Reaping the Rewards

Due to pricing, scheduling, or some other bizarre circumstance, I’ve found myself occasionally having to fly Delta Airlines a few times over the last few years. Overall, it was a normal experience – for example, the time I wished gonorrhea on the guy in Orlando airport because he was trying to engage the other passengers about how wacky the security set up was (how dare he question convention!), each one of whom stared at him like they wished he would shut his fucking yap (wait, that was just me thinking that). Aside from the wonderful experiences I had utilizing their air travel service, I was also rewarded with a chunk of Delta’s Sky Miles®. Given that I fly Delta about as often as I use tobacco (i.e. extremely rare), I thought little of this at the time. For years I never heard from Delta, save for the occasional credit card solicitation. Lo and behold, many moons later, I received a certificate stating that I had a chunk of SkyMiles® sitting in my account, just itching to be used, along with an order form with a selection of about 75 magazines. “Joy!”, I responded, knowing that soon, I would be the proud recipient of the fruits of my labor with Delta – three new periodicals whose content I ingest will likely not exceed 5% of available content per collective volume and issue (as well as my name on mailing lists of the most whimsical variety!).

Now, I am a simple man – I receive Sports Illustrated, Internal Auditor (Warning: Geek), as well as The Onion and the occasional issue of Us Weekly (I don’t read it, I only buy it for the pictures of people pushing shopping carts and carrying their cell phones, clutches, PDA’s and latte in one hand and a dog leash or a stroller in the other – fascinating creatures!), and that’s about all I can handle (see: currently reading February issue of aforementioned Geek Mag). So I deferred to Michelle and said, “Michelle, my only true love, upon the day I met you, I swore to the heavens that if they sent me my angel, I would give her the very foundation to which I am anchored, as well as the world that was beautiful as she would have ever hoped it might be. That being said, I present you with this choice of magazines, and the choice, my dear…is yours!” After declaring me as protector, provider and lover of all that is glorious in the world and universe that surrounds the love of humanity, she selected a few magazines (dropping 7,500 SkyMiles in the process), dropped the fucker in the mail, and thus initiated the Waiting Game.

Imagine my pleasant surprise a few weeks later when I received a copy of Teen Vogue in the day’s mail – it’s the magazine that teaches girls how to read grown-up Vogue when they grow up. This month’s issue features on the cover my…drumroll…cymbal!! Official Hilary Duff Replacement Until She’s 18 Then All Bets Are Off: Elisha Cuthbert (note: Hilary Duff 18th Birthday Extravaganza – Coming September 2005!). Oh, and she’s pictured with some guy named Chad that she stars with in House of Wax, and the two stars are there to tell Teen Vogue about true love. Well, given the demographic in our household, Michelle and I immediately realized the benefit (or lack thereof) we were going to get from this fine publication. At any rate, it serves as a window into the mind of the 12-14 year-old girl…and it’s fascinating. Among the approximately 207 articles about fashion, there exists a features section, containing a rather alarming piece, about how “the Internet has made almost everything easier, faster, and more intense – including bullying.”

Oooh, catfight! The article begins by regaling us with the tale of an 8th Grader from New York City thought it would be a good idea to make “a provocative, sexy video of herself” and e-mail it to some dude she had a crush on. Shocking as it may be for you to believe, her video was forwarded on and on and on, so much so that I might surmise that one of my nine loyal readers has it in their possession! Who is this wretched boy who would disparage this young girl by showcasing her wares to millions of Internet users across America? The answer is: why did you make the video in the first place, my dear? Where are your parents???? It then goes on to tell us that more than half of 9 to 13 year-olds “have either been cyberbullied or been cyberbullied, or had a close friend that was.” Wow, what are the odds? Given that a vast majority of children aged 9 to 13 are prone to such behavior just because they are ignorant, I imagine the number is truly higher, but that the writers of Teen Vogue relied on the fact that since American students are among the worst in Mathematics they might not understand a fraction or percentage other than 1-in-2. Next comes the macabre yarn about Marissa, a girl who became a target of the cyberbullies after cyberdefending her friend in cyberspace, who told her to kill herself…which of course led her to “cut [her] wrist down to the bone!” Good God. This poor kid ends up having to be a home schooled recluse because she’s getting railed in a chat room. Again, parents? Anywhere? Then there was the e-account of the fistfight that became a kid with a gun that became that kid’s bringing a gun to school tomorrow that became no one came to school the next day. It’s good to know that fear can still run rampant when given the chance.

After this uplifting experience had me wishing I could cut my wrists to the bone, I flipped pages in search of a diversion – some lighthearted fare to take my mind off of the cyberbullies. Friends, look no further than “You’ve Got Male” (that’s a pun, or play on words), featuring pictures of stars who, “get on the fast track with sleek and chic motorcross jackets (ugh…I nearly vomited from the odor of the horrid perfume insert…bleeeech!). Yes, everyone from Model Jamie Dornan to Usher to Jesse McCartney wears motorcross jackets. Keep up the good work, I guess.

Feeling a bit flushed, both from the wretched smells emitting from the magazine as well as the dizzying array of teen fashion model pictorials, I went in search of guidance, preferably that of the astrological sense (astro: of the stars; logical: logical). Here’s what the stars have in store for me in love, life, and fashion:

“Got your flight to Vegas booked? Luck is your copilot this month, and your winning streak is unbeatable. Big risks will pay off on all fronts, including your love life. Plan the party of the season and invite that new flame you’re dreaming about fanning. It’s a non stop brouhaha until the 29th, when you can finally take a well-deserved breather.”

So basically, I should go to Las Vegas with a check from my second mortgage closing and hit the blackjack tables, Asian female dealers be damned, and offer a cocktail waitress $10,000 to spend the week with me, leading to a cocaine and Ritalin-fueled bender that will come crashing to a halt next Friday, when I’m bludgeoned to death by an bouncer at a seedy bordello. Thanks, Teen Vogue Astrology Department!

What did I learn from this whole experience? Well, I learned that Elisha Cuthbert likes to eat out and go to the clubs, but gracefully (she tries to stay as low-key as possible). I learned that you can buy a piece of wicker and two straps of pink leather with the name Kate Spade stamped on it for about $245. I learned that Hollywood is simply full of so-called “hot moms”. I learned that you can get a sunless tan that is as individual as you are. And above all, I learned that I probably have no business reading a magazine with the word “teen” in the title. Now, where’s that issue of Seventeen?

Until Next Time…

News and Notes - April 14, 2005

• So, Britney Spears-Federline is going to have a baby – how sweet! Who wouldn’t want to have the child of a half-bearded white trash former underwear model who dresses like a black guy? How many times has a trashy-yet-attractive girl given birth, only to have her looks fade faster than the Cubs during the last week of the 2004 season and be reduced to a paunchy, Cheeto-eating, acne riddled shadow of their former selves with a bratty towhead child and a no-working, good-for-nothing man at her side? Whatever that number is, it’s going to be bumped up by one in a few trimesters.

• In perfect tandem with the release of the Spears-Federline bombshell, the Associated Press asked three “lifestyle authors” (could there be a more irrelevant occupation?) to comment on the baby possibilities of other celebs, such as J-Lo-Anth, Demi Moore-Kutcher, Jennifer Aniston, Angelina Jolie and Oprah Winfrey – a venerable Murderer’s Row of Overexposure! I’m sure it’s fun to speculate on the reproductive abilities of people you’ve likely never spoken to in your entire life, save for a handful of inane questions you may have asked in a hotel suite during a mass interview process – I guess that’s one of the perks of being a lifestyle author! Never mind that J-Lo may have a faulty uterus, or that Jennifer Aniston doesn’t even have a man at the moment (a fact that led lifestyle author and meddler Lisa Earle McLeod to note “If she’s a mom, she’d be a single mom…I suspect it would be harder than any role she’s ever played” – Really, genius? You have a suspicion that raising and caring for a human being would be harder than playing Rachael Green on Friends? Tell us more, oh wise sage!). And to think I thought there were more important things in life than debating whether Oprah’s menopause or Britney’s pregnancy would nab more headlines, or that Jessica Simpson’s potential baby buzz can be gauged at three out of a possible five pregnancy tests. Crime? Cancer? Writing a stupid blog about reality TV and such? No, this is far more important!

• Speaking of reality TV – I am oh-so-sad to report that I have not been keeping up with The Bachelor. Unfortunately I there were more pressing matters at hand, like watching Illinois…ugh…lose in the National Championship game, or starting blankly at the floor – important stuff. However, I am hell bent on providing a valuable service here, which is why I have chosen to share some excerpts from Charlie’s Diary – yes, it’s time to go inside the brain of ABC’s latest heartthrob to see what makes the man tick and how this obviously difficult process has affected him.

Week 1: “There were about five ladies who could have received the final two roses tonight. I really had no idea what to do. I basically just chose the two women I felt most confident about, and I'm hoping I made the right decision. I felt slightly better when the women I cut left and they all wished me the best of luck. I hope they all understand what great women they are, and what a hard decision it was for me. But at the same time, I'm looking forward to the next round of dates. It's going to be quite a ride!”

Well, he’s not calling them “chicks”, so that’s a step in the right direction. I really do feel like I have a window into Charlie’s psyche here: He was lost, then confident, then sad, then slightly better, then hopeful, then reflective, then optimistic, and finally excited – what a rollercoaster!

Week 2: “I'm trying not to concern myself with the ladies' problems.”

Good for you, Charlie! Women have problems – all sorts of them! It’s best to just ignore them and worry about which ones you’re going to have sex with.

Week 2: “I'm not looking to give a girl a rose that I don't have a big connection with, and if any of the ladies are fighting to stick around just to be around, they're barking up the wrong tree.”

What about a medium connection? And why else would these “ladies” be fighting to stay around? For love? Wake up, you fool – what’s the track record on the number of couples whose amazing, big connections have carried them to the altar? You’re telling me you want to end up like Trista and Ryan – living in some log cabin completely outfitted by Pottery Barn and still yearning for celebrity so badly that you invite rag magazines to snap pictures of your Pottery Barn-decorated log cabin? Sad.

Week 3: “I really like her as a person, but I don't think that we had the same connection that I have with some of the other women.”

Translation: She wouldn’t put out as easily as some of the other chicks..er..ladies.

What an exciting season – I’m sure there are plenty more amazing things to come, more connections of all sizes, and yes, more rose ceremonies, each more dramatic than the last. Stay tuned! Or don’t, it really doesn’t matter.

• Speaking of Ryan from Trista and Ryan, I thought Willem Dafoe was excellent as the Green Goblin in the original Spider-man movie.

• Rest in Peace, Pope John Paul II. In honor of the Pope's passing, I have taken the liberty of compiling some of the highlights of his career since assuming the papacy in 1978:

o March 1979 – Visits Chicago, seat of largest Polish community outside of Poland; downs 15 potato pancakes, 23 mushroom perogi and 3 kielbasa sausages at the Red Apple in 3 minutes, which qualifies as his first miracle.

o June 1983 – Co-writes “Eyes Without a Face” with Billy Idol; removes name from writing credits when Idol refuses to remove “turning holy water into wine; drinking it down, oooh, gigolo” line from original recording.

o January 1986 – Pulls an all-night prayer session asking God to help the Bears smite the New England Patriots in the Super Bowl; takes Lord’s name in vain when Walter Payton fails to score a touchdown; assigns self 25 rosaries as penance.

o March 1990 – Attends Academy Awards with Best Actress Oscar winner Kathy Bates (“Misery”); spends months denying speculation they are dating.

o April 1995 – Scores 36 points, including a game-winning three-pointer with 2.6 seconds remaining, to vault the Houston Rockets to a 111-109 victory over the Dallas Mavericks, and thereby clinching home-court advantage throughout the playoffs.

o November 1998 – Speaks out against the Vatican’s first openly-gay hairdresser.

o June 2003 – In the wake of child molestation accusations against priests in the Boston diocese, burns city of Boston to the ground.

o April 2005 – Goes to heaven, only to find it’s filled with gays, Jews and unwed mothers; opts for purgatory instead.

Until next time (if I haven’t already been stricken dead due to blasphemy)...

wPod

CNN.com reports today that a White House aide has released the listing of songs that President Bush currently has playing on his iPod mp3 player. Yes, even George has those times where he just needs to get away from the hassle of presidenting and such to pedal around his Crawford, TX ranch on his bicycle and get lost in some really good music.

For the first time in my life, I fully support something President Bush does! I also am addicted to my iPod, and I was very curious to see what the leader of the free world grooves to, if only to find a way to feed off some of his mojo and good vibes. So, being the resourceful gent that I am, I was able to acquire a listing of some of W’s most played tunes – this gave me a great view into what makes the man tick!

• “Domino” – Van Morrison
• “Cocaine” – Eric Clapton
• “Too Drunk to Fuck” – Dead Kennedys
• “Fuck Shop” – 2 Live Crew
• “God Hates us All” – Slayer
• “Fast Car” – Tracey Chapman
• “Blackened are the Priests” – Venom
• “Architecture of Aggression” – Megadeath
• “One Week” – Barenaked Ladies”
• “Ride the White Horse” – Gap Band
• “Over My Dead Body” – Metal Church
• “Smooth” – Santana w/Rob Thomas
• “Snowblind” – Black Sabbath
• “Welcome Princess of Hell” – Mercyful Fate
• “Signs of Chaos” – Testament
• “No More Sad Songs” – Clay Aiken
• “Deliver Us to Evil” – Exodus
• “Fuck Tha Police” – N.W.A.
• “Friends in Low Places” – Garth Brooks

Yes, you can tell a lot about someone by their musical tastes – listen on, President Bush!

Today's Top 5 - April 6, 2005

Top 5 people I’ve wished gonorrhea on in the last 48 hours:

1. Roy Williams, Head Coach, North Carolina Tar Heels – I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if Roy had to suffer the next 400 years as “The Greatest Coach Never to Win a Championship”. There is no better title for someone with such a general ineptitude for his craft. Plus he coaches at UNC, whose fans, according to Vahl, are about the biggest bunch of arrogant pricks this side of Ohio State, after coaching Kansas. Blecch! Maybe Roy can pay special thanks to the Greatest Referees Ever to Call Five Touch Fouls on James Augustine But Not The Three Obvious Fouls Committed Against Roger Powell. Mutherfucker.

2. Kenny Williams, General Manager, Chicago White Sox – “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s get rid of two guys who are guaranteed for .300-30-100 numbers every year for the next 4 or 5 years and instead build our team around weak-hitting base stealers, unproven 30-year-old Japanese guys and career back-ups and preach our great ‘small-ball’ attack, despite the fact that we play in the most home-run prone park in the Major Leagues!” (Note: After I wished gonorrhea on K-Wil, I checked the ESPN.com scoreboard and noticed that the Sox put up 4 runs in the bottom of the ninth in front of 10,000+ wonderful fans (ugh) to pull out a 4-3 victory, so Kenny’s also on my list to receive the first dose of antibiotics…for now).

3. Sean May, Forward, North Carolina Tar Heels – O’Hal and I agreed that the only way Illinois was going to stop him was if Jack Ingram pulled a shank out of his sock and stabbed May multiple times in the throat.

Jim Nance: “And it appears that Illinois has resorted to some rough defense in response to May’s stellar performance.”

Billy Packer: “Illinois is losing their mind. They are a bunch of thugs. Jim, if you’ll excuse me, I am now going to invite every fan of UNC to come down here and sodomize me because I love their school and the ACC so much.”

4. Dick Vitale, Loudmouthed Basketball Sage – “OOOh, baby! Mr. May and Mr. McCants are number one, baby! Let me get Coach K’s balls out of my mouth long enough to tell you how awesome North Carolina is! They’re dancing on Tobacco Road! I’m so happy and full of myself I could shit in my diaper-dandy! The ACC is awesome, baby!”

5. Bill Wirtz, Overlord/Fuhrer, Chicago Blackhawks – Wishing gonorrhea on this man has become an involuntary activity for me, much like breathing or blinking.

I-L-L

I-N-I!!!

Welcome to my greatest weekend in recent memory – Illini Final Four 2005!!! Needless to say to you, my nine loyal readers, I am excited beyond the mere words that appear in the informative, hilarious and sometimes heartfelt blog. This is the second Final Four appearance for my beloved Illini in my relatively young life. The first came back in that glorious year of 1989, when I was an arrogant 15-year-old freshman shit who was pissed off at the world because all of the “popular” girls in our class were going out with upperclassmen. Not that I would have had any idea what to do with them had they been dating me – I figured those statutory rapist juniors and seniors had all the right moves, so who was I to argue? I just ended up having a girlfriend my age whom I ended up insulting with a vile slur, but that’s a story for another day.

Yes, we’re here to talk about the Illini! Back in ’89, I didn’t quite have the same emotional capital invested in the squad that I do now – yet they were my home team, the Chicago team, so I adopted them, hoped and prayed they would win, and ended up developing what would be come a deep-rooted hatred for the University of Michigan in the process (I plan to save for my theoretical children’s college educations, but if they choose Michigan, I will take the money and spend 4 months in Amsterdam with Michelle – but again, I digress). Even though I was not an alum, I still learned to bleed orange and blue, and sadly for me, my fanaticism has only grown by leaps and bounds over the years.

During the rest of my high school years, as hormones pulsated through my young, supple body, I continued my love and support for the Fighting Illini – both football and basketball. Of course, there wasn’t too much to get all hyped up about on the football front – Jeff “The Sheriff” George and the football team found a way to choke on their Rose Bowl chances in ’89 and ’90 against Michigan and Iowa respectively. At least he didn’t play on the team during my college years that had the #2 defense in the nation, yet somehow managed to finish the regular season 6-5 (or some similarly mediocre record). But we’re not here to talk about football – it’s hoops time. After that glorious Final Four appearance in Seattle, I witnessed a whole slew of hoops-related disappointments – the Kendall Gill-less Illini losing in the first round as a 5-seed in ’90; the subsequent years of postseason exile due to the Deon Thomas recruiting flap; bad losses to Georgetown, Tulsa and Tennessee-Chattanooga. Nary a peek at the Sweet Sixteen until 2001, we then endured the horror of losing to such hate-able schools as Arizona, Kansas, Notre Dame and Duke in consecutive seasons. A murderer’s row of detestable fans if I ever saw one.

Enough about the schools that caused us misery – we were being battered from within as well. Have you ever seen Andy Kauffman try and shoot through one of his many slumps? Did you ever attend a class with T.J. Wheeler and his five-year-old kid? Or see Rennie Clemmons wander around campus like he had no idea where classes were even being held? Ever been slapped around by Shelly Clark (I think a few women may have been)? Have you heard Dick Keane declare that he has “NBA-plus range” as he downed 14 Captain and Cokes the night before a big game? Or seen Brent Robish’s acne? Or watched Frank Williams sleepwalk through a season as he “prepared” for the NBA? Well, I have, and none of it was pretty.

All of those bad memories, however, were swept away in nine magical minutes of basketball last Saturday. As I banged my head against my brother’s coffee table and began planning my funeral, The Comeback to End All Comebacks began, and it didn’t stop until the Illini had fought their way to St. Louis. Yes, I realize that this comeback was made possible in part by a tremendous collapse by Arizona (man, it feels good to say that), but if Illinois doesn’t make one of those plays, the game is over – the point is they made them, they’re playing tomorrow, and I couldn’t be happier. This has been the most fun basketball team I’ve ever watched, and I can’t wait to have my heart nearly explode several more times this weekend. If I should die on Saturday, I want you, my nine loyal readers, to tell Michelle I loved her and the Illini - in that order, of course...

Oskee-Wow-Wow!!!! Go Illini!!!