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