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.