One of the questions I get the most from people is “where is your office?”  You see, my employer’s main office is in the Milwaukee area, but we have an office set up here in Madison, right off the beltline.

When I try to explain to people where it is, I name a couple places that are nearby, and usually get blank stares.  Then, I say “it’s right over by Selective Video,” and they go “ahhhhhh….”

Selective Video is a porn shop tucked away in a valley just off Todd Drive near the beltline.  While nobody will ever admit to going there, everyone seems to know where it is.  Their motto: “We Never Close.”

Needless to say, being so close to an adult entertainment establishment, I’ve seen some pretty sketchy things going on in the parking lot.  Occasionally, some old, fat, bearded farmer type will pull up in a pickup truck, get out, walk over to another car where a comely young lass is sitting, they will talk for a few seconds, then they will both get back in their respective cars and drive away together – presumably to the same destination to engage in sweet, heartfelt, intimate $25 lovemaking.  In the back of their cars.

But here’s the question I have – why would these people choose the parking lot of Selective Video for their illicit dealings?  I mean, they could literally meet anywhere.  There’s a Culver’s right across the street – why not meet up there?

Does it just “seem right” to meet in the parking lot of a porn shop?  Does the venue make the meetup somehow more appropriate?  One would think that if cops were looking to shut down such behavior, they’d just sit in a car in a porn store or strip club parking lot and bust people seeking a low-dollar tryst.  So wouldn’t it make more sense to meet at Target, for instance?

Maybe they think meeting johns in porn store parking lots is way too obvious – so they figure the cops give them a lot of credit for their brains and instead set up sting operations at Rocky Rococo’s.  Almost reverse psychology.  Or maybe cops just like super slices.  Who knows.

In any event, I’d be shocked if stores like Selective Video stay in business much longer.  The internet just has to be killing places like that.  Why go by a video in a store you can get for free-ninety nine online?

I think I just answered my own question – the internet doesn’t have parking lots.

My poor little 3-year old son is recovering from a double ear infection, with a side order of fever.  So the other night, I decided to sleep on a mattress on the floor next to his bed, just in case he needed anything.

After what seemed like just a couple minutes after I dozed off, I felt a little hand poking me in the head.

“Dad.  Dad. DAAAAAAAD!”

I looked up, and his head was peeking over the corner of the bed.  “What, buddy?”

“Dad.  Dad. Babies have to take little bites of food because they don’t have any teeth.”

“Okay, buddy – let’s try to get some sleep – you need to rest because you’re sick.”  He laid his head back down, and I started to doze off again.  Then I felt the poking again.

“Dad.  Dad. DAAAAAAAD!”

“What is it this time, buddy?  Are you thirsty?”

“Dad.  When it’s light outside, grass is light green.  But when it’s night, grass is dark green.”

I realized this was going to go on for a while – and bear a striking resemblance to some of the hazy, smoke-induced discussions I had with college roommates.  So I got up and got him some water, hoping that might make him sleep.  Then I went back to bed, secure in the knowledge that babies take small bites because they have no teeth.

He’s fine now, thanks for asking.

On Saturday night, the wife and I took a rare opportunity out of the house together to see “(500) Days of Summer,” a movie that’s gotten pretty good reviews.  It’s actually much better than I expected – but at one point I yelped loudly, as the movie killed one of my go-to jokes.

At one point in the movie, the main character (played really well by Gordon Joseph Levitt) looks to his little sister for advice on how to keep his girlfriend.  And his sister warns that his girlfriend will probably leave him for “a guy with a face like Brad Pitt and Jesus abs.”

As it turns out, when I’m in church, I often look at Jesus on the crucifix and wonder how he got such a six-pack.  And when I tell people this, it tends to get a few chuckles.  I have a whole bit about how I’m thinking of going on the Home Shopping Network and selling the Jesus workout video and such.  In fact, just one week ago I regaled my softball team with the whole schtick. It was a reliable go-to bit.  Maybe not riotously clever, but subversive enough to garner some nervous laughter.

And now, it has to be retired forever because of that stupid movie.  People will think I just stole it.  From now on, any jokes I think of, I will have notarized, just so people will believe me.  And I will carry this piece of paper around in my wallet, right next to my picture of Mary Lou Retton.

(Note to self – get the Mary Lou Retton joke notarized.)

As if that weren’t enough, the movie also features a Smith song that I JUST LAST WEEK linked to on Twitter. (Do yourself a favor and watch it here.) Granted, laboratory tests have proven it to be their best song, so it makes sense that the writers would use it.  But the coincidences are starting to pile up.  Now people will even have trouble believing that I came up with the whole idea of setting the move “Titanic” on a boat.

Anyway, for my own selfish benefit, I hope you don’t go see the movie.  But it is pretty good.  Here’s the trailer:

As a society, we have all sort of cultural touchstones that we use to explain how something is extreme.  Generally, there are words or terms that immediately describe how something is the best, worst, biggest, etc.

For instance, when someone deigns something the most evil thing in the world, they call upon the thing we all agree is the representation of all that is vile: Hitler.  You may hear people say things like, “that woman behind the counter at the DMV was like Hitler,” or “only Hitler would oppose gay marriage,” or the very popular, “dude, your balls smell like Hitler.”

One of these cultural touchstones we have is McDonald’s.  Generally, we use Mickey D’s when we’re trying to describe the shittiest job imaginable.  Parents across the world warn their children that if they underachieve, start drugs, or get pregnant at a young age, they will suffer the most degrading fate possible – having to work at McDonald’s.  It’s the one universal concept in the world – even kids in Bangladesh behave themselves for fear of having to one day fry burgers at the Golden Arches.

And that’s why I think McDonald’s employees deserve more credit.  They make crap money, and they have the one job that everyone universally agrees is the worst imaginable job in the world.  They slave over hot grease and have all these food Hitlers trying to convince people that the burgers they make are a secret plot to kill minorities.  (See what I did there?)

And I don’t even know how McDonald’s ended up in the crosshairs.  The Big Mac is like a piece of celery compared to the euthanasia burgers they serve at Burger King.  In 34 states, it’s illegal to carry a concealed Taco Bell grilled stuf’t burrito.  But for some reason, it just seems that people have it out for McDonald’s and that’s that.

So I salute you, Golden Arches employees.  Sometimes, you even get my order right.  You deserve more than the universal scorn of the world.  You keep the economy moving, you pay your taxes, and your extra large straws make the Coke taste even better.

And as long as we’re at it, I propose ditching all of these words that people have grown accustomed to using to make a point.  Like when people say things are selling like “hotcakes”  I have yet to see any instance where there was a shortage of hotcakes due to their overwhelming popularity.

As I’ve mentioned a few times on this blog, I play in a Monday night golf league.  (I would mention what place I’m in, but let’s just say I don’t want to jinx it.)

On the seventh hole of the course where we play, a family of foxes live.  And when we congregate after our rounds to drink beers, someone inevitably has a story about the foxes – 90 percent of which are apocryphal.  It’s always like, “man, one of the foxes ran off with my ball,” or “my ball went into a fox hole,” or”one of the foxes cooked me up a hamburger,” or some such nonsense.  80% of them are good stories, most of them are 100% false.

But this week, we had a guy walk up to his ball, only to see one of the foxes hovering over it.  After a few seconds over the ball, the fox quickly ran off.  (Presumably, it wanted to catch some of the Sotomayor hearings.)

When he walked up to his ball, the guy saw this horrific sight, and took the following picture.

Yes indeed, the fox dropped a deuce on his ball.  Well not ON, but close enough.  Apparently, he was allowed to take an unplayable lie.

And as it turns out, given my score, I did the same thing on the course that the fox did.  Only metaphorically.

People who know me well know my affinity for crazy people who run for political office.  Thus, I was excited to be introduced to Montana crazyperson Bob Kelleher, who last year ran for U.S. Senate as a Republican against Democrat Senator Max Baucus.

Listen to Kelleher\’s radio ad regarding abortion – and let it wash over you with awesomeness:

Did he just mispronounce \”fellatio?\”

And here\’s an example of Kelleher\’s strong television presence:

And, in fact, Kelleher even had folk song written in his honor and featured in this bizarre web ad, which stars people with giant eyebrows photoshopped on to their heads:

God Speed, Bob Kelleher.

I’m no fan of bachelor parties.  I wasn’t even into them all that much when I was single and it was more socially permissible to be in a strip club.  This largely stems from the trauma I suffered from going to my uncle’s bachelor party in Vegas when I was 23, while my dad was there.  We were equally as uncomforable – and I had to pretend like I never set foot in such an institution in my life:

“MY GOODNESS, WHAT IS THIS MYSTERIOUS PLACE?  MA’AM, ARE YOU AWARE THAT YOU ARE NOT WEARING A SHIRT? YOU COULD CATCH A COLD, YOUNG LADY!”

In any event, my sister in law is getting married this weekend, and I was invited to come to my future brother in law’s bachelor party.  Some bowling, the Madison Mallards baseball game, and chicanery after that.

It only took a few minutes for me to realize that bachelor parties aren’t quite what they were in the old days.  They have been altered irrevocably by technology, and for the worse.  I am talking, of course, about the prevalence of cell phones.

Now, when you go out to a bachelor party, every guy has a camera phone and text messaging ability.  This changes everything.  Back in the day, it was always understood that whatever happened at a bachelor party stayed between the attendees.  No more.

Now, any time anything of note happens, guys are either taking pictures or texting details to their girlfriends.  Even worse are the married guys (me included) who don’t give a crap, so they’re drunkenly willing to share details with the world within seconds.

For instance, I left the party at about 9:30 on Saturday night (we had been going since 1:00 that afternoon, so I thought I had put in some solid time.)  On the way to finding a cab, I ran into the bachelorette party, who happened to be out downtown at the same time.  I was peppered with questions about what had gone on:

“I heard someone got thrown into Lake Mendota.”  (Indeed, they had.)

“Why did you make the groom wear that giant yellow foam rubber cowboy hat at the baseball game?”  (Indeed, we had.)

And so on and so forth.

So here’s a lesson to those of you who have tricked some crazy woman into marrying you.  When you have your bachelor party, all the phones go in a box – not to be touched by their owners until the party is over.  No pictures, no texting, no tweeting, no phone calls.  They all must be incommunicado for the entirety of the event.  And as a thank you for this tip, you must also invite me.

As a side note, one of the attendees at the bachelor party covers the Twins for the Minneapolis Star Tribune.  He actually wrote about his experience at Warner Park on his blog here.  He also happens to be a super cool dude, despite having to cover the Twinkies.

Look, I’m all about saving the environment and stuff, but come on…

Today, I slipped out for a little bathroom break at work.  I made my way into the stall to take care of business and sat down.  (Normally, I start singing really loudly to keep myself company, but not today.)

After about 3 minutes (honestly!) the lights went out.  Completely dark.  I was stuck in there, petrified.  I had to dig my cell phone out of my pocket, flip it open, and use the light to navigate myself through the final stages of my business.  Holding it up over my head (and continuing to hit the “clear” button to keep the light on), I made my way out of the bathroom, much like a coal miner would have to. (And with virtually all of the same toxic fumes.)

I looked over at the wall and noticed that they have recently put a motion sensor there, to click the lights off when there’s no motion.  Presumably, they are trying to save electricity when people aren’t in there.  But how could they not realize that when you’re in the stall there is NO MOTION.  It’s not going to pick people up that are behind the sacred walls of the stall, unless I guess, it’s an especially violent expulsion.

So what are you supposed to do?  Jump up in mid loaf, run out of the stall waving your arms and legs, and dart back behind the door?  (I do this anyway, by the way, much to the chagrin of my co-workers.)  Are you going to have to designate a “poo buddy” to go into the bathroom with you to keep the light on?  (To show my appreciation for you, by the way, I hereby nominate you my poo buddy.  No thanks necessary, although a small payment is appreciated.)

I’d love to have video of the first guy to go to building management to explain this situation.  Chances of the guys in the office nicknaming him “The Eternal Crapper” currently stand at 98%.

For decades, I have been golfing pretty terribly.  When I’m playing really well, I usually shoot in the low 40’s for a 9 hole round.  But I have never cracked the 40 mark – until yesterday.

Going into the last hole, I was only one over par.  If I got a par on the ninth, I would have finished with a 37, a score which I could play another 20 years and not match.  But, of course, I choked and put my drive in the water and double bogeyed the hole for the 39.  I finished with an 81 for the 18 hole round.

The moment was captured by my buddy Tom, who witnessed it all:

So now, after almost hitting a home run, I’m running out of things to achieve.  Sharing a bubble bath with Katherine Heigl is up next.

Words simply do not do justice to the Slap Chop:

“Life’s hard enough as it is.”

Especially when you’re beating hookers.

Stateline News-Tribune
May 20, 2009
by Sven Olsen

(La Crosse…) Inspired by a provision in his own state budget proposal, Wisconsin Governor Jim Doyle scored a free dinner last night when he got Minnesota Governor Tim Pawlenty to pick up the tab at a local Outback Steakhouse.

Buried deep in Doyle\’s budget plan is language that could make someone who is only 1% at fault in an accident financially liable for 100% of the damages.

\”Jim told me that under the terms of his budget\’s joint and several liability clause, I had to pay for the whole bill. But I only ate two tiny wedges of a Bloomin\’ Onion, while the Jimster had soup, a salad, a rib eye steak, washed it all down with four Wallaby Darneds – and I\’m the one responsible for the whole bill?\” asked an incredulous Pawlenty.

Held up by meetings in St. Paul, the Minnesota chief executive was late to his dinner appointment at the Australian-themed restaurant. Upon his arrival, Doyle apologized for having already ordered and eaten most of his meal saying he was simply famished and could wait no longer.

The two Governors try to meet for a meal annually to discuss issues of the their states\’ mutual interest. This year\’s topics included discussing further interstate cooperation efforts and how to avoid bloodshed should Brett Favre become a Viking. The two state leaders worry the latter scenario will almost certainly lead to border riots that will choke the Mississippi River with dead bodies, which could adversely affect commercial freighter traffic on the waterway.

Hours after he and Doyle parted ways for the evening, Pawlenty was still irked at the way the check was handled.

\”I like the old way we did it where there was actually some relationship between what we each ordered and how we split the bill, \” said Pawlenty. \”If this is how they roll now in Wisconsin, I may just stop going out to eat there altogether.\”

Shaking his head as he looked again at his $73 credit card receipt, Pawlenty muttered, \”I knew we shoulda gone to Taco Bell instead.\”

Awkward Family Photos.

Some favorites:

I was on Sunday Insight with Charlie Sykes last week. Swine flu, taxpayer funded trains, and alarms on day care vans are on the docket.

[flv:/wp-content/uploads/multimedia/videos/sunday_insight/Sunday_Insight050309.flv 480 360]

For as much time as I spend on the internet, you\’d think I would have seen most of this stuff before now – but some friends sent me a bunch of funny stuff today that I had missed, so here it is.

Check out actual resumes and cover letters at nothired.com.

I hadn\’t seen Eugene Mirman, but this stand-up special is pretty good:
Eugene Mirman Comedy Special Part 2

Some guy named Zach Galifianakis interviews Natalie Portman: (I know this is kind of the \”Chris Farley Show\” schtick from SNL, but it\’s still funny)

And an even funnier version, with \”Mad Men\’s\” Jon Hamm:

After work on Wednesday, I headed down to Panera to grab dinner for the family.  While standing in line waiting to order, I noticed a fairly attractive young woman standing about six feet behind me.  When I turned around again, I saw she had edged a little closer and was looking right at me.  Then, while still making eye contact, she took another step forward.

\”Uhhhh… hi,\” I said.

She smiled and said hi, and leaned forward a little.  This seemed a little strange, as this is not the normal effect I have on women that have a full set of teeth.  Generally, they manufacture some reason to pretend they didn\’t see me – like sawing off their foot.

Just then, the counter cleared, and I was ready to order.  I ordered the food, then headed over to the other end of the restaurant to pick it up.  I saw the girl order, then walk very slowly to a table, scoping out the restaurant.  After a couple of minutes, a guy with brown hair walked over to her table.  She got up, and they shook hands, as if they were just meeting.  Then it hit me:

She thought I was her blind date.

Fortunately for her, I was not.  I imagine she was relieved, as well.  A small part of me wished that, had I known what was going on, I would have played along for a little bit.  But after my ruse was exposed, I imagine it would have gotten uncomfortable.

I started to think about how different blind dating is these days, with the internet and all.  I mean, does anyone go on a date anymore where they haven\’t at least seen a picture of the person first?  It so happens that this guy looked a lot like me (or I, him), so I can see where she might have confused us.  (Although on my blind dates, I always wore bright orange arm floaties and a Seattle Seahawks football helmet, to make sure the girl could spot me immediately.  There generally weren\’t many second dates.)

But it seems that some of the best stories people carry throughout their lives are tales of blind dates gone horribly wrong.  The ones where a friend of yours says she knows this really nice, funny girl that looks like Uma Thurman, and she actually looks more like Bob Uecker.  (For some reason, at least in the mid \’90s, any time a girl wanted to set you up with a strange looking friend, they always said she looked like Uma Thurman, merely because she manages to be both hot and weird looking.)*

Now, with the internet, potential suitors can be fully vetted and examined prior to meeting in person – although, admittedly, any time someone posts a picture of themselves online, you should probably mentally slap on about 15 pounds to estimate what they really look like.  

But sadly, the tales of crazy blind dates may be going the way of fondue and wife swapping.  This is more disturbing than the disappearance of the newspaper industry.  Everyone needs to experience a truly apocalyptic first date to tell all their friends about.  Without these, people would be forced to sit around and tell stories about how they got their scars.  (I have a theory that if more than 3 people are locked in a room for more than 2 hours, the conversation inevitably turns to drinking stories and scar stories – and sometimes, they\’re the same story.  I have yet to be proven wrong.)

Oh, and since I know you\’ve been wondering:  The sandwich was delicious. 

*Side note – After college, I moved to Chicago and stayed with my friend The Gooch.  We went to a bar one night, and I actually did meet a girl who looked like Uma Thurman – and in a good way.  She was a law student at some school there.  She called me a few days later, and asked me if I wanted to go have coffee.  My answer?  \”Well, I don\’t drink coffee.\”

Genius.