I mentioned a few posts ago that I recently spent some time at the State Historical Society combing through old microfilm for some work research.  There really can be no more entertaining endeavor than sitting for hours soaking in the zeitgeist of some past era as told by the newspapers of that time.

In my hours there, I noticed an interesting phenomenon – there appeared to be a pack of elderly gentlemen spending a great deal of time reading old newspapers, but not for any real reason.  They just sat there, hour after hour, quietly reading newspapers from a half a decade ago.  They didn\’t take any notes, and only stood up to pull another reel out of the endless rows of microfilm files on the walls.

It was only after I left that I realized what might be going on here.  These might be old men who are wholly disillusioned with current popular culture, spending time reconnecting with the events of a happier era.  Essentially, if you don\’t like today\’s culture, the miles of microfilm housed at the Historical Society just allows you to pick a new era and live there for a little while.  Little, insignificant stories from your younger days might trip something in your brain that takes you back to a time when things were simpler.  You can just check out of America 2008 and be magically transformed back to the Eisenhower days, before crudity became the cultural standard and kids could actually run a lemonade stand without a permit from the city.

Imagine your life if you\’re a 75 year-old recent widower.  You can hop into the way-back machine for a few hours and comb through the world when you and your future wife had just met.  You can soak your senses in the JC Penney ads that were running when you got up the nerve to ask her out on your first date.  It\’s as close as you can get to the sensation you felt at the time, when the world was your oyster – and you didn\’t realize one day you\’d be spending your days trying to reclaim them by steadily scrolling through faded microfilm.

Of course, this is all speculative on my part.  Maybe they\’re just old men killing time, bored to tears by their retirement years.  But I almost feel like I need to go back and talk to some of these guys, to see if I\’m right.

Going back to the beginning of this post, here\’s an example of what I was talking about when I mentioned the entertainment value of combing through old newspapers.  Here\’s a news analysis that ran in the Wisconsin State Journal in January of 1984.  God bless their hearts.

This afternoon, I had to run to the bank to deposit one of my meager paychecks.  When I got out on the road, I grew very worried.  Every road in Madison was jam-packed with cars.  I wanted to know what I was missing – it looked exactly like it would look if there were an impending nuclear attack on Central Wisconsin and everyone was trying to get out of town at once.  Remember – I was a little kid when the movie \”The Day After\” showed on TV, so I have lived my life in constant fear of a nuclear attack.  If you\’re my age, you\’re generally afraid of three things: the Soviet Union launching a nuclear missle at us, the Japanese taking over the entire auto industry, and having to take Long Duk Dong to your school dance.

Apparently, the only impending threat citizens were under was the threat of not getting an extra dollar off of wool socks.  It appears that all of society just shuts down the entire week of Christmas.

So naturally, as I got to the bank, there was a line about 12 people deep.  The bank had three tellers working – an old lady, a dude, and… well, there\’s no way to beat around the bush on this… a hottie.  She had long brown hair and was wearing a fire red sweater that she likely picked out just for me.

I was aware that I had some time to kill, so I looked at the people ahead of me and ran the odds of me ending up at her window.  It was a complicated formula – I figured the guy with the club foot would take a little extra time, the lady tapping her foot seemed like she was in a hurry.  I suddenly had a plan in place that was only slightly less complicated than the invasion of Normandy.  I was going to get to that window.  (I had about 20 minutes to think about this, as half the people in line seemed to be taking out home mortgages right there at the teller window.)

As I got to the front of the line, the skies opened, the sun shone, and she called me over.  I sauntered toward her window, adopting my best devil-may-care attitude.  I tried to adopt a Don Draper-like persona: calm, cool, and mysterious. (I tried to hide the true intent of my visit to the bank – to put money in my checking account – until the very last minute, just to keep up the aura of mystery.)  I flipped my check and deposit slip onto the desk, cocked my head to the side, paused, and said \”deposit, please,\” as if James Dean himself were there standing in front of her bank terminal.

She smiled, looked at her computer and began typing.  Then she looked at me and leaned forward.  I braced for the seductive verbal bouquet that was about to trickle off her lips.  She began speaking in a hushed tone, and said:

\”Your credit card is delinquent.\”

I grabbed my receipt and shuffled out.  I think I\’ll go through the drive-thru next time.

TAKE A GUESS:

My team has lost three of its last four games, dropping out of the playoffs – during which time I have thrown exactly one touchdown and six interceptions.  The one game we did win was on a fluke miracle defensive touchdown against the Bills when they inexplicably tried to throw the ball while running out the clock.

In my past three games, I have thrown for 137, 207, and 187 yards.  I have not thrown for 300 yards once this year.

Despite leading the NFL in interceptions, I made the pro bowl on my name alone.  My 21 touchdowns are middle of the pack in the AFC, and padded by one 6-touchdown game against the Cardinals where Arizona turned the ball over a ridiculous seven times.

The guy I replaced has now led a team that went 1-15 last year to a spot ahead of us in the playoff chase.

Four of my team\’s losses have come against powerhouses like Oakland (4-11), San Diego (7-8), San Francisco (6-9) and Seattle (4-11).

While taking time off from leading the AFC in interceptions, I found time to call a team and offer them tips on how to beat my old team, thereby exposing myself as a petulant, vindictive jerk.

WHO AM I?

(Answer after the jump:)

Continue reading

I\’m not usually one to blow my own horn (which I don\’t think is legal in Wisconsin anymore), but I do have to admit – I am the greatest snow driver of all time.  I consider those of you who stay home because a little snow falls to be weak of spirit and onion-deficient.  My 4-wheel drive and I are like Batman and Robin.  Peanut Butter and Jelly.  Gin and Tonic.  Hall and Oates.  You get the picture.

In fact, my drive to work today was reminiscent of the opening scene of \”Undercover Brother,\” in which he spins out for 30 seconds while failing to spill a drip of his Big Gulp:

Enjoy your hot cocoa at home – I\’ll be here at work defending freedom.  And shopping on eBay.

I was reading  some old newspaper microfilm in the State Historical Society the other day, doing some research for work.  As long as I was there, I thought I\’d look up the press account from a family tragedy that befell us in 1977.  And I have to admit it – going back and thinking about it made me a little misty.  (Although not as much as a typical episode of \”Friday Night Lights,\” which gets the water works going every episode.

This got me thinking about a question I hadn\’t really given much thought to in the past.  Why do we cry?

When you think about it, the human body is an amazingly efficient machine – virtually every human physiological process has an explanation.  When we get hot, we sweat to cool ourselves off.  When we get cold, we shiver to stay warm.  When we exercise, we breathe more deeply to get more oxygen to our blood cells.  When we exercise our muscles, they get stronger to adapt.  When our bodies think it\’s time to have sex (for me, any time I turn the DVD player on), it…ummm… reacts accordingly.  The future of humanity depends on it.

But what purpose does crying serve?  Seemingly, there is no physical challenge overcome by tears streaming from your eyes.  There\’s no cause that produces the effect.  While other animals have tear ducts (like monkeys and Michael Moore), humans are the only ones that cry.  Biologists have pretty much nailed down the physiological process – the nervous system stimulates the cranial nerve, in the brain and this sends signals to the neurotransmitters to the tear glands. The largest tear gland, the lacrimal gland produces the tears of emotion and reflex.  But that doesn\’t explain what triggers the response, or what purpose it is supposed to serve.

I suppose one could argue that tears are the body\’s way of releasing pent-up feelings.  But why would these feelings come of of the eyes?  It seems the body already has several mechanisms for expelling things – imagine if, instead of crying, we just soiled ourselves.    When Red says \”maybe I just miss my friend\” at the end of Shawshank Redemption, I\’d have to make a beeline for the can every time.

As I mentioned, animals feel pain and sadness, but they just howl.  Why are humans different?  Maybe Baby Jesus makes us cry.  St. Francis of Assisi supposedly cried until he was blind.  So when I lose my sight, that\’s what I\’ll blame it on.

So, anyway.

New evidence has come to light that really condemns Rod Blagojevich.

\”Police reports did not what type of sandwich was used in either attack.\”

Alright, I\’ll stop shampooing and get right to it.  My dad sent me my Christmas gift already – some gift cards to Best Buy.  A few weeks ago, I lost my iPod, and I\’ve been lost ever since.  My life is devoid of meaning.  I even accidentally ate a salad.  So clearly, I need another iPod Nano.  (Set aside, for a moment, the question of whether spending your Christmas gift cards before Christmas is actually appropriate.  I believe the Bible is silent on the issue.)

The 16 GB Nanos at Best Buy are $199.99.  (Thank God they\’re not $200 – I might not be able to swing that.)  And these gift cards will cover a big chunk of it.  Sounds like a match made in heaven, right?

Only there\’s one thing that sticks in my craw.  If you go online shopping, like at B&H, the same iPod is $174.95.  Twenty five bucks cheaper, for those of you educated in MPS.  So while I can buy from Best Buy at a cost of nearly zero to me, I know I\’ll be paying too much.  I\’d almost rather pay the full price myself, and be satisfied that I got a deal, rather than pay nothing, but at an inflated price.  It\’s crazy, I know.

Also, on a related note, I have a proposal that will kick-start the nation\’s economy.  It\’s pretty clear that putting the letters \”e\” or \”i\” in front of anything makes people 50% more likely to buy it.  Those two letters confer status on products – as if they\’re from the future.  When the iPhone came out, people stormed stores to pay whatever they had in their bank accounts for these phones, because of one letter.

So I propose putting the letters \”e\” and \”i\” in front of everything.  Housing market down?  Someone buy my \”iThreeBedroomTwo iBath.\”  Looking to sell your crappy car?  Advertise for an \”eLemon.\”  Who doesn\’t get a little more excited about paying their taxes when they know they can e-file?

This could actually apply across the board.  Just think – if your doctor sent you an e-mail telling you you had \”iCancer,\” you\’d be like \”oh, that\’s not too bad.\”  If you find out your husband is having an \”e-affair,\” you\’d say \”oooh – sounds cutting edge.\”

Patent pending.

(I\’ll get right to it after I open \”Simply Arms.\”)

At least Wood was “blunt” when he decided to take the “high” road in his official statement regarding his arrest:

“I am deeply sorry for my irresponsible behavior. I apologize to my family, friends and my constituents who expect more from me. On Thursday evening I was arrested in Columbia County by the Wisconsin State Patrol for drunk driving and possession of marijuana. I cooperated fully with law enforcement and will continue to do so throughout the entire process. There is no excuse for my actions and I accept full responsibility. This is not typical behavior for me, but unfortunately I drank too much and exercised very poor judgment. I want to let my family and friends know that I regret what I did and am very sorry for the embarrassment and pain I have caused.”

Right… the first time he ever had weed in his car, and he got busted.  Amazing how that happens.

Capitol watchers remember earlier this year, when Wood quit the Republican Party, holding himself up as the paragon of virtue.  He was welcomed with open arms by the Democrats, who thought enough of him to give him a committee chairmanship when they took control of the Assembly.  Oops.

Of course, had the Assembly ended up in a 49-49 tie, Wood would essentially have been the de facto Assembly Speaker, as he would have been able to decide committee assignment, what bills get to the floor, etc.  Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to your Wisconsin State Government.

In the end, Wood’s attempt to blackmail the Republican Party now look about as convincing as some other pot-induced capers we’ve seen:

The Dude: “I dropped off the money exactly as per… look, man, I’ve got certain information, all right? Certain things have come to light. And, you know, has it ever occurred to you, that, instead of, uh, you know, running around, uh, uh, blaming me, you know, given the nature of all this new s—, you know, I-I-I-I… this could be a-a-a-a lot more, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, complex, I mean, it’s not just, it might not be just such a simple… uh, you know?”

UPDATE:  I actually managed to get through this post without making a joke about Wood desperately wanting to chair a joint commitee.  Shame on me – I should be suspended for a week by the National Blogging Association for this grievous oversight.

As I settled in to my office this morning and started looking at my keyboard, I noticed something troubling.  It appears at some point this morning, I had started clipping my fingernails, and I missed two fingers.  I just stopped cold, midway through my right hand.  (See attached photo, which will be entered into evidence as exhibit B-4:)

This is most troubling.  What the  hell happened that caused me to just forget those last two fingers?  If I blacked out, anything could have happened during that time.  I could have lost consciousness and become the ruthless overlord of a developing nation, committing genocide and refusing to recycle.  I may have spent months trying to quell an insurrection of freedom fighters who were rebelling against my regime\’s official stated position that Chef Boyardee products all taste identical.  Then I could have been transported back to my bathroom, where I regained consciousness.  The chances of this happening currently stand at around 8%.

Or I may have had to pee.

So tonight I finally got around to watching the last episode of \”The Pickup Artist 2\” on TiVo.  (Unsolicited side note: TiVo is perfect for hipsters who want to show that they\’re into a TV series, but not so into it that they actually rush to the TV when it is on.  It\’s a perfect way to appear to remain detatched, since caring strongly about anything other than Barack Obama is frowned upon.)

For the uninitiated, The Pickup Artist series airs on VH1 – it is a reality show where some gangly Canadian bozo who dresses like a space pirate deems himself the \”Master Pickup Artist,\” and teaches a house full of dorks all the tips to pick up women.  This man goes only by the sobriquet \”Mystery,\” and molds twitchy little freaks into sleazy douchebags who get spray-on tans and wear their headware askance.

For some reason, I can\’t look away from this show.  (Unsolicited side note #2: I subscribe to the Chuck Klosterman theory that there is no such thing as a \”guilty pleasure.\”  Either something gives you pleasure, or it doesn\’t – and if it does, there is absolutely no reason to apologize for it just because some hipster jackass might look down on you for it.)

Every week, the contestants go on \”field tests,\” in which Mystery sends them into a local bar to use whatever invaluable tips he taught them that week to pick up chicks.  The show goes to great lengths to point out that the entire field test exercises are done via hidden camera in real bars with real people.  In many cases, these aspiring lotharios strike out in such spectacular fashion that you actually have to shield your eyes from the painful awkwardness exuding from your television.  But in some instances, the contestants get a phone number, or even a brief makeout session based on their newfound skillzzzz.

But in the real world (in which I sometimes live), these \”field tests\” raise some questions.  At some point, the show\’s producers have to convince the targeted women in that bar to sign a waiver to use their image and voice on television.  This would have to be done after their encounter with the twitchy, freakish contestant.  At this point, the woman would know that she has essentially fallen prey to a scam, which for 98% of human history may have actually embarrassed her a little bit.  But apparently, the desire to be on television at all costs is so strong, they go ahead and sign a waiver saying \”I agree to be on television to show my parents that I am willing to get drunk and play tonsil hockey with a nerdy stranger who just duped me with some pickup ruse.\”

The series finale was interesting, as well.  For one of the field tests (see below) the final two contestants were released into the wild, and the first one to kiss a girl won the contest.  The flaw in this game is obvious: it doesn\’t take into account quality.  One of the contestants could make a bee line for the first ugly woman in the bar, throw out their standard pickup line, and be having a tongue fight within minutes.  What exactly does that prove?

This year\’s winner was the large-lipped Simien, and there\’s an 80% chance he\’s gay.  (One of the previous episodes, in which one of each of the contestants\’ \”friends\” was brought to the house from back home,  heavily alluded to this fact.)  And he really had the lamest pickup line, (or \”opener,\” as Mystery calls it) and he beat it to death.  (\”What movie is \’nobody puts baby in a corner\’ from?  DIRTY DANCING!\”)  His pickup line almost made \”I like pickle juice\” (which was actually used to great effect by a contestant) seem erudite.

Finally, in the last episode, Mystery stocks the house with \”perfect 10s,\” of which the two remaining contestants must choose one to successfully seduce.  (In some cases, the only \”10\” in that house could be achieved by standing three hoochies together.)  Mystery claims that these women are his \”friends.\”  Yet all of the techniques the two romeos use are methods taught by Mystery in Season One of the show.  So if these women were really Mystery\’s friends, wouldn\’t they have watched the show last year and been able to recognize the dopey tricks being played on them?

The real star of the show, however, is Mystery, who treats the entire affair as an infomercial, getting people to sign up and pay thousands of dollars for his traveling seminar on picking up women.  And if you\’d like, you can also fork over some cash for a book detailing his methods called \”The Game.\” The seriousness with which Mystery takes his instruction simply has to be a put-on.  There\’s just nobody that can be that earnestly ridiculous without it being an act.

To get a flavor of the show, click below and see our last two contestants work the room.

I spent my Thanksgiving replacing the giant concrete washtub in our basement with a smaller, plastic one that actually drains.  After getting all the plumbing hooked up, I stood for a good half hour, admiring my handiwork.  Then, my wife did the first load of laundry, and we immediately realized the tub was too small to hold the discharge from the washer, sending gallons of water on to my basement floor.  Back to square one.

We also spent the morning watching the Macy\’s Day Parade with my kids, who seemed enthralled by the whole thing.  I got shivers when my daughter pointed at Miley Cyrus and said \”Hey, it\’s Hanna Montana.\”  We have tried our best to shield them from overtly commercial junk like that, but it appears the force is just too great.  The seal has been broken.  The toothpaste is out of the tube.  The racoon is doing origami.  (I don\’t know what that means.)

My kids also enjoyed the Rockettes quite a bit.  My 3 year-old son jumped up and started doing the high leg kicks and everything.  But when you get older, you begin to realize what a sham the Rockettes really are.  I mean, there are probably a million women in America that can do what they do (beaten out slightly my the 1.2 million women who have refused to give me their phone number.)  The appeal of the Rockettes, as I see it, is not that they are great dancers, but that they all dance in unison.  The dance moves are pretty boilerplate – the hard part is syncing the kicking and spinning up with 30 other women.

But should we really give them all that much credit for doing things at the same time?  Aren\’t there other things that, if people did them simultaneously, we\’d be better off?  Like, paying child support?

I also noticed that there was one African-American Rockette, which got me thinking.  If the whole aesthetic goal of the Rockettes is to provide a visual demonstration of similar women doing the same thing, doesn\’t that kind of argue against having a Rockette of a different color?  Wouldn\’t she stand out and break the whole continuity of the visual?  If not, why do they exclude other people with differences?  I\’d love to see the first wheelchair-bound Rockette.

This actually became an issue later in the parade, when some high school dance team was doing their routine.  They were wearing skimpy uniforms, but since it was cold outside, they all had the flesh-colored long sleeves on.  But they showed one black girl on the dance team, and the flesh-colored shirts clearly weren\’t the color of her flesh – they were made for white girls.  So either she had some horrible pigmentation problem, or she was forced to be white from the neck down for a day.  Really bizarre.

The highlight of the parade had to be when America got Rickrolled.  Some puppet float interrupted their kids song, bringing Rick Astley out to perform \”Never Gonna Give You Up.\”  A brilliant move on their part, cashing in on the Rickrolling cultural phenomenon sweeping the nation.  Had to be weird for Astley, lip-syncing to a song that he recorded 20 years ago.

Now, for your aural pleasure:

…or can I?

Did you know that every time AARON RODGERS plays a professional football game, he\’s actually playing against BRETT FAVRE?  It\’s true – because TONY KORNHEISER told me so, and he is on television, so he has to be right.

Since you\’re clearly not as smart as TONY KORNHEISER, you might ask yourself stupid questions, such as: How often does BRETT FAVRE\’S team give up 51 points?  Does BRETT FAVRE now play defensive back?  Doesn\’t BRETT FAVRE have completely different players on his team, and hasn\’t BRETT FAVRE played different teams throughout the year?  You may have uttered to yourself: Don\’t BRETT FAVRE and AARON RODGERS have very similar statistics this year?  Didn\’t AARON RODGERS play a couple games with his arm hanging off his body?

Fear not – all these answers have been answered by the Oracle, MR. TONY KORNHEISER.  He knows better than to muddy the water with FACTS.  And he is allowed to make the same inane points OVER and OVER by pretending there are SOME PEOPLE who sit at home and pretend AARON RODGERS is actually playing against BRETT FAVRE every week.  In fact, there ARE NONE.

Actually, there are likely people watching Monday Night Football that have NO LIPS.  In order to accomodate these people, RON JAWORSKI should have to announce how each play would have been different had it been made by a LIPLESS PERSON.  Since, after all, there are SOME PEOPLE wondering it, they should have to say it OVER and OVER, right?  Since STUPID people are sitting at home comparing AARON RODGERS to BRETT FAVRE on every play, it is necessary to accomodate those people by making the broadcast UNLISTENABLE for everyone else.

This message has been brought to you by Mayor Salty\’s Beard Softening Cream.