Sunday, November 30, 2003

Her Name Was Ni-cole, She was a ska-ter...

So this weekend featured more figure skating, literally, more figure skating than any weekend in the history of time. If they tried to play the Olympics (I guess you don't really "play" the Olympics, but whatev) three times in a single three day span, they still could not show as much figure skating as they did over the course of the last two days.

I could go off on a number of diatribes about figure skating if I wished to and depending on my mood they could go in completely contradictory directions. I mean, I enjoyed the 2002 upset as much as the next dude or dudette, but I still don't always get it. It pisses me off when people do really boring stuff to really boring music and it sort of pisses me off when people don't try some hard core jumps. I mean, I know that you all can't do quad axels and shit, but give it a shot, its fun to watch, even, maybe especially, when you fall. If everyone was required to try at least one per routine, then its equal, I mean, yeah, it fucks you that you fell, but so did everyone else.

I won't talk more about figure skating, however, at least not in general. Instead let me discuss one woman in particular, from the US of A, Miss Nicole Bobek. For some reason she has captured the imagination of the coutnry, or at least New York State, or at least the Buffalo area, or at least Lockport, or at least South Lockport, or at least our apartment building, or at least our apartment, or at least me. Here is my plan, we obtain a restaurant property, we get a restaurant built there and figure out some food and drinks to have there, etc.

Step two, here is the catch, check this out. We name the restaurant "The Copa Ca-Bobek." Then we somehow get Barry Manilow to re-record the song. I don't have all the lyrics yet, but I have the opening line (ie: the title of this entry) and "At the Copa, Copa Ca-Bobek, the hottest spot north of Ha-Bobek." We have this song playing at all times in the entry to the joint (maybe there will be a coat check here or whatev) so everyone gets to hear it when they come in, but so it doesn't have to be on the speakers twice an hour.

Step three, we buy every piece of Bobek paraphenalia we can get off ebay. To be honest with you, this won't be too difficult, since there are, by my count, only four such pieces of paraphenalia and they are all under 8 bucks a piece. On the bright side, I think the only people we will have to beat are her parents in order to legitimately claim that we have the biggest collection of Bobek memorabilia in the world. I mean, even once we just have the ebay pictures above the bar we can say that we have the largest collection in the midwest. Maybe we can go to some specialty plate company and have them put Bobek's face on a couple hundred plates so we can advertise "The Copa Ca-Bobek: You can Eat off Nicole Bobek's Face!!" If you tell me you wouldn't show up at a restaurant that promised "All Bobek, All the Time" you are lying to me.

Please feel free to share Bobek related stories. You gotta love her.



Reviews and Shit--Attempt Uno

Okay, I am going to try this, though I really have no idea what I am doing. Please feel free to not read, as it is likely not informative. If this doesn't suck complete and total ass, or maybe even if it does, I will try it again with maybe the Irish pub we hit up in Chicago or Manny's, since it rocks the fucking hiznouse. Anyway, here we go.

Damon's Grill
Multiple Locations--including Sheridan Rd., Williamsville, New York

Lets be honest, no one is going to publish their dissertation on the diversity of Damon's menu. To put it in the discourse of Henry Ford: "You can have anything you want, as long as it's grilled meat. It would be a disservice to this establishment, however, to dismiss it from a simple examination of its menu. There's nothing wrong, after all, with a good slab of grilled chicken, beef, pork, or fish. Potentially we should proceed from the glossy page into the strangely inticing doors.

Admittedly, you will rarely find alot of diversity in the construction of your local Damon's restaurant. Most likely, your branch is located either in the parking lot of a movie theater-shopping complex, amidst the Applebee's, TGIFridays, and variously franchised tex-mex joints, or at the end of a medium sized strip mall. Fine architecture is rarely an issue for businesses which corner up to establishments whose martinizing can be done at astonishing speed. If Damon's isn't your stop of choice after a trip to Bed Bath and Beyond, you may not imagine it to be anything at all beyond Chili's or any other "specialty" franchise, where the area of expertise remains a thinly veiled disguise to pass off everyone else's mozzarella sticks as "San Jose Fried Cheese Straights" since they come with a "special southwestern sauce." What could be more special, after all, than replacing bulk marinara sauce with a gourmet mixture of cayenne pepper, cumin, and mayonnaise.

Alright, maybe I am giving you too little credit. Maybe, some Saturday night, while you were waiting for your showing of Master and Commander, you stopped into Damon's to get a bite, but decided not to wait the 25 minutes. I suppose the lobby didn't encourage you to return. Trust me however, there is a reason. Indeed, the reason the lobby and bar which you enter upon opening the thick wooden door to Damon's is so monotonous is one of the three best reasons to miss Russel Crowe's first 15 minutes of Australian babble. For your consideration:

1) The "decor"

I am well aware, thank you, that it is not often that a place already described as monotonous gets any significant snaps for "decor." Never fear, I say, scare quotes to the rescue! Follow your host or hostess away from the bar and towards what tends to be the far wall of the restaurant. Now you understand the necessity of the standard mahogany bar, green booths, and hanging televisions. You needed something, no matter how meager, to prepare the unknowing consumer for the transition from the serene and typically suburban row of Subways, pet shops, drug stores, and shoe repair shops into the projection TV orgy already in progress on the other side of that wall.

Four, count em, four, televisions the size of, oh, I would estimate, about Delaware, grace the far wall in question. As you will likely soon learn, Damon's is the offical restaurant of the NFL Sunday Ticket, the satellite package which allows you to view every professional football game every Sunday. This is the reason why; for the price of that aqua-disaster you spent the night before enthralled by you can spend your afternoon cheering for any NFL team you want on the television you have been telling yourself would someday be in your price range for the last 10-15 years. Sick of missing those pass interference calls, its alot easier when Lawyer Milloy's full sized hand yanks the life-sized jersey of David Boston to adequately complain about the complete and total incompetence of today's refereeing. Not a football fan, well then, how did you escape from Gitmo. Just kidding, assuming that you are neither a football fan nor a terrorist, you can still live vicariously through the throngs of sports junkies around you. The hopes of at least 8 distinct groups of people peak and collapse every several minutes amongst the chicken sandwiches and tossed salads. This is what all those Budweiser commercials have been trying to instill in you (I told the "Born on date" was a scam), crystal clear views of the athletic accomplishments of others, everywhere you look.

Its not just football, obviously, its pretty much everything. When you as a restaurant have made the decision to cover your primary wall with TV screens you are kind of forced into going for the gusto. Damon's occasionally fills with mulleted drunkards and children in black t-shirts when, once every month or so, they air professional wrestling pay-per-view for the rubest of the rubes. The brain trust in the kitchen is still trying to figure out how to get more huge men in tight costumes on the wall without starting "leather night."

The kicker to all this televised goodness, its at each individual booth and on the end of every table. Even assuming your local watering hole has a couple big-screen tubes, this is what seperates Damon's. A speaker at every table, complete with two knobs: volume of course, and screen select. If you haven't had the misfortune to attempt to watch your favorite team play your favorite game while listening to a completely different event, you may not understand quite how vital good audio is to a television experience. Try this one: imagine that you have to fill in both for the music behind Kristi Yamaguchi's long program and Scott Hamilton's commentary differentiating the toe-loop from the sow-kow. You WANT the speaker on that wall, you NEED the speaker on that wall.

2) The ribs

Look, I think that we, you and I, we have established quite a rapport here, so I again refuse to lie to you. Damon's ribs are not THE BEST I have ever eaten. Depending on where you live, lets say, Tennesee or Kansas City, there may well be a little smokehouse owned by a man who one day decided to take his love of meat and his Grandfather's dry rub and open a matterboard shack on the edge of town. I don't mean to trash these places, seriously. The best barbecue in the world rarely comes from a $200,000 custom made smoker. A hickory fire and a metal grate tends to be the only real equipment you need. As a piece of advice entirely distinct from my recommendation of Damon's, any time you find a BBQ restaurant smaller than a drive-through coffee place make absolutely sure you stop. But I digress...

While Damon's ribs may not be the world's best they are good. They are better than good, they are world class ribs. I haven't had the good fortune to make my way to the Jack Daniels' BBQ competition, but I am quite certain you could put a rack of Damon's finest in with the ribs waiting to be judged and not finish too far down. If you watch judges at BBQ competitions you will see them pull off a piece of the meat, the thickest part, and hold it up to their eyes. You probably know too much about ribs if you already know where this is going, but the judges are looking to see what happens when they squeeze the rib meat. The best ribs, cooked slowly at exactly the right temperature for just long enough, won't emit any fat when they're squeezed. What hasn't melted off is so thoroughly combined that just the pressure of your fingers won't split it apart. Give this a shot with your next plateful at Damon's, I'm sure you will find the same thing that I did, 100% pure meaty-delicious love.

I am not intending to forget the sauce of course, no one who truly enjoys a baby-back rack ever could. Damon's regular sauce has only the tiniest bit of kick to it, so it may not be what you South-Easterners and your vinegar sauces are used to, but its smokey and sweet and unlikely to offend even the most bland Iowan palate. Nonetheless, even BBQ snobs amongst you won't be disappointed. This is not even to go into the new sauces Damon's has premiered recently, including a Carribean Jerk that you won't likely find at your neighborhood grill hut. If you need your ribs to be packed in stryrofoam and soak the brown paper bag that you carry them out in with grease, Damon's probably won't do it for you, but if you want a solid rack while you watch the game, this is as good a place as any.

3) Menu Creativity

It will be hard, I know, for me to talk you into sitting down at Damon's Grill by convincing you that whoever is behind the place has some pretty impressive ideas for new food items. After all, someone came up with the cheese stick didn't they. Potato skins didn't deep fry themselves. While I suppose this is true (either that or you've got some damn talented potato skins) once everyone and their maternal great uncle twice removed is serving the same deep fried jalepeno poppers your claim to fame has lost some of its je ne sais quois.

Now, Damon's executes these tried and true appetizer sensations as well as anyone, though I have no intention of distinguishing it from Applebee's based on a side order of pre-cut fries. What does deserve mention is the, now somewhat famous, Onion Loaf. Thankfully, at least from my perspective, not a throwback to the processed meat loaves of deli counter fame, the Onion Loaf at least seems to live up to its name. Take a good amount of small, thinly sliced onions, give them a light coating of batter and somehow get them to fry in the shape of a small loaf of bread. The result isn't incredibly different from anyone else's onion ring, but has a strong corner on the crispiness market. A couple slices of Onion Loaf, maybe with a dot of your favorite condiment, is a good twist on this bar and grill staple.

If you don't plan on following up your tear-jerking appetizer with the afforementioned ribs, Damon's most creative offering should be your dinner. As Slavoj Zizek said, in commenting on a book by his colleague Alenka Zupancic: "the only sign of real respect is envious hatred-how is it that I did not come upon what the author is saying." If Damon's is for you, even a quick look at the menu will have produced this reaction from one specific item, the Big South Burger. Damon's does its burgers well, a solid slab of ground beef well grilled, but nothing gimmicky (trust me friends, we will get to gimmicky burgers, ohhhhh, we will get to gimmicky burgers). To take this burger to the next level someone at Damon's beat me to the punch with this brilliant decision: "you know that burger we have, instead of just serving it, why don't we cover it with pulled pork first."

The old addage goes, if you only do one thing, make sure you do it well. That is not to say, of course, that you shouldn't do multiple things well. We might add to this the addage of today. We live, after all, in the world of the Sharper Image and SkyMall catalogs, where the only thing better than a talking goldfish bowl is a talking goldfish bowl with a built-in clock radio. If you do two things well, put one on top of the other. While our lives may be only marginally improved by a toilet brush with built in Palm Pilot, the Big South Burger is fantastic. The less often one is required to choose between a cheeseburger and a BBQ sandwich the better in my opinion. While you may not favor Damon's regular sauce for your ribs, there is no doubt that it suits this western-ized cheeseburger to a "T."

There is a great risk, of course, that if either element were sub-par the textures simply wouldn't work, stringy pulled pork or a grisly burger destroys the whole deal. But the success of this sandwich is only further proof that Damon's might want to consider particle board walls on which to hang their massive monuments to our Sunday past time. For some, barbecue shack flavor with strip mall accessability may even beat the classic one-two punch of beef and pork, but it certainly doesn't go as well with a pint of Bass Ale or an Onion Loaf.

-----END REVIEW------

So there we go, sorry, if you read the whole thing and it sucked a nut, as it may well have done. I will take a little distance from it before I evaluate the mamma-jamma myself. Anyway, feel free to feed-back if you wish. Comments and email are both a to the g. Keep on rocking in the free world.



Saturday, November 29, 2003

Love to Eat Turkey Cause its Good, Love to Eat Turkey Like A Good Boy Should

cause it's Turkey, to eat, so good.

We rolled hardcore on T-day baby, hard fucking core. I would have updated this earlier, but I have been too tryptaphened out for the past several days to bother. Anyway, the brined turkey rocked. It was incredibly moist and delicious, infused everywhere with citrusy goodness. I highly recommend the brining process to anyone considering the roasting of a turkey, it pays much dividends. Katie made rolls from scratch and they rocked pretty fucking hard themselves. We still have like a half a basket full of those rolls, but them is goin fast. The same goes for the pumpkin pie and bread that Katie made to compliment the traditional Thanksgiving dinner. My stuffing was okay, but I will definately tweek it next time, it needs a little more moisture and probably some other meat, maybe bacon if Katie doen't want andouille sausage or churizo.

We had a nice dinner, which made up, at least somewhat, for the fact that the Packers played like absolute ass. We had a couple bottles of wine, some kahlua and cream, some leftovers etc. We played a good long round of Trivial Pursuit, which is one of Katie's post-bird traditions. All in all, yeah-rah for Thanksgiving. Same goes for the day after, when we did very little beyond enjoy leftovers and go to sleep far far too late.

Anyway, I recovered from Turkey related sleeposity only to briefly go shopping today. Topps had this promotion whereby if you spent 250 dollars between the middle of October and November 29th, you could get a free turkey. Well, we realized we weren't going to get there by Thanksgiving, so we just bought a Turkey. Turns out however, that we need a couple fill in groceries before we go back to the TC in Deciembre that will push us over the limit. So we went out and spent the requisite amount. I found the Turkey which we needed to get, but unfortunately, the holiday had left them with a very small amount. The small amount of birds they had, however, yielded an incredibly large amount of meat, because these birds were gigantic. I mean gigantic when I say that notable. I got the smallest one I could find, and it was the smallest by far. It was 21.3 pounds. That is 10 pounds heavier than the turkey we made on Thursday, and we have a large tupperware container fullm of leftovers in the fridge. So sometime in January we are going to have a way too large turkey dinner. If anyone plans on being in the Lockport area around Super Bowl Sunday, you should stop by for Thanksgiving Baxter-Kauf style. Picture me rollin baby.

So that is all the Turkey related news for now, I think I am going to read a little, then maybe try to compose a restaurant review of Damon's, since I have at least been there recently. I know its not the type of restaurant you would review for the NYT, but I have no corporate card senores y senioritavos. Stay tuned, I will have it for you at some point.



Wednesday, November 26, 2003

T-day C-down

So I have just completed several of the important elements for tomorrow's dinner. I have the turkey brining away, which rocks quite hard. This is a technique advocated by both AB and Emeril for the best roasted turkey on the market. Anyway, it begins, simply enough, with cold water. To each gallon of water you add one half cup brown sugar and one half cup kosher salt. Stir that together with some citrus fruits (we rolled lemons and clementine oranges) squeezed into the brine and some rosemary and thyme. Then you just put the old bird in there to let it soak overnight. The citrus flavors soak through and the herbs both flavor and tenderize the meat. The more important aspect of all this is that the combination of salty sugary water makes the turkey incredibly juicy and incredibly tender. Its really not too difficult to overcook a turkey, so you have to be careful about it.

I also baked the cornbread for tomorrow's cornbread stuffing, which should be incredibly fabulous. I can feel this whole thanksgiving coming togethter any moment now. Its about to get rolling and it will just keep rolling rolling rolling rolling (what) keep rolling rolling rolling rolling...

I love Thanksgiving, it is so by far the greatest fucking holiday. You don't have to bother with either the giving or receiving of the presentavos, there are no religious implications that you have to worry about offending people with (I mean, there are people who don't celebrate Thanksgiving, and it obviously has some religous roots, but its not like Christmas or Hannukah or Easter or whatever, its not explicitly a celebration of the life, death, existence, or miracles of anyone's God, you know what I mean), when it comes right down to it, Thanksgiving is a day where you don't have to work, there is professional football all day on a Thursday, and you just eat. Its a celebration of FOOTBALL AND FOOD!! Whatever is wrong with you motherfuckers. All you do, all fucking day, is eat and watch football.

I mean, I guess you can do other shit, you don't have to eat Turkey, you don't have to watch football, you don't have to drink beer and wine and cream-liquers...but it makes you a terrorist.



Sunday, November 23, 2003


I realize that over the past several days I have reverted to the trend of psuedo-daily commentaries which really just express my dissatisfaction with a certain concept in Seinfeld-esque fashion, rather than a three times weekly exorbitantly long treatise on the things I have done connected witht he food I ate in the process. I don't really have any thoughts on which one of those is the better strategy for internet journaling, but at least I am self aware, which is thought to be beneficial in many cultures.

In the realm of a food eating thing, Katie is trying to encourage me to write psuedo-restuarant reviews, as I would do were I a restaurant critic. This is all sponsored by her increasing dissatisfaction with my raving about how much I would rather do almost any job other than my own all the while never making an attempt at any of them and was specifically inspired by the retirement of the current food critic for the New York Times and the interview about the shortcomings of the job. I still have a hard time believing that there are shortcomings in the job, but maybe I am wrong. I am also not sure I could ever be a decent food critic even if I tried, both because my writing style emphasizes the word fuck and comparisons to buttsex a little gratuitously for your average reader (not to mention that the phrase "cock-throbbingly good" when describing calimari doesn't necessarily equal "wonderful" for many people) as well as the fact that I tend to like everything. You can't be a very good fat guy if you meet alot of meals you don't like, but you probably have to dislike something to be an adequate critic. The chances are pretty low that I would be in a restaurant which had food I didn't like, since a meal at Mickey D's is still a good treat for me.

That doesn't, of course, mean that I can't differentiate bewteen a standard cold egg-roll and an incredible gazpacho, but that I think you need to be able to seriously criticise, hence the title critic rather than professional eater guy. I really wish there was a job title of "Professional Eater Guy," because I would be so fucking hella qualified.



Saturday, November 22, 2003

Positively Fifth Street

I have been wanting to read this book for a while, I have often looked at it in Barnes and Noble or read sections on the internet. Its the book that sprang from the Harper's article on the World Series of Poker, where the guy entered just in order to get some expereince with which to write the article and ended up making it all the way to the final table. I don't do alot of pleasure reading at this point, since I do enough work related reading to choke a fucking cow, but this book already has me a little involved though I just picked it up yesterday.

If this book does not get you in the mood to play some poker than you just won't ever want to do it. Dude has a very conversationally pleasant style and a pretty obvious love for the game of poker. I could say any of the random things that would essentially be repetitions of the back cover quotations, but I will leave those for the reviewers. If you are in the mood for a well written conversational story about murder and poker and a narrative history of the single most popular gambling experience in the world, I suggest you give James McManus' book a shot.

Its Rivalry Week in college football today, so there are some pretty sweet games on. I got to see Ohio State lose to Michigan, setting up USC's legit shot at the National Championship assuming they take care of UCLA. A combination of factors (my hatred for Ohio State, my honest belief that they are not one of the two best teams in the country, my desire to see a competitive national championship game, which is only possible with USC) made me very happy about that. Furthermore, I think that Michigan is a better team than they had been getting credit for. Don't get me wrong, they lost and they don't deserve a top 5 ranking, but I think that the drubbing at the hands of Oregon was obviously a fluke. I love the Ducks and I was ecstatic for them that day, but the rest of the year has made it pretty obvious that they weren't in Michigan's league. While the only 4:00 game I wish to watch (OU vs Texas Tech) is most likely going to be a blowout, at least I will get to see this Symonds kid from TT who has thrown like 47 touchdowns this season, a pretty fucking impressive number.

As a final college football note, best of luck to Sanjay's Ducks today as he is on the way to the CIVIL WAR game this afternoon. Hopefully they will pull out at least one more big win to make the season. Now to continue enjoying the rest of my second Saturday in a row without having to leave the house.



Friday, November 21, 2003

Shake It Like A Polaroid Picture

So I have heard this phrase like four billion times in the last week and never before that. I did some internet searching, a little google-ossity as I like to say, and have learned that the phrase seems to stem from an Outkast song called "Hey-Ya." Let me tell you, those Outkast boys sure have a song naming talent. I'm sure they passed up fantastic ones like "How are you!" or "Tsup Dude."

It also seems to be a very important phrase in the blogs of the past several weeks. I got the oppotunity to read a number of blogs from people who listen to alot of Outkast, which is not my typical market. Regardless, I wonder how phrases like this ever originate. Or how they become popular. This one in particular seems like it should have been around for a while, since Polaroid cameras haven't been cool for like 15 years. I mean, I guess the joycams and shit have been cool for a little while, but you don't shake those motherfuckers.

The thing that made me feel like such a fucking wad when I found out about this phrase was that I immediately thought: "Dude, you aren't supposed to shake Polaroid pictures." I only know this of course because I worked in the ole photo biz for so long, but you shouldn't do it. The chemicals on Polaroid film are liquid, even if there usually isn't enough of them on there to run around, they can be misplaced and distort the picture. Polaroid, according to their material, doesn't know why this trend started, because it doesn't even speed up the drying time of the film. I mean, I would imagine it all got started because people assumed that it would speed up the drying time, but those chemicals don't dry by evaporating, they etch themselves into the film. They even have warnings on many Polaroid products that explain this, but no one pays attention.

Anyway, those are my thoughts on the process of shaking something or one's self like a Polaroid picture.



Thursday, November 20, 2003

Fucking Survivors

Alright, Rupert was definitively my favorite Survivor personality of all time and he got jacked tonight. I mean, he got fucking jacked. The group all banded together to stick it in him and it blows. The show just got a lot less entertaining now that he is gone. I will obviously still watch it, but largely just to enjoy the shortcomings of others. I will be so pissed of Jon or Burton win, by the way. I will take them out on the way to the Sole Survivor Tribal Council.

In other news today, Katie decided to re-arrange our living room. This was an odd decision in my mind, because I think there is only really one way for the room to be adequately organized and it was done in that fashion beforehand. If you have been to my apartment (unless you are me, Katie, Katie's dad Tom, my sis, my mom, my dad, or the Dobs, you have not) you would understand. One wall has the door, so the TV can't go there. One wall is only a part wall, furthermore, that partial wall is the entrance into the hallway, so the TV doesn't really work there either. The wall opposite has the pretty but very large window which really does the whole room. Regardless, that means the TV should go on the other wall. To drive that point home to anyone who doesn't understand the basic principles of apartmental feng shui the designers even put the cable outlet right there. Its like a big sign that says "Whats up deuce. Put the TV here."

Anyway, that is where the TV was until about 6 or so this afternoon. Katie and I simply have different ideas about why one would redesign a room and what purpose that redecoration should serve. My argument is that the final design of the room needs to be net benefical over the current organization in order to be justified. There is no question whatsoever that the design she ultimately suggested is the second best possible given the constraints of this space, but it is precisely second best. More to the point, Katie is cool with moving the stuff around for the sake of being different. My argument remains that change for the sake of change is fascist.

Lets say you had a favorite deli in the heart of your favorite city. You go to that deli everyday and get a turkey sandwich on rye with extra pickles explicitly because this place has the best rye bread in the whole fucking world. They have had alot of luck with this rye bread, there is no question that they have gotten it right. Then they decide that, because they have been serving this rye bread for so long, they are going to start using margarine instead of real butter. I would be pissed. The rye bread might still be good, it might still even be great fucking rye bread, even still being the reason to go to the deli. But in the end why fuck with the butter. If it ain't broke don't fix it. More specifically, if it looks like rye bread, and it smells like rye bread, and it isn't a stick of rye bread incense shaped like a loaf of rye bread, then that shit there be rye bread.

Anyway, mad props to Katie. I officially designate it Best Apartmental Re-Decoration of 2003.



Tuesday, November 18, 2003

Tsup Jeuce

So Katie is home, things worked out well schedule wise and she is currently sleeping off her rough weekend in North Carolina (come on and raise up, take your shirt off, twist it round yo' head, spin it like a helicopter) while I watch That 70s Show and recover from my not very rough day at school. I only had one class today and didn't have any of the movies or extracurricular shitty that has been destroying me on Tuesdays for the last month. All things considered, I feel pretty good today. It was just teaching and one class, which was actually very instructive.

I was also able to adequately utilize my down time to damn near finish my first of the semester's projects. Its currently marking in at just over 16 pages, which is swiggedy swizneet, so I approve. My hope is to flesh out the skeletal sections tomorrow and be able to print it out in the center on Tuesday and be done with it. I feel shockingly optimistic about my ability to finish this semester on time, but even if I can't do it, its not really that big a deal. Not gonna discuss that for the moment, however, no more studying tonight and thinking the end of the semester will only get me wrapped up in shit that is not my concern quite yet.

There have been a couple sports radio discussions recently that I have been very opinionated on, so much so that I considered actually discussing either of them in this format. I'm pretty fucking confident that this would not be much of a thing to read however, my thoughts on the BCS, while I am quite confident that they are correct, are probably readily available on If people are coming here to read sports coverage they are not so smart in the first place, since I don't really talk all that much sports. I think I would like to talk more sports, I would be a hella sweet Sports Radio show host, but, again, this is not the proper format.

Instead, I realize that what makes really good blog material are stories about the zany exploits of the homefolks in the crizew. By the crizew I refer to the ole RHS gang plus Sanjay, at least for the most part. Maybe the house gang, minus AJ. You get the idea. So, you ask, which highjinx will be recounted today. I was thinking about Andy's various pants-dropping antics, which, I will remind you, continue to this day.

Their most flagrant appearance was likely one night when I was a junior. It was in the fall I believe, probably a Wednesday night, since we had no debate practice we tended to just dick around and play video games and go Ng-onking (Ng-onking, pronounced na-gon-king, was a practice which concerned the home of a young Miss Nga Chiem, she lived on a street which was shaped like an L, but at the apex of the L there was like a cul-de-sac. Basically, the process was to enter the street from one branch or the other, begin honking, drive around the cul-de-sac anywhere between 1 and 11 times, and then drive out the other side before ceasing to honk. It was often either immediately preceded or immediately followed by a coning of Ian's house. A process which I am sure I will come to some other time.) Well, one night we decided to go drive around and play with Andy's parents video camera.

I was driving the Corsica of Power (the original I think), my bro was riding shotgun, and Andy was in the backseat on the driver's side. We were originally just trying to get people's attention and videotape them, but quickly discovered that Andy sticking his ass out of the window was the best way to do so. We did that a couple times, Andy would stick his butt out the window, we would film the reaction of the car next to us or the pedestrian or whomever. We moved on from there of course, the next step was to stop at the intersection of Johnny Cake and Cliff in Eagan. We parked just North of their and my bro found the best angle to see the whole intersection. Andy got out of the car, dropped his pants around his ankles and ran around the intersection, I mean from each of the four corners to the next one. The reactions were fabulous, as they often are when one spots a naked guy dancing through an intersection.

We needed at least one more step up and the only reasonable option was the McDonald's drive-thru. So we pulled around, butted in front of someone who had already ordered, and got to the window while no employee was there. It was late enough at night that there were probably only 2 or 3 people working the restaurant anyway, but when the one at the window turned around, he looked directly into the nasty nasty glaring ass of Mr. Kemp. This one was for some reason, way too much fun, so we drove around the McD's for like 10 minutes. As we would find out when we got home, someone had called the cops at some point, but apparently they weren't very interested in the butt-spanking which was taking place. They ran our license plate and called my parents to tell us not to do it anymore, but that was really about it.

Our parents originally tried to scare us by saying that the cops wanted to talk to us or whatever, but it quickly became apparent that the cops didn't give much of a fuck, since the facts didn't really sort out. The funniest part of the whole experience was that one of the cars who had apprently driven by Andy at Johnny Cake and Cliff was filled with my sister and like 3 of her friends. My sister, of course, went immediately home to tell my parents, as well she should have. It was hilarious. Besides, how often, when one sees a dude running around a pretty busy intersection with his pants where his socks should be, does one end up knowing the dude fairly well. The answer, if you are me, or anyone else who knows Andy Kemp fairly well, is most of the time.

Arguably the most fucked up thing about all this is that we were fucking sober. The whole time, we didn't have a drink, or any drugs or whatever. I mean, we were smoking cigarettes, but they didn't exactly provide Andy with an excuse to drop trou and go for it.

The one redeeming thing about this story is that it gives you a nice sense of homeliness. If, virtually any day of the rest of your life, you are driving around and run across some dude running around without pants on, you can take a pretty solid educated guess that its Andy Kemp. Even if it turns out not to be him, pretty obviously it is someone who learned the art from one of the true true masters of the butt-slapping art. Its like a little chunk of memory, a moment of the past, forever preserved in the stanky ass of some random crazy stranger.



Monday, November 17, 2003

In the Zone!!!

In case you were wondering, Britney Spears rocks the fucking hizouse. I mean, this chick rocks so fucking hard I can hardly stand it. Its off the fucking hook. Whats that you say, you are an Aguilera person, maybe a Beyonce fan, or even, God forbid, a Jessica Simpson hold out, and you believe that they are at least equal to, if not even superior over, the lovely Ms. Spears.

Well, we could start by simply counting number one singles, counting albums sold, counting awesome videos, counting concert tickets, or almost any other statistic. But that would straight link us to a badly articulated high school Heidegger debate and since I want to make sure that even bad high school Heidegger debaters (who actually tend to overlap with J. Simpson fans to a shocking degree) understand how much Britney rocks, I will go further. We could ask a couple questions. We could say, what is routinely the most competitive hour on television, one of the most lustfully desired by ad execs. Well, that would of course be Monday nights from 8-9. In the fall any program you put on at 9 or 10 is all but automatically excluded because of MNF and you won't be able to fill ad dollars. The hour before is crucial to you ability to gain any viewers at all in those late prime time hours. Alright, so that is clear.

Second question, what is the most difficult hour of television to compete against. Well, this isn't as constant as the argument above, since it would technically depend on when the best shows are on, but there is also the element of time of the week. Regardless, for the past several year, Thursdays are the place to be, likely at 8 if you want the real competition. Thursdays feature ER, Will and Grace, CSI, Survivor, and Friends. Big fucking line-up let me tell you.

Now, instead of just counting the number of prime time specials which each of these lovely young women's albums received (Britney's In the Zone got at least 2 but for some reason I don't remember any "Primetime Stripped" or "Washing Machine Live" on my Digital Cable box info line) we could ask when those special aired. Let me check my obsessive cataloguing of the past 5 years worth of issues of TV Guide. In the meantime talk amongst yourselves...I will give you a topic..."Amish flatbread" is neither Amish nor flat, discuss.

Well, it appears that Britney's two primetime special aired during what we have already identified as fundamentally crucial times in network lineups. They didn't just stick her in on Fridays at 10 when you could show the Olsen twins lick melted Milky Way bars off each others supple young breasts and still not get 25 viewers, she was front row fucking center. I don't know how many albums Britney is gonna sell. I am no expert. What I know is that very very few records receive the kind of media blitz that Britney and her crack staff have executed for In the Zone. The single debuted on NFL opening Thursday. Britney appears on TRL twice within three weeks, the first time to debut her video (which features fucking Madonna by the way, whats that you say Christina, you booked Lil' Kim, wow, let me know when you move from sharing talent with Old Navy to recording tracks with the Material Girl and we might let you join the party--yeah, so she kissed you at the VMAs too, I bet you are wondering why your moment in the sun didn't make the cover of Entertainment Weekly, head back to the Maxim editors and show off your floating butt cleavage a little more why don't you, Britney's busy the rest of the afternoon trying to design a purse large enough to carry a billion fucking dollars) which has now been at number one for 17 days, a second time to kick off Spanking New Music Week, the biggest single gathering ever in Times Square outside of New Years' Eve. She does two prime time specials, has a solid hour of In the Zone on the Town shows on MTV, a Making the Video, and guest spots left and fucking right. All capped off by tonight's appearance singing with Hank Williams III on MNF, ahhh, Britney asking if I am ready for some football.

Britney rocks and everybody else sucks. End of fucking story. Buy her album tomorrow or at least give some props and grab it off Kazaa. I mean, you could have spent all weekend listening to it for free on the leak at, but whatever.

So that is my Britney Spears rant, absent something weirdly Britney related occuring in the near future I will not have another at least until after Thanksgiving. Seriously, I won't.

Katie comes home tomorrow and thank God. I mean, I know I went months alone here last year, but I have realized that during that time that I thought I should have been going crazy, I actually had already gone crazy. I literally didn't leave the house from Friday at 7 am until Sunday at noon. Even then I was out of the house for about an hour and ten minutes. If I didn't have class today i would have spent like four solid days in a row in my apartment. Yeah, I had to be crazy last year, I am pretty sure of it. Maybe I am still crazy now and the ads I have been seeing for Halle Barre's new film Gothika are actually just signals that my mind is using to attempt to alert me to the fact that I am crazy. Yeah, its not likely, but if it is, I totally caught on before they gave it away. I guess they could arbitrarily insert a really weak plot twist here a la Identity to fuck me up, but I don't see that coming.

Anyway, I am going to enjoy the conclusion of my all football all the time weekend by watching TO and the Niners trounce the Steelers. At least that is what I assume will happen, this Pittsburgh team sucks, but KC lost to Cinci, so what do I know. On that note, mad props to the 72 Dolphins who celebrate tonight, I know people rip you for rejoicing in the failures of others, but I celebrate your accomplishment for what it was, even if I would rather cheer for the Gary Indiana Dog Rectums than the Miami Fish.



Sunday, November 16, 2003

In the Heezy For the Wizzeekizzend

So Katie has been gone all weekend, she left for Wake on Friday early ass in the morning. I dropped her off, came home and slept until like noon. So I spent the rest of the afternoon goofing off for the most part. I did some work, I did some excercization, as I am now want to do, but for the most part I laid on the couch and watched crappy TV for a while. At least Friday nights have Reba and Miss Match now, I mean, Friday night TV is still subpar, but I can't even remember how awful it was last year. At least last year I was having buffalo wings every Friday night, I didn't even have the money for them this week.

Regardless, that was Friday. I went to sleep pretty late sinec I didn't get up until like noon, so I woke up just before noon on Saturday again. I went to work on my papers and actually got a fair amount written, I was proud of myself. I even managed to do it while watching some solid Big 10 football. Well, at least one of the two games was solid. The fucking gophs were getting killed, which has convinced me that I am bad luck for the squad. I have seen the Michigan game (disappointing loss) the Iowa game (disappointing loss) and the Wisconsin game (closer than it should have been but still a good win). I mean, that team should have beaten the badgers by two touchdowns, whenever they are on national or semi-national tv and I watch, they play way under their ability. On the bright side Wisconsin beat the pants off Jeff "Cock" Smoker and his Spartans, so it wasn't all bad. Purdue came up short in an incredible contest with THE Ohio State University that I was praying they would win. I will be so pissed when OSU plays for another national title, even though it will be fun to watch J. White stick it in them at the Rose Bowl.

On a final and more important sports note, the Packers looked pretty good today, excluding of course the passing game. The important part was that they made up for the passing game with a surprisingly solid defensive performane and incredible running. Ahman Green is such a fucking stud I can't even descibe it. Favre was not at the top of his game, but it is hard to be that way when your thumb is broken and your recievers can't catch anyway. Driver dropped two easy balls and so did Bill Henderson. When it mattered though, and this is the difference from the last couple of weeks, Favre got it done. They executed a pouding and intense 98 yard drive spanning 9:30 minutes of the third into fourth quarters that, while featuring three-quarters back Najeh Davenport for like 50 yards on the ground, was also continued by two big third down conversions in the capable hands of Brett Favre. He may only have like 100 yards and a touchdown, but he gives you a chance to win, thumb or not.

I'm quite certain there was something I intended to comment on before I got on this thingamabobber, but I can't remember it for the life of me at this point. I have begun my Thanksgiving plans, but I need Katie's help to go much further. There are some potential issues that we hadn't considered until very recently that we now need to address. For instance, we don't really have all the necessary equipment. Roasting pan, nope. Digital probe thermometer, nope. I mean, you can cook a turkey without them, but you are running too many risks. If necessary we make do with a normal thermometer and a cheap aluminum roaster, but if we are gonna need them anyway. Step one though is selecting the recipes. I have, utilizing mi amigos at, narrowed it down to some of my favorites, but I have to make sure Katie approves. I am also not sure which of the side dishes we are going to select. I mean, I know potatoes stuffing and corn, but we always had green bean casserole and I don't think Katie's fam does. I don't really care about green bean casserole, but if we need more vegetables I think its the way to go.

This whole being alone for Thanksgiving thing still strikes me as a little odd, but I am also sort of looking forward to it. I like the idea of enjoying a nice Thursday off, some beer, some wine, and a whole fucking hella lotta t-bird. Oh my friend triptaphen!! It has been a long time since we got down and dirty together. The bright side of my not being in Minneapolis for the holiday is postponing the potentially awkward situation with my parents being together in the hiz-ouse. As of a couple days ago they had still not sold and while they have been told that they shouldn't be worried about it doing so, it seems unlikely that they will have gotten rid of it by December. I don't know what their plan is for the season to be jolly and I guess it doesn't much matter as long as Katie and I have somewhere to stay, but my thinking is that my brother would likely be home longer if things were not as weird. Hopefully there will be some development in that process, otherwise there is a distinct chance the first time I would encounter them as truly seperated would be at the wedding (or when we come home for the wedding) which sucks what we in the bidniz tend to refer to as the nut.



Friday, November 14, 2003

Comedy Central Rocks the Party Like a Masturbating Earthquake

Oh my god, this decision is so awesome. I haven't been around most of the afternoons of this past week, so I don't know exactly when they did it, but Comedy Central appears to have put Kids in the Hall back on the air from 2-3 in the afternoons. I mean, its not like they needed to show that 50th episode of SNL in a day anyway, but this was a sweet decision.

I haven't watched this program for quite a while now, and it is really easy to forget exactly how fucking hilarious these guys were. I accidentally stumbled accross it when I was in like 8th grade or so as it was on right after SNL. Oh my god! Its the sausages sketch! I haven;t seen this bit for like 10 years. At the time I first watched it I didn't get alot of the humor and the gay jokes missed me entirely for the most part, but the pure absurdity really caught on from the beginning. The fact that they would occasionally do these ridiculously ornate cinematic sketches where half the joke was the composition of the scenes in that fashion glossed over me for many years, and I cant believe the only thing I remembered about the sausage bit was the old man, even though that performance is in many ways showstopping.

Alright, just wanted to drop that in quickly, I was really excited that this show was back on M-F as it should be. Hopefully I will get to see the jelly roll sketch sometime soon.



Thursday, November 13, 2003

Flizzledy Flazzeldy Do

So we were at the grocery store picking up a couple little items to prepare me for the weekend of Katie's absence. I mean, I know I can pick up said items myself, but still, we wanted to get stuff for dinner too. Regardless, Katie is looking at some shitty on one side of the aisle and I am just sort of glancing around. My eyes land on this can of soup which looks like a tasty gourmet soup sort of thing. I pick it up and fucking shit ass balls-its BAXTER brand soup. They even have, get this, Baxter Lobster Bisque. The line also includes Baxter Scotch Split Pea, Baxter Garden Vegetable, and Baxter Wild Game soup, which from the illustration on the can appeared to be Venison soup. That was my interesting coincedence for the day. I doubt the successive coincedences will be as interesting or as Lobster-iffic.

So last weekend Katie, her mother, and I went out for a night. We obviously wanted to do something altogether of course, but I think that Carole also needed to get away from the ninos for at least a minute or two. As such we decided on a movie and dinner. Conveniently enough, the good parts about living in downtown Chicago came in handy. There is, just down the street from the pricey, but nice, little place I referred to before. The Music Box theater was its name, it was alot like a more glam version of either the Uptown or Grandview theaters. It had two theaters and while we were in the main one, I would imagine from the general size of the building that the one upstairs was no bigger than the one at the Grandview. The main place though was pretty large and ridiculously ornate, this theater has been around for a while and Chicago is just a much older place than the TC. Further, the Music Box adopted the electro-strong trend of using real butter on their popcorn.

The movie was the latest in a long line of features by Sr. Claude Chabrol. I would provide a link to his listing on but I don't know how to do that fancy linky thing that is so hip with the kids these days. HTML or BTSX or something like that. I won't give away too much, though I doubt everyone is going to run out to see it all at once, but the thing that really interested me, more and more as I discussed it with Katie later on, was the series of potential similarities to Hitchcock's Rope. That film I won't give away because if you haven't seen it you definitively need to, like immediately. It is on DVD now, you can get it from Netflix or likely your local Blockbuster. If you are reading this from St. Paul you can without question get it at that place on Selby, like Best Video, or whatever its called. The place is maybe two blocks west of Dale, its good for hard to find flicks, but low on the DVD quotient.

The cool part of Hitchcock's Rope, which you will immediately recognize, so I am giving nothing away, is that there are no cuts (in the true sense of the word) in the film. Its about an hour long and while we could actually do that now (a one hour film with no cuts) they couldn't in the 60s. Instead the cuts which are in the film are masked, ie: they occur while the camera is passing behind someone wearing a black jacket, so that it is invisible to the viewer. This produces a number of effects, the film feels very claustrophobic and the camera movement plays a gigantic role. Indeed the movement of the camera places the viewer inside the film. There is an interesting relation developed in both films between the primary couple, both of which are intimated to have some deviant sexual relation, and an older role-modelly figure who has some difficult sense of responsibility for the murder which takes place.

I am not sure what else I wish to say without giving away the movie itself. In a brief review however, the acting is solid, the story is intriguing and well developed, and overall I recommend it. Its not such a wierdo foreign film that you won't feel comfortable if you aren't an avid film buff (I mean, okay, alright, there are some weird familial questions about murder and incest and shit, but its not like Cathreine Breillat or anything (I would do the IMDB link again, but I already said, I don't know BTSX) but it has enough brainfat for Uptown types to enjoy as well.

Another item down. The OC was phat tonight by the way. The canceling of Skin has really saved my ass from the deadliness of Wednesdays at 9:00.



Wednesday, November 12, 2003

Don't Cry For Me Argen-buttsex!

So lets see here, updates which are relevant. In the first place, we went to West Point with the folkas from Rochester to judge for them. We had gone back and forth over the past several weeks trying to determine if we would go or not, at first Andy Kemp was gonna be there, so we would go, but then we realized we would be out of town for three prior weekends, and we wouldn't go, then we got some good monetary offers, so we would go, then we realized we needed the money and Rochester would drive us there in addition, so we rolled.

The drive through Western New York was pretty, once you get past Syracuse there are rolling hills and big pretty valleys the whole way, so I watched a couple episodes of Buffy on the ole laptop and enjoyed the scenary. I also saw a sweet interview on the special features with Joss and all the writers about "Buffy-speak" (I believe its on disc 4 of season three, you should check it out if you haven't already) and them talking about how they have developed all these unique voices for the characters and really strongly demonstrating the quality of dialogue this show produced. I really don't think many television programs can match the consistent linguistic patterns that the Buffyverse created. Sure, the West Wing, at least when Sorkin is in charge, the Simpsons at times, yeah, but regardless. The interview really made me want to write a television show. I have always said that I know so many fucking hilarious people that we could just sit down and write comedy, but I don't even know how you would get in the business of doing so starting from scratch. Its not really an issue since I am pretty sure I wouldn't have the balls to try even if I knew how, but you get the dizeal.

Anyway, West Point. I was all worried about the militarism of this debate tournament. I knew I wasn't giving any cash to the army or whatever, if anything I was charging them. Still, I had been told that our bus would likely be boarded by some soldier armed with an M-fucking-16 to check our IDs. It was, which was really fucking weird and really sucked. Nonetheless, my fears were calmed on the drive from the hotel to the campus. West Point is technically its own town, but it is located about 15 minutes outside of Newburgh, New York, and that is where everyone stays, since they ain't nuttin in West Point but a McDonald's, a hot dog shop, and a bunch 'o' guns.

Newburgh is a dirty ass decrepit (sic) ass city. There is nothing there and the few things that are there pretty much suck. Our hotel was fine, it was a normal Clarion Inn, but besides that place and the joint Dunkin Donuts-Baskin Robbins facility down the street most things were old or dirty. There was a cafe that we ate at most of the time and I liked the spot, but it wasn't really Katie's type of thing. It was very small town cafe. Anyway, once you get outside of the city things change quickly. BANG-you're in the mountains, surrounded by trees and pretty rivers and multicolored leaves and such. You wind your way up a large hill and all of a sudden there is a drop like 400 feet to the Hudson river. On the banks of said Hudson River is the campus of West Point. I mean, this place is gorgeous. Hills and trees and Rivers, that is pretty much all there is. The buildings the debate tournament was in looked a fair amount like castles. They were stone with big castle like ridges, very castlely overall. This building was 30 feet from the Hudson and from the windows you looked at a giant climbing ridge lined with trees and cute little cabins. C'est magnifique.

I have never been and still will never be a woodsperson, but damn gina damn, these pastorally fucking beautiful scenes make me want to open a waffle store somehwere in Maine while I create the recipe for the world's greatest lobster bisque.

I want to make sure I get this in before they officially cancel the show, Fox's A Minute With Stan Hooper is fucking awesome. I know that not everyone gets Norm McDonald's humor, but it is hilarious. Katie thought it was the dumbest thing she had ever seen but I laugh nonstop every week. This type of humor isn't really commincable outside of the show, so I won't ruin it, but if you get a chance you should check it out.

I intended to discuss Flower of Evil, the Claude Chabrol film Katie, Carole, and I saw in Chicago, but I am tired. Oot.



Tuesday, November 11, 2003

Gonna Go Back In Town...

Huey Lewis style, thats how we do this shit. When I get back in town I fucking stay back in town.

Anyway, Katie and I are watching the second episode of Joe Millionaire from this evening and I am attempting to wind down from the disappointing loss the Packers executed in the final moments of tonight's MNF contest against Philly. Favre was not playing well tonight, a rare occurence for Mondays, but at least Ahman was on his fucking nut. Regardless, at least the game itself was fun to watch. It wasn't the type of contest your average person will enjoy unless they are a football afficianado, but I am, so that works out.

I haven't said much about West Point, but since its already been a week, thats a little on the non side of the uniqueness question. We were back in the Windy City the last several days to visit Katie's mom. She was at Katie's aunt and uncle's place watching their three very young children. They have an intersting place, I may have mentioned it at some point before. Its like four blocks away from Wrigley Field in an increasingly uber-gentrified area of the North Side. The house is worth some gigantic amount of money. I understand why it is so pricey (location location location) and I don't begrudge anyone their specific house selection criteria, but I can't imagine compromising travel distance to work, school locations, and such things to live near to a ballpark. They are, as I probably should have mentioned, gigantic Cubs fans. Its a pretty house and it grows on you, if you were just a couple or only had like one kid.

I always enjoy seeing Carole, Katie's mom, if for no other reason than she at least pretends to enjoy cooking for me and cooking in general. Maybe she is just a great actor, but we got to eat pancakes, crepes, biscuits and gravy, pot roast, and a chocolate chip cookie pie without asking for any of them. Don't get me wrong, Katie is a hella sweet cook and she makes dinner, dessert, etc. all the time without pressure either. Still, there is just something about that momish spirit which is always injected into the food. Moreover however, we always do have good quality conversation and such, so it was nice for us to interact socially with someone outside of each other for the first real time in like several months.

I will say more about the weekend and shit tomorrow. I just needed to get back into the writing frenzy sort of mood, since I need to do it for school anywho.



Monday, November 03, 2003

Week After Week...

We are at least approaching the completion of the marathon travel month Katie and I have embarked upon. It has been hella enjoyable and pretty profitable and shit, and at least this weekend isn't even debate related, but its still draining. The shitty part is that I get home late every Sunday and need at least the entirety of Monday to catch up. Then by Tuesday I start to get back in the swing, but Wednesday puts me off track. Then Thursday I am rocking and rolling before fucking POOF and I am oot. Then I just start all over again.

Anyway, there is plenty of discussionable materiales for the near future. We had a pretty sweet time this weekend, at the very least we got to see another hella cool area of these North East United States.

We didn't however, really celebrate Halloween at all, with the exception of eating a bunch of candy at the tournament. I have never been a big party on Halloween guy, I must admit, my parents were sort of anti the Holiday in some senses so it never captured my fascination. I think during my senior year in high school I grabbed a couple random items from the basement closet (a life-vest, a jersey, a lacrosse stick, a helmet, and a trombone) and went to the Eagan debate tournament as crazy lacrosse player. Besides that I doubt I have worn a Halloween costume since like the 8th grade. I remember I was going to one weekend when Sanjay and I went to Pete's halloween party. In the car on the way over we discussed walking in with our pants around our ankles and both going as Andy Kemp, but decided to be too cool for school and arrive sans costume.

I would imagine that if I went to a Halloween part these days I would actully dress up or something, but its a good thing we didn't try that weekend, as we would have simply been overshadowed by what may be my favorite Halloween costume of all time (I want to say it was "Chopper", who I barely know, but it was someone in that category of 100 North Howell regulars I sort of knew, I'm sure there are others, but I can't pull out any names right now, I 'm fucking tired all right, so go fuck yourselves) which was of course, Brenda Warner. The hairstyle and the glittery blue dress were obvious and for some reason it struck me as absolutely perfect. Not to mention that I never get sick of ripping on Brenda Warner, since she sucks a fat-fucking-ass, really really sucks it hard.

On a final note, one mes amies in Minnesota might want to consider ignoring, I want to give a shout out to my Pack for going into one of the second most difficult NFL stadiums to play in and taking one away from the Vikings. I listened to the game on the radio and have seen a number of highlights and it looks like Favre and Green were both on their nuts. I'm worried that this win is not impressive as it looks, that maybe the Viz-Queens are about to do a classic Minnesota sports implosion, but I hope not, both because I want it to mean something that we split with them in our worst year in a while and because I like to watch an offense which has the potential to be as explosive as Culpeper to Moss does. Regardless, good work guys, even up the season series, get back to 500, and start a steady roll towards the Monday night showdown with the fucking Eagles.

Watching the game now. More about the weekend and other such adventures manana.