Music

Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I love music. The only thing we love more than music is talking about music.

"I know I'm Norwegian, so my opinion might not be as high as another's, but Michael McDonald's 'What a Fool Believes' has to be the best song ever."

"Man, it's hard to argue with it, no doubt. There's nothing like dropping a few tabs of acid and listening to that for hours on a loop. On the other hand, you can't front on 'Rich Girl'. I mean, come on, You're a rich girl, and it's gone too far... you can rely on the old man's money."

"Um, yeah, but that hits below the belt a tad, because I do rely on the old man's money."

"Do you call your father your old man in Norway?"

"Nope."

"I didn't think so."

The Chick Part

After the whole King of Slide Shows debacle, Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I decided we needed a night out together, so we went to our favorite Ethiopian restaurant, Addis Red Sea.

"Yeah," I said. "So I had this dream last night where I was hanging out with some people and I was singing Pet Shop Boys' 'What Have I Done to Deserve This', and Parker Posey was there, and she hit me with her shoe to get me to stop. It was done in jest, but it still hurt."

"Were you singing the chick part?"

"What other part is there? Since you went away...."

"Yeah, I know it." He took a bite of food from his pancake. "But you could've been singing the What've I, What've I, What've I done to deserve this part. That would make sense too."

"But would it illicit an even-in-jest shoe toss?"

"I guess you're right."

I can't even try... to act like I don't like your vibe...

"Whoa," I said. "Is that Mike Phillips?"

"I think so, featuring that other guy."

"Yeah, the other guy... why would they playing that here?"

We called over the waitress. Apparently she's a huge Philly soul fan. Who knew?

Mads: Kenji Jojima

I was riding the Red Line for a while, just getting my head together. There was a Japanese guy sitting next to me who looked a lot like Mariners catcher Kenji Jojima.

Jo-Ji-Ma... just kind of rolls off the tongue: Jo-Ji-Ma...

"Excuse me sir, I couldn't help noticing... um, are you Mariners catcher Kenji Jojima?"

"No," he said. "But I get that all the time. It's a great name, though, huh?... Jo-Ji-Ma."

We said it together: Jo-Ji-Ma.

"Has anyone ever told you you look like Corey Feldman?"

The King of Slide Shows

I came home a few days ago and just wanted to relax. It was a tough week, and all I could think about was stretching out on the couch and watching the C's game. But Mads, my Norwegian companion, had other ideas.

Upon entering my living room, I noticed the place was black with the only light coming from a slide projector on the other side, where the TV would be. All the furniture had been pushed to the edges and was replaced by folding chairs set in rows and filled with myriad people that I'd never met before. One of them, a cowboy sitting at the back and right in front of me, turned, looked me in the eyes, and shrugged his shoulders. There was a man at the screen singing: I am The King... The King of Slide Shows...

"Mads, can I have a word?"

We went out into the hallway.

"What's up, boss? How you like the show?"

"What the hell is all this?"

"He's The King of Slide Shows. Isn't he grand?"

"No, I want him and everyone else out in two and two."

"No can do, boss."

"What? Why?"

"He's The King of Slide Shows. You don't just kick him out."

"I do."

Rondo!

Gwen, the Cappie, met up with me and Mads, my Norwegian companion, at Starbucks the other day. She had two friends with her.

"This is Rondo, and this is--"

She didn't get to the second one.

"Rondo!"

"So what're you guys up to--"

"Rondooooooooo!

I just yelled that continually for the rest of the day, even after we left them. Mads went with a different approach.

"Hey Rondo, what's shaking? Can a brother get some skin? Where's my double dime? Oh, it's like that?"

I don't think I've had so much fun in a long time. Rondooooooo! Some random person asked if we were talking about the Celtics point guard.

"Um, no, duh, his name's Rajon. We're talkin' 'bout Rondooooo!"

"Rondooooo!"

He was so Hung

With a new Top Chef starting recently, I'm reminded of how the last one ended the only way it could: with Hung winning. With a name like that, there was really no other choice the judges could make.

Of course, this created a whole new set of problems. Mads, my Norwegian companion, had had, as the Northern Europeans would say, a nose full of my Hung jokes, and he had to know with Hung taking the final, all bets would be off.

"I must say, you did well... Hung."

"Stop it."

"But he's just so... I don't know... Hung."

"I'm serious."

"If I meet him, I'll be like 'Wow, you're Hung!'"

"That's it, it's go time!"

He flipped the table over and acted like he wanted a fight.

"I didn't know you were so massive... ly Hung."

"All right, that was a huge stretch. You can't be massively. It's an adverb. It's either 'massive, Hung', or 'massively hung'."

"Well it's my name game, and I want it to be both."

Mayor McCheese: So There

What was I doing dating a stripper? Sure, they're all kinds of hot, but a little nutty too, if you know what I mean?

So anyway, I'm dating this chick named Neveah, heaven spelled backwards. At least that was her stripper name, which isn't bad for a stripper name. Her real name was Betty, I think, but it doesn't matter.

I had Ronald over the other day, because I needed to sign some papers. This was like noonish, and Neveah comes thundering in, telling me she needs me to get her an 8-ball toot sweet. Of course the whole thing was kind of embarrassing, because Ronald was there, and I hate it when he judges me.

I tried shooing her off, but she was too strung out to get the hint, and started screaming at me to not patronize her. I needed to do something quick. I threw a Rubik's Cube at her, hitting her above the eye, which caused her to fall back and hit her head on the corner of a table. Upon examination, I realized I'd killed her. I'd acted again without thinking. Ronald sighed.

"Another mess you need me to clean up for you, I guess."

I snapped my fingers, and Big Mac aficionado Ron Gorske and the Hamburglar wrapped the body up in plastic and set to work sanitizing the area.

"I should have this one under control," I said. So there.

Oktoberfest

According to AOL, Oktoberfest at Harvard Square was supposed to be on Saturday, September 29th. I called Matty, my personal biographer, to see if he was still going.

"Nope, it's next weekend."

Christ, he was right, and AOL was wrong: it is next weekend. I asked Mads, my Norwegian companion, what he thought we should do instead.

"I have tickets to Masturbatory Overtones at the Avalon."

"Who's opening?"

"Um... let me see... oh... Ass Hymen and Gentleman's Cinema."

"Let's do it. I love Ass Hymen. I hope they do "Give Me Back My Futon, Ralph."

"Yeah, that's a classic."

Goodtimes on VH-1

As you may know, two Thanksgivings ago, Matty, my personal biographer, in an attempt to track down scammers from Cote D'Ivoire, accidentally adopted a toddler, his two-year old son Goodtimes, because his French was bad. Anyway, Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I were watching one of those stupid celebrity gossip shows on VH-1, because we'd misplaced the remote, and didn't feel like getting up to change the channel after The Pick-up Artist.

This particular show focused on celebrities adopting babies from exotic locations. We were totally nonplussed when they mentioned Matty's mishap. We had to call him immediately.

"Hey, guess what? You're famous. You were on VH-1."

"No shit. I could've told you that."

"No you couldn't have. What're you famous for?"

"What am I not famous for?"

"Wha--?"

"Hey, I can't be bothered to talk to you now, Michael McDonald's 'What a Fool Believes' is on the radio. It's the best song ever."

"Are you kid--"

"Shhh! After the song."

Mads: My Von Dutch Trucker Hat

Capriciousness is nothing new to me. I spend money on and do whatever I feel like usually. But just the same, I'd say my one regret, of all the crazy stuff I've done, was my buying a lot of Von Dutch trucker hats.

At $45 a pop, it doesn't sound like much of an investment, but considering I bought hundreds of them in all kinds of colors and styles, things get hairy. Of course, it was only a matter of time, and the market dropped: the Von Dutch trucker hat was hopelessly out of fashion. I'd wasted more money on more frivolous things before, but I think nothing hurt like this. I mean I had a closet full of these things, but I didn't want to wear them for fear of looking like a tool.

No one wants to look like a tool. Just ask Rocco Despireto (sp?).

Click-Clack

Mads, my Norwegian companion, Matty, my personal biographer, Gwen, the Cappie, and I were all discussing the finale of The Pick-up Artist at my apartment, when the phone went off.

"Hello?"

"'Ello."

"Who is this?"

"This head ball coach*."

"What? Who the hell are you?"

"Well yeah, I told you he could really go, din I?"

"What in God's hell are you talking about?"

"All right now, click-clack."

And the line went dead.

"Who was that?" Mads said.

"I have no idea. Maybe a wrong number, or a drug deal gone bad. Anyway, where were we?"

"Saying that Dylan guy looked like a lesbian after Brady gave him his make-over."

*There is really no punctuation mark in the English language suitable to denote the omission of the word "is" between the "this" and "head ball coach" in that sentence due to a thick Southern accent. But it should read like that.

The Juice

With OJ Simpson back in the news after he allegedly robbed some memorabilia salesman at gun point of memorabilia they stole from him, I thought it would be interesting to discuss my one meeting with the man.

It was back in 1987. OJ was filming another Hertz commercial where he runs through the airport, well before he became the OJ we've all grown to know and love. I was an extra in the ad. After shooting, I was allowed five minutes with him. None of us had any idea that a short seven years later OJ would be OJ.

The most vivid memory I have of meeting Mr. Simpson was his eyes when he looked at me after autographing a picture of him. It was like he was okay with meeting me for a few seconds, but if I pushed it, there would be repercussions. Listening to the audio of the robbery (only sports memorabilia salesmen would record their own armed robbery), one tidbit stood out. After he yelled "You think you can steal my shit?" the other guy replies "Mike took it." Thinking back to myself as a 17-year old boy and witnessing those OJ eyes, all I can say too is "Mike took it". Mike took it.

An Open Letter to Justin Bobby

I took some time off a while back, in order to rediscover who I am. I was confused, to say the least.

I had been watching a lot of The Hills, and I found my self totally befuddled by the concept of Audrina's not-so-erstwhile boyfriend, Justin Bobby. In my mind, there was just no way possible for this guy to exist outside the bounds of the show. I asked my personal biographer Matty if he thought MTV invented him.

"I can't imagine. As a writer myself, I could see inventing a Spencer, or even an Audrina; but a Justin Bobby... that would take an immense talent, one whose special skills would be wasted in developing a persona for a reality show."

I wasn't as easily convinced, or at the very least, I needed to see this thing myself, outside the filter of the TV camera. I flew out to LA, in hopes of seeing a Justin Bobby in the wild.

A local source familiar with the situation (Sir Ian McKellen) told me where Mr. Justin Bobby hangs out. I found out that Justin Bobby not only exists, but the MTV portrayal of him was spot on, or perhaps they went a little easy on him. He had the same voice, hair, and attitude. I was flabbergasted.

I took some time and sat on Venice Beach, watching the waves. If an individual like a Justin Bobby actually existed, the next logical question had to be: do I? Everything that I thought was true and right had been tossed out the window. I felt like going back to him. I had more questions now: how did you become so ridiculous? do you know you're that ridiculous? are there more like you? what do your parents think?

It was like a bad acid trip. In my 37 years on the planet I had never experienced anything like it. I had no proof anymore that I was real. I felt it was time to end the madness, and I drank a fifth of Don Julio and walked towards the surf, ready to let it take me into that long goodnight.

I woke up the next day with a face full of sand. Some kids had been covering me on the beach, and their mom found me, thinking I was dead. I spit some of the sand out, and thanked them for their generosity. Without showering, I packed my things and boarded a plane back to Boston.

Whaddaya Think?

I was sitting on a bench at the Harvard Square T station the other day, when a man who looked an awful lot like Brian Dennehy sat down next to me. I tried to ignore him while I read my book, Paul Bowles' The Sheltering Sky, which I started reading because Matty called out Mads the other day, saying a traveling tale of his was a fabrication lifted from the post World War II novel.

"So," he said, "waddaya think?"

I looked up. He nodded his head in the direction of an old Asian woman bending down to get something out of one of her myriad bags.

"Not bad, huh?" I shook my head incredulously. "Believe me, at my age, you gotta take what you can get, and nothing's better than an old Asian woman. They're minxes in the sack."

"Dude, you're Brian Dennehy. You can get tons of chicks."

"Who told you I was Brian Dennehy?"

Mads: A Night in Tunisia

I was hanging out with my Boston friend, as I usually do, and we found ourselves trading traveling stories, and all the shit we've gotten into.

"What about that time," he said, "when you almost got killed by those Arabs in Tunisia?"

Wow, what about that night?

I had taken a walk, leaving my friend behind at the hotel. I got a little lost, and crouched down on the curb to smoke a cigarette. Then a swarthy looking fellow approached me. I tried getting rid of him, but he followed me around, as I became even more confused on what part of the city I was in. He took me into a cafe, filled with more swarthy Arab types, and mentioned a woman I should get with, his whore, who wouldn't cost too much money.

Matty the Mainer, who was with my Boston friend and I as we were re-telling these tales, interrupted me.

"This never happened to you."

"Are you calling me a liar?" I said.

"Sure. Let me guess the rest of the story. You're left alone in a tent in some remote area with the woman, and you find her trying to expropriate your wallet. Am I right so far?"

I nodded, a tad incredulous.

"So you secure your wallet, push her away, and she screams, alerting the Arab guys in the tent next door. Now you're in it; you run as fast as you can, barely escaping with your life."

"So you've heard the story, what're you getting at?"

"It's not your story."

"The hell it ain't."

"The hell it is. It's from Paul Bowles' The Sheltering Sky. You're a moron."

I was nonplussed.

"So next you're going to tell me I don't exist," I said.

"Well, if the shoe fits..."

Mayor McCheese: Big Mac Turns 40

1967. Not a bad year at all. Much better than 1968, if you ask most folks. I personally wasn't around then, and there was a good reason for that: my raison d'etre had not been created. The Big Mac.

The Big Mac, beyond being perfect as a burger, did more for fast food than any other invention, other than maybe the drive-thru. It is difficult to imagine myself, or my fellow McDonaldland citizens, including Ron Gorske, existing without it. It's also difficult to imagine Burger King, Wendy's, or Taco Bell having anywhere near the kind of success they've had without these two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame seed bun.

In order to boost lagging car sales, GM invented a sense of patriotism around their brand, that, though moot due to the fact Chevys are now built in Mexico, caused many Americans to buy their cars over Toyotas or Hondas, which are built here. The reality is that the Big Mac, not the Chevy, is America in all its glorious, yet raunchy self. Toby Keith and Lee Greenwood can write all the songs they want, but nothing will ever tell the world America's story-- even better tell us America's story-- than that edible slice of Americana.

Go out an buy a Big Mac today, and know that that's what America is supposed to taste like.

A Couple O' Mainers

During the summer, when the Texas Rangers killed the Baltimore Orioles 30-3, it was quite the story around baseball. Gary Thorne calls the Orioles' games for the local TV station, and not too many days after the game Matty, my personal biographer, and I were in the Baltimore area, and thought we'd look him up to see what he thought about the game.

"Hey, you went to UMaine," Matty said before I had a chance to speak.

"I did, you too?"

"Oh yeah."

And that was it:

"You think them Sox are gonna win it awl this yeeah?"

"Well, I hope they gonnew. Ya knhoe, you can nevah count out them damn Yankees though."

"Ayaht. You can't get theyah from heyah."

Charles Samuel Shaw, esq.

With Soap Operas being all the rage these days; with them being the "Next Big Thing"; with them being "what the Kids are into"; I thought it might be cool to talk about my brief stint on General Hospital some years back.

I played geeky divorce attorney Charles Samuel Shaw, and I was hired by Alan Quatermaine. This was the extent of my time on the air:

"Alan Quartermaine?"

"Yes?"

"This is Charles Samuel Shaw esq. You called about some services you needed rendered?"

"Oh, the divorce attorney. My old med school buddy told me you were the best. I hope that's true."

"Oh, it is..."

Zoom in and ramp up serious music; end scene.

It was the greatest thing ever. I sometimes pull out the old tape when I'm hammered and need to show off.

Mads: Thinking

I frequently have trouble thinking between 5:30 and 7 PM. As such, I was caught completely off guard when my Boston friend asked me if his new designer jeans made his ass look fat. Instead of saying "you dumb bastard", I said:

"Let me have a look."

"I was just kidding. Do you really think I care if my ass looks big in my jeans?"

"Um..."

"Especially when I know it's not humanly possible."

"Yeah, I know, you skinny bastard, you should mix in a sandwich sometime."

"And you should play hide and go fuck yourself."

"Good one."

Slave to Love

I had a dream the other night that I was in a bar, and the guy next to me looked a lot like Billy Ocean.

"You know, you look a lot like Billy Ocean," I said.

"That's because I am," he said.

A juvenile delinquent at the juke box turned on Bryan Ferry or Roxy Music's (I can never remember which) "Slave to Love".

"Wanna dance," I said.

"I thought you'd never ask," he said.

We slow danced. It felt like the final dance at the prom, where the geeky Anthony Michael Hall type finally gets to dance with the Molly Ringwald he pined over for the bulk of the movie-- only I was dancing with Billy Ocean, and I'd never pined over him.

The next day I was with Mads at McDonald's, and the same song was playing above us. I told him about my dream.

"Dude," he said, "you're totally gay."

"I'm totally not. Besides, you read your horoscope. That's gayer."

"I did that once... I was just curious... whatever... you gonna finish your fries?"

"Um hmm."

Sans "E"

My stomach hurt bad. Probably my Indian food. I had to find a bit of Maalox. What's on TV? Man Band? Oh My God, that's ridiculous. Color Him Fat, no doubt. I wanna [blank] you up... all night...

What is Chris Kirkpatrick doing? Guy's old as I am. I want a Man Band with Moz, Damon Albarn, Ringo, Larry Mullins... whoa, two guys that drum... is that too much? I want Iggy Pop in it too.

Ooh, Maalox, slowly coating my innards. Umm... now I'm hungry again. Old naan, that should work. Is that "Mandy" playing? That Dracula, what'm'I gonna do with him? Oh Mandy, you came hmm hmm hmm without taking... and I hmm hmm away...

Ow, naan probably not a good plan at all. Gotta find my Maalox again. Chris Kirkpatrick, ha ha, what a tool.

Hall and Oates: Comprehensive

Daryl Hall just bought a house in my biographer Matty's hometown of Kittery, and to celebrate we listened to the best Hall and Oates greatest hits CD ever, Hall and Oates: Comprehensive.

The track list has in chronological order all twelve top ten singles the band had from the early 1980s, starting with "Kiss On My List" all the way to "Method of Modern Love"; then has "Everytime You Go Away", which Paul Young covered and made the most played song of 1985; after is their cover of "You Lost That Loving Feeling"; then you got three great 70s classics in "Rich Girl", "Sara Smile", and "She's Gone". Last but not least, the CD includes Change of Season's "So Close". The disc is a pure gem.

Whenever I mention the CD, the people I talk about it to are always incredulous that Hall and Oates had 12 top ten singles in the 80s. Most recently, Mads, my Norwegian companion, tried to name them all.

"Okay, 'Kiss On My List', um, 'Maneater'... 'Private Eyes', right?"

"That's three, keep going."

"'Method of Modern Love'... 'Say it Isn't so'... geez... um... 'Family Man'?"

"You're half way there."

"I know, and like Tommy and Gina, I'm livin' on a prayer... um... um... 'Adult Education'? Was that one?"

"Keep going."

"Man... 'Out of Touch', right?... okay, okay... I can do this... 'I Can't Go For That'!"

"Easy, killer, you still got three more."

"Three more? I thought I had two."

"You're at nine."

"Ah Christ... um... okay... 'You Make My Dreams Come True'!"

"Okay, two more."

"What?" He thought for a second. "Oh, 'Say It Isn't So', I can't believe I didn't already say that one."

"That's because you did."

It took another ten minutes before he finally gave up. The two he missed were "Did It in a Minute" and "One on One". He was pissed.

"Those were not top ten singles. I don't even remember them."

"Hey, big buddy, I don't make the rules, I just follow them."

A Wide Stance

I had to pick up Gwen at the airport the other day, which is weird, considering I don't drive, so I was just meeting her at her gate so we could both take the T back home.

Anyway, I'd hit this Chinese food buffet about 2 hours before, and absolutely killed the fucker, but it was hitting me back with a case of the ol' Delhi Belly, and I needed to make a trip to the bathroom. While in the stall, a man touched my foot with his from the stall next to me. Then I saw his hand come into mine from under the barrier. I freaked out. In my current position, I was helpless. So I yelled out to him to cut the shit.

"Sorry, I just have a wide stance. My foot tends to wander."

"How do you explain the hand?"

"Reaching for toilet paper...?"

No dice. I called the airport police from my phone, and they saved me. The man was in fact trying to solicit gay sex from me. According to his statement to the police, he thought I was sitting there waiting for him, because he couldn't smell any offending odor coming from my stall, hence I'd have only one other motive for sitting in an airport bathroom. That damn courtesy flush, it works every time. Wide stance my ass.

The Duke

The Duke was in town today. I refer to him affectionately as "The Puke", because I'm hella funny like that. Mads, my Norwegian companion, refers to him by a much more sinister moniker.

"Shit fuck's in town? Ah, Christ, now I gotta find someplace to walk for a while."

"Why don't you take a trip on the Red Line? That always works."

"Whatever, dude."

The Duke is officially named Richard Stratfordshire, the 32nd Duke of Deepcheekston, which is somewhere on the coast or near it. If he's just met you, he loves telling you about himself. This was what happened when he met Matty on his recent stay:

"I do say, have you ever been near England before?"

"Well, I was in it, so I'd say that's pretty close."

"Um, of course, but not as close as some others who have been near it, but not in it, if you know what I mean?"

"I think I can conceive your meaning."

"Um, yes, make sure you do."

I had a chance to play bridge with The Puke before he left. He fell ill after some bad potato salad, and murdered my bathroom.

"God damn it man," he said. "Why is there so little water in your toilet. You're like one of those God awful Germans who like to analyze their shite."

"I think they also dislike what they call 'The Splashback Effect', which I'm sure you can understand on some level."

"I can indeed old boy. Those Germans are almost as bad as the Dutch. And you know who's worse than them?"

"Let me guess..."

"The Norwegians. Tell me you're not still carousing with that deviant character Mads. Nothing good would ever come from taking a slice of the old apple with a dirty Nordic."

"You're saying I'd be all at sixes and sevens?"

"If your bloody lucky."

Mads' Bad News

I can only find the underwear I want at stores that cater to gay men. If you've ever been to one of these stores, you know that they blast house music-- it's like Abercrombie, only gayer.

Anyway, Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I were at one of these places so I could pick up some undergarments. A remix of Fergie's "Big Girls Don't Cry" was playing above us.

And I know that I'll miss you like a child misses it's blanket...

"Ooh, Ginch Gonch!"

"I have something I have to tell you," Mads said.

"What? I can't hear you!"

He took me into the dressing room.

"I have something I have to tell you."

"Um, okay...?"

"I've been told by my doctors that I have to stop drinking."

"What? How can this be?"

"Oh, it be all right."

He looked deflated. I needed to cheer him up, but Merlin Olson wasn't around with a Pick-Me-Up Bouquet, so I went with the next best thing.

"What do you say we blow this pop stand and go home and I'll make you some of those Chilean-style hot dogs you like so much?"

"But I thought we were out of mayonnaise and avocados."

"I just got some at the store yesterday."

There was a loud knock at the door.

"Hey boys, the hotel's down the street. Get a freakin' room."

I looked at Mads, and he knew what I was thinking. Before we left the store, we took the clerk and hung him on the coat hook in the fitting room by his underwear.

Mads: Laid Up

I had a touch of the something or other the other day, so I went to the doctor's to see what was wrong with me.

"When was the last time you saw a physician?" The doctor said. She was kind of hot.

"Man, I don't know. In 1992 I broke my elbow trying out a kid's skateboard."

"Fifteen years?"

I did some quick computations.

"That sounds right."

"Jesus Christ. Take off your pants."

She did a full work-up on me.

"Here's what we've got Dr. Olaffsson" (I loved being called doctor) "you need to stop drinking."

Dun-Dun-Daaaaaaa!

Magic Lock up the Eastern Conference Before Season Starts

Despite the major moves by the Celtics and Heat bringing in Kevin Garnett and Penny Hardaway respectively, it looks like the Magic are making a big push to solidify their position as the East's best with their signing today of former Colgate standout Adonal Foyle.

In lieu of getting a chance to talk to Bill Walton, I had Mads, my Norwegian companion, who does a killer Walton impersonation, discuss the impact this will have on the East.

"Adonal Foyle is the best big man since Hakeem. Other than maybe Shaq or Mark Blount, no one can touch Foyle's post presence. I don't see how any team in the Eastern Conference can stop the Magic's dominance."

Sir Ian McKellen was wholly unimpressed.

"Why must you guys always pick on my man Mark Blount?"

"Mark Blount is the greatest force the basketball court has ever seen. He's the greatest center since Tony Battie."

Poetry Slam

After my lack luster poetry performance, which of course I did after my really great performance, I finally decided to get back in there. Gwen entered me into an improvisational poetry contest, where everyone entered had to out poetry everyone else in a one-on-one winner stays loser goes home format.

I'll spare you the gory details. Many of these kids were in over their heads. It took little wit to beat them. In the finals, I won with this:

Bobby McFerin

Oh Bobby, why
why did you leave us, why
Don't worry, be happy,
I thought it was a commitment.
Not a cheap slogan to a catchy pop tune.
Oh Bobby, why
why did you grow dreadlocks, why
and become a classical conductor
When we needed a follow up hit
you abandoned us,
left us with Chumbawumba and
The Macarena
Oh Bobby, why
Why is your video the only one
with Broadway legend slash
guy who may not even exist
Bill Irwin in it
Oh God Bobby,
I'm too worried to be happy now.

Not bad, eh?

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?

Mayor McCheese: C'mon Cubbies

Well, here it comes again. Baseball season is almost here. It should be another punch in the gut season from the Cubbies.

Now I'm sure you're thinking "Mayor, I thought you didn't care about specific teams, just about the bottom line for McDonald's." Well, you're right, but here my favorite team overlaps my need for McDonald's to make more money. Look at last year's World Series: crap. No one gives a shit about Detroit St. Louis outside of those two cities. On the other hand, the Red Sox in '04 got some of the biggest ratings ever. Imagine what would happen if the Cubs make the show? Even better, if they go seven games, lose, then make it again? Oh my God, it'd be like an orgy of cash. Football may be America's current national pastime, but everyone outside of Milwaukee, St. Louis, and the White Sox roots for the Cubs. And when they root for the Cubs, they watch our commercials.