It's Good To Finally Be Able To Tell A Story About My Family Where We Kind Of Fight And In A Non-Serious Way

So after dinner I tell my parents I'll be hanging out with my friend.

My Mother walks up to me. "Boyfriend or girlfriend?" she asked.

"Girlfriend. Well, she's a friend, but she's a girl."

Then she asks me a question she asks from time to time: "Why don't you get a girlfriend?"

I wanted to tell her the same thing I've told her before -- "You can't just get a girlfriend like you're buying cereal off the shelf at the grocery store." But I didn't say that. (I don't think I've ever said that to her, actually.) So I paused, gave her a pained, sheepish, screwed-up face and said with rising inflection in my voice, "I'll ... try?"

Mom gave me her patented "bitch please" look as she walked away from me.

I get a flush and I get beat by a goddamn motherfucking full house! Fuck you, Poker Palace!

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Vikings (Re-Entry!). The Brett Favre saga is over, at least for now. (I still think there's a chance he'll get back in the league midseason.) But I will tell you right now, the Vikings are a better team now that he has decided to stay retired. Yeah, he's better than both Tavaris Jackson and Sage Rosenfels combined ... when he's not injured. But he himself said the reason he decided to stay on his farm in Mississippi is his wrecked lower body, not the arm and shoulder he had surgery on. Moreover, it seems as if he has run out of gas late in recent seasons. If that happens as the Vikes are in the midst of a playoff push, a stalling Favre giving way to a rusty T-Jack or Rosenfels will give Vikings fans more anxiety than they usually feel.

But this is the best move simply because it gets the drama out of the way. Sure, it would be great for this state if Eden Prairie became the national capital of NFL Nation and the temporary home for ESPN's Rachel Nichols. But there is something the team now has that can't be underappreciated: certainty. They now know the QB's that must lead this team, and the type of team they now have, namely one with quite possibly the best RB in the league and a still-vaunted run defense (although the Williams Wall may be out of commission, pending a lawsuit they filed to stay their suspension). The man under center, whoever he may be, has to get better, and that's been the same damn thing the past two seasons, but in this case the devil you know is preferable to the one you don't. Favre's talents, if not his image, would demand he have at least a signifcant number of passes in the team's offensive attack, and when it's obvious he is becoming more of a liability than an asset, the rest of the team won't have time to adjust to the low-scoring, run-stopping strategy that got them to the postseason last year.

Besides, you can picture it: It's Week 17. Home against the Giants. Our division lead on the Lions is slipping away. In fact, we need a win -- no! A last-minute touchdown! -- to clinch a playoff spot. Time winding down to 0. Favre, evading pursuers, chucking the playbook, going out of the pocket, cocking his arm, launching the ball 30 yards ... and throwing another interception to seal our fate and send us home. Is that what we want? Because I would bet serious money he will let us down, either that way, or some other excrutiating mistake.

Trust me: We're better off without Brett Favre.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -3). I was at Tuesday's game, the one where Mark Buehrle set the record for most consecutive batters retired. It really looked like he was going to pitch another perfect game. When the streak ended on a walk to Alexi Casilla, I stood up. Some media accounts said we were standing up for Buehrle. Bullshit; it was for Casilla holding off on a full-count pitch that went low and inside. Now, when he left the game I stood and applauded for him, even though others were clapping for the way he started falling apart and allow four runs over 2/3 of an inning (I even saw one guy a few rows ahead of me give the finger). I'm glad the Twins won a game that went through all four seasons of the year, but that was an incredibly impressive feat by Buehrle.

That was the middle game of a sweep of the White Sox, and that, combined with Sunday's win over the Los Angeles Angels Of Anaheim Angels Of Los Angeles Angels Of Anaheim Angels Of ... gives the Twinkies a 4-3 week. Sadly, they started off the week losing three at Anaheim. As almost unstoppable they seem to be in the Dome (preternatural strength they will lose when they move outdoors next year, and you can quote me on that), what does a losing streak on the road tell you?

But the worst thing of all is their refusal to even try to trade for someone by Friday's deadline. I agree with front office management to a point when they said the organization is dedicated to improving from within. Although revenue sharing has made for a more-even playing field, it is far from even. The Yankees and Red Sox can and will still be able to outspend the Twins. And even though Carl Pohlad turned out to be a miserly son-of-a-bitch, I don't think we as fans should expect an owner to lose money on a team he owns just because others are doing so. But shit, make at least one fucking trade. Freddy Sanchez would have been great because the Pittsburgh Pirates have basically decided to move down to Triple-A, but no, the Giants got him. Unless they do something by Friday, they are consigning themselves to a .500 season.

Oh yeah, they host the geographically-confused Angels this weekend, then visit Cleveland, a team also being gutted like a Minnesota trout, over the week. For all their stasis, they're only two games behind Detroit for the lead in the AL Central.

#-3: Lynx (Last Week: -1). Both Lynx All-Stars acquitted themselves respectably during the Western Conference's win. Charde Houston scored 16 points and tied for the lead on the West team with three steals. Tied, by the way, with Nicky Anosike, who scored only 2 points but had the West's only block.

The second half of the season, however, started with a six-point loss to Los Angeles at Target Center. Nothing stood out as a problem; however, with Lisa Leslie out with a sprained right knee, the Lynx should've killed this team, even one with Tina Thompson (who scored half of her 30 points in the 4th quarter). Yet another home loss to a squad below them in the standings, and this team is swooning yet again as the playoff are in sight. Same as it ever was? They face a dangerous back-to-back this weekend: at Detroit Friday, then hosting Phoenix Saturday.

Why was My Fucking Father up at 5 in the morning? I thought it was a cat at the back deck, but no, it's My Fucking Father doing cooking something. I go out there and he says, "Still haven't slept yet, son?" in that whiny tone of us that always pisses me off. I said he woke me up. I hope he buys that. But maybe I don't care.

Did I show weakness? I hope I didn't show weakness. Maybe I could've come up with a better comeback.

Fuck Off, Father.

You Lookin' At Me, Motherfucker?

You must be lookin' at me, motherfucker. I remember you. You're the guy I saw in the restroom while at "work." You with the jean shorts. Who the fuck still wears jean shorts? Why are you lookin' at me? Why are you lookin' at me like that? Asshole. You judgin' me? You judgin' me, motherfucker?? I'm judgin' you -- you're an asshole whom I have to deal with because we work on the same goddamn floor. Fuck you, old fashion victim asshole.

And ... yeah, I see you lookin' at me too, shrunken-headed motherfucker, but I'm sorry because I started lookin' at you. You got a shrunken head! I'm sorry to stare, but you got a shrunken head, I can't help it! The game was over and I had all this visual stimuli of people leaving and I fixated on you because you got a shrunken head! You stand out because you have a shrunken head! I didn't mean to look your way to stare at your shrunken head a second time as I was passing you by, but like I said, I couldn't help it! You wanna fight? You wanna go? If that's the way you have to be, OK. You'll have a leg up on me because you've got a shrunken head. Less area to punch. Just sayin'.

(It'd be weird and funny if that shrunken-headed guy had a blog just like mine and he's typing out a post also called "You Lookin' At Me, Motherfucker?)

Birthers Are A Bunch Of Idiots

Despite Hawai'i officials again saying Barack Obama was born in that state and is thus qualified to be president, these bullshit racists still don't want to believe it. What the fuck is wrong with these fucking people? Goddamn bigots.

I feel fat, and I have this pain where either my appendix or my gallbladder is. I think I've had it since that massive steak dinner last night. Ugh.

The Wedding Entrance Dance

Very creative idea; I don't know how I haven't come across something like this sooner. And I have to give props because this is a couple from St. Paul -- big ups to Minneapolis' little bitch! But while this is very cute, I have to point out that they chose to dance to a song written by a guy who beat his girlfriend.

And now I just read that the wedding party got kicked out of their free hotel and their free airline tickets taken away by ABC because they appeared on NBC's "Today" show before appearing live on ABC's "Good Morning America." Did they not know that exclusivity matters when it comes to television? Or did they get greedy?

I Just Came Up With A Music Comparison:

The Veronicas are Australia's version of t.A.T.u.

For The First Time In I Think In Years I Have Driven Over 100 Miles In My Car In A Day

Took my Grandmother to buy groceries ... then to the library ... then down to the new building where the radio station I used to work at is now housed, just in case my parents ask ... then to this old mall I haven't been in in years ... then up north for harness racing ... then back through the heart of the metro to Uptown to drink coffee ... then back close to my house for late-night Italian before going home.

The last time I pulled 100 miles in my own car was when I took My Father up to St. Cloud, where he just needed to see the same doctor that treated my sister for something because he didn't trust anybody closer in the metro area.  I still remember that.  I was working late nights then, and he told me he'd be done by noon.  We got done by 7 in the evening.  Afraid I'd fall asleep that night at work.

No particular reason I had to drive so far.  It's just that it's summer, there ain't a fuckin' thing to do, and I don't want to just sit around and invite an argument with My Fucking Father, which would happen because there ain't shit to do on a Saturday afternoon.  So I drive, for a long time and far away.

So I was finishing up my shift at "work."  I saw the guy who I believe is the one who took a shit next to me yesterday (I have no proof; again, I tried running away from this man as quickly as possible) look at me through the big window in my sound-proof booth.  I'm pretty sure he had the booth reserved after me, but he needs to put the right code and program in.

I looked at the clock and my watch; it was nearing 3 o'clock.  Should I leave after this block of cues is over, or should I add one more block to get me past 3 o'clock?  And I swear, in my head I thought to myself, "He had the nerve to shit next to me yesterday, fuck him, he can wait."  Even if he did do it -- and again, I don't know that he was the guy -- who fuckin' cares?  But after I was given the choice to stop or continue, my immature brain told my finger to hit continue.

He was talking to his co-worker when I got done with this very last block and made my way out of the booth.  His appointment got there a bit past 3 but before he got done talking to his co-worker.  He certainly would've been able to get his subject set up as soon as she got there if not for me and my petty, addled, self-determined accusation, something I kept to myself.  Well, at least until now.

I did apologize.  He said no worries.  Hope not.

I Wish This Day Wasn't So Annoying

• I'm still moping from my mom finding out I had a laptop because I was stupid and fucking forgot to put it away. I went to Taco Bell with a hat on, and when I sat down I threw it down on the seat I wasn't using. I remember saying to myself as I threw it down, "If I forget this hat like I did my laptop, I deserve to lose it." And sure enough, I walked out of Taco Bell without picking up my hat. Luckily I still had my receipt with the phone number on me, and when I called them they said they had it. Phew! It's when I'm feeling really sorry for myself -- times I think all hope is lost, so I do even more stupid things -- that some thing goes my way, and that's when I stop feeling sorry for myself. So, even though I've been found out by Mother, I'm not worried about it too much now. I mean, I could've lost my hat.
• I promised my "boss" at "work" at the U. that I wouldn't be late today because I was late last time. Because of my frantic phone call, which I did after I realized I forgot my hat, which was after I got out of my car, I was still late. She took in stride. She's sometimes late, too.
• I ate at Taco Bell, so naturally I had to take a shit. This may be the first time that not one but two guys took a dump in the stall next to me. For real, guys? Isn't anyone out there nervous about defecating so close to a stranger like I am?
• To top it off, the second guy was getting up so I had to bolt out of there for fear I'd see who the guy is and know that, for example, he works in the same room I do. I didn't completely dry my hands, but who cares. I get to the door; it's ajar. Oh no, I did shit next to one of the guys who work here. I quickly dart into my booth, and sure enough, a minute later in walks another guy. Ewwwww.....
• Parents didn't ambush me by asking me about my laptop. They're probably saving it for later.
• And finally, what I love to do late at night is get up off my computer and catch ABC's World News Now's "The Skinny" and "Morning Papers" segments. I try to get to my room in time to see the opening sequences for both. But sometimes I'm too late, like I was tonight, both times. The first time I was -- ahem -- looking at porn. The second time ... well, I was too busy typing this. So I guess I should end this post now.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Lynx (Last Week: -2). Another tight race, each entry having good wins but many, many reasons not go put them on top. I have to give this week's Crown Of Thorns/Shit to the Lynx and their 1-1 record. They got the bad news out of the way first; they were up by 7 heading into the 4th quarter at Seattle Sunday and were constricted by the Storm, finally coughing up a lead with 10.3 seconds left in the game in a 72-69 loss that sent the Lynx down to third place in the Western Conference. It's nice to see that they can remain competitive on the road, but the clutch play I saw in person from this team over three wins isn't reflected in the final stanza's 19-9 disadvantage.

But the good news is they beat the conference leader Phoenix Wednesday night, and convincingly, 99-86. Yeah, the LifeLock were without leader Diana Taurasi, serving the second game of a two-game suspension for her "extreme" DUI (if you really want to do something to combat drunk driving, shouldn't all DUI's be "extreme?"), so the Lynx dodged a major bullet. But I'd like to believe that this means they're able to use their talent and control a team without its top scorer, even on the road. And they repelled Phoenix's comeback at the end of the third quarter by going on a 10-2 run to put the game away for good.

The Lynx now rest for the All-Star break ... except for C Nicky Anosike and F Charde Houston, who were both named as reserves for the ASG's West team! Also, Mark Bodenrader, staff writer for WNBA.com singles out Houston for the equivalent of Most Improved Player. After the ASG on Saturday, they begin the second half of the season hosting the Los Angeles Farmers Tuesday.

#-2: Timberwolves (Re-Entry!). What puts them back on the survey is the trade that sent Bassy, the Rhino and the Mad Dog to the Clippers in exchange for Quentin Richardson's contract. David Kahn is actively reshaping his roster in his own image, or at least trying to jettison any trace of Kevin McHale's failed administration. That's a positive thing, I guess, but believe it or don't, I didn't think the team, constituted as it was at the end of last season, was bad. In fact, I felt pretty sure there was reason to hope they'd be much better next year. But Kahn just traded a surprisingly effective forward who had a spot coming off the bench (Craig Smith), a veteran PG who would have played many minutes spelling Jonny Flynn (Sebastian Telfair) and ... the team's towel-waver but a fan favorite and a huge help with the team's public relations (Mark Madsen) in favor of a poor-shooting disappointment who has now been traded for the third time in a month. You could argue that McHale burned the whole thing down as soon as he traded McHale. So why do it again? And why the hell did you draft Ricky Rubio if he doesn't want to play in Minnesota?

#-3: Twins (Last Week: -3). A 3-3 week, just as even-steven as the Lynx. But what puts them in the bottom are the two losses to Oakland. How in the hell can you be up 12-2 and lose? And how in the fuck do you get your asses blown off by a franchise that has given up on the season by a goddamn score of 16-1? This reinforces a grim prediction made by many: These guys can't win on the road. Yes, they did win three games, but do you think a World Series team should be outscored in a series 32-17?

Even worse, 3B Joe Crede and potentially SP Glen Perkins (the perpetrator of the shit game yesterday afternoon) are going to see a shoulder specialist in Anaheim. Meanwhile, they found it fit to call back up RP Jesse Crain; maybe he'll be able to hold down the fort this time around. They play the Anaheim Angels (yeah, I said it "Los Angeles" officials -- whatcha gonna do?) for four games, and then they finally come back home to play a trio with the White Sox.

The Title Of This Blog Post Is, My Parents Didn't Know I Had A Laptop

So I was writing all day at home on my laptop, which I put in my sister's room. I ran a scan for my computer, and it does one of those things where I have to reboot it. So I decided to wait till I'm done with my Internet surfing and writing before I shut it off. And I'll give it some time to recharge while it reboots. In fact, I'll let it even more time to recharge while I go outside and weed. I'll come back and unplug it and put it away after I come back inside.

They come home. We eat dinner. My father gets the mail because I forgot to get it. I look through it to see that I have a piece of mail and my sister does, too. I sometimes get her mail and throw it on her bed, but I didn't this time because it looked like another card offer. I let my Mother handle it.

After dinner, after I shut the door, I hear footsteps outside my door -- fast steps, so it's one of my parents, not my Grandmother. I mute my TV because I know she'll knock on my door, but she doesn't. She goes into my sister's room. I don't hear the rhythmic sound of her feet, then I do; therefore, she paused. But she walks down the hall, past my room. Phew.

It's 1 in the morning. Time for me to surf the Internet again. I go into my sister's room. There's my sister's letter from today. It wasn't a card offer; it was an actual statement my mom threw in there.

I look at my laptop, still plugged in. I forgot to put it away.

My Fucking Mother now knows I own a laptop. She will tell My Fucking Father, and they'll confront me about it, and I'll have to kill them for getting on my ass for buying a laptop.

If only I had remembered to put away my laptop.

If only I had took my sister's goddamn mail myself.

I hate myself.

I ate the remaining three pizzas even though I saw the noodles sitting on the dining room table, which means tonight we're having these grilled meats I really enjoy eating. I'll be stuffing my face tonight ... so why did I eat the three pizzas this afternoon? Shouldn't I wait till, say, Sunday instead?

My Grandmother's Phone Fail

I'm blowing off steam when I write this partly because, yet again, my Grandmother has bad timing, from my point of view. This time I was settling down to see the monologue for Jimmy Kimmel Live -- which I think is better than even David Letterman's at times -- when she knocks on my door. And she doesn't really knock on my door; either to her loss of power due to age or the possibility she doesn't want to disturb me if I'm asleep, she kind of lightly taps at my door, even paws at it like a cat would. If I weren't paying attention, there's a good chance I wouldn't hear it.

But I heard it -- I always do -- and after saying, "Dang it!" aloud I open the door. She wants my help in calling long-distance again. OK. She has relatives and friends in Hong Kong, Vietnam and Australia, and she sometimes wants to call them when it's morning over there, which means midnight or so here. The only thing I can take from her occasionally asking me to help her call overseas is that I know what goes into a long-distance number. I forgot the last time I went overseas (which was a "class" after I graduated from college to Europe) that I had to hit "011" to essentially "leap out" of the U.S. and hit the country code to basically "leap in" to the country I'm calling to, then any city code to pinpoint where specifically I want to call, then the actual number.

Anyway, the big problem I have with this isn't the really long-ass number, but my granny's reaction to whenever I get a voicemail message or answering machine, which is most of the time. I shove the phone in her face because this message is in the native tongue, one which she speaks but I don't. She then says she doesn't understand or, more recently, the voice is speaking too quickly. My grandmother then gives it back to me so I could listen, even though I can't fucking speak the language. Plus, I don't know how to say "voicemail message" or "answering machine" in Chinese. So I hang up and call again only to show her that I'm making a good faith effort to call. When I get the same shit again, I have to try and explain to her what's actually going on, but she doesn't seem to understand, and that's when I get upset, because we go through this routine of misunderstanding and miscommunication every single goddamn time we do this.

Eventually she gives up says we'll try again tomorrow. But this leads to the other problem I have with her when helping her call long-distance: She buys new phone cards every single time. Whenever she can't get through to someone, she gets around to thinking it's the cards that don't work. I keep telling it's not the cards, but she probably has at least a dozen now. I use a new one just to humor her, and I want to think that not being able to get her friend or relative on the phone convinces her it's not the phone card, but she still keeps buying new phone cards.

This is one of those times I wish we were white.

Oh yeah, something else aggravating happened to me when my granny asked for my help. This card was new, so the PIN#/code thingy wasn't scratched off yet. I went to take the card out of her hand and grab a coin, but I didn't know that she was holding a knife behind her new phone card. I jumped back and almost gasped. She grabbed the knife from the kitchen because she knew the gray stuff had to be scratched off, but I damn well almost fuckin' cut up my fingers because of her. And if she knew it had to be scratched off, why did she get a knife? Doesn't she know a fucking penny would do?

I know she's old, but goddammit, sometimes I just don't get my grandmother.

I left my shit in my car Sunday and I knew I had to get them because I needed to fill out some paperwork that was in my bag and send it out Monday. But after picking up pizza for dinner and eating, like, nine slices (nine slices? Boy, that takes me back to a time I could eat that much and lose weight), and after being tuckered out from a meeting/party I had that afternoon, I went to bed and passed out. When I woke up, it was too late to go to the garage and get my things because I would wake everybody else up.

But passing out meant that I couldn't sleep all night. In fact, I stayed up till morning. After my mom left for work, I decided to get coffee at this place where I used to get coffee all the time when I was employed. I liked the girls that work there, and I want to remain familiar to them. Plus, I'd be able to get my bag and work on my papers while enjoying some damn fine coffee.

So I sit down and open my bag ... and I don't see the papers I need to work on. And then I remember: I never put the papers in my bag at all. They're in envelopes I store them in ... which are at home. Instead of just saying to myself I'll do it tomorrow, I could've done them late Sunday or early Monday because they were in the bleepin' room next to my bedroom all this time.

I may not have a job, but after an oversight so dumb, maybe I don't deserve to work.

Anna. Paquin's. Titties!!!

As I said in my previous post, my entertainment lately has been all True Blood. It's been marked by late-night appearances by its star, Anna Paquin. I don't know about you, but she came off as somewhat of a stuck-up bitch. But one thing she and Jimmy Fallon talked about "pricked" my interest: Unlike that other hot vampire entertainment vehicle, Twilight, True Blood "has a lot of sex."

Sex, you say? Anna Paquin, the Oscar winner for The Piano when she was 11, she doesn't get bare-ass naked ... DOES SHE? She's too much of a star to do this ... ISN'T SHE?? She wouldn't debase herself by getting naked -- and not even for a prestigious movie, but an HBO series ... RIGHT???

So I Googled "anna paquin's titties." And guess what? SHE DOES, SHE DOES, SHE DOES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She's showed them cute A-cup sweater puppies twice in fucking scenes with her co-star/real-life boyfriend, Stephen Moyer (who's 13 years older than she, which is another thing that makes me respect her less 'cause, um, ick, but, ironically, arouses me even more). Here's video of her second fucking scene, from last month (hat tip to NSFW POA, fast becoming my favorite site):


Anna Paquin Nude True Blood Season 2 -

I wish I could post pictures of her first fucking scene from the first season last year, but I don't know how to do that, so I'm just going to post the NSFW POA webpage where you can see those.

What kills me -- and this is yet another thing that makes me think I wouldn't like her if we somehow got into a conversation, even though it too makes me think that quirk is also what's so hot about her -- is that, in this week's Entertainment Weekly, Paquin says showin' dem titties ain't no thang: "I wouldn't have signed up for it if I wasn't game. I just never really grew up in a culture or household where [nudity] was a big deal." Not a big deal? Actresses who get naked for scenes always seem to say that. Don't they know that the viewers (well, the guys and lesbians) look forward to them getting naked, that for them it is a big deal? I never get the disconnect.

In fact, I believe there has to be something ... strange about an actress, especially an Oscar-winning, relatively well-known, young and nubile one who has earned her chops and seemed in no way to be in a career slump that would make one think she would need to surrender the pink, deciding to surrender the pink. I can't believe that Anna Paquin, 26-year-old Anna Paquin, said to herself: "In what may be the prime of my career as an adult actress, I want to devote the next half-decade of my life, and even risk being typecast, in a role where I'm required to flash my boobies and simulate sex with a guy with fake fangs at least once a season." As tough an industry acting is, I can't imagine that anyone that young with so many accomplishments to her name reached such a decision. Maybe Heather Graham reached such a conclusion when he followed up giving us a look at her sweet right tit in The Hangover a dozen years after showing her hee-hees and hoo-hah in Boogie Nights. The differences are that Graham isn't on a TV series where the potential to expose your mammaries exists constantly, and she's thirteen years older than Paquin (same age as Moyer, Paquin's boyfriend, BTW.)

Bottom line is, if both Graham and Paquin keep getting naked in front of us for money, they're nothing more than Hollywood-approved porn stars. Not that I'm complaining. But if you're ready and willing to parade in front of the camera in a birthday suit more than once, and you're not heinous, you damn well better know that there are people watching at home who don't give two flyin' rats' asses about such trivial bullshit like the "storyline" or the "character arcs" or "the physical expression of this couple's love for each other." She might think this is part of her craft, or she truly may not really give a damn about getting naked for the role. All we care about is seeing Rogue's boobs! Show me where babies feed, Rogue!

You know, I should be somewhat disgusted because I saw this girl when she was a shortie in The Piano, and now I'm about to wank my dick over her 15 years later. Such drooling depravity over a child actor makes me think of the Olsen Twins, whose impending 18th birthdays were marked by an online countdown. That shit actually made me sick; they're children, I thought to myself, and children don't excite me sexually! Same thing should happen with Paquin. But since there was no countdown for her, I guess I don't see that 11-year-old girl when I see her take her clothes off and get (fake) twat-stabbed by a guy whom she fell in love with IRL. Meanwhile, I fall in love with her Hollywood starlet tits, even though they are tiny.

I am now obsessed with Anna Paquin's titties. And I blame you, True Blood and HBO, for promoting the show so goddamn much I can't get dem titties out of my mind.

All I can say when I watch the show now is, Show dem titties!!! Or at least I would if I had cable.

And now I will go to the bathroom and touch myself.

All I See Right Now Is True Blood

I see Anna Paquin on Letterman and Fallon this week, and now I got the latest Entertainment Weekly and True Blood is mentioned in three different places, one of them being an article. I'm sick of it ... but I'm not sick of all of it. Details tomorrow!

I Should've Procrastinated

My Mother wants me to order and file all of her and My Father's stock records. Still trying to get through them all. Need to three-hole punch them, and then I need to put them in an order that I haven't decided yet.

And there were so many papers that I needed to buy a new three-ring binder. It's an office product, so naturally I go to OfficeMax. A 2" binder cost about $9.50, but I didn't want to make a special trip to Target and who knows how much I would pay in gas for driving there, and it's on the way to Barnes & Noble and the mocha I get while I read magazines there.

A month later, which was Friday, I forget that I also need alphabetized dividers. For some reason, however, I go to Walgreen's, which is separated by a parking lot from OfficeMax, easily within walking distance. There are a lot of things that these two things share, although it doesn't look it on the surface. (Hell, do you know what products Walgreen's is known to sell besides medicine?) But they don't have alphabetized dividers. What they do have, however, are 2" binders -- and it just so happens that they were selling them 5 bucks. Why the fuck would Walgreen's sell binders?

So now I'm kicking myself for going to the vastly expensive OfficeMax to get an office product because that's what they do; they call themselves "OfficeMax" and you automatically go to them for all your business needs even though it could be vastly overpriced. I'm embarrassed to say that I did this for envelopes a couple times. I decided, right there at Walgreen's, that I was going to rectify the situation by going home, taking all the papers out of the binder, finding the receipt and returning it for a refund.

And then, it just so happened that I remembered my mom asked me to get some ink for her fax machine. I did the smart thing and first looked around Walgreen's for the type of ink (she wrote down the information in a small slip of paper I remembered I had in my pants) and how much it was. Seeing that it wasn't there -- OK, so they don't have ink but they do have binders, got it! -- I then went to OfficeMax.

The guys there are usually proactive, but this time around two people actually helped me figure out which one of their huge selection of ink cartridges was the correct one for Mom's fax machine. More often than not I get the feeling they could be overbearing and offer you things to buy that you don't need; I buy stuff here but usually leave walking faster than I normally do. But I actually liked the customer service I got. They told me the HP original ink is $16, but the OfficeMax generic is $14.50. And I also noticed that they set up a new ink refill station. About time; printer ink is one of the most egregiously expensive items in proportion to what you think it should cost, and this hopefully is the start of the pushback against a shady racket. Moreover, they were honest -- one of the guys said that the generic isn't that cheaper than the HP-issued ink, which will definitely work (you always take a chance when you're using ink besides the one the company says you should use), and he warned that the refill for the type of ink for mom's fax machine does only OK.

Great! Thanks for the candor! But ... that makes it that much harder for me to essentially screw them over by returning a product that I have in effect "used" already. I left OfficeMax thinking a different plan: I will return it, but to make it up to them I will buy ink!

Well, that plan blew up in my face that night. I underestimate my mom's enterprising nature; that, or her weird friend that looks like a rat gave her information about a website where she can get ink dirt cheap. I helped her find the site; costs her nine bucks. I bought her a cartridge that night, and I'll buy her another one tomorrow.

But that means my plan's up in smoke. There's no trade-off that'll salve me returning the binder I bought and have already used that I shouldn't've purchased in the first place because I didn't look in Walgreen's because why the fuck should I look in Walgreen's for a 2" binder? And I can't be a dick and just return it to OfficeMax and get my money back. I'll be going to that B&N for the rest of my life. I live close by. They would haunt me the rest of my days. So I'll just keep the binder for $4.50 more than I should've paid for it, and cut back by, I don't know, not going to lunch for a week.

I should've procrastinated.

And Now The Last Best Television Broadcaster Is Gone. And That's The Way It Is.

The halcyon days of Walter Cronkite were before my time, so I don't quite know how special he was to the country. But if he was (is?) "the most trusted man in America," well, that's something to admire.

I want (and still want) to be a sportscaster, emulating no one in particular. But I do know his honesty, integrity and hard work. And I think others do, too. In fact, I think that anyone who's in broadcast journalism now, especially TV reporters, want to be like Cronkite. I mean, who in the hell gets into the business because they want to be Maury Povich?

Rest In Peace, Mr. Cronkite.

Choices

Choice 1: I was at the Mall Of America waited for the evening rush to pass before I went to my meeting in Minnetonka. After passing out in the car for 45 minutes, I had about an hour and a half to kill. Do I go to Hooters and get served by a waitress who wouldn't give me the time of day if she weren't working, or do I eat something else? After getting the blood to rush to my big head, I decided that after going through my finances earlier this week, I could not justify spending so much at Hooters if knew I was going to eat something big later.

Choice 2: Should I use my last free Stone Cold Creamery card? I had, like, two or three of them, and this is going to be the very last because I don't think they issue them anymore (or at least the punch-card type I had). Again, seeing that I can't just spend cash willy-nilly, I decided to use it. Ice cream was huge and great and so good to eat, but I still have my reservations. It didn't even reach 70 degrees outside; should I have waited till a warmer day? And wouldn't this ice cream be good as a dessert -- in other words, shouldn't I use this free card for my last meal of the day, not on a night where I would eat something later?

My final justification: I held onto that card for years. At what point was I going to use it?

Choice 3: Should I go to BJ's or 22nd Avenue Street Station for a bit? The girl who gave me a handjob may or may not be working at BJ's, but I don't have the balls to call her in case she's still as mad at me like she was when she returned my call. Should I go there anyway? What if she told everybody? The shame would surely prevent me from going there ever again, and that's a risk I couldn't take. But if I stay away too long, and if she really didn't tell anybody, maybe she'll then squeal to everybody that works there because she thinks that I'm not gonna be coming around anymore, so what does it matter? I then drop by unannounced, and everybody's laughing at my face when they wouldn't've even known about my "adventure" with her had I just shown up earlier in the summer like nothing happened between us.

I decide to go to the Double-Deuce instead just because I hadn't been there in a while. I spend three bucks on a Sprite I don't have the enthusiasm to drink. Some black guy having a good time chats me up. He invites me to the tip rail. The little ledge in front of the rail isn't level, and I don't want my drink to spill, so I put it on the counter behind me. This guy keeps talking and starts to talk shit to the stripper onstage, who complains that he's not tipping at all. Fun stuff. He leaves, which gives me the perfect opportunity to lean back and take a sip of my Sprite ... which is gone. The stripper and the two guys giving her tips throughout her set say My New Black Friend stole it. He may've been a little drunk and crazy, but why in the hell would he steal my Sprite? I mean, who does that? Maybe the waitress thought no one wanted it and took it away while this guy was grabbing my ear. But ... god, did he really steal my Sprite?

It's just three bucks, but that pilfer convinced me to save my money, get up and leave. I'm still confused over the incident; hurt too, and I'm getting angrier the more I type about this. Maybe I should've rolled the dice and risked ridicule by going to BJ's. (By the way, I drove past it. She was there, probably working.)

Choice 4: OK, now it's time for dinner -- at 10:30. (Maybe I eat like a European.) Should I get the spaghetti dinner? It makes you really full, but if there were ever a time to eat it, it'd be on a day when the only thing you had to eat was a huge cup of ice cream. But it's more expensive than the other thing I now get on a regular basis at the restaurant I hit up when I'm out late at night, salad and soup. And it's healthier and less caloric, too.

I saved enough money, I said to myself, and I knew I was going to throw some money at this late dinner. I got the spaghetti. It's usually really good. But this night the sauce was particularly runny. Also, I thought it was cold in some spots. Should've gotten the soup and salad.

The first two choices I'm OK with. The last two choices I'm not. 2-2. Batting .500. Perfectly mediocre. Just like my life. Actually, maybe a bit better.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -3). Again, this is a default choice, and sure as fuck the Lynx don't deserve it. They start off by finishing getting buttfucked by the Yankees 6-4; they lose all three games of the series at the Dome, and are swept for the season, 0-7. But they then win two of three from the White Sox at home to finish the first half of the season a not-insurmountable four games from division-leading Detroit.

All three All-Stars acquit themselves nicely over the festivities in St. Louis. He should've done better, but Joe Mauer making it to the First Round Swing-Off in the Home Run Derby is as good as you should expect him to do for a first-timer who didn't find his power stroke until this year. Let's just hope he hasn't lost it now that he participated. He then followed that up with a game-tying RBI double and a run in the game itself. Joe Nathan allowed a walk and a hit (the former broke a streak of 18 National League batters retired), but in what probably is the At-Bat Of The 2009 ASG, fooled Phillie and St. Louis native Ryan Howard into swinging at a dirt-digging slider (?). Justin Morneau didn't have a hit, but even he could've gotten on the board if not for Jayson Werth's running catch in left-center, so I'll give him credit (for that and for the fact that he was none too happy that the Canadian national anthem was a recording).

Now, however, the Twins embark on the second half with what possibly could be the worst road trip of their year: A 10-game sojourn through the American League West, starting Friday with three against Texas, then three with Oakland, and finally four against the Los Angeles Angles Of Anaheim Angels Of Los Angeles Angels Of Anaheim Angels Of. ...

#-2: Lynx (Last Week: -1). Their loss at home to San Antonio, a team that had not won a road game at all this season (the second team to notch such a win against the Lynx), shows me that this team, as talented as it is, plays up or down to the level of their competition. That showed in the to-back portion of their back-to-back with the Silver Stars, a 83-76 win. But then the Atlanta Dream crushed them at Target Center 91-77 in their annual weekday afternoon game, which makes me question how good they really are despite their perch in second place in the Western Conference.

Maybe Coach Jen Gillom is right when she says they need to work on their defense. Atlanta shot 53% from the field and a jaw-dropping 78% from The Land Of The Three-Pointers, which dovetails perfectly to the facts that Lynx are third-worst in opponent's FG% and worst in the WNBA in 3PT%. They are the second-highest scoring team in the league but also the second-worst in opponent's PPG; they've fully adopted a run-and-gun style, and they're lucky that their average margin is a .26 win, especially when the other team gets 2.74 more rebounds than they do. Can they regain their composure in games at Seattle, who sit a half-game behind the Lynx, and at Phoenix, conference leader and highest-scoring team in the league?

The One Thing Really Pissing Me Off About Stories Covering The Announcement Of The Wild's Schedule Next Year:

And mind you, it's not the schedule I'm angry about, it's the coverage of it: There's all this talk about "revenge games" -- Marian Gaborik and the Rangers come to the X All Hallow's Eve, Jacques Lemaire and New Jersey comes home New Year's Post, Martin Havlat returns to Chicago Oct. 26 -- yet they don't talk about the "revenge games" that matter the most: The Bastard North Stars returning home to the place they belong before being stolen from us by that son-of-a-bitch Norm Green. Dallas (ugh) come home Nov. 7 and Apr. 10, the season-ender. But no, the stories I read don't think that's important. Shit, I remember seeing someone somewhere point out when fuckin' Stephane Veilleux and Kurtis Foster and Tampa Bay will be coming into town. But the franchise that was taken from us doesn't deserve a single sentence? Are you fuckin' kidding me? Look here at the Strib and here at the PiPress -- no mention of fuckin' Dallas. Makes me puke.

And what's worse is that no one else seems to give a crap, even though they should. What may hurt me more than the relocation of the North Stars is the fear that most Wild fans don't care about it anymore, and not noticing that the media isn't highlighting the Dallas games makes me shake my head. Why the lack of outrage? Is it because we have a team now? It isn't the same, and it doesn't make it right. Are people so disgusted they want no part of the North Stars? It sure as fuck doesn't belong to Dallas, who didn't even give a shit about Neal Broten, Brian Bellows and Bill Masterton until that fucking thief Green gave them our team. The North Stars belong to us, and I'm doing my damndest to keep the players, the statistics, the accomplishments (meager as they are) and the history alive. I feel, though, that I'm the only one who's this passionate about this permanent injustice, and that makes me sad.

North Stars Forever!!! Now, who's with me?

My Day And Night

1) I'm zooming around in my car going back home. I try to stay in front of this work truck I'm racing with, and so I change a lane to the left just as the road starts curving to the right. I go with it at a high rate of speed, at least 50, could be 60. I'm leaning to the right as I go with the bend, but then I look at my dashboard and see that the low oil level light comes on. I fucking freak. The road straightens and I slow down, and it goes away. Don't see it light up again the rest of my day. But that compels me not to go anywhere tomorrow and check out the car instead.

2) I usually have lunch before going to "work." But since I want to sleep in, need to save money and punish myself for going to the racino instead of a friend's house on the 4th of July, I just take a can of Pepsi with me. I was done with it for about an hour or so when I went to Dunn Bros. to use my coupon for half-off a Mocha IceCrema. I go to the bathroom to piss. When I open the sink, I usually spit. This time, I was surprised when I noticed that the splashes weren't clear, like water, but brown, like Pepsi. How could that be? I didn't drink that much Pepsi. And even if I did, it wouldn't splash like water drops, which it did here. Did it really come out of my mouth ... or did it somehow come out of the spigot, in which case the municipal water supply needs a thorough lookover.

3) The barista who took my order look a hell of a lot like Richard Ashcroft, lead singer of the British group The Verve (they of "Bittersweet Symphony"). Don't know if I've warmed up to the guy yet -- quiet, cold body language, doesn't smile. Kind of like me, but hey, I'm not a barista, so I can get away with it. Anyway, he doesn't give me my change. It doesn't matter since I would've thrown the change in the tip jar. But I think it's convention that we go through the motions: He gives me my tip, I throw it in the jar or, like some others do, walk away and wave my hand, the international signs for "keep the change." Richard Ashcroft look-a-like does not do that -- he takes my two bucks, closes the register, leaves and prepares my drink. I will chalk it up to momentarily spacing out, not having a vendetta against me. And, to admit, he said he gave me a little more in my Mocha IceCrema. Passive-aggressive, also just like me.

4) Father told me to mow the new sod tomorrow. I decided I would do that this afternoon because it's a good way to discipline myself and not go out and spend money I shouldn't spend. But now I have this compulsion to not do it because My Father told me to do it. I hate being told what to do, especially from My Fucking Father.

5) But then I count all the cash money I keep in my drawer. Even with the bi-weekly moolah Mother gave me tonight, I had ... um, less money than I thought. This compels me to just knuckle under and accede to my dad's wishes to mow the new sod tomorrow. It's either that or, gulp, getting a job.

6) Watched part of the All-Star Game. Watched it mostly because of Joe Mauer and the fact that it's being held in St. Louis, hands down America's True Baseball City. I've been there about a half-dozen times, and I tell you, even if you don't like strip clubs (although they are fantastic), it is a great vacation spot, what with the Arch, all the city's history, the casinos and the underrated nightlife. I decided to watch till they started substituting players, which, per usual, was in the third inning.

7) As I type this I started to feel itchy all over. What the fuck?

I Have Three Thoughts On The MLB All-Star Game

1) The MLB All-Star Game, the day before and the day after are the deadest and most boring days on the sports calendar.

2) I'm not a fan of ASG's because the best players in the world are half-assing their play so as not to get hurt. But the fact that this is supposed to be an exhibition (and I don't like the fact that this game decides home-field advantage in the World Series) makes me tired of all those people bitching about every team having a player in this ASG even if they don't deserve it. First of all, there is something to be said about having fans for every single franchise in MLB tuning into the game and seeing at least one person from their favorite team invited. Let everyone feel they have a stake in this game; it's America's Pastime -- why not?

But the better reason has to do with all the other liberties and circumventions of rules enforced for regular-season games. There aren't 33 players on a team, and the starting pitcher in the game isn't substituted after the second inning. Until the starting lineup plays the great majority of the innings in the ASG as a single unit -- unless MLB management, coaches and players treat the ASG as any other contest that counts -- they might as well flout other rules that fly in the face of what you'd normally do in a baseball game. People who hate this "every team has a representative" rule don't seem to give a damn when Zach Greinke gets to sit down after a single 1-2-3 inning even though he's paid to go longer than that.

3) FOX picked a real dumbass commercial for the game:



So there's a giant hand that comes from the sky carrying the Arch around the nation? I guess the players and fans aren't running away because they believe that's God! And who in the hell thought of turning the Arch into a magnet? How in the world does that make any damned sense? Would you like to fly yards through the air from your comfy seat to the magnetized Arch being carried across the country by some heavenly appendage? I'd be cowering in the VIP of one of the strip clubs in East St. Louis trying to avoid that alien invasion.

The Best Sports Story Out Right Now

This illuminating piece on professional cycling by SI.com's Alexander Wolff. Read it to understand how there's a difference between the way Americans and Europeans view cycling, and how that difference has manifested itself in twisted ways when it comes to Lance Armstrong.

Two conclusions I take after reading this article:

1) Professional cycling is a joke, a scripted farce professional wrestling should look down upon.

2) Lance Armstrong cheated. No doubt in my mind.

But the best comparison from Wolff: Did you know that Belgium is the West Virginia of Europe?

My Father The Bore

I walked away from My Father after eating an admittedly great and elaborate steak dinner without helping him wipe up the dinner table. (The food was so good I had to show my appreciation by taking a shit.) Was he going to be mad for abandoning him after virtually single-handedly making Sunday dinner for us?

Nope. Instead, he baited me into having a 45-minute, one-way conversation by cutting a piece of cake for me and telling me he has some forms he needs help filling. I sat the whole time with my back straight and my shoulders tense, waiting for that first cutting comment that son-of-a-bitch most always sets me up for.

But that didn't happen. Instead, he did something I forget he also does from time to time: Drone on and on about stories and things on his mind. Tonight, he told the following things (I might not be totally correct about these, and there may be other things he talked about, but near the end my eyelids were getting very heavy):

1) His potential real estate purchases in Las Vegas.

2) There is some form (online or paper?) where you can input income, rent, insurance and other stuff and ... I don't know. Either I got bored and stopped listening to dad at this point, or he didn't know where the fuck he was going with this either.

3) Stay hungry. Like that study of monkeys, if you eat less, you look for food and improve yourself. Get your fill to eat and you stay content and dull. (He too scoffed at the study; he knew this was true by the Shaolin monks and their diet. Stupid studies.) This led to the only quasi-confrontation question he asked me about regarding my current state of existential loss: "What is your plan now?" I gave him a lie about meeting an alum today who wants to meet next week. That did get him off my back quick.

4) The Chinese come up with inventions way before Americans do. For example, you remember the Exxon Valdez? One guy tried to contain the slicks of oil on the water with hair. But the Chinese already knew that. (I don't know if this is true -- a lot of his stories I suspect aren't true -- but that's what he said.) He boasts a lot about Chinese culture. Did you know that we're descendants of the architect of the Great Wall Of China?

5) The codes and regulations here in Minnesota are a lot worse than they are in Vegas.

6) Uncle needs money, but he'll reach Social Security soon ... what?

Again, there may be more, but he bored me to death, so I forget. The troubling thing is is that this time, for what I believe to be the first time ever, he went back and talked about things he already told me. There may be troubling age-related forgetfulness going on. Or he may be just boring himself, who knows.

I would be more forgiving, even appreciative of the fact that he wasn't yelling at me if he wasn't so hypocritical. I know in my bones that if I or some stranger tried to regale him with things only he or she thought were important, he would either sabotage the conversation or, in extreme cases, physically walk away. I've seen him do it. But I still have to live here, so instead I just stayed quiet, kept my guard up and, in a passive-aggressive way, tried to goad him by responding to some of his tedious bullshit with a very quiet "Okaaay" in that same whiny tone of voice he uses when he's agreeing with something we're saying just so we'd stop talking. I was ready for a fight if he picked up on my passive-aggressiveness, but alas, he seemed to be too full of himself.

There were some things I intend to keep in mind: The number of properties he owns here and in Vegas; the price of two stocks he's looking to buy; and he wants me to mow the new sod (though I'm not going to till next week because people say new sod needs to be left alone for 30-45 days and we haven't reached that yet). So why in the hell couldn't he just get to the important stuff and not waste my time with his other bullshit? Like I said, some of the things make me worry that this time it's different, but I still believe that this self-absorbed part of Father, though better than the bitter and vindictive Father I see a lot of the time, is someone I can do without.

Poor Bastard Of The Moment: Jammie Thomas-Rasset

Yes, it's been established that this woman downloaded music illegally. But really, $1.92 million?! And a permanent injunction that she never be allowed to download music ever again, for the rest of her life?! Does the Recording Industry Association Of America realize that pretty much every fucking American under the age of 50 has downloaded music illegally? And of all the people in the world, why in the hell would they make an example out of a single mom? She doesn't have the money. So what in the hell is the point? People are driven to suicide over bullying like this.

Poor bastard.

The girl who gave me a handjob a couple weeks ago returned my call while I was driving this afternoon, and I don't know if she was really pissed at me or making fun of me when she said, "I'm going to tell everyone at the bar that I gave you a handjob!" and "I didn't give you a handjob, I just touched your penis!" I love it when she yelled at me to "Calm down and take a breath!"

She told. I knew it. Guess I'll have to extend my break from the bar I like for another month, just in case. Return after Labor Day -- either everybody would've forgotten by then or, in a long shot, no one would care by then.

So I plug my phone in to recharge it while "working." Hopefully no one will catch me. But goddammit, someone did today. And it was because the air conditioner wasn't working.

I was at my booth and saw out my window all the workers surrounding this A/C unit next to the door. Next thing I know, I saw this really fat guy detaching the unit and bringing this huge industrial fan in to cool the room.

Apparently it was noisy; I didn't hear it because I was "listening" and the sound-proof booth really did do its job. This one guy there, though, he was just doing his job when he opened my door while I was "working" to ask if the fan was bothering me. And he could see the slow-blinking light of my phone, recharging as it was dangling from the charger attached to the outlet.

I give it a week to see if he's going to tell my "boss," and then to see if she will "fire" me. We'll see.

I'm Sorry, But I'm Leaving You, Pre-Arranged Health Insurance Agency

After what I think was a three-month wait, I finally qualified for health insurance a couple months ago. Their plan, understandable as it is because I think they agree that the new client wants to get enrolled as soon as possible, is to just give the person an agency but give him a month to return the form mailed to him allowing him to change it to one he really wants -- which is what I did. I was assigned Metropolitan Health Partners but wanted Medica.

In the meantime, however, I got sent -- or was wooed by -- MHP material. First was their handbook. Next was their card. It's as if they were saying, "Welcome! It's so nice to have you as a client!! We will take care of you, and we will never hurt you, never!!" Comparing them to the same material from Medica makes explicit a the stark difference. These guys from MHP didn't have the glossy cover page material or the colorful drawings and graphic branding that they paid some high-powered agency beaucoup bucks to make them look all warm and inviting. MHP used one color to dress up their handbook and network listings -- magenta or vermillion, I'm not sure what exact shade of red it was. And they put on their front covers photos, small photos, of ordinary Minnesotans like you and me, probably shot by some guy who just graduated from Anoka-Ramsey Community College.

But this can-do spirit, this forging ahead and putting their best foot forward, them getting up before the rest of the health insurance agencies, scrounging up the best ill-fitting clothes they have in their closet and ironing them so that they look as presentable as possible -- all of that I sense from reading through their regulations and the clinics that network with them. That aura, combined with the fact that I had never heard of MHP before I began acquainting myself with the rules of getting insurance through the state, indicates an underdog status that tugs at my Piscean heartstrings. Maybe they will outwork Medica and Blue Cross Blue Shield and HealthPartners and put the customer first. Maybe they will deserve all the kickback money they'll get for attending to my needs while the other behemoths ensure their CEO's make billions and billions of dollars ripping off the state's poor and disadvantaged. Yes you can, MHP, yes you can!!!

But maybe they can't. I feel bad about abandoning MHP, but I'm not going to switch back. I think I read in U.S. News & World Report that the best Medicaid program in the state (and the choices are not good on a nationwide, objective level) is Medica. Besides, I changed it once, so I can't change it again, can I?

So Medica it is. Bad thing is, even though the state has told me they are aware of the change, Medica has yet to give me info or even a member card. Geez, MHP gave them to me two weeks after I got enrolled. Yes, they were pre-selected, but so what? Medica, get off your duffs and service me!

Have I made a mistake?

Played poker on facebook. Went to the 25/50 table where all the guys there were going all in. Not real money, but the other guys were getting all the cards. Lost all my money. Not a big deal, or at least I thought, but now I'm getting angrier and angrier the more I dwell on it.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

Positive Numbers: The Eden Prarie high school program (New!). For being named by Sports Illustrated as the ninth best high school program in the nation! The state's Challenge Cup winner (for best prep school for the year overall), EP claimed championships in boys' hockey, girls' lacrosse and girls' cross-country. I like the fact that a public school leads the state's prep programs. Nevertheless, I still am jealous of EP. From my formative years, they stood out as the worst of the huge, rich high school districts in the southern half of the metro area that lorded their size and affluence over us hick northerners. Even though they won three championships, they're not totally happy unless their football team wins the state title. They are definitely a football school; winning the big schools' crown six times between 1996 and 2007 (more than any of their other sports) builds an entitlement of it. That and the fact that the head coach is Mike Grant, son of the greatest Minnesota Vikings Coach ever, Bud Grant. My bitter, petty heart takes cheap solace that some years ago Best Buy moved their headquarters from Eden Prarie to Richfield, a first-ring suburb several miles to the east.

-1: Lynx (Last Week: 0). Well, they did lose to Sacramento, the worst team in the Western Conference, at home. But because I didn't want to be home on a Tuesday, and to pay homage to this article about the WNBA from the Associated Press published late Monday night, I went to the Lynx's game against Washington.

My fucking God, what a game. They were outmuscled by the taller Mystics early; from my vantage point, it was like senior high schoolers playing against freshmen. But somehow they chipped away to tie it at the half. Offensive rebounds and Mystics PG Lindsey Harding (a former Lynx player) were constant problems all game. They were down nine to start the fourth but got the lead late when PG Renee Montgomery started copying Harding and driving to the hole.

But that's when it started to really get weird. C Nicky Anosike had two free throws to extend the lead to three but missed the first. At the other end, Chasity Melvin got another of Washington's many offensive boards and laid it in to tie the game. Then with 4.9 seconds left and the ball from half-court, F Charde Houston failed to inbound within five seconds. Now Washington was playing for the game, but Harding, who finished with a game-high 27, missed her jumper. Phew.

It was virtually a one-on-one street ball matchup in overtime. Montgomery scored 18 of her career-high 21 points in the last two minutes of the 4th and OT, and you should've seen her getting screens from SG Candice Wiggins and penetrating for layups-and-ones. But Harding continued killing the Lynx. Why didn't Coach Jen Gillom ever try to double Harding? The Mystics were a mess without her handling the ball. And yet they were fouled shooting from three two times in the last 8.6 seconds of the extra session. Marissa Coleman and then Harding had chances to completely erase three-point deficits. Both times they made the first, made the second ... and missed the third. In what could be the greatest nail-biter in franchise history, the Lynx won in OT, 96-94. I got my bang for the buck -- which was free, thanks to a guy rushing to get into the arena 10 minutes before the tip, a man who truly is one of God's children.

They're tied with Phoenix for the lead in the West, so they're the Twin Cities' best-kept secret. The Lynx have a home-and-home with San Antonio, then host Atlanta in their annual weekday afternoon game attended by girls participating in the team's camp afterward.

-2: Wild (Last Week: -2). Martin Havlat I know. Shane Hnidy, Jamie Fraser and Jaime Sifers? Don't know 'em, don't care. It's great to see that ESPN The Magazine said the Xcel Energy Center was ranked as the second-best building in American sport, and I'm heartened that new Coach Todd Richards is keeping Mike Ramsey as an Assistant Coach. But on the downside, GM Chuck Fletcher tried hard to get Montreal C and Captain Saku Koivu to sign with the Wild and join kid brother Mikko and failed when he decided to sign with Anaheim instead. I guess it ain't easy to get even hockey players to join teams in flyover country, huh, Fletch?

-3: Twins (Last Week: -1). They're down here after a 2-3 week. They took two of three at home against Detroit to climb within two of the AL Central lead, but have promptly given it back after dropping two to the Yankees, also at the Dome. It's infuriating to see that this club still suffers an inferiority complex against the biggest spenders in all of American sport. I hate the playa and the game, just to let you know. The getaway game is this afternoon, then they complete their homestand and the first half of the season against the White Sox before Joe Mauer, Justin Morneau and Joe Nathan (the J&J&J Boys?) go to the stripclubs of East St. Louis St. Louis (The Best Baseball City In The Country, hands down) for the All-Star Game on Tuesday. The Twins who failed to make it should take advantage of their mid-season break and reflect.

I Didn't Know Whose Pussy I Was Cumming Into, Honest

Klein's response when Diane Sawyer asked whether he was the biological father of Jackson's children left open the possibility that he was.

"Not to the best of my knowledge," Klein said. "All I can tell you is, best of my knowledge, I am not the father of these children. But I am telling you, if push comes to shove, I can't say anything about."

Correct me if I'm totally missing something here, but how in the fuck do you not know if you're the father of some woman's children, especially if the man acting as the father of those children is not only a client but a friend of yours?

Just watched the ABC and CBS evening newses. Not one mention of Michael Jackson. Not. One. There may not be new news, but it's funny that they didn't talk about him at all, like it the memorial and even the death never happened. Are they tired of the story? Did they not think this was worth their time?

So I finally participated in the study that I postponed a couple times with this chick I think is hot with the secretly-slutty librarian sunglasses and nice chest. The study consisted of listening to a word said three times, the first and third time voiced by the same person, and you needed to push a button indicating which word sounded closest to the second word.

They sounded so similar that most of the time I was guessing. Moreover, I started to fall asleep. Maybe it was the experiment, maybe it was the time of day (I usually take a nap between the late afternoon and early evening, at least for nwo), but I fell in and out of consciousness for much of the study, and it led me to not pay attention and even push the wrong button a few times.

When I got done, I didn't have to leave the soundproof booth; she actually came over and opened it for me. I've been in this room before; I forget that there's a computer outside the booth that shows the exact same thing I'm looking at. Seeing that she can virtually see what I was doing in there, I'm scared that she could see, or at least tell, that I was leaning one way or the other because I passed out, or that I took long pauses when I said, "Oh shit" to myself for pushing the wrong button.

Maybe that's why, when I was done with the study, she was at her computer looking at her things when I left. Didn't you open the door for me, or at least stand up, when I left the last time? There's a chance, she said, that there could be more experiments in the future. But from the way she kind of blew me off, I shouldn't hold my breath. And I guess this also means we're not getting together.

What's The Deal With All These Celebrities Dying And Resigning?

If it's not Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Fred Travelena Billy Mays or Karl Malden dying, it's Sarah Palin and now Casey frickin' Kasem abruptly quitting? Why? I CAN'T TAKE ALL THIS CHANGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh my fucking god, you can't come home from Vegas and relax, not even for one fucking night, Father? You wave hi to me at the airport, then for dinner you bitch at me for the weeds that are cropping up in the backyard? Not my fault the yard's in such shitty shape. But I weeded tonight. Happy, asshole?

And then I'm listening to my iPod while on your desktop, and when you came in I know you said something stupid, something that pissed you off even though there is no good goddamn reason to get pissed off about it, and you probably said it in that complaining, whiny tone you always have. I really should wring your neck for what I think you said, and I'm still fucking angry, but wouldn't it suck if what you said to me while I was listening to my iPod really wasn't something to cut me down. I'll give you a pass.

But thank you for letting me open the door from the basement to the garage after nightfall, just so I can make absolutely sure I closed the garage door. Last time I opened up the door from the basement to the garage, you fucking went nuts on me. I still don't get, but now I get it: You're goddamn crazy.

And now around midnight I go downstairs to grab a Sprite and you and Mother are in the computer room. You were pacing back and forth and watching TV in the dining room earlier in the evening. Is something wrong with you again? Why does everything have to be about you? Do you always need attention from us, you big baby?

The Stupidest Thing I've Ever Done, Ever

Why in the fuck didn't I go to my friends' house to see fireworks, huh? I decided to go to the track instead. What, was it the fact that their house is over 40 miles away, and I would have to go down in that direction for the fourth straight day (fifth if you count picking up my parents at the airport tomorrow)? Was it that I'd be surrounded by kids? Hell, they probably love me. And putting 100 more goddamn miles on my car was better than losing $60 at harness racing and one $20 hand at the blackjack table. I don't have a job, I don't have any money! I could've gone somewhere where I could be fed for free, and talk to people who actually like me!! But nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, I didn't want to see kids, and I didn't want to drive that far. Instead I wanted to piss my money down the drain.

God, I hate myself.

I went to a strip club tonight. Haven't been to this one in a long time. The great news is I ran into one of my favorites, a chick I haven't seen in at least a year and a half and who I thought just disappeared, whatever, blah-blah-blah.

Get this ... this club had, to the side of the stage, a bongo player. A fucking bongo player. And he wasn't even bongoing to the beat of the music. At no point in the 40 minutes I was there did he keep time. I don't think he even knows how to fucking play the bongos. Seriously, a fucking bongo player at a strip club?!

Two Babes

I underwent a study with a girl who I think is a total babe: glasses, not too skinny, has a little weight on her, and a good-size rack. I was so lucky that she had another study I could take so I could see her again. Moreover, I'm cancelling appointments about this experiment with her so our "relationship" can last a little longer.

Also, I ate at Hooters last night, and finally I get one of the hottest waitresses working at the place. Well, if you're a waitress at Hooters you're going to be hot anyway, but this girl was hawt. And she was really nice, too, not snobbish because I was wearing a plaid shirt that clashed with my plaid shorts or that I'm Chinese or that I look like I'm still learning how to walk or that I was eating by myself. In fact, when she gave me my credit card back and bade me farewell, she touched my left arm. Wow, a hot chick who's not a stripper was actually comfortable with me!

I was bored out of my fucking mind tonight. All six talk shows on free TV are in reruns for the week. Do all of them have to take the week before the 4th of July off? Can't they meet once in a while and say, "OK, Independence Weekend is coming up. Who's gonna take the bullet this time around?" All I ask is for one of them to be new for the week. It can even be Craig Ferguson. Think about the ratings you could get for being the only show running new. I find it practically freaky that all of them are taking the week off. How can that be? Can't one of them take next week off instead? Seriously, having nothing new to look at these past few days is killing me. It's pissing me off.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#0: Lynx (Last Week: -2). I saw these guys play Saturday night against Phoenix after seeing them win against New York last Tuesday ... and I'm not ashamed to say it. (And I ain't even a lesbian!) For the first time ever, I saw a Lynx team pick destroy their opponent. And unlike the game against the Liberty, where they came out flat to start the second half, they actually put on their afterburners against the LifeLock in the third quarter, turning an 11-point halftime lead to an insurmountable 25-point advantage after three. And they shut down the surly Diana Taurasi; she scored only eight points, and she didn't make a three-pointer this game, breaking a streak of 55 straight.

But now they have started to show a lot of gumption on the road, as they won at Atlanta, 91-85. As they did in the previous game, they lowered the boom-boom-pow on the Dream to start the second quarter, going on a 14-2 run. And Jen Gillom has settled on a powerful six: Candace Wiggins is leading this team without Seimone Augustus, and Nicky Anosike, Charde Houston, Roneeka Hodges and the platoon of Kelly Miller and Renee Montgomery at the point seem to be rolling. The result: The Lynx have won their straight game, and at 7-3, they are leading the Western Division for the first time in, I'm guessing, fucking ever. They are home Thursday against Sacramento and Tuesday against Washington. If you're a sports fan, go see them. This is shaping up to be a very good, and dangerous, team.

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -3). A 5-2 week. More importantly, they end their long road swing, where they have played shittily, at 6-3. On the downside, that has gotten them to only two games above .500, a first this season. On the upside, that gets them to within three games of first-place Detroit -- and the Tigers play at the Metrodome Independence Weekend. It would be just about criminal if Joe Mauer doesn't start in the All-Star Game, but the M&M&M boys (that includes Justin Morneau and Michael Cuddyer) just might be locking it in this season, and that just might be enough of a difference in the division. After the Tigers, they host the Yankees mid-week.

#-2 (tie): Wild, Timberwolves (Last Week: Re-Entry!, -1). What do you say? These two franchises seem to be in lockstep with every move they make and with every obstacle thrown in their way. This week it's questions over the draft and important players not keeping secret how they don't like Minnesota.

For the Wild, it was a mediocre, maybe even disappointing draft. (I've had to dig around cyberspace for those "draft grades" you always see for the NFL and NBA. I saw one, and I'm basing part of my rating on that.) Apparently they wanted this guy named Ryan Ellis, but when Nashville took him, they traded down. With the sixteenth pick, they drafted a native Minnesotan, which is always good for public relations, but they took this young man named Nick Leddy with presumptive top Minnesotan Jordan Schroeder still on the board (he was picked up by division rival Vancouver six picks later.) And that's the extent of Wild draft analysis I can see.

Thursday began the free agency period, and marked the death of an era. Marian Gaborik, the first pick in Wild history and the last charter player of the franchise, said fuck this to Minnesota and signed with the New York Rangers to a contract that, per year, was less than the last contract offer the Wild gave him. Despite more money and the opportunity to play in a new, wide-open offense, he decided he wanted a fresh start ... and decided to go to a team playing in the most intense sports-media crucible in the country. He leaves holding Wild records for most goals and assists, and finishes eighth for most points in Minnesota Professional Hockey History. I'll pray for your groin, Gabby. (By the way, I feel obligated to to note that General Manager Cliff Fletcher fired Assistant General Manager Tom Lynn the middle of last month. I feel nothing either way about this.) (Edited to add that I forgot about the Wild signing Martin Havlat. No big name I know has been signed here as a free agent since Pavol Demitra. This is a good change, but like Gaborik, he's injury-prone. Are we trading one part-time player for another?)

I don't fault the Timberwolves for drafting Ricky Rubio; for a long time he was regarded as the second-best player in the draft and there's a lot of buzz over this kid, and he just fell into their laps. But him balking on getting out of his contract just goes to show how players, in particular basketball players, hate teams in flyover country (why is that?), and is another sign of how cursed this franchise is.

That doesn't absolve General Manager David Kahn's other moves, however. Did he know that he could pick other players besides point guards? He followed up Rubio by drafting another PG, Jonny Flynn. And then he drafted yet another PG, Ty Lawson, although they traded him to Denver for a future first-round pick. Kahn did the right thing in trading away two of the ridiculous six draft picks they had this year. But he still insists that not only are they aiming to get Rubio to play for the Wolves, but he and Flynn will be the starting backcourt tandem. Really? And there is still a lot of questions whether Rubio, Flynn, Wayne Ellington or Henk Norel (who?) will pan out, since this could still be the worst draft class of the modern age.

A Non-Fail

I want to keep my blog as negative as possible, but I have to write quickly about something I saw tonight.

Went to a Thunder game. They're the local soccer team in town, although they play in the second-flight United Soccer Leagues. However, the game tonight was part of the U.S. Open Cup, basically a free-for-all where every single soccer team in the country, from Major League Soccer all the way down to amateur, play each other for this cup. The Thunder was playing the Kansas City Wizards of top-flight MLS.

The Thunder went down 2-0 early in the first half, but they tied it to send it into overtime at 2 apiece. In the very last seconds of bonus/injury time in the first OT, the Wizards score on a penalty kick. However, in the second OT the Thunder re-tied it at 3.

We go to penalty kicks. I get down to the end of the field where they're taking place. Both teams hit their first two PK's, and the Wizards make their third. But K.C.'s goalie, Boris Pardo, stopped the third shot.

Before the Thunder's fourth kick -- a save here and the Wizards win the game and advance for the Cup -- Pardo looked at us standing on the bleachers behind the goal, taunting him with chants of, "Boris, Boris!" He got in goal, turned around, pointed downward and mouthed, I think, "My goal ... this is my goal." And he made the save; my team loses. After the game was over and his team piled on him in the middle of the pitch, he turned back in our direction. Even though most of the guys jumping up and down on the bleachers scattered, he still pointed down, boasting because he walked his talk. He redeems himself. A pretty big non-fail, dude.

I wish I had balls like that.