Friday, July 29, 2011

Slappin Da Bass - I Love You, Man FULL High Quality

Slappin' dah bass, mahn

The Water Is Wide(Traditional)with lyrics-Karla Bonoff

If you don't get goosily bumps when Sweet Baby James chimes in, well, something ain't hooked up right, is all.

The Water is wide, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

84-year-old, Hugh Hefner’s ex-fiance, Crystal Harris, said sex with Hef was over in like two seconds. And to think, at his age, I didn’t think Hef could do anything in two seconds.

Clorox turned down a $10.7 billion offer by Carl Ichan. The problem is Clorox thought the money was laundered.

Gay marriage is now legal in New York. What are the differences between a straight and a gay wedding? In a straight wedding the bride doesn’t suck, but the music does.

The Tat Brats –as the tabloids call them – Jesse James and Kat von D are kaput. Oh, man, if those two normal, well-adjusted kids can’t make it, what chance does anyone have?

The split is amicable, no marriage, no kids, and neither will get custody of their dignity.

The Kardashian sisters combined to earn over $60 million this year. As a result, experts will convene to redefine the word: Earn.

300-pound New Jersey Gov., Chris Christie, is fine and out of the hospital after having what it appeared was an asthma attack. Turns out it wasn't asthma, he had an entire ham stuck in his throat.

Since you asked:
There is an article in “SI” that suggests that Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa should eventually be put in the baseball Hall of Fame based only on their amazing statistics.


What if somebody won the World Series of Poker four years in a row, but it was discovered the whole time they had been sneaking aces? It doesn’t matter that he/she had amazing statistics, he/she got those statistics by cheating.

The rules state that you cannot bet on baseball. As a result, the man with the record for most hits, Pete Rose, will never be in the Hall of Fame and should not be. And there is no proof his betting altered one single game.

There is a rule in baseball you cannot take performance enhancing drugs. Sosa and McGwire broke that rule and therefore should never be in the Hall of Fame. And what they did altered the outcome of all of their games.

Steroids changes everything from how far someone can hit the ball to how hard they can hit it to how much they can train to how long they can play.

And they lied about taking steroids. True, character flaws do not count or a known racist like Ty Cobb would not be in the Hall. But we’re talking about lying about how they cheated the game of baseball. To Congress.

To this day one of the funniest non-funny things ever was that big oaf, McGwire, trying to play the learned tweed-clad professor in front of Congress.

"I am not here to talk about the past."

Uh, excuse me, Professor Douchey McDouche, that is exactly why you are there.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Stand Up Paddle Surfing - Small Surf...Still Fun

Giada. To paraphrase Raul Julia's character in "Tequila Sunrise":

"She cooks like this and stand up paddle boards? If she takes out the garbage, marry her."

Oh hell yes, oh my my

We grillin’, chillin’ and fulfillin’, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

The NFL strike is over. It was announced on ESPN that the NFLPA, from the AFC and the NFC, OK’d the CBA by sending an SMS text LOL instead of WTF.

The NFL strike is over. This is a relief for Oakland Raider owner, Al Davis. He can quit his job as the temporary host of HBO’s “Tales from the Crypt.”

It is still hot. It is so hot in Detroit, people are sweating like the Lions when they found out they’ll have to play this season.

You gotta admire that John Boehner, he sticks to his guns. When he makes a decision to go for the Sedona orange spray tan instead of the burnt sienna, he stays with it.

Grey Goose Vodka uses the Rolling Stones "Miss You" in their commercials. Could be worse, Viagra could use "Start Me Up."

Since you asked:

This debt ceiling crisis is dumbfounding. Congress’ main job is to make sure something like this does not happen. This is like paying someone $250 dollars not to hit you in the face. As soon as you give them the check, bam, they punch you right in the face.

Although not a fanatic about any sport – I used to be about the Decathlon – I do consider myself a somewhat knowledgeable sports fan. (Note to self: you just had to have spell-check correct your spelling of knowledgeable, you freaking idiot) Easy, inner tirade.

Yet I am the first to admit I am not a Rainman when it comes to stats or trivia. And I am open- minded to new sports. Didn’t care much about soccer until the women’s ‘99 team and then my daughter started playing. Now I can watch matches on TV even if USA is not playing. It’s taken years, but I can now spot off-sides, which is more than 80% of refs seem able to do.

Hell, I discovered my favorite participant sport at the age of 50 in stand up paddle board surfing and paddling. Surfed at Scripps/La Jolla Shores today and caught six juicy rights in an hour session. One in particular I worked like a pro. Straight, right, straight, paddle right as the wave curled out.

So, as a self-acknowledged sports guy, words cannot describe how much I do not care about the Tour De France.

Used to. Loved the beautiful French countryside and the Villas, the Brit announcers, then, fired up, would go out for a bike ride. No more.

Even in its heyday with Lance pissing off the French, part of the Tour struck me as too chummy – see NASCAR – too political and too contrived. Oh, hell, I’ll just say it, it seemed too European. By too European I am referring to things like the pony tails, the single names, the diva behavior. Flopping in soccer is too European. Shaving your legs for the race is too European. Doing that fake smooch, smooch, cheek, cheek thing to those hot babes on the podium is too European. Having your pits smell like the sewers of Rangoon is too - OK, Lex, we got it.

But even with a cautionary tale from track and field’s steroid-related drop in popularity, the cycling world went right on shooting itself in the foot by turning people off with positive performance enhancing drug tests.

Now it appears the man himself, the Michael Jordan, Wayne Gretzky, Joe Montana of cycling, Lance Armstrong, is going down in a doping scandal trial. It would take caring a whole lot more for me not to give a crap about cycling.

With the amazingly classless botching of firing his loyal caddy, Steve Williams, the real Tiger Woods is really starting to show. That studly, scary dude storming down a Masters fairway in a blood-red shirt is being replaced by the sniveling, nose-blowing, tube-sock-wearing, foul-mouthed, grumpy, cheapskate Army brat nerd in charmless Bellflower named Eldrick Tont.

Can't wait for the unseemly dirt about Tiger that will come spewing out of Williams's biography. Nice job with Lance and Tiger, Nike.

Not that I stood a chance to get it, I did interview for the track and field marketing job at Nike. A week doesn't go by when I don't thank my stars for not getting it. Me working with all those snotty, arrogant, know-it-all, humorless, brain-washed cult members would have ended up with lawyers involved and possibly jail time.

But they do make some awesome-ass running shoes, which I just purchased. My hypocrisy knows no bounds.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Is it just me, or are Speaker Boehner and President Obama starting to look like that older gay couple arguing about what drinks to serve at their Tony Awards party, appletinis or cosmos?
Just in my lifetime it is amazing to consider the change and improvement in exercise and nutrition.

Most in my father’s generation would wear a suit six days a week, one for church on Sunday. They got up, sipped coffee, ate eggs and bacon, went to work where they would go out for lunch for a steak with a few cocktails. Come home on the train smoking in the smoking car and drinking in the bar car. Have martinis before dinner, eat dinner, read the paper and go to bed.

Maybe on Saturday they tinkered in their workshops or garages or worked on the lawn.

At 12, if you had asked what was more likely for me at age 52, being President of the United States or running three miles and surfing in waves several days a week, I would have said President. And those chances were nil.

My parents and their friends were considered hardcore jocks because they played tennis one night a week. After tennis it was out for deep dish pizza and martinis.

When I was 12, I wanted to join a gym with a weight room. There wasn’t one. The closet gym was in the YMCA in Evanston five miles away. Even the fancy Chicago Athletic Club didn’t have weights. Workout consisted of sitting in the steam or sauna, plunging in the cold pool, getting a shave and then getting dressed.

Then, when I tried to join the YMCA, the counselor there insisted that I was there for counseling as a troubled youth. I wasn’t I just wanted to use their meager weights. One bar bell, one bench and a handful of dumbbells. And a jump rope. The guy in charge would ask me into his office and continually asked what was wrong with my family. He refused to believe me that my family was fine and I was there to work out.

In Seventh grade I got the Sears Bob Mathias weight set. The weights were not bad, they were cement in plastic case. But the weight instruction manuel was a decade ahead of its time. It said you should do three sets of ten to 14 reps. Showed the proper technique for bench press, military press, lateral raises, upright rows, squats, calf raises, curls and clean and jerks.

Although not a wildly skilled basketball player, I was a star because, thanks to the weights, I could touch the rim of a ten foot basket in Eighth grade.

When I was in Eighth grade I started jogging (we called it running, I hated the term jogging) with a friend, Phelps. You couldn’t jog alone, you would look like a crazy person. There was one pair of running shoes made, they were Adidas brand called Italias and they were white with a green stripe with a micro-thin green sole.

People in cars would lean out the window and yell insults at you;

“What are you, crazy? You look like an a-hole.”

The one and only smart thing my high school football coach ever did was see the advantages of weight lifting and, in 1972, had a full-blown weight room installed in the middle of the indoor track. This was unheard of at division one college football programs until the mid to late seventies. Northwestern’s football team didn’t have their own weight room until 1979.

There was no such thing as nutritionists. We were force fed spinach because some idiot checking spinach’s iron content miss-placed a decimal, so my entire generation grew up thinking spinach had ten times more iron than other green vegetables. It doesn’t.

There was an article in the "Chicago Sun Times" that I vaguely remember about Chicago Bears rookies Gale Sayers and Dick Butkus getting brutally teased by their teammates for being sissies and whimps for not smoking and only drinking a few beers.

There was one sporting goods store in town, Fred’s Sporting Goods. In the fall you bought your helmet, shoulder pads and Ridell cleats there. In the winter you bought a basketball and Converse high tops. In the summer you bought your mitt and your Wilson or Spalding baseball cleats.

Think of the movie “Hoosiers.” Now think of Kobe Bryant. We were way, way, way closer to “Hoosiers” than we were to Kobe Bryant.

Gym clothes consisted of grey thick cotton sweatpants and sweatshirts, green New Trier cotton shorts, a tank top New Trier gym shirt, wool socks, converse sneakers (Jack Purcell tennis shoes if you were really hip) and a jock.

Balls and bats and basic gear was all Fred’s had. Once I remember being in Fred’s and seeing a box of Voit scubba fins. Just looking at them made me feel like James Bond.

These are things we were told as gospel truth:

Warming up did not include stretching.

Swimming one hour after eating would kill you.

Distance running was bad for the heart.

If you swallowed your gum it stayed inside your stomach for the rest of your life.

Any less done than well done and a pork chop will kill you.

All the children in Europe were starving.

Nobody flossed.

If you moved out to California, eventually you would turn crazy.

Bacon was good for you.

Smoking, in moderation, wasn’t bad for you.

It was fine to lie out in the sun with no sun screen protection for many hours.

Drinking water during exercise was bad for you.

On hot days you ate salt pills.

A professional athlete was considered old at 26.

The athletic prime was 21-years old.

Seat belts were a fancy luxury.

Lifting weights ruined baseball and basketball players.

It is a miracle that anyone over the age of 50 is still alive.