100th Post, Woo-Hoo!!!

Coincidentally we have reached the century mark for postings on the very night we've completed exactly two months of our non sequitur ramblings. We're disappointed in the lack of comments since good blog postings are usually platforms for commenters with similar (or differing) feelings to go off. Perhaps our lack of a consistent theme makes that tough. Perhaps we're just not as funny or compelling as we think. We'll be working on it.

Despite this, it's been a pretty solid first 60 days. The staff would like to thank the readers for sticking with us, even on those posts that we think are much wittier and sharply written than they probably are. If you come across a funny link, have a good idea, or any tip, email us at ___________ . We always appreciate feedback and please be patient, we're doing our best to answer all the fan mail.

Cheers!!! To us!!!

Your Monday Ogle - Unusual Celebrity Crush Edition

Call us crazy but we've always had a thing for Marry Poppins. Not Julie Andrews, mind you, because while she was a stunner in her day, she was pretty much an old lady when we were exposed to the her Disney classic. However once immortalized on celluloid, a character remains frozen in time forever. A good example of this being Matthew Broderick, what wanker, but Ferris...without a doubt, the Man. Marry Poppins is the paragon of attractive femininity -- classically beautiful, (subtly) sexy, posh English accent , wonderful singing voice, good dancer, high maintenance (not for everyone but we like it), cleans the house, does magic tricks, and above else has just the right amount of arrogance. Screw confidence, we like our women cocky..."Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way."

In post-puberty trips to Disneyland, when we've seen the Marry Poppins look-alike, it's always taken the utmost will power to keep from asking her if she fancied a trip over to Mr. Toad's Wild Ride for a quick shag.

In the spirit of Marry Poppins:

I once knew a man with a wooden leg named Smith.

Really? What was the name of his other leg?

Still funny after all these years. Seriously, many of you probably haven't watched Marry Poppins in like 20 years, and even if you're not smitten with Marry like us, it's worth watching because Dick Van Dyke, is a comedic genius.

Video HOF - "I'm a Man...I'm 40!!!"

We were gallivanting around South America when this press conference happened, this past fall, so we weren't exposed to the overplaying it must have received. It makes us laugh hysterically whenever we think about it. Our maturity level being what it is, we are at best, man-boys, so we can only hope that we are MEN!!! when we reach the big 4 oh, and if not we hope that we're at least crunk-as-shit!!! like Coach Gundy here:

Cognitive Dissonance

Prachtvolle!!! That's German for magnificent, and without a doubt, that is the first word that came to our minds after watching the German language film, The Lives of Others tonight. It is magnificent!!! However, prachtvolle looks rather Italian to us, so we'll go with Wundervoll (or wonderful). It is the best movie we've seen, excluding the honest-to-god genius that is everything Harold and Kumar, in a long time.

The Lives of Others is a masterpiece to us because, in a way, it strikes so close to home. If you are over-educated and received a well-rounded liberal arts education, as we did, you are familiar with the term COGNITIVE DISSONANCE, and cognitive dissonance is the theme of this movie.

There are many complex definitions for cognitive dissonance, but it basically boils down to having an internal struggle between two contradictory beliefs. This is always a compelling theme, but in this movie, the character of Wiesler, has the most descriptive, haunting, and realistic case of cinematic cognitive dissonance we've ever seen. At first his emotions towards Christa and Georg is jealousy and obsession, but soon it becomes love and reverence. Enough so, that he places his life and career on the line for a belief in the freedom, that is idealized and symbolized in these two lovers, and proven within Georg's writings.

We often feel that our life is one big Cognitive Dissonance case study, we are chalk-full of contradictions (outward and inward), and tonight was a microcosm of it all...We started off on a date with an attractive 23-year-old we met last weekend. After a warm-up make-out session, sexual conquest was well within our grasp, but after discovering this young lady's lower back tattoo and learing that its significance had something to do with the deplorable Pussy Cat Dolls...we bounced. Then we returned home, began watching the movie, and started the most contradictory late night meal we've ever heard of -- a $20 dollar bottle of French red wine, gummy bears, and French's Original Fried Onions (you know those dried up things that go on the top of casseroles) -- we think we've got a problem.

Anyway, we highly, highly recommend The Lives of Others, no matter what you decide to eat while watching it.

Friday Haiku

Will Leitch leaves Deadspin.
Smartest writer on The Web.
End of an era.

Ummm, could ya'll do that in your homes?

Globalization is in full-effect in our hometown. It's a bit of a recent development, we'd say over the last five years, but our neighborhood has turned into quite the cultural melting-pot. We've got a little of this, and a little of that. During a quick trip to the neighborhood pool for some tan-errrr, we mean lap swimming, one will hear an auditory cornucopia of languages far from the traditional Texas twang.

From time-to-time we will hear members of the old guard, old guard being a euphemism for racist and xenophobic white people, ranting to each other about how this is a problem. We couldn't disagree more. Not only are our new neighbors pleasant members of the community who keep nice lawns, but with immigration always comes better ethnic restaurants. It's also a nice bonus that their hot first-generation daughters are usually chomping at the proverbial bit to break away from the shackles of their parents traditional customs. This of course is best done by getting drilled by witty/slightly-bohemian/self righteous Caucasian blog writers. However, all this being said, the crazy Thai Chi outside our house has got to stop.

Each morning there are legions of dudes meandering around the neighborhood Thai Chi'ing it up. At first we thought it was cool, but like anything , too much of a good thing is a bad thing. Especially when that thing involves ancient Asian dudes, all seemingly wearing a uniform of sorts (white sneakers, black socks, short shorts, Harry Carey glasses, and of course, the translucent baggy white v-neck) getting in the way of regular traffic flow.

There are so many of these Miyagi clones out doing their thing, and once they get into it -- we guess when they've channeled The Mantis, or some shit -- they forget that streets are filled with cars. We've seen a few recently come inches from getting clipped... And then there's this one dude, who we think is their leader. His routine, performed not 40 feet from our house, involves what looks like unmentionable sex acts to a light pole. He causes such a stir and mass of rubber-neckers, that oncoming cars often fail to realize when we're backing out of the driveway. This has become quite the nuisance.

Drinking Alone- "Bring the Party Home"

Alcohol related advice so good, that if you take heed, you won't need anyone else around to enjoy the experience... You can even be alone in your parents house, where you are "temporarily" living, while you "save money".

"Bring the Party Home!" That's what the Warsteiner mini keg implored us to do, in large writing plastered across its top, and so last night we obliged. Heineken was the first company we know of to sell the 5 liter mini kegs, but many companies have followed suit, and in our humble opinion this is great!!! We hear a lot of hype about iPods, HD televisions, GPS tracking systems, and the like--but for our money (literally) there has been no better technological advancement in the last few years than the mini keg. But buyer beware, the ability to purchase 5 liters of keg beer at any local supermarket up until midnight (Sunday-Thursday) is dangerous. Making keg beer this accessible could lead to a drop in performance at the j-o-b or even a drop in attendance, or at least that's what we hear.

Skullet

If You've Got Seven Minutes...

watch this video, it is INCREDIBLE:

Vive la France

We love France. We find their revolution to be the most interesting period in history. We find their food and style to be impeccable. We love Paris. We love Normandy. We think that not only is Zinedine Zidane the coolest sounding name of all-time, but that also Pele should shine the dude's boots. We even love the French people's je nais se quoi...and by je nais se quoi, We mean their outrageous arrogance and sense of superiority. Usually this should be offensive, but for some reason, juxtaposed with that accent, their women become irresistible.

Our current boss is a French woman named Isabelle. She is from the region of Alsace, famed in us American's sophomore World History classes from when the Nazis nabbed Alsace-Lorraine as an act of war to instigate France's surrender...They did this because well, that's what France is good at, surrendering. Isabelle is not teriibly relevant to what We just rattled off but whatever, We thought it was funny, and she is very, very French. This is a good thing because her accent is very French and therefore OFF-THE-FUCKING-CHAIN sexy. This is also cool because we're certain she wants Us to stick it to her. However this is not such a good thing because her scent is also very French and therefore rank as a wet dog.

We've got an air-conditioned office staring at the Texas state capitol but by the end of the day the Frenchy chick is bringing some massive funk!!! It's out-of-control!!! We've been tempted to buy some fucking gnutella to spread on her. Yikes...!!!

Your Monday Ogle

Sorry We're a little late with our weekly ogling, but the parents are gone for the week and We've been doing a little ogling, up close and personal if you know what We mean...Oh yeah...Do you people understand the dedication We have to this blog? We just pulled ourselves off of a perfectly conscience buck-toothed, middle-aged divorc(eh) named Sharla, just to communicate to you, our rapidly growing public. Who knew the tire section at Wal-Mart would prove so fruitful?

Below are the ladies from Ladytron. We don't expect them to be everyone's cup-of-tea, but we feel obligated to not only entertain you through our biting wit, but also to broaden the horizons of you minions, so we're mixing it up from our usual weekly super-model pictorial. If you're into the Ladytron girls they are pixieish, if not they are androgynous, but no matter, there is no denying that their music kicks serious ass, and their talent coupled with their slight frames (you'll probably have to hang out with us on a regular basis for that one) makes them incredibly hotttttttttt!!!

Wide Load

We came across a group passing out promotional t-shits to its members recently. It was a typical group of American adults, men and women, and it was sad. The t-shirt organizer looked to have purchased an even number of sizes: small, medium, large, and since this is The United States, extra-large and double extra-large. This quickly became a problem, there were simply not enough larges and extra-larges because no one, save for a tiny Asian woman, took a small or medium. Stylistically, most Americans wear their clothes too big, but this wasn't really the problem here, they were just too fucking fat.

This got Us thinking about a recent shopping trip to the mall. We were in search of some new threads and we had a really hard time finding clothes that fit us, but for kind of the opposite reason to the fatties from the first paragraph. It seems that many of the trendy outfitters have resized their merchandise to make their shoppers feel better about their ever-expanding waistlines. Almost every shirt, sweater and jacket We tried on just swallowed Us, and We are not small. At 6'1" and 175lbs there's no way we should be buying anything sized "small" but that's what we were forced to do.

Has anyone else noticed this? What are these stores trying to do? Is the marketing idea to trick the fat people that they're some how skinnier when they're wearing Abercrombie and Fitch? It sucks because mediums are now too big and smalls are still short.

We've never had problems with folks that have weight issues (We have had problems with all the people that bitch about their weight problems, then sit on their fat asses all day and suck down one 1000 calorie Starbucks coffeeato after another), but now that the masses of large people are messing with are ability to find a shirt that fits, We're starting to get upset.

The Quickest Way to Our Hearts

Like everyone, We love a good compliment. The ones directed to Us usually refer to Our unparalleled parallel parking skills or the quickness of our ejaculations. Actually We think those later ones are usually given sarcastically, but hey, We take what We can get. Well last night We twice got a compliment We've never recieved and each time We blushed.

Last night We ventured down to the city center in search of a dance club. We wanted to move to some music and rub up against some women. We found just the right place on famed 6th street at the club Barcelona. We were dressed to kill outfitted in our best vest and sporting our famous white BluBlockers (We will never be able to thank Wolfram enough for them). Now some of you have seen our moves and know that, while unorthodox, we rarely have trouble getting positive feedback from girls, and last night the feedback from two young vixens sent our hearts through the roof. Their comments followed the standard pattern we always get: "I like your sunglasses...ya'll are great dancers...ya'll are cute..." they then usually ask if We're gay, and yeah We did get one of those last night, but twice We were asked, "Are you guys on Ecstasy?"

We're not really sure why they asked it, maybe it was that We kept asking the DJ to play Techno, or maybe because We were licking the sides of their faces, We don't know, but it was awesome!!!

Do as I Say, Not as I Do

There are many common events, occurrences, tasks, and situations that annoy, miff, infuriate, or even irk us. Unless of course, you* are the one doing it.

*[Smokey The Bear Robot: Only who can prevent forest fires?…(Bart presses “you” over “me”)…Smokey The Bear Robot: You pressed “you”, referring to me. That is incorrect. The correct answer is “you”.]

I have compiled an opposite-of-exhaustive list below of things we do, but annoys us when someone else does them.

• Merging as late as possible in traffic.


• Walking diagonally across a thoroughfare.


• Holding excessive seats at a movie. This is similar to saving spots in line.


• Scalping tickets. You are either “pricing out the real fans”, or it is a free market economy. No in between.


• Making a wise crack after a movie preview.


• Breaking wind in a crowded area.


• Clogging a public toilet. You think to yourself, “What asshole would leave this?” However, when you cause that mess, you blame it on poorly maintained facilities.


• Not picking up a missed paper towel jump shot off the floor.


• Rubbernecking. You know you were just cussing about the idiots that are slowing down to watch, but you can help but take a peek…you are right there.


• Watching Deal or No Deal. You won’t admit it, but you catch a segment from time to time. While you are watching it you ponder, "Why would anyone watch this show?".


• Doing the Robot. With apologies to Kite, you always think the dude on the dance floor doing the robot is out of line…unless that person is you. In which, case you are probably ventriloquistically [this word has been fabricated] requesting some oil for the rusty hinge in your elbow.


• Putting in extra effort for a notch in the belt. You always think your buddy is doing too much work, but if it is you asking about her childhood pet…well you are just trying to get the job done.


• Not refilling the Brita container. This is akin to “Not replacing the water jug” at the office cooler, but much more difficult to get away with. In both cases, the person seeking the water questions the morality of the person who had the last cup.


• Talking on a cell phone or texting while driving. Whenever you realize someone that is driving like an asshole is using a cell phone, you probably say/think to yourself, “Hang up the phone, you dick”. Note: While you are saying/thinking this, you are probably on your cell phone.


• Obnoxiously playing miniature golf. I really do not know any other way to play, but whenever someone else is doing it, I always think, “What a classless prick. There are kids around.” I then proceed to dead-leg a buddy, who bellows a curse in front of those very children.


• Others include: Slacking off at work. Not recycling. Not re-racking weights at the gym. Inside jokes. Talking about someone behind their back. Holding everyone up while you take a group picture.
  

Please feel free to include your own ideas in the comments section, but do not include “writing a post about things that are ok to do only when you are the one doing it.” That would be hackneyed and inappropriate…unless you were me.

Drinking Alone - Kindred Spirit

Alcohol related advice so good, that if you take heed, you won't need anyone else around to enjoy the experience... You can even be alone in your parents house, where you are "temporarily" living, while you "save money".

Perhaps we've had Kobe Bryant pegged all wrong. All these years we figured him to be a smug assface who used his incredible talent as a basketball player to make lesser talented players and people feel, well lesser. And even if he was a nice guy behind his appearance, to be that good at one thing generally means you have a ridiculously obsessive personality, and we usually can't tolerate that. We tend to like people like ourselves who are mediocre (at best) at lots of things.

However, Kobe dropped a humdinger of a quote last week that caught the eye of Drinking Alone's editor. Following the Laker self-destruction, that was game four. (The game where they gave up the 20-something point lead.) After being asked, "How do you guys bounce back from this type of loss?" He responded:

Whine about it tonight, a lot of wine, a lot of beer, a couple shots, maybe like 20 of them, digest it, get back to work tomorrow. Nothing you can do.

Apparently Kobe is a lot like Us...who knew. In the face of disappointment and failure -- jumping back on the horse and making lemonade are overrated -- have drink... like 20 of them.

Cheers Kobe! With your personality We're sure you're drinking alone.

The Monday Ogle

We can't believe ourselves, we forgot to ogle yesterday. However we'll make up for it with our ace-in-the-whole. We spotted her in the crowd of the Sweden vs. Greece match about a week ago, and were obviously stopped dead in our tracks. After a bit of leg-work on the Series-of-Tubes, using the clue that she was dressed in Swedish regalia, we found her. She is Oksana Andersson, and with that name she's got to be half Russian. She is the girlfriend of Swedish winger, Christian Wilhelmson, whom We now despise.

Dear Juan Letters

We've been known to get out and see the world. We like to see new places and meet new people. In-fact combining two trips we've spent almost five of the past 13 months in various parts of Latin America. The five countries we've visited have been wonderful -- spectacular scenery around every corner and hospitable people, greeting you with a smile (and ready to swindle you or steal from you) at each stop. The young women of Latin America are particularly friendly and We made a point to get to know a few of them very well. The cultural exchange between Us and these young ladies was really a great experience, but we're starting to regret giving them our email addresses, because these girls are really kind of annoying.

See despite all the time we've spent down there, we never really picked up the language, so their emails are kind of falling on deaf ears. We think We know what "Aye Papi" means, but that's about it. We really wish they could take a hint and just stop flooding our mailboxes. "Usted me dio un nino gringo" this, "Mi bebe es cafe con leche" that. It kind of sounds like they "miss us" if you catch our drift. Well get in line senoritas.

And this one bird from Argentina is the worst. Always writing, "Tengo su hijo bastardo." Call us bastards?!?! The bitch doesn't even know how to spell "Tango," and she's from Buenos Aires, where the dance was invented.

You Know How I Know You're Gay...

We almost hate to admit it, but yes, we're big fans of Coldplay. We don't love them like we love the scene from 40-year-old Virgin shown to the left here, but we are big fans nonetheless.

They gained a bit of credibility when Chris Martin guest-starred on Extras and killed, but they're still kinda gay.

Any way, their new album Viva la Vida and All His Friends hits stores tomorrow. We being who We are, got a copy today and We recommend it. It's a very solid album, not there best (We can't really see them topping A Rush of Blood to the head), but definitely worth the $9.99 to get it on iTunes. Track five, Lovers in Japan-Reign of Love, is incredible, and tracks one and nine also standout. Also the album cover is sweet -- old Delacroix knocked it out of the park with Liberty Leading the People -- nothing like a pair of rebellious titties. It's probably Our favorite painting.

Side note: We apologize for pimping My Morning Jacket's latest before listening to it. We won't do that again. We still like MMJ but Evil Urges is well, crap.

Wow!!!

Tiger just drilled that put on the 18th!!!

Holy Shit!!!

The dude has the biggest onions in the world.

(However, we can't help but pull for the old dude in tomorrow's playoff.)

Competition from Oakland

Oakland, California has been on our minds lately. The United States has a rather noticable EastCoast bias in regards to most things, and because of this, OakTown usually gets left off any lists as to which communities are the most Crunk. NYC, Hotlanta, Chocolate City, New Orleans, and Detroit are usually the first five cities that come to mind when thinking about crazy ghettos, but not only should Oakland be on this list, we'd think hard about putting it on the top.

What got us thinking about Oakland was seeing, or rather hearing, our first Whistle Tip a week ago. In case you're unfamiliar with Whistle Tips, please check out the following links:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccgXjA2BLEY

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=whistle+tips

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=bubb+rubb

So after hearing our first Whistle Tip the other night at the intersection of 38th and Lamar, we've had Oakland on the brain, but after stumbling across a blog authored by one of its favorite sons, we had to bring light to the other city by the bay.

The, umm gentleman? to the right is Marshawn Lynch. He is a professional football player. His craft is currently being applied for the Bills in Buffalo, New York, but he is Oakland all the way. Born and raised in the Oak, he went to Oakland Tech high and then stayed close to home, playing college ball for the Cal Bears.

Through a series of fortuitous links, we came across his blog and it is nothing shy of amazing!!! If our blog is, "The most interesting blog in the room," his is number two.

We find it rather interesting that the University of California-Berkeley is consistently rated as the top public university in the country and this dude, while not graduating, still managed to stay eligible for three seasons. So without further ado, here is a link to Marshawn "Shakespeare" Lynch's blog.

http://www.yardbarker.com/users/MarshawnLynch

Consumer Report

It just occurred to us, on this most boring of Sundays, that with this platform, we can pimp our favorite goods, tag them so they're searchable, and then perhaps some marketing lackey will stumble upon the blog during a Google search regarding their company, and hook us up.

For our inaugural consumer report, we're going with our favorite food, Athenos Hummus. It's nothing new, and I'm sure you've all eaten it, or at least seen it, but whatever, It's BOMB!!! We eat the shit all the time, can't get enough of it. Original, Spicy Three Pepper, and our favorite--Roasted Red Pepper--they're all good.

After inspecting the container one day, we learned that it's made by Kraft, and with our iconoclastic fight-the-man attitude, you can imagine that we were heartbroken. We tried a few other brands, mom-and-pop kinds that we found at Whole Foods, but they just don't bring it like Athenos.

So if anyone out there is some how connected to Athenos, or the Kraft family of foods, the address to our corporate headquarters is:

The NLNC--12513 Hunters Chase Drive--Middle Bedroom (the one that smells of whiskey and cigar smoke)--Austin, TX 78729

Your Friday Haiku

Shoulders getting sore,
Like hot dog in a tunnel
Fake one, and get out.

Role Model

The piece of 100% man to the right is Thomas Magnum, as in Magnum P.I. We don't like to think of him as Tom Selleck, because...well because for some reason when we think of him as a real human being, he reminds us of an ex-girlfriend's father, and this dad was a doozy. To be fair, we gave the dude a few reasons to want to kill us, but its been years and he's still got it out for us. The last time we saw him, we were at a social gathering, and when he spotted us, he drilled us in the chest with a rock. But back to the focus of this post, Magnum P.I. the show was great. But Magum the dude was an inspiration.

We are at a personal crossroads in our lives right now. We are faced with two decisions--two decisions that will lead us down different roads--each different, but each good. We've been thinking the choice over and have come to the conclusion that we will choose based on which verdict will get us to the life of magnum quicker.

It's been quite a revelation, and we are going to start basing all major decisions on this thought process. He came up randomly in conversation tonight, and after mentioning how badass the dude was, We started rattling off the evidence...it's startling

1. His name is Magnum.

2. He lives on a Hawaiian island.

3. The 'stache and how he never hesitated to flaunt his rather sculpted sticks with some short shorts, shows that he had unreal machismo.

4. One of his two friends owned and operated a helicopter.

5. One of his two friends owned and operated the hippest nightclub on the island.

6. Look at those wings under his baseball cap.

7. He only worked when he wanted to.

8. The majority of his clients were hot chicks. Hot victimized chicks...mmmmmmmmm.

And now to the good stuff:

9. He lived in a millionaire's guest house, and the millionaire was never home.

10. He didn't pay the millionaire one red cent for living in the posh digs.

11. He used the millionaire's Ferrari as his main source of transportation.

12. He didn't pay the millionaire one red cent for driving his sweet ride.

13. The millionaire employed that Higgins dude to look after everything, so Magnum had no responsibility.

We salute you Thomas Magnum. Your life of leisure, but yet excitement, gives Us hope, and molds our aspirations. You will forever live on...in our hearts, our minds, and weeknights from 2am-3am on our local CBS affiliate.

The No-Fly Zone

Gracing the wall of every restaurant bathroom is the sign: “Employees must wash hands before returning to work”. I applaud this notion, and I assume all personnel follow it. However, I cannot claim it to be a rule I, as an everyday citizen, always follow.

I am an “over-the-fence” guy. I unleash both the frank and the beans by lowering the elastic waistband of my underwear to a comfortable level. When executed properly and in the correct scenario, unit-to-hand contact is avoided. I have never understood snaking your junk around harshly angled cotton only to pass through a set of metal teeth. It is uncomfortable, restricts flow, and only serves to expose you to twisted balls. I will spend the extra 30 minutes per year to undo the button of my pants and jump the hedge. This technique renders hand washing unnecessary.

In certain situations, such as while wearing slacks, which yield tighter fits and thus less room to maneuver, assistance from a hand will be necessary. I actually approach this situation differently, and wash my hands before urination. I prefer having clean hands touching my johnson (The Dude: “Johnson?”). A one-handed cup of the balls, coupled with a quick bend and resulting upward thrust from the knees will produce a fluid motion for proper floppage and expose the package. I figure a pre-cleaning of the hands, in addition to a clean scrotum, will make the post-micturition hand-cleansing a necessity only in the presence of someone you know.

I understand not adhering to the spirit of the bathroom sign may leave me with an eternity of fist bumps, but at least I will be satisfied knowing that the chef jerking off in the soup has clean hands.

HD TV is Freaking Us Out

We're not really technology guys and don't really watch much television, so our our 10 inch Magnavox is enough TV for us. It doesn't even have RCA jacks, just the coaxial knob, so it should come as no surprise that we are without High Definition. However, many of our friends have HD and most of the establishments we patronize have them wall-to-wall, so we're familiar with the technology. We don't like it!!!

It's cool to see the individual blades of grass on a soccer pitch, and the brilliance of football helmets in HD is pretty sweet, but nine times out of ten when people are speaking on camera, we are horrified. Most people are just not good-looking enough for close-ups in High Definition. A HD friendly make-up needs to find its way to stations stat. Our local news stations have recently moved to HD and it's ridiculous, and don't even get us started on Brent Musberger. We know he's old, but he looks dead in HD.

Drinking Alone - Don't call it a comeback

Alcohol related advice so good, that if you take heed, you won't need anyone else around to enjoy the experience... You can even be alone in your parents house, where you are "temporarily" living, while you "save money".

It's hot-as-balls here at the NLNC corporate headquarters and it got us thinking about one of our favorite summer drinks--the good ole Gin and Tonic. Recently we've read in two of those men'sy type magazines, and been told by one of our leading alcohol consultants, that gin is making a comeback. We weren't really aware that it ever left. We've always liked gin. Yeah it's kinda oily, but we've always liked the bitterness, especially when mixed with tonic water and a bunch of ice on a hot day.

English colonials invented the drink in the 19th century to fight the Indian mosquitoes and hold-off malaria...medicine was a lot cooler back then.

How to make it:

1) Chill a large high-ball glass and then fill it with ice cubes.

2) Fill about 1/2 the glass with dry London gin. We always go with Bombay or Tanqueray, never Beefeater--the name reminds us of an ex-girlfriend we don't really care for.

3) Fill the remainder with tonic water, garnish with a lime, and enjoy.

Dance Etiquette - Part 3

Have yourself a go-to move. We've been doing this for years so we have a few, they are: The Robot, The Mick Jagger/Gay Chicken Walk, The Beavis, The Alien, the-- I Just got out of the shower and need to dry-off with my towel, and when in a pinch--just stand perfectly still while pointing to the one body part that you're moving to the beat...hmmm, maybe we're not better than average dancers.

Perhaps We Picked the Wrong Profession

It's cool and all to have a kick-ass blog, but after reading the below link, we're starting to re-think things. We're starting to think it would have been a better idea to be a kick-ass Austrian soccer player.

http://soccernet.espn.go.com/news/story?id=544984&cc=5901

We'd also like to note that one day after making Cesc Fabregas the "Monday Ogle" he grabbed a goal and an assist, today against Russia. Good on ya, Gooner!!!

No Shit Sherlock

Is anyone surprised by today's allegations that NBA refs have aided the outcomes of playoff games? We're certainly not. We've long been certain that the Gangsta Hobbit sends out a memo to refs during playoff series' to "insist" that they either go longer or that the larger media market team gets preferential calls. The claim that, "star players are not to foul out or get technicals," is also no revelation.

We love basketball. More than just about anything else, and it pains us to watch the NBA. It's supposed to be the highest level of play for the greatest game in the world, but for a handful of reasons, one of the biggest being the inept refereeing, it's not. It's a lame impression of the great game. It sold-out long ago and is dummied-down for casual fans and corporate sponsorship.

Dance Etiquette - Part 2

Here's the second installment of our dance tips section...use wisely.

Once you start dancing, let the girl breath a little. Don't just immediately grab hold of her hips and slam your junk up against her. Give her a little space by switching back-in-forth between having her hands in yours and being a foot or two apart. This will give you opportunities for spins (chicks love spins) and it provides you with the necessary distance to Robot your way into her heart. If you hold off on grinding, until you are non-verbally invited to do so, the odds of you getting another dance are high.

Your Monday Ogle

Since our weekly eye-candy section has been predominately directed to those who like the ladies, we're going to mix-it-up this week. We have many female readers and we don't want to forget about them.
This strapping young man is Cesc Fabregas. He is a Spanish attacking midfielder, and the talisman for our beloved Arsenal. He is very popular with us, because of his adroit passes and keen eye for goal. He is very popular with women because of his classically handsome features and dreamy hai...errrrr, or so we hear.

Good luck to Cesc and the rest of team Espana, as they face Russia tomorrow in Euro 2008.

Letter to the Editor

Lately, we've been receiving a good number of letters. Some friendly and fawning, some...not so much. When one jumps out at us, we'll share.

Dear No-Look,

I read your blog every day and just wanted to say hi. My sisters and I here at the Kappa Kappa house like to read it in-between our panties-only pillow fights.

Your random observations and scatter-brained analysis of work, sports, politics and women, really turns me on. I love a guy (or guys, I'm kind of confused about all the "we"and "us" stuff) who will scrutinize every facet of their lives and then feels the need to share it with the Internet. I can just tell by your esoteric pop culture references and poseur-erudite word choice, that you are dead sexy.

I'm a Junior psychology major at the University of Georgia (Go Dawgs!!!) and would love to get a chance to meet you. If you're ever in SEC country you'll have to make a trip to Athens. I'll make sure you leave with Georgia on your mind ;-)

Keep up the good work.

Love,

Prettyyoungthang2454 xoxoxoxox

Dancing Etiquette - Part 1

Now we are no Fred Astaire, and definitely no Usher, but we have been known to cut-a-little-rug in our day. With no formal training, we rely solely on natural rhythm, and lots of pelvis thrusts, to get the job done. We've even been known to bust out our version of "The Robot" on extremely rare occasions (like every time our feet hit a dance floor). Actually, now that we're writing this, and really thinking about it, perhaps we're not as good as we think, hmmmm...Maybe there's a reason we never see anyone else rocking the Mic Jagger/Gay Chicken Walk...No matter, we really enjoy dancing. It's one of a few things that we do better than average, and where else in life, can a guy basically grope beautiful women--often that he doesn't even know--while being a sweaty mess, and not only do the beautiful women not call the police, but they usually love it.

Since we are aware that dancing is a bit of a stumbling block for many of our readers: Each day this week will be dropping a little dancing etiquette that will help you along.

1.)Never, unless you're David Beckham, approach a circle of girls that are dancing together, it's suicide!!! Even if you've been exchanging coquettish glances, and she seems interested, don't do it. She's there on some girls-night-out kinda thing and will immediately seek approval from her friends. If the others are not getting attention from a guy, they will quickly band together and dispatch of you out of jealousy--either because they're catty and just don't want their "friend" to get something that they are not, or because they just want to spend time with their friend and don't want you moving in on their time together. Just wait until the female dance circle has ended, if she is really interested she'll give you an opening before long.

Your Friday Haiku

Another Schlitz please.
Maybe you should slow it down.
We know our limit.

Rivalry Shmivalry

Yeah we've got Duke and Carolina, the Yankees and Red Sox, and some other strong rivalries here in the U.S., but we've got nothing on soccer.

Soccer rivalries are not determined out of simply geography, like ours are, at the club level they form based on religion, politics and social class. For instance- in Scotland, the two best teams are Celtic and Rangers, and they both hail from Glasgow, and if you're from Scotland you like one or the other. Your choice isn't determined by a certain player, or because of style of play, it's determined by your faith. Celtic is a Catholic supported club and Rangers is Protestant. Let the sectarian fun begin. In Italy, Lazio, from Rome, are a right-wing political supported club with ties to fascism, while Livorno is left-wing with deep roots in communism. In Argentina, Boca Juniors is the club of the common man and the downtrodden, while River Plate is represented by a fan base of the nation's financial elite, this is do to an epidemic from about 100 years ago that broke out in the urban center of Buenos Aires. Along with the cities wealthy, River decided to pack-up and move to the suburbs, leaving there poorer urban fans behind. Boca remained and, along with the poor people, fought through the hardships. The animosity between the two clubs, and their supporters runs deep, to this day. Boca fans call River fans Gallinas, basically translates to Chickens, and River fans call Boca fans Bosteros, which basically translates to Shit Handlers.

But as intense as the club rivalries are, it gets even crazier when national teams start to tangle. In many parts of the world, a nation's soccer team is their biggest source of pride, and success on the pitch can ease domestic problems and rectify past international failures. This includes the losing of wars. Tomorrow afternoon the Euro 2008 Tournament kicks off but the match We can't wait to watch is Sunday with Germany and Poland squaring off. It's gonna be nuts!!! Thanks to those World War things, the majority of Europe still holds quite a grudge against Deutschland, none more so than the Poles. Germany did some pretty terrible things in Poland and the Poles have not forgotten. The picture below is from a Polish magazine, the gray-haired gentleman is the Poland coach, in his right hand is the severed head of Germany's captain, and in his left is their coach...yikes!

Public Enemy Number Three

Labeling people, then making rash generalizations about the group which we assign them to, has long been a pastime of ours. The general pattern is to observe, tag, then grow a steady dislike, or at least a strong annoyance. In our heads they then become the enemy.

In elementary school it was the booger-pickers, in middle school-- white people (thanks Dr. Dre), in high school we began diversifying to BQ's, the cross-country team, and the legions of dudes who rocked the Dr. Marten boots+polo shirt+"Cocks" hat. (Light bulb moment, we just got an idea for an epic posting...our chef-d'oeuvre, if you will.) In college we pretty much focused our antipathy and irritation towards Frat Guy, and he has pretty much morphed into our two major nemeses of today--Softball Guy and Team Hair Gel.

Lately we've been observing a new Guy, a Guy who frankly, sneaked up on us. We've never noticed him before, because instead of calling for help when our computer is busted at work, we just take a nap, and when we've been out-and-about, he was probably playing a video game where his "character" got to do all kinds of cool things, like: talk to girls, comb his hair, stand-up straight, wear shirts that don't have dragons on them, etc. But fate has brought us together recently. Thrice in the last week, while dining over the lunch hour, we've been seated right next to a table of IT dudes. Because we adhere to a strict, table-for-one policy during lunch, we were able to listen in to every word of the three conversations, and they were each exactly the same.

The topics range from girls they want to bang, both virtual and from the HR office, video games, C++, and their mutual malice for both the sun and physical movement. There is always a tiny minority, either Indian of Chinese, who doesn't say much but smiles and laughs throughout. There is then a gangly white guy with a disproportionately large head equipped with even bigger glasses. Then there is the outspoken minority, often Arabic, who talks too loud but still in a supporting role. A supporting role to the Grand Poobah of the table, Cocky Computer Science Guy. He is revolting. Where once was probably a decent, yet nerdy, dude, there is now a monster. He is generally white and pasty, has lob-sided hair, and his frame cannot support the extra 20 he's carrying thanks to a steady diet of late-night fast food and beer, from the parties he's now throwing, thanks to his status.

But our dislike for this Guy really has little to do with his appearance and everything with his arrogance. Cocky Computer Science Guy, can't stop talking about how awesome he is and his minions seem to hang on every word. And those words are surprisingly crass. We are no nuns with our language, but Cocky Computer Science Guy lets "fucks, shits, cunts and tits" fly with volume and in the presence of families. When asked to, "please keep it down," or when told that, "there are children present." He doesn't care, why should he, he's got the highest World of Warcraft score of all his friends.

So we are adding Cocky Computer Science Guy to the list of things we hate, and putting him up there with Team Hair Gel and Softball Guy, in our list of antagonists.

Drinking Alone - Lager

Alcohol related advice so good, that if you take heed, you won't need anyone else around to enjoy the experience... You can even be alone in your parents house, where you are "temporarily" living, while you "save money".

Time again for everyone's favorite weekly column. Two weeks ago we brought you our ale recommendation with a promise to follow it up with our favorite lager, but alas we forgot. Honestly, and in the spirit of the column, we were probably drunk. So without any further ado, we bring to you our recommendation for lager.

First of all, lager, or "Weasel Piss" as it's known to those in-the-know, is not meant to be enjoyed, it's meant to be consumed, and by consumed we mean a four-pint minimum. If you drink one or two lagers to unwind after a rough day, it's time to graduate from the bush leagues and drink an ale. But if it's been a rough day and you're looking to erase it from your memory/pass out/fight someone/wear a lamp shade/make-out with your friend's girl/make-out with your friend/drunk-dial your boss/fight your boss/miss work tomorrow/throw-up during tomorrow's coffee break/expose yourself to strangers/get arrested, then it's time for lager.

But all that doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy the ride. Just because you're not going to be able to tell the difference between a doorknob and a tit within a few hours doesn't give you license to start drinking High Life. Over the years we have found that we most enjoy lagers from green bottles. Heineken, Stella Artois and Dos XX are three of the most popular from this category, and we thoroughly enjoy each, but our favorite is easily Peroni. It's by far the best thing Italy has done since the Renaissance--it's great. The tenth one of the night goes down as smoothly as the first.

Props to our only friend from the Initech days, B-Ware, for teaching us about Peroni. He was given the impossible task of training us in the ways of "The Man". Oh the stories we have from that place...

Music FYI

As of this week, Radiohead's catalog is finally available on iTunes. We're not sure if it's the band's call to withhold albums from the series-of-tubes or the record company, (We're thinking the latter) but it's bad business. If presented with an alternative to illegally downloading music, we at least feel bad when we steal the shit.

Craig's List Posting

Craig's List is right up there with the greatest inventions of our lifetime and from time-to-time they have absolutely hilarious ads. Our favorites are usually the personal ads but sometimes the items for sale will bring us to our knees in laughter. One of our cousins sent us a good one today regarding a pile of cinder blocks for sale, and it got us thinking about a favorite from a few years past:

http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/dal/99656644.html

Video Hall of Fame

This one goes out to one of our faithful readers, crackersaywhat...you'll always be our Steve Sanders...

Age is Just a Number--Summer of 87 pt. 1

The title of this posting is usually reserved for what we tell ourselves while mustering-up the guts to ask out a girl who needs to carry a fake ID, but tonight it goes out to Jamie Moyer, and our favorite baseball player of all-time, Greg Maddux.



It was the summer of 1987--Magic Johnson had just completed his finest season and lead the Lakers over the Celtics (more on this later this week), Fraggle Rock was the shit, Oliver North didn't remember a thing, and our family had just moved onto a street full of old ladies and no other kids. But there was no need to feel sorry for us because we had two friends who spent almost every afternoon with us that summer. Their names were Steve Stone and Harry Carey.



This was back-in-the-day when WGN carried each Chicago Cubs game and since it was two seasons before the lights were installed, each of their home games was broadcast to the nation while the sun was still shining bright. We're pretty sure we are the only six-year-old kids, not named Raymond Babbitt, to have ever watched all nine innings of at least 81 baseball games (plus the Unocal 76 pre and post game shows) in the history of this fair nation. We'd wake up and watch the Iran Contra hearings with our mom, then hit rocks over the alley behind our house with our baseball bat until game time, then watch the Cubbies, then throw the baseball up against our front steps until our dad got home from grad school...repeat.



From memory (no help from the series of tubes) here is our attempt at the 87 Cubbies lineup:


1: CF Dave Martinez
2: 2B Ryne Sandberg-HOF and hell of a public speaker
3: 1B Leon Durham-looked like BA Barakas, gold chains and all
4: RF Andre Dawson-hit 49 hr's that season and won MVP, we had a poster
5: 3B Keith Moreland-calls games on the radio now for UT basball
6: LF No Clue
7: C Jodie Davis/Joe Girardi (platoon)
8: SS Shawon Dunston
9: RHP Greg Maddux, LHP Jamie Moyer, Closer Lee Smith



We were six! we hadn't started 1st grade yet! it was 1987! and Greg Maddux and Jamie Moyer are still in The Bigs!!! And not just pitching, there pitching well. Moyer is 6 and 3 and Mad Dog has an ERA under 4!!! After the unforgivable firing of Steve Stone from the Cubs TV booth, the steroids crap, and the horrendous way ESPN handled everything Bonds, we are through with baseball. What was once our favorite professional spectator sport is now dead to us. Dead to us, unless Moyer or Maddux is taking the hill. We make time to stop and watch these two masters of their craft while we still can. We truly, and honestly love these two guys, they are our personal fountain of youth, and it will be two very sad days when each decides to hang-em up for the final time.

Your Monday Ogle

In honor of last week's holiday we refrained from ogling, so today you get two.

With all of the club seasons wrapped, we are into international soccer season and we here at NLNC are stoked for the European Championship to start later this week. To get you warmed up for the action (and probably a few too many soccer postings from us) here are two WAGs to ogle. In case you don't know, in Europe a WAG, is the term (sometimes) derogatory for Wives-And-Girlfriends.

This is Sylvie van der Vaart, wife of Rapael van der Vaart (pictured). Like her hubby, she is Dutch, and we find her to be simply stunning. She is our favorite.

This is Slovakian Adriana Karembeu. She is the wife of French midfielder, Christain Karembeu. Christian is retired now but we thought his wife deserved recognition here, since her 49 inch legs got her into the Guinness book of World Records.

Innocence Lost

Hard to believe now but we were once sensitive and shy. As small children growing up in the foothills of the majestic Rocky Mountains, we were prone to random acts of kindness, and some even described us as having gentle souls. If you have been keeping up with the blog for any amount of time now, you have noticed that all of these wonderful attributes from our youth have long been extinguished. Our mother certainly has noticed, and she flippantly questioned us about it recently, "What was it that turned my sweet young child into this? What was it that happened." The answer was simple:

Now here's a little story I got to tell
About three bad brothers you know so well
It started way back in history
With AdRock, MCA and this dude Mike D.

We were seven-years-old when we first heard Licensed to Ill, and were really never the same. We had no idea what a single lyric from that black plastic tape, with Beastie Boys scribbled on its masking tape label, meant, but we knew we liked what we heard, and that the older kid down the block would explain them to us. Before long, we knew what it was to skeeze with a whore, that Spanish Fly went great with Brass Monkey, and that it was cool to tax girlies from here to LA.

Anyone else have a definite, watershed moment for when their innocence was crushed? Maybe it's when your first love broke your heart. Perhaps it was that first pull of Boone's Farm-Strawberry Hill. Better yet, it was February 1992?, and your mom cut out all the swimsuit pictures from SI's annual Swimsuit Issue, but left the glorious cover-Kathy Ireland in a silvery bikini, jumping around in the water... ummmm we need to be alone.

Attack of the Bohemian Coffee Shop

We have recently decided that it's in the best interest of the blog for us to go to graduate school. It has nothing to do with the attraction of reentering a land of young sexually-charged females--no we're doing this because by improving our writing abilities and broadening our worldviews, we will ultimately deliver a better product to you, our faithful readers. As a requirement for graduate school admittance, we have to take the GRE. Now we are no Mensa members, and since the inherent douscheyness of standardized tests fail to pickup on our je ne sais quoi, we have decided to do something relatively new to us...study.

So far our favorite study spot has been a local Starbucks. We enjoy the eclectic music play lists and it has been a good medicine for our Yellow Fever, but the other day we felt like mixin-it-up. As much as we enjoy "our"Starbucks, it is still big-bad corporate America and we would rather support a local business, so we tried our luck at Genuine Joe's. We know, a rather kitsch name for a coffee joint, what was Central Perk already taken?

After going in, buying a cup, and settling in, we took a quick survey of the place and became very happy with our decision. Created out of an old house, the place has a great feel. It's bohemian-hipster attitude fits into the culture of our fair city well, but it's in a neighborhood where it doesn't come across as cliche since its only competition is Starbucks. We were digging the place, but gradually the places mood, and ours started to shift.

Something was up, and looking back now, we should've caught on much sooner. Here's what we're talking about: 1) The music list was great, but it was oddly heavy with The Smiths. 2) We have rarely, if ever, seen so many angry tattoos. 3) There was a funny amalgam of mullets, mohawks and hair dye. 4) Hugs were being thrown around left-and-right, and these weren't--hey nice to see you hugs--these hugs lingered. We had stumbled into a LESBIAN COFFEE SHOP!!!

If you'll refer back to the "Things We're Afraid OF," post from a few weeks back, you'll remember that we are deathly fearful of lesbians. Now before anyone gets there baggy jeans in a bunch, the phobia doesn't stem from the sexual practices--no it stems from the fact that we're fearful of anyone (man, woman, gay, straight) who rocks some variation of flat-top, has an art nouveau tat of something getting killed, and can beat us up. It just so happens that most people that fit into this category are females playing for the other team.

We tried to hold it together and just study, and we did alright until Open-Mic Session started. We can't recall the name of the band, we'll call them The Rug Dusters (Thanks, we'll be here all week!), but their lead singer was too much. Dressed to kill, with a full-length skirt and camouflage tank top, we could not take our eyes off of her tattoo. It appeared to be a monarch butterfly emptying rounds from an AK-47.

We had to get out, but since we had fielded a few dirty looks from the other patrons--for simply being there--the contrarian in us wanted a Costanza exit...We had our belongings pulled tightly to our non mamarried chest, and when the Menstrual errrrrr!!! we mean Minstrel, called out for requests, we cried out, "Pink Triangle" and ran for the door.

Everyone's a little queer,
Can't she be a little straight.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gjy3XbxMW1A