In honor of the 4th of July and my upcoming trip to the beach, here is a random rap I'll create right now.
154 with a crap on deck
Never did like the ogre Shrek
Geico's trademark is the geck
O.J. is down with Barry Sheck
I like my Diet Coke and Ramen Noodles
Got a half beagle, not a poodle
Get off at Woodley Park/Adam's Morgan/Zoo-dle
And when I'm in Berlin I eat a strudel
I got a fever, a fever for the cowbell
Applied for more positions than my man Art Shell
Don't have no job because I don't work well
My beats are crazy like Dave Chappelle
Going to the beach and I mean Dewey
Gonna eat at Theo's and get real screwey
Hope the toilet doesn't get too pooey
Reconnect with my main man Shkewey
Yeah I'm white, I mean like Michael Jackson
My favorite arcade game in the day was Zaxxon
Before waxing off, make sure you wax on
Get rid of the pipe, stay off the crack, son
Representing DC, the real chocolate city
I like the girlies with the tig ass bitties
I break and enter like G. Gordon Litty
I hope you liked my lame ass ditty
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
2005 NBA Draft Diary
Welcome to the First Annual Not in those words NBA Draft Diary. I love drafts, especially the NBA draft. Thus, I will continue my tradition of the diary to give my take on such likely events as the possibility of the first white player taken #1 since Kent Benson in 1977, Obese Stern trying to pronounce foreign (and black) names, and the inevitable announcers talking over and then ignoring the Wizards' first pick (#49). Let the fun begin. Milwaukee (Algonquin for "The good land") is on the clock.
To catch you up, earlier today Portland traded the #3 pick to Utah for the #6, the #27, and a conditional 1st round pick from next year. Speculation is that Utah wants to select Deron Williams from Illinois to be their point guard for the next 15 years. If Utah gets him, they will be very good next year. Maybe even playoffs. They just had a shitload of injuries this year and are better than their record suggests.
7:30 -- ESPN coverage begins. Fat boy Stern seems really happy (probably because he knows all the other channels are going to get preempted by the President's spin session).
7:34 -- First mention of Kent Benson. I bet nobody tells us that he was the last white guy taken #1. No balls.
7:35 -- Stephen A. Smith is speaking as if only generally annoyed right now. He probably needs about 7 Red Bulls before he starts yelling at people.
7:36 -- With the first pick, the Milwaukee Bucks select: Andrew Bogut, C, Utah.
White guys are back! He's technically foreign (Australian), but us crackers will adopt him because its been 28 friggin' years. People say he could be the next Vlade (Dadi) Divac. Quite the ceiling. And this guy went #1.
7:39 -- First Stu Scott interview. Since it is a white guy, and a foreigner at that, theres no "Sweet Sassy Molassee" ... yet. We learn that Bogut is Croatian and has an awkward picture of himself at Drazen Petrovic's grave, wearing a Toni Kukoc Bucks jersey. I'm thinking about taking away my white guy designation of him and giving him to the Europeans.
7:42 -- With the 2nd pick, the Atlanta Hawks select Marvin Williams, SF, from UNC.
Ok, this guy came off the bench in college and played less and less as the season wore on. Since the Hawks took him, I'm going to label him: Most likely to be a bust and/or get shot and/or horribly disfigured in a car accident. Utah is on the clock.
7:44 -- First use of the word "long." How funny would it be if Jay Bilas was like, "Marvin Williams is just hung like an ox!"?
7:45 -- Dickie V needs to check his shorts for skidmarks.
7:46 -- Marvin Williams' favorite show is apparently "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air." I don't even have a joke here.
7:47 -- With the 3rd pick, the Utah Jazz select Deron Williams, PG, Illinois.
Good pick. Stern looked like he either couldn't read the name right away or had a small stroke before he said "Deron." I'm hoping for the latter. Shit, this draft is flying by so far. I guess these teams all knew who they wanted and who they were going to get anyway.
7:49 -- Deron Williams is going to be a star. He already has the requisite hot, white, blonde wife and daughter. Best pick so far. Hornets are on the clock.
7:52 -- With the 4th pick, the New Orleans Hornets select Chris Paul, PG, Wake Forest.
Another solid pick. As Paul goes for the mandatory Stern handshake, we see that Fatass Stern didn't even wear a suit for this, one of two occasions that the public sees him. He went with the sport coat and khaki pants. Maybe he couldn't get his wardrobe let out for tonight. Anyway, Paul is a great repalacement for Baron Davis.
7:55 -- Chris Paul's brother is apparently going to be his manager. He actually said that he just graduated college and has a lot of time on his hands. If you think these guys are not going crazy in New Orleans, you're nuts. Chris mentions that something called the Essence Festival is going on there next week and his parents are coming down for it. I don't know what that is, but it can't be wholesome family entertainment. Charlotte is on the clock.
7:58 -- With the 5th pick, the Charlotte Bobcats select Raymond Felton, PG, UNC.
I don't love this pick at all. It may be a need for them right now, but there have to be better players out there. I probably would have gone with a scorer. Portland is on the clock. Quick, who is the best headcase available?
8:00 -- We have the first official cutaway where I'm wondering if that was Felton's mom, his wife/girlfriend/baby mama, or his sister. I'm guessing his mom.
8:03 -- I don't care how much media hype there is or how crazy Tom Cruise is, I'm still not seeing War of the Worlds. And can Hollywood come up with a movie that isn't a sequel or a remake this year? Please?
8:06 -- With the 6th pick, the Portland Trail Blazers select Martell Webster, G, HS.
Apparently, his mom "disappeared" when he was 4 years old and he was raised by his extended family. I couldn't even make that up. I have never seen him play, but I think he will get extended bong practice with his "long" frame in Portland. He reminds Jay of a young Dale Ellis. What does that even mean? 3 consecutive years that Portland takes a high schooler in the first round. They are apparently playing for 2009. This guy is destined to be a bust. Toronto is on the clock.
8:10 -- A cutaway of what has to be his Grandmother, wearing what can only be described as a jaunty chef's hat or a windshield cover. Thats the first real fashion no no of this year. ESPN should bring in a Joan and Melissa Rivers-like team to make fun of anyone like that. Yes, even 82 year old grandmothers.
8:12 -- With the 7th pick, the Torono Raptors select Charlie Villanueva, F, UConn.
Immediately becomes the frontrunner for the 2006 NBA lack of eyebrows of the year award. I think people knew that Toronto wanted Villanueva, but nobody knows why. He was never even that good in college. Stephen A. Smith is steaming right now. The Knicks are on the clock. I can't wait to see how Isaiah screws this up. I'm guessing he goes with Channing Frye, a guy with a possible upside as high as being the next Brendan Haywood.
8:16 -- Stu Scott just asked if Brooklyn was in the house. Cutaway of Spike Lee. Apparently, Brooklyn is, indeed, in the house.
8:18 -- To a raucous Garden crowd, with the 8th pick, the New York Knicks select Channing Frye, C, Arizona. Thank you Isaiah. B-U-S-T. He's garbage. I don't care what the "experts" say. If he couldn't average 8 rebounds in college, he's soft. Warriors are on the clock.
8:21 -- We learn from Stu-pot that Channing Frye thought Hoosiers was "ok." If a freaking BASKETBALL PLAYER does not get fired up when he watches that movie, you know he's going to be a bust.
8:23 -- You know what is weird? Neither the Clippers nor the Wizards have drafted yet. That has to be some sort of lottery record.
8:25 -- With the 9th pick, the Golden State Warriors select Ike Diogu, PF, ASU. Ike is not here.
You gotta love all players named Ike. He's a rebounder, which is what they need since they start Troy Murphy, Ally McDunleavy, and Adonal Foyle currently. Now that is a shitty front line if I've ever heard one. The Lakers are on the clock. Would they draft that other high school kid?
8:28 -- There's that Coach K commercial again. We haven't had one Dukie drafted yet. And we probably won't until the 2nd round. Daniel Ewing, not Shavlik "my balls" Randolph.
8:30 -- With the 10th pick, the Los Angeles Lakers select Andrew Bynum, C, HS.
Wow, not the high schooler I was talking about, but a decent one. Is he the next Shaq? Probably not. But he's probably better than whatever stiff they have in there right now. Still, I would have gone with Granger or Green. That way, they could havemade some trades. Of course, they could be making a trade here. Of note, he's the youngest player ever drafted in the 1st round. Also, he made the Priest Lauderdale annual migration from the crowd, rather than the green room. Who knows what is going on here? Orlando is on the clock.
8:35 -- Whenever I see Mitch Kupchak, I want to call him Teddy KGB. 3 stacks of high society, please.
8:37 -- With the 11th pick, the Orlando Magic select Fran Vazquez, F, Spain.
Excuse me, is this the WNBA draft? Fran? I guess this is a good pick, but he looks a little light in the ass to me. Must Improve: Genitalia. The Clippers are on the clock.
8:40 -- Yes! A translator interview. Stuart asks two of the most boring questions ever. You know Stu, the translator speaks English also. You can ask normal questions. Como se dice "Boo Yaa?"
8:43 -- My list of best available players: Gerald Green, Danny Granger, Sean May.
8:44 -- With the 12th pick, the Los Angeles Clippers select Yaroslav Korolev, F, Russia. Never heard of him. Seeing as the Clippers took him, he's definitely going to be a bust. The Bobcats are back on the clock.
8:47 -- Dickie V is having a shit fit about Green, Granger, and May all being bypassed.
8:49 -- Stephen A. Smith just had a shit fit about May and McCants not being selected.
8:50 -- With the 13th pick, the Charlotte Bobcats select Sean May, F, UNC.
Um...ok. Don't they have Okafor? I'm not sure where they are going with this pick, but I guess you could play them both at the same time in the East. Minnesota is on the clock. So Charlotte is trying to fill their building by picking all home state guys? Why not Granger? Whoever gets Granger and Garcia to a lesser extent are going to get the steals of the draft.
8:55 -- With the 14th pick, the Minnesota Timberwolves select Rashad McCants, G, UNC.
Well, it looks like Dickie V's spaz attack worked. All the UNC guys are gone. This is a good pick for the T-Wolves. Now maybe they can move Wally Szczezrzbzbizazkz since Garnett hates him. The New Jersey/Brooklyn Nets are on the clock. Who is the best undersized, unathletic stiff available?
9:02 -- With the 15th pick, the Nets select Antione Wright, G, Texas A&M.
I don't know much about this guy, but is he going to help their crap frontcourt? No. I'm not sure why they need another guard on this team. Wright's brother is in jail and his favorite food is Tacos. Interesting. The Raptors are back on the clock. I bet they take Green. Everyone compares him to T-Mac, so the Raptors would love that.
9:07 -- With the 16th pick, the Toronto Raptors select Joey Graham, F, Oklahoma St. Ok, I was wrong about this pick. This is another guy I don't know much about, but he's apparently a great athlete. So he's got that going for him, which is nice. He is my official most likely to die in a firey plane crash pick, as he owns a private pilot's license. Indiana is on the clock.
9:12 -- With the 17th pick, the Pacers select Danny Granger, F, New Mexico.
The Pacers immediately become playoff locks next year. They are going to be nasty. I don't even want to think about it. The Wizards will now be swept by the Pacers, Heat, and Pistons. Great. At least we have the 49th pick. By the way, Granger is the best Jehova's Witness we've seen since a young Michael Jackson in 1964. You think he and Artest will get along? The Celtics are on the clock.
9:17 -- With the 18th pick, the Boston Celtics select Gerald Green, F, HS.
The Celts go back to the High School well. He's supposed to be amazing, however he is almost 20 and still in high school? He should be fun to watch. You have to pick him here. He just said that if he didn't get his education, his mom would probably hit him in the back of the head with something. Cute. Now all of my best available are gone. Next up, Grizzle-two-fizzle.
9:23 -- This draft isn't nearly as fun when your team does not have a first round pick (and you've never seen most of these guys play).
9:24 -- With the 19th pick, Memphis selects the last player in the green room, Hakim Warrick, F, Syracuse.
His mother's name is Queen Warrick. Great name. She's a killaaaaa Queeeeeeen, dynamite with a laser beam... He's a small forward in this league. Really athletic. Great shooter. Killed my bracket (although I still got 2nd in my pool [it is the year of the Catheter]). I like this pick. Best player available. Next up, the Denver Nuggets (this is Washington's pick. I have no idea how it got to Denver, but I think it might have to do with the Chris Webber trade.
9:29 -- Biggest stock drop today, the next Arvydas Sabonis, some 7'2" foreigner who was projected in the top 5 a few months ago.
9:31 -- With the 20th pick, the Denver Nuggets select Julius Hodge, G, NC State.
Hodge comes out of the crowd as well. This is another good pick. He's a baller. He powered NC State in the tourney this year and knows how to win. Hopefully he doesn't get lost in Carmelo's wake in Denver. Bar none, best suit in the draft in the last few years. Its sort of a cream colored number with a white shirt and a cream tie. Not since Samaki Walker have wee seen a get-up like that. The Suns are on the clock.
9:37 -- With the 21st pick, the Phoenix Suns select Nate Robinson, G, Washington.
I could have sworn that the Suns had Steve Nash. Robinson is good, but I would not have drafted him here. I think I would go with the Sabonis guy even though he's European. Oh, this is apparently a pick for the Knicks to send Quentin Richardson and him for Kurt Thomas. I'm not sure I understand that for either side. The Nuggets are on the clock again. Come to think of it, this could be the Wizards pick.
9:41 -- The little puppet in the LeBron Sprite commercials is just a rip off of Lil' Penny.
9:43 -- With the 22th pick, the Nuggets select Jarrett Jack, G, Georgia Tech.
Dickie V has his pants around his ankles right now. I like Jack. He's another one of those good point guards coming out this year. Tech always does produce good point guards, so he's worth taking a shot on. The Nuggets could be pretty good in a couple of years. Bold statement there, right? Sacramento is on the clock. They have to take the foreign guy. They love those foreigners (and the band Foreigner).
9:47 -- This draft is starting to drag some serious ass. I wish I had some Diet Coke.
9:51 -- With the 23rd pick, the Kings select Francisco Garcia, G, Louisville.
Great pick. I love his value at this spot. Plus, he's a foreigner, so he'll fit in well in Sacto. I also think we are officially at the point where I won't really like the rest of the players taken in the first round. Houston is on the clock.
9:53 -- With the 24th pick, the Houston Rockets select Luther Head, G, Illinois.
He's good I guess. I have nothing else to say about him. Boring. Seattle is on the clock. Bilas just said they should take the Sabonis guy.
9:59 -- With the 25th pick, Seattle takes Johan Petro, C, France.
He's in the crowd also! This guy is the best Frenchman we've seen since Frederic Weis. He's a good pick. He'll probably be better than Robert Swift, who should be called Robert Stiff. Detriot (What?!) is on the clock.
10:02 -- Do you ever wonder what ever happened to Another Bad Creation? Ayesha was a classic. I'd love to know what RoRo is up to these days.
10:05 -- With the 26th pick, the Detroit Pistons select Jason Maxiell, F, Cincinnati.
Clearly, Detriot needed a thug. I shit you not, the chyron said, "Must Improve: Skill Level." Classic. Must Improve: Not Sucking. Portland is on the clock again.
10:10 -- With the 27th pick, the Jail Blazers select Linas Kleiza, F, Missouri.
Yet another guy I have never heard of. Looks like a spaz. Of course, since the Blazers took him, Bilas notes that he has "not always been coachable." He should fit in perfectly with the mess that is brewing up there. San Antonio is on the clock.
10:16 -- With the 28th pick, the Spurs take Ian Mahinmi, F, France.
Another Frenchman in the crowd! Needless to say, I know nothing about this guy, except that they just said he was a volleyball player. Must Improve: Choice of sport. Miami is on the clock.
10:23 -- With the 29th pick, the Miami Heat select Wayne Simien, F, Kansas.
Sweet. Injury Injury Johnson. I guess its a good pick down at 29, but this guy gets injured more than the J-man's brother. Next up, the final pick of the first round: the New York Knicks are on the clock.
10:28 -- With the 30th pick of the 2005 NBA draft, the Knicks select David Lee, F, Florida.
White guy alert! White guy alert! So we begin and end the first round with a white guy. Quite a historic draft. Frankly, I'm too tired to write anything else about him.
10:30 -- Thank god that crap is over. I have to take the dog out before she shits all over the floor. Hopefully I'll be back in time to see the Wiz take some crappy guard, rather than the frontcourt help that they need. The second round will be conducted by second in command stiff, Russ Granik. FIRE BAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!
To catch you up, earlier today Portland traded the #3 pick to Utah for the #6, the #27, and a conditional 1st round pick from next year. Speculation is that Utah wants to select Deron Williams from Illinois to be their point guard for the next 15 years. If Utah gets him, they will be very good next year. Maybe even playoffs. They just had a shitload of injuries this year and are better than their record suggests.
7:30 -- ESPN coverage begins. Fat boy Stern seems really happy (probably because he knows all the other channels are going to get preempted by the President's spin session).
7:34 -- First mention of Kent Benson. I bet nobody tells us that he was the last white guy taken #1. No balls.
7:35 -- Stephen A. Smith is speaking as if only generally annoyed right now. He probably needs about 7 Red Bulls before he starts yelling at people.
7:36 -- With the first pick, the Milwaukee Bucks select: Andrew Bogut, C, Utah.
White guys are back! He's technically foreign (Australian), but us crackers will adopt him because its been 28 friggin' years. People say he could be the next Vlade (Dadi) Divac. Quite the ceiling. And this guy went #1.
7:39 -- First Stu Scott interview. Since it is a white guy, and a foreigner at that, theres no "Sweet Sassy Molassee" ... yet. We learn that Bogut is Croatian and has an awkward picture of himself at Drazen Petrovic's grave, wearing a Toni Kukoc Bucks jersey. I'm thinking about taking away my white guy designation of him and giving him to the Europeans.
7:42 -- With the 2nd pick, the Atlanta Hawks select Marvin Williams, SF, from UNC.
Ok, this guy came off the bench in college and played less and less as the season wore on. Since the Hawks took him, I'm going to label him: Most likely to be a bust and/or get shot and/or horribly disfigured in a car accident. Utah is on the clock.
7:44 -- First use of the word "long." How funny would it be if Jay Bilas was like, "Marvin Williams is just hung like an ox!"?
7:45 -- Dickie V needs to check his shorts for skidmarks.
7:46 -- Marvin Williams' favorite show is apparently "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air." I don't even have a joke here.
7:47 -- With the 3rd pick, the Utah Jazz select Deron Williams, PG, Illinois.
Good pick. Stern looked like he either couldn't read the name right away or had a small stroke before he said "Deron." I'm hoping for the latter. Shit, this draft is flying by so far. I guess these teams all knew who they wanted and who they were going to get anyway.
7:49 -- Deron Williams is going to be a star. He already has the requisite hot, white, blonde wife and daughter. Best pick so far. Hornets are on the clock.
7:52 -- With the 4th pick, the New Orleans Hornets select Chris Paul, PG, Wake Forest.
Another solid pick. As Paul goes for the mandatory Stern handshake, we see that Fatass Stern didn't even wear a suit for this, one of two occasions that the public sees him. He went with the sport coat and khaki pants. Maybe he couldn't get his wardrobe let out for tonight. Anyway, Paul is a great repalacement for Baron Davis.
7:55 -- Chris Paul's brother is apparently going to be his manager. He actually said that he just graduated college and has a lot of time on his hands. If you think these guys are not going crazy in New Orleans, you're nuts. Chris mentions that something called the Essence Festival is going on there next week and his parents are coming down for it. I don't know what that is, but it can't be wholesome family entertainment. Charlotte is on the clock.
7:58 -- With the 5th pick, the Charlotte Bobcats select Raymond Felton, PG, UNC.
I don't love this pick at all. It may be a need for them right now, but there have to be better players out there. I probably would have gone with a scorer. Portland is on the clock. Quick, who is the best headcase available?
8:00 -- We have the first official cutaway where I'm wondering if that was Felton's mom, his wife/girlfriend/baby mama, or his sister. I'm guessing his mom.
8:03 -- I don't care how much media hype there is or how crazy Tom Cruise is, I'm still not seeing War of the Worlds. And can Hollywood come up with a movie that isn't a sequel or a remake this year? Please?
8:06 -- With the 6th pick, the Portland Trail Blazers select Martell Webster, G, HS.
Apparently, his mom "disappeared" when he was 4 years old and he was raised by his extended family. I couldn't even make that up. I have never seen him play, but I think he will get extended bong practice with his "long" frame in Portland. He reminds Jay of a young Dale Ellis. What does that even mean? 3 consecutive years that Portland takes a high schooler in the first round. They are apparently playing for 2009. This guy is destined to be a bust. Toronto is on the clock.
8:10 -- A cutaway of what has to be his Grandmother, wearing what can only be described as a jaunty chef's hat or a windshield cover. Thats the first real fashion no no of this year. ESPN should bring in a Joan and Melissa Rivers-like team to make fun of anyone like that. Yes, even 82 year old grandmothers.
8:12 -- With the 7th pick, the Torono Raptors select Charlie Villanueva, F, UConn.
Immediately becomes the frontrunner for the 2006 NBA lack of eyebrows of the year award. I think people knew that Toronto wanted Villanueva, but nobody knows why. He was never even that good in college. Stephen A. Smith is steaming right now. The Knicks are on the clock. I can't wait to see how Isaiah screws this up. I'm guessing he goes with Channing Frye, a guy with a possible upside as high as being the next Brendan Haywood.
8:16 -- Stu Scott just asked if Brooklyn was in the house. Cutaway of Spike Lee. Apparently, Brooklyn is, indeed, in the house.
8:18 -- To a raucous Garden crowd, with the 8th pick, the New York Knicks select Channing Frye, C, Arizona. Thank you Isaiah. B-U-S-T. He's garbage. I don't care what the "experts" say. If he couldn't average 8 rebounds in college, he's soft. Warriors are on the clock.
8:21 -- We learn from Stu-pot that Channing Frye thought Hoosiers was "ok." If a freaking BASKETBALL PLAYER does not get fired up when he watches that movie, you know he's going to be a bust.
8:23 -- You know what is weird? Neither the Clippers nor the Wizards have drafted yet. That has to be some sort of lottery record.
8:25 -- With the 9th pick, the Golden State Warriors select Ike Diogu, PF, ASU. Ike is not here.
You gotta love all players named Ike. He's a rebounder, which is what they need since they start Troy Murphy, Ally McDunleavy, and Adonal Foyle currently. Now that is a shitty front line if I've ever heard one. The Lakers are on the clock. Would they draft that other high school kid?
8:28 -- There's that Coach K commercial again. We haven't had one Dukie drafted yet. And we probably won't until the 2nd round. Daniel Ewing, not Shavlik "my balls" Randolph.
8:30 -- With the 10th pick, the Los Angeles Lakers select Andrew Bynum, C, HS.
Wow, not the high schooler I was talking about, but a decent one. Is he the next Shaq? Probably not. But he's probably better than whatever stiff they have in there right now. Still, I would have gone with Granger or Green. That way, they could havemade some trades. Of course, they could be making a trade here. Of note, he's the youngest player ever drafted in the 1st round. Also, he made the Priest Lauderdale annual migration from the crowd, rather than the green room. Who knows what is going on here? Orlando is on the clock.
8:35 -- Whenever I see Mitch Kupchak, I want to call him Teddy KGB. 3 stacks of high society, please.
8:37 -- With the 11th pick, the Orlando Magic select Fran Vazquez, F, Spain.
Excuse me, is this the WNBA draft? Fran? I guess this is a good pick, but he looks a little light in the ass to me. Must Improve: Genitalia. The Clippers are on the clock.
8:40 -- Yes! A translator interview. Stuart asks two of the most boring questions ever. You know Stu, the translator speaks English also. You can ask normal questions. Como se dice "Boo Yaa?"
8:43 -- My list of best available players: Gerald Green, Danny Granger, Sean May.
8:44 -- With the 12th pick, the Los Angeles Clippers select Yaroslav Korolev, F, Russia. Never heard of him. Seeing as the Clippers took him, he's definitely going to be a bust. The Bobcats are back on the clock.
8:47 -- Dickie V is having a shit fit about Green, Granger, and May all being bypassed.
8:49 -- Stephen A. Smith just had a shit fit about May and McCants not being selected.
8:50 -- With the 13th pick, the Charlotte Bobcats select Sean May, F, UNC.
Um...ok. Don't they have Okafor? I'm not sure where they are going with this pick, but I guess you could play them both at the same time in the East. Minnesota is on the clock. So Charlotte is trying to fill their building by picking all home state guys? Why not Granger? Whoever gets Granger and Garcia to a lesser extent are going to get the steals of the draft.
8:55 -- With the 14th pick, the Minnesota Timberwolves select Rashad McCants, G, UNC.
Well, it looks like Dickie V's spaz attack worked. All the UNC guys are gone. This is a good pick for the T-Wolves. Now maybe they can move Wally Szczezrzbzbizazkz since Garnett hates him. The New Jersey/Brooklyn Nets are on the clock. Who is the best undersized, unathletic stiff available?
9:02 -- With the 15th pick, the Nets select Antione Wright, G, Texas A&M.
I don't know much about this guy, but is he going to help their crap frontcourt? No. I'm not sure why they need another guard on this team. Wright's brother is in jail and his favorite food is Tacos. Interesting. The Raptors are back on the clock. I bet they take Green. Everyone compares him to T-Mac, so the Raptors would love that.
9:07 -- With the 16th pick, the Toronto Raptors select Joey Graham, F, Oklahoma St. Ok, I was wrong about this pick. This is another guy I don't know much about, but he's apparently a great athlete. So he's got that going for him, which is nice. He is my official most likely to die in a firey plane crash pick, as he owns a private pilot's license. Indiana is on the clock.
9:12 -- With the 17th pick, the Pacers select Danny Granger, F, New Mexico.
The Pacers immediately become playoff locks next year. They are going to be nasty. I don't even want to think about it. The Wizards will now be swept by the Pacers, Heat, and Pistons. Great. At least we have the 49th pick. By the way, Granger is the best Jehova's Witness we've seen since a young Michael Jackson in 1964. You think he and Artest will get along? The Celtics are on the clock.
9:17 -- With the 18th pick, the Boston Celtics select Gerald Green, F, HS.
The Celts go back to the High School well. He's supposed to be amazing, however he is almost 20 and still in high school? He should be fun to watch. You have to pick him here. He just said that if he didn't get his education, his mom would probably hit him in the back of the head with something. Cute. Now all of my best available are gone. Next up, Grizzle-two-fizzle.
9:23 -- This draft isn't nearly as fun when your team does not have a first round pick (and you've never seen most of these guys play).
9:24 -- With the 19th pick, Memphis selects the last player in the green room, Hakim Warrick, F, Syracuse.
His mother's name is Queen Warrick. Great name. She's a killaaaaa Queeeeeeen, dynamite with a laser beam... He's a small forward in this league. Really athletic. Great shooter. Killed my bracket (although I still got 2nd in my pool [it is the year of the Catheter]). I like this pick. Best player available. Next up, the Denver Nuggets (this is Washington's pick. I have no idea how it got to Denver, but I think it might have to do with the Chris Webber trade.
9:29 -- Biggest stock drop today, the next Arvydas Sabonis, some 7'2" foreigner who was projected in the top 5 a few months ago.
9:31 -- With the 20th pick, the Denver Nuggets select Julius Hodge, G, NC State.
Hodge comes out of the crowd as well. This is another good pick. He's a baller. He powered NC State in the tourney this year and knows how to win. Hopefully he doesn't get lost in Carmelo's wake in Denver. Bar none, best suit in the draft in the last few years. Its sort of a cream colored number with a white shirt and a cream tie. Not since Samaki Walker have wee seen a get-up like that. The Suns are on the clock.
9:37 -- With the 21st pick, the Phoenix Suns select Nate Robinson, G, Washington.
I could have sworn that the Suns had Steve Nash. Robinson is good, but I would not have drafted him here. I think I would go with the Sabonis guy even though he's European. Oh, this is apparently a pick for the Knicks to send Quentin Richardson and him for Kurt Thomas. I'm not sure I understand that for either side. The Nuggets are on the clock again. Come to think of it, this could be the Wizards pick.
9:41 -- The little puppet in the LeBron Sprite commercials is just a rip off of Lil' Penny.
9:43 -- With the 22th pick, the Nuggets select Jarrett Jack, G, Georgia Tech.
Dickie V has his pants around his ankles right now. I like Jack. He's another one of those good point guards coming out this year. Tech always does produce good point guards, so he's worth taking a shot on. The Nuggets could be pretty good in a couple of years. Bold statement there, right? Sacramento is on the clock. They have to take the foreign guy. They love those foreigners (and the band Foreigner).
9:47 -- This draft is starting to drag some serious ass. I wish I had some Diet Coke.
9:51 -- With the 23rd pick, the Kings select Francisco Garcia, G, Louisville.
Great pick. I love his value at this spot. Plus, he's a foreigner, so he'll fit in well in Sacto. I also think we are officially at the point where I won't really like the rest of the players taken in the first round. Houston is on the clock.
9:53 -- With the 24th pick, the Houston Rockets select Luther Head, G, Illinois.
He's good I guess. I have nothing else to say about him. Boring. Seattle is on the clock. Bilas just said they should take the Sabonis guy.
9:59 -- With the 25th pick, Seattle takes Johan Petro, C, France.
He's in the crowd also! This guy is the best Frenchman we've seen since Frederic Weis. He's a good pick. He'll probably be better than Robert Swift, who should be called Robert Stiff. Detriot (What?!) is on the clock.
10:02 -- Do you ever wonder what ever happened to Another Bad Creation? Ayesha was a classic. I'd love to know what RoRo is up to these days.
10:05 -- With the 26th pick, the Detroit Pistons select Jason Maxiell, F, Cincinnati.
Clearly, Detriot needed a thug. I shit you not, the chyron said, "Must Improve: Skill Level." Classic. Must Improve: Not Sucking. Portland is on the clock again.
10:10 -- With the 27th pick, the Jail Blazers select Linas Kleiza, F, Missouri.
Yet another guy I have never heard of. Looks like a spaz. Of course, since the Blazers took him, Bilas notes that he has "not always been coachable." He should fit in perfectly with the mess that is brewing up there. San Antonio is on the clock.
10:16 -- With the 28th pick, the Spurs take Ian Mahinmi, F, France.
Another Frenchman in the crowd! Needless to say, I know nothing about this guy, except that they just said he was a volleyball player. Must Improve: Choice of sport. Miami is on the clock.
10:23 -- With the 29th pick, the Miami Heat select Wayne Simien, F, Kansas.
Sweet. Injury Injury Johnson. I guess its a good pick down at 29, but this guy gets injured more than the J-man's brother. Next up, the final pick of the first round: the New York Knicks are on the clock.
10:28 -- With the 30th pick of the 2005 NBA draft, the Knicks select David Lee, F, Florida.
White guy alert! White guy alert! So we begin and end the first round with a white guy. Quite a historic draft. Frankly, I'm too tired to write anything else about him.
10:30 -- Thank god that crap is over. I have to take the dog out before she shits all over the floor. Hopefully I'll be back in time to see the Wiz take some crappy guard, rather than the frontcourt help that they need. The second round will be conducted by second in command stiff, Russ Granik. FIRE BAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Wow
Fred "The Mayor" Hoiberg has to have heart surgery at the Mayo Clinic. (since this is a serious post, I will refrain from making the obligatory "Airplane" Mayo Clinic joke, but realize that I thought of it). Good thing he caught this early. I think its the same thing that killed John Ritter. Link
You can take the Stadium out of the 'hood, but...
DC has to be the only place where this could happen (requires registration)
Friday, June 24, 2005
Sporks Rule! ( a collection of random thoughts)
Dear Mr. Stern,
Wipe that disgusting, fat, smug grin off your face. You know why? Because your sport is about 3 steps away from becoming as irrelevant as hockey on the American sports scene. People see through your not-so-brilliantly hatched schemes to try and get the marquee teams to win and series to go on longer. Ooh, I bet you were steamed that the Lakers AND the Knicks were out of the playoffs this year. No amount of bad officiating is going to change their records. So people don't trust your obese ass anymore because your sport is about half a Heenan away from being professional wrestling, only not nearly as entertaining. Will this be your ultimate legacy, you fat fuck?
I did not watch one minute of the finals this year. Not even game 7. Not even your Jared-before-Subway, double-chinned ass saying "NBA Champeeeeens." I don't give a shit about your league because you have pretty much ruined it. Plus, you are an egotistical douchebag with a son that has a ridiculous nervous tick.
Yours in Christ,
Catheter Man
*************************************************************
My girlfriend just ordered HBO (I refuse to pay for it, but she takes the cable bill, so have at it). Anyhoo, I saw The Entourage for the first time last night. Absolutely brilliant. I did not even need an explanation of the story behind the series. About 5 minutes into the show, I knew what every character was about. Furthermore, this one show had possibly the best list of guest stars ever. And half of the show was filmed at the Playboy Mansion [as god as my witness, if I do anything in this life, I will have a swimming pool with a grotto]. So here are the guest stars from this episode: Hugh Hefner, Ralph Macchio, Danny Masterson, and Pauly Shore. A virtual Murderer's Row of the Hollywood community. It does not even matter what the show was about, I'd pay $15 a month for a Ralph Macchio channel. Anyway, I have to get into this show, especially if I get this part on the Discovery Channel Show (which I won't because people with an opportunity to make my life better usually laugh at me, and then spit in my pudding). So watch The Entourage. After one show I'm hooked. If only I knew when it aired normally.
***********************************************************
Here's something I noticed recently: guys don't use nearly as many dishes or silverware as girls. If I wasn't on my diet right now, there is a good chance that 92% of my meals would come from Chipotle or some other fast food or delivery place. That drastically cuts down on the dishes. Since I am on the diet, my meals mostly consist of oatmeal and Ramen noodles. 1 bowl for the oatmeal. 1 pot for the noodles. That's it. They don't have to be washed because I just rinse them out and put the same thing in them the next time, so no harm, no foul. My girlfriend uses approximately 8 full place settings per meal (and then asks me why there are dishes in the sink). Guys are clearly the more industrious eaters. (I'm not even sure what that means).
I have decided that males ultimately need 1 pot, 1 bowl, maybe 2 or 3 plates (if you have friends over), and 20 glasses (for drinking booze). Silverware is not necessary at all, as most deliver places give you it for free. Anything else, you can eat with your hands (or a spork). Speaking of a spork, my favorite dish that I never eat is the cajun rice from Popeye's Chicken (the official chicken of the Washington Redskins). That shit rules! (I was reminded of it because Popeye's is one of the very few places outside of an elementary school cafeteria that gives you a spork.)
Sporks Rule!
Wipe that disgusting, fat, smug grin off your face. You know why? Because your sport is about 3 steps away from becoming as irrelevant as hockey on the American sports scene. People see through your not-so-brilliantly hatched schemes to try and get the marquee teams to win and series to go on longer. Ooh, I bet you were steamed that the Lakers AND the Knicks were out of the playoffs this year. No amount of bad officiating is going to change their records. So people don't trust your obese ass anymore because your sport is about half a Heenan away from being professional wrestling, only not nearly as entertaining. Will this be your ultimate legacy, you fat fuck?
I did not watch one minute of the finals this year. Not even game 7. Not even your Jared-before-Subway, double-chinned ass saying "NBA Champeeeeens." I don't give a shit about your league because you have pretty much ruined it. Plus, you are an egotistical douchebag with a son that has a ridiculous nervous tick.
Yours in Christ,
Catheter Man
*************************************************************
My girlfriend just ordered HBO (I refuse to pay for it, but she takes the cable bill, so have at it). Anyhoo, I saw The Entourage for the first time last night. Absolutely brilliant. I did not even need an explanation of the story behind the series. About 5 minutes into the show, I knew what every character was about. Furthermore, this one show had possibly the best list of guest stars ever. And half of the show was filmed at the Playboy Mansion [as god as my witness, if I do anything in this life, I will have a swimming pool with a grotto]. So here are the guest stars from this episode: Hugh Hefner, Ralph Macchio, Danny Masterson, and Pauly Shore. A virtual Murderer's Row of the Hollywood community. It does not even matter what the show was about, I'd pay $15 a month for a Ralph Macchio channel. Anyway, I have to get into this show, especially if I get this part on the Discovery Channel Show (which I won't because people with an opportunity to make my life better usually laugh at me, and then spit in my pudding). So watch The Entourage. After one show I'm hooked. If only I knew when it aired normally.
***********************************************************
Here's something I noticed recently: guys don't use nearly as many dishes or silverware as girls. If I wasn't on my diet right now, there is a good chance that 92% of my meals would come from Chipotle or some other fast food or delivery place. That drastically cuts down on the dishes. Since I am on the diet, my meals mostly consist of oatmeal and Ramen noodles. 1 bowl for the oatmeal. 1 pot for the noodles. That's it. They don't have to be washed because I just rinse them out and put the same thing in them the next time, so no harm, no foul. My girlfriend uses approximately 8 full place settings per meal (and then asks me why there are dishes in the sink). Guys are clearly the more industrious eaters. (I'm not even sure what that means).
I have decided that males ultimately need 1 pot, 1 bowl, maybe 2 or 3 plates (if you have friends over), and 20 glasses (for drinking booze). Silverware is not necessary at all, as most deliver places give you it for free. Anything else, you can eat with your hands (or a spork). Speaking of a spork, my favorite dish that I never eat is the cajun rice from Popeye's Chicken (the official chicken of the Washington Redskins). That shit rules! (I was reminded of it because Popeye's is one of the very few places outside of an elementary school cafeteria that gives you a spork.)
Sporks Rule!
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
The Audition
Yesterday, after going to the dentist and not having any cavities, yet still having to go back for them to fix a filling that cracked, I was ready to head to my audition. Unfortunately for you, my dear reader, it was basically just me repeating the Century Club and Let George Do It (Theory: Teachers Hate Me) stories from this blog, so you'll have to use your imagination.
They did, however, ask me to prepare a list of things I'm afraid of, things I hate, and things that make me laugh. Even though they didn't really ask me about these things, here are my lists of fears and hates.
Fears:
Impotence
Hypodermic Needles
Venemous Snakes
Sea Urchin Roe
Super Volcanoes
The State of Texas
Intestinal Parasites
Detroit after dark
Paper Cut in the Eyeball (Colediggy's fear, but it sounds good)
Public Bathrooms in Train Stations
President Arnold Schwartzenegger
Hates:
Dress Socks
Flossing
Office Speak, such as "point person" or "going forward"
The sound of someone filing their nails
Old Navy
Commercials before movies
White Food
Bathroom Attendants
Guys who wear pastel polo shirts with their collars up
The FCC
Liars
Starbucks
The Swiss
So I guess I'll have to wait to see if I make it. Seeing as this was my first audition (other than the BS ESPN Dream Job group audition), I think things went pretty well. As the immortal William Hung once said, "I did my best and I have no regrets. You know, I have no professional training in singing."
They did, however, ask me to prepare a list of things I'm afraid of, things I hate, and things that make me laugh. Even though they didn't really ask me about these things, here are my lists of fears and hates.
Fears:
Impotence
Hypodermic Needles
Venemous Snakes
Sea Urchin Roe
Super Volcanoes
The State of Texas
Intestinal Parasites
Detroit after dark
Paper Cut in the Eyeball (Colediggy's fear, but it sounds good)
Public Bathrooms in Train Stations
President Arnold Schwartzenegger
Hates:
Dress Socks
Flossing
Office Speak, such as "point person" or "going forward"
The sound of someone filing their nails
Old Navy
Commercials before movies
White Food
Bathroom Attendants
Guys who wear pastel polo shirts with their collars up
The FCC
Liars
Starbucks
The Swiss
So I guess I'll have to wait to see if I make it. Seeing as this was my first audition (other than the BS ESPN Dream Job group audition), I think things went pretty well. As the immortal William Hung once said, "I did my best and I have no regrets. You know, I have no professional training in singing."
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Non Existent Memory: Century Club
Some of you (those with a lot of time on your hands, no doubt) may be wondering why this post was completed prior to 9 AM. I normally don't make it a habit to be awake before the crack of 10:30 (unless the dog jumps on my head before that). Being unemployed allows me to reinforce my theory that my body is permanently set on West Coast time. Since I live on the East Coast, this is only mildly inconvenient unless I have a job that requires me to get up with the rest of the work-a-day jackasses and commute to some drab cubicle every morning. That is why I hope to embark on my tv (television, not transvestite, you sicko) career today.
I have my audition at 3 PM today, which is why I am up so early. I guess I'm kind of nervous and excited because I not only have my first real audition for anything, but I will also get to go to the glorious Discovery Channel headquarters in picturesque Silver Spring, Maryland. Notice to all: it is Silver Spring, not Silver Springs (like the Fleetwood Mac song). As preparation for the interview, they told us to think of an embarrassing story about ourselves. If someone asks me to think of an embarrassing story about myself, I am always at a bit of a loss. So much of my existence is based on trying to avoid embarrassing situations that I think I blocked many of the most embarrassing stories from my mind. Here is one I remember (or at least remember partially.)
I had just gotten into my fraternity the first month of my freshman year at college when we had our first party. Seeing as I wasn't exactly Burt Reynolds in high school, I had never been to a party with so many girls. I think the sorority there that night was SDT and the pledges (from both groups) were all locked in the basement for the first hour in order to get to know each other better. We also all had white tee shirts that we were supposed to get signed by the girls (they had the same thing). Being the smooth operator I was, I took this as an opportunity to get drunk and write on boobies without any repurcussions. Advantage: Catheter Man.
After about an hour, we all were let upstairs with our new friends (and potential sexual assault victims). It was then announced that we would be having the time-honored tradition of the Century Club. For those who don't know what this is, it means that you are supposed to take a shot of beer every minute for 100 minutes. This didn't sound too hard to me, as I was already an acomplished binge drinker, as well as a little tipsy to begin with. So the Century Club began.
The major logistical problem with the century club is that about 15-20 people would all be trying to get beer from the same keg at the same time. This would inevitably lead you to miss some of your minutes and require you to play catch up. The other problem was that being pledges, we were required to get the brothers beer whenever they wanted or face the consequences at the next line up, something I desperately wanted to avoid. So with all of these impediments to me getting beer, I made the only logical conclusion there was: start playing Century Club with the Jungle Juice.
Jungle Juice is the best and worst drink ever created. Girls like it because it tastes like Kool Aid (the red kind) and guys like it because girls don't realize that it contains Bacardi 151. I would guess that a normal person would be completely wasted after 2 glasses. I, of course, was going to drink about 80 shots of this. So I get started.
In the beginning, it went down pretty smoothely. I thought I was drunk, but it was not a big deal. Little by little, people began noticing what I was doing and gathering around me as I attempted this Knievel-worthy stunt. I remember keeping pace through 40, then 50, then 60. This was going ok. I thought, hell, if I'm this far along, I might as well see if I can finish. 75. By this point I was a train wreck, but a determined one. Like the Little Engine That Could, I just kept saying, "I think I can. I think I can." 85. Blackout.
At this point, the only reason I know what happened is because of what my friends have told me. First of all: I actually completed the Century Club with Jungle Juice. I probably deserve some kind of medal for this, but I'm not sure who the correct authorities to contact are. Second, I supposedly sat down on the stoop outside the party and told anyone who would listen that I would not go home until I got a blow job. Even if there was some girl with rock-bottom self esteem who would take me up on this offer, I'm not sure if my circulatory system was even working at that point in the night, and my wang probably would have been about as stiff as a bowl of oatmeal. Third, my new pledge brothers helped me get back to my dorm room that night and promptly deposited me on the floor (my loft was out of the question). I awoke confused, sore, and splashed with red liquid that my roommate thought was blood. However, it was just vomited-up Jungle Juice from the night before.
Luckily, I still had about 1 hour before my parents showed up for parents weekend. How proud they would have been.
I have my audition at 3 PM today, which is why I am up so early. I guess I'm kind of nervous and excited because I not only have my first real audition for anything, but I will also get to go to the glorious Discovery Channel headquarters in picturesque Silver Spring, Maryland. Notice to all: it is Silver Spring, not Silver Springs (like the Fleetwood Mac song). As preparation for the interview, they told us to think of an embarrassing story about ourselves. If someone asks me to think of an embarrassing story about myself, I am always at a bit of a loss. So much of my existence is based on trying to avoid embarrassing situations that I think I blocked many of the most embarrassing stories from my mind. Here is one I remember (or at least remember partially.)
I had just gotten into my fraternity the first month of my freshman year at college when we had our first party. Seeing as I wasn't exactly Burt Reynolds in high school, I had never been to a party with so many girls. I think the sorority there that night was SDT and the pledges (from both groups) were all locked in the basement for the first hour in order to get to know each other better. We also all had white tee shirts that we were supposed to get signed by the girls (they had the same thing). Being the smooth operator I was, I took this as an opportunity to get drunk and write on boobies without any repurcussions. Advantage: Catheter Man.
After about an hour, we all were let upstairs with our new friends (and potential sexual assault victims). It was then announced that we would be having the time-honored tradition of the Century Club. For those who don't know what this is, it means that you are supposed to take a shot of beer every minute for 100 minutes. This didn't sound too hard to me, as I was already an acomplished binge drinker, as well as a little tipsy to begin with. So the Century Club began.
The major logistical problem with the century club is that about 15-20 people would all be trying to get beer from the same keg at the same time. This would inevitably lead you to miss some of your minutes and require you to play catch up. The other problem was that being pledges, we were required to get the brothers beer whenever they wanted or face the consequences at the next line up, something I desperately wanted to avoid. So with all of these impediments to me getting beer, I made the only logical conclusion there was: start playing Century Club with the Jungle Juice.
Jungle Juice is the best and worst drink ever created. Girls like it because it tastes like Kool Aid (the red kind) and guys like it because girls don't realize that it contains Bacardi 151. I would guess that a normal person would be completely wasted after 2 glasses. I, of course, was going to drink about 80 shots of this. So I get started.
In the beginning, it went down pretty smoothely. I thought I was drunk, but it was not a big deal. Little by little, people began noticing what I was doing and gathering around me as I attempted this Knievel-worthy stunt. I remember keeping pace through 40, then 50, then 60. This was going ok. I thought, hell, if I'm this far along, I might as well see if I can finish. 75. By this point I was a train wreck, but a determined one. Like the Little Engine That Could, I just kept saying, "I think I can. I think I can." 85. Blackout.
At this point, the only reason I know what happened is because of what my friends have told me. First of all: I actually completed the Century Club with Jungle Juice. I probably deserve some kind of medal for this, but I'm not sure who the correct authorities to contact are. Second, I supposedly sat down on the stoop outside the party and told anyone who would listen that I would not go home until I got a blow job. Even if there was some girl with rock-bottom self esteem who would take me up on this offer, I'm not sure if my circulatory system was even working at that point in the night, and my wang probably would have been about as stiff as a bowl of oatmeal. Third, my new pledge brothers helped me get back to my dorm room that night and promptly deposited me on the floor (my loft was out of the question). I awoke confused, sore, and splashed with red liquid that my roommate thought was blood. However, it was just vomited-up Jungle Juice from the night before.
Luckily, I still had about 1 hour before my parents showed up for parents weekend. How proud they would have been.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Basketball Jones
Tonight, I exercised more than I have in probably the last two years (due to my self-inflicted redshirt football season). I played basketball.
At one point in my life, I was a pretty good player (as good as someone under 6 feet with small fingers can be). I also know I started the baggy shorts trend. I just can't really prove it. It all began when I was on a local Boy's and Girl's Club team. We got the standard tee shirt jersey and white shorts for a uniform. Since I was what doctors refer to as "flabby," the one-size-fits-all shorts didn't really leave anything to the imagination on my 10 year old frame. I was already wearing baggy shorts at that age due to the weight problem as well as the skater trend. So I improvised and wore my white Jimmy Z shorts instead of the league-issued nut huggers. They fit much better and went down to my knees rather than riding up to my danger area. I remember the guy who ran the league acutally yelled at me one time for having "shorts down to [my] ankles." So, since I was 10 in 1987, that leaves a good 10 years until the Fab Five debuted their baggy shorts at Michigan. Therefore, I started the trend.
That brings us to tonight. I joined a team called LB 33. This refers to Larry Legend and since the majority of our team is white, we adopted the Celtics Kelly green as our jersey color. Since I joined the team mid-season, there were no leftover jerseys for me, so I had to bring my own green shirt. I probably have at least 50 tee shirts that I have collected over the years, the oldest of which are a Nike Challenge Court shirt from the first big Andre Agassi ad campaign, one of the first Simpsons shirts, a "Two Snaps Up" shirt with a picture of the Men on Film from In Living Color, and a souveneir shirt from the 1990 "Please Hammer, Don't Hurt 'em" world tour. Absolutely none of the shirts in my collection are even close to green.
So I went to Sports Authority before the game tonight to try and find a green shirt. Seems easy enough, right? Nope. Sports Authority had exactly 2 different green shirts: a Nike "swoosh" shirt and a Head Under Armour-type shirt. Each was $14.99, more than I really wanted to spend, but I ponied up for the breatheable fabric. Great move. By the end of the game (and 2 myocardial infarctions later) the shirt was as dry as a bone.
During the first half of the game, our team couldn't make a shot. To give you an idea of how inept we were, after a 20 minute running clock half, we had scored a grand total of 15 points. Unfortunately, our defense wasn't any good either because we had let up about 35 points. Terrible. Luckily, we started hitting shots in the second half, but never got any closer than about 15 down. Final score: about 75 to 52. I had 5. I hit what I thought were 2 three pointers, but supposedly one of them was a 2.
The best part of the game was that there was a girl on the other team. Now girls who play basketball are not known to be lookers (check out the WNBA if you don't believe me). Most look about as attractive as Roseanne Barr taking a crap after a long night at a Chinese buffet. This girl was no different. Being the most out of shape on our team, I got to cover both her and a Mexican guy who might work as a maintenence man in my building. Luckily for me, I didn't allow her to score. And I think I might have felt her up by accident once (although it could have been a fat roll).
So what did I learn tonight? 1) I can exercise for about 10 straight minutes at a time without keeling over, 2) Under Armour-type shirts rule, and 3) I can absolutely shut down Mexicans and girls in basketball. Next time, maybe I can work my way up to a goofy white guy.
At one point in my life, I was a pretty good player (as good as someone under 6 feet with small fingers can be). I also know I started the baggy shorts trend. I just can't really prove it. It all began when I was on a local Boy's and Girl's Club team. We got the standard tee shirt jersey and white shorts for a uniform. Since I was what doctors refer to as "flabby," the one-size-fits-all shorts didn't really leave anything to the imagination on my 10 year old frame. I was already wearing baggy shorts at that age due to the weight problem as well as the skater trend. So I improvised and wore my white Jimmy Z shorts instead of the league-issued nut huggers. They fit much better and went down to my knees rather than riding up to my danger area. I remember the guy who ran the league acutally yelled at me one time for having "shorts down to [my] ankles." So, since I was 10 in 1987, that leaves a good 10 years until the Fab Five debuted their baggy shorts at Michigan. Therefore, I started the trend.
That brings us to tonight. I joined a team called LB 33. This refers to Larry Legend and since the majority of our team is white, we adopted the Celtics Kelly green as our jersey color. Since I joined the team mid-season, there were no leftover jerseys for me, so I had to bring my own green shirt. I probably have at least 50 tee shirts that I have collected over the years, the oldest of which are a Nike Challenge Court shirt from the first big Andre Agassi ad campaign, one of the first Simpsons shirts, a "Two Snaps Up" shirt with a picture of the Men on Film from In Living Color, and a souveneir shirt from the 1990 "Please Hammer, Don't Hurt 'em" world tour. Absolutely none of the shirts in my collection are even close to green.
So I went to Sports Authority before the game tonight to try and find a green shirt. Seems easy enough, right? Nope. Sports Authority had exactly 2 different green shirts: a Nike "swoosh" shirt and a Head Under Armour-type shirt. Each was $14.99, more than I really wanted to spend, but I ponied up for the breatheable fabric. Great move. By the end of the game (and 2 myocardial infarctions later) the shirt was as dry as a bone.
During the first half of the game, our team couldn't make a shot. To give you an idea of how inept we were, after a 20 minute running clock half, we had scored a grand total of 15 points. Unfortunately, our defense wasn't any good either because we had let up about 35 points. Terrible. Luckily, we started hitting shots in the second half, but never got any closer than about 15 down. Final score: about 75 to 52. I had 5. I hit what I thought were 2 three pointers, but supposedly one of them was a 2.
The best part of the game was that there was a girl on the other team. Now girls who play basketball are not known to be lookers (check out the WNBA if you don't believe me). Most look about as attractive as Roseanne Barr taking a crap after a long night at a Chinese buffet. This girl was no different. Being the most out of shape on our team, I got to cover both her and a Mexican guy who might work as a maintenence man in my building. Luckily for me, I didn't allow her to score. And I think I might have felt her up by accident once (although it could have been a fat roll).
So what did I learn tonight? 1) I can exercise for about 10 straight minutes at a time without keeling over, 2) Under Armour-type shirts rule, and 3) I can absolutely shut down Mexicans and girls in basketball. Next time, maybe I can work my way up to a goofy white guy.
Friday, June 17, 2005
I have a friend
It seems like Catheter Man is blowing up this weekend. Not only do I have my first real-life audition, I am also listed on the "Friends of Jason Mulgrew" page. Sweet. Check it out. Link
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Catheter Man: Major F'ing Star?
Since I have no discernable job skills to offer any profitable company, I have been combing the job boards for positions I can do (I'm up to application #120 now!). One listing on Craig's List intrigued me and I figured I could take a stab at it. The headline read: LOOKING FOR RUGGED, SEMI-FEARLESS MALE AGE 20-28 FOR TV SERIES. I'm rugged, 27, male, and semi-fearless. That sounds like me. I read on:
New series seeking 20-28 year-old male who is willing to sacrifice body in Jackass/Wildboys-esque fashion. Extremely reputable network needs someone who is likeable and loves to have fun. Must be available 2-3 days a week (usually weekdays, but not always) from the end of July through December.
I'm not sure if I'm likeable, but I am willing to hurt myself on camera for the enjoyment of others. Hell, I was the 1998 King of Spring Break. Bottom line: 2-3 days a week sounds like the perfect work schedule for me. Especially if I can make like $500 every time I walk into the building (like the anchors on NBA.comTV). Even if I can't, I would be on fucking tv! How sweet would that be? Of course, I kind of like being anonymous. I live by the words of the immortal Tupac Shakur: "All I want is money, fuck the fame. I'm a simple man."
So I e-mailed the appropriate people with a short letter of interest outlining the facts that I've had the same fraternity hazing as such reality stars as Judd Winick (Real World SF), Randy and Jason Sklar (Cheap Seats), and Adam "Average Joe" Mesh. I also told them how Rob Miller once said that I am the second funniest person he knows. Included were pictures of me with Michael Jordan (a statue of him), me with a Ferrari, and me dressed as Eazy-E on Halloween. I knew that Jheri Curl wig would come in handy.
So I get an e-mail today that they want me to come in and audition. The funny part is that the guy that sent me the email was a good friend of my sister in high school. If I get this gig, I'll finally be ready to forgive her for the fact that she never had any hot friends. So next Tuesday, after my dentist appointment, I'll be auditioning for a show that will probably require me to injure myself weekly. I can think of nothing I'd rather do. Wish me luck.
New series seeking 20-28 year-old male who is willing to sacrifice body in Jackass/Wildboys-esque fashion. Extremely reputable network needs someone who is likeable and loves to have fun. Must be available 2-3 days a week (usually weekdays, but not always) from the end of July through December.
I'm not sure if I'm likeable, but I am willing to hurt myself on camera for the enjoyment of others. Hell, I was the 1998 King of Spring Break. Bottom line: 2-3 days a week sounds like the perfect work schedule for me. Especially if I can make like $500 every time I walk into the building (like the anchors on NBA.comTV). Even if I can't, I would be on fucking tv! How sweet would that be? Of course, I kind of like being anonymous. I live by the words of the immortal Tupac Shakur: "All I want is money, fuck the fame. I'm a simple man."
So I e-mailed the appropriate people with a short letter of interest outlining the facts that I've had the same fraternity hazing as such reality stars as Judd Winick (Real World SF), Randy and Jason Sklar (Cheap Seats), and Adam "Average Joe" Mesh. I also told them how Rob Miller once said that I am the second funniest person he knows. Included were pictures of me with Michael Jordan (a statue of him), me with a Ferrari, and me dressed as Eazy-E on Halloween. I knew that Jheri Curl wig would come in handy.
So I get an e-mail today that they want me to come in and audition. The funny part is that the guy that sent me the email was a good friend of my sister in high school. If I get this gig, I'll finally be ready to forgive her for the fact that she never had any hot friends. So next Tuesday, after my dentist appointment, I'll be auditioning for a show that will probably require me to injure myself weekly. I can think of nothing I'd rather do. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Speak of the devil...
Too bad I don't have off street parking.
Promotional Hummer Drivers Needed
Reply to: job-78870131@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-06-14, 7:44PM EDT
Promotions Company is seeking friendly people with a clean driving record to drive an H2 in a 4 month promotional campaign beginning 6/27/05. Must have current U.S. drivers license, a clean driving record, off street parking, a digital camera, broadband internet service, be at least 25 years old, and have a friendly disposition. Job requires driving H2 on predetermined routes and interacting w/the public through distribution of promotional materials. Must live in or near Herndon.
* Job location is Herndon, VA
* Compensation: $100/8 hour shift
* This is a contract job.
* no -- Principals only. Recruiters, please don't contact this job poster.
* no -- Please, no phone calls about this job!
* no -- Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.
* yes -- Reposting this message elsewhere is OK.
Promotional Hummer Drivers Needed
Reply to: job-78870131@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-06-14, 7:44PM EDT
Promotions Company is seeking friendly people with a clean driving record to drive an H2 in a 4 month promotional campaign beginning 6/27/05. Must have current U.S. drivers license, a clean driving record, off street parking, a digital camera, broadband internet service, be at least 25 years old, and have a friendly disposition. Job requires driving H2 on predetermined routes and interacting w/the public through distribution of promotional materials. Must live in or near Herndon.
* Job location is Herndon, VA
* Compensation: $100/8 hour shift
* This is a contract job.
* no -- Principals only. Recruiters, please don't contact this job poster.
* no -- Please, no phone calls about this job!
* no -- Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.
* yes -- Reposting this message elsewhere is OK.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
On Murmurs and Hummers
Today was quite the eventful day. It began when my dad picked me up to go to the dentist. See, since I don't have a car and I have always gone to the same dentist (who was a client of my dad's) whose office is in Beltsville, MD, I haven't been since I moved back to DC. Beltsville is about a 25 minute drive from DC and there's no way I could get there without a car. Despite their calling me several times during my law school career, I never made the effort to go out there because I was already stressed out enough. But I digress.
So we get to the dentist and I have to fill out one of those medical information forms. Some of the questions were innocuous, like if I was allergic to anything (unlike most Jews, I am not allergic to anything, I am not balding, and I don't wear glasses) and some of the questions I couldn't believe (like if I had ever caught an STD [which I have not {to my knowledge}]). Anyway, I only answered yes to three: did I have a heart murmur, did I use more than 2 pillows to sleep, and had I lost more than 10 lbs in the past year.
Unfortunately, they said that since I said yes to the heart murmur question (I'm pretty sure some doctor said I had one when I was like 12 and I have been going to this dentist forever), I could not get my teeth cleaned today because I was supposed to take antibiotics before going to the dentist. Obviously, this was annoying because it means that I'm going to have to go back next week and they probably will have the same magazines that I already read today while my dad was getting his teeth cleaned.
After I came home and took the dog out, I met my girlfriend and her coworkers at a restaurant near the MCI Center so that I could help them go get 2 Hummers for their event tomorrow. They are following a bunch of chefs on their motorcycles for a charity event and the media get to go in the Hummers. So we went out to a Cadillac/Hummer dealership in VA to get them. I got to drive a pewter-colored H2 in rush hour traffic. Since I have not consistently driven for about 5 years (save for driving my girlfriend's Civic occasionally), I was not exactly prepared to drive this monstrosity. But the hardest part was un-parallel parking it at the dealership. After that, I turned on WHFS (Ninety-Five, half a dime!) and made like I was Bam Margera. The best part about the H2 is not asking if you can change lanes. You just do it and the other drivers have to get the fuck out of the way.
We then took Takoma to the vet for her first check up. Aside from a slight ear infection, everything else checked out fine and we got her flea and tick preventative so she can go on our little Rock Creek Park walks without worrying. The strangest thing about the vet was that the girl who rang us up at the register recognized my last name. She asked if I was related to [my aunt's name]. I said yes and she said that she knew my cousin. You remember, the crazy one who is 6'7". I asked how she knew him and she said that she met him at a club in 1999, but that she had not talked to him in about 2 months (since he has a lot of problems). I said I haven't seen him in longer than that (about a year), but I knew what she was talking about. Then we got out of there and went over to Whole Foods for some samples.
I can honestly say this day clearly refutes my theory that I have nothing to write about if I don't have a job. If only I got to drive a Hummer all the time.
So we get to the dentist and I have to fill out one of those medical information forms. Some of the questions were innocuous, like if I was allergic to anything (unlike most Jews, I am not allergic to anything, I am not balding, and I don't wear glasses) and some of the questions I couldn't believe (like if I had ever caught an STD [which I have not {to my knowledge
Unfortunately, they said that since I said yes to the heart murmur question (I'm pretty sure some doctor said I had one when I was like 12 and I have been going to this dentist forever), I could not get my teeth cleaned today because I was supposed to take antibiotics before going to the dentist. Obviously, this was annoying because it means that I'm going to have to go back next week and they probably will have the same magazines that I already read today while my dad was getting his teeth cleaned.
After I came home and took the dog out, I met my girlfriend and her coworkers at a restaurant near the MCI Center so that I could help them go get 2 Hummers for their event tomorrow. They are following a bunch of chefs on their motorcycles for a charity event and the media get to go in the Hummers. So we went out to a Cadillac/Hummer dealership in VA to get them. I got to drive a pewter-colored H2 in rush hour traffic. Since I have not consistently driven for about 5 years (save for driving my girlfriend's Civic occasionally), I was not exactly prepared to drive this monstrosity. But the hardest part was un-parallel parking it at the dealership. After that, I turned on WHFS (Ninety-Five, half a dime!) and made like I was Bam Margera. The best part about the H2 is not asking if you can change lanes. You just do it and the other drivers have to get the fuck out of the way.
We then took Takoma to the vet for her first check up. Aside from a slight ear infection, everything else checked out fine and we got her flea and tick preventative so she can go on our little Rock Creek Park walks without worrying. The strangest thing about the vet was that the girl who rang us up at the register recognized my last name. She asked if I was related to [my aunt's name]. I said yes and she said that she knew my cousin. You remember, the crazy one who is 6'7". I asked how she knew him and she said that she met him at a club in 1999, but that she had not talked to him in about 2 months (since he has a lot of problems). I said I haven't seen him in longer than that (about a year), but I knew what she was talking about. Then we got out of there and went over to Whole Foods for some samples.
I can honestly say this day clearly refutes my theory that I have nothing to write about if I don't have a job. If only I got to drive a Hummer all the time.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Man in the Mirror
First off, a hearty and well-deserved congratulations to Michael Jackson for evading the haters one more time. I know you are crazy, but I don't think you are any more crazy than say, Tom Cruise. I don't think Michael molested little boys. Thats for the Catholic church to do.
Which brings me to my next point: what the fuck do all these religious wackos think they are accomplishing when they stand outside the courthouses (or anywhere for that matter) with their big Jesus signs? For one thing, Michael Jackson is bigger than Jesus (and quite a bit more talented, too). Secondly, nobody watching the trial is going to see your sign and all of the sudden join your cult.
At the risk of offending just about everyone in the country, I'd like to make tee shirts that say "Jesus is Gay." Why? 1) Its Nene Hilario. 2) It will offend all the dumbass rednecks and bible thumpers that want to lynch you if you refute anything in the bible. 3) From the little I know about Jesus (I have seen about 30 hours of Easter programming), I think he would have championed gay rights. He was all about including all the people who were unfairly excluded. 4) Zell Miller might explode.
If you think that is a terrible idea, you should have heard my first idea: "Jesus has AIDS"
Which brings me to my next point: what the fuck do all these religious wackos think they are accomplishing when they stand outside the courthouses (or anywhere for that matter) with their big Jesus signs? For one thing, Michael Jackson is bigger than Jesus (and quite a bit more talented, too). Secondly, nobody watching the trial is going to see your sign and all of the sudden join your cult.
At the risk of offending just about everyone in the country, I'd like to make tee shirts that say "Jesus is Gay." Why? 1) Its Nene Hilario. 2) It will offend all the dumbass rednecks and bible thumpers that want to lynch you if you refute anything in the bible. 3) From the little I know about Jesus (I have seen about 30 hours of Easter programming), I think he would have championed gay rights. He was all about including all the people who were unfairly excluded. 4) Zell Miller might explode.
If you think that is a terrible idea, you should have heard my first idea: "Jesus has AIDS"
Friday, June 10, 2005
A Walk to Remember
As part of my daily exercise/dog ownerly duties, I take Takoma on walks through the neighborhood. We haven't quite gotten down her timing yet, so trying to guess when she will "evacuate her bowels" or "make water" is a crapshoot (pun very intended). I was actually convinced that the vet that spayed her may have accidentally removed her vagina because she had not peed in so long. Usually, I wait anywhere from 30 minutes to 1 hour after she eats to take her out. Sometimes she'll drop a deuce. Sometimes not.
Today I took her down to Rock Creek Park, which is conveniently located just steps from my building. Soon after we ran down the big hill at the entrance, she stopped and whizzed all over the grass. Score! We then went on this little path that winds through the woods where Chandra Levy may or may not have taken her last breath. The path goes along the edge of the creek, on the other side of which is Rock Creek Parkway. On this path, in the middle of the woods today, was a guy wearing headphones and playing a trumpet. One of the stranger things I've ever seen, but ok.
We trudged on and came up to a fork in the road. One way takes you further into DC along the creek and the other takes you back up to where my apartment is, along more creek or creek-like tributaries. Since I did not want any more exercise than absolutely necessary, we took the path that goes back to my building. I thought I would not see anything stranger than the trumpet guy, but lo and behold, I did. Two Mexicans (or Salvadorians or whatever) were bathing in the creek. What the fuck? Well, they may not have been bathing, but one of them did have a mullet and his shirt off and they were both standing in the water.
Another odd thing I saw were catfish in the creek. I was not sure that any living things could exist in the water, but I guess catfish are quite resillient creatures. It made me rethink my weekly choice of entree at Ship of Fools, the Catfish Po' Boy. The reason why I didn't think fish would be in the creek is because of the signs I saw on the path that indicated that during heavy rains, sweage could overflow and drain into Rock Creek. Mmmmmm, sewage. But that apparently does not stop people from fishing there, because I saw another sign that had the rules for fishing. There should probably be another sign that says: "If you eat the fish from this creek, you should know that they probably are swimming in and/or eating human excrement. Enjoy."
DC is a strange, strange place.
Today I took her down to Rock Creek Park, which is conveniently located just steps from my building. Soon after we ran down the big hill at the entrance, she stopped and whizzed all over the grass. Score! We then went on this little path that winds through the woods where Chandra Levy may or may not have taken her last breath. The path goes along the edge of the creek, on the other side of which is Rock Creek Parkway. On this path, in the middle of the woods today, was a guy wearing headphones and playing a trumpet. One of the stranger things I've ever seen, but ok.
We trudged on and came up to a fork in the road. One way takes you further into DC along the creek and the other takes you back up to where my apartment is, along more creek or creek-like tributaries. Since I did not want any more exercise than absolutely necessary, we took the path that goes back to my building. I thought I would not see anything stranger than the trumpet guy, but lo and behold, I did. Two Mexicans (or Salvadorians or whatever) were bathing in the creek. What the fuck? Well, they may not have been bathing, but one of them did have a mullet and his shirt off and they were both standing in the water.
Another odd thing I saw were catfish in the creek. I was not sure that any living things could exist in the water, but I guess catfish are quite resillient creatures. It made me rethink my weekly choice of entree at Ship of Fools, the Catfish Po' Boy. The reason why I didn't think fish would be in the creek is because of the signs I saw on the path that indicated that during heavy rains, sweage could overflow and drain into Rock Creek. Mmmmmm, sewage. But that apparently does not stop people from fishing there, because I saw another sign that had the rules for fishing. There should probably be another sign that says: "If you eat the fish from this creek, you should know that they probably are swimming in and/or eating human excrement. Enjoy."
DC is a strange, strange place.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Theory: Teachers Hate Me
Despite my intelligence and equally important street smarts, I have never really gotten good grades in school (save for second semester, senior year of high school when everyone else stopped trying and I got 5 A's and 2 B's). I'm not really sure why this is, other than the fact that my academic career has always been a fight. Not a struggle, mind you, but a fight. Teachers seem to hate me for some reason. I don't know why. I don't goof off in class (too much). I don't openly challenge their authority. I don't skip an inordinate amount of classes. All I ever do is try and listen to what they are saying, do my homework, and study for tests. For all my effort, I always have a couple of grades that are lower than they should be.
My earliest recollection of a teacher hating me for no reason was in third grade. I lived in DC and so I went to the awful DC public school system. Even at that young age, I knew what was going on. This was the first time I remember being separated into "reading groups." I think there were 3 groups, dumb, regular, and smart. I don't know if we were supposed to figure out those designations, but it seemed obvious to me that all the smart kids were in one group: the one I wasn't in. This would have been fine if I thought I was challenged by whatever book we were reading in the medium group, but even at 8 years old, I knew I was smart enough to be in the smart group. I apparently complained to my mother about this and being the former teacher that she is, she asked the teacher to switch me. From what I gather, the teacher would not switch me to the smart group for some reason and that lead to my first IQ test.
I remember going to some home/office in DC to take the test. I wasn't nervous at all because I knew that I could rock the test. The seeds were being planted for my theory that my intelligence is never accurately assessed by academics. I don't remember much about the test except a part where they kept asking me a bunch of increasingly difficult vocabulary words to see which ones I knew. I remember the last one they asked that I didn't know the definition for was "mantis." I guess at that age, I wasn't quite the amateur entomologist that I am today. I got a good enough score on the IQ test that the tester reccomended that I be put in the smart group (I still have this letter). Confronted with this, the teacher finally relented and allowed me to take my rightful spot amongst the elementary school intellectual elite. [Side note: I don't know what I got on the IQ test, but according to many internet tests I've taken in the last few years, my IQ could be anywhere from 110-147, I'm guessing somewhere in the lower-middle of that range.]
The second problem I had with teachers came that same year. We were given an assignment to make a comic strip. Well, this seemed like great fun to me. After a little while, I decided to make a comic about my favorite cartoon at the time: M.A.S.K. Some of you might remember that this was a G.I. Joe-type cartoon where the heroes and villians all had some sort of mask they would wear when they fought. I'm not doing it justice, but you can check out the link here. So I make my comic strip, which was probably pretty forumlaic, like the show. I was proud of my work and titled it: "Mayhem's Revenge." I think the bad guys were called Mayhem in the show.
I thought for sure that I would at least get a pretty good grade on it, if not a sticker. When I got my comic back, I don't remember if I got a grade at all. There was just a note at the top of the paper in bright red ink, accusing me of copying one of my classmates. See, M.A.S.K. was a popular show amongst my friends and one of the other students had done a comic about it and coincidentally titled his: "The Revenge of Mayhem." I admit, that looks fishy, but why did she automatically think that I was the one who copied the other guy? I'm sure the stories could not have been that similar that she would think anything but the title was copied. The only logical explanation for the accusation: teachers hate me.
Luckily, I went to school in Maryland the next year to escape the DC public schools. I would say that we moved to MD, but our house was not finished being built, so I had the great experience of living in DC, but going to school in MD for a year. I'm actually not sure how my parents pulled that one off. Usually, such tactics are reserved for illegally recruited soccer players, not chubby kids that teachers hate for some reason. In any event, I thought the MD school would be a fresh start, where I would not have to fight teachers for the treatment other kids automatically receieved. I was wrong.
One of the classes we had in MD that I don't remember ever having in DC was music class. I am a pretty good singer (ask anyone who has heard my drunken rendition of "Thunderstruck.") But I just never liked to sing the songs we had to sing in music class and/or chorus. I still sang them (sung them?) though. The music teacher had a big laminated award that she would give out every week to a different student. It was called the "Super Singer." After class ended, she would give it to, well, I have no idea what the criteria were for this award, but I knew that pretty much everyone got it at least once. Well, apparently there are fewer weeks in the school year than there were kids in my class because I never got the Super Singer. I was also kicked out of chorus for reasons I have since forgotten. Both lead to one conclusion: teachers hate me.
The next incident came in 5th grade. Our class was going to put on a musical called "Let George do it." It was about George Washington and how great he was. The music teacher chose all the parts and I was hoping to get a decent part, but not have a solo or anything like that. I was still shy at that age and did not have the advantage of liquid courage to allow my the ease at which I sing in front of large groups today. When the cast list was posted, I eagerly awaited my turn to see which part I got. As I scanned the list, my heart sunk as I read: Catheter Man........Spotlight Operator. Apparently, my teacher had such little faith in my singing and acting ability or revulsion from my looks that she not only didn't want me on the stage, but I had to be behind the audience. Naturally, my attitude about musical theater drastically changed and did not recover for years.
Aside from ending my acting career before it began, the list also announced a full cast rehearsal for some date in the future. Now, being pissed off and young as I was, I read that to mean just what it said: cast. I was the bullshit spotlight operator, so I did not have to be there, right? Wrong. After I skipped the rehearsal to hang out with a friend from DC, I learned that I would no longer be the spotlight operator. Cool. In case you couldn't tell, I never wanted to do that in the first place. So when the other kids with real parts were rehearsing, me and the other rejects made costumes and scenery and props.
My task was to make a sandwich board with a huge construction paper apple on each side. This was supposed to represent Washington Apples. One guy made a damn good washington monument that someone stood inside and another guy made a Capitol building to represent Washington, DC. I was fine making this stuff because I did not like the music teacher and I am a pretty mediocre artist (one of my many mediocre talents). A few days before the show, they sprung the news on us that we would have to wear the costumes we made in the play. WHAT THE FUCK? First, you don't have faith in me to have a real part, then you make me the spotlight operator, then you take that away from me, now I have to stand in this dumb costume like a moron for about 1 minute at the beginning and end of the play? I was not happy to say the least. And I made it known. After a rehearsal in front of the lower grades, the music teacher actually had to tell me to smile because I looked so miserable up there in my lame apple costume. Above all else, I am a professional, and I did my job during the play no matter how pissed I was. All this because teachers hate me.
In 6th grade, we advanced to middle school. Sweet. Another new beginning where I could make a fresh start and be surrounded by about 7 times as many kids. There would have to be others who would take some of the teacher hate off of me. Well, there were, but they dragged me down with them. About a month or two into the year, I made friends with 2 other kids in my English class. It was honors English (I was finally deservedly in all honors classes), so the kids weren't dumb, but they were fuck ups. We all had one thing in common: the love of making fun of those different from us.
One guy decided to make comic book covers about certain people in our classes. They were actually pretty well drawn and very funny at the time. When I helped him change a few things on one of the covers, like the placement of one girl's hands, he said I should draw one. I agreed and began on a caricature of some guy who was German and therefore, naturally, a Nazi in the comic. I really didn't progress too far at all. I just drew a face and about half a body when I stopped. I probably ran out of time or just wanted to finish later. The main guy then said we should sign our work like artists do. I said no, but he signed anyway. The third member of our little group signed his.
I thought nothing of it until the next morning when over the intercom, the vice principal blasted: "Miss Grandy, would you send JP, Philip, and Catheter Man down to the office." I was pretty embarrassed and didn't know what was going on. Incidentally, I would be much more embarassed in that class later in the year when I hurled on the floor due to some apparently tainted donuts. So we get to the principal's office and it turns out that the notebook we had drawn in was JP's journal, which the teacher had seen and reported our little artwork to the principal. The other thing I didn't know was that JP had taken the liberty of signing my unfinished drawing for me. Not good.
I have to be honest. I don't remember much about the comics, but they were more funny than offensive. I'm sure that the students depicted would not have found them funny, but if they never saw them, then no harm, no foul, right? Nope. I guess the vice principal decided to take a hard line stance on any art-related teasing and decided to suspend us all for the day. A little harsh if you ask me. So they called our parents and waited for them to pick us up.
JP and Philip's parents came within the first hour and they left. My parents, on the other hand were unreachable. That day they had gone to look at beach houses and this was a time before cell phones, so I was stuck in the principal's office until further notice. By lunchtime, there was still no word from my parents, but the powers that be allowed me to get lunch when I wanted. I was too embarrased to go to my normal lunch period, so I went to the other one and brought my lunch back to the office to eat. My parents finally came in late in the day and after what had to be an argument about how stupid it is for the principal to suspend me for this, they took me home. Another traumatic moment that did not have to occur, but did because teachers hate me.
Thats all for now. I'm sure I'll think of some more later.
My earliest recollection of a teacher hating me for no reason was in third grade. I lived in DC and so I went to the awful DC public school system. Even at that young age, I knew what was going on. This was the first time I remember being separated into "reading groups." I think there were 3 groups, dumb, regular, and smart. I don't know if we were supposed to figure out those designations, but it seemed obvious to me that all the smart kids were in one group: the one I wasn't in. This would have been fine if I thought I was challenged by whatever book we were reading in the medium group, but even at 8 years old, I knew I was smart enough to be in the smart group. I apparently complained to my mother about this and being the former teacher that she is, she asked the teacher to switch me. From what I gather, the teacher would not switch me to the smart group for some reason and that lead to my first IQ test.
I remember going to some home/office in DC to take the test. I wasn't nervous at all because I knew that I could rock the test. The seeds were being planted for my theory that my intelligence is never accurately assessed by academics. I don't remember much about the test except a part where they kept asking me a bunch of increasingly difficult vocabulary words to see which ones I knew. I remember the last one they asked that I didn't know the definition for was "mantis." I guess at that age, I wasn't quite the amateur entomologist that I am today. I got a good enough score on the IQ test that the tester reccomended that I be put in the smart group (I still have this letter). Confronted with this, the teacher finally relented and allowed me to take my rightful spot amongst the elementary school intellectual elite. [Side note: I don't know what I got on the IQ test, but according to many internet tests I've taken in the last few years, my IQ could be anywhere from 110-147, I'm guessing somewhere in the lower-middle of that range.]
The second problem I had with teachers came that same year. We were given an assignment to make a comic strip. Well, this seemed like great fun to me. After a little while, I decided to make a comic about my favorite cartoon at the time: M.A.S.K. Some of you might remember that this was a G.I. Joe-type cartoon where the heroes and villians all had some sort of mask they would wear when they fought. I'm not doing it justice, but you can check out the link here. So I make my comic strip, which was probably pretty forumlaic, like the show. I was proud of my work and titled it: "Mayhem's Revenge." I think the bad guys were called Mayhem in the show.
I thought for sure that I would at least get a pretty good grade on it, if not a sticker. When I got my comic back, I don't remember if I got a grade at all. There was just a note at the top of the paper in bright red ink, accusing me of copying one of my classmates. See, M.A.S.K. was a popular show amongst my friends and one of the other students had done a comic about it and coincidentally titled his: "The Revenge of Mayhem." I admit, that looks fishy, but why did she automatically think that I was the one who copied the other guy? I'm sure the stories could not have been that similar that she would think anything but the title was copied. The only logical explanation for the accusation: teachers hate me.
Luckily, I went to school in Maryland the next year to escape the DC public schools. I would say that we moved to MD, but our house was not finished being built, so I had the great experience of living in DC, but going to school in MD for a year. I'm actually not sure how my parents pulled that one off. Usually, such tactics are reserved for illegally recruited soccer players, not chubby kids that teachers hate for some reason. In any event, I thought the MD school would be a fresh start, where I would not have to fight teachers for the treatment other kids automatically receieved. I was wrong.
One of the classes we had in MD that I don't remember ever having in DC was music class. I am a pretty good singer (ask anyone who has heard my drunken rendition of "Thunderstruck.") But I just never liked to sing the songs we had to sing in music class and/or chorus. I still sang them (sung them?) though. The music teacher had a big laminated award that she would give out every week to a different student. It was called the "Super Singer." After class ended, she would give it to, well, I have no idea what the criteria were for this award, but I knew that pretty much everyone got it at least once. Well, apparently there are fewer weeks in the school year than there were kids in my class because I never got the Super Singer. I was also kicked out of chorus for reasons I have since forgotten. Both lead to one conclusion: teachers hate me.
The next incident came in 5th grade. Our class was going to put on a musical called "Let George do it." It was about George Washington and how great he was. The music teacher chose all the parts and I was hoping to get a decent part, but not have a solo or anything like that. I was still shy at that age and did not have the advantage of liquid courage to allow my the ease at which I sing in front of large groups today. When the cast list was posted, I eagerly awaited my turn to see which part I got. As I scanned the list, my heart sunk as I read: Catheter Man........Spotlight Operator. Apparently, my teacher had such little faith in my singing and acting ability or revulsion from my looks that she not only didn't want me on the stage, but I had to be behind the audience. Naturally, my attitude about musical theater drastically changed and did not recover for years.
Aside from ending my acting career before it began, the list also announced a full cast rehearsal for some date in the future. Now, being pissed off and young as I was, I read that to mean just what it said: cast. I was the bullshit spotlight operator, so I did not have to be there, right? Wrong. After I skipped the rehearsal to hang out with a friend from DC, I learned that I would no longer be the spotlight operator. Cool. In case you couldn't tell, I never wanted to do that in the first place. So when the other kids with real parts were rehearsing, me and the other rejects made costumes and scenery and props.
My task was to make a sandwich board with a huge construction paper apple on each side. This was supposed to represent Washington Apples. One guy made a damn good washington monument that someone stood inside and another guy made a Capitol building to represent Washington, DC. I was fine making this stuff because I did not like the music teacher and I am a pretty mediocre artist (one of my many mediocre talents). A few days before the show, they sprung the news on us that we would have to wear the costumes we made in the play. WHAT THE FUCK? First, you don't have faith in me to have a real part, then you make me the spotlight operator, then you take that away from me, now I have to stand in this dumb costume like a moron for about 1 minute at the beginning and end of the play? I was not happy to say the least. And I made it known. After a rehearsal in front of the lower grades, the music teacher actually had to tell me to smile because I looked so miserable up there in my lame apple costume. Above all else, I am a professional, and I did my job during the play no matter how pissed I was. All this because teachers hate me.
In 6th grade, we advanced to middle school. Sweet. Another new beginning where I could make a fresh start and be surrounded by about 7 times as many kids. There would have to be others who would take some of the teacher hate off of me. Well, there were, but they dragged me down with them. About a month or two into the year, I made friends with 2 other kids in my English class. It was honors English (I was finally deservedly in all honors classes), so the kids weren't dumb, but they were fuck ups. We all had one thing in common: the love of making fun of those different from us.
One guy decided to make comic book covers about certain people in our classes. They were actually pretty well drawn and very funny at the time. When I helped him change a few things on one of the covers, like the placement of one girl's hands, he said I should draw one. I agreed and began on a caricature of some guy who was German and therefore, naturally, a Nazi in the comic. I really didn't progress too far at all. I just drew a face and about half a body when I stopped. I probably ran out of time or just wanted to finish later. The main guy then said we should sign our work like artists do. I said no, but he signed anyway. The third member of our little group signed his.
I thought nothing of it until the next morning when over the intercom, the vice principal blasted: "Miss Grandy, would you send JP, Philip, and Catheter Man down to the office." I was pretty embarrassed and didn't know what was going on. Incidentally, I would be much more embarassed in that class later in the year when I hurled on the floor due to some apparently tainted donuts. So we get to the principal's office and it turns out that the notebook we had drawn in was JP's journal, which the teacher had seen and reported our little artwork to the principal. The other thing I didn't know was that JP had taken the liberty of signing my unfinished drawing for me. Not good.
I have to be honest. I don't remember much about the comics, but they were more funny than offensive. I'm sure that the students depicted would not have found them funny, but if they never saw them, then no harm, no foul, right? Nope. I guess the vice principal decided to take a hard line stance on any art-related teasing and decided to suspend us all for the day. A little harsh if you ask me. So they called our parents and waited for them to pick us up.
JP and Philip's parents came within the first hour and they left. My parents, on the other hand were unreachable. That day they had gone to look at beach houses and this was a time before cell phones, so I was stuck in the principal's office until further notice. By lunchtime, there was still no word from my parents, but the powers that be allowed me to get lunch when I wanted. I was too embarrased to go to my normal lunch period, so I went to the other one and brought my lunch back to the office to eat. My parents finally came in late in the day and after what had to be an argument about how stupid it is for the principal to suspend me for this, they took me home. Another traumatic moment that did not have to occur, but did because teachers hate me.
Thats all for now. I'm sure I'll think of some more later.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
An Honest Cover Letter
I think the worst part about trying to find a job is society's acceptance of the embellishment, tweaking, and out and out lying that goes on in cover letters and resumes (not to mention classified ads). Nowadays (great word), Secretaries are Administrative Assistants and receptionists are First Impression Officers. Its all just a load of BS. Why can't we, as a society, do away with all of this crap and just tell the truth. Things would be so much easier that way.
As a first step, I have decided to create a truthful cover letter (with most identifying names left out). Lets say I'm trying to become a sports agent (which I am). The letter may go something like this.
Dear ridiculously wealthy agent with a small staff and/or giant conglomerate with a huge sports department,
My name is Catheter Man and I recently graduated from a mediocre law school. I would like to know if you are so hard up to hire someone that you would consider looking at an unsolicited email and possibly even responding to it. My goal is to eventually become a certified NFL agent, however I am willing to start at the bottom and stay there until everyone above me either dies or leaves the company. And no, I don't have any clients or friends who are athletes, but I was in an English critique group with a certain two-time Superbowl MVP in college.
I graduated from one of the top three State Universities in 1999 with a degree in drinking 5 to 6 nights a week and womanizing. Of course, by womanizing, I mean trying to womanize but only partially succeeding most of the time. After that, I worked for a large sports entertainment company prior to enrolling in law school. The reason I left said company was because after finally working my way to a full time position with benefits (after beginning on the night shift, part time), it was going to be at least another year before I could get on salary and do a job I could have done in high school (it had been about 2 and 1/2 years already). Plus, I hated commuting to New Jersey every day. During college, I also completed internships with two other sports-related companies. It was during this time that I developed my skill for mindless data entry and hatred for manual labor.
Since I went to law school, you can be assured that I'm not a complete idiot. I will be able to understand contractual language and other legal matters that surround the sports industry. Since I am not working for a big firm, making six figures right now, you can be assured that I am a partial idiot. I will be able to drink the most without vomiting at all company happy hours and Christmas parties. Furthermore, I took a sports law class in which I created a contract proposal for a current NFL player, so I can basically already do half of your job (and trust me, it wasn't that hard). I also took a negotiation class and own my own copy of the book "Getting to Yes."
Please let me know if there are any positions in your firm for which I may be a good candidate. I know you probably look at it like my salary comes directly out of your pocket, but I'm not really asking for much (just enough to pay the rent and feed the dog). I would really appreciate a chance to talk with you about any opportunity. I will not be calling you because from the amount of time it took me to finally locate your website, it seems like you don't want people to know your company exists. If you have any questions, you can reach me at (202) xxx-xxxx or catheterman@hotmail.com. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Catheter Man
Attachment: Resume
As a first step, I have decided to create a truthful cover letter (with most identifying names left out). Lets say I'm trying to become a sports agent (which I am). The letter may go something like this.
Dear ridiculously wealthy agent with a small staff and/or giant conglomerate with a huge sports department,
My name is Catheter Man and I recently graduated from a mediocre law school. I would like to know if you are so hard up to hire someone that you would consider looking at an unsolicited email and possibly even responding to it. My goal is to eventually become a certified NFL agent, however I am willing to start at the bottom and stay there until everyone above me either dies or leaves the company. And no, I don't have any clients or friends who are athletes, but I was in an English critique group with a certain two-time Superbowl MVP in college.
I graduated from one of the top three State Universities in 1999 with a degree in drinking 5 to 6 nights a week and womanizing. Of course, by womanizing, I mean trying to womanize but only partially succeeding most of the time. After that, I worked for a large sports entertainment company prior to enrolling in law school. The reason I left said company was because after finally working my way to a full time position with benefits (after beginning on the night shift, part time), it was going to be at least another year before I could get on salary and do a job I could have done in high school (it had been about 2 and 1/2 years already). Plus, I hated commuting to New Jersey every day. During college, I also completed internships with two other sports-related companies. It was during this time that I developed my skill for mindless data entry and hatred for manual labor.
Since I went to law school, you can be assured that I'm not a complete idiot. I will be able to understand contractual language and other legal matters that surround the sports industry. Since I am not working for a big firm, making six figures right now, you can be assured that I am a partial idiot. I will be able to drink the most without vomiting at all company happy hours and Christmas parties. Furthermore, I took a sports law class in which I created a contract proposal for a current NFL player, so I can basically already do half of your job (and trust me, it wasn't that hard). I also took a negotiation class and own my own copy of the book "Getting to Yes."
Please let me know if there are any positions in your firm for which I may be a good candidate. I know you probably look at it like my salary comes directly out of your pocket, but I'm not really asking for much (just enough to pay the rent and feed the dog). I would really appreciate a chance to talk with you about any opportunity. I will not be calling you because from the amount of time it took me to finally locate your website, it seems like you don't want people to know your company exists. If you have any questions, you can reach me at (202) xxx-xxxx or catheterman@hotmail.com. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Catheter Man
Attachment: Resume
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Ramblings
As my life has been pretty much taken over by the dog, I have not been able to concentrate on a full post lately. Therefore, more Ramblings.
-- I know the rising price of gas sucks and all, but I refuse to believe we are in a crisis yet. You want to know why? Because Diet Coke costs more per gallon than gas. Especially at gas stations. You wouldn't catch those oil companies charging $1.25 for a 20 ounce of unleaded.
--Since my job search hasn't been going exactly as planned, more and more people are asking me what I want to do/am doing. I've recently taken to telling them that I'm the bass player in a Phil Collins tribute band. That conversation is a lot more fun for me.
--To me, a good restaurant only depends on 2 criteria: 1) do they have Coke products rather than Pepsi, and 2) do they charge for refills on sodas? If I can get unlimited refills on Diet Coke, I am one happy customer. The worst are those Chinese restaurants that bring out a can of Coke and expect you to be satisfied.
--Did you ever notice that the definitions for "oversight" are opposites of each other?
1. An unintentional omission or mistake.
2. Watchful care or management; supervision.
--What happened to the Tuesday Treat?
--Its been so long since I've had a paying job, I'm starting to miss the backstabbing, lying, passive aggression, and general bureaucratic bullshit that comes with getting a paycheck.
-- I know the rising price of gas sucks and all, but I refuse to believe we are in a crisis yet. You want to know why? Because Diet Coke costs more per gallon than gas. Especially at gas stations. You wouldn't catch those oil companies charging $1.25 for a 20 ounce of unleaded.
--Since my job search hasn't been going exactly as planned, more and more people are asking me what I want to do/am doing. I've recently taken to telling them that I'm the bass player in a Phil Collins tribute band. That conversation is a lot more fun for me.
--To me, a good restaurant only depends on 2 criteria: 1) do they have Coke products rather than Pepsi, and 2) do they charge for refills on sodas? If I can get unlimited refills on Diet Coke, I am one happy customer. The worst are those Chinese restaurants that bring out a can of Coke and expect you to be satisfied.
--Did you ever notice that the definitions for "oversight" are opposites of each other?
1. An unintentional omission or mistake.
2. Watchful care or management; supervision.
--What happened to the Tuesday Treat?
--Its been so long since I've had a paying job, I'm starting to miss the backstabbing, lying, passive aggression, and general bureaucratic bullshit that comes with getting a paycheck.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Where my dogs at?
Say hello to Takoma.
Don't look now, but Catheter Man is getting a dog. Sure, I don't have a job yet, but that's all the more reason to stay at home and make sure the dog doesn't freak out and eat the stereo or something. Also, I can train it to do my bidding. I know that some of you may be thinking: "How is it possible for an unemployed (almost) 28 year old with absolutely no job skills, slight psychopathy, a history of drunkenness, and a heart murmur to be entrusted with the life of another living thing?" The answer is quite simple. We are getting her from the humane society. She would probably eventually get put to sleep there, so the requirements for getting a dog aren't that strict.
We're probably going to pick up Takoma from the shelter tomorrow. Takoma is the name they gave her because she was a stray. We think they must have found her in Takoma Park. I'll have to ask her if she knows Steve Francis. We tried to think of other names, but I think Takoma is pretty cool. She's about 25 lbs and will hopefully stay that small. She's part Beagle and part unknown (I would guess Bloodhound from her color and tail).
I have lived with a dog before. Some of you may remember my old roommate, Zimmy, in NY. (Yes, I lived with Don Zimmer and he charged at me at least 5 times a day.) Well, he had a Dalmatian with a skin condition that had absolutely no self control when drinking (sounds like me!), so we could not leave her very much water during the day or she would drink it all and then pee all over the floor.
The only problem we had with Pebbles was when we set up an experiment to see how she reacted to different kinds of music. We set up the video camera to first see what the hell she did all day when we were gone. That was pretty boring, so the next time we put 5 different cds in my changer and set it to random to see which music she liked and which music she hated. I think the cds included Enya, nine inch nails, and Tom Jones. The great experiment didn't work very well because Pebbles didn't really do anything different based on what song was playing. The second problem was that she must have been pissed at us for subjecting her to the music (it really wasn't loud at all, so don't feel like we were torturing her) so she chewed through the wires to the tv, vcr, and stereo to get back at us. If you're scoring at home, thats dog:1, humans:0.
I think the best part about getting a dog is that now I can fart and take dumps on the carpet and blame it on the dog. Sure, I'll probably have to eventually clean it up myself, but the bathroom is like 20 feet from here and I ain't moving during my stories!
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