Monday, May 23, 2005
Cheap imitation (actually, more expensive)
Despite their flashy commercials, catchy jingles and high-falutin demeanor, Fanta's Strawberry soda, in absolutely no way whatsoever, compares to the delicious, thirst-quenching taste of Detroit's own Faygo Red Pop.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Hooligans
http://www.metrowestdailynews.com/localRegional/view.bg?articleid=99174
When I was in 8th grade, I played on the St. Peter's Lutheran soccer team. We were pretty bad ass. One time, in the middle of a torrential downpour, we defeated Trinity Utica 1-nill. It probably means nothing to you, but Trinity Utica was the New York Yankees of the Lutheran league soccer world. We ran into our locker room, soaking wet, and started banging the lockers and screaming like banshees until our coach came in and yelled at us for banging up school property. Of course he was just joking, because it was a shitty lutheran school, so he started banging on the lockers too and shouting to the high heavens. He's actually a Lutheran minister now, which probably sucks compared to being a soccer coach.
As a junior high-aged chap, I was much taller than most of the others boys in my class. I grew fast and early, so playing in a soccer league was more like Rollerball to me, minus Chris Klein (or James Caan, if you so choose). I was known as the enforcer on the team, replacing my limited soccer skills with a strong kick and the size to pretty much knock out any forward who stepped into my zone. I'd slam smaller players into the dirt, my coach and the parents would cheer, sometimes I'd get a card, but in the end, I'd be pretty satisfied. Some of the opponents would be pretty pissed, though.
Another advantage to having the height was the complete domination of the header. I could knock that ball with my noggin before any of the other puny soccer children would even get close to it. After a few years, I had the technique down and could guide the ball anywhere I wanted it. I often spent afternoons in the back yard, practicing bouncing the ball off my head until I'd get a bad headache. It was my weapon. So when I read this story (courtesy of www.fark.com), I wept for seasons past and realized that young boys of the next generation will be even more wimpy than mine. Brad Pitt was right when he said we're a generation of men raised by women. There is little, if any, masculinity left in society today.
It must have been nice, in those bygone days of old, when kids could skin their knees, get some stitches, or break a few fingers without prompting some jackass in a state legislature to draft up the Youth Coddling Act of 2005. It must have been nice when a teenager could go hunting with his father without some animal rights group breathing down their necks. And it must have been nice when two boys duked it out on the playground instead of bringing guns to school. Is it no wonder how often you read about underground youth fight clubs popping up at high schools? Years of natural conditioning, whether it is right or acceptable by today's societal standards, is being strangled out of these kids. I admit that I'm no Rambo, but there is still something invigorating about wrestling your buddies or slamming them hard into the ground during a pickup football game.
Anyway, I like soccer the way it is. Add a helmet or ban heading and you're moving one step closer to the emasculation of America.
When I was in 8th grade, I played on the St. Peter's Lutheran soccer team. We were pretty bad ass. One time, in the middle of a torrential downpour, we defeated Trinity Utica 1-nill. It probably means nothing to you, but Trinity Utica was the New York Yankees of the Lutheran league soccer world. We ran into our locker room, soaking wet, and started banging the lockers and screaming like banshees until our coach came in and yelled at us for banging up school property. Of course he was just joking, because it was a shitty lutheran school, so he started banging on the lockers too and shouting to the high heavens. He's actually a Lutheran minister now, which probably sucks compared to being a soccer coach.
As a junior high-aged chap, I was much taller than most of the others boys in my class. I grew fast and early, so playing in a soccer league was more like Rollerball to me, minus Chris Klein (or James Caan, if you so choose). I was known as the enforcer on the team, replacing my limited soccer skills with a strong kick and the size to pretty much knock out any forward who stepped into my zone. I'd slam smaller players into the dirt, my coach and the parents would cheer, sometimes I'd get a card, but in the end, I'd be pretty satisfied. Some of the opponents would be pretty pissed, though.
Another advantage to having the height was the complete domination of the header. I could knock that ball with my noggin before any of the other puny soccer children would even get close to it. After a few years, I had the technique down and could guide the ball anywhere I wanted it. I often spent afternoons in the back yard, practicing bouncing the ball off my head until I'd get a bad headache. It was my weapon. So when I read this story (courtesy of www.fark.com), I wept for seasons past and realized that young boys of the next generation will be even more wimpy than mine. Brad Pitt was right when he said we're a generation of men raised by women. There is little, if any, masculinity left in society today.
It must have been nice, in those bygone days of old, when kids could skin their knees, get some stitches, or break a few fingers without prompting some jackass in a state legislature to draft up the Youth Coddling Act of 2005. It must have been nice when a teenager could go hunting with his father without some animal rights group breathing down their necks. And it must have been nice when two boys duked it out on the playground instead of bringing guns to school. Is it no wonder how often you read about underground youth fight clubs popping up at high schools? Years of natural conditioning, whether it is right or acceptable by today's societal standards, is being strangled out of these kids. I admit that I'm no Rambo, but there is still something invigorating about wrestling your buddies or slamming them hard into the ground during a pickup football game.
Anyway, I like soccer the way it is. Add a helmet or ban heading and you're moving one step closer to the emasculation of America.
Monday, May 16, 2005
BC in DC or DC in BC
The following post is about:
a) Brian Charlton visiting me in Washington, DC
b) Me travelling to a era "before christ" by way of Silver Bullet time travel
c) A night of sexual exploration after one too many cosmopolitans
The answer is A!!! ...and c... but mostly A!!!
Ol' Ed and I got a welcome suprise when BC decided to visit us this weekend in DC. Things are slowly winding down here (I'm counting down the days), so seeing an old pal again really made me wish I was back home in the EL, or the E.P., which is Eastpointe, or even the WPB, umm... West Palm Beach.
We had a pretty good time. We ate. We drank. We perused watercolors and turquoise jewelry at a local art fair (Ed's new broach is FAB-ulous). We sucked down lime squares at Eric Morath's fiance's party. BC almost threw up on the red line Metro because he had "motion sickness." We snorted coke with the Bush twins. We visited with the Australian-enriched Bethany Chismark in Alexandria, Va. for the Pistons game. AND we watched the 3-hour finale of Survivor Palau, which was awesome because NY firefighter Tom won and Ed, therefore, owes me a brew.
It was one of those "good ol' days" sort of weekends that are great when you're away from home. To check out some pictures of us with the likes of Wilbur and Orville Wright, check out http://www.briancharlton.blogspot.com/. I'm sure BC will put them up soon.
I, like soooo many other bums, am going to try to keep this thing going throughout the summer while I'm gone. Others should too. It's a great way of staying abreast of everyone's going-ons without the messy "talking on the phone" or "writing emails" or "visiting."
a) Brian Charlton visiting me in Washington, DC
b) Me travelling to a era "before christ" by way of Silver Bullet time travel
c) A night of sexual exploration after one too many cosmopolitans
The answer is A!!! ...and c... but mostly A!!!
Ol' Ed and I got a welcome suprise when BC decided to visit us this weekend in DC. Things are slowly winding down here (I'm counting down the days), so seeing an old pal again really made me wish I was back home in the EL, or the E.P., which is Eastpointe, or even the WPB, umm... West Palm Beach.
We had a pretty good time. We ate. We drank. We perused watercolors and turquoise jewelry at a local art fair (Ed's new broach is FAB-ulous). We sucked down lime squares at Eric Morath's fiance's party. BC almost threw up on the red line Metro because he had "motion sickness." We snorted coke with the Bush twins. We visited with the Australian-enriched Bethany Chismark in Alexandria, Va. for the Pistons game. AND we watched the 3-hour finale of Survivor Palau, which was awesome because NY firefighter Tom won and Ed, therefore, owes me a brew.
It was one of those "good ol' days" sort of weekends that are great when you're away from home. To check out some pictures of us with the likes of Wilbur and Orville Wright, check out http://www.briancharlton.blogspot.com/. I'm sure BC will put them up soon.
I, like soooo many other bums, am going to try to keep this thing going throughout the summer while I'm gone. Others should too. It's a great way of staying abreast of everyone's going-ons without the messy "talking on the phone" or "writing emails" or "visiting."
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Going Home Eve
A day before the men's basketball team hits the Final Four court, I'll finally be heading back to East Lansing. It seems like I've been gone for eons, and the excitement is almost overwhelming. I had to take a walk just an hour ago to release some of it.
It's a strange realization, but East Lansing is my home. It's where my girlfriend and all of my friends are. It's where I know the best restaurants and bars and the quickest routes to work. It is all so familiar and so comforting. I know I won't want to leave.
D.C. has its upsides: it's fast-paced and exciting, there is so much going on, the city has a beating pulse you can feel every time you ride the Metro or grab a morning cup of coffee in a crowded cafe on your way to work.
But sometimes you want to get away from all of that. I haven't found that place yet in D.C. In East Lansing, those places surround you: The banks of the Red Cedar River, the Peanut Barrel patio on a lazy weekend afternoon, the balcony on a cool, fall night.
I can't wait for the honking horns and screeching subway trains to be replaced by cheering college students and cheesy Al Green sing-along songs at the bar. I can't wait to tell the same old jokes and reminisce about the same old stories.
I can't wait to be home.
It's a strange realization, but East Lansing is my home. It's where my girlfriend and all of my friends are. It's where I know the best restaurants and bars and the quickest routes to work. It is all so familiar and so comforting. I know I won't want to leave.
D.C. has its upsides: it's fast-paced and exciting, there is so much going on, the city has a beating pulse you can feel every time you ride the Metro or grab a morning cup of coffee in a crowded cafe on your way to work.
But sometimes you want to get away from all of that. I haven't found that place yet in D.C. In East Lansing, those places surround you: The banks of the Red Cedar River, the Peanut Barrel patio on a lazy weekend afternoon, the balcony on a cool, fall night.
I can't wait for the honking horns and screeching subway trains to be replaced by cheering college students and cheesy Al Green sing-along songs at the bar. I can't wait to tell the same old jokes and reminisce about the same old stories.
I can't wait to be home.
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