Well, that was a long way to drive to see the Packers immolate themselves.

As I mentioned in my last post, my buddy Gooch came up with a ticket for me for tonight\’s big Packers-Cowboys game. And thus, it was required that I drop everything and make the trek up to Lambeau to watch this clash of previously undefeated teams. I even got myself a fancy new Greg Jennings jersey for the occasion – for reasons I spelled out here. I actually didn\’t realize how it feels to pick a player and wear his jersey – it almost feels like you\’re investing in him like a stock. Before, I just had a Favre jersey, which everyone had. But when you pick someone other than the big star, you\’re sticking your neck out a little. So every time Jennings made a catch, I felt a little bit of pride – like somehow, I had a small hand in his success. In fact, I think he should send me a small portion of his paycheck as a thank you. Or some of the naked pictures women send him of themselves. Either one works, really.

As it turns out, my post inviting people I knew to invite me to their tailgates paid off. As soon as Gooch and I parked, I got a couple text messages from people inviting me to their cookouts. So I thought I had some options. Unfortunately, the text messages I got all happened to be from people that were standing next to each other at the time they sent them to me. So there really was just one – my friends Michael and Adam, who decided to set up shop behind the KMart on Lombardi Ave.

So we hung out there for a while, had a beer, and jersey watched. Really, the most fun of a Packer pre-game is picking out the random jerseys people have, and trying to wonder what in the world was going through their head when they bought them. Among the winners of \”most random jersey:\” Travis Jervey, Terrell Buckley, Derrick Mayes, Jim McMahon. One guy actually had a number 12 jersey with the name \”Uno Dos\” on the back, which was a clever play on Chad Johnson\’s \”Ocho Cinco\” schtick. Not as entertaining were the various Jessica Simpson costumes meant to ridicule Tony Romo. As soon as any of these guys can pull a babe under two Franklins, then they can taunt someone dating Jessica Simpson.

One phenomenon we noticed that still puzzles me is the guy who buys a Brett Favre Jets jersey and wears it to the Packer game. What exactly is this supposed to signify? You like Brett more than the Packers? You have too much money? Is it some form of protest against Packers management for giving Favre the boot? If it does officially qualify as a protest, let me know, as I would be happy to tear gas these people.

Only slightly less obnoxious are the people who, for whatever reason, wear jerseys of other teams not involved in the game to a Packer game. For instance, a couple of years I went to a Packer-Saints game at Lambeau, and there were four or five guys there wearing Vikings jerseys. The only reason to do this is to be unnecessarily provocative. Anyone who hits one of these jerkoffs in the head with a cheesy grillwurst is a hero in my book.

One of the biggest benefits to going to the game in person is that you don\’t have to listen to the national announcers. During the Vikings game, I couldn\’t last a full quarter listening to Tony Kornheiser (who I normally love) compare everything Aaron Rodgers did to Favre. It was sickening – especially when he kept saying Packer fans are going to compare every throw Rodgers makes to Cheddar Jesus. Actually, believe it or not, we\’re not mouth breathing yokels, and we do actually recognize that Aaron Rodgers is a different human being than Favre. And we do actually know it might take more than a couple games for Rodgers to match the greatest statistical quarterback in the history of the league. But the national announcers are so intent on beating the public over the head repeatedly with \”the big story\” of the game that it becomes unlistenable. That\’s why I loves me some Wayne Larrivee. Just the facts.

(It\’s a good thing Kornheiser and Madden don\’t follow Rodgers around in his everyday life. Then you\’d hear things like: \”Did you see how Rodgers got tanked and banged those three Denny\’s waitresses at once? It was just like Favre would have done it.\”)

Speaking of Favre, there are still signs that litter the stadium that spell his name \”Farve.\” Honest to God, people – if you can\’t spell his name after 17 years, you might as well give up. I know more than a decade ago, the state legislature had a big debate about the high school graduation test. I propose the following: Get everyone in a room, and ask them if they can spell \”Favre.\” If they can\’t, they are clearly incapable of learning anything. We should then ship these people out to their own city where they can\’t make the rest of us any dumber. (I believe Illinois has such a place, which they call \”Joliet.\”)

Over by where we were sitting, there were three girls wearing bikini tops. Now, I\’m not sure if these are the now-famous \”bikini girls\” who gained notoriety during the playoffs. In fact, it wouldn\’t surprise me if copycat bikini girls have cropped up around Lambeau. However, what I do know is that these young ladies probably wouldn\’t be referred to as \”the situp girls\” anytime soon.

As for the game itself, I actually thought the Packers played relatively well. It wasn\’t much to watch, as both teams kind of plodded along – until a missed Charles Woodson tackle led to a long Felix Jones touchdown run, Miles Austin caught a long pass, then another at the end of the game to seal it. Other than those three big plays, the Packers played them even up. And, for the record, Tony Romo is amazing – from our vantage point, you could see the same thing he was looking at when he threw the ball. And in a few cases, it didn\’t look like anything was there – but he made some great throws.

After the game, I dropped the Gooch off at the Oneida Casino. Not wanting to make the night any worse (and make a donation to the Doyle for Governor campaign), I decided against gambling at the casino. Instead, I headed over to Taco Bell and loaded up on tacos for the two-and-a-half hour ride home. But just as I pulled on to the highway, I realized I was about to spill taco juice all over my sweet new jersey. So I actually took my shirt off and drove a big chunk of the way home shirtless. I was thinking it would be kind of embarrassing to get pulled over speeding while not wearing a shirt. But the more I thought about it, it would be more embarrassing to be pulled over by a carload of cheerleaders. If that happened, I might have run my car into ongoing traffic just to spare myself the shame. But then, the cheerleaders could have a car wash benefit in honor of my memory. So everyone wins. (It was a long ride home.)

But the more I thought about the shirtless driving experience, the more I came to terms with it. I mean, seriously – driving shirtless through central Wisconsin at midnight, while trying to listen to Packers postgame on a crackling radio with barely any reception is really what life is made of. I\’d recommend it to anyone.

Random drive home notes: Just when I thought I had accidentally left the corpse of a dead, rotting hooker in my trunk, I realized I was in Kaukauna, and that\’s how the city smells. That was a relief.

(When I one day run my inevitable campaign for Governor, my first memo to my staff will include the line
\”better forget about picking up votes in Kaukauna.\”)

Also, I can\’t tell you how happy I am that the City of Columbus actually has a Christopher Columbus museum. Who can forget the day that the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria washed up near the intersection of highways 60 and 151 in central Wisconsin? It was a miracle.

Here\’s a video of the player introductions from where I was sitting:

Sorry I haven\’t been able to post in a few days – after three straight weeks in a row on the road, I need to settle down and regain my bearings a little bit. I\’m still a little disillusioned – I actually cried at the end of \”Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay\” tonight. Pretty much every day I\’ve been gone, my kids have been sick, so it\’s been pretty tough – aside from the fact that they barely recognize me anymore.

Making being on the road even tougher has been the absolute collapse of the Milwaukee Brewers. My friend Mark said tonight that he has calculated the Brewers\’ magic number: 2009. I\’m pretty sure the people in the Branch Davidian compound in Waco took solace by saying, \”well, at least we\’re not the Milwaukee Brewers.\”

Today\’s collapse against the Cubs was catastrophic. During the eighth inning, while the Crew was still up 4 runs, I was sitting at my computer at work, listening on my headphones. At that point, I realized I needed to make an emergency trip to the bathroom – but I couldn\’t stop listening to the game. So decided to try to sneak out of the office with my big headphones and walkman in tow, to listen to the bottom of the eighth on the throne. Of course, when I open my door, I realize the entire office has decided to hold a meeting right outside my doorway. They all look at me, big headphones in hand, and it is clear what I was up to. I figured they saw me anyway, so I darted out the door, pride be damned.

Fortunately, I listened to the eighth inning, where Mota mowed down three straight batters. Had I listened to the ninth inning in the can, someone would have called 911 based on the screams of pain and anguish emanating from the stall. Paramedics would have rushed in with the jaws of life. Of course, what I was doing would have been the same thing the Brewers were doing, just on a baseball field.

Strangely, Major League Baseball has already put together a video yearbook of the 2008 Milwaukee Brewers season:

I spent most of last week in Scottsdale, Arizona, at the State Policy Network annual meeting. (For those not \”in the know,\” the State Policy Network is the national organization for state free-market think tanks.)

I got into Scottsdale on Tuesday night, and I began to miss home within an hour of settling into my hotel room. It was especially hard, given the fact that I had spent the entire previous week in Minneapolis for the GOP convention. Sometimes, it takes not being home for you to really realize what you actually like most about where you live. I missed the big trees in my front yard, the \”back to school\” Wisconsin air, and fried cheese curds. Oh, and I suppose I missed my wife and kids, too.

I don\’t think I could ever live in Phoenix. All the houses look the same, it\’s too hot, and the weather is too unpredictable. Walking to a restaurant a mile away from my hotel, I got caught in a windstorm, and couldn\’t open my eyes with all the sand flying around me. I also was struck in the shoulder by a flying Dasani water bottle, which must have been amusing for the cars passing by.

The restaurant I went to was called Stax, which purported to be a high-end burger place. They sell fancy little burgers, so you have to order three or so of them. I walked in, sat at the bar, then noticed that my bartender kind of looked like a male model. Then another waiter came out and looked exactly like the first guy. Then another guy at the bar started chatting me up, letting me know that he and his buddies were going out on the town that night, in case I wanted tips on where to go. It was only on my sandstorm-inflicted walk home that I realized I may have actually just visited a gay burger joint. Who knew they even existed? Gives \”hold the pickle\” a whole new meaning, I guess.

The night before, the conference bused all its attendees 45 minutes away to a western-themed bar/restaurant where they actually act out the old west, much in the same way a theme park would. I turned to a black friend of mine and wondered aloud how far they actually take this schtick – because if they get too realistic, they might be chasing him with torches before the night was out. I just can\’t imagine the African-Americans in attendance have fond memories of the Wild West years in America.

Later that night, after a few beers, I rammed my head into a cactus. I\’m not sure whose f\’ing genius idea it was to put a cactus in a bar, but I immediately began lobbying the locals for a law change. Fortunately, it didn\’t draw blood, or it would have been really embarrassing. As I found out soon thereafter, cacti are protected species in Arizona. So, in the event someone had to call 9-1-1, it\’s more likely that they\’d cart the cactus off in an ambulance, and not me.

I have to say, I\’m not very good at conferences where I\’m supposed to be \”networking.\” It\’s really hard for me to go up and just meet people, cold. The other option is to drink a lot and meet people at these conference social events, but in order for me to want to talk to people, I generally have to drink so much that I start fighting cacti.

So I was happy to finally get on the plane and head home on Friday, although coming home was a 10-hour ordeal with a two hour layover in Detroit. On the flight, the old women in front of me were noticing the male flight attendant, and how tall, thin, and well-mannered he was. She then thought, given those requirements to be a male flight attendant, that her son might make a good one. Unfortunately, she may have been forgetting one small requirement that her son may or may not possess. And you know what it is without me having to say it. Let\’s just say her son\’s employment as a flight attendant might make Christmas a little more awkward next year. But she seemed oblivious.

When we got to Detroit, I noticed a fly on the plane, and began to think how much it would suck to be that fly. I mean, you didn\’t ask to move from Phoenix to Detroit – you were just minding your own business and happened to fly into a plane. Next thing you know, you\’re in totally strange surroundings with a completely different climate. You\’ll probably never get to go to your favorite restaurant again – so just to gain some familiarity with your new surroundings, you\’ll have to slum it and hang out by the dumpster\’s at Applebee\’s. And you\’re a fly, so you probably don\’t have satellite – so you\’re stuck watching Pistons games instead of the Phoenix Suns. Clearly, it was a long flight.

So after my trip, I came away with the following important observation: Anyone who is able to get the people of Phoenix hooked on fried cheese curds will be an instant millionaire. I\’m just throwing that out there for when someone does, just so I get a cut of the profits.

For years, people have been playing the \”would you rather\” game, where one is forced to choose between two roughly equally-unpleasant scenarios. (Would you rather eat a bowl of tomato soup strained through a vagrant\’s beard or eat a kidney bean-sized chunk of his ear wax?) The game is usually good for some laughs, but I\’m about to ruin the fun by posing a question that will require hours of serious soul-searching:

Would you rather, this season, that the Chicago Cubs win the World Series or the Minnesota Vikings win the Super Bowl?

The Case for Why It Would Be Worse for the Vikings to Win the Super Bowl:

A. WHY IT COULD HAPPEN THIS YEAR: Adrian Peterson breaks every running back record in the book. Key off-season acquisitions on offense and defense come through huge. Tarvaris Jackson has a breakout year and guides to glory a team that is solid at almost every other position.

B. HISTORY OF INEPTITUDE THAT WOULD BE ERASED WITH A CHAMPIONSHIP: The Herschel Walker Trade. The 1999 NFC Championship Game. Losing four Super Bowls in eight years.

A Vikings Super Bowl win would render unusable a Packer fan\’s best bar joke. (Empty pint glass of *Miller Lite into mouth. Place empty pint glass upside down on bar, turning it slowly. What is this? The Vikings\’ trophy case!)

*If you have been served Grain Belt beer, follow each step of the joke above but empty glass directly into toilet.

C. MOST HATED MEMBER OF TEAM: John Randle, Cris Carter, Chris Hovan, Randy Moss, Ragnar and his horn

D. FANS: The average Vikings partisan, with some exceptions, is a total fair weather fan. They seem to care more about needling Packer fans than being loyal to their own squad. Now that the Vikings have lost to the Packers in the season opener, you will notice that sightings of people wearing Vikings gear has dropped 75% from a week ago. In fact, as a public service to prevent stampede injuries, I am legally obligated to remind Vikings fans that the line to jump off the bandwagon forms to the left.

The Case for Why It Would Be Worse for the Cubs to Win the World Series:

A. WHY IT COULD HAPPEN THIS YEAR: The Cubs lead the division and have had the best record in the National League for much of the year. Great hitters. Great pitchers.

B. HISTORY OF INEPTITUDE THAT WOULD BE ERASED WITH A CHAMPIONSHIP: The legendary collapses of 1969, 1984 and 2003 (may God bless and keep you, Steve Bartman.) A century-long championship drought.

C. MOST-HATED MEMBER OF TEAM: Carlos Zambrano, Lou Piniella, Sammy \”Corky\” Sosa

D. FANS: They think they are adorable and America loves them even though their team is just the National League\’s answer to the Yankees. They think that mumbling drunk Harry Carey was endearingly quirky. They think Wrigley\’s ivy is something cooler than just weeds on a wall. They\’re the loyal, lovable losers. The \”Cubs\” – even the team name is cutesy.

ANALYSIS:
A. The Cubs are more likely to win the World Series this year than the Vikings are likely to win the Super Bowl. That probably isn\’t even debatable. ADVANTAGE: Cubs

B. While losing all four of the Super Bowls they\’re ever been to is hilariously pathetic, it pales in comparison a 100-year streak of heartbreak. ADVANTAGE: Cubs

C. The Cubs and Brewers have only been division rivals for a few years. Packer fans have generations of intra-division hatred for the Vikings. ADVANTAGE: Vikings

D. If you think Cubs fans are obnoxious now when they invade Milwaukee, just imagine how bad they\’d be next year wearing \”2008 World Series Champs\” shirts. The thought of Cubs fans at Miller Park in 2009 parading around in those shirts and \”Re-elect President Obama in 2012\” buttons makes me want to jump off a bridge. As nauseating as it would be to see a Vikings fan wearing a Super Bowl Champs shirt at Lambeau, one could take comfort in the fact that said fan would be pummeled to death by 70,000 people wearing green and gold. Cubs fans positively take over Miller Park and they\’d be more than happy to rub it in. ADVANTAGE: Cubs.

Conclusion: I would pick the Minnesota Vikings winning the Super Bowl as the less horrible of the two options. But I\’m aware that a compelling case could be made for the other side. Trousers readers, the floor is yours.

If you like having your political commentary delivered by a guy who is hung over, working on 3 hours of sleep, and who just drove 6 hours to get to the TV studio, you should tune in this weekend to \”Up Front with Mike Gousha.\” I am on with Chris Miklos discussing the two political conventions.

I got up early on Friday morning and made the drive from Minneapolis to Milwaukee to get to the studio on time. I then had to turn right around and drive back home to Madison, getting home at 6 PM. The good news is that I didn\’t have to change wardrobe – on the show, I just wore the suit I slept in the night before.

We filmed two sections – one for television, and one for the web. They actually made me wear makeup – I presume it\’s the same stuff they put on corpses in the morgue.

Tonight, I returned from my 5-day trip up to Minneapolis for the Republican National Convention. After being gone so long, it was nice to see there wasn\’t some other guy living in my house that my kids called \”daddy.\”

However, I did have a choice to make – so think about what you would do in this situation:

On Monday, I got to the hotel and started pulling clothes out of my bag to put them in my hotel room drawers. After I pulled out a Brewer t-shirt, folded it, and put it away, I looked down at the floor and began to panic.

It was a pair of women\’s underwear. All by themselves, on the floor, staring at me.

Now, I am certain this is a pair of my wife\’s drawers that got stuck to one of my shirts in the laundry. But suppose there\’s a .0001% chance they\’re not hers, and you come home from a week long trip and say \”honey, here\’s your underwear?\” Is it worth the risk?

On the other hand, even if you\’re sure they\’re hers, do you throw out a perfectly good pair of underwear? It\’s not like we\’re the Hiltons – we can\’t just go crazy and start throwing out our perfectly serviceable undergarments.

So I got home tonight and started doing laundry. And there they were, in my bag. I rolled the dice and said \”honey, I think I have some of your underwear in my bag,\” and showed them to her.

As it turns out, they were hers. But she said, \”Are you crazy? You should have thrown them away.\”

I just returned from my weekend trip to Ann Arbor, where I had a little mini-reunion with some of my college fraternity brothers at the Michigan-Utah football game. (Or, as it was known to my wife, the “Mid-Life Crisis World Tour.”) Five of us old guys who hadn’t seen each other in 12 years were ready to show Michigan how aging, bald frat guys do it up right.

My gruff little Chicago buddy Hal and I pulled up to the hotel early Friday afternoon after six hours in the car. We were immediately met by our former housemate Hutton, who reportedly had done a stint in AA last year. Of course, Hutton had a beer in hand when we met up. We asked how that whole AA thing went, and he said “I’m on vacation.” Pretty sure that’s how it works.

We met up with Chris (from Jacksonville) and Rob (from San Diego), and hit a sports bar for dinner. Those guys had been ribbing me mercilessly via e-mail for my TV appearances, as if I was some kind of star in Wisconsin. They thought the whole trip was going to be like “Entourage,” where I foot the bill for the weekend. They were a little disappointed to find out that I can’t afford to pay attention.

(Actually, Rob had gained a brief amount of celebrity himself when he made SportsCenter\’s Top 10 plays one night. He was at a San Diego Padres game holding his son in one arm, when a line drive came screaming at him. He lunged and caught the ball with his other hand, managing to hold on to the ball and the baby at the same time.)

It didn’t take long for us to go through the whole “what ever happened to…” list. Rob and Chris have kept track of what more people are doing, so they filled us in on the dirt – primarily who had the worst wives. There’s a guy that lived in our house that always had the most horrible girlfriends that nobody could stand – and, as it turns out, his wife is a real treat, as well.

For example – and I have no reason to doubt this story, as strange as it is – this guy and his new wife showed up at Chris’ wedding, which was held on a pier on a Florida lake. This woman refused to go out on the pier, because it was… ahem… her time of the month, and she was afraid that sharks were going to sense this and attack her. Let that sink in for a little while. We spent a good half hour deconstructing how absurd the story is, and I’m still not sure I understand it. Anyway, much catty gossip was had – I almost felt we should follow up with some shoe shopping.

As it turns out, we had a tour guide for the trip – a guy who Hutton took a pharmaceutical sales class with, and who claimed to be the social king of Livonia, Michigan. His name – and I am not kidding about this – is Osama. You heard that correctly. And, I’m telling you – no fictional character has ever been written that topped Osama for pure comedy. He’s a little curly-haired gold chain-wearing Arab lothario, who boasted that he would be able to get us into any bar in Livonia. He’s like an unstoppable cyborg from the future, sent here to make sure no woman he comes into contact with leaves still wondering whether or not she has a great rack. He honed his skills by working at the sports bar where we ate, and demonstrated his substantial social gravitas by getting us free potato skins.

After dinner, we hit an arcade and played some aggressive air hockey games. We then moved upstairs one floor to do a little bowling. (Osama told us not to put his name on the overhead projector, as the bowling alley usually harasses him because they think he\’s kidding.) While we had a good time (I came in second with a strong 102), we failed to notice that Hutton was occasionally sneaking off to the bar for clandestine shots of tequila. As per his college days, when he drinks too much, he becomes “that guy.” Eventually, he began walking up and down the bowling alley eating off people’s pizza plates. At one point, when he was about to bowl, Osama took a running start and tackled him, sending Hutton sliding down the lane two lanes over – where a guy was just about to roll his ball. At that point, we decided we had probably better get out of there – but with Hutton so drunk, we couldn’t get into any other bars. So we dropped him off at the hotel, and went out for an uneventful couple of more hours, before ending up back at the hotel. The evening ended with Osama changing his clothes in his car, as his wife (gulp!) and two kids thought he was at work all night.

9 AM came early the next morning, as Osama had organized a catered tailgate just for us. We all felt like death warmed over on the ride over to the campus, where we parked on a golf course near the stadium. On the ride over, we opined about Hutton, and I launched into a half-assed speech about how the lesson of the previous evening was that nobody ever really changes. Ever. Nobody really disagreed with me.

Of course, an hour later at the tailgate, I found myself involved in a couple of majestic games of beer pong. These Michigan college kids had challenged the master, and in both games, I came from four cups down to win. In the middle of my trash talking during my second dramatic victory, Chris came over to me and said “you remember that speech you just gave us about how people never change? You’re playing beer pong and trash talking people.” I have to admit, he had me.

After my two wins (which may be the pinnacle of my athletic career), I turned to one of the girls Osama had rounded up to tailgate with us and said “that was like the Miracle on Ice of Beer Pong.” She looked at me blankly, and said “Uh. Oh.” Clearly, she had no idea what I was talking about. I then ingested a bottle of lighter fluid and some hot coals.

As I talked with people during the tailgate, one theme seemed to pop up with most of the Michigan fans – they all seemed to be miserable living in Michigan. Every single person wanted to move somewhere else. This seemed to be the exact opposite of Wisconsin, where it seems like everyone loves living here, and people think that everyone else should live here, too. Regardless of ideology or background, Wisconsin people love Wisconsin – and it took meeting just a few cranky Michigan fans to make that clear.

The tailgate stretched on from about 10 AM to game time, at 3:30. We left at about 2:30, just to make sure we got in on time, as Michigan Stadium is under construction. I was shocked at the number of Utah fans there – apparently thousands made the trek from Salt Lake to Ann Arbor. And I think Hutton talked to every one of them. The extended tailgate made him a little chatty. I had always questioned the policy most colleges have of refusing to sell alcohol at their games. After sitting with Hutton for a game, I am 100% in favor of dry games. Had he continued to drink, the only way he was getting out of there was in a body bag. He seemed to enjoy taunting 107,000 Michigan fans, who would have absolutely no second thoughts about throwing him over the top of the stadium.

As for the crowd, I was a little underwhelmed. As a neutral observer, I can say that the Camp Randall crowds, though smaller, absolutely put the Michigan fans to shame. They sat dead quiet, for three quarters, until their team started to make a run at the end. Granted, they didn’t have much to cheer about, but you could almost feel the
ir air of superiority – as if they knew they were going to win, so there’s really no reason to waste their breath until it actually mattered.

Fortunately, they didn’t win, and as the game moved along, the crowd in our section turned ugly. Profanities rained down on the Utah fans from behind. Even with little kids omnipresent in the crowd, some crude fans launched into tirades that would make an Ol\’ Dirty Bastard CD seem like the Osmonds. There honestly is no place you can take your kids anymore. Most of the bile was aimed at a black Utah fan sitting two rows ahead of us, who was cheering a little too aggressively for their taste. Alluding to his ‘80s haircut, he was serenaded with profane versions of things like “sit down Carl Weathers,” “go back to Reading Rainbow, LeVar Burton,” and “You suck, Lando Calrissian.” This went on all game.

Of course, Utah won – and since I barely remember going to school there, I was happier to see the Michigan fans in pain than to see my alma mater victorious. All day the heat was oppressive, and we were dying to get out of the sun and back to our hotel. (Osama had kept his car running with the air conditioning on through the whole tailgate, but only ladies were allowed to join him in there for chats.)

On the way back from the stadium, I told Rob my story about trying to potty train my son using jelly beans. He said his strategy was to throw a \”potty party,\” complete with party hats and whistles, every time his son went on the toilet. I told him I thought this was a little extreme, but in his defense, every good party should end with your pants off.

Saturday night was time to recover – tired from the game, we ate dinner and hung out in our hotel room, watching some of the unspeakably awkward videos I had from our college days. We said our goodbyes and went to bed, although I couldn’t sleep because Hal’s snoring sounds like a grizzly bear getting a vasectomy.

So now I’m back in one piece for one night, ready to head up to Minneapolis to cover the GOP convention for Wispolitics and WPRI. I don’t even have to unpack my bag. Make sure you head over there and check it out – I am going to bust my ass to make it adequate.

I suppose that since I am now officially a pundit, I should weigh in on what is purported to be the most important night in politics since Joe Biden\’s name moved to the top of the hair donor list. In fact, Biden (who once described Obama as \”clean\” and \”articulate\”) was probably surprised his running mate was able to deliver the speech without wearing gold teeth or taking a drink of Pimp Juice from a goblet.

Leading up to Obama\’s speech tonight, there was plenty of criticism with which I disagreed. I heard several of my pals wonder whether it would be creepy for Obama to give a speech in front of so many people, even likening the event to a Nazi rally. (Apparently, we don\’t like Nazi references until we need to utilize one.) I actually thought the idea to have Obama speak in a large outdoor arena was a good one – whatever \”creepiness\” people felt about the venue was more than offset by the the bottom line – 80,000 f\’ing people showed up to a political speech.

(My inside sources have told me that as a response, John McCain has now upgraded and asked for the smoking section to be reserved at the Denny\’s where he is expected to make his acceptance speech next Thursday.)

That being said, while I think the venue was electric, I thought the speech itself was a little under-done. It was basically a paint-by-the-numbers Democratic speech – sprinkle in some personal examples, overpromise a laundry list of new programs that will never happen, and offer a pre-buttal to the GOP convention next week. As I\’m sure most GOP observers will note (and already have in the post-speech analysis on television), it seemed like a pretty static speech for the candidate of change.

(In March, on this very blog, Dr. Emil Shuffhausen posted his \”Do-It-Yourself Democrat Speech,\” which is worth a re-read.)

In fact, the most appealing aspect of the speech is the way in which Obama delivered it. He looked and sounded up to the challenge such a large crowd commanded. You could have watched the speech with your television on mute and you would have known just based on his delivery what point of the speech he was in. Obama could read the back of your cereal box to you in the morning and it would sound like he was saying something profound.

\”And I say to you this morning… YOU NEED MORE RIBOFLAVIN!\” (You applaud, perhaps start crying.)

But the speech didn\’t really offer us anything new (and if McCain\’s next week doesn\’t, I won\’t be afraid to say so.) At one point, he used the example of out of work auto workers to hit McCain on the economy – yet just minutes later, he pushed for higher fuel economy standards, which would have left many of those workers jobless even sooner. He finished his speech by trying to convince us he is a uniter by saying that there is no \”Red America\” or \”Blue America,\” while spending the first 40 minutes explaining why Republicans would really rather you not have health care. He called for more parental involvement in their kids\’ lives, but opposes allowing them to send them to the school of their choice.

(Incidentally, I appreciate the line about more parental involvement. John Edwards, not so much.)

As I mentioned, a good portion of the latter half of Obama\’s speech was spent pre-emptively protecting himself against charges that are likely to surface at the GOP convention next week. He told us not to listen to charges that he\’s a celebrity, or that he hates America, or that he is untested. What would have been a good strategy, I think, would have been to throw the GOP completely off by pre-butting arguments that they never would have made:

\”And don\’t let the Republicans tell you I don\’t like peanut butter and jelly. I have enjoyed a variety of spreadable dressings throughout my life growing up fatherless in Hawaii.\”

Guarantee half McCain\’s staff would start scrambling, looking for inconsistencies in Obama\’s sandwich consuming habits. Lexis Nexis would be deluged by searches for \”Obama\” and \”salami.\”

At the end of the speech, the music started playing, and it was… some horrible country song. Thousands of African-Americans showed up in Denver for this watershed civil rights event, and the DNC punishes them with that crap? Wouldn\’t that have been a good time for a nice Isaac Hayes tribute? Playing country music after Obama\’s speech is akin to following McCain\’s speech up with a video tribute to Alec Baldwin.

As the music played, unable to stomach coverage on MSNBC, I switched over to Fox – and immediately heard Brit Hume refer to to \”Barack Hussein Obama.\” I remain firmly planted in the camp that this is obnoxious and plays to the least common denominator. I also think any network that features a reptile like Dick Morris so prominently is undercutting any legitimacy they may be trying to convince us they have.

And… scene.

I\’m off to Ann Arbor for the weekend – have a good one, honkies!

Political observers on both the left and right are slamming the uninspiring selection of Senator Joe Biden as Barack Obama\’s running mate. The left thinks Obama missed a chance to have a truly historic ticket by passing over Hillary Clinton, who could have been the first woman elected Vice President. The right simply recognizes Biden as a blowhard\’s blowhard, capable of fitting both feet in his mouth, yet still able to hear the sweet sound of his own voice.

But while some think Biden\’s selection was a step back for gender relations, it\’s clear that it\’s just the opposite. See, for years, female politicians have been held to a different standard when it comes to appearance. While the physical features of male politicians are rarely discussed, women are constantly criticized for their hair, makeup, scarves, and the like. Just look at coverage of Hillary Clinton over the past few years.

Now, with Biden, we have a perfect opportunity to level the gender playing field, as his outrageous hair plugs lend themselves to a discussion of his appearance. Now, when women accuse us of unfairly criticizing their appearance, we can always point to Biden as an example of where we ridiculed his hair. It\’s open season on both genders, and we have the ghost of Biden\’s old hair to thank. Equity!

Biden\’s plugs also raise other questions. Wouldn\’t it be cool to be the guy who donated his hair to the Vice President? Shouldn\’t that give you at least a say who should be labor secretary or something? Maybe partly eligible for the VP\’s pension when he leaves office?

There are some other weird things about the Biden selection. First, they announced it late on a Friday afternoon, at exactly the time when politicians are trying to bury stories. When your congressman is caught trolling for dates at Chuck E. Cheese, chances are he\’s going to tell his side of the story while you\’re driving home on Friday. Apparently, the same goes for announcing the name of a running mate who wears other people\’s hair.

This odd timing might be part of the reason Obama hasn\’t seen any kind of bump from making the Biden selection. It\’s possible not enough people have even heard Obama even selected a running mate, much less be able to judge how good of a pick he is. (For those who aren\’t sure how great Biden is, just listen to Biden himself – he\’ll tell you.)

Perhaps the funniest part of the whole Biden selection is the talking point, repeated religiously by Obama\’s surrogates, that somehow Biden would help Obama with \”blue collar\” workers. Apparently, people working in Washington DC have become so insulated, that they actually believe this. The idea that a 35-year U.S. Senator reflects \”blue collar\” America is simply preposterous. It\’s not like the guy\’s been soldering pipe or sweeping the sawdust out of new homes for the last 20 years. The last time he drove his own car, he was probably listening to the hot new Spandau Ballet hit on the radio.

In the end, the pick of Biden won\’t make any difference either way – just as McCain\’s pick likely won\’t, either. But at least McCain has the decency to man up and sport a good old-fashioned combover. That guy\’s tough as leather.

Other fun fact of the day: An anagram for \”Obama/Biden\” is \”Babe Domain.\”

As I\’m sure you read in last week\’s Wispolitics Report, I have signed on to cover the GOP convention in the Twin Cities next week for Wispolitics.com. I\’m a little nervous, as I have never been to a national convention, and I\’m not exactly sure what goes on there. I imagine a full 60% of my posts will deal with funny hats. I\’m also not sure I have a hotel room, so I\’m thinking it might be a good week to try crystal meth, as I will need to stay awake for four straight days.

I also am not sure what kind of credential I\’ll have – although I think there\’s some value in describing a convention as virtually all the attendees experience it – from the outside. If you want hard hitting interviews with Ralph Reed, you should probably stick with the fully credentialed bloggers. But I imagine trying to put together some man-on-the-street stuff like I did for the Bill Clinton and Mike Huckabee campaign rallies here in Madison.

Coincidentally, the New York Times today ran a story about bloggers at the conventions. (I think I\’m a blogger, I guess.) You can always count on bloggers for examples of healthy self-esteem. From the NYT article, some lefty blogger who thinks he deserves full access:

But some bloggers see the procurement of credentials as less of a privilege and more of a right, in recognition of their grass-roots influence. “This is stuff we deserve — we helped the party get people elected,” said Matt Stoller, a political consultant and a contributor to the blog Open Left, who worked as the volunteer in charge of getting credentials for bloggers at the Democratic convention four years ago. “Maybe in 2004 it was about being accommodating and innovative — but this time around there’s a real fight for power in the party.”

I\’d love to see a list of candidates this dope thinks he helped get elected. Or any blogger of any party, for that matter.

The article goes on to detail bloggers who are raising money to attend their respective conventions by soliciting contributions on their blogs. I won\’t do that (although I will happily accept tips on good sandwich places in Minneapolis). Just read the stuff I post on Wispolitics and the WPRI site while I\’m there. Deal?

Next weekend, I\’m heading to Ann Arbor to watch the mighty Michigan Wolverines suffer their first loss of the Rich Rodriguez era to one of my alma maters, Utah. (For those who keep track of these things, I have three former colleges – Virginia Tech, Utah, and Marquette.* There will be a quiz.)

On this trip, I\’m going to be meeting up with some of my fraternity brothers from college, most of whom I haven\’t seen for at least 12 years. So I\’m excited for the reunion.

In getting ready for the big event, I went back and watched some of the unfortunate video that exists of me from my college years. Sadly, almost none of it is appropriate to post. But I did find one clip that should silence those who don\’t buy my whole story about not being able to get a date in college.

Here\’s the setup: in March of 1994, I piled into a car with my housemates George and Hutton, and we took a bargain basement spring break trip to Arizona State. (It was pure genius to go to a college campus during spring break, incidentally – as it was completely empty.) We were virtually penniless, and the trip involved a lot of sleeping in the car. George, who was from Seattle, remembered a girl he went to high school with (nicknamed \”The Watts\”) who went to Arizona State, so we decided to crash her apartment and plead with her to let us stay there.

As it turns out, she said yes – but the best part was, she had some smoking hot roommates that we convinced to drink with us. What follows is a video of the general tone of the evening – you\’d think I had never seen a woman before in my life (I was a month short of 21 years old.)

Good grief. As I recall, we spent the night there, were asked to leave, and ended up sleeping in the car on some side streets in Vegas for a few nights. And, sadly, I kind of miss those days.

* – Sadly, I was unable to complete my degree at the Institute for Equine Therasage, as I never figured out whether it was the horse giving or receiving the massage.

Sorry things have been slow over here – I\’ve been writing like a sweatshop blogger over at WPRI.

In the year or so that it\’s been open, my wife and I have grown to be fans of the Roman Candle pizzeria in Middleton. A couple weeks ago, we got together with our neighbors and decided to order a pizza from there. I looked at the menu, and decided on a pizza they call the \”Animal Lovers.\”

As it turns out the \”Animal Lovers\” pizza is actually for vegetarians. It\’s \”animal lovers\” as in \”I really wouldn\’t want to hurt that poor animal,\” not \”man, these animals are tasty!\”

So consider yourself warned. They really need to change the name of that pizza.

Okay, so explain this:

Just For Men hair coloring sauce, or however you\’d describe it, is really pushing the fact that you only have to keep it in for 5 minutes. They actually have one commercial (that I can\’t find online, you\’ll just have to take my word for it) where a woman offers a guy her hair coloring product, but he eschews her proposition, complaining that it takes a whole 30 minutes for her hair coloring to sink in.

Now, I recognize there are guys out there who color their hair. That\’s fine. The amount members of Congress collectively spend on hair dye probably dwarfs the GDP of Tanzania. In fact, according to this ad, once I start coloring my hair, I will immediately be able to go onstage and start playing guitar while a 25 year old blonde sticks her tongue in my ear.

But how many men choose their hair coloring product because they\’re always in a rush? Has any guy ever been like, \”I\’m meeting with my boss in 20 minutes to ask for a raise – if I only had time to color my hair. Oh really? Just five minutes? Give me that.\”

That point is made in a more subtle fashion in this ridiculous ad:

What in the hell is going on here? Did Mommy leave because Daddy has gray hair? Was Daddy bringing home some substandard tail because he looked too old? Was this all some elaborate plot to get the old man out of the house so they could watch more Hannah Montana videos?

The real oversight is obvious – everyone knows that if these girls wanted to get hot women to throw themselves at their dad, they would have just told people he was a blogger.

When you have little kids, it\’s kind of hard to tell where exactly on the intelligence continuum your children are. I mean, I don\’t really hang out with a lot of three year olds (unless I\’m buying them beer) so I\’m not sure whether my son is smart compared to another three year old, or smart compared to cauliflower.

But there\’s one thing that he does that just kills me, and has me completely convinced he has a career as a lawyer ahead of him. Right now, we\’re trying to potty train him. And as \”incentive\” to tell Mommy or Daddy that he has to go potty, we offer jellybeans as a reward. (The burning him with cigarettes as punishment for pooping his pants didn\’t seem to work well.) The rule is: tell Mommy or Daddy that you have to go on the toilet, and you get two jellybeans, payable upon washing your hands afterwards.

Naturally, once the pants are off and he\’s squatting on the can, the negotiating process begins. \”I get five jellybeans,\” he announces, knowing he has to start high, to get me to up my offer. \”Two is the rule,\” I say. \”Okay, four jellybeans,\” he retorts. I\’m telling you, in a past life this kid had to be running a Turkish bazaar. But it\’s just so cute, it\’s impossible not to give in. I have to admit, I have occasionally caved and upped my offer to three jellybeans, because when he looks at you with those big eyes while crapping, it really tugs at the heartstrings.

But this is why I\’m convinced his negotiating skills are going to lead him to be a good lawyer. In effect, when he\’s on the toilet, he\’s \”passing a bar\” anyway. Although when he finally is serving as U.S. Solicitor General and arguing cases before the Supreme Court, he may need to refine his tactics a little:

CHIEF JUSTICE ROBERTS: \”Mr. Schneider – exactly what constitutional principle is your client invoking when he asserts his right to publicly offer \’mustache rides for five cents?\’\”

SOLICITOR GENERAL SCHNEIDER: (Pulls down pants, squats in the middle of chamber, looks at the Chief Justice with sad eyes and quivering lip) \”Chief Justice Roberts, I will gladly answer that question for five jellybeans.\”

CHIEF JUSTICE ROBERTS: \”I only have four here, and one of those is a black licorice jellybean. And as the Court ruled in 2013, black jellybeans don\’t really count as regular ones.\”

As a side note, we had to go to the grocery store this morning to pick up more jellybeans (the Starburst kind, which are outstanding), and as we wheeled through the store, he would hold up the bag and announce to whoever passed by that \”THESE JELLYBEANS ARE FOR MY POTTY TRAINING.\” Some people seemed annoyed, but others appreciated knowing the true purpose of the jellybeans. As a result, I think I am now going to announce why I\’m buying certain products to everyone in the store. I\’ll walk by people and yell \”I\’M BUYING THIS SOAP, BECAUSE QUITE OFTEN, I SMELL BAD,\” or \”I\’M BUYING THIS JACK DANIELS BECAUSE MY DAD DIDN\’T COME TO ENOUGH OF MY LITTLE LEAGUE GAMES.\”

Incidentally, as far as potty training goes, we have now been accident-free for two straight days. Or, I should say, \”he\” has been. Daddy is still hit-or-miss.