Fifteen On Shuffle

From Playlist "Poker Mix" (What I'd channel through my stereo if I had people over playing cards)

Al Green - "Let's Stay Together"
Pam Grier - "Long Time Woman"
Notorious BIG - "Machine Gun Funk"
Lonnie Mack - "Strike Like Lightning"
Jimi Hendrix - "Still Raining, Still Dreaming"
Dr. Dre - "What's the Difference"
Wes Montgomery - "Four on Six"
Beastie Boys - "Brass Monkey"
Led Zeppelin - "All My Love"
The Who - "Baba O'Reilly"
Tinsley Ellis - "Double Eyed Whammy"
Jimi Hendrix - "All Along the Watchtower"
Redman - "Tonight's da Night"
The Who - "My Wife"
Bob Dylan w/ The Band - "Knockin' On Heaven's Door"

I Rock It One Double-Oh Percent

Beautiful lies for a life is hectic and isn't slowing down until I strap on the iPod and jaunt the dog around the block sort of Friday.

Fools' Day.

Pauly didn't buy the lies about the double E'd Brit pledging hopes of kindred spirit communication that I spun. Maybe he wasn't paying attention, down a hundred since midnight.

I didn't lie to Gracie today, but she tried to toss me mistruths of me and my dog reported in the MSN Spoof News.

I'm smarter than your average bear.

We did spend a good hour this afternoon busting on newborn babies with unfortunate names, karate costumes, and bad hairlines. One had a dad named Delbert, and another named Skeeter. Those facts alone should be solid for one get out of jail free card later in life for each of those babies, Nolan's tossing the high heat and you've let the first pill hit leather before you could even take a swing.

I saw another baby in a branded Harley jumper with right arm extended as he were working the dig lever on the steam shovel. I voted him Most Likely To Graduate Top Of His Trade School Class.

One of you shall change my oil someday, the other will be referred to by all three names on the Nightly News while pulling his tank tee over his head to avoid the press.

It all started with Aryan Justice, Robert and Patricia's unfortunately or maybe hyper-intentionally named baby girl. Christmas in eighteen years in the Whiteman household features freshman Aryan bringing her Spinderella look-a-like "roommate" from South Carolina home for the holidays and telling her parents she's in love.

That, my friends, is Aryan Justice.

Not to mention it gives me pause to say Gamecock.

There are two hip-hop channels on the XM and I found myself yelling "What the fuck is wrong with rap!?!" in my car this morning before landing on Bluesville and Charles Strong's "Rock That."

"Rock That" is Charles' instructional audio cassette available via K-Tel records for nine ninety nine and bids you gentlemen without irony to "rock that man in the boat."

I'm thirty years old and I need a topographical map and a sherpa to effectively rock that man in the boat.

I can probably wake him up and kick his ass a little bit, scratching that itch just right for a minute or two before I just end up parking the car and making a mess all over his garage.

I must apologize for the above paragraph. Charles Strong is to blame for the pronoun issues that make it seem as if I'm taking lefty cuts in the cage. A writer must stay consistent, and it is that man I must rock.

In the boat. It's a fucking metaphor. Or simile. Or allusion. Or symbol. Fuck it, I don't know, and I've never been good with water.

I get wildly motion sick.

No matter. It's the universe, I am nappy and happy.

I missed one topic on which I am obligated to comment from earlier this week: Rambo, because BadBlood already has my back. I want to have that Schwartzmann/Murray conversation with John Rambo about Viet Nam, but that motherfucker was absolutely "in the shit."

You don't get that badass knife for potato peeling on the laundry ship. Doing the math, John Rambo = big knife = bad motherfucker. Jim Bowie = big knife = bad motherfucker. Crocodile Dundee = big knife = bad motherfucker.

Sometimes the best theorems and postulates simply don't hold, and a dude like yours truly who obviously has charisma leaking out of his eye sockets can't seem to tag the girl who's rebounding from the Dale Jr freak who eats nothing but cheese fries in restaurants.

BG: "You know, if you liked this book, have you read anything by Richard Wright?"
K: "I don't know, what did he write?"
BG: "Books about the black struggle, like 'Native Son' and 'The Outsider.'"
K: "Oh, I've read 'The Outsider.'"
BG: "You know, that's not the one with 'Pony Boy.'"
K: "I guess I haven't read that."

Not a college graduate.

But BG, that was a year ago, and you're still complaining?

Just keepin it real my nillas.

MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT

It's not so often that I can claim to be the first of all my blog associates and friends to branch out in a different direction, but here we are.

I am proud to announce that I am the FIRST poker blogger to be linked up on an amateur porno site!

If you want to go take a look, I'm not going to link. But replace the "#" symbols below with the name of Boris' hot Russian female spy friend on the Bullwinkle show:

www.#######.co.uk/links/big-tits-no-sub-category.htm

Oh, and please don't go opening this at work. Here's the email I got this morning:

Hello Boy Genius (my note: she used my real name),

I've visited gamblingblues.com today, and really like it. I run a site
similar to yours, and I was wondering if you would like to trade links
with me? You can see my site at "http://www.#######.co.uk/".

I will give your site a prominent listing on my page at
http://www.#######.co.uk/big-tits-no-sub-category.htm, if you link back
to my site.

Please let me know if you have any questions or comments.

Best regards,

#######
#######.co.uk

I'm branching out baby!

Updated 645PM, Monday

From Al, 1PM Monday

Well, my IM messenger seems to be working properly again and the idiotic topics are been re-established. Why not share another glimpse of our moronic chats with the rest of the world.

This seemed to go over well the last couple of times we did it. Plus, I don’t know how much booze I’ll be hitting into this week, I need the entertainment.

Firing right out of the gate with hopefully a tough one. The choices I gave your in IM were easy, let’s see if this is a little tougher.

Miles Davis or John Coltrane?
Catherine Bach (in here Daisy Duke prime) or Jessica Simpson?
Baked beans or corn on the cob?

Hit me with your best.

Al


125PM, Monday

Dearest Aloysius,

Our chats? Idiotic? Let’s allow our public to decide:

BG ok, coolest guy on TV to fly a helicopter:
BG TC
BG perry king on riptide
BG jan michel vincent on airwolf
BG ?
Al airwolf
BG well, that was the coolest copter
BG but was vincent the coolest of the three?
Al TC bitched too much. the riptide guy did have a bunch of hotties
BG i'll go with perry king - not as steely cool
BG kinda like don johnson without the baggage
Al lol. i remember an early episode of rip tide with a young gina davis sans bra
BG nice
BG always had a crush on geena davis
Al but good lord did she get ugly in a hurry
BG aw... come on, it's not that bad
BG she didn't hit the wall that hard
Al Raiders of the Lost Sub Episode: #1.13 - 15 May 1984
Geena Davis .... Dr. Melba Bozinsky
BG melba bozinsky
Al she is nearly 50
BG doesn't bother me
Al me neither. i was using that to justify her smack down with the ugly tree
BG she looks a lot like a girl i used to dig in college
BG i'm a fan
Al oh. so am i.

I don’t think it’s that bad…

OK, so here I am at age 30 on what is ostensibly a work day discussing the Perry King/Joe Penny vehicle that spawned a thousand imitators…

…What? Oh.

I mean, “was the coolest TV show ever to feature a pink helicopter.” Is that better?

Anyway, I was always a little disappointed in how Perry King’s career turned out. I mean, maybe he kept going after those leading man roles he wasn’t truly cut out for, but you’d think an amiable enough guy like King would have at least a Devane-esque career. Instead, he’s just been content to waste his affability in a series of bad TV movies.

Perry King, we hardly knew ye.

So I want to handle your questions in reverse chronology, or at least in the opposite order from which they were asked.

Baked Beans versus Corn on the Cob? You know, let’s handle this in the spirit of Lore Fitzgerald Sjoberg and his wonderful (and available on Amazon.com) BOOK OF RATINGS:

Picnic and Barbeque Food

Corn on the Cob - Quite possibly nature’s perfect food. I mean, I prefer lamb and veal, but even I know that there’s nothing natural about keeping an animal tied down to make him more milky and tender and tasty… Well, screw natural if it’s going to end up that tasty. Still, there’s much to recommend from cobbed corn. First, it holds its butter, salt, and pepper beautifully with all the traction those kernels provide. Secondly, any food that provides me the opportunity to use miniature forks with novelty caps just makes me happy. And the fact that you can just pluck it off the stalk and toss it on the grill? I’m lazy, and that works for my sedentary lifestyle. A

Potato Salad - At the risk of sounding like a trite late 80s comedian on any one of those grating “Live at the Improv” shows, what exactly is it about mayonnaise that creates “salad?” Could I toss a whole bunch of die cast automobiles in a bowl with a couple of dollops of Miracle Whip and make Matchbox Salad? Is mayo that versatile? Still, aside from the fact that I won’t eat mayonnaise based on my strong aversion to egg products, it just seems like mayo-based salads are the Russian Roulette dishes of the picnic world. I think we just need to figure out some way to make Dangerous Japanese Blowfish Sushi into Dangerous Japanese Blowfish Sushi Salad, and we’ll have our next episode of “Barbeque Fear Factor.” D+

Baked Beans - How come the sauce for baked beans isn’t used for anything else besides baked beans? Is it maybe because it’s awful? Terrible? Not-quite-tomatoey, not-quite-barbecuey, just about horrid. Did I nail it? And, you know, I like animal fat as much as the next guy (trust me), but a big square of suet in the middle of a can of otherwise edible picnic fare is scary to a kid. Hell, I’m still not eating it or the beans that are touching it. C-

Potato Chips - I’ve always found potato chips to be the most overrated of the snack foods. In most cases, they’re thin, underseasoned, and even the greasy ones don’t carry that fatty-tasty thing very far. Can’t eat just one? Watch me, and please pass the tortilla chips. C

I could go on (and on, and on, and on), but I need to get to the Catherine Bach v. Jessica Simpson debate.

In their primes being the key.

Now, all this depends on figuring out from which direction you want to take this question, but I’m going to throw you the curveball here.

Simpson.

She’s richer, her potential for earning cash is going to continue, and she’s better arm candy.

I mean, I normally prefer a brunette, and there’s no question there’s an attraction to an exceptionally attractive “guy’s girl” like Daisy Duke. But being Mr. Jessica Simpson just has more benefits in the long run.

Plus, I’d love to know if they’re real. They couldn’t be, but you don’t know until you’re jiggling the fun bags on your own.

As for the Miles / Coltrane question, that’s a better post for a better day. Let me just give you a couple numbers that help answer that question:

% of Miles’ non-bootleg albums I own (roughly) = 85%
% of Coltrane’s non-bootleg albums I own (roughly) = 45%

It really is no contest.

Dude, I really have to learn how to keep a reply to under 1,000 words, don’t I?

So here’s my curiosity question back to you… Let’s say you could pluck any character out of any TV show and trade places with them. Their world becomes your reality. With whom do you trade places?

I really want to say “Optimus Prime” here, but I’m no leader of Autobots.

3PM, Monday

BG,

Wow. Anyone who can be brief YET spend 85 words talking about Baked Beans alone. Good lord, man. Carpal tunnel syndrome is right around the corner for you man.

The only answer above that requires a response/rebuttal is the Bach/Simpson question. One, who cares if they’re real or not. Doesn’t make them any less fun to play with.

Two, Catherine Bach is an icon and must receive more props. Every male in the United States aged 35 and up….. Ah crap, not even I can finish that sentence creatively.

Which TV character would I trade places with? Interesting. I won’t go with any obvious ones.

I'm going to have to say Dr. Adam Bricker from The Love Boat.

Seriously.

How much tail did that ugly bastard get just because he had a captive audience? I believe the Stockholm Affect must have occurred. But all those lovelies in the late 70's and early 80's who thought anything under their flimsy tops was optional.

I also wouldn't mind the easy job of being Jennifer Anniston's wardrobe person on friends. "Here's something tight and thing. I'll call facilities and have them turn the temperature WAY down".

How tough of a job can that be?

So here ya go back at ya. In real life, who would you switch jobs with?

(let's see if you can keep this one under a thousand words)

517PM, Monday

You're a good man Allen Can'tHang,

Dr. Bricker? Bernie Koppell's name was Dr. Adam Bricker? Well, I should know better than to challenge you on this one, what with our back-and-forths to IMDB already today.

Me? Despite knowing that Charles could be in charge of watching Nicole Eggert shower, I'm going to go with everyone's favorite hood-with-the-heart-of-gold, Eric from Head of the Class.

See, Eric was a smart kid with his whole life ahead of him, could wisecrack with the best of them, was kinda cool in a latter-day Fonz sort of way, and most importantly?

He got Simone.

Ah, Khrystyne Haje, you'll be in my heart forever and always.

You could do worse for high school history teachers than Howard Hessmann and Billy Connolly too you know.

So the question lobbed back over the net to me is, "in real life, who would you switch jobs with?"

The obvious answer is Bill Gates. He's under no pressure whatsoever to continue to personally innovate. He can hire two rooms full of guys who just are there to think shit up, and back them up with two more rooms full of guys doing just the same. Oh, and he's compensated. That would be the suburban white rapper's slang for "Yo, that nigga be making mad cream!"

I'm not going to go with that one.

Instead, I have to admit that there really would be no single job I could think of that would satisfy my every last desire. Here, however, are some jobs that would come close:

Left Handed Middle Reliever/Junkballer - Seriously, when I look into the eyes of my firstborn son as he opens them to his surroundings for the very first time, I'm going to welcome him to this world with a kiss on the forehead and a little tiny mitt for his right hand. Every dad wants a pro athlete in the family, and there is no longevity like Orosco-esque junkballing from the fifth through the eighth innings. Shit, you could have a lifetime ERA in the mid to high fours, and as long as you're tossing curves and forkballs with the left arm and not the right, you're a precious commodity. So why a middle reliever and not a DH or something? Well, I can't think of a pro athlete with less pressure than a middle reliever. Go in, face a couple batters, get yanked for strategic purposes after eight to twenty pitches, and good night. You get your pro athlete lifestyle, you get paid pretty damn well, and you're never really under the microscope. Sign BG Jr up for little league right now.

Screenwriter, chromiumblue.com - OK, it's been awhile since I've had access to premium cable, but if memory serves, chromiumblue.com is a half hour (or hour) Cinemax sci-fi erotica series. With boobs. Now, what part of me does this satisfy? Easy. The warped and twisted creative part. If I could be paid to write vignettes like where a chick falls under the spell of a mummy in a museum that mystically comes to life and uses her to recruit a harem of hot chicks to replenish his ancient Egyptian harem needs? Dude, I'd have a fucking blast.

Comedy writer, sitcom - Look, I know there are funnier people out there. I'm not even the funniest one in my family. That being said, I'd be really interested to see what I could do in a collaborative writing environment like that. I may not always be the funniest guy over 2500 words, but I think I could really thrive if there were more people behind the scenes guiding an idea to some sort of comedy payoff.

Policy Wonk - I'm opinionated, I write excellent position papers when need be, and I'd love to tell people I'm a "Wonk."

In all seriousity though, there is one guy whose job I really envy. As a matter of fact, if I won an obscene amount of money in the lottery, I'd set myself on a path to this guy's end. Basically, there's a restaurant in the Little Italy section of Windsor, ON at which I've eaten. It's a small dining room, maybe 55 people can eat at once. You've got two seatings a night, and the menu is totally determined by the chef/owner's whim. When I went, there were maybe two meat entrees, three pasta dishes, and a couple of soups from which to choose. And it was all amazing. I think I tried nearly everything on the menu from the rest of my group's plates.

I want to be that guy. Cooking for people, but at my whim and not theirs. That is the job I most envy.

And shit, he could do what I'm doing no problem.

By the way, I want an answer to the "with whom would you switch jobs" question too. Anyway, here's my question back to you. You, me, Pauly, Iggy, Hank, Grubby, and BadBlood get shipwrecked on a desert island together with no food and little hope of being found. First, who from this group becomes the de facto leader(s)? Second, how many days of fruitlessly trying to find something to eat does it take before the topic of killing one of the group for food comes up? And third, naturally, who gets eaten first, and do they volunteer to be the one or go kicking and screaming?

Enjoy the veal,

BG

Straight Low Key BG

This weekend’s biggest “What the fuck?!?!” moment comes courtesy of my cousin Rachelle.

Rachelle, who hates seeing her name pop up on here, said that with my new beard I “look like Santa.”

Let’s see… It’s well groomed, not growing rapidly, and not at all remotely white. Santa?

Whatever.

I’m working today, in the loosest sense of the word. Since I don’t get the day off, but my client does, I’m again one of less than 30 people on this campus of roughly 1200 here today. Working.

It’s not actually a bad thing. My company supports businesses in just about any industry you could think of, and if there’s a possibility that some client somewhere is going to be open and in need of the services my company provides, then there’s no day off. That being said, I get a few (something like six) “floating holidays,” which are intended for days like Good Friday or the Friday after Thanksgiving.

But I’d rather sit at my desk in a hoodie and a ball cap, listen to music, and muse about whatever’s tickling me at the moment.

Stop. No, I didn’t mean it like that, and I wouldn’t do that here even if I thought I could get away with it.

By the way, I thought I’d give you a quick encapsulation of everything I learned by watching TV this weekend:

Democrats have a blood lust

“Aaaaaaaahhhhh whuuuuuuuuuhhhh” means “I want to live,” or is close enough so far as we should be concerned.

All those polls that show Americans are upset by Congress’ intervention? So poorly worded that they should just be ignored.

All those polls that show President Bush’s approval wilting in the heat over the last week? So poorly worded that they should just be ignored.

Hot anchorladies can still make me angry

Bah dah buh ba daa… I’m lovin’ it.

Goddamn does FoxNews make me angry. I don’t care how hot their anchors/reporters (that Banderas chick on location in Florida is yummy) are, that’s not enough sugar for the medicine.

Anyway, the rest of the ramblings today are dedicated to one Mr. Can’t Hang, as he has goaded me back into another email exchange. Back then, sooner than you can say “Give me a hundy on UNC to cover.”

Green and White



I’m sorry baby. Really I am. I love when Kentucky hits a big three, sets the crowd wilding on a fast break dunk, or gets everyone out of their chairs with a huge defensive stop, because I know the guys with the headsets in the truck are going to show me Miss Ashley Judd jumping with glee in support of her beloved Wildcats.

I’m sorry baby.

My boys were just too deep, too fast, too focused, too disciplined to miss their free throws. They weren’t about to give you that game.

This isn’t the 99-00 Championship team. That was a team of destiny. Cleaves the embattled leader, Peterson the savvy go-to gunner from the perimeter, Granger with the clutch jumpers, Anagonye and Hutson yanking balls off the rim to spur the devastating fast break with a Charlie Bell layup on the other end. These guys were the right mix, beautiful chemistry with suffocating defense taking the cues and personality of both their coach and their star point guard.

04-05 Michigan State is a team heavy with seniors, like the Champs were. This edition, however, has struggled over four seasons to find the identity the upperclassmen before them brought to the table. There is no single leader, no go-to scorer, no telling whether they’re going to come out establishing the big man underneath, or asking the wingmen to throw darts from beyond the arc. They share the Michigan State ethic with the Champs, defense and rebounding as the primary focus, but that is where the similarities start and stop.

Even as a fan and alum, I can’t put my finger on who this team is from game to game. Are they disciplined and well-coached, as evidenced by holding one of the best foul shot averages in the nation this season? Well, save the Illinois loss in the Big Ten season, every one of their losses could have been salvaged by shooting their season average from the line. Are they a team that runs through their most dominate offensive weapon? Hardly, as a matter of fact they often seem to forget big man Paul Davis is in the game.

These seniors too are different from the Champions. Mateen Cleaves played his first two seasons at Michigan State saddled with a variety of injuries that left him, in his words, feeling like he was playing “in a straitjacket.” He was derided on campus and off for not playing big in those seasons, and came into that final year at State with a chip on his shoulder, something to prove.

Kelvin Torbert has been big at times off the bench for the Spartans with his attitude, ethic, and athleticism. But it’s not the same. Chris Hill has been the “model citizen” for four years now, doing everything the coaches have asked, but the fiery leadership of Cleaves doesn’t run deep in him.

Morris Peterson was a dangerous guy from the wing. Leaving him open for long jumpers was just as dangerous as playing him too close on the perimeter and losing him on that first step to the basket. He was, without question, the guy who was going to take the big shot.

Who takes that shot for State now? Anderson? Hill? Brown? Ager? Davis? All capable, but certainly not a single one of them is indisputably THE MAN on this squad.

This run is amazing and impressive to be sure. Destroying Duke was the cake, playing the classic double-OT thriller with Kentucky the icing.

But this is not a team of destiny like 99-00.

To say “Go Green” carries with it a certain amount of disappointment. If there’s a ball to be fumbled, a first down to miss, a game to give away in boneheaded fashion, Green and White are your colors. We’re snakebitten. We’re the biggest school with the most alumni in the state, but run consistently as second class citizens to the Maize and Blue. We aren’t given much about which to crow, but are saddled with far more against which we shake our heads in frustration.

We expect to be disillusioned. And that sigh in the 10PM hour on Friday that sounded a lot like the one you heard at about 8PM on Sunday?

Relief.

North Carolina fans, Illinois fans, Louisville fans, they’ll have die-hard pockets of long time and bandwagon supporters ready right now to step to the mic and crown their teams National Champions before the semis have even tipped.

Not State fans.

We got screwed in 1986 by a clock operator in the Kansas City regional who gave Kansas a victory seventeen seconds after the game was supposed to be over. Of course, at the end of the first half against Duke on Friday the clock problems go in the other direction and wipe an MSU bucket off the board.

We know full well the calls aren’t coming our way. We know that there’ll be a miracle three with no time left on the clock by a guy who just maybe had his toe on the line. We know there’ll be a key interception, a third and short stuffed on an important drive, a back door cut that gives the opponent back the lead.

We don’t get too excited and we don’t sing our team’s praises to the high heavens.

I bet against State versus Vermont. Was due to be a “classic” State meltdown game.

Didn’t happen.

I thought the only chance State had against Duke was to choke off the three as Redick’s weapon and to rely on their depth and athleticism to run the Blue Devils out of the building.

Somehow, the script worked.

I was pretty sure that getting Hayes and Sparks in foul trouble was the sole solution to beating Kentucky.

Again, it happens for State.

I don’t know what it’s going to take to beat UNC. Paul Davis and Matt Trannon will have to keep Sean May out of the blocks and absolutely off the offensive boards. Guys like McCants and Felton and Williams can’t be given opportunities to shoot or slash. UNC goes eight deep, all athletes. Maybe we slow them down, but if Wisconsin couldn’t spin adrenaline sugar into molasses, how will we?

It won’t happen. If you’re a State fan, this is your way of insulating yourself from the inevitable disappointment. They’ll get a lead, they’ll blow a lead, they’ll inexplicably start missing foul shots again. Something.

Unless they win. Even then, all you’ll get from me is a wipe of the brow and a sigh of relief.

Go Green.