He was recently married. Congratulations are usually in order for a newlywed, but hold your peace for this dude. He is one weird, messed up man. He decided to swap vows with a VIDEO GAME CHARACTER. Just let that little twisted fact sink in for a second. This is disturbing, and I hang my head in shame.
I suppose the Happy Monday takeaway message is that you are not this man, that you retain a connection with reality; oh, and that you are not this man.
-Via Email from JoshM, an article presenting "research" on "The 10 Most Obscene Cities in America":
Herndon, Va. is a suburb of Washington, D.C., in the heart of the area's tech corridor and right next to Dulles Airport.
It's also the most obscene city in America, as determined by analyzing data from Google.
I lived in Herndon for two years; on top of that, #5 on this list is Reston, VA, where I currently reside. I take umbrage with this research and the methodologies used to draw such conclusions. Would the study results hold up to any sort of academic or empirical rigor?
This study is bull*&%#.
-Via Chat with a friend who asked to remain Anonymous:
don't judge me for what i'm about to say
One sec. I'm just going to get out my powdered wig and gavel... Ok, continue:
but i think i saw the coach for Team Ugly at the gym last night. seriously josh, this guy was like stop-you-in-your-tracks ugly. i don't know if he plays basketball or not...and i know you have been lobbying for an NBA player to take the position
Anonymous Mean Face proceeded to try and rationalize her lack of human compassion by saying that if I, JD, can get away with trying to compile an All Ugly NBA Team, why can't she say things like this? The reason: The NBA team is full of dudes who are STACKING MORE SCRILLA THEN WE WILL MAKE IN OUR LIFETIMES. Ergo, if I want to call them goofy-looking bastards because deep down I'm actually jealous, then yes -- yes, I am justified. Now, Joe Schmoe at your local gym...? I dunno...
SINGLE MOM OF 7 SEEKING BON JOVI PIT TICKETS AT GILLETTE STADIUM. DON'T HAVE MUCH (ANY) MONEY, BUT CAN TRADE THE SWINE FLU VACCINE FOR 6 OF THE KIDS.
Now, the thing that I'm interested in finding out here is the Chicken or the Egg: Does Bon Jovi turn his fans into idiots, or are idiots inextricably drawn to Bon Jovi? This question may forever confound scholars and the educated -- much as the beginnings of the universe, the construction of Stonehenge, and the unremitting tabloid coverage of Jon and Kate Gosslin will continue to puzzle us.
I have no friends that like the man or his music; the closest I have is Casey, who enjoys playing the drum part on Guitar Hero for "Living on a Prayer." His knack for things like common sense and caring for his family don't make him a good case study for the effects/causes of Bon Jovi, though.
-Via Email from JoJo, for your Thanksgiving viewing pleasure:
YOU'RE WELCOME. Happy Turkey Day. Be thankful.
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Has anyone heard of Calcio Fiorentino? It's an early form of football that has been eclipsed by less violent modern-day sporting events like rugby, professional wrestling, and trying to take photos of Mike Tyson in an airport.
It very well could be the manliest game ever, allowing "tactics such as head-butting, punching, elbowing, and choking," but forbids "sucker-punching and kicks to the head." Now, I'm no advocate of sucker-punching (aka Blounting), but where the originators decided to draw the line between strangling a guy and punching them when they're not looking seems a bit, oh, what's the word...arbitrary to me. I saw no rules either way on "folded metal chair taken from the stands" or "tazing."
This PotW was chosen from this collection; I liked it mostly because there is obviously a WWF-style piledriver about to take place. Go Italians for continuing to play a virtually ignored and obsolete sport.
It's a short week, all. Happy Monday, indeed!
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This week's is relatively weak, but LAY OFF ME I'VE BEEN BUSY. Let's do this:
-Via email from JMill, this picture and accompanying description(the link):
The police department in the small Minnesota town of Proctor will put a motorized lounge chair up for auction next week after it was seized in a drunk driving incident. The black and blue pleather lounge chair...comes complete with stereo, footrest, cupholders, headlights, a nitrous oxide power boost system, drag racing style steering wheel and a parachute.
Well sure, it's got some nice features, but if it can't automatically parallel park itself, I'm not even interested.
-Via Blog Comment from Melody N, who, without forewarning got to hear from Shigeko about my hair whilst spectating the marathon:
I just want to know if your mom cut your hair in your sleep the first night you got to WA.
No, surprisingly, in her handling of my hair Shigeko has not taken radical and drastic action, like drugging my dinner and taking garden shears to it while I'm passed out on the kitchen floor. No, she has chosen silence as her weapon. Like n The Dark Knight when the Joker gets captured and placed in the jail, my mom remains relatively silent, not saying anything, but I know she's looking at my hair, and I know some plot is being concocted in that head of hers.
As for post-race plans with the hair, the plan has always been to cut it short again. Some have asked if I would consider bic'ing it; my hesitation is that I have no idea what my head looks like. For all I know, it could have all kinds of ghastly deformities and mis-shapens all over it, and I might become the human equivalent of this bear:
Well, neither of my worst-case scenarios happened while I was out for my little run on Saturday:
(If given the choice, I personally would have preferred the fate of the former [collapsed, naked, and about to die] than the latter [streaming, bloody nipples... you ever try to shower with those?] Luckily, it came to neither)
Some might view traveling 2600 miles to run 26.2 impractical; or training for 10 months to run for 3.5 hours disproportionate. But it was worth it, and Nartker and I finished Run the River Marathon with the help of supportive family and friends. Couldn't have done it without them.
The smiling, un-pained looks on our faces are indicative of these pictures being taken at the 4-mile mark, and not at the end. If they were at the end, my face would have been contorted and twisted in a display of unbearable pain.
Some quick awards:
Mike Ditka Award: Coach. He may not have the mustache, but he had the same demands for discipline and high-performance that Dit-KAH demanded of his football teams. If I didn't have Coach driving me, I would still be collapsed on the side of the race trail today.
Pre-Race Comic Relief and Gutsy Performance Award: Nartker, who grabbed his Body Glide stick (anti-chafing material) before the race, headed into the bathroom, and came out declaring something along the lines of: "I think I just violated myself with the Body Glide." The man's legs also fell apart like a Saturn sedan, but he fought through a hurt knee, an Achilles heel issue and his body sucking up electrolytes faster than he could put them in in order to finish. Well done, sir.
Traveling Fan Base Award: Ma and Pops Dalton. Flew down from WA State to watch me a total of five times over the course of 3 1/2 hours. Granted, the painted faces and incoherent, drunken screaming of die-hards were not present in my parents, but their support was greatly needed and appreciated.
Dale Earnhardt / "I didn't plan on running 1/3 of a marathon today, but I did" Award: J and Casey Tanner. Tore through the suburbs of Sacramento, CA, channeling Fast & Furious driving skills (likely scaring my passenger parents half to death in the process) in order to get to as many spots along the trail as possible. They also ran a ridiculous amount alongside myself and Nartker as encouragement.
"They say patience is a virtue -- but damn, virtues are boring and lame" Award: AM. For having to deal with my "I've gotta go for a long run today" statements over the last half year.
The Consummate Dumba** Award: The Idiot-Girl in Sacramento. Unfortunately I wasn't there for this, but at one of the stops my parents and the Tanners went to, some imbecile impersonating a 20-year old girl got out and started dropping f-bombs on my mom and J because they thought they were dropping off marathon runners by car to get ahead. Right. The Imbecile, of course, could not be reasoned with because the capacity for logic and intelligent dialogue is housed inside of the cerebrum, a part of the brain that is reserved for the more evolved species -- like people, or reptiles, or amphibians and such. Well done, ma'am, and let's just say that the two fingers I'm throwing in your direction are not my thumbs.
Lest you get Marathon Recap Fatigue, I will end this entry here. I may have some more thoughts on it later, but for now I am going to go enjoy my vacation.
Happy Monday, all. Time for me to nurse my sore legs.
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Digital correspondence for the past week. Apologies, most of the selections involve my upcoming marathon in Sacramento. I hope this doesn't provide TOO much insight into my life/relationships. Let's do this:
-Via Gchat with Casey, from last Friday, regarding my trip to Sac-town:
just think, this time next week, you'll be waking up next to me
The plan for my trip was to spend Thursday night at Casey's. Operative word: WAS.
-Via Email from Gnomie, who is well-acquainted with my undying affinity for bacon (the article):
not only have you probably already seen this, but you probably have already incorporated it into your robust daily diet of bacon product:
Squeez Bacon! Finally, something the Swedes have seen fit to bestow on the world besides Stockholm Syndrome and the inability to take sides in a major world conflict! From the article: "By precooking it and blending it in a special way, he [the inventor] was able to make a fully cooked 100% bacon paste that could be squeezed from a tube."
To take something as beautiful as bacon and twist it like this is wrong. Like...like... oh hell, let's unleash the inner nerd: It's like in Lord of the Rings where the Elves get disfigured and mutilated and the end-product is the Orcs. There, I said it.
-Via Gchat with Butz, while we were discussing my upcoming marathon and how I was planning on mitigating the chafing of sensitive areas in my chest region. I explained that I had bought a deodorant-like stick to prevent chafing, and told him this:
...so I will be coating my nipples in that
I know some of the readership is not comfortable with the terminology, and I pray I will never be typing that sentence ever again in my life, but I'll do whatever I have to avoid this poor sap's fate:
(I realize by quoting myself on my own blog, my egotism has reached Kanye Westian heights, but fear not: I will be interrupting Taylor Swift acceptance speeches before you know it.)
-Via Gchat with Nartker, who told me that the forecasted temperature for the start of the marathon has continued dropping as we get closer. I think right now we're looking at 38 degrees. His commentary:
I think my junk just shrunk just thinking about it...sorry for the tmi
Anatomical references are in abundance this posting. Again, my apologies.
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Halloween has come and gone. And while as an adult I may not always be ecstatic about the holiday, I'm at least fascinated by it. It's the holiday that offers us the chance to NOT be ourselves. So really, if you're already having some sort of identity crisis; or delusional visions of your own grandeur; or are just generally confused about your place in this world, here is the opportunity to exacerbate the problem and further separate yourself from reality! You know, really mess with your own head. It's good for the mental health.
There are always interesting costumes, and even more interesting couples:
Mary Poppins from the magical world of Disney paired with a cold, heartless, "cut first, let God sort them out later" samurai from a feudalistic island-nation. How do you describe that combination? The most fitting parallel I can think of comes from Seinfeld stand-up: "To me, it's like combining swimming and strangling a guy. That makes just as much sense to me."
So maybe we were an odd couple. But I think Halloween would be more fun if couples -- instead of coordinating their outfits to be matching (lame) -- went for costumes that were the most dissimilar. It would make things a lot of interesting, and avoid the cutesy lameness I just mentioned..
It's alright. Maybe I should have listened to the pleadings for me to stick with my group's Disney theme and been Mowgli from The Jungle Book, but for some reason, walking around in a loincloth all night just didn't appeal to me. At least my ancestors were happy with the decision.
And how 'bout this combination of friends?
The Boy Who Never Ages, a samurai, and the World's Most Wanted Terrorist? A bit of a culture clash -- but damn, we looked good doing it.
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To answer the quizzical look on your face, NY Yankees star Alex Rodriguez, is reported to have a portrait of himself as a centaur hanging in his bedroom. A painting he commissioned. Commissioned: As in he proactively thought of the idea, sought out a painter, and paid said painter.
Now, many of you may be thinking this is strange. Beyond strange. Vain. Egotistical. But before you become judgmental of A-Rod, I suppose a confession is in order. I actually commissioned some paintings of my own a few years back. The problem I ran into -- besides finding a portrait artist whom I could afford -- was that I never specified what sort of creature I wanted my head to be placed on. Needless to say, the portrait didn't turn out so well:
Not what I would classify as flattering. Oh well. Some things just don't go as expected. I hope A-Rod is happy with how his turned out.
But really, it's super creepy. Previous to knowing this about A-Rod, here's a rough estimation of how my Top 3 "Things That Creep Me Out To No End" list was laid out:
Clowns
Creepy movie-children
Ventriloquist dummies
And now, the new list:
Clowns
Creepy movie-children
Alex Rodriguez
On a career note for him, maybe once he's done with baseball, we'll see if A-Rod makes a cameo in the next few Narnia movies.
Happy Monday. Spend the rest of the day being jealous of my MS Paint skills.
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There is much this week that left me speechless. Thanks to all for keeping me entertained throughout with digital correspondence. Alright, let's do this:
-Via Gchat from Banker, in the spirit of the Halloween season (from here):
Wow. That pumpkin must have been coming off of a 'roids cycle and got his dual decapitating/skinning RAGE ON. I have no words.
-Via Email from JMill, whose coworkers are growing mustaches for cancer, and sending around pictures of ones that they randomly find on the internet. This one is UNbelievable:
Mike M, one of the most well-spoken individuals I know, could only muster the following in reply to the email:
Sweet Mercy... words cannot express...
Quite frankly, words failed me as well. Much like we experience the loss of fine motor skills when encountering a shock or trauma, my higher thinking and reasoning also came to a screeching halt upon seeing this photo. But while my verbal capacities may have had a temporary Expression FAIL at the horrifying sight of someone who has grown a continuous strand of hair from his upper lip down to ANDaround his nipples, my basic instincts still knew what to do when confronted with something grotesque: conjure up a strong and uncontrollable urge to vomit.
And not just in a "threw up a bit in my mouth" sense -- it was more in the I JUST TRIED TO DRINK A GALLON OF MILK PLEASE HOLD MY HAIR BACK WHILST I SHARE FACETIME WITH THE TOILET FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT sort of sense.
Or, if you are more of a visual learner:
You get the gist.
-Via Google Reader, I found an article and amazing video clip about "The Today Show." But first, I want to remind you of something. Remember this side-by-side picture of my 3-year old self?
What's the connection, you're wondering? Well, "The Today Show" did its annual Halloween segment and they hired a few people to dress up in Ewok costumes. According to the author of the article, a friend who works for the show said this:
“For what it’s worth, a friend who works at the Today Show confirms that they were both midgets and drunk.”
The clip is well-worth the watch if you have the time. But here's my question: Where were auditions for this segment 20 years ago? I could have been a DRUNK EWOK:
-Via Email from Saree; I will provide the headline and leading paragraph of the article:
Bear Kills Militants in Kashmir
A Bear killed militants after discovering them in its den in Indian-administered Kashmir, police say.
Chalk one up for Jack Bauer's CTU. As soon as I finished reading the article, I started visualizing how it went down for the two victims, Qaiser and Saifullah:
(Nighttime. Qaiser and Saifullah, exhausted, approach a cave in the darkness) Q: Saifullah, this will be our refuge tonight. S: Are you sure, Qaiser? There are bones everywhere. I do not trust it. Q: It is fine. Keep your AK-47 ready.
(The two sit down, backs to the mouth of the cave. It is silent for a few minutes. Crickets chirp outside) Q: Saifullah, is your beard darker, or is it darkness? S: *chuckles* I actually started using some of the westerners facial hair product "Just For Men" to remove the white from my beard. My wife says it makes me more appealing. Q: I do not need such western abomination fakeness to impress women. Women say I am handsome; that I look like the Iraqi Sayid on the American show 'LOST.' S: I hate that show. They only leave questions unanswered. What is the black smoke? Where did the white bears come from? And why don't Jack and Kate just get together? Q: Bah. Jack and Kate? Sawyer is much better for Kate. It is obvious. And they're called "polar" bears. Guess what I found out, though? I was on the internets and found out that Sayid is not even Iraqi. He is of Indian descent!
S: Disgusting. I can no longer like him.
(Twigs snap in the forest outside of the cave. Some growling is heard) S: *fearful look on his face* Qaiser! Did you hear that? I think something is outside. Q: *stroking his beard* Nonsense. S: I am of seriousness, Qaiser! Q: *chuckling derisively* You worry too much. Do you think there are polar bears outside? Like in 'LOST'?? AHAHAHA. I laugh at your foolishness, Saifullah.
(900-lb bear bursts in, commences mauling and bone-crunching of Saifullah and Qaiser. Roll credits)
Well, due to the popularity of the last Reader's Vote to determine if someone's t-shirt/overall appearance is "butt rock or not," I give you the Kiss fan I met at a Halloween Party:
(Remember, 1 is completely devoid of butt rockness, 10 is Poison-esque.)
I'm not going to let you know where my opinion lies on the issue -- all I'm going to say is that purchasing 8-inch platform shoes from the Kiss museum, wearing them, AND being semi-mobile in them for an entire night at a dance party is impressive in its own right. He had done his homework, too -- he was telling me all of the details about the Kiss concert he had recently attended. Hilarious.
Saw the kid almost take a tumble, though. Like watching one of those stilt-walking clowns fall. It all happened in slow motion.
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The Sports Guy, Bill Simmons, who is one of my favorite writers, is touring to promote his new book, The Book of Basketball. DC's ESPN Zone was his first stop, so I got down there to meet the man. He skipped dinner to shake hands and chat, and was congenial and expressed gratitude to us as the readers. Maybe he doesn't realize that his columns get working Americans in the 18-35 male demographic through their tedious work weeks. It is we who should be thanking him.
Going to the book signing was an interesting study of celebrity worship in America. The person behind me in line was visibly nervous, and began vocally brainstorming something "funny" he could say to Simmons. He was running his ideas by everyone in line around him. Nobody in line was helping him, but it was probably because every other frat boy in line was trying to come up with witticisms of their own with which they could impress Bill. It was as if The Sports Guy were holding auditions for a new best friend. Yup, an intelligent writer like Bill Simmons is as pathetic as Paris Hilton, everyone!
Also, in case you were wondering, I'm convinced that the portrait in the background is Brigham Young -- mostly because I can picture Brother Brigham toting a baseball glove, bat, and disproportionately LARGE head around with him. (I understand caricature, but that's "like an orange on a toothpick!")
Happy new week, all. As much as you can, enjoy your Monday.
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