Last Night's "LOST"

posted by BH

I couldn't be sure until I went back and slowed down the TiVo, but Mr. Eko sees flashes of stuff that's gone on in his past when looking into the black smoke. The topic has hit the fan sites message boards a little. The question becomes, what is the black smoke looking for? The images seem to be from Eko's past. Since there was some discussion about the nature of Eko's soul, perhaps the smoke's deal is that it determine's the character of inhabitants. At the very least, it seems to have the ability to make a determination about whether a person should live or die.

City of Brotherly Love

by SonDog

Since mid-day Saturday, I have had the pleasure of attending a conference in downtown Philadelphia. As I type this, late-night Tuesday, I cannot wait until I have the pleasure of leaving downtown Philadelphia.

My day-to-day Bruce Wayne persona is that of a senior sales and marketing executive for a four-diamond hotel in Vail. Since entering this profession in 2001, I have had the good-fortune of visiting many cities in the United States that I more than likely would not otherwise dream of touring. Among others, I have conducted business and toured Chicago, Minneapolis, Detroit, Newport, Cleveland, Columbus, Dallas, Houston, St. Louis, Omaha, Des Moines, and Saginaw (Which, believe it or not, is #1 on my list of "If I never have to visit that shit-hole again, I would be very, very pleased" cities). Without question, Chicago is the best of the bunch. (Which reminds me, If you ever go to Chicago and go home saying, "Eh, kinda boring," then there's a good chance that you are "Eh, kinda boring" as a person. Seriously, just go away, because you're boring. I'm not even close to kidding.)

At any rate, I'm not going to piss and moan about the physical product of Philly. Everything I have seen so far (from the Liberty Bell to the Constitution Center to the Fine Art Museum) has been pretty impressive. What I have not been impressed with, on the other hand, is the "I'm an inherently angry individual from living in this city so why don't you go screw yourself before I throw my fist at your head " attitude of the city's inhabitants.

Let me preface this story by saying that my trip got off to somewhat of a bad start on the flight from Denver to Philly last Saturday morning. I booked my flight relatively late, so I was relegated to a middle seat near the back of the plane. If you have ever been on an airplane, you know the rear of the plane is where they stick the people who have never heard of the words "personal" and/or "hygiene." Naturally, I was placed between Eddie Idontthinkiveeverheardofthisthingcalleddeoderant (on my left) and Amanda Ithinkiateanentireemufordinnerlastnight (on my right).

Normally I have no problem sleeping on flights, so I wasn't immediately concerned with this particular predicament. As force of habit at this point, I pop in my iPod and I'm off to fantasy land, dreaming about Jessica Alba, Vanessa Marcil, myself, massage oils and a deserted island (in no particular order). Then, the plane lands, I wake up in a different city from the one in which I fell asleep, and we all eat and drink and everything is good.

However, on this particular flight, someone (and I won't give away who this was, only to say the resemblance to an angus heifer was uncanny, and she was sitting to my right) decided that it would be a good idea to crop-dust rows 15-22... continually... for, like, three hours. It took every ounce of resistance in my body to not A) slap this woman across the face, or B) take that 2.7 ounce bottle of Pepsi she was holding and use it on her as a modified plug.

By the time the flight landed, I was pretty sure my entire collection of carry-on goodies smelled like an inner-city port-a-potty that hadn't been cleaned since the Carter administration. As for my nausea, it was doing just fine, thanks. My last words to the woman next to me as I departed the plane were, "May you enjoy your time burning in hell, you sadistic cow."

With that, I was in the perfect mood to begin my stay in Philadelphia. So, after collecting my checked luggage, I jumped in a cab and had the following discussion with my first Philly cabbie:

Cabbie: "Where you goin', man?"

Me: "Um, the Marriott Downtown. I can get the address out of my bag if you need it."

(Silence and an uncomfortable blank stare from the cab driver.)

Me: "Um, looks like 12th and Market."

Cabbie: "YEAH?! YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW WHERE IT'S AT?! I KNOW WHERE IT'S AT, MAN!!"

Ladies and Gentlemen, we invite you to sit back, relax and buckle your safety belt. Welcome to Philadelphia.

The city of Brotherly Love? What kind of sick family came up with that moniker?

Over the course of the next three plus days, there were several highlights:

---- Before touring the Liberty Bell, I learned from a Philadelphia native that "it's kind of a waste of time because it's just a replica anyways. The original one broke a few years back after they moved it so this one is just kind of a joke." No, this wasn't the director of Philadelphia tourism talking. What's interesting is that I was very excited to see the monument before this conversation. In fact, I truly believe that this Philly native intentionally tried to bring me down a bit by informing me that I should temper my excitement. My parting words to this individual were something along the lines of, "I would have been perfectly content for the rest of my life not knowing that information. Seriously, thanks for ruining my evening, you smug bastard."

So, if I defaced this, would I technically be defacing a National Monument? Or was the Philly native even telling me the truth? This and more on "America's Worst Destinations."

---- On Monday evening, I took a bit of personal time to scamper over to the Wachovia Center to check out the Philadelphia 76ers play the Seattle SuperSonics. I was really, really looking forward to watching former Sacramento King, Chris Webber, play before his new homecrowd. Truly, I thought it would brighten my evening to see him play in front of fans who probably appreciated his play. What the hell was I thinking.

Upon my arrival to the arena (which, by the way, is located, along with Citizen's Bank Park and Lincoln Financial Field, somewhere out in Bum-F*** Egypt) I began to think of the many times that Allen Iverson had been booed. I remember all the death threats Mitch Williams received after the World Series. I remember the time when fans sarcastically cheered the fact that Cowboy Michael Irvin was being taken off the field on a stretcher from a serious neck injury (which ultimitely led to his retirement). I even remember the time when Philly fans booed Santa Clause. And I can't even make something like that up.

After the first three minutes of the game, as fans realized that Webber was going to sit the game out with back spasms, the small crowd grew incredibly impatient with their team. With each Sixer miss, the boo's grew louder. Cries of, "Webber, you suck!" and "Dalembert, get some hands!" echoed through the half-full arena. Had Jesus been playing shooting guard, there's a strong chance he would have been booed during the first quarter.

The Sixers ended up KILLING Seattle, sufficiently shutting their own fans up for an evening. Iverson had a huge night and had me on my feet in applause on more than a few occasions. I do find it odd, however, that very few Philly fans were ever on their feet for anything other than a cheese steak. (That being said, the one heavenly aspect of Philadelphia has to be the original cheese steak. I have had one each day. I'm serious. In fact, my email this morning included a message from the Surgeon General, warning me to stop before I suffer a tragic case of cardiac arrest.)

After the game, which, needless to say, did not brighten my perception on one of the oldest cities in the States, I jumped in a cab to head back to the city. I then had the following conversation:

Cabbie: Where you headed, man.

Me: Marriott Downtown. (I now knew that there was no need to tell the driver the address.)

(The cabbie follows with some unintelligible mumbling.)

Me: "I'm sorry, what?"

Cabbie: "I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU, MAN!!"

(Right then I notice the cabbie is wearing a cell-phone earpiece. At this point, I am absolutely speechless.)

Side Note: Funny thing here is that the cabbie's cell-phone conversation was about how Bengal QB Carson Palmer had "blown out everything in his ankle" during the Steeler victory on Sunday. I so badly wanted to say, "Hey, shit-for-brains!? His ankle? Why don't you try his knee, jack-ass? Do you even watch the highlights, or do you just make them up?" However, there is a strong chance that I would right now be dead. I like my life and I'm glad I didn't say anything.

---- Finally, I participated in a 5k race Tuesday morning. The event started at 6:30 AM. My thought on this when my alarm went off at 5:30 Eastern Standard Time? Well, isn't that just true Philly fashion. I mean, who else on God's green earth would schedule such an event at such an assinine time? Anyways, while running through downtown, I think I heard the following on at least three occasions, "Hey, hope you're having fun running, dick! Thanks for making sure they stop traffic, A-Hole!" Okay, so I totally made that last part up, but I was seriously waiting to hear that during the race.

Sometime tomorrow I will jump on a flight and head back to Vail. During my flights home, I usually wonder when I will return to the city I'm departing. I sincerely doubt this will cross my mind after this jaunt.

(Editor's Note: For the unedited, director's cut alternate ending paragraph to this story, shoot me an email.)

Colin Cowherd is a Boob

by BH

Thanks to firejoemorgan.com for the link to ESPN radio hack Colin Cowherd's podcast about stat nerds determining who gets into the Hall of Fame. It is bad. Really bad. The whole thing's full of hypocrisy, poorly thought out arguments, and seriously bad attempts at comedy. Over the course of the rant, Cowherd rips on stats as a sole indicator of a player's greatness. I can't belive how bad it is. Seriously, it seems like Cowherd took retard pills. He tries to make the point that Canseco should be in the Hall of Fame because he is famous, even though it's in the same way El Guapo was in The Three Amigos. He cites that Canseco was honest about steroids, which then changed the game. In reality, Canseco was honest because he didn't get to 500 home runs, was convinced that he had been black-listed, was not going to get to the Hall, and decided to screw baseball. If Cowherd really thought Canseco were honest, why didn't Canseco come out when he was taking steroids? Cowherd has confirmed my suspicion that he gets all his sports info from ESPNEWS or Sportscenter, which mostly focus on headlines rather than substance.

I heard a similar thing from the guy sitting in for Erik Kuselias on the "Sportsbash" yesterday. He said, "You just know when a guy's a hall of famer." Really? Then why did it take voters 12 times to know Bruce Sutter was a HOFer?

Digging a Hole

by BH

I have to put my cat to sleep.

Actually it was my wife's cat before we were married, but she came with the marriage. The first time I went over to my wife's house, the cat threw up on my Speedo sandals. For the first two or so years, the cat and I kind of coexisted. That is, she put up with me. She would scratch the crap out of me if I picked her up, yet would stroll over and sit on my lap if she felt like it. After some time, the cat decided to like me, I guess, letting me into the family. And the thing is, despite being a cat, she is part of the family. I know the deal. Cats aren't dogs and obviously aren't as popular. They can't be owned. They don't do anything. They don't run to the door when you get home. But we've always had cats. My list consists of Jeepers, Flower, Bobbie, Boots, Cisco, Quincy, Molly, Terra, and Ivy. They've all been awesome in their own ways, including Terra, the one who's time has come. She does run to the door when you get home. She climbs under the covers in order to sleep in the spot between your arm and body. She's really like a little, clean, dog. She's one of those cats that, unlike most others, makes you feel like she would have no chance without you.



Everyone who's seen her says the cat is pretty, but always looks pissed. I guess the "always looks pissed" part is pretty cat-ish, but she really is a good looking cat.

Part of me feels silly getting bummed about putting a cat to sleep, but I have cried each time one of our cats has died or disappeared. I guess it has to do with something you've seen pretty much every day over the past number of years being gone.

My wife's family has always buried their animals. I've buried two or three of my own, but it wasn't something we really did. The last was a rabbit that I'd had throughout elementary school until I was sixteen. I cried then.

I dug the whole on Tuesday. We're going to put her to sleep on Thursday morning. There's something crazy and fucked up about digging a hole for a pet that's still alive. I feel guilty about it, as if when I see her I know this horrible secret that she's never going to know. She's old though. Fourteen or so. She can't keep food down anymore, and weighs about a pound and a half. I think she's generally happy, but unhappiness is not far off. And that's the big question I guess. Do I wait until she's unhappy? Do I wait for the first sign of suffering? What the hell is my obligation? I think she's probably having a hard time with not keeping food down. I would. So tomorrow's the day.

New email

For those of you who have questions, comments, or would just like to leave feedback, our new email address is milehighramblings@gmail.com. We'll put up a permanent link soon, but for now, here you go. Thanks for reading.

Tuesday Potpourri

by BH

This morning on ESPNEWS, anchor Anthony Amey said, "And you talk about consistency, the Utah Jazz 17 and 17 heading into Washington. 8 and 8 at home, 9 and 9 on the road." Actually Anthony, that's more like mediocrity. Nice try.

Erik Kuselias talked at length Monday about the need for an experienced playoff QB, citing that all the teams that lost last weekend had quarterbacks making their first playoff start. He actually used Carson Palmer in his example, even though he left the Bengals/Steelers game after gong 1 for 1 for 66 yards. That's like a 6,432.7 QB rating. Cincy's problem had little to do with its quarterbacking, and more to do with a bad defense. Erik Kuselias everyone. The Bill O'Reilley of sports radio. He'll make his point no matter how much he has to manipulate the facts.

Athletes tend to get the benefit of the doubt when they are suspected of doing bad things, like speeding without a driver's license, transporting a friend's crack pipe, or getting caught with a prostitute, but former Virginia Tech Hokie and future fifth-round NFL draft pick Marcus Vick has run out of any such goodwill. Sometimes guys are just bad guys. When you do things like stomp on an opponent's calf during a game, get underage girls drunk in order to sleep with them, or threaten teens (even punk teens) with a gun (WHY THE HELL ARE YOU CARRYING A GUN?!), there's kind of a pattern. On Saturday, Vick announced that he had "decided" to turn pro, as though Virginia Tech hadn't made that choice for him by kicking him off the team. By the way, I'm here to announce that I am not going to be the starting left fielder for the San Francisco Giants.

On Mike and Mike this morning, Matt Leinart got 43% in the "Just Shut Up" voting after saying after the Rose Bowl that he thought USC was the better team. The crazy thing is, and please forgive me Sondog's boss, John, I think everyone who watched the game knows that Leinart's right, though his timing was wrong and saying that made him look like a poor sport. The Trojans were the better team, but Vince Young is ah-maze-ing. The fourth quarter was all about VY. He turned them into national champs.

More From Theimaguatrick

by BH

Hopefully, last night was the last time we will hear from the Sunday Night Football crew of Joe Theisman, Mike Patrick, and Paul Maguire, or Theimaguatrick. My love of making fun of these guys is less important than my love of hearing sane analysis over the course of a football game. If it was the last time we are going to hear the entity that is Theimaguatrick, they left with their usually stupifying coments and description over the course of last night's Redskins/Buccaneers game.

Patrick

After Clinton Portis is stopped on a 2nd down, "You get the feeling this is going to be a battle of wills."
Really? As opposed to a battle of souls? Or a battle of spirits? THIS IS MEANINGLESS CRAP!

"Brown waited a long time for the ball to come down (on a punt), then he paid the price." The idea that someone has, "paid the price," is used all the time by announcers, but doesn't make any sense. He paid the price for being a punt returner? Does a guy pay the price for his QB throwing high as he goes across the middle? It's just another one of those dumb things guys say when they're in love with their own voices.

"That's just the innovation of Jon Gruden. You find a way to get the ball to your playmakers." That is innovative. What a crazy concept. That's why the Niners kept losing this season. No innovation. They kept giving the ball to the guys who couldn't make plays. I don't even know what to make of this whole idea.

Theisman

"I think (the game's going to be decided by) how well the offensive line protects their quarterbacks, and how much pressure the defensive lines can get."
In other words, I think it's going to come down to the basics of football.

The greatest SI cover ever

After Redskins punt returner Antonio Brown dropped a punt, Theisman says,
"I'm going to make a prediction. Antonio Brown will not be back."
The next time the Bucs were forced to punt, Brown was the returner. Theisman, recognizing that he was wrong, said, "." Seriously, what the hell is the point of making such a prediction anyway?

In other observations from the past week, Erik Kuselias once again told listeners that a team was "completely devoid of talent." Evidently, Kuselias didn't get my last blog concerning this issue. Once again Erik, with a little word replacement, you said the team was "completely completely without talent." That alone is stupid. Plus, you're talking about the NFL. Obviously these guys are talented. Hasn't anyone told Kuselias that when you speak in hyperbole but think it's serious, you are an idiot?

2006 -- A Year in Preview - Part 4

by SonDog

My brother-in-law (Simon) and I have a fun relationship. Simon is British, coincidentally living in Britain. We're kind of like Stewie and Brian in Family Guy. Our conversations usually revolve around nothing but sarcasm and attempts at witty humor. We've held five-minute conversations about absolutely nothing. I'm dead serious. Nothing. Anyways, Simon is kind of like the Stewie to my Brian. For example: Every early-October, Simon will say to me (in Stewie's voice), "So, who will be the baseball champion of the entire universe... er, I mean the WORLD, this year?"

Brian (me), with drink in hand: "Uh, probably New York or Boston if the executives have anything to do with it."

Stewie: "So, let me, let me just ask you one question: The team that wins, they... they win a championship between other teams in the world, right?"

Brian: "Well, America is leader of the free world, so kind of."

Stewie: "Wait, you... you mean NOBODY in the world has a chance to win this, this supposed world championship?"

Brian: "Wait, wait, wait, wait... Toronto is in Canada, right? They have a team."

Stewie: "Oh, oh, oh. I see, I see. So, it's not really a world championship then, is it?"

Brian: "Are you saying that Canada is not part of the world, dude?"

Stewie: "We Brits consider it part of America..."

It's at this point that we both start laughing like a couple of fifth-graders, I make a comment about unintentional humor of witnessing an English-man trying to play baseball, he retorts with something about how soccer is the real "football", and then we go on to drinking our Scotch.

I'm on the left, Simon is on the right.

Anyways, on to the final part of the 2006 Year in Preview:

October -- The Yankees and San Francisco Giants battle it out for the right to be the baseball Champion of the World. In what will become his proverbial swan song, Barry Bonds crushes 7 homers in the first 5 games. The Giants end up taking the World Series in six, and Bonds gets to walk away from baseball as a champion, and as the greatest hitter who ever lived. (Editor's Note: In case you haven't inferred from my previous posts, I am a Bonds fan. While I freely admit that the man has been on more juice than an 87-year-old with a broken jaw, it hasn't taken away from my enjoyment of watching him play. If there ever was a fake prediction that I hope comes true, this one is it. A lone tear now comes to thine eye. And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.)

In football news, Vince Young, still steaming after being forced to play for the New Orleans Saints, decides to scrap the entire playbook and just run the ball himself on every play. The decision works out for the best as Young runs for 1,000 yards in the first three games of the season. In related news, we hear reports on FOX, CBS, and ESPN about Young being a great "black" quarterback. (Which reminds me, haven't we advanced to a point yet where a black quarterback can be referred to as a great quarterback? Not just a great "black" quarterback? This bothers me. Almost as much as references to Tony Dungy as a great "black" coach. The man is a great coach, whether he was black, white or fucking purple. I will now leap down from my soapbox and go back to watching the new Soul Train on BET.)

In celebrity news, Paris Hilton does something stupid to get attention. Lindsey Lohan admits that she lost her breasts in a heroin-induced bulimia accident. And, what month would be complete without Tom Cruise saying something void of any logical thought.

November -- My child learns his or her first breakdancing move, then proceeds to poop their diapers. By the end of the month, Lese wants to strangle me as I have repeated the same Oops, I Crapped My Pants monologue from Saturday Night Live a whopping 37 times. "Now, imagine that this gallon of iced tea is really a gallon of..."

What makes me such an expert? Because I'm wearing them, and I just did.

My child doesn't find the humor quite yet in this joke.

In football news, Reggie Bush and Matt Leinart do a joint interview before the Texans - New York Jets game to discuss how hard it is to have so many high expectations. In the interview, Leinart wonders aloud if there are any hot women left in either LA or NY that he hasn't slept with.

In the NBA, the season kicks off with another Kobe "The Mamba" Bryant controversy. Rather than "Mamba", Kobe wants people to refer to him as "The Stalker" or "Therapist." Somewhere, Sean Connery is saying, "I'll take 'The Rapist' for $500, Alex." Rumors fly that in the pre-season Lamar Odom tried with all his might to shove his six-ft bong up Kobe's...

December -- The Brothers Maloof announce that they plan on moving the Sacramento Kings (and the World Champion Sacramento Monarchs) to Las Vegas in 2008. The population of groupies in Las Vegas explodes by three-fold. In true Vegas fashion, the Maloofs make the announcement at their Palms resort, surrounded by supermodels, ice-sculpted shot slides and the envy of every guy in the world. Meantime, in Sacramento, politicians debate whether or not to plant almonds, pecans or walnuts in the expanse around Arco Arena. The debate is expected to last for years.

Politicians debate whether or not to change the name of Iraq to Iraqansas OR New Yoraq.

David Hasselhoff makes a short-lived comeback with Knight Rider, 2010. Viewers tune in for the pilot episode expecting to see numerous boobs (true to Hasselhoff's Baywatch days). People are shocked to find only one boob on the show... Hasselhoff.

And with that, may you have a Merry Christmas in 2006.

I don't have the words.

2006 -- A Year in Preview - Part 3

by SonDog

July -- The Da Vinci Code movie, starring Tom Hanks, is released to great reviews. The controversial movie approaches many records at the box office. 132 million people claim that it's the best book they've ever read, while only 73 of those people actually read the book cover to cover.

Baseball hits its annual "Dog Days of Summer" time of the year when fatigue starts to set in for most players. The San Francisco Giants, who currently sit atop the National League West, feel the heat more than any team as the average age of its outfield is 40. Gatorade in the dugout is replaced with Metamucil. In related news, Congress blames Major League Baseball for the apparent rise of steroid use in American dogs.

During the All-Star game, FOX compiles a mid-year review of the 2006 season, which goes something like this: New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox. New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox. New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox. New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox. New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox. New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox.

August -- One, and only one, important thing happens this month. My wife, Lese, gives birth to our beautiful baby boy or girl. I can tell you two things: 1) If it's a boy, I have great plans for him as he has undoubtedly been listening to baseball via the headphones I put on my wife's belly beginning in April. In fact, he will probably come out of the womb swinging his umbilical cord like a fungo warmup bat. 2) If it's a girl, I very well could be the world's most hyper-protective parent. The "Take Your Eyes Off of My Daughter" look will be permanently planted on my face like the Rick Adelman "I'm at an Absolute Loss to Explain Anything that is Happening on the Court" face. I have great plans for her as well. However, since I have yet to figure out anything about the female psyche, I will have to get everything approved by my wife before putting anything in print.

September -- Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie officially announce they are married. Two days later, Pitt and Jolie officially announce they are divorced. Not a week after that, Pitt and Jolie officially announce they are attempting to work things out. Throughout the rest of the month, the country is carpet-bombed like Northern Vietnam with news of Pitt and Jolie. In fact, Access Hollywood is television's most watched show during the month. On a side note, the pace of the dumbing-down of our society escalates exponentially.

This is the picture that made Jennifer Aniston vomit uncontrollably in 2005.

The NFL season is fully underway. Houston Texan, Reggie Bush, is having a slow start to the season as Houston continues to produce the worst offensive line in football history. In fact, Steve Sabol of NFL Films is at the mid-way section of production for "Gaping Holes... for the defense," a biography of Houston's offensive linemen. It gets so bad, that David Carr loses his leg in week 2.

Pennant races heat up in the baseball world. Nightly versions of Baseball Tonight go something like this: Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees.

And finally, for a record 743rd time this season, a sportscaster talks about how Johnny Damon had to cut his hair and shave his beard to play for the Yankees.

Best of 2005 -- Keep Me Away From Home Depot

As originally posted on October 16, 2005

By an exhausted SonDog

When I was ten-years-old, I couldn't stop collecting baseball cards. Every time a new collection came on the market, I pounced. Back then, a pack of baseball cards was 50 cents, and it came with a stick of gum. These days, a pack of cards costs $3.75, and you don't get the gum, rather, you just get the screwed. I like to think that my inability to not by a pack of cards when I was ten led to this price gouging.

With this in mind, there is a good chance that a power-drill is going to cost $723.00 by the time I'm 50.

You see, I have trouble in a place like Home Depot. Ever since LeseDog and I bought a house, I just can't stop collecting power tools, non-power tools, screws, bolts, lumber, and everything in between. If I go into Home Depot for a five minute mission... there is not such a thing as a five minute mission.

I awoke on Saturday morning with the full knowledge that my neighbor, Bill, and I were going to have a home/automobile/manliness improvement day. We discussed various options on Friday night, but by Saturday morning we were still not exactly sure what we were going to accomplish through our weekend. (In hindsight, this was due in large part to the amount of whiskey we consumed on Friday. However, I've never believed in hindsight, so I'm not about to give credit to it here. Damn you hindsight!) Rotation of automobile tires, final stages of the construction of Bill's deck roof, wood cutting, bathroom tiling... there were many projects that we had in which to select.

As we slowly warmed up our proverbial engines on Saturday, we were blinded by the realization that the first thing we needed to do was jump in my truck and head to Home Depot and Napa. We needed gutters for Bill's roof, some paint and some screws to finish the job. Home Depot, you're here to help. We also needed a hydraulic jack to lift the cars, as our crank-powered jacks in our respective garages just wouldn't suffice for proper tire rotation. Thus, we had decided on our two projects for the day. In order to start, we just had to complete the five-minute mission that was going to Home Depot to get the prerequisite tools.

Three hours later, Bill and I returned to our complex to begin our work. Yes, five minutes had indeed morphed into three hours. Why, you may ask? Because Home Depot pumps an addictive formula into its central air system that makes you crave its products fortnightly, I respond. How else would you explain how I came home with a new reciprocating saw, chainsaw, variable speed orbital jigsaw, circular saw, hammer drill, stud finder, shop vac, fire-proof safe, and a handy-dandy, fancy-shmancy Ryobi bag to haul it all with? Hmmm? How would you explain that otherwise? (Really, I'm not close to kidding, because LeseDog would really like me to explain this to her. If you could throw me a bone here, I would greatly appreciate it. I'm, truly, at a loss. Because, remember, we still had to go to Napa.)

Home Depot will have you believe that this product is an absolute necessity for any home-improvement needs.

The Napa trip wasn't nearly as bad. We did come back with a hydraulic jack, new windshield wipers for both my truck and LeseDog's SUV, as well as two 60-pound sandbags for winter driving, some wiper fluid, and an amazingly beautiful scented air-freshener for my truck. (Seriously, it really DOES smell like an ocean breeze in my vehicle right now.)

While rotating the tires on my Frontier, I couldn't help but be annoyed by the damage that I had caused to my truck's step-side over four years before. Rotating the tires was a breeze, but auto-body work presented a challenge. Could I indeed fix this eye-sore that I created? Did I really need to take it into a shop, when I had two hands here that could make an attempt at salvation? Sure, this would delay the project Bill and I had planned to complete his roof, but it should only take a moment. We still had plenty of hours at our disposal before the day was over. Long story short, we fixed it. I'm still not quite sure why it took me four years to develop the confidence to fix this step-side, but I am leaning towards believing that the enormous purchase of power tools hours earlier had something, somehow, to do with this sudden burst of confidence in my auto-improvement ability.

So, it was on to the roof. We had completed most of the job the weekend prior, but we still had to install some gutters before our masterpiece would be complete.

If only it was so easy.

After two more absolutely legitimate trips to Home Depot, I was suddenly the owner of a 200-piece bit set for my new power drill, a fast-action bit adaptor for said drill, a Roughneck trash can for my garage (plus lid), and VERY NEARLY the owner of a caulking gun, planer, 150-piece socket set, and a beautifully designed Husky air-compressor system (maybe next weekend). By the time we returned from our last trip, LeseDog demanded I hand over my wallet.

New and Revolutionary?! I gotta have it.

We completed the project on the roof with time to spare for a fabulous linguini and clam dinner prepared by Bill's wife Jean. It was all the fuel Bill and I would need for our Sunday project.

You see, I've determined that what makes a man a man is not shopping for a plethora of tools. What makes him a man is using said tools. If you have not read the "From Hero to Zero" post from two weeks ago, click on the link to the right. For, Bill and I had decided that we were going to cut more wood on Sunday. By God, we had families to care for through the quickly-approaching winter, and we needed to get more fuel.

Of course, that would necessitate a stop at Home Depot for some chain oil on Sunday morning.

The Third Ever Boofy

by BH

Tonight was the last ESPN broadcast of Sunday Night Football, and thus the last time we will see and hear Joe Theisman, Paul Maguire, and Mike Patrick in the same booth again. As I listened to the game, I was reminded of why these three men never being in the same booth again is a good thing. They are the most difficult broadcast team to listen to. Worse than Brenneman/Lyons. Worse than Buck/McCarver. Bad, bad, bad. Some Theimaguatrick gems over the course of the game:

They spent a few minutes telling us about how Rams coach Joe Vitt is a great guy. Really? Was he on the field? Cause, I'm watching a football game, not a personal endorsement video.

At one point, they decided to wash Pat Summerall's balls in the booth, seemingly forgetting that there was a football game on the field. The gushy love-fest between the three goobers and Summerall was so contrived and phony that I wanted to throw up.

Theisman pointed out that even with no playoff spot on the line, the Cowboys were playing hard football. This, Theisman said, "is typical Parcells." They do get paid right? For a sixteen game season?

When Keyshawn Johnson went in at the end of the first half in order to play defense on a Hail Mary, Theisman said, "This is the details of coaching by Bill Parcells." I'm a little confused. Is Parcells writing a book? If so, shouldn't the book be titled something along the lines of Obvious Shit You Do In Obvious Situations?

Finally, during a Terence Newman kickoff return, Patrick says, "Newman. He's a playmaker," as he's making a play. Way to add something to what I'm seeing. And I suppose that's my biggest problem with this broadcast team. They seem to be more interested in what comes out of each others mouths than they are with what's on the field. I have never gotten the impression that this team feels as though the game is more important than the broadcasters. They spent a good five game minutes saying their thank yous to everyone working on Sunday Night Football. To paraphrase Maguire, he said I know there's a football game going on here, but it's important we thank the people who work here. Crazy. What the three of them were saying was more important than the game. It was this lovey dovey mushy piece of crap about how they had all become great friends and blah blah blah. Unbearable. I mean it. I turned down the sound, hoping they would be done soon, but realizing this was going to continue for a while, I had to turn off the game. It's sad when a viewer has to turn off the game because the broadcasters are detracting from it. Theimaguatrick is this weeks recipient of the Boofy, not only for the team's sheer buffoonery tonight, but for years and years of self-congratulations, narcisism, and plain ol' Boofyness.

Theisman is going with Al Michaels to ESPN's coverage of Monday Night Football, which means BH will no longer be watching Monday Night Football. Theisman was perhaps the most amateur member of a second-rate broadcast team, yet has been promoted to the big time. It's a shame.

Sunday Silliness

by BH

Generally I like Bill Pidto, but he said two things today that reminded me that he does in fact work for the worldwide leader. First he pointed out that with a loss, the Patriots would get a more favorable first round matchup with Jacksonville rather than having to face a seemingly tougher Pittsburgh team. He asked Sean Salisbury and Mike Ditka, "Did that factor into the play calling or effort at all?" All I could think of was the first lady Andy dates in the speed dating scene of The 40 Year Old Virgin, when she says, "Are you fucking retarded?" The second thing Pidto said came during highlights of the Niners/Texans game. Mike Adams had just intercepted a Tony Banks pass, then lateralled the ball to Ben Emmanuel. Pidto said he lateralled the ball to Emmanuel Lewis. Of course. The Niners have had the worst defense in the NFL because Webster has been roaming the secondary all season.

On the way home from Chico, I tuned into the Colts broadcast on Sirius. The voice of the Colts is a man named Bob Lamey, undoubtedly the biggest homer in all of professional sports. I tuned in at the end of the game, just before Arizona's Josh McCown scored on a sneak in the game's waning moments. When the play happened, it took a moment to sort out whether a touchdown had been scored and even whether McCown had fumbled the ball before or after he had crossed the goal line. As the officials talked about it, Lamey said that the officials, "have been slower than Christmas." I don't know what that means, but I do know I'd rather see officials talk about a call and get it right rather than hurry one and get it wrong. The officials called it a touchdown, but after replays showed that McCown had never crossed the plane of the endzone, Lamey went off. He said "He didn't get in" at least fifty times. He said it was so clear that McCown hadn't gotten in, there was no reason for the referee to take so long to reverse the call. He said there was indisputable proof, and we'd have to wait and see if the officials had the guts to overturn the call. He said the reason the referee was under the replay hood so long was because he was trying to find a way to give the Cardinals the touchdown. Bob Lamey, I learned over the course of the ten minutes I listened to the Colts broadcast, is a fat, blubbering, turd, and I truly feel sorry for anyone who has had to endure him as the voice of his or her team.

Finally, after sacking Drew Bledsoe on a third down halfway through the third quarter, the Rams' Anthony Hargrove got up to do his little, "Look What I Just Did" dance. The dance looked remarkably similar to the one done by the gay guy pushing a lawnmower in season 1 Chapelle's Show. Maybe not a good look for an NFL lineman.