Dispatches from Nowhere in Particular

I still exist

2008-03-15T05:18:00.003-04:00

I noticed nothing has been posted here since Sept. 29. That's sad. I neglected my little slice of cyberspace. I'll try to do something about that, and I promise I won't talk about "my bracket." No one cares. Why should anyone? Yeah, I fill one out, but I would prefer see enough upsets to eliminate the Dukes, North Carolinas, Indianas and UCLAs of the college basketball world. All we care about here are the little guys. So, go Butler (obviously), Drake, Davidson and Kent State. And when you win and destroy everyone's "brackets," sending them into fits of despair and tears and horrible annoyance, I'll do cartwheels like A.J. Graves.

If a baseball game is played and nobody is there to see it, did it really happen?

2007-09-13T15:06:00.000-04:00

Apparently, it did, and only about 400 people witnessed it. And because baseball preserves every single stat imaginable, there will be proof 100 years from now that the Marlins beat the Nationals 5-4 yesterday in front of nearly 75,000 empty seats. It was hot, humid and involved two of the worst teams in the National League. I have my limits, so yeah, I probably would not have wanted to be there, either. But I have to admit that it would be interesting to watch a game in such a large stadium with such a tiny crowd.

Better than streaking

2007-09-12T17:34:00.000-04:00

This occurred during the Colorado-Colorado State football game on Sept. 1. The "running toilet" was apparently part of a promotion by Denver Water to raise awareness about water conservation. What I want to know is how the person inside the toilet suit could see. It does not appear as though there are eye holes. Eye holes or no eye holes, a toilet with arms terrifies me.

# # #

Yes, I know my first post in more than a month deals with a guy in a toilet suit running across a football field. Deal with it, I guess. It's an oft-used, yet rarely fulfilled promise, but I'll try to get back to this thing more regularly.

Dear Cubs,

2007-08-08T06:23:00.000-04:00

I'll only say this once. If you want to move into first place, please Cubs, get a hit or two when you have the bases loaded and no out. Every team goes into a slump at one time or another during the season, but this, this is a bad time. Seriously, the Brewers are trying to give it to you. You're not planning to kill me again, are you? Maybe not, but over these last few days, you have managed to put me in a perpetual dark mood. Too much good has happened so far to let this crash and burn. But if that's how you want it, I'll have the gasoline ready.

Thank you.

Six good and four bad from the trip

2007-08-04T05:10:00.000-04:00

It's been a couple days, but more than 3,200 miles and nine states later, I have returned to Indiana. This is fine, I suppose, although I miss the mountains.

Good

1. The Rocky Mountains. I am fond of them. It was especially nice to stand on the top of a mountain, 12,000 feet above sea level, look to the east, point and yell "HAHA!" to my poor co-workers who were dealing with racing stories.

2. Finding homestyle fries at the Fort Morgan, Colo. Arby's. It's good to know at least one Arby's hasn't imprisoned its customers to an indefinite tortuous fate of curly fries. Seemingly, they are the lone holdouts in the country. Or at least the parts of the country I have seen. So if you don't want to eat crappy fries, go to Fort Morgan. It's in the middle of nowhere in northeastern Colorado, but it's worth it.

3. The Cubs, Royals, Rockies and Twins won, while the Cardinals, Yankees, Dodgers and Brewers lost.

4. On the newspaper stands at a rest stop in extremely rural Missouri, I saw next to USA Today, various car traders and "Diabetes 101," a publication called "Country Singles." Due to the potential of being alternately terrified and struck by bouts of manic laughter at the gems that lay within, I bought a copy. I was not disappointed. The "incarcerated" section of personal ads (under the heading, "ATTENTION READERS: Please DO NOT, repeat, DO NOT send money to any of the incarcerated!! Thank you for your cooperation!!!") was my favorite. One SWF imprisoned in Nevada said she is, "Willing to relocate."

5. Kansas and Nebraska. While they are both mind-numbingly long and were key contributors to plunging our nation into a Civil War due to the Kansas-Nebraska Act (although, if my mid-19th century history is correct, it can be blamed more on the pro-slavery "border ruffian" Missourians who invaded Kansas, but I might just be making stuff up), I liked them in the way chocolate ice cream with bits of razor blades is enjoyable. Parts are painful, but for the most part, they're OK.

6. When you're in the middle of nowhere, especially in Kansas and Nebraska, chances are you will be able to watch a small cluster of clouds in the distance grow and develop into a large thunderstorm. I like that.

Bad

1. The bridge in Minneapolis collapsed a couple hours after I drove out of town. I did not drive on the bridge, but it's chilling to think that it's possible some of the people I passed on the sidewalks on Tuesday and Wednesday could have been on the bridge.

2. Motel 6. Cheapness in lodging is a fault of mine. I don't typically feel the need to spend a great deal of money for a place to sleep. In fact, I would be perfectly happy sleeping in my car. Unfortunately, my car doesn't have free HBO that I won't watch or a pool I won't swim in. However, it would be a good idea for me to at least graduate to Econolodge.

In the past two years, my adventures at various Motel 6's around the country have included: 1) what appeared to be a bullet hole in the floor (Washington D.C.), 2) a strange man knocking on doors hoping he would be let in (Dallas), 3) mouse poo on the bed sheets (Minneapolis), 4) jackhammers shaking the windows at 9 a.m. (Omaha), 5) another strange man who was smoking in an elevator while wearing a shirt that eloquently stated, "F*** you. I love hatred" (Denver), 6) overly angry cleaning crews (Baton Rouge, I believe, but maybe D.C.), 7) an entire team of 12-year old softball players who creepily referred to themselves in colorful soap on the windshields of their parents' cars as "The Sexy Babies"(Kansas City) and 7) a parking lot so small that many people had to park at an adjacent gas station (Boston).

3. The bug that exploded right in my line of sight on the windshield somewhere in Iowa. It was the size of a small mammal.

4. Apparently the designers of the central Illinois rest areas believed that, on average, human beings are 4-feet tall. That is the only way the bathroom stall doors could possibly be that short. I believe the quote from the guy who walked in and saw the situation was, "Jesus Christ, Illinois! Can we not have some privacy?"

Letters to the good people of the world: Chicago edition

2007-07-19T03:47:00.000-04:00

Dear 60-ish year old man who was riding a bicycle along Lake Shore Drive while wearing only a thong:

I didn't need to see that. The image is forever burned into my brain, and I am terrified. Even as it was, you probably still felt imprisoned by the shackles of your thong, but my eyes will never be the same. At first I thought you were just wearing pasty white shorts, but then I realized that those, those weren't shorts at all. And then I wanted to turn the car into the lake and just end it all right there because I knew I couldn't go on. However, I will admit it had to take some courage to step out your front door like...that.

Yours in memory purging,
Daniel

# # #

Dear Barry Bonds,

While I find it amusing you did not play (the booing must hurt your feelings and your knees), may I have some of what you used? Just a little bit? I'm having a difficult time surviving the rigors of sitting at a desk, and I need a bovine steroid-induced pick-me-up. Please get back to me. It's important. Oh, that's right. What are steroids? My mistake. I need some of that flaxseed oil that did this:

That would be so cool.

Yours in punishing the haters,
Daniel

# # #

Dear sea gulls that invade Wrigley Field immediately after the game ends,

How is your species so in tune to the workings of a nine-inning baseball game? There are many humans who do not understand the game as well as you guys do. As soon as the third out of the ninth inning is made, your flock swoops in to partake in the forgotten peanuts, pop corn, cotton candy, stale beer and vomit that are left in the bleachers. I'm impressed and amazed.

Yours in eating other people's leftovers,
Daniel

America vs. Canada (Or, who is the little brother anyway?)

2007-07-18T04:18:00.000-04:00

A few nights ago after work, I entered into one of my exhausted ramblings. While I don't do it as much anymore, it's still not as if that is a rare occurrence. What began as a conversation about Canadian football turned into me referring to Canada as "America's big brother." After being told I had that backwards, I went on to explain that, no, Canada is the mature big brother to America's reckless, free-wheeling little brother and not the other way around.

(And get ready for a giant run-on sentence that will probably make very little sense, but is one that will leave you feeling fulfilled in much the same way as you feel after eating a giant box of donuts at 4 a.m. And they're not good donuts, either. No, no. They're those scary donuts that sit around on the Marsh shelves all day and never get thrown out. The ones that say Krispy Kreme, but deep down, you know they're just bad imitations. And you feel cheated for about five seconds before you realize that you've really had a bad day and you just want to experience the sugary victory parade of some freaking donuts. So that's how this is going to feel.)

So you might say that while Canada (we'll call him Calvin) grew up respecting his parents, eating his vegetables and getting straight A's before being accepted into Brown (Harvard was too pretentious for Calvin's tastes), then turned down a job with a great marketing firm to go into the Peace Corps (or Canada's equivalent) and eventually got married and had six amazing kids who all have names that start with the letter Q, America (we'll call him Ralph) hated his parents in order to gain attention, ran away from home seven times before declaring his independence through court order at 16, then got his GED but dropped out of Indiana State after two-and-a-half years because he got into a dorm brawl with the kids a floor below, but turned his life around and eventually gained a boatload of power at Subway because all his co-workers were too high on crystal meth to tell the difference, but this was before he caught syphilis from a hooker named Annabelle, but he didn't hold it against her because it wasn't her fault, rather it was society, and so it went.

It was the greatest thing in the world two years ago. It is the greatest thing in the world now.

2007-07-17T13:43:00.000-04:00

Unfortunately, it seems platious.com, the guy's Web site who created this work of genius, is no longer working. At least it made it to Youtube.

Well then. Isn't that interesting.

2007-07-12T03:28:00.000-04:00

I'm not a vindictive person. I do not take joy in the misfortune of others. If we're not careful, karma will come back to get us. And I like people. All people. Even the people I don't like, I try to find an excuse to like. However...however...however, I smirked a little
when reading this story.

I won't mention his name because that would be mean, but basically, this kid could have been classified as my arch nemesis in ninth grade. If there had been anyone who in 1997 I thought would be featured in a story alongside such phrases as "had to use a TASER to subdue him" and "held on $100,000 bond," it would have been this guy.

Middle of the night considerations while wondering why I don't just fall down when the earth spins round and round

2007-07-10T05:54:00.000-04:00

For the past couple months, a single quote has flashed on the electric sign next to the elevators at my workplace.

"I don't believe in failure. It is not failure if you enjoyed the process." -- Oprah Winfrey

OK, yes. That is ignorant. So does that mean that if I had fun convincing an entire nation with fear and lies to join me in a crusade to invade a country that never threatened my country, say that it is going to be oh so incredibly easy, and then lose in an incredibly embarrassing fashion where many, many people die needlessly, that I am not a failure? (No, in that case, I reek of fail regardless of how many times I try to convince myself otherwise. But I had fun, so it's OK. And my daddy still loves me.) But anyway, hooray. I'm elated our standards are so low. Thanks, Oprah.

# # #

Do not attempt to speak to a cat in a fake, poorly enunciated Irish accent. It doesn't work. It's frightening to the cat and might induce vomiting on your shoes that are over there lying in the corner. That wasn't my experience, but Ralph (Wolfie) didn't seem impressed.

# # #

A simple excursion to Cracker Barrel for my grandma's 85th birthday last Friday included:

1) My mom seeing her friend in the parking lot--a friend my dad dated before meeting my mom whom he still holds many grudges against--and dad walking way, way, way out of the way to get into the restaurant without being sighted while mumbling all along the way about "Your mom better not invite her over to lunch."

2) A server who admitted he drank eight cups of coffee and, as a result, could not control the volume of his voice.

3) My grandma, who is one of the kindest people I know, giving me a look that could kill when I did not want any of her strawberry shortcake. I took a small bite so I would not have the misfortune of feeling her anger. The nicest ones carry the most unholy wrath when provoked.

# # #

Musician discovered tonight on the well-stocked iPod my brother expected me to buy from him for $250, but for which no money has yet to be exchanged nearly a year later: Sondre Lerche

Speaking of which, you know how some baseball teams allow their players choose a song to play when they come to bat? Mine would be Icky Thump.

# # #

Speaking of unholy wrath, the sponsored voice inside my head today is Lou Dobbs. (In case you were not aware, I rent my brain to various political talking heads for a fee. Some work with me better than others. But, dammit, why did I let Dobbs in there? I mean, the money is nice and all, but I shouldn't be whoring out my brain to just any loudmouthed commentator. But I suppose it's better than the day I let Bill O'Reilly AND Sean Hannity control my brain. It wasn't worth the tumors or all the babies they made me eat after stealing them from orphanages, which were set on fire.) For a split second there, I was truly outraged at the war on the middle class. Unfortunately, he is yelling at me too much, and I don't know what to do in my cash-driven schizophrenic state. If I'm not mistaken, he just accused me of being an illegal immigrant who loves communist China, and I have to go to sleep to get Dobbs out. It's really too bad. Had he been a little less forceful, I could have been on the border right now building a wall, fixing our broken borders. Oh well. Bye now.

There's hope in the ivy-covered burial ground

2007-06-30T04:22:00.000-04:00

(Edit: It's the middle of the night, and I just woke up. What follows here is ridiculous. It should be deleted for fear that I jinxed them--it's so sensitive that I refuse to say their name--but I'll leave it. If they lose today, go on a multiple game losing streak and finish 20 games out of first, it's my fault. Optimism is stupid, kids. Don't try it. It fries the brain.)

I'm being cautious. I really am. They're 39-39. Still six-and-a-half games behind Milwaukee. But, my, was that beautiful today or what? It's amazing how a seven-game winning streak suddenly makes the days a little brighter. What I'm about to say requires I remind you that skepticism is a natural trait of mine. Normally, I'd say, "Yeah, but the five-game losing streak is coming soon. Just watch." But something feels different. I don't know what it is, but something good is about to happen. I have a feeling. It's a weird feeling, and I don't know how to deal with it. It's almost as if there is a change in the cosmic forces that determine the universe's events. So, we'll see. But if I'm wrong, I'll be fine. I'll just return to my normal refrain of, "I hate them, I hate them, I hate them. Why do I put myself through this? Oh well. It could be worse. I could be a...Phillies fan."

There's nothing quite like a break-dancing ape

2007-06-29T05:17:00.000-04:00

Back in the days of yore, like 1993 or 94, I had a birthday party that suddenly erupted in a singing of the theme song from "Stop the Planet of the Apes I Want To Get Off!" Well, OK. It didn't, you know, erupt. Really it was just my two cousins, my brother and me. Or maybe it was just one of my cousins. I don't know. It was a long time ago. What I do know is that this was the best song ever on The Simpsons.

Letters to the good people of the world

2007-06-26T04:54:00.000-04:00

Dear Dick Cheney,

Foremost among all the things I would like to say to you is, please sir, stay out of my dreams. It is bad enough you don't feel you are a part of the executive branch, but to enter my slumber is simply unacceptable. Perhaps you do not understand my complaint. Let me explain.

Under a falling sunset, you and I walked side-by-side to the Dairy Queen a mile from my house. We laughed the happy laugh of longtime pals as we excitedly anticipated the sugary goodness that awaited us. When we arrived, you ordered chocolate, and I, vanilla. And then you changed. Your face twisted into that freakishly terrifying half-smile, and you chided me for my choice of ice cream. "Girly," you called it. And you knocked the cone out of my hand, laughed and walked away.

Please don't put me through this again. It is appreciated.

Yours in impeachment,

Daniel

----------

Dear Water,

Wipe your damn self off my floor because I ain't not gonna do it. Ain't not. Does that mean I am going to do it? Oh, I don't know. Just dry yourself, please.

Yours in the quality airflow needed to speed the pace of evaporation,

Daniel

----------

Dear Mrs. Lincoln,

I apologize for using my single-use time machine for the purpose of going back to 1983 to halt my parents' drunken gropefest that resulted in my brother's existence rather than rushing to Ford's Theatre on the night of April 14, 1865, to prevent John Wilkes Booth from murdering your husband. I was selfish.

Yours in unhappy familial developments and long unruly run-on sentences,

Daniel

----------

Dear Air Conditioning System At Work,

I realize it is not your fault. Somebody in charge of your control panel made you so cold. But you have to understand, it is simply not practical for me to sit at my desk wearing gloves, earmuffs and a coat. It makes typing difficult. And you know, when it is 90 degrees outside, it looks freakish to walk into a building with what amounts to snowstorm gear. All that is missing is my sled. Wait...that's a good idea. I'm going to sled down the spiral staircase. You're awesome!

Yours in frostbite and potential future paralysis,

Daniel

----------

Dear Closest Star To The Earth, or, The Sun,

Quite honestly, you frighten me. Appearing and disappearing as you please. The consistency of it all is horrifying. It's like a real life peekaboo on a huge scale. It, it gives me the terrors. You're making me crazy. Oh, and stop being so hot. Al Gore is soooo going to kick your ass, so watch yourself. But there's one thing I don't understand. Clouds. Why do you deal with them? Why don't you just say, "Hey, guys, what the hell? Get out of my way!" and blast them with your rays of fury? You probably could.

Yours in skin cancer,

Daniel

"We are the Mooninites. Advanced beyond all that you can possibly comprehend with 100 percent of your brain."

2007-02-01T02:12:00.000-05:00

So when your favorite late night cartoon has an advertisement that creates a terrorist scare and shuts down a section of a large city, how are you supposed to react? What about when the ad features your favorite characters * from said favorite late night cartoon? I don't know, but surely there had to be someone in Boston who stays up late enough to watch Aqua Teen Hunger Force and realized the ad featured Ignignokt and Err, the Mooninites who were flashing you the bird as you drove. But just as pop culturally inept as Bostonians were Wednesday, the Turner Broadcasting people were just as dumb for putting such "devices" on overpasses in these times.

Stupid Earthlings. The Moon Rulz No. 1.

* Carl is tied in the category of my favorite character. "Sweet, sweet nectar. It's like my pool is tearin' ass around the backyard...but it's stayin' still."

Seems Al Davis didn't want his picture taken

2007-01-27T15:58:00.000-05:00

That's a great picture

2006-12-18T07:19:00.000-05:00

(AP Photo/Darron Cummings)

And a running count just to keep track...
Butler 71, Notre Dame 69
Butler 60, Indiana 55
Butler 56, Tennessee 42
Butler 79, Gonzaga 71
Butler 68, Purdue 65

This picture is the epitome of WTF

2006-12-13T05:15:00.000-05:00

So in my nightly scrolling of the Internet, I found this picture.

I would like to spend a day with this family. Sure, I'd probably die, but it would be entertaining. And scary. There are so many questions. Why is the shirtless kid rocking away on his guitar while his dad has his pants down? What are the two women doing? Who are these people and what have they done? Really, I'm just confused. Not confused in the way I'd be confused if I came home from work to find my cats standing on their hind legs having a knife fight over who ate the last of the food because they're not going to get any more food because Daniel is too poor to feed them, so ration your damn food, dammit. Just confused.

Polling

2006-11-27T06:43:00.000-05:00

Just my guess before the real one comes out later today, and yes, Wichita State deserves to be in the top 10. The Shockers are very good.

1. UCLA
2. Pittsburgh
3. Ohio State
4. Kansas
5. Alabama
6. Florida
7. Marquette
8. North Carolina
9. Texas A&M
10. Wichita State
11. Wisconsin
12. Duke
13. Washington
14. Maryland
15. LSU
16. Syracuse
17. Georgia Tech
18. Butler
19. Arizona
20. Nevada
21. Connecticut
22. Arkansas
23. Memphis
24. Gonzaga
25. Oklahoma State

Next 10 (in no particular order): Georgetown, Bradley, Boston College, Southern Illinois, Illinois, Old Dominion, Missouri State, Michigan State, Oral Roberts, Kentucky

Car Dealership Dramaquest: Actual Conversation vs. Interpretation

2006-10-27T06:34:00.000-04:00

Actual conversation

Car dealer #1: So, you called and were told we had a 2003 Pontiac Vike for $12,995? That sounds weird, but I'm sure we can work something out. Who did you talk to?"

Me: "John something or other, I think."

Car dealer #2 (standing five feet away looking perplexed): "Oh, I'm John. Yeah, I talked to you. I left a message a little later. Did you get it?"

Me: "Oh, I'm sorry. I should have asked for you. I didn't mean to..."

Car dealer #2 (either close to tears or about to explode in anger due to losing a possible commission): "That...that's OK."

Me: "Well, if it's not here anymore I, uh, I should be going."

Interpretation

Car dealer #1: So, you called and were told we had a 2003 Pontiac Vike for $12,995? That sounds weird, but I'm sure we can work something out. Who did you talk to?"

Me: "John something or other, I think."

Car dealer #2 (standing five feet away): "What the hell, Bradley?!? Number one, that was my deal, and you're cheating on me with Mr. Fake Tan over here? And number two, John something or other? You don't even remember my name, you bastard! When we talked on the phone, I thought you said we were meant to be together on this deal! I thought we were soulmates. Oh, and that's not even mentioning the fact you don't return my calls anymore! I'm...I'm crushed. I don't know if I can hold it together any longer."

Me: "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Look, it's not what it looks like. He means nothing to me. The commission is all your's if we decide to work together."

Car dealer #2: "No, it's not all right. You go behind my back and deal with HIM!"

Me: "Look, I can see it's not working out right now, so I'm just going to go. You know my number, I know your's. We'll get lunch or something when you're feeling rational, OK?"

WOOOSH!

2006-10-25T01:08:00.000-04:00

That is the sound that will be made if the St. Louis Cardinals win the World Series. You see, if the Cardinals win the World Series, I might just have to set myself on fire, and that is the sound made when something catches fire after gasoline has been douced on it. In baseball terms of hatred, I hate the Cardinals with the heat of 10 million suns. And why does Tony LaRussa wear sunglasses between the hours of 8:30 p.m. and 11:30 p.m.? If he has an eye condition, I apologize, but I want to know.

Burt Bacharach is awesome

2006-10-07T04:25:00.000-04:00

And they better not take YouTube away from me.

High five

2006-10-06T04:36:00.000-04:00

A deleted scene from "Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan." It should be noted that Kazakhstan is not looking forward to this movie as much as I am. They have begun a PR campaign in the United States because they fear Borat makes them look bad. One part of this campaign includes a "travel to Kazakhstan" commericial on CNN. I am almost convinced.

And the trailer...

Would someone please buy me this book for Christmas?

2006-09-26T02:39:00.000-04:00

Why? Just because. Perhaps I need to be cloaked in the comfort that this book provides that everyone, indeed, does poop. I always knew it existed, but when the moment in your life arrives where you type "Everyone Poops" in Amazon's search function, it is a realization that you probably should just get some sleep.

As he falls, she laughs

2006-09-08T18:20:00.000-04:00

Assuming they are mother and son, that is, "I couldn't get an abortion 13 years ago, but now my plan to kill you has come to fruition. If only I hadn't fed you so well, you would have actually fallen. Damn." laughter.

ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!

2006-09-04T07:23:00.000-04:00

You know, one would think that after 98 years, the higher beings that be would maybe try to be nice to the Chicago Cubs for once. Well, apparently they have a sick sense of humor because...

CHICAGO (AP) - Cubs catcher Michael Barrett could miss the rest of the season after he was hit in the groin with a foul tip. Barrett went to the emergency room and an ultrasound showed bleeding inside his scrotum.

An "intrascrotal hematoma" is what they found. Those are two words that should never go together. Seriously, this stuff only happens to the Cubs. And they say there isn't a curse.

The Chicago Cubs, understanding a word Jorge W. Shrub, Jr. says and my futile search for the remote at 4 a.m. when I really should just go to bed

2006-09-03T07:00:00.000-04:00

Man, I just shot Marvin in the face!

2006-08-27T06:01:00.000-04:00

While we're looking at a cartoon bunny version of Samuel L. Jackson next to a blood-covered cartoon bunny version of John Travolta, I would just like to recommend seeing "Snakes On A Plane." A week has passed between when I saw it and this endorsement, but time means nothing when you're talking about snakes that happen to be on an airplane. It is utterly absurd and implausible, but put together, it is amazing. If you go into the theatre expecting to see a serious movie, you will be disappointed. If you go into the theatre with no expectations and just want to see a fun movie about poisonous snakes that were smuggled onto an airplane and kill a bunch of people before SAMUEL L. JACKSON comes along and saves the day, you'll enjoy it. Seriously, it's hilarious.

Away, away, away down south in Dixie

2006-08-07T09:16:00.000-04:00

For the next week and a half, I will be continuing the proud Northern Yankee tradition of invading the South. Like my forefathers did before me, I shall return victorious.

This is my states visited map now...

create your own personalized map of the USA
or check out ourCalifornia travel guide

Soon, it will look like this...

create your own personalized map of the USA
or check out ourCalifornia travel guide

South Carolina is my bald spot.

Smart baby

2006-07-21T06:57:00.000-04:00

That is all.

Health torch?

2006-07-18T13:47:00.000-04:00

Recently, my mom forced upon me a "Hand-pressing Flash Light." I didn't really need one, but I took it anyway. On the box there is a list under the category of "product characteristics." It is funny to read because it is obvious the person who wrote it did not have a strong command of the English language. Actually, my reaction is probably similar to what a French person's would be if he or she read my homework. Any strange spaces in words are on the box.

PRODUCT CHARACTERISTICS:

1. This product is a new science and technology product and made with high and new science and technology. It can illuminate only placing it in rhythm.

2. No need any power, no environmental pollution. Low noise and health. Comparing with common torch, it can be several times on lift.

3. Con stantly using this health torch, it can benefit to your palm, arm and shoulder stretching and blood circulation, so as to let your hands relax and brain clever, hand and brain coor dinate and promote your brain memory and health composition.

Oh, the humanity

2006-07-17T07:08:00.000-04:00

On Sunday, it was 905 days since the Cubs were five outs away from the World Series before losing in a spectacular blaze of glory. The last 905 days featured more losing, and especially this season, more creative losing. Two-run sacrifice flies. Dropped fly balls. Blown save after blown save. But Sunday topped it all, and here is the proof from the New York Mets' top of the sixth inning.

Note: Entering the half-inning, the Cubs led 5-2. Exiting the half-inning, the Cubs trailed 13-5.

- C. Woodward flied out to center
- C. Beltran safe at first on T. Walker's fielding error
- C. Delgado singled to center, C. Beltran to second
- D. Wright singled to right, C. Beltran to third, C. Delgado to second
- C. Floyd homered to deep left, C. Delgado, C. Beltran and D. Wright scored
- X. Nady walked
- R. Novoa relieved S. Marshall
- R. Castro reached on fielder's choice, X. Nady to second on T. Walker's fielding error
- E. Chavez hit for P. Feliciano
- E. Chavez singled to right, X. Nady scored, R. Castro to third
- E. Chavez stole second
- J. Valentin singled to shortstop
- C. Woodward grounded into fielder's choice, R. Castro out at home, E. Chavez to third, J. Valentin to second
- C. Beltran homered to deep left center, E. Chavez, J. Valentin and C. Woodward scored
- C. Delgado doubled to deep left
- D. Wright homered to deep right, C. Delgado scored
- W. Ohman relieved R. Novoa
- C. Floyd walked
- X. Nady walked, C. Floyd to second
- R. Castro flied out to deep center
- End of Inning (11 Runs, 8 Hits, 2 Errors)

There's not much that can be said. I mean, two grand slams, a two-run home run, two errors by the same Cub (Todd Walker) and all in the time span of 41 minutes. Forty-one minutes. The shortest game in the history of baseball took 51 minutes. They would make a quality comedy troupe, these Cubs. Send them out on a stage and see what they can do. Surely, they would do a better job before a live studio audience than they would in front of 40,000 people at Wrigley Field. Maybe it's just stage fright. Yeah, that's it. Stage fright. They do well in batting practice, but they get out there with all those people and they just freeze. That's it, I figured it out. I should be the new manager.

God Bless YouTube, Part 2

2006-07-11T21:42:00.000-04:00

Amazing. Absolutely amazing. But I wouldn't recommend listening to it at work...

God bless YouTube

2006-07-11T20:43:00.000-04:00

YouTube is the reason the Internet was invented, and this is evidence. I present to you, "Ernest and Bertram," the tragic story of Sesame Street's Bert and Ernie. This appeared at Sundance in 2002, but the Sesame Street people requested it be taken out of circulation. It's eight minutes long, but it's worth it.

There's a good one

2006-07-07T17:17:00.000-04:00

A few things

2006-06-20T06:42:00.000-04:00

I've been lax in posts lately, but I'll make up for it tonight.

# # #

Who you rollin' with? Bob Saget!

# # #

While playing the sport of futbol has always suited me more than football, my attention span paid to soccer has typically been minimal. However, the World Cup has brought me joy and happiness. I still don't understand the way the clock works. Or how the players can get away with flopping around and acting as if they are on the verge of death and then suddenly pop up ready to play when the referee calls in favor of his team. Or why people feel the need to kill over the sport. However, all that said, I have a new appreciation for soccer after seeing the name of one of Brazil's players.

It is not unusual for foreign players to go by one name. Pele. Ronaldo. Ronaldinho. All are normal sounding soccer names. Then came Brazil's Fred. How he decided to just go by Fred, I don't know, but I like it. A soccer player who goes by Fred sounds more likely to be your 53-year old neighbor, Uncle Fred O'Hallihan, who attempts to play soccer with his teenage kids only to fall to the ground after shredding his hamstring. Fortunately for Brazil, Uncle Fred is not playing for them.

I didn't follow that either.

# # #

It's been almost two weeks, but I finally just now saw what the The Bastion of American Journalism (a.k.a. the New York Post) had on its June 9 front page reporting that al-Zarqawi was killed. Not only does it have the obligatory "GOTCHA!" headline, but it includes a bubble by his mouth saying, "Warm up the virgins." And that's not photoshopped.

# # #

This is the most ridiculous music video I have ever seen, and it basically killed his career. I wonder who told him, "Billy, you really should prance around like a person having a seizure! Really, you should! What could go wrong? OK, OK, OK. Even if it's not popular, it's not like there will ever be a video database accessible anywhere in the world. Let's start planning your next 15 world tours." With that, here is Billy Squire singing and prancing to "Rock Me Tonite."

That is all.

Vacation time

2006-06-06T06:18:00.000-04:00

All right. It's been a couple weeks since anything was written here. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've been busy. And now I'm going on vacation until June 15, so it's going to be even longer until I get back to this. But if you want to keep your watches set to what Daniel Bradley is doing for the next week and a half, here you go.

Tuesday, 6/6: Drive to St. Louis, Cardinals game
Wednesday, 6/7: Drive to Kansas City, Royals game
Thursday, 6/8: Cornfield cornfield cornfield wheatfield cow wheatfield cornfield cornfield wheatfield truckstop cow cornfield drifter cornfield wheatfield, or in other words, a whole lot of flat Kansas until arriving in Denver sometime in the evening.
Friday, 6/9: See Denver, Rockies game
Saturday, 6/10: Explore mountains. Hopefully don't get lost and eaten by bears.
Sunday, 6/11: Drive to Mount Rushmore, see faces of dead white guys carved into the American Indians' sacred Black Hills.
Monday, 6/12: A whole lot of South Dakota and Minnesota until arriving in Minneapolis in the evening.
Tuesday, 6/13: See the Twin Cities, Twins game, avoid drowning in any of the 10,000 lakes.
Wednesday, 6/14: Leave Minneapolis, drive out into the middle of nowhere in Dyersville, Iowa and see the "Field of Dreams" baseball field. Avoid ghosts of dead ballplayers. End up in Rockville, Ill.
Thursday, 6/15: Drive home, go to work.

So there you go. Now you can stalk me all over the Plains states.

Get him, Barrett!

2006-05-20T18:38:00.000-04:00

The Cubs are terrible. They can't hit, can't pitch and they lose by large margins almost everyday. But Michael Barrett is my hero. I mean, who doesn't want to punch A.J. Pierzynski? He's a punk. Everyone at one time or another, even his teammates, have wanted to punch A.J. Pierzynski. Heck, Freud probably determined that the deepest of human desires is to, just once, punch A.J. Pierzynski. Normally, a catcher would not run over a catcher on a play at home plate, but we're talking about A.J. Unfortunately, that's the most hits the Cubs will get all week.

(Jeff Roberson/AP)

Dragons in the workplace

2006-05-16T06:10:00.000-04:00

Every so often, you see something that makes you stare off into space and when you regroup, you have to ask those around you if they saw what you saw. Such an occurance happened today. We were nearing the end of our staff meeting at work when all of a sudden, drums began pounding on the other side of the office. And they were getting closer. And closer. And closer. No one seemed to know what was going on. As soon as the meeting adjourned, I jumped out of my chair to see what was going on outside the meeting room. And something similar to this was staring me in the face:

That's right. There was a Chinese dragon parade held in my office today. It was interesting in a different sort of way. I mean, no one expects to see a dragon staring them in the face after listening to co-workers go over story and art placement. I later learned it was because of "Diversity Week."

# # #

With the way the Internet is killing the English language, someday people aren't even going to be fazed if they receive a letter in the mail threatening their life. Here's a little play to see what will happen when our friend John walks out to the mailbox if the language continues to be mangled...

(John opens the mailbox.)
John: "Hmmm. What's this?"
(Opens the envelope.)
Letter: "UR gonna die!!!!111111one!!!1111eleven"
John: "Hahahaha! That's funny! Oh man. McGyver reruns are coming on. That crazy Richard Dean Anderson. I don't want to miss any of his wacky adventures. Afterall, he spurned violence for science and brainpower to beat the bad guys!"

Now we will run spellcheck on John's mail, and now watch the difference...

(John opens the mailbox.)
John: "Hmmm. What's this?"
(Opens the envelope.)
Letter: "You are going to die!!!"
John: "Wha...wha...ahhhhhhhh!!!"

See? The English language is a powerful tool.

(I don't know either. It's late.)

Haikus and bulls

2006-05-13T06:06:00.000-04:00

It's going to be OK. Stop crying, babies. It's time for another go-around here. Did you know March is National Haiku Month? Well, it's not March anymore, but welcome to Bad Haiku Night anyway.

Haiku for dummies
Simple: It's five-seven-five
Not eight-seven-five

Oh my God please stop
The children are crushing me
Atomic wedgie???

Head banging is fun
But not when driving the car
Steering wheels hurt

# # #

And I think this is the best way to describe what it is like to be a person who happened to choose the Chicago Cubs at a young age as his baseball team to follow...

Actually, this closely depicts the Cubs game I saw last week against the Pittsburgh Pirates. The Pirates played the role of the bull, while the Cubs were the unfortunate matador who nearly got speared in the unmentionables. The Cubs lost 8-0, which was bad for them, but the Pirates are also the worst team in baseball and will likely perish in the end as the bull will. No matter what happens to the matador, it never ends well for the bull. (That's why it's always better to root for the bull. He is an unwilling participant.) But I guess if you're the bull, you might as well impale a few people on the way out.

Stale beer

2006-04-29T06:21:00.000-04:00

If you think back to 2000, Bush was viewed as a personable everyman who seemed like someone you could sit down and have a beer with, which was funny because the guy used to be an alcoholic. Well, that has turned out to be the most expensive, deadliest beer ever. My liver aches, and this is the worst hangover known to man.

I wonder if it took him a long time to pose for that painting...

Is he? I don't know. It is hard to determine when we are clouded by emotion and when we are living through what future historians will use to make a verdict. Right now, the worst is James Buchanan due to how he sat on his hands in the years leading up to the Civil War. His lack of actions severed the country. Then there are the corrupt administrations of Warren Harding, Ulysses S. Grant and Richard Nixon. There were plenty of worthless presidents in the first half of the 19th century. There is a great line in the Rolling Stone article where one person who was polled said Bush was the greatest president since Bill Clinton.

My sincerest apologies for tonight's post

2006-04-17T05:35:00.000-04:00

After three days of sweet, beautiful freedom, my Internet connection is once again working, and I am again enslaved. It is nice to have it back, but unfortunately, this was the first thing I saw on my return to Internetland. After this, I hope another branch breaks my cable line...

I'm sorry. I really, truly am sorry.

The title says it all

2006-04-14T05:21:00.000-04:00

When you find a video with a straight-forward title like, "Snake Regurgitates Hippo," it is a good bet that the title gives away the ending. This is one of those cases. Yeah, at this late night hour, I'm giving you a video of an anaconda throwing up a baby hippo.

You know, the difference between my blog and Daniel Pulliam's might be that while he posts cute stories of baby hippos being raised by old tortoises, I post videos of giant snakes vomiting baby hippos.

A ridiculous orange llama-like animal

2006-04-11T04:44:00.000-04:00

A woman in Bloomington is suing an alpaca breeding farm in Illinois to tell her the name of her baby alpaca's father. The story explains:

BLOOMINGTON, Ind. (AP) - A barnyard soap opera that arose over an alpaca's paternity is now in court amid demands for the woolly critter's real father to step forward.

Cathy Crosson wants the owners of an Illinois breeding farm to disclose which of its male alpacas sired the year-old offspring of her prized female, Peruvian Lily of the Incas.

She filed a lawsuit last week alleging breach of contract and accusing Likada Farms of Wayne, Ill., of improperly breeding Peruvian Lily and then refusing to identify the offspring's father.

Without the male's name, Crosson said she can't register or sell the young alpaca.

So what exactly is an alpaca? That would be this:

God must have chuckled when He pieced together the alpaca.

Here we go

2006-04-10T06:45:00.000-04:00

Oh, please stop it, Michael Barrett. Don't let me get my hopes up. I need to be a pathetic, self-loathing, perpetually angst-filled Cubs loser fanboy, not someone who actually thinks there is a chance. Why did they have to sweep the Cardinals? Why did the grand slam have to have that chills-down-your-spine feeling? Why do I have to think that maybe, just maybe, it could happen? That this year is the next year for the Cubs that the White Sox and Red Sox earned? Oh, please stop it. Tell me it's not going to happen. Yes, they do have a totally different feel from past disfunctional Cubs teams, but if only they would lose 10 straight to make everything normal again. I'd prefer to be able to live a relatively sane existence. But baseball doesn't really matter, so why should I worry? Yet, why do I ask? Don't do this to me. Don't give me hope. OK?

If anyone ever had any doubt that John Daly is a man's man, this ends the discussion.

2006-04-07T17:17:00.000-04:00

Beer gut. Cigarette. No belt. 84 Lumber sponsored golf shirt. This is a guy who said something recently to the effect of, "I joined a gym, but I stopped going because they wouldn't let me smoke in there." It's a longshot, but imagine if he won The Masters.

Mind exploders

2006-04-06T06:50:00.000-04:00

Due to a lack of ideas, I stole these...

1. A murderer is condemned to death. He has three rooms from which to choose. The first is full of raging fires. The second is full of assassins with loaded guns. The third is full of lions that haven't eaten in three years. Which room is safest?

2. A man pushes a car up to a hotel and tells the owner he's bankrupt. What's going on?

3. This is an unusual paragraph. I'm curious how quickly you can find out what is so unusual about it. It looks so plain you would think nothing was wrong with it. In fact, nothing is wrong with it. It is unusual though. Study it, think about it...but you still may not find anything odd.

When Nature gets angry

2006-04-03T06:34:00.000-04:00

Tonight, an atmospheric explosion occured directly above my workplace. Looking at the radar a couple hours ahead of time, it was obvious we were going to have some fun later on, but what happened was unlike anything I have ever experienced.

My newspaper's office is huge. It's basically four buildings in one, and my desk is in the middle of the second floor. Around 9:45 or so, it started raining hard it could be heard hitting the roof three floors up. The TV's were talking about tornado warnings and dangerous conditions. Around this time was when a concert on The Circle with thousands of people released. Not a good situation.

Before I get to the next point, I should describe the windows. They are double-paned with blinds in between the panes. Anyway, all of a sudden, in the office there was this great pressure and all the outer pane windows on the far southside of the office just collapsed onto the sidewalk below. It sounded like if someone were to drop a bunch of tiles. On all the other windows I could see on the west side, the blinds were moving up and down. No one really knew what happened at first, until someone came back from the southside talking about broken windows.

After the storm settled down and we got past first deadline, a few of us went outside to check out the damage. It was unreal. The street was littered with glass and building materals. And not only were many, many windows on my building broken, but this was what we saw on the skyscraper next door...

(Photo by Mike Fender)

The windows of about seven to 10 floors of the Regions Bank building were blown out. The full damage to the building is only going to be known when daylight hits today.

Once we went back inside, there were reports of strange things inside the office. A couple guys and I walked around. On the fourth floor, we saw water pouring out of the ceiling and into a giant trash can in the publisher's office. And then, on the fifth floor, was the strangest thing I've ever seen. You see that giant piece of metal lying next to the Jeep?

(Photo by Matt Detrich)

Well, one of those metal beams impaled the outer facade and was sticking straight out of a wall on the fifth floor. It was amazing. The outside wall is brick. It obviously was blown with enough velocity to go through the brick facade and through the wall. It wasn't even bent or scratched. I mean, I've heard that pieces of straw can impale a tree in a really bad storm, but this was something I never imagined I would see. What was funny was that along the wall, there are framed pictures of newspaper fronts. This giant hunk of metal went through the wall six inches below one of the frames.

So what caused all this to happen? This story gives some more detail. It says...

Shards of glass and metal, plus overturned garbage bins, littered streets near Monument Circle in the wake of the possible tornado at about 9:30 p.m.

"I saw the tornado on the ground right there," said Ian Money, Jeffersonville, as he stood in the parking lot at the corner of New York and Delaware streets, near the Regions Bank Tower. "I saw it and started freaking out."

The high winds blew out several upper-floor windows and caused other damage at the Regions Bank building.

Barbara Branic, group president for Regions Bank, said that as of 11:30 p.m., officials were still working to figure out what happened.

"We have our security people working the building and the police to determine the extent of the damage," Branic said. "We're just trying to find out information."
...

The storm also damaged The Indianapolis Star's building at the corner of Pennsylvania and New York streets.

Though damage estimates weren't immediately available, several windows were shattered, and a metal beam pierced the wall in the hallway on the building's fifth floor.

Where Ian Money says he saw the tornado is the corner where we stood looking at the damage. I think we were all pretty lucky tonight. Nature is a funny thing.

Pop

2006-04-01T06:35:00.000-05:00

Remind me to never step outside a spaceship when not wearing a helmet. Explosive decompression just does not sound like a fun way to go.

Moving the clocks forward. Dateline: Indiana.

2006-03-30T17:12:00.000-05:00

At 2 a.m. Sunday morning, Indiana is going to explode. You can already feel the tension as you walk by people on the street. "Oh man, the clocks are going to...MOVE FORWARD! Or is it backward? No, I'm pretty sure it's forward. What am I gonna do?" There will be mass chaos, all right. There is a certain hilarity in revelling in the shock and horror of Hoosiers who are utterly terrified of the clock moving ahead an hour. Afterall, they have been trying to avoid this moment since 1966. Whenever there is a small snowstorm approaching, the newscasts go on high alert warning of "WINTER BLAST, (insert year here)." In this case, all you have to do is replace that with, "APPROACHING CLOCK APOCALYPSE, 2006! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!"

Of course, this is all happening before the eyes of out-of-staters who are in town for the Final Four. Surely, it will be a hilarious episode for them to watch as frightened residents take to the streets in horror, turning cars, setting fires and looking to the sky for the Four Horsemen.

Once the terror has ended, there are good things that will come out of this ordeal. Because we are the westernmost state on EST, there will be 10 p.m. sunsets in June. What this means for four-year olds who have to go to bed when there is still daylight and their parents who have to endure the screaming, who knows? But aside from small children and parents of small children, it is a good thing. Of course, by winter, we'll have 4 p.m. sunsets, which will bring forth a record number of people with seasonal affective disorder, but you take the good with the bad.

"Death of a Racehorse" by W.C. Heinz, 1949

2006-03-28T19:24:00.000-05:00

As in literature, in sports journalism there are masters who came before who a person can look to for inspiration in style and craft. W.C. Heinz is one such individual. During his newspaper career, Heinz worked for The New York Sun, The New York Daily News and later wrote for various magazines and authored several books. Heinz was a pioneer in sports journalism, as he was one of the first to move away from the flowery, overly dramatic prose that for decades before defined sports journalism. He proved that clean, simple writing could be powerful writing. His 1949 story that appeared in The Sun, Death of a Racehorse, is possibly the greatest deadline story ever to appear on the sportspages of a newspaper. When you read a story in the newspaper, all too often, the ending is weak. The writer is in a hurry or tires at the conclusion. One of the defining characteristics of Death of a Racehorse is the ending. It's haunting, in a way. While reading it, it is easy to imagine Heinz sitting in the press box and writing on his typewriter with rain pouring outside. A Google search showed the text is only available in a couple places, so I'll post the story here.

# # #

They were going to the post for the sixth race at Jamaica, two year olds, some making their first starts, to go five and a half furlongs for a purse of four thousand dollars. They were moving slowly down the backstretch toward the gate, some of them cantering, others walking, and in the press box they had stopped their working or their kidding to watch, most of them interested in one horse.

"Air Lift," Jim Roach said. "Full brother of Assault."

Assault, who won the triple crown ... making this one too, by Bold Venture, himself a Derby winner, out of Igual, herself by the great Equipoise. ... Great names in the breeding line ... and now the little guy making his first start, perhaps the start of another great career.

They were off well, although Air Lift was fifth. They were moving toward the first turn, and now Air Lift was fourth. They were going into the turn, and now Air Lift was starting to go, third perhaps, when suddenly he slowed, a horse stopping, and below in the stands you could hear a sudden cry, as the rest left him, still trying to run but limping, his jockey -- Dave Gorman -- half falling, half sliding off.

"He broke a leg!" somebody, holding a binoculars to his eyes, shouted in the press box. "He broke a leg!"

Down below they were roaring for the rest, coming down the stretch now, but in the infield men were running toward the turn, running toward the colt and the boy standing beside him, alone. There was a station wagon moving around the track toward them, and then, in a moment, the big green van they call the horse ambulance.

"Gorman was crying like a baby," one of them, coming out of the jockey room, said. "He said he must have stepped in a hole, but you should have seen him crying."

"It's his left front ankle," Dr. J.G. Catlett, the veterinarian, was saying. "It's a compound fracture, and I'm waiting for confirmation from Mr. Hirsch to destroy him."

He was standing outside one of the stables beyond the backstretch, and he had just put in a call to Kentucky where Max Hirsch, the trainer, and Robert Kleberg, the owner, were attending the yearling sales.

"When will you do it?" one of them said.

"Right as soon as I can," the doctor said. "As soon as I get confirmation. If it was an ordinary horse, I'd done it right there."

He walked across the road and around another barn to where they had the horse. The horse was still in the van, about twenty stable hands in dungarees and sweat-stained shirts, bare-headed or wearing old caps, standing around quietly and watching with Mr. M.A. Gilman, the assistant veterinarian.

"We might as well get him out of the van," Catlett said, "before we give him the novocaine. It'll be better out in the air."

The boy in the van with the colt led him out then, the colt limping, tossing his head a little, the blood running down and covering his left foreleg. When the say him, standing there outside the van now, the boy holding him, they started talking softly.

"Full brother of Assault." ... "It don't make no difference now. He's done." ... "But damn, what a grand little horse." ... "Ain't he a horse?"

"It's a funny thing," Catlett said. "All the cripples that go out, they never break a leg. It always happens to a good-legged horse."

A man, gray-haired and rather stout, wearing brown slacks and a blue shirt walked up.

"Then I better not send for the wagon yet?" the man said.

"No," Catlett said. "Of course, you might just as well. Max Hirsch may say no, but I doubt it."

"I don't know," the man said.

"There'd be time in the morning," Catlett said.

"But in this hot weather --" the man said.

They had sponged off the colt, after they had given him the shot to deaden the pain, and now he stood, feeding quietly from some hay they had placed at his feet. In the distance, you could hear the roar of the crowd in the grandstand, but beyond it and above it, you could hear thunder and see the occasional flash of lightning.

When Catlett came back the next time he was hurrying, nodding his head and waving his hands. Now the thunder was louder, the flashes of lightning brighter, and now rain was starting to fall.

"All right," he said, shouting to Gilman. "Max Hirsch talked to Mr. Kleberg. We've got confirmation."

They moved the curious back, the rain falling faster now, and they moved the colt over close to a pile of loose bricks. Gilman had the halter and Catlett had the gun, shaped like a bell with a handle at the top. This bell he placed, the crowd silent, on the colt's forehead, just between the eyes. The colt stood still and then Catlett, with the hammer in his other hand, struck the handle of the bell. There was a short, sharp sound and the colt toppled onto his left side, his eyes staring, his legs straight out, the free legs quivering.

"Aw, ----" someone said.

That was all they said. They worked quickly, the two vets removing the broken bones as evidence for the insurance company, the crowd silently watching. Then the heavens opened, the rain pouring down, the lightning flashing, and they rushed for cover of the stables, leaving alone on his side near a pile of bricks, the rain running off his hide, dead an hour and a quarter after his first start, Air Lift, son of Bold Venture, full brother of Assault.

A whole bunch of rambling

2006-03-28T05:34:00.000-05:00

Per a discussion on sportsjournalists.com, in journalism, we tend to wet our pants over awards. APSE's. ASNE's. SPJ's. Other various state and national awards. Typically, we'll mention it in the paper. Some papers even place a story on the front page. But why? Readers don't care. As was mentioned on the board, to readers, it does not hold any more significance than the lucky individual who wins Employee of the Month at Burger King. And the person at Burger King gets the special parking spot, which is more than any journalist can claim. At least Burger King Guy gets something useful and tangible. All we journalists get is a plaque to put on the wall. Most awards are judged subjectively and involve such a high level of politics that any meaning in them is drowned out by the time said plaque reaches its spot on the wall.

I'd rather see a reporter who consistently breaks stories and devotes him or herself to being solid everyday than one who is constantly focused on winning awards. On the board, Jason Whitlock makes the point that awards are journalism's steroids and a major reason for the issues with fabrication. He's right. Most journalists have an insatiable hunger to move up and up and up. It's natural, and most are not as good as they think they are.

However, as we have seen in the cases of Jayson Blair, Stephen Glass and others, a few lack the moral fiber to advance legitimately. They resort to cheating. It is sad. It is unfortunate. And in some cases, it is inevitable. A reporter thinks he is a "young effing stud." His editor, too, sees his reporter as a "young effing stud." The editor wants results and awards. The reporter wants to advance. The editor keeps the reporter on a loose leash. The reporter takes liberties. The editor does not think twice. And then there's trouble. It does not matter if it is Jesus Christ who is wearing a fedora and sitting in front of a typewriter. The editor needs have control over his or her reporters. There should be no star system. And while we're at it, take away the awards system, too.

# # #

After reading a Des Moines Register column by Marc Hansen about a college kid who decided to spend part of his Spring Break at Wal-Mart as an experiment, it made me realize that, while Wal-Mart is the definition of evil, it would be a fun thing to do. When I was a junior in high school, I sat by a kid named Jason in study hall. Jason was one of the funniest persons I have ever met. He decided to see how long he could live in the tent and patio area of Wal-Mart. Jason figured he could subsist on hotdogs and chips while taking shelter in a giant tent. He only survived for six hours before he was asked to leave by the Wal-Mart police. In the Register story, Skyler Bartels stayed for nearly two days. That's amazing.

When asked about Bartels' experiement, a Wal-Mart spokeswoman said, "We were not aware of this, but it's not something we condone. We're a retailer, not a hotel." Perhaps she is jaded by the constant protests that surround Wal-Mart, but that is a snide comment to make about someone who was attempting to show how Wal-Mart can be a fun place. He did not do anything wrong. Doing something for the sake of doing something out of the ordinary is admirable. Too often, we get set in our ways and don't venture out of what we see as normal living. Delving into the slightly abnormal can be healthy.

There is a discussion board along with the story. I am amused at the people who read the story and wrote derogatory about Bartels' project. That he is a slacker, a good for nothing kid and he needs a haircut. These people...he is a college student who was on Spring Break. He had free time, and that's how he chose to spend it. He could have gone to Florida and cause trouble, but he decided to do something different. To spend any time in a Wal-Mart is a mind-numbing experience, and it was a test of human endurance. I'd probably go crazy.

This and that

2006-03-24T06:28:00.000-05:00

First off, I would like to share with you people one of the strangest non-Onion or satire story I've ever read. It's probably the strangest story I've ever linked to. The title of this story is: "Dedication Honors Nude Britney Spears Giving Birth." Basically, it is a statue of a naked Britney Spears giving birth on a bearskin rug from a position that I doubt many people give birth in, and this is all disregarding the fact she had a C-section. The story reads...

"Monument to Pro-Life: The Birth of Sean Preston," believed Pro-Life's first monument to the 'act of giving birth,' is purportedly an idealized depiction of Britney in delivery. Natural aspects of Spears' pregnancy, like lactiferous breasts and protruding naval, compliment a posterior view that depicts widened hips for birthing and reveals the crowning of baby Sean's head.

The monument also acknowledges the pop-diva's pin-up past by showing Spears seductively posed on all fours atop a bearskin rug with back arched, pelvis thrust upward, as she clutches the bear's ears with 'water-retentive' hands.

I honestly don't know what else to say. However, if you have a neighbor you really don't like, I would suggest purchasing this statue and placing in a prominent location on your lawn.

# # #

While eating lunch today, I watched a documentary about Evel Kneival on The History Channel. My three favorite parts were 1) when he said something to the effect of, "I'm not a hero. I'm a legend." and then they defined what a legend is. 2) When Evel talked about how he saved the toy business. 3) When Evel was describing how when a guy named Sheldon Saltman wrote a negative book about him, he went to Hollywood, asked for Saltman, waited outside for him and beat him with a baseball bat. He didn't even see anything wrong with it. He thought he was doing the guy a favor.

# # #

Lately, I've tried to figure out what can get a person through daily life with the realities and supposed realities that surround us. The war in Iraq? It's a civil war, a quagmire of the highest degree and it's never going to end. Terrorists? They're going to get us, or they might not. The bird flu? We're all gonna die. The deficit? Nine trillion dollars, and I would like to apologize to my grandchildren and their grandchildren. The Bush Administration? It's way, way, way, way too long until Jan. 20, 2009.

Somehow, we all find a way to get through the day without losing our collective minds. How we do so is what I don't understand. I guess if my grandparents' generation could get through the Depression and then World War II, we can get through this, but at least there was leadership in place in the 30s and 40s to give people some degree of hope that times would be better. At a time when we need a Roosevelt or a Lincoln, we're stuck with a bastardized version of James Buchanan. Look up Buchanan, and you'll see what I mean. One guy didn't really try to stop a civil war and the other started one with his actions.

And that's enough of that.

A letter urging Vice President Dick Cheney that he eat Trader Joe's chicken noodle soup because I like it and I think he would, too

2006-03-21T06:40:00.000-05:00

Dear Mr. Vice President,

You don't know me, but I know you. Well, I don't really know you, but I know you through the TV and the various articles I've read about you. You might say I'm quite the admirer. The scrapbook I made of your accolades would support that. Some say I'm obsessed, but no, no I'm not. You're my vice president, and my hero. I had sympathy pains when you shot that man. I mean, I, I really felt bad. For most lesser mortals, it might have ruined their careers, but you've managed to become untouchable. That's what I want to accomplish: to be untouchable in my quest for world domination. I'm sure you'd understand.

But my ambitions are not the point of this letter. Rather, I would like to suggest to you Trader Joe's chicken noodle soup. Not only does it have chunks of chicken, egg noodles, diced carrots, celery and onions mixed in a hearty chicken broth that is a meal in and of itself, Mr. Cheney, Trader Joe's chicken noodle soup has a full-bodied flavor that will leave you satisfied. I think you'd like it. Nay, I KNOW you'd love it. Dick, if I may be so informal, you've had some health problems that scare me everyday. I can't bare the thought of our country losing you. I can't bear the thought of me losing you. So if you would, try some of this soup. Not only is it good, but it is nutritious, unlike the regular grocery store brands like Campbell's that are full of salt. You have to watch those things at your age. But regardless, just try some of this soup. After you eat some of it, you'll be tempted to pull out a huge "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED...I HAVE FOUND AWESOME SOUP" banner to hang on the White House. But please try some. I'm sure you'll enjoy it.

Warmest regards,

Daniel Bradley

# # #

What? I didn't tell you I became a Republican? Well, I did. Who needs logic and reason when you can have world domination and big freaking guns that blow up lots of stuff? I mean, I woke up this morning and realized the thought of the military-industrial complex makes me wet my pants in excitement. All those wasted years as a liberal pacifist. What was I thinking? Hail Bush!

# # #

Finally, finding pictures like this on message boards is what makes the Internet great...

That's an interesting way to fight the man

2006-03-21T03:03:00.000-05:00

I wonder what it might have been like to write a story with a headline that reads: "Man severs own penis, throws it at officers."

And a lead that says: "Before cops threw the book at him, Jakub Fik threw something unusual at them -- his penis."

And here's the rest of the story if you feel so inclined.

Is your last name still playing in the NCAA Tournament??? I didn't think so!

2006-03-20T03:50:00.000-05:00

While it's the worst thing to happen to people's brackets, four mid-majors (Bradley, Wichita State, George Mason and Gonzaga, although, Gonzaga might not really be a mid-major anymore) making the Sweet 16 is one of the best things to ever happen to college basketball. It's taken some time, but the power structure of college basketball is changing due to players leaving early for the NBA. Because they haven't lost anyone to the draft and are able to place experienced teams on the floor, those four can compete with anyone. And Patrick O'Bryant, who is only a sophomore for Bradley, is the best center still in the tournament. Will any of these teams win the championship this year? Probably not. But it wouldn't be surprising if a Missouri Valley Conference team makes the Final Four in the near future. The playing field is leveling, and it's the best thing that could happen for the game.

The best quote out of all of this came from Gus Johnson, who was calling the George Mason game for CBS: "There is a new Cinderella, and his name is George!"

# # #

This picture is great. I love that the chair had tape put on it before Roy Williams decided to slam it down in anger.

The Applebee's Shrimp Sensations commercials are our punishment for the bad things we do as a society and as a human race

2006-03-17T05:40:00.000-05:00

EDIT: When I wrote this last night, I didn't realize the one with the guy drinking the sauce was a Friday's commercial. Am I really supposed to know the difference between Applebee's and Friday's? They're basically the same themed restaurant based in suburban hell. One is a neighborhood, while at the other, it's a "Groundhog Day" type environment where it's always Friday. Neverending Friday. I prefer Thursday.

-----

If I see the two Applebee's Shrimp Sensations commercials that feature the Gilligans Island spoof and the stupid guy drinking the freaking sauce one more time, I am going to be tempted to go down to my neighborhood Applebee's and raise some thunder. For 12 hours at home and at work, I was surrounded by the NCAA Tournament on CBS. Seemingly on every single commercial break, one of these two spots ran. Sometimes, both. Sometimes back-to-back. And even sometimes, the same commercial repeated right after it just showed. Make it stop, please? I'm pleading with CBS to stop showing those commercials. I might lose my mind.

Some research of the Gillgan's parody shows that Applebee's executives wanted to produce commercials with two people who are now known as "The Applebee's Guys." The fact that these spots were thought up by human beings, then approved by their bosses, then approved by Applebee's clients, then approved by focus groups who thought these would be positive things to foist upon the viewing public and then approved by CBS to show them is an amazing fact of nature that will probably never be surpassed. It's inconceivable that anything so retched and annoying could exist over and over and over again. It's a never ending circle of hellfire and insanity.

The problem is that it's going to happen all over again on Friday. It's going to be 12 hours of two idiots pimping seafood with a Gilligan's Island spoof song followed by a jerk WHO DRINKS THE SAUCE! OH MY GOD, HE DRANK THE SAUCE! HE THOUGHT IT WAS A SHOT OF ALCOHOL, BUT HE DRANK IT! STOP THE PRESSES, FOLKS! HE DRANK THE SAUCE! THE JERKTRAIN HAS ARRIVED, AND...HE...DRANK...THE...SAUCE!!! Stupid Applebee's. If it weren't for your chicken finger and riblet basket, I'd abandon you.

But while we're particularly annoyed, let's have a sing-along!

Just sit right back and grab some tails
The tails of some tasty shrimp
Sensations now at Applebee's
Are really worth the trip

Sauteed, crisp fried or fire grilled
Served on a handy skewer
So many shrimp you'll want to plan
A three hour touuuuur
A three hour touuuuur

So join us here this week my friends
It's time for eating good
Shrimp Sensations now at Applebees
In your neighborhood

Well, now that we're all feeling homicidal, it's time to sleep. Goodnight.

Three things. Just three.

2006-03-15T05:09:00.000-05:00

Three things, and I'm too tired and sickish to code any links tonight.

1. There was a headline on Yahoo that says "Male drivers waste six million hours a year." Looking into the story, it says...

LONDON (AFP) - British male drivers waste nearly six million hours a year lost on the road because they are reluctant to ask for directions.

Men who are lost wait an average of 20 minutes before giving up and asking for directions, while women only wait 10 minutes before seeking help, according to a survey from Royal Automobile Club Direct Insurance.

Men even endure a "nagging period" of around 10 minutes from their partner before throwing in the towel and stopping to ask the way, the poll showed.

That amusing. A "nagging period." I don't see what's wrong about for directions. I'd rather not get myself lost, which is known to happen.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20060314/wl_uk_afp/britaintransportdriversmenoffbeat

2. Ice Cube is going to play Mr. Kotter in the movie version of "Welcome Back Kotter." Is there anything they won't remake? Along the same lines, there is going to be a "Dallas" movie made. I spent too many nights from when I was five to seven watching the Friday night adventures of J.R., Bobby, Sue Ellen and the rest of those crazy Texans to not be curious. But it's probably bound to be terrible.

3. There is no number three. Go to sleep.

A blind man ain't got no business at a circus

2006-03-13T16:27:00.000-05:00

Temple basketball coach John Chaney announced today he is retiring after his team's season ends. Sure, he had periods of craziness. He did threaten to rough up John Calipari and he put in a player to intentionally hurt a St. Joseph's player. But when you look past the his episodes of going over the edge, what I appreciate about Chaney is that he always spoke his mind and not what sounded nice. It was an original mind, which is something today's sideline suits seem to lack.

He also gave us this press conference excerpt. I didn't bleep out the cursing, in case you're at work...

"We play game after game. We hold a team to 50-something, and we get 40-something. So we go back in the dressing room and I say, 'All right, men, we've got to play more defense.' We hold a team to 49, and we get 48. We go back to the dressing room and say, 'We've got to play some more defense.' There ain't that fucking much fucking defense in the whole fucking world! You've got to put the goddamn ball in the goddamn basket. That's something you have to understand. And we've got a team that can't shoot.

You can run around all day and set up all kinds of out-of-bounds plays, all kinds of patterns for David, but the other team knows what I know! I learned that a long time ago. I don't have to tell you a lot of stories. But I'll tell you one.

We had two guys one year when we had Nate Blackwell and Tim Perry. And we were playing Rhode Island. And I say, 'Timeout.' We're leading by six with a few minutes to play. I say, 'Get the ball into Timmy.' Well, the other team knows. They play Timmy, they play Nate.

And here's Ramon Rivas standing there wide open underneath the basket. They give him the ball. And he throws it up against the backboard five times and gets five offensive rebounds. So I say, 'Time the fuck out. Come over here. I don't want you to give the ball to anybody. I'd rather you shoot a bad shot or Timmy shoot a bad shot than to give it to Ramon.'

He goes back out there and he's crying. So help me God, Nate was crying. And he sees Timmy's covered and he's covered. But here's that shit-eating grin on Ramon Rivas. And he gives it to him. Before he could shoot it, I say, 'Timeout.'

So I bring them over to the huddle. Ramon is trying to get in the huddle. And I'm standing like this to keep him out of the fucking huddle. '(To Blackwell) What the fuck did I tell you? Don't you motherfuckin' give him the ball. Don't you do it.' So now they go back out on the floor.

And here's Ramon coming up to me, because he couldn't hear what I was saying. And he says, 'Coachie, coachie, what do you want me to do?' I said, 'Come here. Don't help me no motherfuckin' more. Sit the fuck down.' There's a reason why a guy's open. You know what I'm saying? He's always going to be open if he can't shoot. Here's Nate: 'He was open.' There's a reason. They leave him open.

This is a very simple game. It's not a hard game. Jim Maloney, my old, dear friend who passed away, said, 'Don't ever, ever, in your life pass up a shooter.' It's easy to teach a shooter how to play defense. But you can't go recruit defensive players and try to teach them to shoot. Nineteen, 20 years old, it's over.

You know in the old days they had records. There were hit songs on one side, and then the other side didn't have any hit songs, there wasn't anybody dancing. The guy said, 'Why ain't y'all dancing?' The record done flipped over.

When a guy reaches 19, 20 years old, it's over. You can't teach him how to shoot. I get letters from fathers: 'He can vertical jump 50 million fathoms, whatever. But you can teach him how to shoot. You're a legend.' I said, 'Give him to my enemy. I don't give a shit how good he can jump. Send him to my enemy.' It's bullshit.

You figure we shoot 60-something shots and St. Joe's shoots 43. Against Villanova we shot 70 shots. They shot 43. We shot almost twice as many shots. And then we end up with four turnovers, five turnovers. We lead the nation in low turnovers every year. I never lost games where I had five turnovers, four turnovers, in a heated game, and get twice as many shots as the other guy.

A blind man ain't got no business at a circus. And that's what I have, three blind mice, maybe 10 of them. How many guys do I got? Twelve of them.

No more questions, guys. And don't put the curse words in there. Write about the toilet down there in the dressing room. Fordham's got goddamn money. Why don't they build a new arena? We've got to throw them the hell out of the league! Take the money and run.

That's a sin, man. You go down there. That's where they ought to put you guys. I want y'all to come in that door down there. They got shit on the floor that's been there. I bet you there's rodents in that room. And all the students have stuff that's laying there soaking wet.

And then we've got a policeman who says, 'Coach, I'm going to check the back door to see if it's locked.' I said, 'For what? What the hell do you want to check the back door for?' The policeman is down there, sitting down there, guarding what?"

Ouch

2006-03-12T06:21:00.000-05:00

Above all other injuries, I am most squeamish when it comes to the eyes. So when Villanova basketball player Allan Ray suffered a terrible eye injury on Friday, I immediately experienced some jibblies at the thought. Fortunately, it appears he is going to be OK, but when ESPN won't show a replay because it's too graphic, it has to be bad.

A few minutes ago, I found myself in a quandary. I came across a link to the video of Ray's injury caused when a Pittsburgh player poked him while going after a loose ball. Watch or don't watch? Despite my sensitivities regarding the subject matter, I clicked watch. And now I'm going to vomit. I can deal with a replay of a football player breaking his ankle after it's been turned the wrong way. But seeing what I just saw makes me queasy. I think it's the realism of it. There isn't a layer of clothing covering the injury like with a broken ankle. However, in this case, it's an eye. And it's someplace it shouldn't be. Ever.

No, I won't link to it.

Villanova said Ray might be able to play next week in the tournament, but regardless of what anyone says, that was a traumatic injury. It's not just the physical injury, but it is a fracture of his psychological well-being. What is going to go through Ray's mind when he has to dive for a loose ball? I don't know, but shew, that's nasty.

Edit: Alright, fine. With all the people finding this by searching Google for the video, here's the link. Gosh, it's like going to the execution for amusement before brunch. And I'm not taking the effort to code it. Sickos.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L-xsUYEnFSc&search=allan%20ray

Please do

2006-03-10T19:47:00.000-05:00

Weird dream

2006-03-10T16:59:00.000-05:00

Right before I woke up, I had a dream where I was walking around the Indiana State Fairgrounds. Only part of it wasn't the Indiana State Fairgrounds. It was a mix of the old State Museum, the art museum, the Butler library and the Marion County library. It was a strange building, but there's the setting. I was walking around when I saw all these little furry animals all over the place and they started walking towards me. I began running, jumping out of the way of the creatures. They had these eyes that were shiny and glowed, but they did not pose a threat to me. I just wanted to get away from them. After escaping whatever they were, I some other little animal walking in my direction. It looked like a combination of one of my cats, a raccoon and a sloth. It seemed nice enough, so I picked it up and we became friends.

The mystery animal and I were walking around when I noticed that we were being followed by just about every animal available in nature. I started running again until I got to the hybrid building. Outside the building, I put the mystery animal down and ran inside. Through the windows, I saw all those animals I avoided earlier, as well as raccoons and a whole bunch of cats. There were cats in the building also, but they didn't bug me. They just stared at me. I walked over to another window and saw the mystery animal scratching at it because it wanted me to let it in. So, I walked over to the main entrance and was about to, when I saw a giant tiger. I said, "Oh, come on. A tiger? What the hell?" and woke up.

The end.

This and that

2006-03-09T06:17:00.000-05:00

When I sleep, there has to be some source of noise in the room. If it is silent, I can't sleep because I hear everything. So, ever since I was little, I have slept with a fan in my room. Last week, my fan died. It started making clanging noises, and since I'd rather not have my room set on fire, I turned it off. For about three nights, my room was silent and I barely slept. This made me rather tempermental.

However, I fixed this situation with a little noise-maker. It has different setting that include white noise, crickets, rushing water, thunderstorm and waves. I chose rushing water. It's been great, but the new problem is that it makes me too relaxed so I don't want to get up in the morning. Or afternoon. The rushing water setting is like a tranquilizer. When I was in a half-awake/half-asleep state this morning, I said, "I'd rather stay by the river...the river...the river..." And I went back to sleep until 2:30. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

# # #

This authentic buffalo sause they're advertising on KFC commercials. If it's not really sause made from buffaloes, that's false advertising, and I'm going home.

# # #

And speaking of buffalo products, buffalo wings are not good. They're messy, hard to eat and are full of tendons and gristle. Buying them is a guarantee of getting ripped off, and why an entire restaurant was devoted to them is a question that may never be answered. Chicken fingers are better.

# # #

Franklin Stubbs of the Milwaukee Brewers, Kris Kross, Jaleel White (a.k.a. Steve Urkel), Chunk from Goonies and Max Headroom. Where are they now?

# # #

Did you know Supertramp's Web site hasn't been updated since 2002 when they were coming off a tour? I didn't, but now I do. Here you go... http://www.supertramp.com/

# # #

That is all.

Intermission

2006-03-07T07:24:00.000-05:00

During the intermission, please feel free to buy popcorn and drinks from the food stands in the lobby. We will resume here shortly.

Thoughts going through George W. Bush's head in the front page New York Times photo where he is leering at Condeleeza Rice

2006-03-04T07:10:00.000-05:00

Oh. My. God. What I wouldn't do to... Surely Laura wouldn't mind. She'd understand. No, she'd probably kill me. But does she really need to find out? I could always wiretap her phones, just in case. What she doesn't know doesn't hurt her. Eh, maybe I shouldn't. But maybe I should. Maybe I should just ask Condi what she thinks. It might make things a little awkward. Yeah, I don't want that. I mean, when I hinted after the meeting that one time, she tried to tell me we were "just friends." Maybe she changed her mind. I hope no one sees me looking. OK. OK. OK. No one's watching. OK. Just another little glance....hooo, boy, Condi. When you move like that, I feel funny. Wait, awwww damn. What was that camera flash? I should have this guy in the funny hat over here take that camera away. Now Laura's gonna be mad. Does it really matter what she thinks? Sumbitch. If only it were legal to have more than one wife. Wait, I'm the president. I can do whatever I want. Note to self: convince Congress and the American people the terrorists have won if we can't have extra wives. Heh, heh, heh. I'm a genius. Uhhhh, why's everybody looking at me? Am I thinking or saying this out loud?

Amazon searching

2006-03-03T03:57:00.000-05:00

After scouring amazon.com, I found the best bookcover on the planet. From Mark MacYoung, "Secrets" of Effective Offense: Survival Strategies for Self-Defense, Martial Arts, and Law Enforcement. I like that secrets is in quotation marks.

# # #

Something I would like to read is Dark Tide: The Great Boston Molasses Flood of 1919 by Stephen Puelo. In 1919, a giant tank holding 2.3 million gallons of molasses collasped, sending 15-foot high waves of the stuff rolling through Boston and killing 21 people.

This is what the fury of molasses looks like...

That would have to be terrifying to look outside your window and see a giant wave of molasses coming right at you. For years, people claimed they could still smell molasses in the area of the flood.

# # #

Is it normal for me to walk around all day afraid that Dick Cheney is going to jump out of nowhere and shoot me in the face? Yeah, I know that incident happened a couple weeks ago, but I'm just concerned the scary guy is going to pop a cap into me.

Angry old women

2006-03-02T07:36:00.000-05:00

It's great what a basketball game between two rivals can do to a seemingly sweet old lady. I sat next to one tonight at the Purdue-IU game. We'll call her, I don't know, Alice. Alice was at the game with her grown children, their wives and sat next to her grandchild. Everything seemed to be normal until a bad call prompted Alice to scream, "That sucks, you son of a bitch! Bad call, ref!" followed by, "I'm sorry" as she patted me on the shoulder. It was great, and because the referees were particularly bad against Purdue, she had plenty of opportunities to scream and curse. A perk of growing old is that being profane becomes endearing. I could go on a street corner and start screaming 500 degrees of nastiness and people would complain. However, if it were Alice, they'd just smile and think it nice that the elderly have spirit. Here's to Alice.

So THAT'S what flaxseed oil does!

2006-03-01T07:18:00.000-05:00

The San Francisco Giants players decided to play a game of "Giants Idol." Someone decided it would be a good idea for Barry Bonds to play Paula Abdul. This was the unfortunate result...

(AP photo by Ben Margot)

That's all I have.

(When questioned about whether he took steroids, Bonds said he took "flaxseed oil.")

And in today's episode of "Unathletic White Boy Tries To Play Basketball"

2006-02-28T18:25:00.000-05:00

Oh, God, ouch! It hurts! That's it, I'm going home!

Stay tuned tomorrow for the next episode of "Unathletic White Boy Tries To Play Basketball" when Daniel gets his shot rejected by his dad.

The Time Petey The Sexual Harassment Panda Went On A Shooting Rampage

2006-02-28T07:44:00.000-05:00

It didn't used to be this way. In a former life, Petey the Sexual harassment Panda was a popular figure who was hired by CEO's in South Park to talk to their employees about the destructive plague of sexual harassment. He grew rich, and acquired power. However, as soon as it began, it ended. People did not see a need for a friendly panda to tell them how to act in the workplace. And so Petey became a recluse, shunning the public who shunned him.

However, after three years the anger simmered to the point of explosion. Every ass grab, every unwanted comment regarding the new intern's boobs, every risque note left by a co-worker's computer caused Petey's rage to boil. And today, Petey knew what he had to do. Grabbing his shotgun and with the fire continuing to burn within his soul, Petey the Sexual Harassment Panda set forth on a mission. A mission to stamp out sexual harassment with force. Lead force.

Climbing out of his little thatched hut, Petey looked skyward. He lived a long walk from the city, but Petey knew the virtue of his expedition was worth the fatigue, the pain and the hunger. The distance made him stronger. For every river he had to forge, for every forest he had to traverse, for every bamboo-less day, for every mountain climbed and every ravine descended, Petey's resolve grew. He thought about the vengeance he was about to exact on those who thought sexual harassment was a fun time. "They can have their fun," he said to himself. "But when they come face-to-face with this pissed off panda, they won't be laughing anymore about what they'd like to do with the delivery lady. Oh no. No, no no, they won't."

Finally, Petey reached the big city. Lost in their own worlds, the hurried business people did not think anything of an angry-looking panda walking through town carrying a shotgun. But soon they would. Petey looked at his surroundings and chose a skyscraper. He entered and took the elevator up to the 16th floor, his favorite number.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Petey could smell the most hideous smell in the world: the scent of sexual harassment. It was a smell that singed his nose, and when he saw Robert standing at the water cooler leering at his co-worker Cindy, Petey knew what time it was. Time to kill.

"Hey Cindy," Robert said. "Lookin' nice today, baby. How about later on you and I..."
"You!" Petey said pointing. "Yeah, you, man! You think that's funny? You think it's fun to demean women? Sexual harassment in the workplace IS NOT a laughing matter, bitch! And now you're gonna die!"

Robert began to run, but there was no escape. As Petey opened fire, he let loose a scream never before heard in the civilized world. It was a scream only uttered in the depths of nature where trees fall in empty forests. After the bullets pierced his body, Robert was not only dead, he ceased to exist in solid form. The other workers hid behind their desks, but as the shooting stopped, they knew what had been done was right and just. The afflicted had been avenged, and this was only the beginning. A mission to eliminate sexual harassment from the world was afoot. Petey looked at their faces, nodded, threw the shotgun over his shoulder, exited the gun smoke-filled room. He had a mission to continue.

Shark chunks

2006-02-26T07:12:00.000-05:00

You know that scene at the end of "Jaws" when the shark eats the guy on the boat as he screams and blood goes everywhere? That was what popped on the screen right as I turned the TV on earlier. That was a nice thing to see. A couple minutes later, Roy Scheider threw an oxygen tank in Jaws' mouth. Jaws swam away, came back and Roy shot Jaws. This exploded the oxygen tank sending chucks of bloody shark flying through the air. I've always thought the end of that movie was funny.

Once again, I'm tired and not too articulate tonight.

Boo! Boo! Boo!

2006-02-24T06:40:00.000-05:00

On Thursday, I ventured into the foreign country of Ohio to watch a basketball game. I came back a little confused. While Ohioans fully understand the concept of making loud noices, they don't seem to grasp the right times of when to boo, wave their arms or just generally make a scene. There were several examples of where the referees made a call against the Cincinnati Bearcats -- a right call against the Cincinnati Bearcats -- and the fans booed. They were obvious calls, and yet the fans still booed. I suppose this happens in Indiana, too, but not to the extent. Even Kentuckians are better versed than Ohioans in when to complain. That's saying a lot because Louisville and Kentucky people complain a lot.

I'm tired, so forgive me for not making sense.

OH YEAH!

2006-02-22T07:16:00.000-05:00

Did you know 26 of the 50 states have an official state beverage? I didn't. Milk is the overwhelming favorite. However, Alabama went with Conecuh Ridge Alabama Fine Whiskey. That's interesting. It's not even my favorite. That's because the official state beverage of Nebraska is Kool Aid. It was first produced in Nebraska, so it makes sense, but I respect Nebraska a lot more now.

Speaking of Kool Aid, the Kool Aid guy's voice is deeper and less gravely now. It's actually kind of scary.

If only it were this easy

2006-02-21T06:06:00.000-05:00

I've hit my breaking point with the Bush Administration. The unnecessary wars, the spying, the torture, the lies...I can't take it anymore. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to call Keller & Keller. Sure, it's not a personal injury case, but you can bet it would scare them all into resigning.

Bush: Heh, heh, heh, just throw this Mr. Bradley into Gitmo and tell the boys they can do anything they want to him. He's not going to be a problem anymore.
Alberto Gonzales: Yes, well, sir, it's not that easy.
Bush: Whatayou mean it's not that easy? So what? He's in the palms of our hands. We can do anything we want, no questions asked. Who's his lawyer?
Gonzales: It's...Keller & Keller.
(Cue loud instrumental boom, accompanied by Bush spitting his coffee all over the table and peeing his pants.)
Bush: Wha...wha...whaterwe gonna do?
Gonzales: I think we better quit, Mr. President.
Bush: Good idea.
Enter second-rate actor Robert Vaughn as the Keller & Keller strongman: Call the law offices of Keller & Keller and tell abusive government despots you...mean...business. Dial 1-800-2-KELLER right now!

I always wanted my own baseball card

2006-02-20T18:51:00.000-05:00

iPod as a spying device

2006-02-20T16:42:00.000-05:00

This sounds like something form one of those spy movies where someone hooks up a little devise to a computer and downloads bunches of data to it. According to this story, now it can be done with an iPod.

A U.S. security expert who devised an application that can fill an iPod with business-critical data in a matter of minutes is urging companies to address the very real threat of data theft.

Abe Usher, a 10-year veteran of the security industry, created an application that runs on an iPod and can search corporate networks for files likely to contain business-critical data. At a rate of about 100MB every couple minutes, it can scan and download the files onto the portable storage units in a process dubbed "pod slurping."

Between terrorism, the killer flu, angry drivers, genital herpes, ADD, eating disorders, chronic fatigue syndrome, American Idol, war, nepotism, NASCAR, Lou Gehrig's Disease, babies having babies, Larry the Cable Guy, and now pod slurping, we're really...really...really screwed. I guess.

But really, companies tend to protect themselves from outside forces with firewalls and virus protecters, but their only real defense on the inside are posted computer usage rules. If you have an angry employee or a covert operative from another company, it's like defending a fort with cap guns and boomerangs.

BOOOOOOOOMMMEEERRRAAANNNNGGGGSSS!!!

Go away, George Washington. Go far, far away.

2006-02-18T06:44:00.000-05:00

You know, I'm not entirely sure how, but over the course of the day Saturday, I collected 16 one-dollar bills. This came after I started the day with one. One of my quirks is that I never like having more than four one-dollar bills on my person at one time. They waste space, and make it uncomfortable to sit down. All they're good for is to buy poisonous food out of the Carousel of Death vending machines at work. I've been trying to figure out how this happened tonight because it's bothering me at this early morning hour. Maybe I can work it out if I time-lapse this sucker.

2:15: Buy two programs at the Purdue game. One for me, and one for a co-worker. They are $4 each, and I gave the seller a $20 bill. In change, I got a $10 and two $1's. (three total)

6:15: Give said program to said co-worker. He thought it would be $2. I say $4. He gives me four $1's. (seven total)

8:30: Here's where it gets fuzzy. I agree with two other guys to chip in $8 for a couple pizzas. When the pizzas arrive, I take out a $10 bill to give to The Pizza Leader. Worker #2 is holding a $20. I'm about to hand my $10 to the Pizza Leader, when Worker #2 takes it out of my hand, gives me his $20, says, "That should make it easier," gives my old $10 to the Pizza Leader, he gets two dollars back, while I stand there with a dumb, confused look on my face because I can't do math, so I hand this $20 to Pizza Leader, and he gives me eight $1's. I stand there with an even dumber and more confused look on my face before walking away to jot some numbers down that add up to the square root derivitive of the Pizza Leader is correct. (18 total)

8:32: I'm still not entirely sure what's going on. I can't fit all my one-dollar bills in my wallet without it looking like I have a tumor on my butt, so I take a few out. Silently, I stew. In my mind, I curse George Washington and cherry trees and my middle school history teachers and the new chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, whatever his name is. I consider approaching anyone who appears to have larger bills, but I remember that this is a newspaper and everyone here is poor.

8:35: I head upstairs, still confused, in search of a drink. One goes into the machine, and I have orange juice. I'm a little more contented, even if this orange juice is overly strong. I like orange juice out of a box, but out of these little bottles, it is way too ripe. Orange juice with pulp is gross, though. (17 total)

10:15: I'm bored and want to go for a walk. I buy a Pepsi, which I never drink. I feel my teeth rotting as I write this. (16 total)

So, I guess that explains it. I have 16 one-dollar bills. It would be a little more impressive if George Washington's dead face were replaced by Benjamin Franklin's dead face, but we deal with what we have. If anyone has change, please help. It's playing with my neuroses.

Drunken tree

2006-02-17T06:35:00.000-05:00

And here is a weird story from the San Francisco Chronicle, "Stanford tree mascot fired for drinking at basketball game." If you don't know what the Stanford Tree is, here is a visual...

From the story...

The Stanford University tree has been toppled for being drunk on the job.

The student wearing the costume of the legendary mascot was suspended from duty after UC Berkeley police observed her drinking from a flask during a Stanford-Cal basketball game last week, officials said today.

"She was taking drinks inside the tree,'' said Kevin Klintworth, assistant athletic director at Cal. "The officers could see the flask through the costume.''

If you are blessed with the opportunity to be the Stanford Tree, it is not a good thing to throw it away by drinking from a flask while prancing around. I'd like to wear that suit in public, while driving a riding mower and eating a burrito. But no flask.

# # #

Earlier today, it was 60 degrees. Then storms with 60 mph winds swept through, and it is now 27 degrees with 40 mph winds, and it feels like -142. This seems like a good time to go for a walk.

Don't mess with us

2006-02-15T17:03:00.000-05:00

Greetings,
We are Daniel's cats. We have taken him hostage. If you would like for him to live, you must send $50 million dollars and seven bags of cat food. You have 24 hours.

Meow.

They let this guy have a gun?

2006-02-14T06:57:00.000-05:00

Dick Cheney once shot me, too. I was walking through Circle Center when all of a sudden, streaking out of the women's clothing section at Nordstrom's, came the vice-president shrieking like a screaming banchee. I turned to run, but it was too late. He shot me in the face. You'd think a guy who has had roughly 4,000 heart attacks wouldn't have the speed and agility Cheney has, but he does. Dick Cheney is really quite fast. As I lay on the ground, blood pouring out of my face, Cheney started talking about how he was practicing for both the 400-meter dash and the shotgun competition in the 2008 Olympics. Then he thanked me for my help and ran after some other guy with the purpose of shooting him. I wish him the best of luck, and I wish my wounds would heal.

Way back machine

2006-02-13T06:47:00.000-05:00

I was searching around through cabinets in the basement tonight when I found a few of the home videos my mom took when my brother and I were little. My favorite was from October/November 1985. My brother was 15 months old and I was four. I was an awesome four year old. I sang a lot and danced around. One of the strange things about it was that I seemed to like my brother. When he was first born, I didn't enjoy his existence, but I got along with him when the videos were made. There's also one scene in particular of Philip where he is sitting in the middle of the kitchen flooring crying his eyes out, and mom is just standing there recording it. It's amazing.

Nowadays, the brother and I are a little more competitive. You see the water in the background? I made that lake.

Yeah, I poured cup after cup of water into it until, finally, it became a lake. As you can see, I am happy while my brother is not. He lost a bet because he said I couldn't do it. Well, I did. But he should have known better than to bet against me. I have created other natural wonders all by myself. Like Arches National Park, for example.

(Photo: National Park Service)

The way it happened was that one day I was walking through the desert in Utah when I tripped over a dirt pile. It made me mad, and anger usually spawns productivity in me. So, in my rage, I took some dirt, formed it, nurtered it, watered it, fed it, loved it and it turned into Arches National Park. Some people like to claim it's the working of a divine spiritual being, but no, it was just me. You can come visit it sometime.

Storytime with Daniel

2006-02-10T06:49:00.000-05:00

There's something I haven't revealed about myself yet: back when I was a wee Daniel, between the ages of two and five, I was a huge grocery bag collector. Yeah, and you know what? I'm not afraid to admit it. Back then, every time my parents and I went to a store, I had to get a bag to add to my collection. I was pretty serious about this. I was known to sit on the floor of my room for hours at a time where I would take one bag, look it over, front and back, inspecting for defects, place it on the floor face down, and then I'd take another bag and do the same thing. This repeated over and over until I tired myself enough to take my nap.

After I woke up, I had a habit of harassing my dad for him to take me to the Preston Safeway store down the street from my old house to get a new bag. The employees over there must have thought I was crazy. Or that I was cute and adorable, but that my dad was using me as a front to hide his own paper bag fetish. But he wasn't. The fetish was all mine. When we got home, dad and I would have a paper bag taping "party." This consisted of my handing him a grocery bag, and he would help me put layers of tape over it. Most cultures would consider me to have had an obsession or maybe a defect. However, dad didn't seem to think anything was wrong with me. Oh, how wrong he was.

My favorite store of all was also down the street. It was called Big E, which was a coincidence considering my favorite letter was E. (The letter W was pretty good, too, but E was No. 1 in my heart. I was also a big fan of the number 8, the color blue, Sesame Street, Huey Lewis and the News, Australia and 1940 Ford Woody's.) Tying all this together was that my favorite paper bag of all came from Big E. Seeing as I was a pretty unoriginal child, I named it Big E, and he came along with me everywhere. Big E got extra-special layers of tape, some of which were necessary to hide the deadly pathogens it collected in its adventures.

God, I loved that bag. And yes, it went through some battles. Among other things, it got run over by a car, thrown in a trash can at Chuck E. Cheese, nearly misplaced at home and put somewhere where it never would have been found, lost at another restaurant and found at said restaurant when dad went back to get it hours later after it had been thrown in the trash. It also had an unfortunate incident involving a toilet, but we won't discuss that here tonight. When out, I'd show off Big E to people, and usually they didn't know what to say to me. Sometimes, revulsion was their reaction. But what would you say if a three-year old brought to you a folded-over paper bag covered with layers of tape?

This paper bag was my pal. While most kids sleep with teddy bears, Big E kept the night monsters away. That's not to say I didn't have a favorite stuffed animal. I had a stuffed dog named Fluffy. I loved that dog, too. My left hand was my Big E hand, and my right hand was my Fluffy hand. That's how I learned my right and left, and it's how I carried them around. I was probably a year old when I got Fluffy. He's falling apart now. One of his legs is hanging by a thread.

That last part answers a question and poses a few more. Yes, I still have Fluffy and Big E. No, I don't sleep with them. Yes, I know where they are. No, you can't have them. Yes, I was a strange child. No, I don't still ask for an extra grocery bag "for my collection" at Kroger.

For some reason, I have a suspicion that someone will use this post against me someday.

From the Kansas City Star...

2006-02-09T21:44:00.000-05:00

Now that's just wrong, but a little funny in an evil sort of way.

Dipsy-doo dunkaroo. Baby.

2006-02-08T06:41:00.000-05:00

Let it be known on this day, the eighth of February, in the year of our Bush, 2006, that Dick Vitale on closed-captioning makes even less sense than personally hearing the blazes of fury bursting forth from Dickie V's mouth. When merely listening to Dick Vitale speak, subtle annoyance followed by the hurling of my remote against the TV seems to be my primary reaction. However, tonight, I had the opportunity to read Dick Vitale. I was confused. "Dipsy doo, dunkaroo?" What does it all mean?

But then I realized that this is probably what deaf people have wondered all along. It's one thing to hear, "OH! OH! OH! JOSH MCROBERTS, BABY! HE'S A DIAPER DANDY, BABY! A REAL P.T.P.'ER! LISTEN TO THIS CROWD, BABY! DUKE-NORTH CAROLINA! IT'S AWESOME, BABY, WITH A CAPITOL A!" But to read it is another story. Deaf people are probably sending letters to their cable company right now asking, "You have to be kidding me. Stop messing with my closed captioning. Just because I can't hear doesn't mean I don't know when you're playing games. Surely, no one talks like that. But if he does, who is this strange man, and why is he on my TV?"

I also feel a sorry for the poor person who has to do the transcribing. Think of the nightmare this has to be. With ESPN, it's not just Dick Vitale. It's everybody. It's Stuart Scott and Chris Berman and Linda Cohn and countless other English language rapists. Seriously, what would you think if you read Stuart Scott saying, "Allen Iverson. Lord he make his kinfolk proud. Pookie, Ray-Ray, Mo'Isha." or "Ben Roethlisberger is straight up butter. BOO-YAH!"?

Oy.

Puppies eating Taco Bell in Montana

2006-02-06T06:26:00.000-05:00

There is a place on Earth, a wonderful place, called Hungry Horse, Montana. They have a dam in Hungry Horse.

They also have a newspaper called the Hungry Horse News. It won a Pulitzer Prize in 1965.

Thank you, Internet, for the images. Really, that's all. I just felt like sharing.

# # #

A few days ago, I was eating Taco Bell when I looked at the food, looked up and realized, "I am eating Taco Bell." The revelation caused me to lose my appetite, which is strange considering all the times in my life I have eaten Taco Bell. If I don't feel like cooking, spending more money or if it's late at night on a vacation, the choice has always been Taco Bell. When it was in the C-Club at Butler, I would have a bean burrito with no onions and a hard taco, which was eventually memorized by the workers. If I am buying from any other location, it is two hard tacos, a chicken quesedilla and a chilli cheese burrito. Despite the fact it probably has enough fat and calories to cause seven simultaneous heart attacks, the chili cheese burrito is my single favorite fast food item. They are some states where it is not available, and it is always a let-down. But, for now, I am avoiding Taco Bell. I'm sure this is of the greatest importance in the lives of all the world's people.

# # #

On Animal Planet today, there was a program called "Puppy Bowl II." It consisted of puppies running around on a miniature football field for four hours. At halftime, they switched to kittens. When halftime ended, they dumped a bunch of confetti on the kittens. This terrified them. After the show was over, they repeated it. This went on all day long. It had to be one of the strangest things I have ever seen on TV. It wasn't just the fact that they showed puppies running around for hours at a time, but that they played this same basic music over and over and over again. It became mesmerizing. I could want to walk away, but it was always, "I'll just wait until this song is over. OK...I'll just wait until they stop showing Barry attack the other puppies. I'll just...I'll just sit down in this chair and...and I'll...and...where am I?" What was Animal Planet trying to do? Overwhelm us with an overdose of cuteness? I think the others in this house were starting to worry about me. An intervention was surely being planned behind doors. "We must free Daniel from the forces of the puppies," they probably said. But, alas, it is over. And thank goodness I don't have Tivo.

The Church of Cat

2006-02-05T06:29:00.000-05:00

One of my cats is either a Mormon or a Jehovah's Witness. I haven't decided which yet. Determing a religion for your cat is difficult, but I know it's one of the door-to-door prosteletizing ones. Why is this? Because I'm sitting here trying to relax, but Curley is over there knocking at the basement door. Come on, cat. Please just go to sleep. I have a headache, and your incessant meowing and knocking isn't going to convert me.

My other cat is Catholic. Yeah, definitely Catholic. But my first cat was a far right wing Christian fundamentalist. She was mean and spiteful.

Me? Hail Zeus!

# # #

As the razor companies continue to add blades (Gillette came out with one with five blades and one extra, for some reason, on the back), there will surely be a day when the entire razor covers half of your face, and with two swipes, all done. Of course, with that many blades, you are likely to have lost your face along with the stubble.

Whatever happened to the days of straight razors? Of course with those you were more likely to sever your head while shaving your throat. Either way, I'll stick with my Mach 3. It works fine, and the chopping is minimal.

# # #

With the news last week that Reebok and adidas have joined forces against Nike, it is time to realize that there are no winners in the war over footware. The shoe companies and the prices they charge are inherently evil. It is as if Nazi Germany had declared war on Hell. No one can possibly come out alive.

Some people just don't get it

2006-02-03T09:45:00.000-05:00

Let's talk Freedom of Speech issues this morning. So, there's this guy in Dover, Delaware who was a reporter at the city's newspaper. He was a reporter because he was fired a couple days ago when a radio talk show host alerted the Dover Post's editors to their reporter's blog on his Myspace page. He claims he was trying to be funny, but many of the posts on his blog can be considered racist. The "it's just a joke" excuse is old and tired.

He also claims his paper violated his First Amendment rights by firing him. No it didn't. He has freedom of speech rights to write whatever he wants on his blog. No one's going to arrest him for it. He's not going to be publicly stoned in front of the Delaware state capital building. He had the freedom to write whatever he wanted. OK, he did that. However, his execution of that freedom was about as bad as it could get. As a reporter, he represents his paper and himself. He was fired because he represented both in a negative way. As a reporter, he has a duty to cover his community without a perceived bias. Well, his bias is way out in the open here. And if he were to have to cover some of the people he demeaned, it would be impossible to take him seriously as a reporter. Some people are just unable to grasp the concept of consequences.

And not just that, but apparently, he wrote a "death list" of people who called the paper to complain to him. He wrote, ""My so-called "death list" that I recently added to after an annoying customer pushed me over the edge..." Wishing death on your customers over the World Wide Web isn't a tactic that is likely to extend your career, sir. At my paper, I get plenty of calls from people who are a little out there, but people are always going to complain. It's a fact of life in journalism, and people who can't deal with criticism have no place in the profession.

He seems to be attempting to turn himself into a martyr for the cause of free speech. However, what were his editors supposed to do? Just sit there and accept the fact one of their reporters spewed so much venom in a public forum that it could do serious damage to their paper's reputation? It's called Myspace, but it's not really "your space." It's everybody's space because anyone can see it...including your boss. He had freedom of speech, but one of the caveats within his freedom to speak his mind was to use it wisely.

Unfortunately for him, he chose to project himself as being about as big an idiot as one person can. Yeah, it's Delaware, so it's not saying too much, but he got a job out of college at the biggest paper in the state. So he decides to burn his opportunity to the ground with a Myspace blog. That's real bright. Now he says he thinks he can turn this into a radio job. Like he'll be the next Howard Stern. Aside from not being clever or funny, what he doesn't realize is that, if it hasn't already, this story will soon die, and he'll again be a nobody trying to fight upstream in the river that is the journalism foodchain. He had a chance, and he blew it. The stupidity of some people never ceases to amaze me.

Adventures in arena security

2006-02-02T04:29:00.000-05:00

As I walked up to my personal arena security guy tonight to be checked for weapons and explosives, I took my wallet, cell phone and ink pen out of my pockets. They seemed to be the only items on my person that would set off the metal detector he was about to use on me. So I opened my coat, held out my arms and let him do his work. "BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!" When he got to my right side, it went off. "Do you have anything else in your pockets?" I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my pack of chewing gum. "BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!" Crap! "Do you have anything else?" I gave him a sheepish smile, reached in my coat pocket and pulled out my matches that I keep in there for no reason. "BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!" Dammit! "OK, now, do you have anything else?" With I'm sure an even dumber look on my face, I put my hand back in my coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, a small rubber ball and a candy bar wrapper. Realize this was all in one pocket, and I can be a slob about such things. "BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!" Wha...fu...shi...OK. "Are you wearing a belt?" "Yes." "May I see it?" And so I pulled my shirt up, which did not reveal a gun, knife or large explosive device. As far as I know, I'm not too threatening. I like furry animals, sunsets, about six to eight different types of pie, and I don't normally appear surrounded by machine guns and machetes on televised recordings. I just don't do that. That's not how I roll. Or something.

# # #

This is the first time I've ever seen his byline, but Reuters writer Alistair Bell sure can set a scene for a story...

By Alistair Bell
Tue Jan 31, 10:29 AM ET

ACAPULCO, Mexico (Reuters) - As the tropical sun set over Mexico's Pacific coast, tourists drifted away from the pool, waiters shook the evening's first cocktails and three men sat murdered in a car, their brains splattered over the seats.

Just inland from Acapulco's busy beach and luxury hotels, five killers toting assault rifles had stepped up to the brand new Volkswagen Jetta and pumped it with dozens of bullets.

The driver was still wearing his seat belt but half of his head was blown off. There was no doubt of the motive.

For the rest of the story, here you go.

Klosterman

2006-02-01T19:42:00.000-05:00

It is a rare day for me to endorse something that appears on espn.com, but today is a rare day. Chuck Klosterman, author of such books as Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto and Fargo Rock City: A Heavy Metal Odyssey in Rural North Dakota is keeping a Super Bowl blog throughout the week. It's pretty funny. Among my favorite lines from today is...

2. I had my first brush with Super Bowl security Tuesday; all the journalists at media day had to walk through a labyrinth of barriers and metal detectors before entering Ford Field. It was surprisingly efficient, mostly because the Ford Field security staff yelled at everybody from point-bank range, ushering in a strange atmosphere of fear among U.S. citizens who just wanted to ask Joey Porter if he enjoyed hitting people.

This yelling -- combined with the staff's overwhelming, omnipresent politeness -- created many curious verbal exchanges: "WALK OVER HERE! PUT DOWN YOUR LAPTOP COMPUTER! WELCOME TO DETROIT! GET IN THE LINE THAT IS NEXT TO THE LINE YOU ARE CURRENTLY STANDING IN! WALK THROUGH THIS GATE! PICK UP YOUR LAPTOP! WELCOME TO FORD FIELD!"

There were also some very cool bomb-sniffing dogs on site, although they always make me vaguely nervous; somehow, I inevitably find myself thinking things that make no sense whatsoever, such as, "What if I accidentally have some C-4 plastic explosive in my coat pocket?" I get the same feeling in airports; I'm always afraid I might have opium inside my Nikes.

In past years, Bill Simmons has chronicled Super Bowl week, and I'm glad he's not this year. His act has grown old. It's the same thing over and over with "Karate Kid" or "Rocky" references. While Simmons skims the surface, Klosterman is about three or four levels deeper in his thinking and writing.

I'll be here all night. No really, I probably will.

2006-02-01T07:03:00.000-05:00

Now that we have Justice Samuel Alito, could we please finally give a spot on the Supreme Court to O.J. Simpson trial judge Lance Ito? If not only to have two justices whose names rhyme, but to also have the most awesome justice in the history of the court. Judge Ito was my hero throughout 1994 and 1995. The guy had a beard that rocked the gavel to its core. Plus, it sounds like he had personality. The first Google entry under his name gives us this little bit of information...

A bit irreverant in his teenage years, Lance Ito used to decorate his room with Playboy centerfolds and drove a hot Boss 302 Ford Mustang with an air intake and chrome magnum wheels. The young Japanese-American was also known to humorously celebrate Pearl Harbor Day by wearing an aviator's helmet and cape and running through the campus hall's shouting "Banzai."

Isn't that what we, as Americans, want? Now what we all need to do is go lobby at the White House in favor of adding another member of the court. Judge Ito has performed his job admirably. He has paid his dues. Now, President Bush, it is up to YOU. Unless you're afraid.

# # #

So I hear Lisa Loeb is hosting a reality show that is designed to find her a husband or something. Hmmm. Well, that's nice. But why didn't anyone alert this to 15-year old Daniel, who would have gladly built a time machine to participate in such a reality show, and surely wouldn't have thought anything wrong about a 13-year age difference regardless of national and international age of consent laws? HUH? HUH? WHY, DAMMIT, WHY?!?!

# # #

Jonathan "The Impaler" Sharkey, the Vampyres, Witches and Pagans Party candidate for governor of Minnesota was arrested yesterday in Indiana on outstanding warrents of stalking and escape. The story says...

Sharkey launched his campaign last month under the banner of the Vampyres, Witches and Pagans party. His platform includes an emphasis on education, tax breaks for farmers and better benefits for veterans, but he also said he favored impaling certain wrongdoers in front of the State Capitol.

In a Jan. 12 Minneapolis Star-Tribune story, Sharkey is described as practicing "compassionate Satanism."

And here is his official campaign Web site. He has an entire section on how he intends to impale terrorists and other criminals.

Victims, aren't we all? That's what terrorists and criminals want you to think. However, I feel the time has come for terrorists and criminals to become victims. Victims of being IMPALED!

And that's that.

The most useless blog post of all time

2006-01-31T07:51:00.000-05:00

Hi. I would like to welcome you here today for the most useless post I will ever write. Happy Jan. 31.

# # #

There's a flickering red sign above the door at my work that says, "Stop. Watch traffic." It's pretty mesmerizing, which is not necessarily a good thing when it is a sign that could save a person's life. If they don't want people to get run over by passing cars, they shouldn't make the sign so...glowing. And so...shiny. And so...what...where I am?

# # #

I don't like the Steelers, but this song is great. I'm having Muppets flashbacks. You'll thank me for posting this when it's stuck so far within your brain that the only way to get it out is with an axe.

# # #

"Chuck Norris likes to knit sweaters in his free time. And by 'knit,' I mean 'kick.' And by 'sweaters,' I mean 'babies.'"

# # #

I should've majored in falling in a well

2006-01-30T05:01:00.000-05:00

For five years, I wrote hundreds of papers and stories that ranged from one to 54 pages. My brother with his elementary education major is doing handwriting. Pretty soon, he might be doing coloring. Man, I got into the wrong gig.

Although, he claims the way they are making him write will give him carpal tunnel. He has to have his wrist and arm a certain way. And after the assignment is submitted, the professor will send it to a place in Ohio where old ladies are paid to rip up his writing and say why it's terrible. It's actually pretty humorous. I would like to see this place where old ladies get to rip apart college students' handwriting.

On second thought, it's a good thing I took my route. With my handwriting, I would have failed, not to mention how bad I am at coloring outside the lines. I remember coloring puzzles we had to do in elementary school, and in the end, all my colors were mixed together. It was one collective new color.

I guess if I could do it over again, I'd have the double major be journalism and English, push history to a minor, keep the Media Arts minor and drop French altogether. English would have made more sense. Unfortunately, the first English class I took was with an evil professor, so that was my impression of the department.

# # #

Today's news story to make 24 seem old is that Baby Jessica, the 18-month old who was rescued after she fell into a well in 1987, got married to a 32-year old. It was the TV event of 1987. How she managed to fall in the well, I don't know, but for a few months, I was afraid someone would throw me in a well.

The 2006 NCAA Champion Butler Bulldogs

2006-01-29T07:39:00.000-05:00

Butler defeated Elon, which defeated Furman, which defeated North Dakota State, which defeated Wisconsin, which defeated Marquette, which defeated No. 1 Connecticut. Thus, Butler is the best team in the country. Just stop the season now, and give the Bulldogs the trophy.

And I would just like to say that no one has known tedious until they've typed about 30 column inches of high school wrestling sectional results. It's three hours of pure, unbridled fun.

A big jumble of stuff

2006-01-27T09:34:00.000-05:00

Here is a video. It is called, "Poop Today." However, contrary to its name, it seems to have nothing to do with poop. It does sound like the voice says "poop today" in there somewhere, though.

# # #

There is a McDonald's radio commercial where the voiceover kid says McDonald's "has this whole kickin' line of chicken sandwiches." Kickin', eh? Chicken sandwiches are not "kickin'." Chicken is the least "kickin'" of all meats. Everything goes back to chicken. It's why people say various foodstuffs taste like chicken. It would be easier to take if he said McDonald's "has this whole kickin' line of horse meat sandwiches." Ba dum baaam ah daaahh, I'm hating it!

And going along with the commercial subject, I hope the woman who is the new spokesperson for Valtrex is getting paid well. It doesn't seem it would help her life to be the person people envision when they think herpes medication.

# # #

Twenty years ago Saturday is the anniversary of the Challenger space shuttle explosion. It is my first real "where were you when..." moment. It is probably that way with a lot of people my age and a little older. It was a cold, sunny day, and it has snowed the day before. I was standing in the kitchen of the old house in Indianapolis when I heard on TV what happened. I also remember the next day standing in the basement and staring at the picture on the front page of the Indianapolis Star. I still have that newspaper. I was four, and it was the first instance in my life when I realized that bad things happen.

If the Challenger was the first big thing I remember, 9/11 is the most vivid. My story of 9/11 starts on 9/10. Sept. 10, 2001 was a bad day for me. I was tired and generally in a bad mood. When I left Butler to go home, I was humming a song in my head about something having to do with "it's a bad day." (I still really regret this, and it's one of the strangest things my brain has produced, given the later circumstances.) When I got home, I watched Monday Night Football. Giants-Broncos. My last memory of the post-9/11 world was of Denver Broncos wide receiver Ed McCaffery breaking his leg.

The next morning, I woke up at 6 for my 8 a.m. sportswriting class. Something felt weird and not right. As I was getting dressed, on the radio, they talked about a U.S. spy plane being shot down in Iraq. I rode to school with my dad that day, and when we left home, he was talking about how something was really wrong with Grandpa and they were going to take him to the hospital later that day. That scared me because he had been doing well before that. As we drove on 70, I remarked at how blue the sky was, and how it looked like a perfect day.

When I got to Butler, I went to my "commuter locker" to get my books. In the lounge was a big-screen TV, and I noticed the news program broke into a special report to say a "small plane" had crashed into the World Trade Center. The hosts seemed to think it was a fluke, and I figured that since it was a small plane that it was an accident, so I went to my sportswriting class. Nobody brought it up, until Blake Dearing walked in and said what I already knew. We looked on the Internet, and found short AP stories that didn't tell us much.

After class, I went back to the lounge where there were now probably 30 people standing around looking sad. I wasn't sure what to think until I looked at the TV. The first thing I saw was that the Pentagon had been hit. This was what registered it as being worse than I thought. As I stood amongst the people, for awhile, there was silence. I took a chair someone had left, sat down and buried my head in my hands as the towers collapsed.

For a second, I remembered I had my C&T class coming up, but I saw Mr. Levin in the group of people and he said it was cancelled. I stayed there for about two hours. Eventually, I went to get lunch, and later walked with someone (I forget who) to my dinosaur evolution class. We talked about how it seemed like a movie. My dinosaur evolution professor decided to cancel our quiz, but we still had class. We watched an old movie about the Scopes Monkey Trial, and there was this song with a woman singing really loudly that made me uncomfortable. When we were finished, I talked to Dr. Karn about what happened that day. I brought up the spy plane news from the morning and wondered if that meant anything.

Since it was a nice day, I sat at one of the tables outside Atherton. A girl from my C&T class stopped by and we talked some more about it. She said she was afraid they'd bring back the draft, and that "people like you (me)" would have to go fight. That gave me something else to worry about. After studying for awhile, it was time to go home. When I saw my dad, the words out of my mouth were, "Well, the world is quite a different place now from when I saw you last."

Weird stuff.

Stakeout

2006-01-26T08:53:00.000-05:00

I'd make a bad police officer. Here it is, almost 5:53 a.m., and I am attempting to stake out my brother for when he wakes up at 6:00. I'm losing my patience. Apparently, he came home a couple days ago with brown hair. This is something I need to see. However, due to my late night work schedule and his early morning school schedule, he is always asleep when I get home and gone when I wake up. But I need to see this hair. My brother is an anomaly. He's a blonde-haired kid in a house with a dark haired dad, a light brown-haired mom and a brown-haired brother. He's also way too short for his own good. But here I am, waiting to see what he did to himself. This is dumb. I can't wait anymore.

Obey Steelerbaby

2006-01-24T07:13:00.000-05:00

Tonight's utterly terrifying link is brought to you by...Steelerbaby! A hovering newborn doll in a gold and black sweater, Steelerbaby says such phrases as, "Cowher Power," "Here we go Steelers, here we go," and the most terrifying of all, "Obey Steelerbaby." Stay away from Steelerbaby.

Adventures In Late Night Television

2006-01-23T06:14:00.000-05:00

Alan Alda is currently the host of a program on PBS about how people overcome overeating disorders. Among these include gastric bypass surgery, which they just showed being performed. Why did they choose Alan Alda? When I think "overeating" or "grazing behavior," the image of Alan Alda doesn't normally appear in my mind. Perhaps Mr. Alda is appearing on my television screen at almost 3 a.m. mixed with surgery scenes due to his starring in M*A*S*H. Maybe not. It's just a little strange.

Actually, it seems he hosts the "Scientific American Frontiers" program, so that explains it. Alan Alda will be delving into caverns next time.

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Here is what else is on TV at 3 a.m. I'll stop when I get bored with it. It's more for my own benefit, so feel free to stop reading now if you wish.

Ch. 2 ESPN: The 1973 Super Bowl. Maybe the Dolphins won't win this time!
Ch. 3 PBS: Alan Alda show
Ch. 4 WTTV: Off the air
Ch. 5 ABC: Some late, late, late night news show. Doesn't appear to be taped. I feel sorry for them. They look tired.
Ch. 6 Religion Station: A show about the Shroud of Turin, but there is a loud beeping sound and no voices.
Ch. 7 CBS: Another late, late, late night news show. Does appear to be taped.
Ch. 8 QVC: They're selling barbecue. That seems like a strange thing to sell this late at night.
Ch. 9 Religion Station: "The largest collection of gospel music ever sold!"
Ch. 10 Don't know: "Thank you very much U.S. Auto Credit!"
Ch. 11 Fox: Off the air
Ch. 12 NBC: Future president Barak Obama on a replay of Meet the Press.
Ch. 13 Education Channel: Flashing beams of light. Trace-inducing. Staring. Staring. Uhhh....what? Onto the next channel!
Ch. 14: Doesn't exist. BACK TO THE FLASHING LIGHTS OF 13!
Ch. 15 Don't know: Chuck Norris advertising weight equipment. Amazing. Just amazing.
Ch. 16 Public access: Meeting of the Alcoholic Beverage Board of Marion County.
Ch. 17 Shopping Channel: Selling computers.
Ch. 18 Univision: A Spanish speaking talk show. My one semester of Spanish taught me nothing.
Ch. 19 E!: Tara Reid speaking French. I don't know.
Ch. 20 Education Channel: MORE FLASHING LIGHTS! THE SAME AS 13! *drooling trance*
Ch. 21 Don't know: Peaceful water scene with soothing music. That's nice.
Ch. 22: Doesn't exist.
Ch. 23 CSPAN 2: They're showing a chart. Not real sure what it is.
Ch. 24 Weather Channel: They're talking about weather.
Ch. 25 Scrambled HBO: "Heh, heh! Dude, I think I see a boob. Heh, heh!"
Ch. 26 FX: X-Files movie. Mulder: "You kept me honest! You made me a whole person!" Mulder and Scully are going to make out until...she gets stung by a bee!
Ch. 27 SkyTrak Weather: More weather stuff.
Ch. 28: Doesn't exist.
Ch. 29 TBS: Fried Green Tomatoes. Buddy just got hit by the train.
Ch. 30 TNT: Tom Selleck movie. He apparently got shot, but if my mom were here, she'd be swooning.
Ch. 31 Don't know: Liberty Bell Flea Market commercial.
Ch. 32 Shopping channel: "This is a $39.95 value! THIS IS SUCH A DEAL!"
Ch. 33 Don't know: Cold medicine commercial.
Ch. 34 Game Show Network: Some old game show where they're running a toy car in circles.
Ch. 35 Comedy: I don't know. It might be Mad TV.
Ch. 36 Shopping channel: There are way too many of these.
Ch. 37 Court TV: "...the serial killer goes on the prowl again."

I give up. That's enough.

An open letter to the squirrel who lives in my yard

2006-01-22T07:31:00.000-05:00

Dear Squirrel,

My friend, we have gone over this before. And don't try to intimidate me with your incessant chirping and chittering. You have tried that before, and it doesn't work. OK. Here it is, right out into the open.

The corn is for you. The bird feeders are for the birds. Got it? It's really pretty simple.

Now I realize you are a wild creature. Your ancesters ate whatever they wanted to eat. For all I know, they ate grizzly bears and got away with it. However, stay away from the bird seed. You're scaring the birds away, and you're just irritating me. I understand that it is a feat of strength for you to ascend the pole to the feeder, but my amazement is always short-lived.

I like squirrels. Despite the fact one of your kind once chased me, I have always been very pro-squirrel. Subsequently, this is a disagreement I have with you personally, not your entire species.

Additionally, and this is of great concern to mine, you have become increasingly intrepid recently in how you approach the house. Consider this a pre-emptive strike. It is winter. It is cold. However, you must not attempt to enter my house. Consider yourself a neighbor, not a houseguest. Good neighbors have solid barriers between them, and we can be friendly, but that is as far as I am going with our relationship. You can scratch and claw all you want, but I'm not letting you in. That's it. Final. Over. End of discussion.

Afterall, being inside the house is not much of an improvement over being outside. Frankly, it's cold in here. The windows are bad, and the heater does not seem to do it's job. In a way, I envy you. You have fur and are predispositioned to surviving in cold weather. All I have are clothes, and as I am not good at laundry, when my warm clothes are scarce, I freeze. You're pretty lucky, squirrel. Unfortunately, you do not seem to want to realize this.

But look, I don't want to trap you like the raccoons, but if you take this any farther, I might not have any choice. Granted, it will be a live trap because I am rather kind-hearted, but I don't think you'll like it. And don't even think of making messes in protest. But look, I promise not to trap you if you promise to leave the birds alone and stay out of my house. While you're at it, leave the neighbor's cat alone. She's nervous enough as it is than to have you chasing her around.

We can make this work, you and me. Our first impressions were sullied by our disagreements, but I really think we can move on. Like I said, consider yourself a neighbor. And I'll do the same. I hope you agree.

Take care,

Daniel

Poof!

2006-01-19T20:38:00.000-05:00

I just took off my stocking cap, and my hair looks like a mix between Al Sharpton and a peacock. I haven't had a haircut since August, so this is probably a sign that it's about time.

(Al Sharpton)

(Peacock)

Ben Franklin

2006-01-18T07:50:00.000-05:00

Tuesday was Benjamin Franklin's 300th birthday, and there was a special on the History Channel about him. My favorite part was when they talked about how Franklin and John Adams were sent to France to gain support for French help in the Revolutionary War. (The French saved us, France haters. We wouldn't exist in our present form if it weren't for the French.)

Anyway, Ben and John were opposites. So much so that the way they described it, it sounded like a 1970s sitcom. There's John who comes into the office at 8 a.m. and wants to work hard. Then there's Ben who stays up all night with his French mistreses and hanging out with his new buddes in the salon, gets to the office late and yet gets more work done than John because he's been making nice with the people whose support they need. John feels slighted. Then they come back to America and work together to build the country.

Franklin was such an interesting person. He didn't patent the lightning rod or many others of his inventions because he felt he had enough money and did not want to profit. Ben just wanted his inventions to help people. He was a business man until he turned 42, and then quit because he thought he had enough money and wanted to do more with his life.

Franklin was amazing, but at the same time, he was human. He neglected his wife, who he did not see for the last seven years of her life. He had little to do with his daughter. He was closest to his illegitimate son, but their relationship broke apart because his son supported England and Ben was a revolutionary.

They made the point in the show that Franklin is a more accessible historical figure than Adams or Jefferson or Washington. His figure is more human. We view the others as huge granite statues that we go see, but Franklin had such a vibrant personality that it is almost as if he is still alive. While the other three are buried in huge tombs, Frankin's gravesite is viewable from the street in Philadelphia and people throw pennies on it for good luck.

It's too bad someone can't use a time machine to bring here to 2006. He'd be disappointed, say what he thinks and then branded as unpatriotic by the simple-minded ones in today's society.

I've often wondered why more food products aren't available in bacon flavor.

2006-01-17T07:22:00.000-05:00

Tonight, I present: The greatest Bob Knight tirade ever. (Includes language your boss could fire you for listening to.)

And to retort Mr. Knight. It's Brick!

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT WE'RE YELLING ABOUT!!!"

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20 minutes later update

After reading through some "Anchorman" quotes, here...

Ron Burgundy: Boy, that escalated quickly ... I mean, that really got out of hand fast!
Champ Kind: It jumped up a notch!
Ron Burgundy: It did, didn't it?
Brick Tamland: Yeah, I stabbed a man in the heart!
Ron Burgundy: I saw that! Brick killed a guy! Did you throw a trident?
Brick Tamland: Yeah, there were horses, and a man on fire, and I killed a guy with a trident!
Ron Burgundy: Brick, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You should find yourself a safehouse or a relative close by. Lay low for a while, because you're probably wanted for murder.

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34 minutes later update

Al Gore gave an amazing speech Monday. One part...

Fear drives out reason. Fear suppresses the politics of discourse and opens the door to the politics of destruction. Justice Brandeis once wrote: "Men feared witches and burnt women."

The founders of our country faced dire threats. If they failed in their endeavors, they would have been hung as traitors. The very existence of our country was at risk.

Yet, in the teeth of those dangers, they insisted on establishing the Bill of Rights.

Is our Congress today in more danger than were their predecessors when the British army was marching on the Capitol? Is the world more dangerous than when we faced an ideological enemy with tens of thousands of missiles poised to be launched against us and annihilate our country at a moment's notice? Is America in more danger now than when we faced worldwide fascism on the march-when our fathers fought and won two World Wars simultaneously?

It is simply an insult to those who came before us and sacrificed so much on our behalf to imply that we have more to be fearful of than they. Yet they faithfully protected our freedoms and now it is up to us to do the same.

You know, he's right. Ignore party lines. Take away the name. It doesn't matter who said this. He is right. The Bill of Rights has worked pretty well for 219 years. We should stick with the plan that has gotten us this far so well. If we don't, we're disgracing every person who has fought in war, in office or with their brain to defend the Bill of Rights and the Constitution. Benjamin Franklin spoke about that those who wish to give up liberty for protection deserve neither. Al Gore sounded a lot like Franklin yesterday. I hope he's listened to.