I CAN go for that...

What is it that I can go for you ask? I have to say that I absolutely love me some Hall and Oates. You could question my manhood on this one, but fuck off. They have so many hits I don't know where to start.

Go ahead and look for them on iTunes. I know you're gonna. Click on their top hits and you'll go, I didn't know they sang that one. I know hop and dance and do that weird 80's head bob thing while you snap your fingers when you listen to "Maneater", don't deny it.

Although their H2O cover is uber gay, they still rock to no end. "You Make My Dreams Come True" is an 80's anthem. "I Can't Go For That (No Can Do)" is timeless. Hall and Oates are totally "My USA".

...And From Left Field

Now this is something that Nikki and I stumbled upon over at The Superficial website. It's a site that Nikki frequents to learn of all the celebrity gossip that makes my eyes roll (kind of the same way ESPN makes hers roll). Anyways we saw this entry and I just had to blog about it.

It seems that an inmate in the South Carolina prison system named Johnathan Lee Riches claims that Michael Vick stole two of his pit bulls and used them for dog fighting. After he was done with the dogs, he sold them on eBay "and used the proceeds to buy missiles from the Iran Government." He also claims that Vick stole his identity to open credit cards at PetSmart and DoggieWarehouse. Also Vick is accused of selling apparel and other merchandise bearing the name of Johnathan Lee Riches.

It turns out Riches has a history of suing famous people and places. You have to check this out.

The plaintiff asks for $63 billion backed by gold and silver to be delivered to the South Carolina Corrections Facility.

...After reading this...I really don't...I'm having a hard time...trying to understand...WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS GUY?? I know I'd be the guy in jail egging him on and telling him to make his handwritten lawsuit "look real" because that might convince the District Attorney to take the case and prosecute Michael Vick for "using drugs in school zones" and because he "subjected me (Riches) to microwave testing."

Ha.

I hope Carly gets a kick out of this.

A Week Under the Stars

This post will be a narration without pictures since I forgot my camera on my camping trip to the Prineville Reservoir State Park in Prineville, Oregon.

Day One: Nikki and I were supposed to leave on Saturday the 11th, but couldn't work up the gumption to get off of our asses and actually pack some clothes (mostly because our clothes still needed to be washed) and clean the house since American Carli was watching our pad and keeping after our cats while we were out. We ended up shopping and leaving around 3:30pm on Sunday the 12th. I drove over Mt. Hood while Nikki played DJ. We only went the wrong way once as I had never driven to Prineville before and really didn't know where I was going. Although I led us astray, we ended up making it there in just over 2 1/2 hours (Google's directions gave something like 3 hours and 35 minutes for a travel time). This may be due to the fact that I was passing people on the two lane highway like I was Tony Stewart and averaging a speed of 85mph (I got that Nissan up to 102mph at one point). Anyways, we arrived and set up camp before it got dark and proceeded to play cards for most of the night.

Day two started early as Nikki woke up with an urge to relieve herself and then she couldn't fall back asleep after I walked her to the bathroom. "Are you going back to sleep?" she asked at one point, to which I said (with my eyes closed), "Nope." It was a little light outside (it turned out to be before 6am) and we played cards while keeping quiet. My mom woke up and we watched a deer eat whatever was left of a loaf of bread that Nikki and I brought.
Note: When camping, don't leave any type of food in any type of container that can be chewed through. The animals will find it, and eat it!)

The rest of the trip I spent getting burnt, swimming, pulled behind a boat, eating, sleeping, drinking and gabbing. I learned that camping really isn't fun unless you have lots of alcohol around. Nikki spent day four polishing off a bottle of Evan Williams. She drank the whole fuckin' thing!! Needless to say, she was pretty well shit-faced when we decided to go to bed and became the second person on the trip (my brother-in-law being the first) to succumb to an alcohol-induced yak-fest. She felt like shit the next day (the hangover plus an earache and sore throat) so we left on Friday to deal with life once again. I was glad to be home, in my own bed, but didn't want to deal with bills or work again. My vacation ends on Tuesday, when the bitch that is Fred Meyer calls me back to slave again at 9am.

Guess that means the end of my pathetic attempt at growing a beard (I haven't shaved since August 8th). Maybe I'll put a picture up before I shave it off. It was a great time. We saw stuff we normally don't see in the city (shooting stars, deer, lizards, giant toads, snakes), we battled the pathetic beings that call themselves park rangers. It was good times, indeed!

756*

As anyone who knows me would testify in front of a grand jury, I'm somewhat addicted to sports. I'll watch almost anything sports related on television. I enjoy a good tennis match every once in awhile. There's nothing more exciting than listening to Bob Costas cover a curling match between Latvia and Pakistan. I can recite statistics that nobody in their right mind should know and I constantly drive my girlfriend crazy with every word. I give her the play-by-play of some game and she just rolls her eyes and says, "That's nice, I don't care." I often start conversations with, "did you see that game/play/fumble/dunk last night?"

So what do I think of sports' most hallowed record being broken last night amid controversy and speculation that the new record-holder has juiced himself more than Orange Julius?

Eh.

Sure, he blasts the ball 500 feet whenever he makes contact, but you have to respect the skill that Barry Lamar Bonds possesses. He has a knack for "putting the wood on the ball" that I've never seen in my 23 years. You may soon be reading about asterisks and tainted records. A few headlines on the internet proclaim Barry Bonds the new home-run king. But they also have a negative tone to them.

Move over Hank Aaron. There's a new home-run champion. His name is Barry Bonds. Like it or not.
ESPN.com

Like it or not, Bonds is the greatest hitter of my generation. I guess you are innocent until proven guilty only if you don't play a professional sport. You are guily until proven innocent. The same goes for Mike Vick (MV7), Kobe Bryant, and a handful of others. They're tossed up to the media and opponents' fans (who throw syringes) It's not fair, but not a lot of things are these days.

I don't know about you, but this picture creeps me out....Sorry Carly!

Meals on Wheels

So if my blog has been less active lately, it's for a good reason. I don't have to ride the public transportation anymore because Nikki and I bought ourselves a shiny newer-not-quite-used car! We had been saving up for like a week and decided on a silver 2003 Nissan Altima. It may not be as cool as the red one in the commercials, but it's pretty sweet. Now I can start volunteering for Meals on Wheels!!

We've already taken it to the beach so that I could gamble legally for the first time in my life. After losing a dollar, I became enraged and left the gaming floor. Everything about the casino just creeped me out. It was like the waiting room for death. The mean age of the casino was lowered from 83.2 to 83.18 when Nikki and I entered. I had no idea how to play the damn slot machine and it took my dollar. I suggested we'd be better off at the arcade, which we spent the next two hours at, punching, shooting, screaming, and otherwise making complete asses out of ourselves. We ended up cashing in our tickets for a whoopie cusion, army men, that finger trap thing and a Tinkerbell tattoo that I've been dared to wear to work.

So don't expect to hear about any smelly bums or people vomiting at my feet on this blog...until I start school anyways.

Band-Aids

One of the most disturbing images that it seems I come across daily as a patron of public transportation and as a resident of East Portland is used band-aids stuck to any solid object. They're stuck on trains, hand rails, the pavement, windows and walls. It's one of the most terrifying sights because of the unknown.

Why are people compelled to put stick their ooze and pus where people can see it? I don't want to look at the patch you put over your disgusting wound because the hole you made in your arm while you shot up won't stop bleeding. Please, use the wastebasket for your Scooby Doo band-aids.

32 days or 768 hours!

This is the amount of time that separates me from a much needed vacation. My plans to go camping are the only thing that is keeping me awake at work at this point. We've recently switched managers at my store so it's been a hectic period trying to get them adjusted to their new, busier surroundings. And since they are busy, I am busy. Tuesday will mark my sixth day in a row at work and then I'll have two days to recharge my batteries. This weekend left me exhausted and wondering why I still work for this company.

Why do I still work for them? I need to look for another job. I have been lazy before, but now I am motivated to find another job that suits me best. One that doesn't involve the public too much. Maybe Mike Rowe can find me a job. Although, I wouldn't want to come home smelling like cow shit.

Spring Cleaning, 3 months later.

A picture of my refrigerator after throwing out the old food...yeah, that's beer, milk and water. The jam and ranch dressing made an appearance on the door. I think we have butter too. We need to go to the store.

My United States of Whatever

No, this won't be a list of "My USA" where I list the people and ideas that come from the USA that make me proud to be an American. Maybe later Carly.

It's hard to imagine what it would be like to live in such a time when the country was united together to kick British ass. If you asked your average American today, they probably couldn't tell you why we celebrate the Fourth of July. Would they know who we gained our independence from? Probably not. We here south of the border just like to blow off appendages and make craters in the ground. God Bless the USA!

Why is everybody an expert pyrotechnician on the Fourth of July? My favorite event that happens during any fireworks celebration is the dud. You lit that explosive device and nothing happened...yet. Nobody wants to go near it because you never know what might happen. Most people will kick the dud to make sure it isn't going to explode. That really shows you how much people value their feet. I'd much rather blow off a hand than a foot. At least I'd be able to walk myself into the emergency room.

Our forefathers would probably be appalled to learn that even though they put their lives on the line to get away from the British, we take their crappy shows and turn them into our own crappy shows like American Idol. And now we have to live with Ryan Seacrest? Fuck that man, I'd rather pay taxes every time I took a sip of tea than watch Ryan Seacrest. Not to mention we have a British guy judging American talent? No offense, Simon, but I believe George Washington would kick you in the mouth if you told him he was a lousy singer.

We should be celebrating not only our independence, but the lives of three U.S. Presidents who have died on this glorious day in history. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson both died on America's 50th Birthday, July 4th, 1826. Five years later, James Monroe would make three Presidents to croak on our nation's proudest day. So, Mr. Clinton, Mr. H.W. Bush, Mr. Carter, be careful this Wednesday. I wouldn't worry about Dubya, nothing will end his term soon enough.

An International Duel of Guts

Tomorrow marks the 231st anniversary of the day we told the British to take their taxes and shove 'em in an uncomfortable place (like the backseat of a Volkswagen). And what better way to celebrate our independence then by watching 17 people eat as many hot dogs and buns (or HDB's as they're referred to in the competitive eating world) as humanly possible in twelve minutes.

I can't find an escape from all the hype the 2007 edition of Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest held at Coney Island, NY is getting. It's all over ESPN about how red-blodded American and current world-record holder, Joey Chestnut, is going to dethrone six-time Nathan's Champion, Takeru Kobayashi. Now if I were to compete, I could probably take down 12-15 hot dogs no problem, followed by a vomit session that would leave me gasping for air and looking for a spot to lay down. The fact that Chestnut, who is also 23, ate 59 1/2 hot dogs AND buns in 12 minutes is amazing. For six years now, nobody has come even close to giving Kobayashi a challenge...but this year is different. I'll be rooting for Chestnut (I'll dub him Mr. America) to bring the title back stateside where it belongs.

Wow, you look retarded!

I'm not sure if anyone knows this, but I am no trendsetter or dictator of popular fashion...but there is one trend I may never understand. Maybe my 23 years have made me wiser and more mature. What's with the kiddie backpacks on teenagers? It is not cool to sport a Dora the Explorer or SpongeBob SquarePants backpack in high school. I don't care what you say, you look absolutely fucking dumb!


And to reiterate how retarded you are, your disregard for a common sensical dress code is a bad move because you sure as hell can't fit more than a day planner in those tiny satchels. Where are your notebooks and pens, your books and highlighters, your white-out and calculator? I'll tell you where they are...in a normal sized backpack!

I'm glad I could express my opinion on this matter, as it has bothered me for some time now.

Book Review: Red Hot and Rollin'

It's not very often that I read a book...ever, unless there is some information I need to have before a test. If that's the case, I still don't really read, I skim. Skimming is a wonderful, and often tricky art that takes eons to master. Anybody can skim, but to skim and extract useful information, that's another ballgame gentlemen!

As I was boogey-boarding (or surfing) the Internet, "reading" about the Trail Blazers' thirtieth anniversary of their lone championship, I discovered that someone had edited a collection of stories written by journalists and/or regular people who re-lived their Blazermania. They told you what they were doing and how they felt when Portland made its unprecented run at the NBA Title in the Summer of 1977.

One of my favorite entries is written by "The Enforcer" Maurice Lucas. He talks about how the Blazers turned the series around in Game 2 when he punched Darryl "Chocolate Thunder" Dawkins in the head after Dawkins tried to punch teammate Bobby Gross. The Blazers were about to lose by twenty points and fall behind in the series 0-2 when Lucas had had enough of the Sixers rough play.

...it was our defining moment as to what our characters were going to be, and I was like, "I am not going down like this!" if nothing else, we were coming out fighting.

The Blazers would win four straight after that and win the Championship in six games. The book also includes a DVD called "Fast Break" that pretty much follows Bill Walton around has a few great highlights from the playoff run and downtown parade where over 250,000 people sweated and cheered as Walton and Lucas dumped Miller High Life (before Portland became the PBR capital) on the NBA trophy.

It's a great book and definitely worth the read if you're a die-hard Blazer fan.

Saved by greGODen!

Yes the day has come and gone, and it was as sweet as I imagined it would be. The Trail Blazers selected Greg Oden on Thursday and also picked up some good players while dumping Zach Randolph on Isiah Thomas. Although we picked up Stevie F***chise (I wouldn't dare declare him our fran***se player...I can't even say the word.) I have a feeling that he'll never wear a Blazers' uniform, but he's still the guy who cried when he was drafted by the Vancouver Grizzlies. He cried like a bitch because he didn't want to play in Canada. I guess nobody told him they grow herb in the B.C. too. I don't want to comment too much on the rest of the roster until it's completed, but I have never been as anxious for the season to start and to watch the man in person. I can't wait until he dunks on LeBron. I'll be there to see it.

I wanted to see him on Friday at Pioneer Courthouse Square, but a sleepless night left me tired as hell and in no way wanting to get out of bed. But, from the picture below, I can tell that this guy has pumped the city full of Blazermania once again.

Bless You!

Now that I've just taken my last final of the term and consequently completed my fifth year at the U, I've refocused my attention towards the general public and found some things that disturb me.

Handkerchief
Not only is this abomination of personal hygiene unsightly, it is one of the most annoying words to try and spell without first verifying it with a dictionary. Frequently utilized by the elderly, it's a rag that you pull from your pocket, unfold, and discharge the contents of your nose into. This part of it is all fine and dandy as all people find a point in time where they wish they had a pocket pack of Kleenex available so they could blow their "nose on the go". The next step is unnerving to me and I'm sure I'm not alone here. After the final blow, the old guy folds it into fourths, gives a final wipe of the schnozz, folds again, and puts in back into his pocket!

You can imagine walking down the street, eyeing the elderly and wondering if they have their bodily fluids encased in cloth and burning a hole in their pocket. And then they expect you to shake their hand when you meet them? Screw that! Maybe it's the OCD talking, but I've gotta wash my hands after shaking with an old person. Just the thought of a soaked handkerchief soaking through their pocket makes me want to convulse violently until they leave. So this may not be the consensus, but it's my opinion. And if you think the handkerchief is a single-use item, think again. When that guy pulls it back out of his pocket and blows another shot of mucus into that rag, he's rubbing his old snot all over his nose and face. I really can't think of anything more disgusting other than adult diapers.

Seat-Jumper
This is the person on the public transportation who sits next to a complete stranger on a crowded bus or train and then when a seat comes available and they have the opportunity to sit by themselves with an open seat next to them, they jump up and take it without letting the people who are standing get the first crack at sitting down. When this happens, I like to sit next to Mr. or Mrs. Seat-Jumper so they get all pissed off. That's right, you moved for no reason. You're still sitting next to someone you don't know, and now you are trapped between me and the window!

8 bands, 4 beers, 2 nights

I've been to as many concerts this week (2) as I have in my entire life. The following is a sort of review of my experience, as well as the bands' performances.

Monday, June 4th, Hawthorne Theatre

The Atmosphere: The Hawthorne reminds me of someone's house. You walk in (after being frisked) and it's just a hallway with two single bathrooms and a door on the left that takes you into the theatre. The theatre is about 40 feet by 60 feet and sports a bar in the center of the room. I ordered $5 Hefeweizens (Portland's Finest) and we (Nikki, Cari, Kate, I) sat in the back so we could stand up on the booth and see the stage. It runs about 86 degrees in the theatre at all times. Wear as little as possible.

Opening Band: Resident Hero
These guys played half-songs and the lead singer rambled on aimlessly about Filet-o-Fish sandwiches and Kool-Aid. I probably could have rocked it harder than them. They finally played a full song towards the end, but I just wanted them to stop.

Band: Sick Puppies
These guys were a little better, but I think that they could work on their name a little more. Sick Puppies sounds like a made-up band name you'd hear on an episode of Full House, to which Danny Tanner would say, "Sick Puppies? Do they sing a song called 'I lost my Alpo in a slipper'?" This would cause the recorded audience to roar into a frenzy and cause me to change the channel.

Band: Kill Hannah
These guys were decent. I've heard of them before, but didn't know any of the words to their songs. I think we were just killing time to get to the main act...and trying to keep Kate from vomiting.

Closing Band: Flyleaf
A band that scares Amy, these five were the band we came to see and they didn't disappoint. The lead singer is a chick who is about 5 feet tall, but she can scream with the best of them. I knew most of the songs here and they did a pretty good job live. Mr. Filet-o-Fish came back on the stage and sang a little with them and didn't do a bad job. Lead singer Lacey Mosley did that weird Ashlee Simpson/Rocker Chick Twirly Spin thing a lot. By this time we were sweating our asses off and couldn't wait to leave.

Tuesday, June 5th, Roseland Theatre

The Atmosphere: A little more gothic and smelly than the Hawthorne. We (Carli, Audra, Nikki, I) walked in and were immediately segregated by gender to enter two metal detectors to check for guns, knives, shivs, shanks or any other metal device that you could use to injure another spectator. Next, I was patted down by a large Samoan man who asked me if I smelled weed. Probably because I constantly look high due to my lazy eye (damn genetics) and the fact that I'm almost never completely awake. "No," I said as he pulled my keys out of my pocket. "OK, he said, and I was on my way deeper into the theatre to be stamped. We made it upstairs and upstairs again to the bar where I ordered a Budweiser and we found some seats. I was sitting in front of one of the air conditioners so while everybody else was at a cool 60 degrees, Nikki and I were chillin' at about 50 degrees.

Opening Band: Inflikt
These guys were a local band and didn't do a horrendous job. The vocals could use some work, but what vocals can you hear when you're listening to metal? It just seemed like the guy was screaming so that there would be sound to accompany the guitars, drums and ambient noise.

Band: Invitro
This band was the most entertaining as they came out in aluminum foil helmets and the lead singer was speed-walking throughout the entire set. They were good enough for Carli to buy their CD (for a dollar) so I guess they did something right. After they were done, I found myself in a conversation with a guy who was displeased with the lack of other people's hygiene. He was pretty drunk so it made for interesting conversation. At this point, we moved from our upstairs seats to the floor for the final two bands.

Band: Otep
Probably the band Carli wanted to see most, they have a female lead singer who can get her voice deeper than James Earl Jones and Barry White. It's like something out of a horror movie when she screams. It's what I imagine Satan must sound like when he drops something on his foot. She rocked the audience and got them all pissed off at President Bush. They were awesome and even sampled some Nirvana. (Note: the baby doll's head on the microphone stand was creepy.)

Closing Band: Static-X
Absolutely awesome. They played for what seemed like an hour and had the entire place on it's feet. People in the balcony were leaning over trying to get closer to them. It was amazing to look around and see everybody rockin' out as hard as they could. I now want to do my hair like Wayne Static (of course I'll have to grow it out a bit). He was a character and made people go crazy. Every two or three songs, the band would do shots and the crowd would cheer.


We left the theatre smelling like other people's body odor and weed. We were also all partially deaf which made us hungry for Taco Bell (I had a Grilled Stuft Burrito and a small burrito or taco). My hearing is still only at about 92% as I still have a faint buzzing sound going. It was good times though and a great way to spend my two days off from work.

Maybe Vick is a Dick

So if you've read my blogs past and present, you'd know I'd played a little trick on Carly by bad-mouthing her favorite NFL-er, Michael Vick. It was a great fake out on my part and it ended up being funny for all the parties involved.

But now that Mr. Vick is likely to be indicted on charges of dog fighting, it makes me wonder why a guy with, presumably, all the money in the world, would turn to such a vicious hobby as dog fighting. It's really mind-boggling. You could do anything in the world, and you have to break the law? Although cock fighting is still legal in New Mexico for another two weeks, the sport of fighting any animal is sickening.

What's the point? I guess you could also say the same about the UFC and boxing. But in these sports, the fighters are paid for beating the hell out of one another. And they also aren't trying to kill each other. I have lost some respect for Mr. Vick. But who really didn't see this coming?

His little brother Marcus is a punk. He stomped on an opponent in the Gator Bowl. He was also arrested for driving with a suspended license. Why was his license suspended you ask? Reckless driving and marijuana possession. The older Vick was suspected of carrying the magic herb in a secret compartment in a water bottle at the Miami International Airport (although no evidence of the herb was found in the bottle, why the hell do you need any type of secret compartment at an airport?).


So I know everybody wants to know if Vick is indicted, will he play next season? Will he face prison time? Will the Atlanta Falcons be stuck with Joey Harrington as their starting quarterback? It wasn't long ago when my favorite team's image was marred by accusations (true ones of course) of dog fighting. I bet somewhere Qyntel Woods is excited that he's made it on ESPN finally.

Your Body is a Wonderland?..Mine isn't.

If there's an event that I am guaranteed to tell everyone I know about and could possibly tell the same person two or three times, it's when somebody's body does something it normally would not do. Somebody pees their pants? Awesome! Somebody crapped in the hallway? Excellent! Somebody tore three of the four ligaments in their knee? Ouch!

I had a front row seat to one of these gems while riding the MAX on Tuesday night. You may have read an earlier blog about my "fascination" with the Metropolitan Area eXpress. I had another run-in with "The Person Who Couldn't Hold Their Liquor." (Scroll down that entry and you'll know what I'm talking about.) This one was pretty "up there" as far as sick shit is concerned. Although it's nowhere near what Carly had experienced on the Skytrain, it's still an experience. So I'm on the MAX with Nikki. It's about 11:30PM. A girl stumbles onto the train, escorted (or carried) by a gentleman who was about my age. "It's her 21st birthday," he exclaims as he plops her down into a seat. She is virtually dead except for a little groan here and there. I believe I turned to Nikki at this point and said, "she's gonna puke here in 2 minutes." Scratch that shit, it wasn't 90 seconds later and she started to pull herself forward while drooling on her own leg. "Here we go," I said as I moved my feet as far away from this girl as possible, fearing my awesome white Nikes would be abused by a bile and alcohol mix that would overcome me and make me vomit in my mouth.

As the first shots of liquored-goodness came flowing out of her mouth and hit the ground, people started to disperse! Like a damn fire alarm went off! It was madness. I got up and moved toward the door, wanting to fling myself out rather than watch. I almost grabbed my phone to take a picture, but I felt that wouldn't be fair to the poor girl who wanted to pickle her liver on her first night as a legal drunk. I'll spare my loyal readers a description of the puddle this girl was leaving not only on the floor, but in her own shoes, on the guy's pants next to her, on her clothes, etc..

Our stop was next thank God, as the foul odor of vodka and God knows what was invading the other passengers airways. I jumped off the train as it stopped, gasping for fresh air and watching the disgusted faces of the passengers who weren't quite home yet. Then Nikki and I laughed. Then she said, "I think I saw a boot come out of her," (from the Wedding Singer) prompting me to burst into laughter.

It was sheer horror and comedy all rolled into one as another memorable moment on the MAX ended.

The image below made me laugh....plus he's wearing a Hartford Whalers shirt. Honoring the Whale the only way he knows how.

Ode-n To Joy

Will somebody please mark down May 22, 2007 as one of the greatest days in Portland Trail Blazers' history? I know it's not a dream that we will have the choice of either Greg Oden or Kevin Durant in the June 28th NBA Draft. I know my suffering has ended as a loyal Blazer fan. I've seen us lose twice in the NBA Finals. One of my earliest memories was dancing around the living room when the Blazers beat the Utah Jazz in the 1992 NBA Western Conference Finals to face the Chicago Bulls and Michael Jordan, the guy who won a championship (and would win 5 more) for that city instead of ours. I then remember burying my face in the couch when Michael went for 35 points in the first half of Game 1.

I've seen the Blazers make the playoffs and continuously shown the door by the Lakers. Memorial Day Miracle?...Yeah, I was watching. I still can't look at a picture of Sean Elliott and keep my composure. If only Rasheed Wallace had a longer arm! Western Conference Finals in the year 2000? I was watching. I watched as out 15-point lead in the fourth quarter turned to shit. I've never gone from a state of depression, to jubilation, to enraged, to joyous...and back to depression in such a short period of time. I still grimace when I see Kobe toss a perfect alley-oop to Shaq's bear-claw of a hand as he slammed it home and the city of Los Angeles erupted.

Let me take you back...back to June 19, 1984. I was just 43 days old when this franchise made its biggest blunder ever. Picking Sam Bowie over Michael Jeffrey Jordan. Experts will tell you that any other team in Portland's position would have done the same thing. It's all bullshit to me. We fucked our franchise that night. Sure it would have probably meant the end to Clyde Drexler in Portland, and I would never have known the joy of watching him dunk over Bill Cartwright. Maybe we could have won the title in 1990 against the Pistons or in 1992 against...probably not the Bulls. They'd probably be in the lottery.

We have the potential to erase Sam Bowie from our memories (and nightmares). I am confident that with new GM Kevin Pritchard running the show (the same guy that got us Rookie of the Year Brandon Roy, along with First-Team Rookie LaMarcus Aldridge) we can turn this wagon around and get back into the playoffs. Everybody thinks that we're going to take Greg Oden with the first pick, and I'd like to think that we might do something conventional that way. But I have a feeling that Mr. Pritchard's wheels are turning and he's going to shake up the Draft like he did last year and we'll get some quality players out of a trade. As for the Kevin Durant-Greg Oden debate, I personally like Durant. He's got a great shooting touch and rebounds the basketball. Although at 6'7", he's a little short to be grabbing 11 rebounds a game (Jason Kidd doesn't count here because, although he can average over 10 rebounds a game, he still is a wife-beater).

I don't know what the future holds for my beloved Blazers, but I do know that it is getting awfully cozy on this Blazer Bandwagon. To all the people that called them "Jail Blazers", and all the people that told me the Blazers sucked and that they would suck forever...and all of this city's fair-weather fans that only turn out if the team has anything positive going on, I have just one question. Where were you while I was suffering? Where were you when we lost 61 games in one season? Where were you when the Blazers were in danger of leaving this town?
In the immortal words of Jack Johnson, I was sittin', waitin', wishin'....I believe in superstition. I didn't watch the lottery like I did last year when the Blazers fell to the number 4 pick. I knew I'd suffer again. But there is hope in Portland, hope that a savior will come on June 28th. Will it be Oden or Durant? Right now, I can't say that I care. All I know, is that we're going in the right direction.



*The Blazers' Good-Luck Charm does it again.

Clean-up on Aisle 10 Please!

I've said it for a long time now...The people who shop at Fred Meyer are as crazy as hammer-wielding senior-citizens who judo-chop 6-year-olds in the throat for no apparent reason.

This apparently random attack at the Beaverton Fred Meyer has me puzzled. I've seen some weird shit as a happy-go-lucky employee at both the Gateway and Hollywood locations. Small children vomiting a pound of gummy bears in the Housewares department. People having diarrhea drip all the way across the store. Mounds of shit in the hallways. Customers passed out in the handi-capable stall in the bathroom after they just shot God knows what into their body. People passed out. Store security slamming a shoplifter's face into the lunch-room floor. I've even helped subdue a shoplifter after he was taken to the ground by security.

Some of our customers are the nicest people you could ever meet. Either they leave you alone completely, or just want to be pointed in the general direction of what it is they are looking for. A majority of our customers are assholes...trying to screw you out of every last penny they can. Telling you how worthless you are and how your store doesn't carry anything anymore.

People have even died in the store, but nothing seems crazier than 65-year old Erik Osterholme's random attack on 56-year old Sharon Weil. Weil was looking for food to cook for her mother on Mother's Day, when Mr. Osterholme struck her in the back of the head with a hammer. A couple of things crossed my mind when I heard of the attack...Did he use a hammer from the Hardware & Tools department? Which one was it? Are we going to have to stop carrying that specific hammer to avoid copycat attacks? Will one of my customer's strike me in the head with a hammer? Will a fellow employee strike me in the head with a hammer (more likely to happen)?





Now this crazy bastard is aruging with the judge over the food selection in the jail. Dude, you're in jail on attempted murder charges, you're lucky they don't serve you a dog shit and placenta sandwich and make you listen to Yanni. Not his first run-in with the law, in 2002 he judo-chopped a six year old in the throat because the kid said "Hi". WTF? He got like probation and a $300 fine.

So I'll be extra courteous to the crazy people that come in the store and super courteous to those shopping the Hardware department.

The Glanville Era

So, if you don't like football, or don't live in Portland, you probably don't know that Portland State University hired former NFL coach (he was the head man in Atlanta and Houston) Jerry Glanville. You probably don't care either. But I finally had a chance to sit next to him while at lunch and just listened to him talk about defensive schemes. It's a real treat to hear the man talk. And after he referred to the University of Oregon Athletic Director in less than a favorable light, I was sold on him. He wants the Vikings to be a winner and doesn't care if we play Oregon and Oregon State, just as long as they give us a chance to be more than their luggage-toting groupie. He has a vision that PSU can be Portland's team, and I for one am stoked about this fall.





So I guess it's time for me to start acting like the seasonal PSU Athletic Department employee I am and let you know about the PSU Spring Football Game. It's this Saturday, May 12th at PGE Park in Portland. Tickets are only $5 and free for those 18 and under. (Viking Spring Game This Saturday at PGE Park)

Sad, but true...

It's kind of interesting to find weird stuff on the Internet. Stuff, that when you see it, you ask yourself, who made this site and why do so many people visit it? I don't know how she did it, but Nikki found a site dedicated to finding pictures of cats that look like Adolf Hitler. Basically the only requirement is that the cat has a mustache that somewhat resembles a Hitler 'stache. You may be asking yourself what would one call such a website? What clever name did they come up with for this site? It's called "Cats That Look Like Hitler.com."

And since Nikki and I are proud owners of one of the fattest cats in the world, we had to get him on this most awesome site. See Charlie as one of the newest "Kitler's" here.

This is his natural state. If you touch him, he rolls over so you can rub different areas. ;I

It's Not Mr. Roger's Neighborhood

Have you ever felt unsafe in your own neighborhood? Like someone could just shank you at any point for no reason and steal your Bananarama mix-tape? I grew up feeling that way in the inner-Southeast of Portland. Then, when I finally moved out to a small one-bedroom in the city center, and found myself walking home after midnight, it seemed a little more real.

Now that I live in East Portland, damn near Gresham, I don't really get that feeling. It's still scary, but for totally different reasons. It's weird how I encounter more homeless people now than when I lived downtown. Sure the concentration of gangs is a little heavier, but I never feel like I'm in immediate danger.

The early morning of the eighth, I was really thirsty, so I persuaded Nikki to come with me to the nearest convenience store. 7-eleven is about a half-mile away from our house. Being that we are sans auto, we hoofed it at about 12:30AM. Along the way, we saw a man yelling across an intersection at a woman about cigarettes or money or something to that effect. To this, the woman responded, "If you don't want me out here hustlin', then use your own god-damn money." It was comedy in its purest form and all I wanted to do was capture their argument in a glass or Rubbermaid container so I might open it every once in a while to listen and giggle uncontrollably. She unleashed a few more profanities as Nikki stared in amazement and I tried to pull her closer to the store. At this point, I think I asked Nikki if I should go over to her and ask her how much she would charge for a foot rub (my feet were pretty sore as I had just gotten off of work).

We did end up making it to 7-eleven where I purchased some Wild Cherry Pepsi. I was soon home and sleeping, dreaming of Pepsi drinking prostitutes giving a Rubbermaid container a foot rub. (Added for dramatic effect)

7th Heaven

As the two or three people who actually read this blog know, I had a birthday on Monday. It kind of turned into a weeklong celebration with different groups of my friends and family. I have come to the realization that most people think that the day of their birth is the best day of the year (See Amy). They probably have superficial reasons for their beliefs, but I am here to tell you that, to me, the seventh day of May fuckin' rocks.

Now there is at least one or two significant things almost anyone can find happened on the day they escaped the womb. People who were born on the day JFK was killed or the anniversary of the day they first produced Cocoa Puffs. There are events that happened on May 7th that you could argue the significance of, but I think they are worth mentioning.

1847: The American Medical Association was founded by Nathan Smith Davis.
1945: The Germans surrendered to the Allied Forces ending World War Deuce.
1946: Sony was founded. (Now can we be friends Japan?)

These are significant events in American (and Japanese) history. But the things I love about May 7th are the ones that are etched into your memories forever. I am fortunate to have my birthday fall during the NBA Playoffs, which is full of memorable plays and Charles Barkley trying to string together a sentence in English.

Two plays that nobody will forget happened on my fifth and twelfth birthdays, respectively:

1989: Michael Jordan, the greatest player to ever nearly kick Craig Ehlo in the face, hits "The Shot" whose footage becomes fodder for many an advertising agency.





Then, six years later, Reggie Miller capped off game one of the Eastern Conference semi-finals in Madison Square Garden by scoring eight points in a span of just 8.9 seconds.





So that's why I love my birthday. It's one of the only days that I can guarantee I'll talk to most of my family. Plus I get stuff.

Return of the Mack

I'm back and better than before. My long awaited return to the blogging arena has finally come and on no better day than today, IT'S MY 23RD BIRTHDAY! Much like Amy, I had to move my blog, but now I'm back on Blogger. It's a move that needed to be made for two reasons. One, I didn't care for the Opera format. And two, I attracted a teenage male Asian stalker named Leonard.

Of course, I have no plans for my birthday, other than to work all night. But whatever, 23 isn't a special birthday. I am going to forego my Business finance class on Tuesday and spend the day with Nikki. She'll take me out to lunch and we'll do other assorted activities in honor of me! It's like my own special Mother's Day.

A couple of things that have been bothering me lately:

People continue to ask me for either a cigarette, or a lighter. I cannot put into words how angry this makes me...oh wait, yes I can

People also ask to use my cell phone. How about no? Who doesn't have a fuckin' cell phone anymore? Those damned Cricket places are fuckin' everywhere that Starbucks isn't.

The Cinco de Mayo festival/alcohol-fueled rave was up this weekend on the Waterfront. I just have one question...What's with those giant stuffed carnival prizes? Who really wants a stuffed basketball that measures two feet in diameter? But as I got onto the MAX to go home last night, there was some tool holding one. It had a horrible blue leopard pattern on it. He was standing across from a guy trying to hold down a giant neon green elephant. Yeah, no joke, this guy had a huge fuckin' green elephant. It made me think about where in his house he was going to put this giant green elephant. And how long did he have to stand at the ring toss to win that bitch? That was probably a $51 elephant he was hauling.

With that, my first post back is complete. I promise to pay more attention to my blogging duties.