Mas-Debate

We've had some Democratic candidate debates recently, and big Hube has been involved, making his intentions to run known. I must say, he's been doing a great job.

During the YouTube debate, he said this after a question on the Iraq War:

"Nice question. Liked it better three weeks ago when Brian Williams asked it during his debate. That's why this whole format is ridiculous. You let these morons with no concept of the realities of the American political machine waste our time with frivolous, stock questions. Things were so much better back in '68."

Though very correct in what he said, his comments were censored out.

After a question on gay marriage by two lesbians in the same debate, he said this:

"You two don't look like you're wanting for any meals, if I may say so. As such, maybe we should feed all the hungry people and get all the kids who don't have health care affordable medical treatment. Then we'll worry about whether or not you can get married. God, things were so much easier back in '68."

Unfortunately these comments were also censored out. I'm worried, because Hube is running a distant fourth behind Clinton, Obama, and Edwards in Iowa. It's no feather in one's cap to beat Dennis Kucinich (sp?). I also told him his gay marriage logic was dumb, because if it's the non-issue he's saying it is, then gay people should just be allowed to be married. He was so annoyed with me he sent me out for venti iced lattes from Starbucks.

Mads: Peter Weller

People often ask me: Mads, do you have any Man Crushes? Well, beyond the obvious like Didier Drogba and Tom Brady, I do have one. You may know him as Robocop, but I know him better as Peter Weller. He is the coolest man I know of. Not only does he make any bad action movie good by his mere presence, but he also is a history professor with a PhD who contributes to History Channel documentaries. This man is my idol.

I just saw a film recently called The Hard Easy which starred the guy from E.T. and the guy from Angel and the film makers were in over their head when they cast Weller. They did great at the beginning, giving him great one-liners as he plotted a diamond heist. But they didn't know how to wrap it up. They had him shot in the heart in some kind of goofy send-up after the heist went bad. Dumb. They needed Weller having a one-on-one showdown with co-star Gary Busey. That would've been an ending.

I'd like to make my own movie someday with Weller and Didier Drogba. I wouldn't make the mistakes other film makers have. Weller would get his due. Maybe it would be an Indiana Jones rip-off, with Weller as a famous history professor seeking out some kind of adventure. And Drogba's his right-hand man. A guy can dream, right?

The Hills is Back

I hadn't been keeping up with what was on MTV too much lately. I've really only been rockin' with Making the Band 4. That's why I was shocked when I got a phone call from Sir Ian McKellen a little after ten pm the other night.

"Where the fuck are you?"

"I don't know, where the fuck're you?"

Luckily they re-aired The Hills season opener a couple hours later. It looked like we were in for a good season.

"Who was that dork our Audrina was hooking up with?" Mads, my Norwegain companion said. "Look at his hair and that hat. He looks like a clown."

"He looks like a clown," I said. "Because he's barely 21 years old. You're a thirtysomething man watching them on TV. What's your excuse?"

"Hey," Sir Ian said. "I take offense to that. The Hills might be the best show on American television since Seinfeld."

I couldn't argue with him there. I asked Matty what he thought a couple days later.

"I'm too emotionally bereft to think today. One of the Bush Twins is off the market."

"As far as you were concerned, she was never on the market."

"At least I've still got a crack at Condy."

The LA Galaxy Drinking Game

Becks, as I'm sure you know, didn't play on Sunday versus the Revs. In order to pass the time, we decided to play the LA Galaxy Drinking Game. Here's the rules:

1. Whenever the Galaxy turn the ball over in the midfield, drink.
2. Whenever Landon Donovan screws up, drink. (Watch for bad corners!)
3. Whenever the announcers talk about how horrible the Galaxy are playing, drink.
4. If the announcers say anything about David Beckham, or show him on TV, drink. Drink twice if Beckham is visibly disgusted with the Galaxy's play.
5. If the broadcast goes specifically to "Beckham Cam", drink twice.
6. Drink twice if Posh is shown.
7. Drink three times if some other celebrity comes to discuss David Beckham. (You decide if Alexi Lalas counts!)
8. Drink three times if the other team scores.
9. Finish your whole drink if the Galaxy scores.
10. If Beckham scores, everyone has to pound a full beer, and the last one to finish, has to drink another.
11. For the Fox Soccer Channel broadcasts, drink when Max Bretos uses a Spanish accent.

As you can imagine, we got wasted just on rule 1 alone.

Mads: The Becks Bait-and-Switch

My Boston friend pulled a lot of strings, only to have us go to the Revs/Galaxy game and see Beckham not play. Considering this weekend was the opening of the Premiership season, the MLS lost a huge opportunity to garner interest in their sport by placing all their eggs in the Becks basket.

"Let's go home and watch the replay of the Arsenal play again," my Boston friend said.

"Minus the first 51 seconds, of course."

"Of course. Poor Lehman..."

Mayor McCheese: McBranding to Kids

We did it. I just read it in the Chicago Star-Telegram: kids think food tastes better just by virtue of being wrapped in a McDonald's wrapper. It feels great.

According to the study, kids felt carrots and milk tasted better when in McDonald's containers, and didn't like our burgers as much when not packaged with our brand. Though the official line is that this is bad for the youth of America, behind closed doors, we're all doing the Tiger Woods "I just hit a birdie on the 18th to secure another major" pump fist.

This is what you live for.

Atlantic City

I know a lot of people have their own favorite Bruce Springsteen song. For Mads, my Norwegian companion, it's "Born to Run". "It's Shakespeare in Rock n' Roll," he says. For me it's a no brainer: "Atlantic City". Nothing else spoke to me more as a young man growing up in a working class background in Brockton, Massachusetts.

One day Mads and I are going through the music videos on ON Demand, when I see "Atlantic City" on the list. We had to go for it. Now, of course, I wish I hadn't.

It was a version he did with the Seeger Sessions band. All I can say was it hurt. It cut all the nuance and drama out of the song and replaced it with washboards and spoons. It was almost as bad as Alicia Keyes and the guy from Maroon 5 covering "Wild Horses" for some Unplugged thing.

"But, dude," Mads said. "If he's genius enough to make the song, he can do what he wants with it. I'm sure he was just experimenting with it, anyway. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

I always hated it when he called me "dude".

Mads: She's Like so Whatever

My Boston friend and I were taking a slack day, when that damn Avril Lavigne song came on the TV. As such, I had the bastard in my head all day. I needed to do something about it.

"All right, get off the couch."

"Why?"

"I need to do something about this damned 'Girlfriend' song."

"What do you intend to do?"

"You'll see."

We went to a karaoke bar frequented by visiting Japanese businessmen. It had naked women on tables with guys eating sushi off them, and TVs with videos of Japanese women in school girl outfits eating crap and getting done by like five guys and what not. I filled out my karaoke card and we waited.

"Nice place you got here, Mads."

My Boston friend lit a cigarette and shook his head at me. My name was called.

I performed the hell out of the song. I jumped on tables, straddled the girls the sushi was being eaten off of and sang in their faces; at one point I grabbed a Japanese businessman by his tie and pulled him close to me.

"She's like, so whatever... you can do so much better..."

"You right, I can do so muht bettur."

Being Avril Lavigne

Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I were taking a slack day, lying on the couch and eating Chinese food right out of the containers. Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend" was on TV.

Hey, hey, you, you... I don't like your girlfriend... no way, no way... I think you need a new one...

"You know," Mads said. "How does one become an Avril Lavigne?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, she doesn't really do anything. Look at her here, she's not playing an instrument, she doesn't really sing... I don't get the appeal. Anyone could do this song and make a hit out of it."

I felt I needed to defend her, especially after she helped me out with the Barry Bonds thing, even though I did pay her a lot for it.

"She has a certain element of charisma. And I think she writes all her stuff. I think that's how she broke in. Besides, she's Canadian. How many people can say that?"

"She writes all her stuff? 'Hey, hey, you, you... I don't like your girlfriend'? And her other stuff: 'Why ya gotta go make shit so complicated'? What the fuck? A gorilla could write that."

"I think it's 'Why ya gotta go make things so complicated...', and I'll give you that it's not the best material.... Whatever, I can't be bothered to argue with you."

"Because I'm right."

"Pass me the beef and mushroom, fucker."

Boston's Age of Love

After Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I watched the finale of Age of Love we thought: we should do our own. We had our own early 30s bachelor in Matty, and it wouldn't take long to go through our considerable stables of women to find 4 kittens and 4 cougars. We were doing this.

"No way," Matty said.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Totally not. Why would I do that?"

"We have eight hotties, competing to do you. What's better than that?"

"You're a moron."

Mads and I decided to go ahead with the show anyway, and just tricked Matty into showing up. It took him a second to figure it out. The women had no idea he didn't know. I was waiting for Matty to take me aside or call me out, or maybe even go along with it, but he took an entirely different track: he sat in his chair and didn't say anything, watching the Sox game. I turned it off.

"You're killin' me, Matty."

He walked over to me.

"Let's get down to brass tacks here. I'm not Mark Phillipoussis (sp?). I have a bad Australian accent, I suck at tennis, and I'm 5'7" and out of shape. You've got no show here. I'm sorry, but they're just out of my league."

He patted me on my back. I looked to Mads, and he nodded in perspicacious agreement.