Friday, July 29, 2005

Catheter Man: Major F'ing Star

Something finally went my way! Dagmar from Central Casting called today to put me into the movie Flags of our Fathers. For those who don't immediately go to imdb to check it out, the movie is about the battle of Iwo Jima, you know, the one with the above picture. Steven Spielberg and Clint Eastwood are involved, so I may get to meet them.

Tomorrow I will be going to a costume fitting and on August 8th, I will be in my first movie role. I have no idea what it is, but I think I will be playing a Marine. I'll probably learn more at the fitting.

What does this mean? A few things: 1) god clearly had the day off today, 2) I will fulfill another lifelong dream in just the past few weeks (going backstage at a concert and being in a movie), and 3) Mrs. Nuttle, the music teacher from my elementary school, is spinning in her grave (if she is dead). Screw you, Mrs. Nuttle. I was not too fat and ugly to be on stage in Let George Do It. How many of the other cast members are going to be in a Spielberg/Eastwood movie? None, methinks.

So here is the list of lifelong dreams (in no particular order):

1) Run on the field at a major sporting event [Done at Michigan/Ohio State 1998 (with The Wigger)]
2) Go backstage at a concert [Done at the Chicago concert a few weeks ago]
3) Be in a movie [Taking place soon (unless I just jinxed it)]
4) Go to the Playboy Mansion
5) Have a house with a pool that has a grotto and a tiki bar
6) Be the lead singer in a semi-professional band called Funky Finger Productions
7) Go to the Neverland Ranch (and possibly get diddled by Michael)
8) Have a steady job where I don't have to live paycheck to paycheck, get my own desk and computer.
9) Live in a house with a view of the ocean
10) Win an obscene amount of money one night at a blackjack table in Vegas, get comped a bunch of rediculous shit
11) See my abs
12) Learn to surf
13) Sit "on the glass" at a hockey game
14) Drive a Hummer [Done]
15) Drive a Harley
16) Go skiing "out west"
17) Hook up with Ashley whilst Mary Kate poops on my chest

Thats all I can think of right now, but I'm sure I'll come up with some more.


So I went to the fitting today (the last part of the post was from yesterday). Obviously, I had no idea what to expect. I got there about half an hour early because I imagined that these things could take a while. I went to the appropriate room in the designated hotel and got my pay slip to fill out. I even got paid for the fitting. A whole $15! But I'm not doing this for the money anyway. I went to go fill out the form and the associate producer tells me I have to go to the hair people to see if my hair is ok. Right now my hair is pretty short so I didn't think I'd be getting it cut right there, as some people had been. The hair people signed off on me, but not without debating whether to take my sideburns up (yes, I still think the 90210 hair is cool). Then I go andd wait for my fitting with a bunch of other people.

Some of the people were military, some were just regular schmoes like myself, and some were experienced extras who had been in other movies, such as The Wedding Crashers. The best one was an older lady who was one of the white people singing the Nelly song Hot in Heere in Head of State with Chris Rock. At this point, I also learned that the day we are shooting is the first day of principal photography for the film, our scene is pretty much the climax of the movie (so it will definitely not get cut from the film), and the scene might be the dedication of the Iwo Jima Memorial. Sweet.

I finally get called in for my fitting and learn that I will be wearing a suit, fedora, and overcoat... in the August heat of DC. Talk about swamp ass! Anyway, I got my costume and it looks pretty damn cool. Kind of like an early Sinatra. Then one of the costume people said that I was one of the few people that looked good in a hat and that I looked like a politician or a lawyer. Hopefully, my good looks will get me a prime spot near Ryan Phillipe (he's so dreamy). They determined that I was ok in my clothes and I put my civvies back on and left. Done and done.

So now in about a week, I will be up at the crack of dawn, sweating my balls off hopefully in the presence of Clint Eastwood. It will all be worth it if I can see my shoulder or knee on the silver screen.


Thursday, July 28, 2005

Give a Mexican an inch and they'll take a nap

Chipotle is the worst-run "restaurant" of all time. I used to eat it a lot, but now I rarely partake in the deuce-inspiring food due to their constant line from about 6pm to closing. The problem (other than the whole Neil Weisman two day early fiasco) is that the place is totally staffed by Mexicans and thus, run completely inefficiently and slowly. That may be fine for a massage parlor with happy endings, but not for an eating establishment in America. My experience today is an all too familiar one.

I walk in at about 6 pm. There are only about 4 people in line, all but one has ordered already. The woman in front of me orders her meal and the trainee gets to it. I already know what I want to get because I only rarely stray from the old Barbacoa Fajita Burrito. Trainee finally finishes pressing the tortilla and puts in the chicken and slides it over to stereotypical mexican woman. Now I'm up.

I say, "barbacoa fajita please." I knew it would be bad immediately, when she asked, "burrito?" Of course I want a fucking burrito. Thats all you fucking sell! Don't you think that if I wanted something other than what 90% of your customers get, I would have said that? After politely saying yes, she presses my tortilla and beings putting the fillings in my burrito. Rice: very skimpy. Onions and Peppers: a good amount. Meat: solid. I would have been pissed about the rice, but since they definitely haven't taught her to get cheap on people with the meat yet, I was happy with the overall construction of my burrito so far. As she prepared to slide it over to the second person on the assembly line (Henry Ford would have been so proud), I hear the unmistakable loud-talking banter of what could only be tourists.

"YOU KNOW, THEY'RE OWNED BY MCDONALD'S!" Oh great. Hopefully I can get out of here before these people start talking more. "SHE WANTS TWO SMALL QUESADILLAS WITH CHICKEN." That one startled even me. The menu in this place is about four lines long. Not one of them even remotely resembles the word "quesadillas." Trainee is clearly flustered and has to ask stereotypical Mexican woman if thats even possible, while she still has not started putting salsa on my burrito. "YEAH, WE'RE GOING TO HAVE ALL KINDS OF SPECIAL REQUESTS." Dear lord, please let me die right now.

Trainee goes back to her station for about 5 seconds before returning to stereotypical Mexican woman and asking her something else. At this point, SMW leaves my burrito sitting naked and open on the counter to go work on the order of the people BEHIND ME! It seriously took her about two full minutes to try and figure out what these idiots wanted and I was about a second away from reaching over the counter and putting the salsa on myself (they never give you enough corn).

After she finally puts my shit together, she slides the burrito over to the cashier, or where the cashier should be. I have to wait another minute or two for Paco to get off his ass and get back to the register. I think he only came back because the phone was ringing. So he picks up the phone and answers it, has a conversation with one of the two employees that are sitting down and eating, and then finally decides its time to ring me up.

By now, the quesadillas have made it over next to my burrito. They are in the plastic bowl that signifies that they will be eaten in the restaurant. Not done confusing people for the evening, the quesadillas strike again. Paco starts putting my burrito in a bowl and begins handling the quesadillas, trying to figure out what the hell they are and how to charge someone for them. By this point I am so aggrivated (remember, there was one person in front of me to begin with. I thought I would fly through there) that I say, "No. Just that. (pointing at the burrito). To go. And a soda. He finally gets it right, I pay and go over to the soda/napkin table.

I was so angry at this point that I knew I would at least be filling up my bag with napkins to last for the next six months to make up for the crap-ass customer service at this place. I also wanted to take a bottle of Tabasco sauce because I am running dangerously low and they need to be disciplined. Of course, a cop shows up in the back of the line at some point during the previous ten minutes and I couldn't even do that.

Chipotle really is the worst place ever. I knew that more than 2 people ahead of you in line would take at least 15 minutes. I knew that someone ordering two burritos in front of you would add at least 10 minutes to your wait. But I never knew that someone ordering from outside the menu BEHIND you could add more time to an already grueling wait. So I'm not going to Chipotle ever again unless there is nobody else in the whole restaurant. If I wanted to spend 30 minutes watching someone do the Mexican hat dance, I'd go to Tiajuana. At least there you can buy steroids and see a proper Donkey Show.

I'm a horrible person and deserve to be poor and die alone

Question: What do you do when your chosen field is about as accepting as an infant turtle anus and nobody in said field will hire you despite your (over)qualifications? Seriously, I'm not really qualified to do much in the business world and what I am qualified for is about as easy to get as a Senate seat. This application process is worse than the time I tried to apply for Skull and Bones.

Me: I want to be a Bonesman.

Old Man: What?

Me: I want to join Skull and Bones.

Old Man: I don't know what you are talking about.

Me: You know, the secret society for Yale seniors.

Old Man: But this resume said you went to Michigan and that you graduated five years ago. Why are you getting naked?

Me: I'm going to get into this coffin and tell you my sexual history.

Old Man: Sir, if you don't leave I'm going to have to call the police.

Confused guy in line: This is the last time I go to Popeye's.

Yeah, I'm not really sure if that worked, but I tried to copy the J man, who was trying to copy Family Guy. Either way, I am 128 applications into my job hunting process and I think I am ready to give up. Its getting to be absurd. I feel like I might as well be applying to be President of Nicaragua.

I have to start playing the lottery.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

From Craig's List

Need People to Work at G-Unit After Party ASAP

The G-Unit After Party will be held on August 5, 2005 at the DC Tunnel. We need people to help with collecting money at the doors. Backstage with the lights, wardrobe, accomodations for the performers, etc. We also need help with set-up: putting up tables, tents, dressing rooms, and stage shopping list etc. The pay will be 50 dollars for compensation plus free entry and more: Access to VIP, food and drinks, mingle with guest. If interested please call Ijeoma at 202-498-2136. We need at least 8 people at the most. the time will be from 9-close

So many jokes to be made here. I won't even try.

Friday, July 22, 2005

I Love LA

I wasn't planning on doing a basketball post today, but these stories were too good to pass up.

1) According to ESPN, Lakers' draft pick Ronny Turiaf needs to have open heart surgery to repair an enlarged heart, possibly ending his pro career before it begins.

2) Perhaps while they are at it, they can get a 2 for 1 deal to see if Kwame Brown actually has a heart.

3) In a move that can only be classified as maddening, the Wizards are apparently talking to "NBA" power forward/Honky Train Dancer Mark Madsen. The Washington Post reports that after signing Antonio Daniels (why?), the Wiz are content with having the same exact problem as last year, the Dream Team in the defensive front court (and of course, by "Dream Team" I mean the retards from the Michael Keaton movie, not the 1992 US Olympic Team).

4) Again, according to the Washington Post, the new collective bargaining agreement in the NBA allows each team to cut one player before October and not pay the usual dollar for dollar luxury tax penalty. Thise is yet another avenue for the already overpaid players to be rewarded for sucking. Under the new (Allan Houston) Rule teams still have to pay the player his guaranteed salary plus he gets to be a free agent and keep whatever money another team pays him on top of that. Great, as if we needed another reason for these guys to stop caring after their contract year.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Johnny 4

Perhaps you all remember the buzz that blew up the literary world when Everything is Illuminated came out about 3 years ago. Then again, I'm guessing if you are friends with me (I'm assuming nobody but my friends checks this site), you probably don't have your finger on the national literary pulse. Thats ok. Neither do I. Anyway, the press loved the book, which is pretty cool because it was written by an old Hebrew School classmate of mine, Johnny Foer. But now that he's a serious writer, he's Jonathan Safran Foer.

Seeing that this was the first book that someone I know has written (and the good press didn't hurt), I decided to pick it up (and read it). The story was pretty cool. It alternated between two time periods: 1) the present, where the semi-autobiographical main character goes on a pilgrimage to Europe to try and find the people who saved his grandparents from the pogroms back in WWII, and 2) Back in the lifetime of his grandparents when they met. The best sequences were probably those involving European guide who butchers the English language. Good book. I was impressed, at least.

Now this book is being made into a movie, starring Elijah Wood. They must have patterned the main character on Johnny Foer because Wood looks pretty much just like him in the movie poster. That got me thinking. Who would play me in a semi-autobiographical movie? There are two obvious choices: Ben Affleck and Adam Sandler. Most people tell me I look like one of those two (or a combination of them both). But I think I would want to come up with someone else.

I'm going to go with Sean Patrick Thomas. For one, I love the three name thing. Reminds me of Jonathan Taylor Thomas, and he was so dreamy. Secondly, his performance in Save the Last Dance was simply breathtaking. How great would it be to have everyone else in the movie be white (i.e. family, friends, whomever) and have me be played by a black guy and never even acknowledge it? I want people walking out of the theater saying, "I liked the movie, but why was Catheter Man black?" Hilarious.

Sean Patrick Thomas: on the short list for The Catheter Movie

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Whale's Vagina

Here are some random things that have happened over the last few days.

1. Schmeg Schmempler actually sent me Def Jam Boxed Set Disc #4! Unbelievable! When I posted the...uh, post about my CDs, I had no expectation that someone would actually take the time, money, and effort to send me back my shit, but lo and behold, Schmeg, you truly are a scrumtralescent man. Mostly, I just wanted to write down a list of which CDs I didn't have anymore and give people shit who I knew had some of them. Now I can finally listen to Sweet Potato Pie and Ghetto Jam without having to go through the trouble of putting in my Domino CD. Yes, I bought a Domino CD back in the day, you wanna fight about it? Either way, thanks Schmemp. I guess we're even for me not giving you a bottle of Goldschlager for hooking up with the B-School Bitch in the gold bathroom until nearly 4 years later.

2. I tried out for another acting gig today. Yes, I know I have no actual acting training or skill, but these auditions are the only things that I apply for where I actually can get a face to face meeting with someone, so I kind of have no choice. (I do have something brewing, but I don't want to jinx it by telling anyone about it). Anyway, I saw this ad last week:
Press Advisory for July 11, 2005


Clint Eastwood and Steven Spielberg – two of Hollywood’s greatest names! Did you ever think you could be in a film directed and produced by this incredible team? Well, now is your chance!

Five Hundred Washingtonians are needed to appear in one of Dreamworks’ most anticipated films in 2006, “Flags of our Fathers.” This film tells the story of one man’s quest to learn more about his father’s role as one of the six soldiers who raised the flag in Iwo Jima at the end of WWII.

You are invited to an open casting call for “Actors” and “Extras” at the Crystal City Sports Pub, one of Sports Illustrated’s “25 Best Sports Bars in America,” in the February 7, 2005 edition. The call will be held on Tuesday, July 19, 2005 from 4:00pm – 9:00pm. The Crystal City Sports Pub is located at 529 South 23rd Street, Arlington, VA 22202.

Central Casting, the agency responsible for casting this movie, is seeking a look that will translate to 1954 Washington. Men should be clean cut with short hair to fill roles such as Soldiers, Colonels, Generals, etc. Women should have little or no highlighted hair (preferably not short). All applicants must be 21 years of age or older and should not have any visible tattoos or body piercing that cannot be removed.

Actors and extras will be needed for these PAID roles on August 8, 2005 as well as one previous date for a wardrobe fitting.

Interested applicants are required to bring a photograph (does not have to be professional) to the casting call. No acting experience is necessary, and there is no application fee. Business attire is requested

So I went to the Crystal City Sports Pub today, arriving at about 3:30. I knew from my ESPN Dream Job cattle call that getting there early is a good idea. The difference in the two casting calls was of course that this time it was approximately 2343124 degrees outside and there was no crack addict singing songs for money next to the line. I waited about an hour and a half to basically hand in a sheet that I filled out with my vital statistics and my picture (I already had very unprofessionally done [by myself] headshots from the Discovery Channel casting call). When I got inside, the guy I talked to just asked if I would be available on certain dates (obviously I would) and that they would be using people from this call for some other movies as well. It was all so unsatisfying, but was as close to a job interview as I've had in weeks. For those who are interested, it was application #127. So hopefully I'll be up on the silver screen in the coming months. Wish me luck.

The other good thing that came out of the "audition" was that a few of the hired geeks from WJFK were passing out free passes to the opening of The Island for tomorrow night, which I will probably attend. As much as I'm not that interested in seeing that movie, it is free and I'll get to wait in another annoying line for a long time and I'm always up for that.

3. The TV situation is great these days. Family Guy was amazing this week (my favorite part being the Chris Griffin "Take on Me" video), The Simpsons have been pretty good, Viva La Bam is always funny, Entourage is a new fave of mine, Celebrity Fit Club 2 is worth watching just for Gary Busey, and Miami Ink is coming out tonight. I'm not sold on Minding the Store with Pauly Shore yet, but its growing on me.

Thats about it for now. Sorry my life isn't very interesting, but such is the fate of the unemployable.

Sorry, y'all...

I will hopefully have an interesting post up by tonight. Talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic: After eating at a Japanese restaurant, every single person you make eye contact with says thank you, regardless of if they waited on you, made your food, or even work there. Discuss.

Friday, July 15, 2005

For my DC homies

Remember this guy? Sure, in retrospect he looks like a pedophile, but back in the day, Captain 20 used to host the tv show "WOW." Besides that crazy cat lady, what better could have come from behind the old Roy Rogers on River Road?

I don't really remember much about this show except that the kids would slide into the set from offstage...

and then eat a "nutritious snack" (they were always really disgusting, like bananas and tongue or something like that.

At any rate, I found these pics and had to put them up for nostalgia purposes. As always, moustaches rule!

And if you want to know what Captain 20 is doing now, you couldn't make up something more appropriate than this.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Shine on, you crazy diamond

Police arrested local graffiti artist known as Borf. Too bad. Here is an article.

A better article.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

True Story

Whenever I hear (or write for that matter) the phrase "true story," I always hear John from Real World Los Angeles belting out "Truuuuuue Stoooorraaaaaayyy" in his nasally southern twang. You? Anyway, according to this artice, Washington Nationals infileder Tony Blanco was put on the 15-day DL today with... vertigo. WTF?

Also, I just blocked a field goal in Madden. Granted, I was using Jevon Kearse (the fastest lineman in the game), but still. Quite an accomplishment. And yes, I'm still unemployed.

My Grandfather

My mother's father died before I was born and my father's father died when I was about 3 years old, so I don't really remember him. I recently decided that the old guy from the Six Flags commercials who dances to the Venga Boys is much more like me than my own parents, so he must be my real grandfather. Ladies and Germs, I present to you: Catheter Grandpa.

Monday, July 11, 2005

Beisbol been belly belly bad to me

Since it is now the MLB All Star break and I haven't written about the first place(!) Nats since the home opener, I decided to take this chance to describe to you my long and arduous history with the American pastime. This will probably be a long one, so make a sandwich.

At about the time that most kids get into little league, age six, I was thrust into the exciting world of soccer. This was probably due to the fact that the DC area is a soccer hotbed (along with only Texas and California as far as I can tell) and the fact that my best friend from school was a Spanish kid named Julio. So my first sports experience was on a soccer team named the Wildcats. I think the best part about the team was our blue jerseys that I probably wore way too often.

When I was nine, I went to sleep away camp for the first time. I had never played baseball or softball, but since I followed the Orioles, I knew what I was supposed to do when I did play. It is a very simple game. You hit the ball. You throw the ball. You catch the ball. It was probably about that time when I got my first glove, a Rawlings Rickey Henderson Signature model. Back in the day, I really liked Rickey and the A's. Wasn't that A's team sweet? Rickey Henderson, Dave Henderson, McGwire, Canseco, Lansford, Weiss, Stewart, Eckersley, and those are just the ones I remember.

After a couple years, I got into a rhythm where I was playing soccer in the spring and fall and indoor soccer and basketball in the winter. I probably kept this up until middle school when I just played soccer and basketball. I never played baseball at all. Of course, at camp I played whatever sports I could. My third year at camp, we were the oldest kids at the lower camp. Due to my "flabalanche," I could hit the ball really far in softball and was a decent player in the field. The counselor who taught softball decided to put up a sheet in the dugout, tracking people's home runs throughout the summer. It was called "The Boom Time Club." I should also mention here that there was one black kid in the camp and seeing as it was a mostly Jewish camp, Winston would be my main competition for Boom Time honors. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

I don't remember how often we played softball, but it was probably once or twice a week for the four weeks of camp. By the end of camp I had 3 home runs and Winston only had 2. I was the official Boom Time leader. On the last night of camp, there was always a banquet and an awards ceremony, when the best people at each sport or activity would get the coveted Gold Feather. When it came time for the softball gold feather, I was feeling pretty good about my chances. I got even more excited when the counselor said that the person who won the gold feather would get an autographed Mike Schmidt baseball. Those of you who have followed my life can surely sense what is about to happen.

The counselor got up and went through some little speech about softball that year and then said, "The gold feather goes to...Winston." I was crushed. I didn't even care about the Schmidt baseball as much as I was pissed that I had beaten Winston at home runs and was probably just as good, if not better than him. I must have been really steamed because uncharacteristically for me, I went up to the counselor after the awards ceremony and told him that I had been the camp home run champ and I deserved the gold feather. Struggling for an excuse, he settled on a claim that 2 of my home runs had come on errors (even though they were marked as home runs on the Boom Time board). I was also pissed off that night that I had not made it into the lower camp's athletic hall of fame, despite my Boom Time championship, Boy's Leagues championship, and general athletic mediocrity that year. Looking back, that was probably my "Michael Jordan getting cut from his HS basketball team" moment that propelled me into eventual athletic dominance of the upper camp.

My next experience with softball came in 8th grade. I went to middle school and we were not allowed to try out for sports until 7th grade. Since I had little to no self esteem, I didn't think I could make any teams that year, so I did not try out. In 8th grade, I tried out for soccer. I had been playing soccer for about 7 years at that point and was a pretty damn good defender on teams that would regularly dominate our league. The soccer coach decided that the best way to conduct tryouts was to make us run around the field for 2 hours and then have a 15 minute scrimmage. Well, since I still had "junk in the trunk" at that point in my life, distance running was not exactly my strong suit. Even though I could have probably at least held my own in a real scrimmage, I was so tired by the end of the running that it was pointless. Plus, I think the coach just took the people he knew were good and the people who could run for the longest. Admittedly, I don't think I should have been on that team (a team that was eventually 2nd in the nation in high school), but the coach was damn near retarded (the team didn't even win for like 7 games, even with all that talent).

In the spring, I tried out for the softball team. Anyone who had seen me play in gym, knew I could hit. I just didn't really field all that well (see my "blubber belly" for an explanation). I don't really remember much about tryouts except that I decided for some reason to play centerfield. It may have had to do with the fact that Ken Griffey Jr. was the rage at the time. There is no way I should have played centerfield. I remember Kittichai Kongtong going out there with me and he eventually switched to pitcher because my hitting was so good that he knew I would make the team. I was probably the second best hitter on the team next to Min Woo Chun (we were ahead of the curve, with our Japanese pitcher and Korean DH). Anyway, I eventually made the team and led the team in triples (I wasn't quite fast and/or powerful enough to get homers without any fences).

In 9th grade, I knew I would not make the soccer team and was tired of people asking me if I was going to play football, so I didn't try out for anything in the fall. I also wasn't confident in my basketball abilities to try out for that team (even though I was probably better than I thought, most coaches would have looked at my body type and dismissed me immediately). In the spring, I decided that I would try out for baseball. I didn't care that I had never played the sport in my life, I was a great softball hitter, so it must translate. Plus, most of the guys who were on the softball team with me last year were not that good, so I had a decent chance. What I didn't count on were the guys who had run cross country for my middle school and played on their club baseball teams instead of playing softball last year.

When we began tryouts, I quickly sized up the competition. Others clearly knew how to play better than me, but there were few my age that could hit as well as me. I thought I had a pretty good shot at making the team. Surely, a coach would see my potential and want to "coach me up." I was smart, I could learn a position if someone just took about 15 minutes to explain things to me.

The final day of tryouts was a marathon game at another local high school. I remember that it was really cold that day. So cold, that out of our whole team (probably about 25 people trying out), only about 2 got hits the first time through the order. I was not one of them. I don't really remember exactly what my line was, but I think it was 3 for 4 with two singles and a double. The double was a "shot," the word used to describe a ball hit really hard. All the older guys on the team were congratulating me on my hit. My exploits in the field were much less memorable. I misjudged a ball in centerfield (who the hell kept letting me play center?) and failed to cut off a throw from the outfield when the coach moved me to first. Anyone who saw me play would have known that I didn't really know how to play any position.

After the game, each player would go into the athletic shed and the coach would talk to you and tell you if you made the team or not. I had no idea if I was going to make it, but I thought I had a shot. Plus, some of the older guys were telling me that I would make it, if only for the strength of my double during the game. I waited for my turn patiently on the bleachers, secretly cheering whenever someone would come out of there without a smile on their face. When it was my turn to go into the shed, the coach said, "[Catheter Man], your hitting is there. You just don't have a position. I'm sorry. You didn't make the team." I came out of the shed almost relieved, because I had been so nervous going in. When I told the older guys that I had been cut, they could not believe it. All in all, I thought I had done pretty well, this being the first time I had ever played baseball in my life. I was determined to come back the next year with a position and make the team.

By sophomore year, I missed being part of a team. Since I knew I would not make the soccer team, I decided to bite the bullet and try out for another sport I had never played in my life, football. The best part was that as long as you could make it through summer practices, you were on the team, no matter how bad you were. After surviving football season and getting into decent shape (at least by my standards), I decided the best way to make the baseball team without knowing how to really play any positions in the field is to be a pitcher. I always had a strong arm, maybe I could impress them with that.

Tryouts came around again in the spring and I came in ready to pitch. What I did not know was that by saying I was a pitcher, that implied that I actually knew how to pitch. A more appropriate designation would be to call me a "thrower." I didn't even know how to pitch out of the stretch. More importantly, I couldn't really throw strikes consistently. By the end of tryouts, it was clear that I was not a pitcher, so without a position, I still could not make the team.

Junior year, the ante was upped. I was going to try out for varsity. At this point, I knew I couldn't play baseball, but I wanted to try out anyway. If I couldn't make the team, I was at least going to have fun at tryouts. Long story short, I didn't make it.

Finally senior year, I was ready to make the team. I went to a winter baseball camp at Catholic University so that I could actually learn how to play. Incidentally, they also gave each camper a 50/50 tee shirt, which I still wear to this day and is probably the best thing that came out of going to that camp. Unfortunately, being that Washington, DC is not in a tropical climate, most of the baseball camp was conducted inside. Thus, it focused more on hitting than fielding, which is what I needed.

At tryouts, I had my usual good hitting, retarded fielding performance (I had switched back to outfield after the disastrous year trying to pitch). At the end of the tryouts, the coach came up to me and said, "[Catheter Man], if there was a spot on this team for heart, you would get it." However, there was not a spot on the team for heart. He went on to say that he could put me on the roster, but I wouldn't play and I wouldn't want to just be on there essentially out of pity. First of all, how does he know that I wouldn't play. If someone ever took the 15 minutes to tell me how to play a position, I may be useful. Secondly, if I got a hat and uniform, I'd gladly ride the bench for a season. Its just fun to be on a team. Third, by that point, I was not expecting to make the team, I just liked playing for those 2 or 3 weeks. That ended my illustrious baseball career and brings me back to my theory: teachers hate me.

Luckily, I got to experience 2 seasons of the worst high school football ever played, so don't feel too bad for me.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Nice to know Hugh(es)

Well, after flashing around more money than Charlie Sheen at a coke and whore convention, it seems that the Cleveland Cavaliers have finally found their second banana for LeBron James. That honor will go to none other than Larry Hughes. Obviously, as with any great franchise, what the Wizards want to do after making the second round of the playoffs for just the second time in the last 28 years, is disassemble the roster. Let's start by getting rid of the second leading scorer and only guy that plays lazy defense well enough to be voted to the NBA all-defensive team.

But its ok, we have Kwame Brown
. He's only 21. He's just rounding into form. What? He was told not to show up for the playoffs last season after complaining of stoumach pains and then being seen eating General Tso's chicken just hours later? Huh? Jordan challenged his lack of heart and he responded by sulking and sucking? He's possibly the worst #1 pick ever?

Don't worry, our first round pick will pick up the slack left by Hughes
. What? We didn't have a first round pick because we traded it for Harvey Grant or some such nonsense? Oh, and in the second round, we took a guy out of high school that remarkably resembles.... Kwame Brown?!?!?!?

Come on, don't you remember what Juan Dixon, Jared Jeffries, and Steve Blake accomplished in college? Sure, I also remember what Christian Laettner, Bobby Hurley, Grant Hill, Derrick Coleman, and Yinka Dare did in college. A fat lot of good it did them in the league.

But Arenas and Jamison were so good last year. They can carry us.
Unless they and the rest of the team miraculously learned how to play defense for more than one minute a game, Arenas and Jamison could score 70 a night and we would still lose. Plus, Jamison really tanked at the end of the year.

What about the big uglies? Ruffin, Etan Thomas, and Brendan Haywood can hold down the fort defensively. No. No, they can't. And they play offense worse than a 12 year old girl with severe spastic cerebral palsy.

Jarvis Hayes?
Remember Calbert Cheaney?

Laron Profit?
I can't believe he was in the league last year.

So is there any hope?
In a word, no. But, if Peter John Ramos, the Puerto Rican sensation, comes in next year and dominates the boards like a latter day Wes Unseld, we might have a chance.

We're fucked.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

My Kind of Town

As many of you know, my girlfriend does restaurant PR and consulting. Usually, this translates in to perks such as free meals and free entry into foodie events throughout the year. Tuesday night, we got one of the best perks ever.

After arriving home from the beach the previous evening, all girlfriend wanted to do was get home from work and go to the supermarket to stock up our barren refrigerator. She then received a call that said she had to come to one of her restaurants and take pictures because Chicago was going to be there (they were playing at Wolf Trap, an outdoor venue in VA, the next night). She asked if I wanted to go along (mostly because I have a digital camera). So I said yes. How often do you get to hang out with wuss rock icons?

We get to the restaurant and it turns out that only the trumpet player and the tour manager from Chicago are there, so no pictures. We did get to have a free meal (and I made sure to drink about a gallon of Chianti. About halfway through the meal, the restaurant owner asks if we want to go to the show. I said yes (partially because I had nothing better to do, partially because I haven't been to a concert in months, and partially because I needed a good story for the site). So we get the word later in the night that we would be getting tickets at will call and one of my lifelong dreams would be coming true: backstage passes! We were going to be Very Immense Penises!

Yesterday I took the metro over to my girlfriend's office in VA. Unfortunately, due to the rush hour traffic, I had to sit in the seat across from the conductor box behind the tinted glass (you know, the one that always smells like the freshest piss). I finally get there and after waking up the heifer next to me so I could get out of the train, I got into my girlfriend's car and we were off to Wolf Trap.

For those who don't know, Wolf Trap is an indoor/outdoor venue that specializes in wussy acts that are past their prime. If you don't believe me check here. Basically, its the type of place you see a lot of chunky asses wearing dockers. Adults also like it because you can bring your own food and alcohol and the parking is free.

There was some traffic trying to get out of Alexandria in rush hour, so I decided to put on the old standby: Don and Mike. I grew up with this duo and was listening to them when they still had to play records. A lot of people don't like them (mostly those who worship Howard Stern), but I think they are hilarious. They are apparently on vacation this week, so the station is running Best Of tapes. The one they ran yesterday could have been the best segment ever.

The tape was from the day after the last election. Don was praying for an election day miracle that Bush would not get reelected (by the way, great job defeating terrorism, jackass. Mission accomplished.) So Don is flipping through the channels and he gets a call from Robbay, a former intern turned producer, to let him know that he had to change the channel to 315. Don had found his election day miracle.

Warning: Clicking on this link will ensure your eternal spot in hell.

They watched this show for the next 30 minutes (on election night, 30 minutes is like 3 hours) because the show was just so damn good that they couldn't turn the channel. Anyway, they had clips of the "trainables" trying to interview people on the show. Highest of high comedy. But its not just the tards that make it funny. Its the celebrity reactions to them and how uncomfortable they are that makes it funny. Either way, I can't wait for hell.

We got to Wolf Trap at about 6:30, when the guy told us to be there to pick up the tickets at will call. The owner of the restaurant and her boyfriend(?) were going to be there as well. So we picked up the tickets and our VIP passes and really did not know what to do with ourselves. Are you supposed to go backstage before the show? We decided not and I got a beer and a burger for dinner. The strange thing about the food is that the only thing there that didn't have a jacked up price was the Starbuck's Coffee. They must have said to themselves, "I can't believe how much people pay for this crap to begin with. We can't possibly charge them any more." The crowd mostly seemed like a mix of baby boomers, their kids, and a few pockets of random people.

After hanging out and scoping the crowd for a while (yes, I did see two adult tards trying to climb the stairs on the side of the stage, and yes, I'm getting closer and closer to the front row of hell), we made our way to our seats. 7th row center. Boo Yaa. We're with the band. The restaurant owner and her boyfriend showed up at about 8 and the show began maybe 10 or 15 minutes later.

Chicago still rocks. Well, about as hard as they ever did, which is to say, not very hard. But they still got it. It is weird because they have about 5 of the 7 original members and replaced the guitar player and bassist with 2 young guys who could be moonlighting in a boy band for all I know. Either way, it makes for a strange dynamic on the stage. I don't think I was supposed to take pictures, but what kind of reporter would I be if I didn't? More unemployed? Kicked out of Wolf Trap? Please.

About 2 songs into the performance, the owner's boyfriend got up to presumably go get a beer and smoke a cigarette. He never came back to the seats. Later he was like, "It was really hot in there." Which it was, but not that bad. The owner went to look for him during the performance and came back with a big bag of goodies (not drugs, sicko). She then told us that she had bought Chicago tour shirts for us. Sweet! I was going to buy one and wear it ironically, but they were like $30. Not worth it, but if its free, I'll be wearing that sucker all the time.

Chicago played all the classics: Saturday in the Park, Look Away, Hard to Say I'm Sorry, If You Leave Me Now, and others. Plus there was a kick-ass drum solo. The only one conspicuously missing was You're the Inspiration. But I guess when you are coming out with you 30th album, all the hits can't possibly make it into the show.

By the end of the show, they were getting standing O's for every song. I was never really sure when it was really going to be the last song, but they finally left the stage and the baby boomers went crazy. So did this old guy named "Bear" who was sitting next to us and was apparently was somebody in the band's father. He also supposedly played for the Steelers in the 50's and looked the part. Even though he was happy and smiling the whole night, he looked like he could crack your chest open if he wanted, even at his advanced age.

They came out for an encore with Free and 25 or 6 to 4 and brought the house down. During Free, they unfurled a huge American flag and got a big pop from the crowd, being so close to 4th of July and all. It was then that my girlfriend asked if I wanted to leave and go take the dog out (who had been alone in the apartment for 5 hours) or go backstage with the Owner and her boyfriend. Obviously, I thought it was a good tradeoff to have a potential pile of poo in our bedroom and go backstage at a concert, one of my lifelong dreams. I don't care if it was Chicago, I still had to do it and I may never get another chance to go backstage in my life, so we headed to the side of the building where all the VIPs were.

The four of us along with Bear and his wife and some others got to go back into the green room or something like that and waited for the band. I wasn't too sure of what to expect, but it was a bit of a let down because all that really happened was the band came out and talked to the various assembled groups. My girlfriend got an autograph from the bass player (who looked a bit like James Caan's son and whose father had played in Elvis' band) and a picture with the trumpet player (who was at the restaurant the previous night) and we were on our way.

I have to say, even today, Chicago still puts on a good show. You have to respect a band that stays around this long, even if Peter Cetera is no longer with them. Plus, I got to fulfill my lifelong dream of going backstage at a concert and I even have a Chicago tee shirt to wear that will definitely at least make people laugh. And it was all free.

I can't wait for REO Speedwagon to come to the restaurant. And no, I'm not kidding.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Give me back my CDs

I finally went through my CD book and took account of which CDs I have and which ones are missing. I know where a few of them are (Shmeg Shmempler, I'm looking your way) and I probably haven't seen some since college. So now, with the advent of digital music, whoever has my CDs does not really need them anymore. Just copy them onto your hard drive and send me back the original copy. Here is a list of what I am missing:

1) Beastie Boys: Ill Communication -- not my favorite album of theirs, but one I'd like to listen to from time to time. I have no idea where or when I lost this one.

2) Wu Tang Clan: Enter the Wu Tang -- this one I am genuinely pissed off about. I loved this album and I would really like to get it back. Again, no clue where it is, but it probably disappeared sometime during my stint at 1620 Cambridge.

3) Tupac: All Eyez on Me Vol. 1 -- Who takes just one volume of a 2 volume set? An asshole, that's who. Send it back, dick.

4) Def Jam Box Set Vol. 4 -- The person who has this one knows who he is. I have no idea why he would never give it back to me, despite me asking numerous times. Save it to your computer and send it, Caballo.

5) Dave Matthews Band: Crash and Recently : I think Recently has been gone for a long time. I have no doubt that one got stolen in college. As for Crash, I didn't even really like it that much, but I'd still love to get it back.

6) Pink Floyd: Dark Side of the Moon -- This one was probably left in someone's CD player after watching the Wizard of Oz and getting zooted. In that respect, I would venture to guess that a full 38% of Dark Side CDs have been lost.

7) Santana's Greatest Hits -- This would have been the perfect CD to play at the beach this weekend when we were just chilling and drinking... if I still had it.

8) The Jerky Boys Vol. 3 -- Project X, send it back to me or I will get a cobra to bite your eyeball.

9) The Box Presents: Big Phat Ones of Hip-Hop -- This one is somewhere in Colediggy's stash. I know you like Playaz Club, but gets to sending.

Interestingly enough, my Mariah Carey and Vanilla Ice CDs are still in their original places in my CD book. I guess those people who steal don't know real talent when they see it.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Crabby Dick's

Two things you should know about how much my body sucks.

1) I was on vacation from Thursday until Monday. Despite eating much more than the usual 4 (or so) packets of oatmeal my body has been receiving over the past couple of weeks, as well as drinking every night, I did not shit until yesterday afternoon. Keep in mind, this included, but was not limited to: A bacon omelet with a side of sausage (I was trying to get swiss cheese, but I guess in Russian, "swiss cheese" means "sausage"), a corned beef sandwich on a pretzel roll, a bloody mary, a cheeseburger, a hot dog, Doritos, captain and coke, beer, kamikaze shot, a french toast donut, a lifeguard chair, birthday cake, hush puppies, crab dip, 5 large crabs, beer, another bacon omelet (this time with swiss cheese), a cheesesteak, another cheeseburger, two small children, corn salad, pasta salad, more cake, more beer, leftover burgers, a crabcake sandwich, 2 shrimp, another bloody mary, the Austin Powers Pinball machine, old bay fries, and a rum runner.

2) I gained no less than 6 lbs in those 5 days.


Best of the Beach

Best Crabs:
Crabber's Cove -- This restaurant won me over with their free hush puppies.

Runner Up:
The Crotch-Grabber -- A girl whose house we passed on the way to the beach. She clearly had some vaginal itch issues.

Best Band:
Burnt Sienna -- Solid band that played great hard rock and pop tunes.

Runner Up:

Liquid A -- Also really good (like Ken's mom's Kimchee Chicken), with a great drummer.

Best Kid:
The 4 year old twins from across the street -- They loved Takoma (and me), and were proclaimed by their grandfather to be "the next generation of Dewey Beach girls."

Runner Up:
Drinking Buddy -- A 12 year old fat kid who was the only one to brave the rocky ocean waters with me and the J Man.

Best Bar:
The Bottle and Cork -- Quite simply "The greatest rock and roll bar in the world."

Runner Up:

The Rusty Rudder -- Right on the Bay with a calypso band from 4-9 and another band from 9-1.

Best Breakfast Spot:
Theo's Family Restaurant -- Sure, its disgusting, staffed by eastern Europeans, and only has Pepsi products, but it does serve breakfast all day and is open all night.

Runner Up:
The Fractured Prune -- Two words: Create your own Donuts.

Best Injury:
Ike scraping up 1/3 of his back after getting nailed by a wave.

Runner Up:
The J-man's sunburned toes.

Best Nostalgic Moment:
Shotgunning cans of beer on the porch.

Runner Up:
Eating at Theo's.

Best Boardwalk Shirt Design:
A disco-era picture of Michael Jackson with the caption: "I'm Innocent, Bitch!"

Runner Up:
A picture of Rick James with the caption: "I'm Dead, Bitch!"

Best Shirt Actually Worn By Someone:
A black guy with a fraternity jersey with the nickname "Tripod" -- speaks for itself.

Runner Up:
A Jamal Mashburn throwback Kentucky jersey.

Best Liquor Bargain:
The case of Twisted Tea left on our porch (an subsequently reclaimed hours later).

Runner Up:
$19.99 Handle of Captain Morgan's.

Best response to "I'm a bank teller":
"That's cool."

Runner Up:
"No. It's not."