Anyone Up For Depressing Stories?

// I probably couldn't have picked a worser time to take one of my unannounced sabbaticals, but this is just another example of Alanis Morissette's words ringing true. Isn't it ironic? Non-work work (more on that later) always seems to pile up at the exact moment a platter of big news is set on the lazy Susan. Granted, I haven't exactly been chomping at the bit to sit down and find the time to throw in my pennies; the time for me to write has been there, but every time my mind grapes begin to mature, an irresistible distraction shows itself and puts the kibosh on the harvest.

In past instances of this I'd offer a mea culpa. I'm switching up the order and coming right out with it: an apology won't be happening this time around. In truth, I've never actually been sorry when I've ceased posting for weeks at a time. Looking back, it seems almost silly that I've apologized before. I don't even know why I ever wrote, "Sorry for not posting." Is it just "something to say", like when people greet each other with, "How's it going?" and they don't even await the response? And what am I sorry about? Not sharing? Is me not writing a violation of the "nice people always share" edict that was handed down to me from Mrs. DeFran in 1990? These are my thoughts. In times past I've been writing them down as soon as they've entered my noggin. That behavior will be curbed. Posts now will come at a more incidental pace, like if I was on a parade float and only threw candy at good looking women. If something comes up that merits a legitimate attempt, I'll hit it. Otherwise, I'll occupy my time with my other endeavors, ones that don't include feeble attempts at eloquence designed to mask dick jokes. Moving on...

// Like I said, many noteworthy news items have passed with nary a comment from the best blog on the internet. We're going to attempt to touch them all, so this post is likely going to be lengthy. First on the docket is Mike Phelps. Oh, Mikey. Let's peel that onion.

The more I thought about Phelps and his herbal snafu, the more I got this strangely familiar feeling of being scolded myself. Let me explain. Back in my elementary, middle and partly high school days, I was very, very hyperactive. My learning tendencies led to me to many hours of daily boredom. Ever since I can remember, grasping a new subject has come lightning fast to me. I could hear a lesson once and file it away. I knew it'd always be there if I needed it. I was very blessed with something that was a very fortunate gift to have... much later in life. During the roaring 90s in the Grosse Ile public school system - where repetition repetition repetition repetition was the order of the day - the boredom was excruciating. Out of the ~8 hours in a school day, I spent 7.75 of them inside my own brain. Having the attention span of an espresso-soaked flea made those daily doldrums unbearable. That, combined with my daily bids for attention/validation from my classmates, landed me in the principal's office at about a .900 clip.

So why does my school days remind me of Phelps? It's the pundits I hear chastising him. They sound exactly like my parents in the early 90s. Dumbfounded, yes. Disappointed, somewhat. Mostly, there's just a sense of exasperation. See, I never got in trouble for malicious stuff. I was too small to beat up anyone. I never stuck a thumb on Mrs. Rebeschini's chair. It wasn't my style. Without exception, my offenses were summarized with phrases like "unable to focus on daily assignments" and "unwilling to follow class procedures". The reaction at home was always of the "you've got it easy why are you screwing it up?" ilk. That's what Phelps is getting. In a way, his situation almost makes me nostalgic.

As far as personal judgment, I pass none on Michael Phelps. This entire incident - in which he was smoking a little weed ON AN EFFING COLLEGE CAMPUS - is a crystal-clear illustration on how out of whack this country's priorities are concerning the transgressions of our celebrities. I have many more opinions on the criminalization (and the social stigma) of marijuana. I'll save you the time and about 100,000 words for the future. The only question I have left is this: where was this outrage when he pled guilty to driving while impaired? Seriously! He was hitting a bong load at a party. He gets suspended from swimming? He gets yanked from Kellogg's? Here's the logic that comes out of this. Smoking some weed at a private party = a really, really awful thing to do. Getting drunk and driving my car down the boulevard = not nearly as bad. Stepping into Kellogg's shoes: while I really dislike what they did, I can understand why they did it, and that's what wrong with the public. The stigma around reefer is unconscionable. What kills more people every year, pot or drunk driving? What causes more families to be in pain, pot or drunk driving? What causes millions more dollars in damage every year, pot or drunk driving? I get really frustrated when I see this kind of reaction to marijuana use when only years before, THE SAME EFFING GUY pled guilty to drunk driving and was completely admonished shortly thereafter. Ugh.

// Speaking of drugs and sports heroes, my thoughts on Alex Rodriguez and his use of performance enhancing drugs are much more concise. By the way, we've got to come up with a more easily-wielded phrase than "performance enhancing drugs." I don't really know why I'm sick of hearing it, I just am. I mean, it's definitely an accurate phrase, and I usually go for that sort of thing, but we need to get something shorter. Getting back to it, the whole thing for me shakes down like this: moderately disappointing. Was I shocked? No. The sad state of affairs is that nobody's been above suspicion for a long time now. This incident just galvanized that fact. What's more sad to me is that these greedy steroid-using pricks are ruining the game, further cementing its second-tier status to our now-true national pastime, football. I love baseball, but it will never ever again be as sacred it was when our Dads were growing up. I don't like to think about this too much.

// Lately, an even more (at least for me) heartbreaking news item has been dominating the media: Chris Brown's domestic abuse of Rihanna. This one really took the wind out of my sails for so many reasons. I like Rihanna. I like Chris Brown. I liked them being a couple. Not only that, but I really dig Chris Brown's music. He has sooo much talent; his dancing and singing really remind me of Michael in his hey. If that weren't enough, I really liked him as a personality. He came across so polished and genuine in his appearances. Sure he was a bit cocky, but not in a way that made you want to punch him like Ne-Yo. It was more of a fun kind of cocky, like Isiah Thomas. When the initial shock passes, we're left wondering why did he did this. Fights between boyfriends and girlfriends aren't rare, and sure, sometimes they get very heated. It'd be prudent to say that on occasion a person's emotions run so high that their judgment takes a 15th row seat to their rage. That can happen to almost anybody -- we're all human. But there's allegations that he was choking her until she passed out! If you're choking someone so hard that they pass out, it had better be in 100% cut-and-dry self defense. It's hard to imagine that Chris Brown needed to defend himself with that much gusto. Gosh, the more I type about this the more I realize why I (subconsciously?) didn't want to. I'm getting pretty bummed out.

// I'm ending earlier than I had planned, but let's end on an uplifting/redeeming note! I finally saw Frost/Nixon yesterday, thus completing my Academy Award-nominated movie viewing blitz (minus Vicky Cristina Barcelona and Rachel Getting Married because I decided last year that I'd pay zero attention to the Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress categories after Tilda Swinton won Supporting last year and Cate Blanchett was robbed of Best Actress). The Oscars this year were great. The ceremony was really fun to watch, especially the new way they presented the acting awards with past winners complimenting the performances. I also thought Hugh Jackman did an awesome job hosting. I had no idea he could sing and dance so well.

In years past, I've really disagreed with the Best Picture selection. I thought Michael Clayton - despite Tilda Swinton - was far and away the best movie in last year's ceremony. I thought The Aviator was better than Million Dollar Baby. It's not like I harbor any real resentment. After all, although I really really love movies and everything about them, I'm far from a legitimately credible critic.

That being said, it was nice to finally agree with the Academy's decision on Best Picture. If you haven't seen Slumdog, you really should go see it tonight. I mean it. It's such a wonderful movie. When Miggy and I break down TV and movies via email as we often do, our critiques almost always boil down to one central question: to what extent does what you're watching evoke emotions? It's why I like The Dark Knight so much (which should've been nominated 5 billion times before Benny Button). That movie made me feel extremely tense and actually a little bit frightened. The Office is the same way. Sometimes when I watch that show, I feel so awkward and uncomfortable that I will literally cringe and divert my eyes from the screen for some respite. I've never been ashamed to admit it: I always cry at the endings of Rudy and Field of Dreams. These are the things that stick with you and become pleasures to watch in nearly every way. I promise you'll get similar effects when viewing Slumdog Millionaire. Even though the plot points are well-known to just about everybody by now, I won't ruin anything else by yammering on. Just trust me and see the movie. It's definitely the best movie of the year.

// Peace out.

Science That Matters

// Hey, look! I've improved the Snuggie! See, my Snuggie isn't the same as everyone else's. Mine wraps around the entire body and has my college's name written on it. Also, mine is extremely portable. Sometimes, I'll even wear it at work - all day - and no one will say a thing! Isn't that awesome?

// I did myself a little shopping this past Friday. It was a retail therapy kind of thing. Lately, I've been winning the game of life and I decided to go sick. I ended up with some incense and a copy of GQ. Nevertheless, it was a nice little afternoon. While walking up and down Grand River Avenue, some inspiration struck me. Not "million dollar idea"-type inspiration, but still. It started with an iota of personal terror. I was listening to The B.S. Report podcast and enjoying a robust chat between Bill Simmons and SNL's Seth Meyers. (By the way, if you're not already getting down with 3-4 good podcasts, I highly suggest you start. There are soooo many great podcasts out there. They'll really augment your daily enjoyment.) So I'm listening to the podcast and the two entertainers are cracking wise about the show. Simmons said something particularly funny - I can't recall exactly what - and before I could recoil, a big idiot smile charged onto my face. It took me about three seconds to reel it in and another 5 minutes to calm down. Why? Because I have a weird thing about looking like a simp in front of everyday passersby. It's one thing to do something dumb in front of friends or family. I have no problem with that. In fact, I do it on purpose, and quite often. For whatever reason, I fear looking like a moron in front of complete strangers; people I've never seen before and will likely never see again. I'm not sure why that is. My brief personal moment of abject terror aside, I took away a valuable, if otherwise inapplicable lesson: don't listen to something that will make you laugh when you don't want to be seen laughing. The rule can also apply when I'm listening to Michael Jackson, whose ridiculously awesome songs always seem to make me dance embarrassingly. Countless times I've caught myself ambiguously grabbing my crotch in very public forums. Not good times.

Anyways, let's hit the inspiration I received. I would like a device that could eavesdrop on other people's iPods. Wouldn't that be fun? Not only would I like it for listening to other people's iPods, but I think I would enjoy knowing that other nearby people are potentially eavesdropping in on my iPod. I can imagine sitting on a bar patio and giving an occasional Broseph the patented "ess-eating-grin-with-subtle-acknowledging-nod" when I like a song the Broseph is jamming to.

I also like the idea of iPod eavesdropping (iDropping?) because of the effect it would have on our understanding of stereotypes. You see, I have two distinct thoughts concerning stereotypes. For starters, I love it when a stereotype is proven true. Miggy and I went down to Atlanta this past summer to visit our buddy J$. Our first night there, we experienced Buckhead's fairly robust bar scene. The stereotypical payoff? Every single guy there looked like one of those idiots from MTV's Two-a-Days. The silly hair, the complete lack of dress sense, the constant look of exhaustion; it was all coming out quicker than a post-Taco Bell dook, and I couldn't help but be amused when everyone I saw looked exactly how I'd imagined they would. By the flip side of the coin, it's also somewhat satisfying when a stereotype is debunked. A nice example of this can be found in the movie Finding Forrester. I'm referring to the scene in which Jamal approaches Forrester's assistant guy in the projects and the assistant reacts as if Jamal is eyeing his BMW for a gank. Jamal then procedes, quite cockily, to display his intellectual feathers and school the assistant guy on the history of BMW before adding for good measure, "...but you probably know that 'cuz you lease one." OOOOOHHHH!!!!! It was a good scene and it illustrates the point quite well. So stereotypes can be fun in both ways.

As far as iDropping goes, imagine the potential fun to be had when applying stereotypes! Picture this: you're outdoors, enjoying a nice wheat beer on one of those perfect early spring afternoons. Ah, what have we here? Down the sidewalk comes a very proper looking young lady. She's got the cardigan buttoned up, the 60-year-old librarian glasses, her hair in a tight ponytail; she really personifies conservative. Wouldn't it be weirdly neat if she was listening to something like 2 Live Crew or DJ Assault? Stereotype debunked! With authority! By the same token, wouldn't it be cool to witness a guy trying his hardest to look like Gavin DeGraw actually listening to Gavin DeGraw? Stereotype confirmed! I really wish someone would invent this. I'd stay out every night till 3 just checking people. Dare to dream...

// I've touched on it before, but I'd like to reiterate: I'm very interested in names. I like the thought process behind naming children. I like the responses certain names seem to elicit. I realize it's kind of a weird thing to be engrossed by, but such is life. I've recently found myself in a bit of a quandary. I'll preface what I'm about to say with something I believe to be inevitable: I'm going to sire only girls. I've always believed that fate has an acute sense of irony. Ergo me, a young man who loves his own last name and says it constantly to anyone within earshot, will not beget any sons to carry on the glorious surname. I've accepted this as fact. Anyways, a while ago my fascination with names inevitably led me to conjure up my choices for my own future brood. Keeping in mind the female makeup, I came up with the following (in order and I'm shutting down the factory if I'm lucky enough to get 3): Layla, Scarlet, Sheila. The reasons are pretty simple: Layla and Sheila are homages to the (Eric Clapton and Ready For The World, respectively) songs and Scarlet is my favorite color. I think they're great names, but fear is causing hesitation. My fear is that I'm not using my brain enough to consider all the potential ways the names can be marred and mangled into (sexual) puns. I don't want some future version of Booger from Revenge of the Nerds making sex jokes about my daughters. The last thing 40-year-old Mike needs is another assault charge, and by now it should be well known: I don't play. So, dear readers, if you would be so kind, can you please ponder potential zingers that make fun of my future daughters names? I'd very much appreciate the effort.

// Aw, Baby... Link Dump.
+ This Is Why You're Fat. Not too long ago, I might have pleasured myself to this site. Good times.
+ NSFW. A joystick that uses your own penis as the interface. The reason this post is titled what it is.
+ New Era Fantastic Four Pack. The Invisible Woman one is the coolest, with half the hat made to look like it's transparent.
+ Now here is something very interesting. Video games made to look like yesteryear's book covers. Huh.
+ Shark Fin Ice Tray. These would be perfect for a Buffett concert. Maybe I just wanted to brag that I'm going to a Buffett concert this summer.
+ An Amazon Customer Review of a Pen. In the same vein of this review of Dunston Checks In. I like the idea of leaving little jokes on the internet that people may or may not find.

// Hasta luego.

The Snuggie?

And With The First Pick In The 2009 NFL Draft, The Detroit Lions Select.....

// It’s extremely early, but I’ve already seen about ten mock drafts for the big NFL event in April. At the same time, the Lions owner has finally become the CEO that fired the guy behind the mess and hired a new front office. He also brought in a new coach. So we’re heading in the right direction. After we load up on talent in the draft, we’re going to witness the greatest turnaround ever in 2009. America loves comeback stories. The Lions will be the featured presentation come fall. (We can dream can’t we?)

// So how do I think the Leos should approach the draft? DO NOT worry about offense. You have a dependable running back and the best receiver in the NFL. Give Stanton some reps in training cap and pray he develops. The Lions brought in Jim Schwartz. He’s a defensive-minded guy, so let’s give him the tools to build his team.

// After consulting with Mike, I’m going against every mock draft site on the net.

1. Aaron Curry (LB): Beast. He’s the cornerstone of your defense for the next ten years. Ernie Sims would no longer get double-teamed by the left-guard/center every play. And Larry Foote wants to come home to Detroit post-Super Bowl. Draft Curry and you just solidified one of the top LB-trios in the NFL.
20. Michael Johnson (DE): Same build as Julius Peppers and Mario Williams. He would complement a developing Cliff Avril and could be a force off the edge. The opposing quarterbacks would no longer be able flip steaks in the backfield and then deliver a 60-yard post for six. Tyson Jackson would also suffice at 20.
33. Alphonso Smith (CB): The secondary was shredded last year. Get Curry’s buddy from Wake Forest and add a premier corner that has ball skills. I honestly can’t remember the Lions’ corners making an interception last year. Dammit.

// Would these picks be considered a little risky? Youknowit. But after going offense in the first rounds of years past, it’s time to think about what Matt Millen did, and go in the exact opposite direction. If the Lions front office doesn’t listen to me? I won’t be that upset. Getting Stafford could be the answer. Nobody really knows. But I’ll say this… I know who they should avoid.

// Let me preface this story. When you meet a girl at the bar, talk about her life, and she says “All my ex’s are crazy!”, avoid that girl like the plague. Similarly, if you’re a general manager in sports, there’s certain types of players you don't want anything to do with.

// In the NBA, avoid the seven-kids-from-six-moms power forward and the I-tattoed-my-shoes-logo-on-the-side-of-my-head shooting guard. In major league baseball, avoid the recent-arm-issues-and-once-won-21-games-in-the-AL-West free agent pitcher. Additionally, never go after the I-use-flaxseed-oil-and-currently-have-back-acne slugger. In the NFL, it’s even easier. Avoid the I-scored-a-six-on-my-first-Wonderlic-test quarterback. Stay away from the pitbulls-are-my-children-and-those-treadmills-in-my-garage-are-for-humans-not-dogs QB. And finally, steer clear of the I-make-it-rain-at-Cheetah’s defensive back.

// With that being said, I sincerely hope that the Lions do not draft Michael Crabtree. We do not need another I-love-me-some-me wide receiver. If they do, this guy should prepare to add 2009 to his right pec.

MNStream: Full Strength

// The above image conveys the message "those aren't women." Pretty clever, no? Check the rest out at this catalog of Modern Hobo Code.

// Let's not mix words. This was already the best site on the internet. Even when we weren't updating for months at a time, we were still thinking better than all of those other run-of-the-mill rhetoric factories. Then - as if ordained by The Big Man - we come back full force with an additional two starters? To quote Jimmy Johnson, "That's one reason for the domination." Mig and Slop-Bucket turn an already formidable trifecta into a starting five that definitely opens the season as an overwhelming favorite. After all, the Celtics wouldn't have beaten the Pistons last year without Rondo and Perkins. I'm just saying. To Mig and Slop-B: get it on.

// The last two times I've gone to Meijer, the greeter has failed to greet me. Both times I thought to myself, "What is that?" It's not as if they were deep into a conversation about the foreign currency markets. Both greeters were just standing there, by themselves, armed with a thousand-yard stare. Eye contact, slight nod, paused stroll; I utilized every method I knew to elicit some sort of salutation. Alas, my efforts proved futile. At this point, why is there a greeter being employed at all? Furthermore, if they're shirking their sole responsibility of greeting, what does their job title transform into? Stander? Human? Wet Noodle With a Heartbeat? The next time I go into Meijer - or for that matter, any store that employs a greeter - and I don't receive the expected hello, I'm going to engage the greeter in a super-close-quarters conversation detailing my predictions for the coming week's weather. One thing you can be sure of: when I'm the customer, those employees are going to earn every effing penny of that hourly wage.

// I really like most pop music. It's not even a guilty pleasure. I feel no guilt. I like to dance, so what? Are you going to bust my chops for dancing? Go listen to the Staind album and think about the next "snarling dragon" design you're going to draw on your backpack with a Bic pen, jackass. The point is I like most pop music. One exception, however, is Katy Perry. One of my least favorite musical acts since I've been alive is Pink (she sometimes spells it P!nk because she's close to the street, and that's how the kids are spelling it these days). The reason I don't care much for Katy Perry is because she sounds a lot like Pink. I'd be willing to bet that at least 25% of people thought "I Kissed a Girl" was the new Pink song when they first heard it on the radio. The same goes for "Hot N Cold". Is that whole persona really anything noteworthy? The whole "cool rocker bitch" thing? The entire basis for all their albums sales is "I don't give a crap about your feelings, dude, 'cuz I'm gonna FIGHT some other chicks tonight!!!!" Aside from domestic abuse survivors, why is this music appealing to anybody? Meehhhhh.... tub-deez.

// From the "Far Be It From Me To Complain, But..." Department: Even though my last two posts were almost totally Obama-related, I feel like I have to mention one more thing regarding the inauguration ceremony. If you'll reminisce with me for a moment, remember my reviews of Indiana Jones and Die Hard 4? In effect, I said that just because CGI provides for a more spectacular brand of explosions and mayhem, it doesn't need to be used ad nauseam. Old-fashioned, real explosions worked just fine for most of us. I kind of found a correlation with the media coverage of Barack's Inauguration Address. My work (that feels weird to say) prevented me from seeing the live feed, so I watched it via DVR at around 1 PM. One thing immediately stood out to me: there wasn't the slightest hint of an echo. I deduced that the microphones the networks used were wired into the podium to cut down on the echo. To that I ask, "Why?" Think about some other notable speeches from the past. When Lou Gehrig said, "Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth", don't you recall the echoes that rang when he paused? I feel like those echoes added something. The dirge of technology rears its ugly head again. Let's make one thing clear: I am definitely not a Luddite. I embrace technology like I embraced fried food in 2005: often and very affectionately. Just because we are capable of new (and some would say better) ways to do things doesn't mean we always have to employ the newest methods. I would've liked the speech better with a slight echo, that's all.

// Link Dump.... fills it up!

+ These warriors would've been most welcome when I used to think there were child-eating monsters residing in my bedroom closet.

+ Truthful TV Title Cards. C'mon! Who feels like a chuckle?

+ Humiliating Pet Costumes. While I agree the costumes look atrocious, don't they somehow make the model dogs look that much cuter? Boy, I want a dog. (Translation: Boy, I'm sad and lonely.)

+ Erotic iPod Speaker Set Housing. Does this qualify as avant-garde or is it just weird and nasty? I lean towards the latter.

+ Anatomy of a Kissy Face. So true. I haven't seen a girl actually smile for a picture in months.

// Good Monday. Enjoy your week everybody!