000 alumni and 74,000 truck drivers."

Columbus Delenda Est: Ohio State Hate Week Kicks Off

In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.

No longer. The Great Old Ones are loose. The stars are right for an epic matchup, The Biggest College Football Game in the History of Ever, wherein the Michigan Wolverines head into the cyclopean, non-Euclidean nexus of evil to take on the many-tentacled Buckeye monster.


Evil Bruthulu rises from the wretched cesspool of Columbus.

The regional and national media need no help from this two-bit blog to hype The Game. We all know what needs to be done. The conqu'ring heroes must defeat the forces of evil and make the world safe for democracy, freedom, puppies, and people without mullets.

This is their charge. This is their destiny. Much is at stake. Should they fail in their quest, the world will succumb to trailer parks, Bud Light, wife-beater t-shirts, monosyllabic words, and all other things Ohio.

Onward, Wolverines. Columbus delenda est!

(Stay tuned for much more hate as the week goes on...)

Thursday Random Link Roundup

Here's a 20% off of stuff coupon for November 9 (today) through November 14. Better than a kick in the head. Buy Mom that book for Christmas that she'll never read.

Joe Sobran, my favorite columnist, has a typically Sobranesque take on Election Day. I especially love this part:

If the vote is so precious, then the penalty for not paying taxes would be simply to strip you of it. No need to put you in the clink. You'd appear at the polls, they'd tell you, "Sorry, you haven't paid your taxes," and you'd whimper, "You're not really going to take away my franchise, my most precious freedom, are you?!"

Indeed -- taxation without representation? Can I have no taxation or representation, please?

We're almost at the halfway point of National Novel Writing Month. I'm not participating this year, out of total laziness, but it has reminded me of how utterly lame I've been in keeping my New Year's resolutions. I'll have to make those all over again in a couple months. In the meantime, maybe I'll get back at it as the weather gets colder and I go into hermit mode.

Verd and Greg are always sending me interesting links but those links never seem to make it on here because a) I'm lazy and b) they usually send them via ICQ, which for various reasons is logistically inconvenient for me. So, like, maybe a little later I can go back to retrieve and post some of that stuff.

But tonight is Belgian beer tasting time! Looks like at least one other blogger will be going. Related news: I'm working on turning the Beer Tasting Field Guide into a coherent article so I can submit it to Modern Drunkard. Now there's a byline that would really look impressive on my resume.

Voting Is Bullshit

A few weeks ago I got into a heated argument with a couple of friends after I told them I wasn't going to vote. I heard all the usual sanctimonious crap: "Don't you care about this country?" "Don't you want to change things?" "How can you just give up?" "It's because of people like you that Bush is president." And so on.

Nonsense.

I tried to make my nonvoting position clear to them, to explain the philosophy behind it, but to no avail. "Statish thinking"* was too ingrained in them, as it is in most people these days. I know; I used to be one of them.

So why do I refuse to vote now? Boiled down to its simplest, bumper-sticker essence, the argument can be summed up with these assorted witticisms:

• If voting could change anything, it would be illegal.
  
  
• Don't vote; it only encourages them.
  
  
• You can't fight City Hall, but you can pee on the steps and run.
  
  
• I have better things to do, like shave my back hair.**

Maybe a little flip, yes, but I think there are some important truths in these sayings that too many people want to overlook. One at a time:

If voting could change anything... There are any number of ways in which the voting game is rigged toward a particular outcome, not the least of which is essentially forcing most folks to vote for a Republican asshole or a Democrat asshole. I used to say I supported a two-party system; we just needed to find a second party. I don't know that that even matters anymore. You're always voting for government.

Don't vote... Seriously, there is much wisdom in this, and it's probably key to why I decided to stop engaging in the voting ritual altogether. The corollary to it is that answer to the "Don't blame me, I voted for [losing candidate]" mentality: "Don't blame me, I didn't vote."

You can't fight... This one's pretty self-explanatory, I think, especially to anyone who's had to deal with any government agency, from the IRS to the DMV to the local planning commission. You can bitch and moan, but in the end they generally win. Even if you "win," it's somewhat Pyrrhic because in a perfect world you would never have to waste your time and money dealing with the sorts of petty ass clowns who mostly make up government bureaucracies.

I have better things... I wrote a column some years ago about this, so I won't re-hash it here.

OK, there may be times when voting for or against some particular government thing or other is worthwhile -- like maybe at the local level, and especially if it's to say no to some lousy tax hike. But pretty much it is a worse than useless exercise, if you ask me.

My friends criticized me for making a "statement" that no one would heed because, well, someone would be elected with or without my participation. But I'm not necessarily trying to make any statement, at least not directly. I'm just trying to keep my self-respect.

See, the key to the whole thing is the matter of whether or not one accepts the legitimacy of what our politicians are doing. By voting, you are in essence conferring on them a legitimacy they simply have not earned and do not deserve. By not voting, you're saying, "I don't give a crap what you say, you don't speak for me anyway." You refuse to accept the losing premise. (Remember the movie WarGames? It seems the only way to win is not to play.)

And the nonvoting "statement" doesn't go unnoticed, either. How many handwringing stories about apathy and low voter turnout do we see every single election cycle? Exactly. To quote John Cleese, "a lot."

This is where I would add another little saying I came up with all by my own bad self: "If enough of us ignore them, maybe they will go away." You see my point.

But what about democracy, civic duty, and blah, blah, blah? Rubbish, I say. What about my duty to the people and things that really matter in my life? My friends, family, cats, numerous girlfriends? They're more deserving of my time and attention than Jennifer Granholm or Dick DeVos, and they always will be.

Am I some pie-in-the-sky, unrealistic anarchist? Maybe. But I would argue I'm more realistic than the people who keep voting for dipshit politicians and then acting surprised or disappointed when the result is dipshits taking over more and more of the decisions in life that really ought to remain personal and voluntary.

So, yeah, when my friends turn to me and roll their eyes whenever yet another stupid commercial for some stupid politician comes on, I just smirk and say, "And you want me to encourage these jerks?"

Thank heaven all this stupid crap will be over after today. At least, until next year.

Vote tonight? Screw that. I'm going bowling.

* Credit for this term goes to Nicholas Strakon of The Last Ditch, a provocative if not prolific web 'zine.

** For illustrative purposes only: I don't have back hair. You can relax, ladies.

Captain Picard Has Something to Say, Too

Patrick Stewart at Michigan Stadium = the coolest thing I've ever seen. "Boldly go and beat the Buckeyes!"

Captain Kirk's Secrets to Handling Chicks

Who knew it was so easy?

Footbaw Footbaw Footbaw

John L., we hardly knew ye. So it finally happened today: John L. Smith, aka Slappy McSlapperson, was informed that he is not welcome in East Lansing anymore. He'll screw up the rest of MSU's season and then head off to... coach the Lions? Yeah!!!1 MSU's next coach? Check the AP wire:

EAST LANSING–John L. Smith is out as head coach of the Michigan State Spartans football team, it was announced today. At a 1:30pm press conference, athletic director Ron Mason named H.R. Pufnstuf to succeed Smith.

"H.R. has the right attitude and the ability to get the job done," Mason told reporters. "True, he's even freakier than (Smith), and I didn't think that was possible. But if he doesn't punch himself in the face or anything, we should be all right."

Pufnstuf, best known for his work in a psychedelic 1960s children's show, in turn named Teddy Ruxpin, a talking toy bear, as his defensive coordinator.

"I love that (expletive) bear," Pufnstuf said. "I can make him say whatever the hell I want." Pufnstuf went on to declare the pizza at the press conference to be "awesome."

Reports that Pufnstuf plans on appointing South Park's Towelie as his offensive coordinator remain unconfirmed.

Maybe we can make Teddy sing along to the tune of Simon and Garfunkel's "So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright":

So long, John L. Smith
I can't believe how long it took to fire you
Fire you
Fire you

I'll remember John L. Smith
All of the games you'd get pulverized at home
I never laughed so hard
So hard
So hard

Football coaches come and
Football coaches go and
Never slap themselves blue
When I need to cry
I stop a while and think of you

So long, so long...

My new favorite band. Speaking of music, it had been reported that the Red Hot Chili Peppers, who have ties to Michigan, played "The Victors" during their set in Columbus a few nights ago. There's confirmation of it in the comments section of this story in the Columbus Dispatch. "Very disrespectful to Ohio State fans who paid lots of money to attend their show." I love the sound of whining Bucknuts. It sounds like, er, victory, bitches.


Flea would rather be in Ann Arbor reading the Gargoyle.

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.)