Another Soccer Thought or Two.

OK - a couple quick thoughts from watching this USA-Brazil match.

1.) It's kind of fun that the ninety minute game takes almost exactly ninety minutes. The lack of clock stoppages is pretty refreshing coming off of the NBA Playoffs.

2.) I take back the boring comment, kind of. It's not the best sport to watch from your couch, but I could see it being fun in a bar with a bunch of rabid fans, slamming pints and screaming at the TV.

3.) The bee-like drone of the fan noise is pretty annoying.

The Honeys Come Flockin.'

Drunk Guy at the Show Last Night: C'mon, man, all you have to do is shake your ass and the honeys will come flocking.
Me: Yeah.
DGatSLN: Except for those Asian girls over there. They're scared, because I talk too much shit.
Me: Well, you can't win 'em all.
DGatSLN: Guess not. You can't fuck 'em all, either.

Red Beans & Rice.

I went to Richmond to see Modern Groove Syndicate last night. It'd been a while since I'd last seen these guys, and this was to be a special reunion featuring keyboard badass Daniel Clarke - who, lately can be found playing on tour with kd Lang and Mandy Moore. Unfortunately, I found out soon after arriving at the bar that this show was going to be without saxophonist JC Kuhl, but the band played on.

Highlights were the expected cover of "Bad" coming out of a killer segue from "Exes and Hos," "Soul Prostitution" and "Bunky Flues" off of last year's Miss Popular, a fierce cover of Radiohead's "National Anthem," and finally how Dan on keys and Trey Pollard on guitar made up for the lack of JC's prominent horn lines.

These guys make me want to make music more than any other band. I love watching them onstage just creating, and loving every second of it.

Futbol.

Caught in the contagious patriotic ferver, I'm watching this USA-Brazil soccer match. The problem is, no amount of patriotic ferver can make up for soccer being inherently boring. It needs something - maybe a smaller field and playable walls a la Arena Football, or more physicality, or bigger goals - but it definitely needs some spark.

I was going to do a live blog of this game, being that it's the "biggest United States soccer game in history," but that title is like awarding "most artistic Nickelback album" - the competition isn't that fierce. Also, I remembered the time I tried to live blog the World Cup final, and hated myself for it. So I'll be here, and I might update if something interesting happens, but this is not a live blog.

On Michael Jackson.

There's a real duality to the passing of Michael Jackson. On one hand, there are people like my boss who view the man as a legend whose passing ranks up there with the losses of Sinatra & George Harrison. On the other, there are people born in the '90s who know him entirely as the weird guy with the reconstructed face who may or may not have had a propensity to touch kids. I - being born in 1983, but being a pop culture late bloomer - sort of sit the fence. Jackson's Jackson 5 work and his solo career through the early 1990s is simply unbelievable, but it's hard to mourn someone who was repeatedly accused of child molestation and made his kids wear masks in public long before swine flu made it cool. So my reaction to his passing yesterday has been to alternate between wistfully watching Youtubes of his greatest moments and chuckling to myself at the long list of Michael Jackson jokes making the rounds.

There're a lot of similarities between Jackson and Elvis. Revolutionary early careers, record breaking sales, and a steep decline caused by excess (plastic surgery and food, respectively) and poor decisions (child molestation and bad movies) capped off by a prescription drug fueled early end.

I guess all that's left to be said is to love the art, not the artist. The good thing about that? The sounds and joy that Michael Jackson's jams brought never did any wrong to anyone. Songs can't die.

Governor Sanford Update:

I nailed the mistress guess.

Creepin.' Now the Gov is apparently trying to tell us all that he was only going to Argentina to end the relationship. I understand how much it sucks to get broken up with over the phone - it's happened to me - but with Google chat and Skype being what they are now, there are ways to be right there without having to be right there.

My advice to this guy? Resign. Hold a big press conference and tell everyone to fuck off that you can possibly think of, and then move to Argentina and start a new life with this mystery lover. You're already a villain in the states - why not?

They Really Do.

South Carolina Governor Sandford didn't take us to Argentina when we met him in 2004.

There seems to be some sketchy shit going on in South Carolina. Skipping out on Father's Day to go on a trip out of the country that no one knows about while your wife thinks you're on the Appalachian Trail and your closest advisors have no idea where you are? Sketchy. This has to be more than wanting to "get out of the bubble I am in."

I could maybe understand the motive behind sneaking off for a hike. You're tired of the bustle, you want to enjoy nature for a bit without Secret Service everywhere, so you get away for a couple days. Flying to a foreign country without anyone knowing probably just means a.) the Gov is the country's new highest profile drug mule or b.) he's harboring a lover/possible illegitimate kids in Argentina, and wanted to get back to them for Father's Day or c.) he heard that South American coffee is better and wanted to try it right then. It's like when Pat told me the new flavors of Mt. Dew were good, and I went to the grocery store that day without telling anyone - only in rich person speak.

If that was too much for you, here's a youtube of a guy warbling along with a Hole song.

There Goes Grimin' Simon.

John Daly is always hailed by the sporting world as being the everyman's golfer. He drinks, he lives in a trailer, he goes to Hooters, he chain smokes, etc. This is fun in a sport that's a little too buttoned up, as good ol' boys can rally around him - but is he really the everyman? How many men do you know who wear pants like this? How many men do you really know that personify everything listed above? John Daly is definitely entertaining, but he's more the sideshow everyone watches because they wonder what he'll do next.

The real golfer for the common man? Phil Mickelson. The guy is always friendly, struggles with his weight and man boobs, overachieved seriously when he married his wife, has an endearing tendency to fuck up under pressure, and even carried a beeper around the US Open in 1999 in case his first child was born. I don't know why I never liked the guy before, but he's definitely a likeable enough guy. I've become a real Mickelson fan lately.

Note: take "golfer for the common man" with a grain of salt - Mickelson is also the second highest paid athlete in the world. He just also has the name recognition and humanity to fit the bill here.

Nuptials.

Congrats to Red Dog and Laura for getting married this past weekend. It was a great time, and I was glad to be there to be a part of it.

Some notes from the weekend's festivities:

The DJ at the wedding played my buzzed request for Prince's "Erotic City," which I was just amazed to even see in his collection. This didn't do much to please the older crowd.

We ruined what was definitely going to be a threesome at Jill's sister's apartment complex late on Saturday night. A girl wearing a coverup but carrying her bikini top came down to the pool with two guys, and pointedly went behind the pool house to put it on after seeing our group already there.

The humidity in Greenville is almost overwhelming. I'll think of this whenever I start griping about it here.

It was great to see this group of people again. I'm consistently reminded how great my friends are, and I miss getting to see all of them on a regular basis.

I Got Gotten Good.

I got dunked on when my new phone arrived.

Juge saw the package sitting downstairs outside of our office when he got back from lunch, and decided to have some fun. He brought it upstairs to his desk, opened it, replaced the phone with a dusty old sealed Samsung cell phone belt holster that he happened to have lying around, and put the resealed package on our admin person's desk. When she got back from lunch, she brought it back to my desk and told me it was there.

I was pretty excited - finally! a new phone! - but went from euphoria to heartbreak in seconds when I saw the holster. I sat there for a few minutes just staring at it, and even shook it to make sure there wasn't a phone in the holster, but nothing happened. It was like getting coal in a Christmas stocking.

Pissed off and not willing to take my lack of connection to the world anymore, I got up to go to US Cellular and buy a new one. As I walked out the door, Juge asked me where I was going, and told me not to forget my phone. The jig was up.

No Fate But What We Make.

I stayed up until close to two in the morning last night - first watching UVa blow their elimination game in the College World Series and then attempting to read my way out of the pent up adrenaline - and still managed to hold myself to my 7:30 am workout schedule. I'm pretty proud of myself. There are all kinds of ways I could have made excuses to get out of working out this morning, but I held fast.

I don't even want to say anything else about the game. It was one of those that had my mood swinging from laughter to despair to wanting to stick my hand on my stove to see if I could even still feel to a final sense of deadness to, finally, a sense of pride about everything that team accomplished this year. I think it was also one of those games that makes Jess quietly tally the days until our wedding and reassure herself that deposits have to be refundable this far out.

Baby Mama Drama.

We're boarding Maddie for the first time during the weekend of All Good, and this afternoon, she was going to stay for a few hours to test the waters. Jess just anxiously called me, moments after dropping her off, because she felt bad about leaving our dog with strangers - even strangers that give out daily Frosty Paws treats and brush and play with the dog daily. I immediately got kinda sad too, even though from my desk at work, Maddie could be anywhere and I wouldn't know. We are going to be gigantic fucking saps when we have children. That is all.

Same Difference.

This Belgian girl is upset because her tattoo artist tattooed 56 stars on her face instead of three.

Wow. I could understand maybe accidentally getting four instead of three, but I'd like to think someone would notice before having an additional 53 stars tattooed on their face. I think the clients claims are bogus, too. Tattoos aren't ridiculously painful, but they sting enough to keep you from falling asleep. As for the "he didn't understand my French and broken English" complaint, if I was getting my face permanently inked, I'd make damn sure that the artist knew exactly what I wanted.

Feed Me Burger.

Living with Jess, I've become familiarized with several different meatless products. I've been ok with the spicy chicken patties, the little buffalo nuggets and stuff like that, but had held out on trying meatless burgers...until recently, when desperation over our empty kitchen led me to sample a couple of brands from our freezer.

Here's how it went:

The first burger was a Nature's Promise Soy Vegan Burger. The burger had the texture of play dough, and the odd greenish color didn't do much to help the sort of piney taste. Nature's promise was apparently a guarantee to make you feel like you were grazing out of the lawnmower bag.

The second - a Boca Burger - was much closer to what I'd want out of a meatless burger if I actually wanted a meatless burger. The taste and texture were both beef-like, even giving off a sort of grilled aftertaste. I've eaten several more of these since. My only beef - get it?! - with the Boca Burgers is their size. I guess vegetarians don't typically sit down and eat giant pieces of not-quite-meat.

You Scratch My Back.

I got an Ebay message from the seller of my new phone yesterday urging me to go ahead and leave feedback on my purchase. Positive feedback was encouraged, and I was reminded that the seller in question left me positive feedback first.

I'm annoyed when Ebayers think feedback is a tit-for-tat thing. Of course I deserved positive feedback - I paid right after the auction ended. It's all I have to do. As for the sellers, you can't send almost a week later than planned, fail to communicate this change of plans without prompt, and expect me to be like "oh, yeah, I'm great and you're great. little smiley face for you."

I've Just Seen a Face.

For those unfamiliar, Facebook is launching the ability to have a distinctive username at midnight tonight. I know people who are staying up to grab theirs, but I probably won't - it's doubtful that anyone's going to try to lay a claim on my chosen handle.

I think Facebook is vastly overestimating the maturity of their users here. Unless this turns out to be pretty regulated, how are they going to stop people from doing things like claiming other people's names as their username and then trying to sell them, or taking "anally_induced_enjoyment" as their username? I've managed to shake the temptation to use something ridiculous as my own Facebook username, but there are two other souls out there whose passwords I know. Might they want something interesting?

I was going to use the same screen name I use everywhere on the web for this, but I feel like I might use my actual name. While it appears to be just as hard to remember my last name as it is an unpronounceable string of letters and numbers, this Facebook thing only seems to be picking up steam, and I don't want to be stuck with something I'll regret later. I'm sticking with my guns on this one: anally_induced_enjoyment it is.

Video Killed the Radio Star.

So, around a year ago I decided I was going to sell my CD collection and go all digital with my music purchases except for albums I love or albums by bands I love, which would be purchased on vinyl when possible. After all, I am an apartment dweller, and my CD collection was starting to take over the living room.

Everything has gone according to plan so far except for the selling of the collection part - my computer's CD drive shitting the bed has left me with no way to easily rip everything to digital format. I think this excuse smells of stalling, though, and here's why: part of me is uneasy having my entire collection consist entirely of data - something that could disappear with an unfortunate power surge or Maddie freaking out that I've been gone for fifteen minutes. Also, you can't leaf through the lyric sheets of an mp3. You can't lovingly reorganize your mp3 collection. It's like the old idea that someday, we'll eat all of our meals in pill form. I don't want to - I take too much pleasure in the preparation and consumption of actual food!

The solution here is obvious: get over myself and sell them. The thousand bucks or so I could get from selling back my CD collection would look much nicer as part of the down payment on a car than they do sitting, collecting dust on my shelves. Part of me will always miss the CD era, though.

Nothing Has Changed but Nothing's the Same.

David Byrne has figured out how to keep the attention of concert goers who aren't entirely familiar with his material - he incorporates extensive choreographed dances and intricate light shows into the concert, turning it into a full on show. Seriously - I only knew about half of last nights Charlottesville Pavilion setlist and Jess's little sister had never even heard of the Talking Heads, but all three of us were consistently entertained by the dancing and the lights on top of the sound produced by Byrne and his band. It was as though we were watching a Broadway production or something.

The show itself was solid, focusing entirely on Byrne's recorded output with producer Brian Eno - three Talking Heads records, the curiously titled solo album My Life in the Bush of Ghosts and last year's Everything that Happens Will Happen Today. The highlights were the opening "Strange Overtones," the finale of "Everything That Happens," "Take Me to the River," and definitely the rocking mass sing along of "Burning Down the House" that turned the entire Pavilion into a party.

It's always great to be pleasantly surprised by a show - too often, I either know what I'm going to get or am somehow let down. If Byrne comes to your town, check it out. It'll be worth it.

Baby, When I Get Home.

On my walk home from the gym this morning, I passed a woman walking a golden retriever. The golden freaked out and started barking and straining at the leash, almost pulling the poor woman over while trying to say hi. Embarrassed, she apologized, and I laughed and told her my dog was worse.

She probably just thought I was hitting on her or just making conversation, but moments later she got to see Maddie almost pull me down the stairs (at half of her dog's size) in her rush to get outside, and I think my point was proven.

Virginia is For Governors.

There's a Democratic gubernatorial primary today, and, keeping with my tradition of keeping my head firmly planted in the sand with regard to local politics, I have no idea who my candidates are. I know that we don't have Arnold and that Ben Affleck got out of the rumor mill and stayed out.

The candidates appear to look like this:

Creigh Deeds:
Pluses: Lifelong Virginian. Opposed the same-sex marriage ban. Opposes sales tax on solar/wind energy purchases by homeowners. Lists Drive-By Truckers as a favorite band.
Minuses: Endorsed by the NRA. Has already lost once to the Republican nominee (2005 Attorney General race). Seems a little pro-death penalty for me. Open to drilling.

Terry McAuliffe:
Pluses: Endorsed by Bill Clinton. Digs on small businesses and pay hikes for teachers.
Minuses: Carpetbagger to the max. It's hard to tell exactly what he wants on some issues. Reeks of slick national politicking.

Brian Moran:
Pluses: Opposes drilling for oil and gas off the coast. Would try to repeal the same-sex marriage ban.

Minuses: May be too vanilla and too liberal to win. His trailing the field has been the only constant in polls.

So, this didn't really help me at all. They're all pretty similar, and as Doug Wilder has said, none of them have really done anything to distinguish themselves. Tough call.

You'll Never Change.

This is how the horror movie always starts. A two meter robotic snake with a camera on its head that can squeeze through tight spaces and, I quote, "can be used to carry bombs intended to wreak havoc on enemy soldiers or buildings." At first, you think it's going to be used for good, and then something goes wrong and suddenly the world is overrun by militant robot snakes.

That's not all, though. There's also "a cat that can climb walls by using its claws, and a 'dog-droid' that responds to human movement." I typically avoid snakes and cats, but a "dog-droid?" If made realistic enough, it'd get me every time - I'd lean down to scritch its ears, and it'd fire its lasers into my face.

If these things ever patch into SkyNet and become self aware, we're fucked.

Suckle My Yambag.

We took Maddie to the dog park yesterday, where we were soon joined by a group of kids from a nearby family reunion who wanted to play with the dogs. We were all sitting at a picnic table in the shade while the dogs played, when a probably around eleven year old girl said "it says 'suckle my yambag' on the table. what's that mean?"

All of our eyes got really big at the same time, and Jess finally replied that "that's just something silly." Pediatrician test: passed.

Press Record.

ESPN's announcing crew for the Ole Miss-UVA Super Regional series has been ridiculously bad. Instead of treating this as though it's an ongoing series with continuing storylines, they're repeating the same stories about players and strategies as though it's a rerun of the same game or the audience is different for each game. College baseball isn't exactly a big ticket item - I'm fairly sure it's just UVA and Ole Miss fans watching this - and I'm pretty sure we all feel pretty numb because of this announcing.

Over three games, we've repetitively heard:

That UVA coach Brian O'Connor is from Omaha, site of the College World Series, UVA center fielder Jarrett Parker put on twenty pounds of muscle after last season instead of playing summer baseball, UVA shortstop Tyler Cannon is switch hitting for the first time this season, UVA catcher Franco Valdes is Cuban, loves music, and has Ivan Rodriguez as a role model, and UVA pitcher and first baseman Danny Hultzen is allowed to play both pitcher and designated hitter in the same game by college rules.

That's just the UVA side! The Ole Miss lineup has a similar collection of stories that have been repeated to the point that the games feel like we've fired up NCAA Baseball 2009 on the PS3. I'm not asking for A-list announcers for a Sunday afternoon college baseball game, but I'd at least like some semblance of continuity.

The Breaks of the Game.

Me: "If UVa loses today, the season is over."
Jess: "Really?! Oh, I mean, too bad."

It's understandable how she could be tired - it is a long road from late August every year to mid-to-late June, when the NBA Finals finally end. She puts up with my rabid fanhood of UVa football, basketball and baseball, the entire NFL, the Chicago Bulls, and the NBA playoffs. Summer brings only baseball, and with it a respite from me being as crazy over sports - while the White Sox are close to my heart, baseball as a whole is my least favorite of the three major sports. I won't try to put aside other plans to catch a baseball game.

It's really admirable that she's waited until June to really say anything.

This Is All Hypothetical.

I saw a couple guys rocking capri pants today on my way to work. I don't even like capris on women that much, so I guess it comes as no surprise that I'm not a big fan of the man-pri.

Actually, as a guy, I'd feel a.) more comfortable and b.) like less of a jackass going out in public in a skirt than in a pair of capris. The ventilation would make it worthwhile.

How Long Must I Dream?

I dreamed last night that I was late for something important, and I couldn't correctly shave my face. I tried everything - multiple razors, different blades, different gels - but I kept ending up with the same stubble. As I went over the same spot over and over with no result, I became more and more frantic.

Weird.

Wilco (The Gas Station)

A couple friends and I made the decision last night to tough out staying up past three in the morning on a Sunday night to watch UVA's baseball team go for the win in their NCAA Regional out on the west coast - knowing that we all had to go to our nine-to-fives this morning.

The decision proved to be a wise one - the team won 4-1 - but the aftermath has been ugly. I stopped off this morning at the Wilco station to get some "Xtreme Coffee" from the pot with the lightning bolt handle, and it helped me through the morning, but I'm still ready to pass out.

While filling my coffee cup, the cashier looked at my Wilco shirt, up at her manager and said "is his shirt like...us?" The manager shook his head, and she then said "hm - I guess they're like our mascot!"

I guess Wilco isn't in the big leagues yet.