Is that Grandma?!?!

Never say never. That should be the motto of 90 year-old Lydia Scheltes who woke up after a night of partying with a tattoo on her arm and a hazy recollection of how it got there. She seemingly had gotten it the night before when her and other members of the Bethesda Retirement Center went out for night on the town. They stopped at the Evil Olive, a nightclub in Wicker Park, Chicago for a night of dancing, flirting and even dancing. It was a fundraiser put on for the residents of Bathesda and by the sound of it, they had a blast. Dressed as hardcore bikers, complete with pink wigs and bandannas, Lydia and 8 other senior citizens walked straight up to the bar and ordered "Dirty Martinis" and that's when the mayhem began. There was much talk and flirting, and a few of the old grandmas turned biker babes got up to "cut a rug" on the dance floor. Many others showed up as well. Members of the Latino American Motorcycle Association and the Chicago's chapter of A.B.A.T.E appeared to show their support and left with a new outlook on these lively "old people" from up the street. The cause was good enough. Ruth Werstler, the Life Enrichment Director for the home, set it up so that all the proceeds would go to buying a Touch-Screen Computer to help the residents learn how to use the internet. But the old ladies couldn't care less about the computer, they were too busy living life as it's suppose to be lived... With pink wigs and no holds barred. I applaud Lydia and her over-the-hill peers for saying "Fuck You" to age and showing everyone that being old doesn't mean you need to act it. So I raise my "Dirty Martini" to all the Lydia Scheltes of this world. To all the Wig Wearin', Harley Ridin', Bandana Toutin' grandmas out there. Because for some, age is only a number and we are only as old as we let ourselves be.

Rambling

30 minutes to deadline and I have nothing to say, rare for me as it is. I guess by setting these deadlines for myself I believe my writing will get better or somehow more coherent. Maybe it's just for practice that I do this to myself. So I'll be "more than ready" when the time comes for me to write my first piece. A true Horatio Alger hero, from rags to riches, riding the crest of a magnificent creative wave that will carry me to the top. Of what? The blogosphere? The front page of the New York Times? As a bystander and visionary I'm not entitled to say, I can just sit back, observe and report on the daily happenings of a minuscule life. A doomed life, a life at the mercy of conviction with the chance of being emasculated by some Femme Fatale Figure who turns up in my office one day saying "There after me, those pigs, those swine! You're my only hope, will you help me?" And with those doe eyes how can I say no? It'd be Unamerican, in this drizzly year of our lord, 2010.

Evil Basketball Gods, Grudges and Gambles

Can we take a moment and break down the breakdown of the NBA's most cursed team, the Blazers? Last year at this time the young and ambitious Trail Blazers were vying for a playoff spot, the first time in what seemed like ages. We got that Playoff spot and we were happy; because we knew that next season would hold greater achievements, as Portlanders gossiped about a possible Division Championship. Then the injuries came. And came. And came. However, whenever one Blazer went down, there would be others to fill the gap. Spirited rookies and veterans alike took hold of the reins and helped maintain moral on and off the court. However, all the spirit in the world cannot battle what seems to be a hateful grudge against the Brazen Blazers by the Evil Basketball Gods. Boneheaded trades don't help either. Today, in his second game as a Blazer, Marcus Camby went down with a sprained ankle while playing the New Jersey Nets. The same Marcus Camby we traded Travis Outlaw and Steve Blake for. If it's depth McMillan is looking for, why then did he trade away the visionary Blake or the up-and-coming Outlaw? Granted we're hurting in the height field. With both Oden and Pryzbilla on the bench our rebounds are down and we're getting muscled around by the bigger teams. But does that necessitate rash action? If I had the option, I would go back in time to Two days ago and physically stop McMillan from executing this trade. Keep the point-guard Roy plays with best and invest in the future. Because with things looking so bleak for the Blazers, the one thing we have on our side is Time! Has McMillan forgot that? Or has he been temporarily blinded by the Evil Basketball Gods? It still remains to be seen.

Bragging Rights and Regret

What a weekend for sports fans and Americans alike. I'll start by saying congratulations to our U.S. Hockey Team for their momentous victory over the stacked Canadian Team. Special Kudos are in order for Ryan Millers who staved off a relentless Canadian Offense. His 42 clutch saves allowed our US Team to come out with the win during Sundays game. But what does this mean? By toppling the stacked Canadians the US has for the first time in 50 years beat our neighbors to the North and secured a Bye into the Semi-finals. Canada must now go head-to-head with a formidable German Team for a spot in the upcoming playoffs for the Gold. But, bye or no bye this was about pride. It was about bragging rights; and on the eve of the 30th anniversary of the Miracle On Ice game, I couldn't be more proud for our guys up in Vancouver. Next, I must mention the PGA Accenture Match-Play Tournament held this weekend in Arizona. Ian Poulter played some incredible golf to secure a win over Paul Casey in the final round on Sunday afternoon. An apparent underdog for the Tournament, Poulter's odds for wining were a slim 28 to 1. My hunch, however, going into Sunday's round was that since Casey was coming off a grueling sudden-death playoff against Villegas that went late into Saturday night, necessitating a one hole Playoff early Sunday before the final round, I pegged Poulter to win. So why didn't I bet? Good question. If I had gone with my gut and had put $100 on Poulter, the payout would've been $2,800! And in the words of my friend Brett: "Think of all the Criterion Movies you could buy with that!" I have, and now I'm kickin' myself for not taking the plunge and sticking with my gut. No matter though, there are a number of NBA Games to be gambled on this evening and I'm feeling real good about Milwaukee, Dallas, Washington and Utah; but as with all gambling goes, the payout comes after the final Buzzer.

It's Tiger Time!

As we all know Tiger has announced he will give a press conference tomorrow at 11am Eastern. There's much talk about what exactly we expect from him. Many say they just want to hear sincerity in his voice. That it doesn't matter what he says, only that he is sincere in saying it. This is bunk, he owes us nothing except a date for when he plans on returning to Professional Golf. I couldn't care less what Tiger does in his spare time. My only interest is when he's snubbing the field on Sunday. That aside, the press conference is a pretty half-assed concoction. Here they're going to have Woods talking to a handful of loyal supporters in a closed conference where questions aren't even allowed. Now I've learnt two ways to combat the negative press as a result of personal action. One way is to go on Barbra Walters or Oprah and give a heart wrenching explanation of why you did it. Another, much more simple approach, is just to let it go by the wayside and allow yourself to get on with the program. For Woods, this means picking up the golf clubs and getting back in the game. Personally I think this second option is much more viable for Tiger, who is by habit not one for tabloids. So, let the press take what they will from the incidents that happened late last year and be done with it. On the same note I wholeheartedly believe that as soon as Woods hits the fairways again this whole thing will become a blip in the vast achievements of one of America's greatest athletes. He needs it and Golf needs it.

Lamichael Behind Bars

Tisk tisk, the rat bastards of this country are at it again. What has NCAA football done to our all American athlete? Star running back Lamichael James of University of Oregon’s explosive offence has been charged with a crime; a crime of violence and of menace and of lust. Where does that leave us? Floating among the bitter resentment of a student body that deserves better? I think so. Great things were in store for James and our Football team. Misouli was maturing, Chip Kelly was jellin’ good. James was a rocket ready to explode, a leading performer on a national scale. Yet, he’s thrown it away with a single act of aggression. There are rumors he will be out for a year. That takes him out of next years fall games and out of contention to help us make it to a Pac-10 Championship. What was he thinking when he pushed that poor women to the ground Monday night? Why had he done it? It’s all questions and no answers. Perhaps in a rage he felt as though he must put forth his dominance, in a sense commanding attention from his fellow peers. Now he has that attention, and it has landed him in handcuffs for assault. So what’s the moral of the story here? What’s the score? U of O now is out one star running back until further notice and our Student Body is nonplused. We demand answers and quickly!

Why I Write.

I was somewhere around 13th when the thought began to take hold. How long had I been in the midst of these Collegiates and like minded youth? We, the unbridled youth, on the threshold of something great and unrealized by anyone from Greece or Athens or Jesus Christendom. I remember thinking "Boy my feet are tired." and when I glanced down to look, I saw that they bore 2 gigantic leather encased sneakers bearing the ominous Nike Swoosh. I need to change my shoes, I thought, as I gazed out into the vast sea of faces. Faces, faces. Where did they all come from, these faces? With looks of consternation and ambiquity. Did they know? What if they did, they must have been on the same wavelength as me. Must have. "Buddhism", someone mentioned as they passed whimsically by my face. Yes Buddhism, where does it lie in the midst of my indoctrines flowing from my past? No reference comes to mind. Though, it does punctuate a stream of consciousness that must have been tapped by all those Bohemian types of Haight and Asbury while grillin' to Ginsberg and listening to the rhyming and rhuming of a natural born poet, Bob Dylan. And like a poet, I must write. It is what's in me that is in constant flux and undulation. Writing is a way to Broadcast the innermost insights of the authors mind; and in doing so it sheds light on the lives of their readers. Thompson, Dylan, Bukowski are all examples of those able to unlock the doors of our perception. Though, as with any spiritual existence, they can only open the doors, we are the ones who have to walk through it. They are the keys to our locks on consciousness, they supply the word, we supply the meaning. This is what I wish to achieve. In a sense, I wish to "Nail Down" the intricacies of the human experience, we so unabashedly let fall by the wayside and expose my innermost insights with my readers.

Setting of the NFL Sun

Not many weekends on TV are able to compete with our fiend-like addiction to Super Bowl Sunday; but last weekend did come close. With the opening of the 2010 Winter Olympics, the Daytona 500 and All-Star Weekend the hangover from Football Season wasn't so pronounced. Though, instead of watching 300 pound 'roid raging Bastids smashing skulls, the public will switch gears to speed skating and 12 car pile-ups. So, although millions of men grieve over the setting of the NFL sun there is still much bloodshed to be had on the airwaves; because lets face it, people like heartbreak. As long as it doesn't include themselves. So, when 2 racers on the Korean Short Track Team tripped each other up on the last turn of the Men's Finals, resulting in the loss of 2 Olympic Medals, people gasped, cringed, hollered and cheered. For, no matter how nervous we get, it's like a Train-wreck and we cannot look away. There are some who complain we pay our Professional Athletes too much in this country. That all we're doing is churning out pampered Divas who are poisoned by the trip of an American Ideal. I say they aren't. They aren't being paid for just putting a ball in a basket, or through the uprights or in a cup, but rather to be players in an allegory of life. The microcosm of the American Dream. We know their stories, sympathize with them, their dreams are ours and because of that we cheer with them, laugh with them, cry with them. It's they who live and die by the trade, something we do everyday.

Brooklyn Decker and Valentines Day

Thank God for Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. Victoria Secret model Brooklyn Decker has, for the first time, made the cover of this most sultry of all SI's publications. Good for her, she deserves it. Shes been working too hard and her legs are too long for her not to make the cover. However, being the most widely read publication on the planet, the Swim Suite Edition provokes a lot of controversy. The most heated debate on all the sports channels is Brooklyn vs. Roddick. Who deserves the cover more? Is this even a question? I mean, granted Roddick is the best tennis player in the nation and yes the only picture of him on SI's cover is a tiny stamp-sized photo of him at the U.S. Open; but did he win the U.S. Open? No. I'm sorry Roddick, but I'm going to have to go with Brooklyn on this. Maybe next year buddy. Oh hey! I've got an idea, how about we give Roddick the cover if he beats Federer or Nadal in an Open Tournament? That will be cause for celebration won't it? I however don't feel that bad for Roddick, since he's married to Decker and all. And with Valentines Day just around the corner he'll probably forget all about magazine covers, if you know what I mean.

Anyone Else Freaked Out?

I've always wondered what it would be like to live in Orwells 1984. Not for any prolonged amount of time, but just to get the feel for a different sense of things, a new perspective if you will. Hell it might even pull a few heart strings and make me miss home. Of course I cannot transplant myself into Orwells socialistic society, however, there is a place where such a future is a reality. That place is North Korea. I just got done watching a documented trip done by 2 Brooklyn journalists from Vice, a small independent media company, of which Spike Jonze is the creative director. Anyways, these 2 brazenly courageous men armed with a handycam went fearlessly behind the New Age Iron Curtain in hopes of revealing the myth of North Korea to the world. And reveal they did. Never before had I seen such anti-American propaganda from a people so regimented and cold. Control in North Korea is so tight that they literally don't allow cameras with telephoto lenses, recordings of any kind, publications other than the National Paper and they don't even allow music. For example, you couldn't go to North Korea and bring an Ipod. Insane you say? Take this into account, these two journalists, one being Shane Smith (founder of Vice and diehard Bronski Beat fan), under strict supervision of government official guards, got taken to a Tea Shop to show the commercial side of North Korea. The guards woke the journalists up at 6am, placed them on a bus and drove for 2 straight hours pass scenic mountains and dilapidated villages, not once seeing another car on the road. They arrived at the tea house, which turns out to be a huge 4 story fortress complete with 200 rooms and a Tea Vender. This Tea Vender, who's a middle aged Korean woman, stays at this Tea Fortress all year long selling Tea to the tourists. However, these journalists are the first people she has seen in 6 months and as Smith says, it will be another 6 months before she sees another group of tourists. They play a few games of pool, drink some tea and get a tour of the place and then they leave. It's so surreal that nothing normal ever happens in that country. It's like 1950's Russia, a land locked in a time. The departing shot is of the lovely socialist Tea Vender peering out of her Tea Fortress with a look of resilient solidarity. Sacrifice for the Fatherland! Complete allegiance to the Party Leader! Death to the US Imperialists! But don't move, Big Brother is watching.

Hungry for an Apple?

Don't go towards the light! Or should I say, Don't go towards the giant blinking Apple! As any techie knows Apple has just released its Ipad, and I'm sorry but I just cannot muster any support for this horrendous flop of technological half-assidy. It's true that when I heard Apple was releasing a rival to the Tablet PC, I was genuinly excited to see what Jobs had in store. However, after witnessing the waste of technological opportiunity that the Ipad is, I had to fall on my knees and yell to the heavens "WHY!?!?!?" What does Apple have in mind with pushing this oversized iPod touch on the American Consumer? Why are they laying traps for their loyal and valiant buyers? The so called "Apple Fiends" who have an insasiable hunger for overpriced machinery sporting that ominous piece of fruit are being preyed on by their own supplier. The same story can be said of your local drug dealers. They reel you in with promises of acceptance and then BAM! They have you for life. Its as if Apple is trying to carve out a market where there is none; you know the odd twighlight zone between full-fledged Flash enabled tablet computer that would rival those of HP, Toshiba and Fujitsu and a glorified, oversized version of the Iphone (without a call function or camera). Ultimately, this Ipad is a step down from everything that we were expecting from the Californian based innovator. Its like buying a Betamax player just because all your friends are doing it, after VHS has taken control of the market. So please don't be like the sheep being led to the slaughter, stand up in the face of socially demanded material things in the name of Logic; because frankly what you could do with your Iphone, Ipod or Macbook is exponentially more than you could ever do with this inconsequential paperweight.

Big Game Gamble

So what the heck has happened to American advertising? Do the big wigs at Agencies everywhere think Americans are all a bunch of brainless slobs who like to eat potato chips and get fat? Granted, that is the case for most Americans these days and granted Ad companies are into maximizing their public appeal; but America is also about the minority, it's about championing the underdog, and routing for the little guy. So, I ask, Where are my commercials? Where are my witty 30 second comedy sketches? I tell you, nowhere! I am stuck on Superbowl Sunday watching pantless men parading in a field and hearing pathetic dialogue about men being comfortable in their skin. Where have the balls of the Ad agencies gone? The best thing they have now are screaming Dorrito fiends and Troy Palamalu as a tiny man living in a hole. It's pathetic. You'd think with companies ponying up a cold Mil to air a commercial during Superbowl Prime Time, they'd come up with something better than a backtalking 5 year-old who doesn't want his Momma or his Dorritoes to be touched. Also, with having a year to plan, they could at least get good writers to turn out something worth spending millions on. Even a mediocre writer with an idea would suffice. All I'm saying is the Advertising in this country has been dumbed down to a point of contentment by the minority who deserve better; because frankly we do.

Palm Reading

The lights blaring, cameras from all the major networks on and buzzing like collections of beehives all pointed at one person; Sarah Palin, sitting with her hair more rambunctious than usual is seated opposite of a Fox News interviewer. The stage, the Tea Party Congregation. A friendly rally for conservatives and a opportunity for Palin to prove she isn't in fact a complete moron. Easy questions are lobbed up into the air like pop-fly baseballs by the interviewer in hopes that Palin can catch them and nail the answers. Unfortunately, the blaring lights and glistening eyes of all present looking on seemed to be too much for our lipstick-wearing pitbull; and her already lackluster speaking skills suffered from it. For at a moment of naive innocence, the wide eyed interviewer asks Palin "What are the 3 main things that must be done when the conservative party takes over the White House?" This pre-screened question must have taken her by suprise, or perhaps she was just at a loss for words (which seems to be the likely story), because at that moment Palin, like a 7th grader who didn't study for a test, consults "cheat-notes" she had jotted on her hand. She palm read her banal answer, which came out as superficial fluffy backtalk. In other words, in the heat of the moment she cheated, she dropped the ball, she fell off the bandwagon. In what should have been an easy assist, Palin falls farther still from the respectability of those who she is trying to reach. She lost sight of the ultimate goal of the rally, to not make yourself look like a bumbling idiot. She must have lost the memo or rather forgot to write it on her hand, because she has effectively ended any inkling of hope (which was essentially non-existent to begin with) harbored by myself and hopefully by the Republican Party. The fact that she still plans to run for office in 2012 is pure comedy to me, for if Palin is the strongest candidate for the Republicans, they might as well say "Goodbye White House, Hello hockey."