A Rhetorical Question

So, I'm heading home this morning, walking through downtown San Diego. I stop at an intersection, waiting for the light to change so I can cross the street. Someone walks up behind and to the left of me, and stands basically in what would be my blind spot if I were driving. After a few seconds, this person walks around to the right of me, and speaks. "Do you know what time it is?" he says. He's a bit smaller than I am, maybe 30 or 35 years old, and is holding a bible, Watchtower, Koran, or some other religious tome. Doesn't look overtly homeless, but definitely has a wild look in his eye. I start to look at my cell phone to check the time, and this gentleman speaks again. "It was a rhetorical question. Keep walking, shithead."

I forgot to ask him if he plays softball.

Early Morning Rants

Random thoughts and bon mots, in no particular order. Think of it as my own version of the Three Dot Lounge...

Fettkrieg 2: Attack of the Scones may be funnier than Fettkrieg 2: The Wrath of Flan...

The best song of 2006 was "You Only Live Twice" by the Strokes...

The best new drinking game of 2005 was "Saddam of Death" by 860-D Macarthur...

I hate signs and people that use the phrase "ATM Machine." It is either an ATM or an AT Machine...

Ditto people that use PIN numbers...

The dialogue of the most recent three Star Wars movies is terrible, but if you go back to the original trilogy, the dialogue is nearly as bad. The dialogue in the Indiana Jones triolgy, on the other hand, is not terrible and holds up over time. And yet George Lucas was prominently involved in both projects. I can only assume Lucas didn't write the Indy films...

If you were going to start a fantasy baseball site, the only stories you'd need to write would be (1) hitters tend to break out at age 27, and (2) don't panic and trade high round picks that start slow...

You get your meal for free at Panda Express if they don't give you the receipt to ensure the receipt is always printed out (i.e. that the cashier actually rings up the sale and doesn't pocket your money). It has nothing to do with your satisfaction...

As much as I like what he did for the Patriots, I can't stand to hear Adam Vinatieri constantly referred to as The Greatest Clutch Kicker in NFL History...

However, I should be referred to as The Greatest Late Night Blogger in Internet History...

I am really annoyed by the phrase "the scary part is..."

I am equally annoyed by the phrase "has only scratched the surface..."

The scary part is, I've only scratched the surface of how annoyed I can be...

There is nothing funnier than a room full of white people dancing to hip hop music...

In Old School, the Mitch Martin Freedom Festival took place on Thursday night, per the flyer on the tree outside Mitch's house. But when Spanish is trying to get Frank the Tank to funnel a beer, Frank's initial excuse for not doing so is that he's busy the next day: "a pretty good little Saturday. Going to go to Home Depot, maybe Bed Bath and Beyond. I don't know. I don't know if we'll have time." So, was the party on Thursday or Friday? Was Frank smart enough to realize that it was after midnight, and therefore the next day? And what about Elisha Cuthbert's character having to leave for class? Does she mean Friday classes, or is she in summer school?

My hump island consists of Elisha Cuthbert, Charlize Theron, Jessica Alba, Carla Gugino and Keira Knightley. For now...

It bothers me when middle initials are used as part of someone's name (Michael J. Fox) but not when the first name is abbreviated (J. Edgar Hoover)...

I really hate it when people have cell phone conversations in places where people around them can't help but hear the conversation - places like BART trains, buses, restaurants, the doctor's office, etc. I'll text message (and this explains the occasional barrages of text messages from me) but won't talk on the phone in these situations, and I wish other people would do the same...

Sometimes when I'm a captive audience (BART trains, buses, the doctor's office, on the john, etc.) I will look at the entertainment section of the newspaper and play a little game I like to call the "F*ck Game." To play this game, you need the cable TV listings for the day. You go to the movie section, and play the game for each movie channel (e.g. HBO, Cinemax, Showtime). Starting from the left, you are allowed to look only at the first movie listed for that channel (the listings are usually for primetime, so there are generally about 3-4 movies listed). Then, you must decide if you would have sex with someone in that movie or show, or whether you pass on that listing (once you pass, you can't come back to it) and look at the next movie and make the same choice. If you haven't selected anyone by the time you get to the last movie or show, you must choose someone from that movie or show. It's kind of like Deal or No Deal, or getting married - do I take the sure thing, or hold out for something potentially better? There is some real strategy involved in this game. For instance, suppose it is a Friday and the first Cinemax movie listed is Demoltion Man. Now, you might normally be inclined to choose Sandra Bullock from this movie and end the round. But this being a Friday, you can be pretty sure that a Hotel Erotica or The Best Sex Ever will be on later that night so you can probably get away with passing and hoping that Pirates of the Carribbean will be on, confident in your fallback position. But sometimes you end up screwing yourself this way; say you're on HBO and you passed on Blind Date because you want to try for something better than an "80's hot" Kim Basinger, but the final listing is something like Oz or Real Sports with Bryant Gumbel. Then you really end up screwing yourself (well, Bryant Gumbel actually)...

A Day That Will Live in Infamy

First off, I once again thank my lucky stars that Kark Hungus is not blogging, because he would tear apart both steaming piles of monkey crap that are my two otherwise most recent posts. Amazing how far one will go for a "Benny! Screwwwww Youuuuuu!" joke.

Tomorrow, Fettkreig 2 begins. The War on Fat. 2. It is handy knowing when a war is going to begin. For instance, it would have been nice to know when the Germans were going to bomb Pearl Harbor. Forget it - I'm rolling.

Fettkrieg 2 needs a subtitle. The obvious joke is Fettkrieg 2: Electric Boogaloo. However, the obvious joke is not the funny joke. Fettkrieg 2: The Wrath of Flan is the funny joke.

I am not optimistic about my chances at winning FK2:TWOF. One reason is that I do not have as much room to improve as I did during the first Fettkrieg, which I will call Fatman Begins. During Fatman Begins, I lost 22 pounds, showed up at the finals at a pretty toned 199, and didn't come within shouting distance of the top 3. I ended up winning the Mr. Congeniality award. No one can tell me with a straight face that any competition in which I win the Mr. F-ing Congeniality award does not have serious flaws in its scoring system. I was jobbed, I deserved at least third place, and I will go to my grave knowing that.

Besides judging that makes the officiating at a Duke home college basketball appear fair and balanced, a reason I am not optimistic is that I live in SD, away from my fellow competitors. So, I will not see them sitting on their increasingly fatter asses, drinking white Russians made with whole milk and eating mini corn dogs, and generally procrastinating until the last month. Normally, such a sight would inspire me to redouble my efforts. Though to be fair, a redoubling of my efforts probably amounts to something just shy of a normal person's effort.

Another reason I am not optimistic is the food at my office. My practice group has donuts or bagels at least twice a week, and has a birthday cake or pie every two or three weeks. The worst part is that these donuts/bagels/cakes all live in the otherwise empty cubicle outside my office. So, I can see the food at all times if I look up from my desk, and I must walk past the food to go anywhere else in the building. I do not feel it will be a problem to ignore the food once the competition starts, however. If any of the jackals that are in the competition stumble across this blog and want to test me, e-mail me and I will send you my work address. Go ahead and have some pizzas, hot fudge sundaes, bratwursts delivered, whatever. I will instruct my assistant to watch me, and if I so much as have one bite, she will tell you and I will pay for whatever you sent over.

SD can also be an advantage, though. I don't know if the secret is out yet, but this city has beaches and some serious talent. Seeing as how I haven't had a girlfriend since I moved to SD, you'd think I might be motivated to work out so I can go acquire one of these bikini-clad beach megababes. If fact, that would probably motivate me, if I weren't so gosh-darned lazy. More good news for the competitors - I just got the phone number of a girl I've been wanting to ask out for awhile, and I think she's into it. So, if my motivation was already on life support, Dr. Jack Kevorkian just walked into my motivation's hospital room during an Enron-sponsored statewide brownout. Hilarity ensues.

Another advantage I've got is that my chest is currently shaved. It was not my choice, but it is shaved nonetheless. Abercrombie models shave their chests (at least, the ones I've dated do), and girls seem to like the way Abercrombie models look. So it stands to reason that girls might rate a guy with a shaved chest higher in the competition. Though I'm not sure how one would score in the final posedown if one's posedown routine consisted entirely of scratching the stubble on one's chest.

Third advantage: Dance Dance Revolution Ultramix, with dance pad, for Xbox 360.

So, what will my strategy be? I've learned that the raw weight loss number isn't important, and the "before" pictures aren't that important. Looking your best at the end is what is important, and I think I lost too much weight last time. Since Fatman Begins, I've added and managed to keep some additional muscle mass, most notably in the arms. So, if I can keep that size, and lose, say 8 pounds instead of 20, I may have a shot at this thing. I know if I start packing protein and lifting, and don't go on the Atkins diet, I can put on size pretty quickly. Realistically, I think I could gain 10 pounds of muscle from April to August. The key will be to time the Atkins diet so I reach the target weight at the end of the competition. Last summer I embarked on something of a solo-Fettkrieg and ended up losing too much weight then as well, to the point where my coworkers thought I had contracted some sort of life-threatening illness. Our reception used to ask me if I was trying out for the lead role in the Machinist. But if I can show up at a pumped up 210, rather than a too-skinny 199, I might be able to factor into this thing.

I think the FK2:TWOF organizers recognize that I could be a threat. It was brilliant strategy by them to recruit me as keeper of the pictures. First off, they know I blog, and will probably spend significant time building a FK2 website that could be better spent lifting. Second, they know I will probably spend significant time with the "before" pictures that could be better spent lifting (though to be fair, I will at least be breaking a sweat in this second case). They are mistaken regarding the first case.

Other news: Going on my first online date this week. Cute girl, soccer player, seems normal. Will let you know how it goes, blog parental guidance rating permitting.

And here is a video you need to watch now, if not sooner:

Taxi!

Thought I'd do some writing while I ponder why Don Imus doesn't have a job while Dennis Nifong does. If (a) I was willing to do any thinking before writing this blog; (b) this blog was about relevant social issues and not just my self-indulgent crap; and (c) every other jackass with an online column wasn't already writing something about Mr. Imus, I might take time to comment about that.

This blog entry is about paratransit. This was a word we used in my econ classes at Berkeley. Basically, it means "for hire" transportation that does not follow a fixed route. An example might be those fake trolleys that drive around Union Street in SF, stopping at various bars. You know, the ones with 25 jackass dudes, a keg, and two beat chicks the 25 guys managed to pick up at the last bar the trolley stopped at (likely the Bus Stop). Another example might be a bus hired to take a group of guys to and from a college football game, or from a baseball game to an adult establishment. The most obvious example of paratransit, however, is the taxicab. Like the one driven by Mr. Travis Bickle, pictured.

Living in San Francisco, one can get a bit spoiled by the taxicab situation. They are readily available, and my taxi rides in San Francisco have generally been short ones, say 15 minutes at most (or at least, the trip should have taken 15 minutes). That probably had something to do with the fact that I wouldn't venture much further than North Beach or the occasional trip to whatever they're calling the baseball stadium these days. There is also the issue of getting a cab to come to the Presidio - I'd say they showed up about 40% of the time - but for the most part, once you are in a normal part of town (for the record, "normal part of town" does not include outside of the Lone Palm) you can pretty much step into the street, raise your hand, and you'll have a cab within a couple of minutes. Pretty handy.

Getting a cab to come to my place in La Jolla is similar to getting one to go to the Presidio. If you arrange for the cab 24 hours in advance, they'll generally show up. However, if you're not sure when you're leaving, or if you need a cab without giving notice (if, for instance, someone wants to go home late at night), there's a pretty good chance you just ain't getting a cab.

To remedy this, I've tried to develop relationships with cab drivers here. They get a little pissed when you ask them to drive to La Jolla from downtown at 2am on a weekend. This is because they won't get back downtown until 3am or so, at which point there are far fewer fares for them. So, I pretty much excessively overtip the driver, and I now have the cell phone numbers of a couple of drivers, so I can bypass the "hold time" and just speak with the driver directly. Now, when I need a cab, I'll call one of these guys, they're usually happy to come get me, and more importantly, they know where I live. The added convenience and reliability is well worth the extra $10 or so I give them above a "normal" tip. Though I feel very Cyrus-like when I do this. Not modern-day Cyrus. Maybe Cyrus circa-1998.

On my last trip to SF, I left my cell phone in the cab when I was dropped off at the airport. Had it been some random cab, I'm pretty sure I would never have seen the phone again. But this was one of "my guys," a fella by the name of Luufti. So I called the phone and Luufti answered it. He apologized that he could not bring the phone back to me before my flight left, as he had picked up a fare at the airport and was headed to Mexico, but said he would hang on to the phone and return it to me when I got back. So, Sunday rolls around, and I call his cell phone, and leave a message. I give him my flight information, and tell him I'll be needing a ride home from the airport, and ask if he can pick me up.

When I arrive at the airport, I walk outside to spot a landmark, so I can call and tell Luufti where he can pick me up. At this point, I don't even know if the dude will show up, and if I've wasted about $50 in overtips. But as I'm getting my bearings, one of the slow moving cabs starts honking its horn, and its my guy. So, I get into the cab, recollect my phone, and we're off. Dude tells me he doesn't have a license to make pickups at the airport, so he's been circling the airport looking for me outside. Pretty cool. (But how did he get the Mexico fare?)

So, that was a good cab experience. But they are not all good experiences. So, enough of this Reader's Digest, "triumph of the human-cabbie spirit" BS. Let's talk cab drivers. In fact, let's talk stereotypes and cab drivers. Note that this is a nonexhaustive list - and I know I am missing a few.

1. The guy who intentionally takes the slowest route. This might be the "main" route, but that doesn't make it right. This is the jackass that will take Van Ness at 5:30pm, when everyone knows Franklin, Gough, or a number of other choices would be much faster. As a cab driver, I'm sure he knows this. It is his job to know. Which leads us to...

2. The guy who gets all pissed off if you question his route. There are a couple of ways you can do this. One way might be to ask "do you think there might be less traffic on Battery, instead of going down Columbus and through Chinatown?" Another way, which I will refer to as the BRD Method, is to ask "are you intentionally taking the slowest route? I mean, are you trying to take as long as possible to get to the destination?" Either way, the response is generally unfavorable. The guy I hate even more, though, is...

3. The guy who kicks you out of his cab because you are farting up a storm in the back seat. Man is that an inconvenience. And its like he immediately calls all his friends, or otherwise somehow flags you as the farting guy. Impossible to get a cab after that.

4. Then there is the guy who doesn't speak. This is a little creepy. They just look at you when you get into the cab, and don't say anything the entire time. When the trip is over, they'll usually tell you the fare, but that is the extent of communications. Just a little awkward all around.

5. There is also the guy who has five kids to feed who ends up being a spy for Cohaagen and trying to run you over in a Martian drilling machine. Pretty much the only way to deal with this guy is to grab a handheld drilling device, disable his drilling machine, and then to drill a hole through the machine's door and through the driver himself. The driver might have a mutant limb, but don't let that fool you, he is working for the other side. Certainly don't try the overtipping thing with him - you'll be wasting your money.

6. There's also the guy who is on his cell phone the whole time. It could be that he is talking to some of his overtipping regular passengers, and arranging to pick them up later in the day. However, I think this is unlikely, because the cabbie's cell phone conversations are always in a language I can't even begin to comprehend. I mean, I can speak some Spanish and some English but I can't pick any words out of these conversations. I am pretty sure they're speaking the Greedo language. They're probably talking about driving the La Jolla jackass in the back seat out to a shallow hole in the desert.

7. Then there is the "female" driver. "Female" is probably best defined here as "not male." I don't mind having this chick drive me around, I was just expecting that it would be in an 18 wheeler, not a cab, and I am sure as shootin' not going to arm wrestle this broad.

A DVD No One Wants to See

Took in the Killers concert this weekend. I'd say it was a pretty good show, except for the performance of Mr. Brightside, which was outstanding. I agree with and generally abide by a lot of Douglas Coughlin's laws (of Cocktail fame, see picture at right). The one I probably follow most faithfully, intentionally or not, is "never show surprise, never lose your cool." Couldn't really resist on this song - I was jumping and waving my arms and singing along with the rest of the idiots at the auditorium. And it was awesome. If someone produced a DVD of the highlights or best times of my life, I am pretty sure those 4 minutes would be on it. Which of course leads me to wonder what else would be on that DVD. Pretty sure I won't be able to come up with all of it right now. It's not like I can rely on standard answers like wedding day or birth of my child, since those don't really apply.

Here are some items that would probably appear in the highlight DVD of my life. They are in no particular order, and I'm sure one could work on a list like this indefinitely:

1. The Killers, Mr. Brightside, live in SF, 4/7/07
2. Pearl Jam, Yellow Ledbetter live in SD, 7/7/06
3. Naked swimming in Pacific Ocean "after hours" (various dates).
4. 1993 Big Game - Cal 46, Stanford 17, and the postgame celebration on Stanford's field. Chanting "Donuts" at the cops guarding the goalpost we didn't take down. There is also excellent footage at the end of the televised broadcast of me, Beck and about 20 other students running across the field with the goalpost we did take down.
5. 1993 Cal v. Oregon. We arrive at the stadium in the first half (there was a "shot break" at Alpha Phi on the way to the stadium) with Cal trailing 30-0. Cal storms back in the second half and wins, 42-41 on a 2-point fade pass to Mike Caldwell, the consummate college WR (white receiver). Excellent televised footage exists of our group dogpiling in the stands following the conversion.
6. 6th grade: won the Palo Verde Unified School District spelling bee. It was a pretty sloppy victory - I think me and the girl I was up against each missed about 6 words until I was able to string together two correct words to win the thing. Lost at the county trying to spell "psychology." I can't believe I wasn't able to parlay this title into any action.
7. Great Gatsby party at Cal and pool at Raleigh's with Rusty the day after.
8. Winning a 2-person 18-hole scotch-ball tourney with my Dad (scotch ball = the team plays one ball, with the players alternating shots). I'd hit a big drive, not always in the fairway, and Dad would get us on or near the green every time. I'd miss the putt or chip, and he'd make the putt. Beat everyone by at least 6 strokes, including some teams that consisted of college players and pros. There was a nice write up of this in the local paper. Probably my best memory of my Dad.
9. 3-man weave up Fillmore.
10. 11th-grade, bus ride back from watching the space shuttle landing. Sat with a chick I had a crush on and she slept on my shoulder - had a stiffie for most of the three-hour trip. (Keep in mind that I had won a spelling bee in 6th grade.) My first kiss occurred later that year with this girl, after junior prom. That moment does not make my list, as I was not fantastic.
11. First varsity basketball points. I got an offensive rebound off a free throw, and went up for a jump shot. The defender tried to block my shot, so I pulled the ball down and put up a scoop shot around the shotblocker's arm that found its way into the hoop. I thought I made a great basketball move (I had been nicknamed "White Chocolate" by some in my P.E. class and some on the basketball team for some of the flashy stuff that I would try. I was also the master of the behind-the-back pass, if by "master" you mean I often threw passes behind my back even when it was completely inappropriate to do so and often led to turnovers). However, the footage of the game, taken by the father of my best friend on the team, reveals otherwise. It looks like I jumped up, turned away from the basket, and threw the ball over my head with no idea where it was going. It went in, dammit.
12. Lots of stuff with Beth that I will not list here (some because it is personal and some because it is personal and this is a family blog).
13. Basketball in Blythe, a couple summers after I first went to college. Guy on the other team that could jump out of the gym gets the ball on a breakaway, with only me giving chase. He goes up for the slam, and I go up with him, and block the dunk. Clean block, no foul. People that were there still bring this up when I'm home and they see me.
14. Graduation Day at USC. Wanted to quit law school and tried to - I called my TA to tell him I wasn't going to turn in my paper, and that I was withdrawing from school. He never called me back, so I finished the paper and turned it in. Our graduation robes were bright red, which was painful being from Cal, but I also felt like a wizard, which was awesome.
15. Palo Verde High School golf team - shot a 3-under 33 on the front nine. Was +1 on the back nine, for an 18 hole score of 70, or -2.
16. Kiwanis golf tournament, senior year. Birdied the first two holes, and was at the top of the leaderboard of about 60 golfers. That lasted about zero more holes, as I hit two out off the next tee and proceeded to crash and burn to about a +8 on the side and a score in the 80's on the day.
17. Those Aren't Pillows / Hot Tub Justice performance in T and Carrie's backyard. Only sat in for one song, I Want It That Way, and since we hadn't really rehearsed and I'm not great to begin with we kind of sucked, but that was a lot of fun. I think the 15 or so people squeezed into the wading pool really enjoyed it.
18. Bowled a 275 in Blythe, while subbing for a league over a holiday, on the same lane with my Mom, brother and Dave.
19. Passing the bar. I wasn't sure I had passed, so I went back to my office to check results. Woody had brought a wireless modem to the Royal Exchange and I now wish I had checked the results with it in front of everyone. As soon as I saw I had passed, I printed out the screen so they couldn't take it away from me.
20. Patriots win their first Super Bowl on a last second kick by Adam Vinatieri. Part of me wishes Vinatieri hadn't made so many last second kicks, because I am really tired of hearing him referred to as "the greatest clutch kicker in NFL history." But the Pats were 2 TD underdogs, we watched the game at BRD's house with a bunch of friends and Caution tape, and I had money down on the game.

21. Hanging (pun intended?) in a Vegas casino in my boxer shorts, with Woody wearing a toga, waiting for the pool to open in the morning so we could go swimming before going to sleep. Of course, this was one of the famous "Mickey" trips, so there are a lot of bad memories to go with that good one. Another good part about that trip is how I only had $40 to my name when I got there, and was down to my last $5 at O'Shea's before winning 14 hands in a row at blackjack, with me pressing my bet after every win and a fair number of the wins being double-downs and blackjacks. I pushed on the final hand, with a blackjack, which is the reason I always take "even money" in blackjack even though you are not supposed to.

22. First gambling trip when I was of legal age. Went to Laughlin for the weekend. I walked away ahead at every table I played on the entire weekend. Generally would sit with $40 and leave if I lost a hand after the pile had grown to $100. Won about $800 that weekend. I felt kind of bad, because my buddy Tyler kept playing with me and losing - I think I had about $300 of his money, and he was in college and gambling with a fake ID. I bought him beers but he still couldn't afford the loss at the time.

Three Women! Two Roses! Coming Up on the Most Exciting Blog Entry Yet...

I'm sure Kark Hungus over at www.b-logjammin.blogspot.com will take me to task for this post. Heck, I don't even like this post. But what is done is done.

Back in the Bronze Age, I was pretty handy with the ladies. I am not exactly on what I'd call a hot streak right now, but in college, and again in SF post grad school and girlfriend, I did a little damage here and there. The back-to-back Bear's Lair Challenge comes to mind (Rusty my friend, you were a worthy adversary. I think you think you won, but I will go to my grave claiming the final score was 21-20 in my favor. In fact, I am having that engraved on my tombstone. I hope there will be enough room next to the first inscription I'm putting on there, which is "You Should See The Other Guy"). There is also the time when LRD and I pulled about 6 chicks from City Tavern to the Gold Club (and I will freely admit here that LRD did all the heavy lifting on that one). And the "Lights Come On, Chicks Go Home" party we had during a blackout at Cal. I would rather not discuss that one, but I can tell you that yes, indeed, one's judgment is impaired when one is hopped up on room temperature Rainer Red.

Anyhow, a theme that used to come up from time to time was what I'm going to refer to as the "JW theory" (not sure why I am not using my own last name, as this blog is not exactly anonymous). The JW theory is a bit of a misnomer. The idea was that some chicks seemed to like me, and some to the point of craziness (see, e.g. Boom-Boom), but anyone who took the time to think about it couldn't come up with a concrete reason why chicks might get that way. I mean, even I will admit that at times I have no real value-added qualities. So the JW theory was really more of an observation: this dude is moody, usually complaining about something, is pretty oblivious and/or inconsiderate, and there really isn't all that much that is appealing about him, at least from a personality standpoint. So, why do chicks seem to take an interest in this one? Heck, even in Sacramento I did a fair amount of hooking up purely by accident.

Some chicks took a stab at explaining the JW theory. One recurrent theme was that JW needed to be taken care of, or he would wander in front of a bus - sort of a "wounded animal" thing, possibly like Mitch Martin being re-released out into the wild. However, I don't think that's it. I have my own theory. And it's not that I am an especially good kisser or anything, though I am often told that I am (thanks Mom). I think the following might be another reason.

There are some things I know that a lot of guys don't know, or won't admit to knowing, that chicks care about. In Oakland, I worked in an law firm with 2 other guys, and about 10 women. The 2 other guys were partners in the firm, and I was a first-year associate, so we didn't exactly socialize. Which left me alone with 10 women in the conference room at times. And when women get together and there aren't enough dudes in the room, they talk about chick things. Things like a shoe sale at DSW. Different moisturizers. Sex in the City.

So, I learned that if I wanted to participate at all in these conversations, I'd need to be able to contribute something. I don't use moisturizer, and DSW rarely has any strappy shoes in my size. So I started watching Sex in the City. I think there was some intrinsic entertainment value to the show, but this was exceeded by the value of being able to drop Carrie references into conversations. In college, these shows were 90210 and Melrose Place. Sure, we used to get a bunch of booze and jello shots and what not and watch the shows, but we watched them. And we invited chicks over to drink and watch them. Our plan being to share the experience with the chicks, then hook up with them.

Why does this matter? Lately, I've been watching two shows that I would consider chick research shows. These shows are Grey's Anatomy and American Idol. Now, I actually enjoy certain episodes of Grey's Anatomy, and I have a bit of a thing for the blonde chick on that show. At its core, however, it is a crappy TV show, even if it is well-made crap. American Idol is a little tougher to watch by yourself. With another person its fine, and with a Tivo its fine. Thanks to the miracle of Tivo, you can catch the performances and judges' comments for an hour show in about 20 minutes. I have had several conversations in the clubs downtown that centered around American Idol. Might I have been able to steer the conversation somewhere else? Maybe. But I knew something about American Idol, and that kept me in the game. You have to keep in mind that I am not running into rocket surgeons and brain scientists around here as often as I'd like to.

The problem I've really got is this: between Grey's, Idol, the Office, PTI and Hotel Erotica, I don't have much more mental or digital capacity for TV shows. My Tivo can't record much more, as I'm currently sitting on HD versions of Apocolypse Now Redux, Bikini Girls on Dinosaur Planet, Walk the Line, and Cinderella Man. Finally freed up some space by watching the Arrested Development finale, but not enough. So, I'm stretched about as thinly as I can be, and then ABC goes and starts a new season of the Bachelor. I don't know how I'm going to keep track of that one. But ever since I was walking home in SF one night and heard a group of drunk girls across the street talking about how great Ryan is, how he's sensitive and writes poetry and crap, and he really, really, really loves Trista, and how there aren't really guys like that, I knew that chicks cared about this show. And therefore, I should care about this show. Or at least know about it.

Softball with the Crazy Christians

I saw my neighbor in Blythe over Thanksgiving 2006. He and I went to high school together, and I found out he now lives in San Diego. I ended up going to his wedding, and I've seen he and his new wife about every two months since then. They are turning out to be good Sunday night sushi dinner partners.

I don't know a lot of the history, but my friend apparently fell in with the wrong crowd a few years ago and got into some trouble. He's now straightened his life out and has found religion - he's a "God guy" as I sometimes say. Not aggressively so, however; he'll speak to you about it if you want to, but doesn't volunteer anything or press you to discuss your beliefs. He's pretty much the same guy he was, but doesn't use alcohol anymore. He met his wife through the church as I understand it. She will have a cocktail on occasion.

So, these two asked if I wanted to play in a softball league with them. I just quit the law firm softball team - a lot of strong personalities, and the game was no longer fun. You've got a bunch of marginal athletes that think they are a lot better than they are, which is bad enough, but it gets to be too much when these people are trying to give you pointers. Let's see... I hit about .650 last year and hit a hard line drive in most of my at bats. Do you really think I should be thinking about not dropping my shoulder when I swing (whatever that means)? And you, Mr. Left Center Fielder, at least one if not two balls are hit over your head for homers each game. Do you really think you ought to be trying to position me in left field? For awhile I tried my patented "ignore the problem and it will go away" approach (which, incidentally, is also the approach I use when breaking up with a girl) but things just got too annoying and I quit playing.

This new league is a church league, though this was unbeknownst to me at the time I agreed to play. I guess I believe in God (though God might disagree if he reads this blog and sees how I worded that) so I don't feel completely out of place there, but it is a little odd. Most of the players seem to know each other already. Here are the differences between Christian softball and regular softball, as I see them after one game:

1. The quality of play here is lower, with a surprising number of people playing in jeans. I guess that makes sense - a church league would likely have a smaller pool of potential players than, say, a lawyer league, biotech league, or a league of chicks I hooked up with and never called.

2. The home team has the privilege of leading the pregame prayer.

3. I think there is a high percentage of "born again" Christians in the league - there are more tattoos than in the general population (of humans, not prisoners). A friend of mine thinks I should be trying to meet chicks in this league, because, he says, most religious chicks have a dark past and can be easily led astray. He's kidding, I think.

4. There aren't a bunch of hot single chicks on my team. Not that I was expecting there to be, but there are not. Near as I can tell, the girls are either married or are dating someone else on the team, and look just like regular girls. This is, sadly, not a Christian single supermodel league.

5. The team names are, perhaps not surprisingly, religion-based. So far, I am aware of teams called The Rock, Transformed, and The Journey. We are The Rock V. I am a little disturbed by that, because everyone knows Rocky V was the worst of the Rocky movies, and I fear (and suspect) we may be the worst of The Rock teams.

One other thing I found interesting. One of our more athletcially challenged females was down to her last pitch after having swung and missed twice. She stepped out of the batter's box and said "help me here, Lord" or something to that effect. She then proceeded to line the next pitch into right field for a solid single. Does this mean that the Lord liked her, or our team, more than the other team? Perhaps not - we ended up losing the game. Perhaps it was in the Lord's plan to allow her that personal victory, while not changing the outcome of the game. Or maybe a softball game isn't all that important to the Lord. Who knows? Mysterious ways and such.

Incidentally, we lost because one of our girls didn't understand the rules and ran to home plate to score, rather than to the carpet near home plate (the league has the "no contact" at home plate rule). The guy running behind her would have easily scored the winning run, but she was called out for touching home plate, which was our third out of the inning and last out of the game.

Will I continue in this league? They do play on Saturday afternoons, which is kind of a haze, but I'll stick with it for a little while at least.