"Well, art is art, isn't it. Still, on the other hand, water is water..."

I'm in a book club.

Now, you might be saying, "But Russell, aren't book clubs for women?"

Yes. Yes, they are.

Especially since the one I belong to is named Books 'N Booze: The Classy Book Club. I constantly misread that title as A Sassy Book Club, which is simultaneously correct and disturbing. But, as it turns out, it's quite enjoyable. We get to read books we'd never read on our own. I've read two (well, one and a half) Stephen King books ever, and it's because of the book club.

And I'm sick of them...

ANYWAY Tonight we're kicking the winter book-ing season off with a bang over at Queen Halloween's house and it reminded me of our meetings we had in the summer. The first book we read was Cujo, and that one was pretty good. By the way, spoiler alert, the book: way different from the movie. In the movie the dog is a large St. Bernard with rabies. In the book, the dog is a mildly temperamental kangaroo who terrorizes the mother and child with Broadway showtunes. True fact from Truthland. Next we read my choice, Early Bird: A Memoir of Premature Retirement.

I chose this book because I genuinely enjoyed the heckfire out of it, and thought everyone else would as well. But of course one person didn't, so I proceeded to become more and more incensed that I not only had failed to produce a book everyone can enjoy, but that I couldn't convince this person they were wrong about their opinion of art. The brain knows things the heart does not, and it took me a long time to reconcile the fact that arguing with someone about art is ludicrous.

That's what makes it art. I love love love Impressionism, and pretentious cheesedicks love modern abstract, but I don't go chasing them down the street telling them they're pretentious cheesedicks. That job is for their disappointed father who worked at the mill for 40 years. 'Tis the season! So from this point on, I'm going to push for my choice, and if I win, I win, but I'm certainly not going to get upset about it anymore. I've got better stuff to do with my time. Like look for youtube videos. Speaking of youtube videos, here comes one now!!

Does this clip of Groucho mention art? Yes. And that's enough for me to put it in this post. Now, Hello, I must be going...

Tonsils Are The New Black

Hey guys! Do you know what Twitter is??

Twitter is a fantastic communication medium! Twitter is a micro-blog where you can share all your inner thoughts and feelings with the entire world as long as they are within 140 characters. 140 characters, you say? Yes, I did, and please don't interrupt me.

Twitter allows you the freedom to express every single minute detail your tiny mind can think, and this is SO GODDAMN IMPORTANT to our generation, myself certainly included. Now, you might say, "But Russell, isn't twitter just like my facebook status? I've been using that and I don't see any reason to stop."

Well don't.

But here is the genius of Twitter...almost none of your friends are on it. Unless ALL of your friends are as hip as you (and let's be honest: they aren't) a great deal of them aren't on Twitter. And it stands to reason you probably don't even know if any of them might be. You've been busy cultivating personal relationships with human beings...loser. This means that you can say ALMOST ANYTHING about ALMOST ANYONE regarding ALMOST ANYnoun that you wish because no one will see it. Unless you have twittered so much back-and-forth that you've developed a "twitter-friendship" between yourself and the Mayor (@MayorGlover) of your city...I'll go ahead and say that changes the content of your tweets slightly.

Seriously, the great positive from twitter is the speed in which you can access information. I follow a great many comedians, news outlets, media personalities, et cetera et cetera. Twitter allows a person to access news not only first, but perhaps news he/she might not be exposed to otherwise. Also, hashtag games.

Hashtag games are played by twitterers as they take a certain topic and try to one-up each other with their cleverness...it's one big circlejerk, but they can be great fun, as I found when one of mine caught on with my followers on November 30.

#tonsilfacts

#tonsilfacts is a hashtag game in which you try to make up anything related to the human body part, the tonsil. The faker, the better. My favorites, along with their twitter name (GET AN ACCOUNT! FOLLOW THESE PEOPLE!!) are below:

RussellWCrews The weird white guy in the Black Eyed Peas was grown from Jamiroquai's tonsils #tonsilfacts

brianvernellis It took a team of Swiss surgeons three days to remove Chuck Norris' tonsils because they put up such a fight #tonsilfacts

jtison83 Several tonsils were briefly involved with the investigation into where in the world was Carmen Sandiego #tonsilfacts

PUNTE A hospital staff didn't take out Chuck Norris's tonsils. Chuck Norris's tonsils took out an entire hospital staff #tonsilfacts

RussellWCrews Cleopatra's tonsils once killed an asp, starting the bitter Egyptian/asp feud which persists to this day #tonsilfacts

jtison83 If it wasn't for tonsils we wouldn't have butter. #tonsilfacts

focusedLINZ How am I going to afford all these Christmas presents?! Good thing tonsils grow on trees #tonsilfacts

jampigott Little known fact:David Lee Roth&Eddie Van Halen feud was due to their constant disagreement on who's tonsils were bigger #tonsilfacts

RussellWCrews What is "The Event"? Your tonsils know... #tonsilfacts

jampigott One of the 23 flavors of Dr. Pepper is actually tonsil. #tonsilfacts

jampigott Attention ladies: mascara is made from bat shit and tonsils #tonsilfacts

RussellWCrews "It looks like I picked the wrong week to quit tonsils." Airplane #tonsilfacts

DerSmit "Momma always said life is like a box full of tonsils, you never know what you might get." Forest Gump #tonsilfacts

See? You can get real creative (re: weird) with it, and the fun never has to end. So just get on and play around. Find celebrities you like and you'll learn just how funny, or most likely, stupid, they really are!

Maybe they should pay me for this endorsement...

And now, on the the VOTD. That's Video of the Day. I decided if I was going to do one, I might as well make it a feature...

I'm Sorry But I Don't Want To Be An Emperor

Being the notorious media hound I am, it comes as a shock (A SHOCK!) that last night was the first night I'd ever seen "Casablanca" or "The Great Dictator". Surely you know Casablanca (Don't call me Shirley-RIP L.N.) but The Great Dictator you may not know much about. Let's change that.

The Great Dictator, written by, directed by, scored by, and starring the great Charlie Chaplin, is his view of the terror sweeping Europe in the late 1930's. The film speaks candidly about Concentration Camps and Jewish oppression, but Chaplin himself said that if he had known the true extent of the Nazi's malice he would never have made the film. I was drawn to it not only for the buffoonery of the Dictator role, but that of The Jewish Barber. Chaplin played dual roles in this film to great comedic effect, but also to remind the audience that we are all human. The Jewish Barber embroils himself in the resistance movement which eventually gains him freedom, albeit not the manner of freedom in which he wished.

The Great Dictator was nominated for 5 academy awards, including Best Picture, and personally I like Chaplin's earlier silent film "City Lights" the most out of all his work, but I recommend the heckfire out of either of them. Yes they're black and white, yes one of them is silent: grow up.

I wanted to leave you with the Dictator's final speech, but not just with a video link. You may find that here. The speech is a beautiful piece of writing, so let us read it as such. You can read more about, arguably, the best comic in cinema here. Now, you know me: I believe the greatest film comics were the Marx Brothers, but that's for another day. After the speech, see if you can find the excerpt used in the video below, one of the finest examples of the mash-up out there today, "40 Inspirational Speeches in 2 Minutes".

I'm sorry but I don't want to be an emperor. That's not my business. I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible; Jew, Gentile, black men, white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each others' happiness, not by each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone. And the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way.

Greed has poisoned men's souls; has barricaded the world with hate; has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge as made us cynical; our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost. The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in man; cries out for universal brotherhood; for the unity of us all.

Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women, and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me, I say "Do not despair." The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish.

Soldiers! Don't give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you and enslave you; who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel! Who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder! Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men---machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have a love of humanity in your hearts! You don't hate! Only the unloved hate; the unloved and the unnatural.

Soldiers! Don't fight for slavery! Fight for liberty! In the seventeenth chapter of St. Luke, it’s written “the kingdom of God is within man”, not one man nor a group of men, but in all men! In you! You, the people, have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness! You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy, let us use that power.

Let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work, that will give youth a future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power. But they lie! They do not fulfill their promise. They never will! Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people! Now let us fight to fulfill that promise! Let us fight to free the world! To do away with national barriers! To do away with greed, with hate and intolerance! Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men’s happiness.

Soldiers, in the name of democracy, let us all unite!

Now, on to the show:

OK, Let's Try This One Again...

ALL GLORY TO THE HYPNOTOAD, UM, I MEAN ME!

I think I'm back in the mood.

This is the second time I've had to address you after a months-long hiatus from Bearsuits Are Funny, and that's unacceptable (unless you're fine with it...good). I haven't been in a update-y mood, and sometimes that's ok too. I find that if something isn't fun anymore, you should take a break. It applies to blogging, work, parenting, sending the checks to the nursing home for your grandmother...anything, really.

And don't go into a tizzy, I was just kidding: I've never quit work.

And since I don't have anything new prepared for my re-re-entry into the blogging world, I'll just treat you to some new links.

You'll notice an updated Linking It To The Streets on the right hand side of the page. joining my old favorites With Leather, Film Drunk, Warming Glow, Pajiba, & WWTDD, I've added friends of the blog Focused Linz, Life and Times of a Breeder, The Divining Rod, Books 'N Booze, and the person who kick started my butt back into this game, Hesson Haus.

Finally I'd like to promote The Texarkana Appeal. A wonderful publication out of Texarkana, AR, to quote their homepage:

Appeal Magazine is the NEW unique ultimate LOCAL magazine that is sure to Appeal to Everyone in Texarkana! Appeal Magazine offers Texarkana a look at local people, fashion, beauty, family, community business, politics, and other interesting stories that will be sure to stand out from all the rest!

Speaking of interesting stories, you're welcome to check out the little diddy on pages 38-41...it smells of excellence.

Also, it's been a while, so I'll remind you of the awesomeness which will come. I'm still really proud of these two posts, one from founding member of Bearsuits, Tison (now at The Divining Rod) and my rebuttal.

So sit back, strap in, and get ready for the ride of your life. Barring that, a nice diversion for 3 or 4 minutes of your day. Either way it's free, no ads, so quit complaining...

You sound just like my grandmother...

Olympic Thoughts

Jackie Robinson is a true American hero. He had the courage and the strength to integrate baseball at a time when that was anathema to baseball as an institution. Jackie might not have been the best negro league player (Satchel? Josh Gibson? Cool Papa Bell?), but he was the right player-the right man-for the job. This isn't about Jackie Robinson. This is about his brother.

Matthew "Mack" Robinson, was an athlete and an activist. Seems like it's hard to distinguish between the two, especially during the heady times of the mid 20th century. Like his younger brother, Mack could run. Run well enough to make it to the Olympic games. Run well enough to make it to the Olympic finals. Run well enough to set a world record. Mack was the world's fastest man. Jackie could never lay claim to that honor.

Thing is, neither could Mack.

Matthew Robinson ran the 200 meters faster than any man who ever lived...except for the man who won the gold medal. You see, sometimes you make history, and sometimes history makes you. Matthew Robinson ran faster than any man ever, and you would know his name like your own, except this was 1936 in Hitler's Germany, and the man who won the gold was Jesse Owens.

I was reminded of this story tonight as I watched the Winter Olympic Opening Ceremony in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. The story of Matthew Robinson at the Olympics is the story of every athlete who participates. Each man and woman in Vancouver tonight has worked their entire lives to be there. Many have fought poverty, oppression, and their own demons to be there. They all know, just as Mack Robinson learned, that the reach for eternal glory, the redemption for yourself and your family, the difference between obscurity and the honor of representing your country at the highest level...is 0.4 seconds.

These athletes understand this, they understand the potential for failure and still they go on. They continue to ski, skate, and play. They continue to walk.

Earlier today, before the opening cermonies for the 21st Winter Olympiad, a Georgian athlete named Nodar Kumartshvili died during a practice run for his event, the luge. Anyone with eyes will tell you that luge is one of the most dangerous sports in the world. I can't speak for Nodar or his family, but I feel justified in saying that Nodar knew that. He liked luge, and he was good at luge, and Nodar qualified for the Olympics doing something he liked-something he loved. And during these opening ceremonies, the Georgian team was faced with a choice: walk during the parade of nations, or withdraw.

The Georgians made the brave decision to walk; they represented their nation, and Nodar proudly. They walked upon the ice of BC Place and showed the world that through adversity and pain, suffering and sadness, they showed that glory and honor may still be achieved.

We might never know if Nodar would have come out of qualifying rounds, or if he would have taken home the gold medal, but we do know that he made it to the Olympics. Not the Georgian trials, not the world trials. The Olympics. Nodar Kumartshvili joins the long list of athletes and patriots, dreamers and achievers, who have worked through sport to bring glory to their country and peace to their world.

The Vancouver Opening Ceremony was dedicated to Nodar, but could just as easily been dedicated to Mack Robinson. Or any athlete who worked their young life to get to the top, only to have the swift hand of fate sweep them away. Thing is, that's not sad. Mack Robinson worked his entire life to better his community, and was rewarded with numerous acolades and a long and healthy life. Nodar, with his sacrifice, will no doubt bring higher safety standards to games in general, and hopefully show young Georgians that glory can be achieved on the field, on the track, on the ice, or in the classroom. His honor is that of all of Georgia, of all of the world's.

This is the Olympics. The world doesn't stop. There are still wars. Famine, poverty, and disease still devastate us all. But for two weeks every two years we are reminded that it can be different. It may seem impossible, but the vision of the Olympic spirit shows us that through game comes understanding, through competition comes friendship. Through death, comes life.

Do You Think They Have Honey BBQ Sauce in Wichita?

Something inexplicable happened last night.

Well, not so much inexplicable, more like something very much explicable.

For years I have had 3 friends accompanying myself on "Baseball Road Trips". These trips may or may not include all 4 of us, nor do they necessarily include the road, but they do include baseball, and they do include fun. Last night, for the first time in more than a couple fortnights all 4 of us were in the same city, so we decided to get together for dinner and football. Where? Only the best money can buy: Buffalo Wild Wings.

Now, I could tell you all about our first-time server, and how we unwittingly scammed him out of 6 extra boneless wings, but the ending to that story is I didn't have to make a fool out of the server and an ass out of myself, plus I got free blue cheese. Great story, I know, right?

What I will tell you about is one of my friends, Harold Baines. But wait, Russell: You know Harold Baines? The greatest designated hitter in Major League history???

No, don't be retarded.

My friend really likes Harold Baines, so I've bestowed that nom de plume upon him.

We're reminiscing about old baseball road trips last night, and planning another one for a bachelor party to come, when it starts up. (Can I just take a minute to tell you something? Did you know that Chase Field in Arizona, formerly the BOB {Bank One Ballpark-name of the century}, has a pool in the outfield you may rent out for the night to entertain your guests? Well, it does, and I'm going to tear the curtains off the window, make a dress out of them, and pull carrots out of the ground for basic sustenance because as god is my witness, I'll rent that pool out for this bachelor party!! Back to your regular programming...) We're discussing the various road trips we've been on, and the various midwest states we've driven through to get there, and the general consensus since the beginning of time is that Kansas is the worst driving state in the Union. I thought we had agreed on this as a nation.

We have not, apparently, because Harold looks me dead in the eye and tells me Arkansas is the worst to drive through. It sounded inexplicable, and the aforementioned disaster with the food had put me on edge, so I immediately lit up. "Is that a joke? Why in the world would you say that? There is nothing in Kansas." His reasoning: because it lacks a north-south interstate within its borders. I was appalled. Arkansas is terrible in its own right to be sure, but one thing it is not is unpleasant to drive through. The mountains and lakes of the Natural State are beautiful and to say Kansas is better to drive through because of a highway is ludicrous.

We spend 6 or 7 minutes going back and forth about this when the light bulb above my head goes off just as I see the twinkle in his eye. The argument was over with the next words I spoke: "You don't believe anything you're saying." Harold chuckled in agreement, and we continued to bicker, Arkansas vs Kansas, until we tired of the game. Harold Baines likes to be contrary, even more so than I, and I say that with a great deal of self-flagellation. I really like to be contrary, but Harold...he takes the cake.

And that's what's so great about friendship. We spend so many years learning about each other that it would be almost unfriendly not to use that information to screw with one another. Harold knows I will snap at any bait he throws out there, but he also knows I will catch on. None of these activities detracts from our relationship, in fact they enhance it. Because we enjoy it. And if you're not enjoying your friendships, what's the point?

Besides free buffalo wings...

Feelings Not Related To A Cell Phone (SURPRISE!!)

(I actually wrote this a few weeks ago, and am just now getting around to posting it. Enjoy my feelings...this is probably the last time, you jackals.)

A few weeks ago I was asked what I do when I actually like someone.

Now if I like you as a person, I have to feel you out. I have to test you. I have to make you mad.

It is known far and wide that if I meet you, and haven't insulted you within 10 minutes, then I really have no use for you as a human being. Apparently sometimes this backfires...again, I have no use for you. Most would abhor the words "Oh, don't take it seriously; that's just Russell". Not I. For one, it takes away a ton of explanations and apologizing I have to do. For another it has garnered me a reputation so that new people already know the above rules, and I don't have to worry about it.

My record from "Hi, I'm *insert name here*." to "I don't like you." is 35 seconds. A serious feather in my cap.

But I'm not stupid; I knew what they meant by "someone".

At the time, I didn't know what the answer really was. Comedian Louis C.K. puts it best when he says, "A guy will fuck you if he doesn't like you, everybody knows that. But a guy will fuck you even when he doesn't feel like fucking you." Needless to say it's better from him. Watch his 2008 special, "Chewed Up"--it'll do a body good. What that means in simple terms is guys are pigs or dogs or whatever you want to say. Its a super-funny cliche in entertainment, and played out and not entirely true, but to some extent it is. You truly do not want to know what (or who. or how many...) your husband did before he met you. Because more than likely he was a different person. He's hopefully a better person now...

But the original question. I know its hard to believe, but I don't hate everyone. And trust me: hating everyone all the time is so much easier. You don't stop to wonder why you don't like someone, because it doesn't matter: you hate them. But, much to my chagrin, and not to share any undue details, but this weekend I figured out what I do when I actually like someone. I make the time.

It's as simple as that. Without thinking about it I make the time. I had several functions to attend, a couple of them quite formal and I was honored to participate. But when the opportunity came to leave, I did. And I didn't feel bad, and I never second guessed my decision, or my timing. I just made the time. Now this person lives out of town, so I get the opportunity (depending how you look at it, the shitty luck) to revert to my selfish ways. My time for me, and go fuck yourself. If I want to be somewhere I'll be there. But the downside to that is glaringly obvious.

Oh, it's not glaringly obvious? It starts with "a" and ends with "e" with "lon" in the middle.

So that's it. What do I do when I like someone? The same thing I've seen my friends do. The same thing everyone does. My actions change, without a conscious decision. And even the conscious decisions change. But that's the way its supposed to be, the only way it can be. It's like The Stranger says, " I guess that's the way the whole durned human comedy keeps perpetuatin' itself."

I just had to put a Big Lebowski quote in there...it was getting way too serious...

They'll never know...

Happy thanksgiving to all those who are smart enough to read my ramblings. And to those who do not, they can go straight to hell. They'll never know anyway...


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The future is now...

...or is there more to come?


My ceiling fan from my chair. I'll sell you the print...


I've always resisted blogging from my phone because up until now it was insane. Who in their right mind would want to crank out 7 paragraphs using T-9?? Not I. And even when I had my blackberry pearl and could type all kinds of things using their suretype keypad....

Oh, the days of my blackberry. We were the best of friends. If you don't believe me just go back a few posts. I have written a couple of posts about my intense love affair and debilitating dependance on my phone. But lately I could sense my feelings changing. I still loved my wife, er, phone, but I found my attentions straying. My new crush: iPhone.

When my friends began to get the iPhone I was deep in the throes of passion. I still had the my first blackberry 8100 and spent hours debating the merits of my phone. The iPhone seemed born from a fantasy land. As if a unicorn traveled to the future and took it from James T. Kirk himself.

But soon I began to have changed feelings. Butterflys were fluttering in my stomach as I began to process these new feelings. I began to play with the iPhones my friends had and they really could do some amazing things. They just kept improving and soon I found my heart had found another. There was just one problem: my blackberry began to abuse me, and I couldn't afford to leave it with the kids, and it was getting harder to hide the bruises...

Ok, no, it was my upgrade date. I spent the months until that date checking the AT&T website to see if my date had changed, or maybe the very fabric of space time had torn allowing an earlier upgrade. It never happened.

So Saturday I pulled the trigger. I took my blackberry up to my cabin, situated upon a picturesque mountain in the Ozarks. I made us a meal and we dined by candlelite. When the feast was over it could sense my trepidation. It began to get nervous. I had to break the news. It did not go well. We parted on...shaky ground, and attorneys are involved...

But now I'm living in the future with my new love, iPhone. And we're getting along great. The screen is amazing. The apps are expansive (and obviously useless on some level), and the magic fairy dust is replenished at night so I can use my phone to let me travel to Neverland.

Not the amusement park with the monkeys and half-naked Tweens.

So in conclusion, my life has changed in a way I didn't know it could. I thought I couldn't use my phone any more than I already did; that mark was blown away by an H bomb. And now I'm free to use my fancy-pants horizontal keyboard to type these blogposts on the fly. Check out that little signature at the bottom>>> You are so very welcome.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Also, I'm kidding: Of course I'm going to hang out with monkeys and half-naked tweens. Who am I, a dead man???

"He fixes the cable?"

Last Friday, was my first Lebowskifest.

Just as if you were to walk into a theater at midnight on a Friday night, see people throw objects at the screen, and wonder, “Why?*”, if you don’t know what the sentence above means, then the rest of this is going to be slightly-to-extremely confusing.

A few weeks ago my friend, Mike, who lives in Houston put an email into the series of tubes and it was delivered to my inbox detailing Houston’s very own Lebowskifest. Now, I thought only Louisville, KY had one, so learning that other cities, especially one close to me and one I like to visit to boot, were participating in the insanity which is The Big Lebowski, thrilled me. Immediately I confirmed my attendance, and we purchased The Big Lebowski t-shirts. This was going to happen…

This story really starts towards the end of the 90’s, round about the time of our conflict with the Lewinski scandal…look alike/sound alike names not withstanding…and the Coen Brothers made a little film by the name of The Big Lebowski. I won’t go into the plot too deeply, because you can do that here, but I will tell you the main characters are The Dude and Walter.

The Dude is…well…The Dude. A laidback post-hippy, The Dude has no job save for smoking pot, bowling, and generally “being”. The Dude gets caught up in a whirlwind of insanity due to his having the same name as a millionaire, Jeffrey Lebowski, and quite the fateful case of mistaken identity sets our story off to a bang. Walter is a Vietnam vet who’s life is completely engulfed in the flames of that conflict…except in the end we find out Walter never went to Vietnam, so what do we make of that? He is loud, profane (everyone is in this world) and more than a little violent, yet caring and protective of his friends.

So hijinks ensue, and blah blah blah if you haven’t seen this movie, you have two choices: See it right now, and watch it twice (you won’t get it the first time; I didn’t) or suicide, because how you get by day to day life without understanding the multitude of Big Lebowski quotes used in the lexicon daily is…amazing.

Now, Lebowskifest is just what it sounds like: fans of the movie gather, drink White Russians (or Caucasians, a favorite beverage of The Dude) maybe bowl a little bit, and watch the movie. At the Houston event, there was also Human Bowling, costume contest (story to come), trivia contest, and a general good time.

On Friday I drive down to H-town, and arrive at just the right time. That would be "enough time to have a Caucasian before we head down to the event-o'clock". We go to the Lucky Strike Lanes in downtown Houston. This is where it all starts. The Lucky Strike Lanes are relatively new in the Houston area, and on first glance it is your regular run of the mill night club/bowling alley. I’m sorry, you don’t have bowling alleys/night clubs in your town? Well, that’s because in theory they are great, but in practice they are retarded. If I wanted to visit a bowling alley with a dress code, then I’d just move to the Jersey Shore right now.

The place is already packed and it’s only 6pm. We are greeted by one of the organizers of the event, a wonderful man from the local St. Arnold’s Brewery (try the Lawnmower!), and informed of the many neato things we can participate in, and we wisely choose our favorite…we make our way to the bar, and get some more Caucasians. At this point I need to tell you that I am wearing blue jeans, my t-shirt, and a thin, tattered robe. Yes, a bathrobe. You see, The Dude wears one, and I thought, why not? Thinking the costume contest aspect of the event wouldn’t be very big, it would be me and 4 other nerds wearing robes. I was wrong. Young and old, men and women, over half of the crowd was wearing a robe. And that’s not to even mention the throngs of Walters, Maudes, a gutterball-girl, a Jackie Treehorn, and a rug. The girl who dressed up as the rug won “Most Creative” mostly due to her friend who would bound up on stage at the very mention of the rug and simulate urinating upon said rug. Using a beer…

Walter and myself...abiding...

We get our drinks and look for a place to await our buzzer, for this buzzer was going to tell us when we could bowl. Almost immediately, a guy dressed as Walter (heretofore referred to as Walter) approached me, looked me in the eyes, shook my hand and told me to go fuck myself. It was perfect. And don’t worry, Walter never really left my life…I think in a way he’ll always be here with me…

So we find a nice couch, and take in the scenery. There is a man in a robe and wig bowling. There is a group of girls out on the town, who seemingly have no clue why all these crazy people are in this bowling alley. There is Walter, telling anyone and everyone they are out of their element and, usually, that they need to shut the fuck up. Then we are reminded that this is some sort of club as well, when a bouncer/security guy/fatass approaches to tell me to please take off my baseball cap…in a bowling alley. Of course, that ran all over me, a dress code in a bowling alley, but I played it cool and we continued to wait. For bowling that never came…

We could never understand why there were open lanes and yet we were still third on the list. How? Why don’t you put numbers one and two in these open lanes here and make us number one on the list? So we left the Lucky Strike lanes (or should I say Lucky Stink Lanes? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, I’m so funny, everyone tells me so……) and dined at the House of Blues…where no one could understand why a grown man was wearing a robe while eating a chicken sandwich in public…

Finally, we make our way to the park, where the night will conclude. Discovery Green is near the Toyota Center and the Convention Center in downtown Houston, and I have to say I was impressed. There is a stage in the center, and a band of young people who played exclusively songs from the 60’s were on fire. I approve of such a bold choice, and the crown seemed to as well. So we sat up camp, with folding chairs, broke out the sangria and settled in for a night of awesome…which did not disappoint.

Walter continued to walk through the crowd, yelling at strangers, and generally being a crazy man. Back at the alley, we actually talked to Walter after he told me he owned my shirt…and 6 other Lebowski shirts. Clearly this guy wasn’t working with a full deck…of UNO cards…the guy is nuts, but I loved him.

Soon, the trivia contest had been won in sudden death, and the costume contest had been won by The Rug, Walter, and a Viking Julianne Moore from a dream sequence. (I should tell you a girl entered the contest as Bunny Lebowski, played in the movie by Tara Reid. She did so in a blue bikini, and took the mic at one point telling the audience she would “suck your cock for a thousand dollars”, which in the context of the movie make sense for the character, but for a timid white girl in the middle of a park in Houston, TX, was quite shocking, yet hilarious, of course.) Then it was movie time. The screen was inflated and the picture began, to cheers from the many in attendance. I am no good judge of numbers of people, but I would conservatively say there were between 800 and a thousand people in the park for this movie.

And the audio was fucked…but they fixed it, and we the audience got to bitch and make jokes the whole time. There was bonding with your fellow Lebowski fan, and a general camaraderie. I’ve never been to a convention for anything, so this was really the first time I’ve been in that atmosphere. Where everyone around you is there just to see something they love, where everyone is quoting the movie the entire night, where everyone is downright respectful of the others due to this shared interest. On the basic human level, I was amazed at just how decent everyone was at the event.

"You said it man, no one fucks with the Jesus."

So we all cheered and laughed until midnight when the credits rolled. And as we made our way to the car, we could still hear Walter behind us, telling strangers to shut the fuck up Donny, and if you are wondering why he called everyone Donny, then you really didn’t learn anything from this, did you? Go to your room and think about who you are and what you’ve done with your life.

*Rocky Horror Picture Show, you fucking shut-in. Get a life, you humorless dick.

We are entering a new era.

When it comes to suffering in sports, no group of people have experienced more pain and anguish then fans of the New Orleans Saints. I would say something here about the Cubs but their fan base continues to be harbingers of positivity at the beginning of every baseball season no matter what. Saints fans usually begin each season with a much larger sense of dejection and futility at the thought of another Saints’ season.

As a lifelong fan of the team I can attest to that through my own personal experiences of anger, anguish and remorse.

This year is a different story so far.

The Saints have set the NFL on fire with a league leading 427.3 yards per game and 238 total points through six, that’s right, only six games. They are averaging almost forty points a game at 39.7, and they have the most forty point games through six, four to be precise, than any other team in the history of the NFL. I do not mean since the AFL/NFL merger in the sixties, I mean through the 80 plus years of professional football.

On top of a stellar offense led by Drew Brees, this year’s defensive team only adds fuel to the much needed fire of football greatness. The Saints currently rank eleventh in the league in total defense. They sit behind such recent Super Bowl winning teams like the Indianapolis Colts, the Pittsburgh Steelers, the New England Patriots, and the New York Giants. However, if you look closely at the numbers they are not too far off the mark behind those big time franchises in most categories.

Yesterday’s game against the Miami Dolphins solidified my belief that this year the Saints are true Super Bowl contenders. They showed a toughness and character that has been missing from the Superdome for generations.

They showed the type of swagger and mental attitude that the Steelers, the Patriots, the Colts, and the Giants have cultivated for a long time. I mean if they had a mercy rule in professional sports they would have called yesterday’s game at halftime. But the Saints did not give up. No, they came out of the locker room in the second half and beat the Dolphins back into a stray tuna net of mediocrity.

They tacked up 33 points in the second half alone. They were not one sided about it either showing no mercy and an unheard of resiliency on both offense and defense. Before this year I would have never believe they could do it had I not seen it for myself.

I know they were down 24-3 before the end of the first half but it was the way they were losing that made the comeback even more incredible. The Dolphins were literally raping their monkey asses on defense and offense. Brees looked like it was his first NFL game for most of the first half and it looked as if the defense had remained in New Orleans, or perhaps thought the NFL had scheduled a scrimmage for the week.

It was a late first half touchdown that brought the score to 24-10 and held a lot of import for the team for a variety of reasons.

The most obvious reason was that it put the Saints one touchdown closer to closing the gap but more importantly, it was significant for team morale and team confidence.

Brees went over to the sidelines after a third down attempt to push it in the end zone was stopped by the Dolphins and requested, nay demanded, that Payton allow the offense to go for it on fourth down rather than kick the field goal. After his performance up to that point in the first half I would have told him to unstrap his helmet and carry his ass to the locker room. Payton decided to remind me that I am not a NFL coach for a variety of reasons and let Brees do his thing. As in most fairy tales, everything worked out in the end except I lost a bid to become the new head coach of the Saints.

I am still putting in a request to go over to Oakland and take the reins there. I feel as if I have a much better shot there. Honestly, I think a crippled orphan monkey has a good shot of winning at least one game over there, especially if he replaces Jamarcus Russell.

(Back to the Saints…)

Confidence in your offense is a big deal at any level of the game and confidence in the decision making of you quarterback is an even bigger deal, especially in the NFL. The fact that Payton put that level of trust in his quarterback to make that decision for the team is huge.

If you look at the true contenders around the NFL, say the Indianapolis Colts, Pittsburgh Steelers, New England Patriots and New York Giants, then you will see teams whose coaches all their quarterbacks to control the game, make the big, important decisions, and lead their teams to victory. I would say there is a trend here when you look at the statistics and the intangibles for NFL teams, like toughness, character and a general swagger that says, “Bring it!” The Saints have it this year.

I know it is still early in the NFL season but I have a good feeling this year for the Saints. I look forward to seeing even more development from them and watching as they bring much needed confidence and bravado to professional football in the State of Louisiana and, more specifically, the New Orleans area.