As you all know, recently I started a Project Runway hater blog (http://www.projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com/). Now, since many of the show's audience is gay, much of my readership on that blog is gay. And because I've been straight for all 29 years of my life, there can't help but be a bit of a mind-set gap between myself and my gay brethren.
With that in mind, my girlfriend Ramona suggested to me that -- in an attempt to better understand this audience -- I find a way to tap into my inner gay spirit that she believes all men inherently have.
Needless to say: I was dead-set against this. There are just certain things I don't want to discover, certain places of my soul I don't want to go to. I'm an "on the surface" kind of guy. I get twitchy when dealing with "deep feelings."
I'm straight. It's how God made me. Why must you judge?
Besides...
"I AM NOT WATCHING GAY PORN!!" I announced to Ramona.
Luckily, that's not what she had in mind. So after much back-and-forth, recently she took me (i.e., dragged me) to see the movie "Mamma Mia", where men who like men can watch various topless men sing and dance for no apparent reason.
And even with that, it was extraordinarily difficult to tap into my inner homosexual. At one point in the movie, Amanda Seyfried was sliding chest-first across the sand in this hot-as-hell one-piece bathing suit. Now, a little straight-man info for gay guys and straight women: In this bikini- and G-string-clad age of ours, it is ridiculously difficult to get a man foaming at the mouth wearing a one-piece. But Amanda Seyfried pulled it off like she was wearing nothing but pasties.
In fact, it stuns me that she plays a Mormon daughter on HBO's "Big Love." Were it not for the fact that I was in a happy, committed relationship (and/or didn't believe in bigamy) I'd leave my current life behind and become a grad student at BYU.
But despite these and other obstacles, I managed by the end of the movie to find a little of my deeply buried gayness (which, for the remainder of this blog, I will refer to as DBG) and made the following discovery:
If you put a loaded gun to my head and said I had to sex with a man if I didn't want my brains blow off (and came to the conclusion that this was not a fate worse than death), the man I'd choose to avoid this fate would be Pierce Bronsnan.
After all these years, the man's still got it. He's got those piercing eyes (no pun intended) that just look right through you. He meets my DBG height requirements, he's not bulky (my DBG isn't into the huge muscular look) and he still pulls off the whole "open collar, no tie" look that you just don't see anymore.
And when he took off his shirt at the end of Mamma Mia, my DBG joined the female members of the movie audience in the chorus entitled:
Damn.
Besides, Pierce also passes the "alley test."
The alley test is a test that straight men give in the rare (rare!!) times we judge the sex appeal of other men. The thinking is this: If you faced the man in question in the back of an alley, and you weren't afraid, then he ain't right for your DBG.
Brad Pitt? I could beat him senseless inside of 12 seconds. He fails the alley test.
John Stamos? Something tells me he can't take it to the body. He fails the alley test.
George Clooney? Close. But he's a bit too metrosexual. I can take him. He fails the alley test.
But Pierce Brosnan? Man, I gotta admit: I don't know. He's the thing that a lot of men fear most: The guy who doesn't look all that tough but nonetheless has a look about him that says, "I know something you don't." Pierce in an alley would make me think, give me pause. And I believe he'd use that to his advantage and ram my head into a dumpster and take my wallet.
And according to my DBG: That's sexy.
So congratulations, Pierce. I would consider having sex with you if my life depended on it.With that in mind:
I'm off to find doctored nude photos of Amanda. Cheers.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
On June 18, my good friends Elly and Jeremy welcomed a baby boy into the world named Max Orion Treat. Though not even 2 months old, my man Max has already shown himself to be a future raging heterosexual. Apparently, although the kid still isn't quite the age where he can always focus both his eyes on the same object, there's this picture of a hula girl in the living room that little Max is fascinated by. With everything and everyone else, little Max's left and right pupils are all over the place. But with the hula girl, he's locked in, undressing her in his mind and thinking:
"You just wait till I can crawl, sweetheart."
Speaking of Max, his parents have entered him into a cutest baby contest, where the winner will receive a $20,000 college scholarship. I ask that you vote for Max to ensure that he undresses hula and other varieties of girls with his eyes in a post-secondary environment.
To vote, go here, click on the letter "M" halfway down the screen and choose Contestant 40. Then, just enter your e-mail address at the bottom and verify your vote in your Inbox.
Five easy steps. Less than half of an alcohol program. No problem.
So sometime between now and Aug. 17, vote for male heartthrob Max. With your help, his gifted mind will one day go to college and find the cure for cancer.
Or a way to make firmer, longer-lasting breast implants.
Either way, the world's a better place.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Turning 29...And We All Know What Comes Next: The Annual Nevin Barich Birthday Blog
I got my new driver's license photo the other day. During my latest renewal process, I was required to come into the DMV and thus a new photo was taken, replacing the the license photo I had carried for the last 10 years.
I looked at the photos, putting both side by side. There were many similarities. The sparkling eyes. The adorable dimples. And that smile. God, I got great teeth. (thank you, braces) But though both photos looked at me with youthful exuberance, one thing was clear:
I was getting older.
Perhaps it's not completely noticeable to the naked eye. My hair isn't gray, I'm too young for wrinkles, and aches and pains -- last I checked -- aren't captured by the camera.
But I can see it. Little, almost imperceptible signs that age has begun to slowly creep in. A line or so around the eyes. The littlest dash of weariness. A look that says, "I haven't been 'there.' But I've been somewhere."
New driver's license photos never lie.
Today, Aug. 6, I turn 29. One more year of being in my 20s before...
Yeah.
Here's something interesting I've discovered about being a year away from 30. Sympathy... is nowhere. People who have passed 30 have been there and done that, and are jealous that you still have some of your 20s left to enjoy. Younger people see a glimpse of what's in store for them and avoid you like the plague. And people your age ... well, they're wallowing in their own self-pity and thus have no free time to wallow in yours.
My 20s are nearing an end and I'm alone. Just me and my driver's license photo.
So as I enter my last year of "younger than 30", I reflect -- as I often do -- on previous years. My 20s were not nearly as wild as some people, but nor was it dull and filled with shuffleboard and iced tea. Among my 20s memories:
---Traveling to Europe.
---Speaking in front of 1,000 people.
---Getting into physical altercations at not one, but two Subway restaurants.
---Falling in love.
---Getting heart broken.
---Falling in love again.
---Heart rebroken.
---Getting it right eventually.
---Sitting at the 50-yard line of a Raiders game.
---Meeting Oscar De La Hoya (I'm taller than him).
---Being threatened by a pro boxer because his girlfriend smiled at me (true story).
---Playing $100 hands of blackjack at The Mirage.
---Being asked by a hooker if I wanted her for dessert following my McDonald's dinner (I politely declined).
---Walking on the grass of Dodger Stadium.
---Discovering DVR.
---Getting my own apartment.
And finally.
---Learning to make eggs.
These memories, and many more, have been accumulated during my 20s. Who knows what other memories I'll incur for 29? Perhaps I'll learn to make omelets.
And as I begin my final younger-than-30 year, I recently found myself wondering: Could I still do it? Could I, at 29, still handle -- mentally and physically -- some of the things I went through over the past nine years?
And the answer came to me during a recent visit to my local In N' Out.
I went to refill my diet coke cup when I accidentally bumped into someone 10 years or so my junior. Some of the soda in his own cup got onto his pants; no big thing, as accidents will happen (plus, his pants were black). But this kid, no older than I was during my previous driver's license photo, wouldn't let the matter drop.
"Yo, you spilled on my pants!" the lad declared.
"Sorry about that," I said. "It was an accident."
"You gonna pay for my dry cleaning?" he demanded.
"Am I what?"
"Gimme some money to pay for this, boy."
This kid wasn't even 10 when I was turning 20, and yet I'm "boy." But, based on previous Subway restaurant experience (where I ended up sprawled on the floor courtesy of a left hook to the jaw. At least, I think it was a left. The whole incident is a bit hazy) I wisely decided to walk away.
But the kid wouldn't let up.
"Where's my money, punk? Where's my money? Hey, I'm talkin' to you, %$*^%$."
I stopped.
I don't like being called %$*^%$.
So I turned around.
Took a sip of my diet coke.
Walked right back up to him.
And said:
"Do I look like I give a damn about your pants."
I didn't ask it.
I said it.
At my age, you learn to say things.
And this kid.
Backed the %$*^%$ up.
Yep.
I could still do it.
Score one for a line or so around the eyes.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
I'm turning 29. In a year, I'll be 30. What the %$*^%$ do you want?
(nevdogg.blogspot.com: Where elders like me are respected and revered.)
I looked at the photos, putting both side by side. There were many similarities. The sparkling eyes. The adorable dimples. And that smile. God, I got great teeth. (thank you, braces) But though both photos looked at me with youthful exuberance, one thing was clear:
I was getting older.
Perhaps it's not completely noticeable to the naked eye. My hair isn't gray, I'm too young for wrinkles, and aches and pains -- last I checked -- aren't captured by the camera.
But I can see it. Little, almost imperceptible signs that age has begun to slowly creep in. A line or so around the eyes. The littlest dash of weariness. A look that says, "I haven't been 'there.' But I've been somewhere."
New driver's license photos never lie.
Today, Aug. 6, I turn 29. One more year of being in my 20s before...
Yeah.
Here's something interesting I've discovered about being a year away from 30. Sympathy... is nowhere. People who have passed 30 have been there and done that, and are jealous that you still have some of your 20s left to enjoy. Younger people see a glimpse of what's in store for them and avoid you like the plague. And people your age ... well, they're wallowing in their own self-pity and thus have no free time to wallow in yours.
My 20s are nearing an end and I'm alone. Just me and my driver's license photo.
So as I enter my last year of "younger than 30", I reflect -- as I often do -- on previous years. My 20s were not nearly as wild as some people, but nor was it dull and filled with shuffleboard and iced tea. Among my 20s memories:
---Traveling to Europe.
---Speaking in front of 1,000 people.
---Getting into physical altercations at not one, but two Subway restaurants.
---Falling in love.
---Getting heart broken.
---Falling in love again.
---Heart rebroken.
---Getting it right eventually.
---Sitting at the 50-yard line of a Raiders game.
---Meeting Oscar De La Hoya (I'm taller than him).
---Being threatened by a pro boxer because his girlfriend smiled at me (true story).
---Playing $100 hands of blackjack at The Mirage.
---Being asked by a hooker if I wanted her for dessert following my McDonald's dinner (I politely declined).
---Walking on the grass of Dodger Stadium.
---Discovering DVR.
---Getting my own apartment.
And finally.
---Learning to make eggs.
These memories, and many more, have been accumulated during my 20s. Who knows what other memories I'll incur for 29? Perhaps I'll learn to make omelets.
And as I begin my final younger-than-30 year, I recently found myself wondering: Could I still do it? Could I, at 29, still handle -- mentally and physically -- some of the things I went through over the past nine years?
And the answer came to me during a recent visit to my local In N' Out.
I went to refill my diet coke cup when I accidentally bumped into someone 10 years or so my junior. Some of the soda in his own cup got onto his pants; no big thing, as accidents will happen (plus, his pants were black). But this kid, no older than I was during my previous driver's license photo, wouldn't let the matter drop.
"Yo, you spilled on my pants!" the lad declared.
"Sorry about that," I said. "It was an accident."
"You gonna pay for my dry cleaning?" he demanded.
"Am I what?"
"Gimme some money to pay for this, boy."
This kid wasn't even 10 when I was turning 20, and yet I'm "boy." But, based on previous Subway restaurant experience (where I ended up sprawled on the floor courtesy of a left hook to the jaw. At least, I think it was a left. The whole incident is a bit hazy) I wisely decided to walk away.
But the kid wouldn't let up.
"Where's my money, punk? Where's my money? Hey, I'm talkin' to you, %$*^%$."
I stopped.
I don't like being called %$*^%$.
So I turned around.
Took a sip of my diet coke.
Walked right back up to him.
And said:
"Do I look like I give a damn about your pants."
I didn't ask it.
I said it.
At my age, you learn to say things.
And this kid.
Backed the %$*^%$ up.
Yep.
I could still do it.
Score one for a line or so around the eyes.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
I'm turning 29. In a year, I'll be 30. What the %$*^%$ do you want?
(nevdogg.blogspot.com: Where elders like me are respected and revered.)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The iPhone: The First Phone Where The Primary Objective Isn't To Call People: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
I don't often do requests. It's not that I'm against writing on ideas other than my own, but rather that the requests have been a bit random and are not always -- in my view -- wide-reaching topics.
Nevin, write a blog on how people are bringing their poodles into stores.
Nevin, write a blog on the deadliness of Mexican jalapenos.
Nevin, write a blog on my Catholic wedding.
(Note on Catholic weddings: They are long. But in the one I went to, the groom and groomsmen all wore Converse shoes. Now that's an idea Jewish weddings should steal.)
But lately, many of you have been pestering me about a certain topic. A product that has recently taken America by storm. You've read about it, seen it, maybe even own it. And, bowing to public pressure, today I write about:
The iPhone.
So here we go.
I have one fundamental problem with the iPhone:
I can't figure out how to make a phone call with it.
I mean, I look at that thing and I am lost. I see a button to check traffic. I see a button to go online. I see a button to send a text message. I see a button for music. I see a button that looks like a cross between a television and a stove.
But how do I use the iPhone to, you know, phone someone?
I'm a traditionalist. I'm used to phones where the numbers I press are featured prominently. With my phone, for example, I flip it open...and the numbers are there.
I then use these numbers...to call people.
And here's the nifty thing: When the person on the other end answers the phone...
...we talk.
Over the phone.
Can the iPhone do this? I'm seriously asking this, because I've yet to see someone actually use the iPhone to talk to another person using spoken words.
Case in point: My friend and co-worker Rachit recently braved the long lines at his local Apple Store -- where apparently, you're waiting in two long lines: One to purchase the phone, one to activate it -- and was happily showing me everything he can do with the iPhone. He showed me how to send e-mails. Texts. Listen to tunes. Watch TV. Play games. See if the 405 Freeway was clogged. Take photos clearer than the latest cameras. Shoot video.
All well and good. But...
"How do I call someone with it?" I asked him.
And he looked at me. Just looked at me. Like a puppy pondering why there wasn't any food in his bowl at the pre-arranged feeding time. He was confused, a vacant glaze coming over his eyes.
"You don't need to call someone," he said.
Come again?
"You don't have to call with the iPhone," he continued. "It's easy to text or e-mail."
"But what if I want to talk to the person?" I asked.
"But you don't have to," he replied.
"But what if I want to?"
"Why would you want to?"
"Why? What you do mean why? Because I'm used to talking to people on the phone, that's why."
"But you don't have to talk with the iPhone."
"But what if I want to talk with the iPhone?"
"You don't have to."
"But I want to!!"
"You can text or e-mail them."
"I don't want to text or e-mail them."
"But it's faster."
"It's impersonal."
"No one talks anymore."
"We're talking now."
"But not over the phone."
"Dude...I want a phone to talk."
"Talking isn't necessary."
"BUT IT'S A PHONE!!!!"
(pause)
"You know what, Nevin? I don't think the iPhone is right for you."
Yeah.
Eventually, Rachit relented and proceeded to try to find something on his iPhone that resembled some sort of pad for which you can press numbers and hear another person on the other end.
The process took 45 seconds.
45 seconds -- not to call someone, mind you -- but to find the number pad for which to make the call.
45 seconds. To find numbers that have been in front of you since the rotary age.
And you know something? Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm behind the times. Maybe the era where we use our phones primarily to phone people has passed.
But ponder this:
If I saw a man having a heart attack, I can quickly flip my phone and dial 911 in 1.3 seconds, thus saving that man's life and earning his eternal gratitude.
If someone else saw the same man having a heart attack and had an iPhone, by the time he or she found the "9", the man would be dead.
Because last time I checked, 911 didn't accept texts or e-mails.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
nevdogg.blogspot.com now features ads.
If you click on these ads, you'll be contributing to my "Send me on a Vegas gambling junket" fund.
I can't think of a worthier cause.
(The writer of nevdogg.blogspot.com turns 29 on Aug. 6. He likes gift cards. Hint hint.)
Nevin, write a blog on how people are bringing their poodles into stores.
Nevin, write a blog on the deadliness of Mexican jalapenos.
Nevin, write a blog on my Catholic wedding.
(Note on Catholic weddings: They are long. But in the one I went to, the groom and groomsmen all wore Converse shoes. Now that's an idea Jewish weddings should steal.)
But lately, many of you have been pestering me about a certain topic. A product that has recently taken America by storm. You've read about it, seen it, maybe even own it. And, bowing to public pressure, today I write about:
The iPhone.
So here we go.
I have one fundamental problem with the iPhone:
I can't figure out how to make a phone call with it.
I mean, I look at that thing and I am lost. I see a button to check traffic. I see a button to go online. I see a button to send a text message. I see a button for music. I see a button that looks like a cross between a television and a stove.
But how do I use the iPhone to, you know, phone someone?
I'm a traditionalist. I'm used to phones where the numbers I press are featured prominently. With my phone, for example, I flip it open...and the numbers are there.
I then use these numbers...to call people.
And here's the nifty thing: When the person on the other end answers the phone...
...we talk.
Over the phone.
Can the iPhone do this? I'm seriously asking this, because I've yet to see someone actually use the iPhone to talk to another person using spoken words.
Case in point: My friend and co-worker Rachit recently braved the long lines at his local Apple Store -- where apparently, you're waiting in two long lines: One to purchase the phone, one to activate it -- and was happily showing me everything he can do with the iPhone. He showed me how to send e-mails. Texts. Listen to tunes. Watch TV. Play games. See if the 405 Freeway was clogged. Take photos clearer than the latest cameras. Shoot video.
All well and good. But...
"How do I call someone with it?" I asked him.
And he looked at me. Just looked at me. Like a puppy pondering why there wasn't any food in his bowl at the pre-arranged feeding time. He was confused, a vacant glaze coming over his eyes.
"You don't need to call someone," he said.
Come again?
"You don't have to call with the iPhone," he continued. "It's easy to text or e-mail."
"But what if I want to talk to the person?" I asked.
"But you don't have to," he replied.
"But what if I want to?"
"Why would you want to?"
"Why? What you do mean why? Because I'm used to talking to people on the phone, that's why."
"But you don't have to talk with the iPhone."
"But what if I want to talk with the iPhone?"
"You don't have to."
"But I want to!!"
"You can text or e-mail them."
"I don't want to text or e-mail them."
"But it's faster."
"It's impersonal."
"No one talks anymore."
"We're talking now."
"But not over the phone."
"Dude...I want a phone to talk."
"Talking isn't necessary."
"BUT IT'S A PHONE!!!!"
(pause)
"You know what, Nevin? I don't think the iPhone is right for you."
Yeah.
Eventually, Rachit relented and proceeded to try to find something on his iPhone that resembled some sort of pad for which you can press numbers and hear another person on the other end.
The process took 45 seconds.
45 seconds -- not to call someone, mind you -- but to find the number pad for which to make the call.
45 seconds. To find numbers that have been in front of you since the rotary age.
And you know something? Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm behind the times. Maybe the era where we use our phones primarily to phone people has passed.
But ponder this:
If I saw a man having a heart attack, I can quickly flip my phone and dial 911 in 1.3 seconds, thus saving that man's life and earning his eternal gratitude.
If someone else saw the same man having a heart attack and had an iPhone, by the time he or she found the "9", the man would be dead.
Because last time I checked, 911 didn't accept texts or e-mails.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
nevdogg.blogspot.com now features ads.
If you click on these ads, you'll be contributing to my "Send me on a Vegas gambling junket" fund.
I can't think of a worthier cause.
(The writer of nevdogg.blogspot.com turns 29 on Aug. 6. He likes gift cards. Hint hint.)
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Beach Balls, Expensive Junk Food And Urinating In A Trough -- The Dark Side of Dodger Stadium: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
If you're a baseball fan like me, there's nothing like going to Dodger Stadium. It's not just a ballpark, it's a pilgrimage that all baseball fans should make at least once. The atmosphere, the mystique, the Dodger Dogs. It's awesome.
That said, Dodger Stadium has a dark side as well. And because not everyone who reads this blog likes the Great American Pastime, let me tell you about the Dodger Stadium that lies beyond the baseball.
-----
OK, I have a confession to make: I never understood the whole beach ball thing. For those who don't know, baseball games have this tradition of someone bringing a beach ball and then hitting it among the patrons sitting throughout the stands. Inevitably, the ball either goes over the railing or gets taken away by an usher, and everyone boos.
Forgive me, but I don't get it. What is the appeal of this? It's distracting, it's annoying, and if you're one of the people who actually end up hitting the ball, it's really not that big of a thrill. It's like the latest Indiana Jones movie: A big buildup, and then the ending sucks.
While at my latest Dodger game, sitting on the top deck with the real fans (i.e., the cheapskates), I hit the beach ball twice.
The first time, I mistimed my swing and I hit someone in the head two rows behind me.
Everyone booed, including the guy I hit.
The second time, I hit it perfectly...
...and hit the same guy in the head.
The people cheered.
Including the guy I hit.
I still don't get it.
-----
Remember those Dodger Dogs I mentioned earlier? Well, be prepared to take out a second mortgage on your house if you're planning to eat more than one. The regular Dodger Dog footlongs go for $5 apiece, while the Super Dodger Dogs will run you a cool $5.75.
Hot dogs not your thing? Enjoy some nachos for $6 ($8.50 if you want meat and sour cream). Want a coke? $5 ($6 if you want a souvenir cup). Ice cold beer? $10-$12. Peanuts? $5. Ice cream or candy? $4-$6.
And here's what I love about standing in line at the concession stand at Dodger Stadium. Invariably, you see someone who spends enough money to buy two weeks worth of groceries for a family of four at Vons. On this recent trip, the guy ahead of me (who had his wife and two kids with him) spent $82 on concessions. $82!! Hot dogs, nachos, licorice, beers, ice cream, soda for the kids, and -- sure, why not -- a churro.
And it wasn't like this was early in the game. It was the bottom of the sixth. Jesus, the game was going to be over in 45 minutes. You mean to tell me that you couldn't wait to drink the frosty Coors Light in your fridge? You mean to say that the spoiled brats you call son and daughter couldn't wait an hour and a half to eat Oscar Meyer wieners from your freezer? You mean to imply that your wife wasn't willing to just stop at Baskin Robbins on the way home?
$82.
Hope you enjoyed that churro.
-----
You know how pigs eat in troughs? That's how men pee at Dodger Stadium. Seriously. In the men's bathroom, you don't relieve yourself in a urinal. Instead, you do so in a long steel structure that goes from one end of the bathroom to the other. The men stand next to each other, trying desperately not to brush their shoulders against the guys standing on either side of them. It's like being a part of a chain gang.
And inevitably, the guy you end up standing next to is drunk, swaying slightly after drinking $60 worth of alcohol. And you end finding yourself a part of the following verbal exchange:
Drunk Guy: Who you with?
Nev: (wearing a Dodger shirt) Uh...the Dodgers?
Drunk Guy: YEAH!!!!
Then the drunk guy stammers toward the sink, stops in the middle of the bathroom, screams YEAH!!!! again, washes his hands, doesn't use any paper towels, and says YOU KNOW IT!!!! as he walks out.
When he gets back to his seat, he probably blows up a beach ball.
That's my guess.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
It's official: My newest blog -- http://www.projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com/ -- has been embraced by the gays!!
The Nevdogg.
Gays.
Together, no sexual preference is safe.
-----
That's right: The Nevdogg can now be found in podcast form!! I -- along with New York City voice actor and producer Michael Feldman -- have taken my blog...and essentially started talking about it. :-) It's Things That Matter With Mike And Nev. Check it out at http://www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com/
Do you like Project Runway? Then you're going to hate this blog. It's Project Run(A)way, the first ever hater blog of a TV show. Check it out at http://www.projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There's a high standard in today's fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There's a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.elusivecowgirl.com/
Stephanie Friedberg. She’s a writer, she writes a blog about the art of writing, and she’s one of the few women on Earth who understand Major League Baseball’s "infield shift" concept. Read what she has to say at http://www.thewaterglass.blogspot.com/
Prince Gomolvilas: He's gay, he's Asian, he's a playright and he has a cat named Pork Chop that weighs 19.8 pounds. What more need be said? Get his perspective at http://www.bamboonation.blogspot.com/
That said, Dodger Stadium has a dark side as well. And because not everyone who reads this blog likes the Great American Pastime, let me tell you about the Dodger Stadium that lies beyond the baseball.
-----
OK, I have a confession to make: I never understood the whole beach ball thing. For those who don't know, baseball games have this tradition of someone bringing a beach ball and then hitting it among the patrons sitting throughout the stands. Inevitably, the ball either goes over the railing or gets taken away by an usher, and everyone boos.
Forgive me, but I don't get it. What is the appeal of this? It's distracting, it's annoying, and if you're one of the people who actually end up hitting the ball, it's really not that big of a thrill. It's like the latest Indiana Jones movie: A big buildup, and then the ending sucks.
While at my latest Dodger game, sitting on the top deck with the real fans (i.e., the cheapskates), I hit the beach ball twice.
The first time, I mistimed my swing and I hit someone in the head two rows behind me.
Everyone booed, including the guy I hit.
The second time, I hit it perfectly...
...and hit the same guy in the head.
The people cheered.
Including the guy I hit.
I still don't get it.
-----
Remember those Dodger Dogs I mentioned earlier? Well, be prepared to take out a second mortgage on your house if you're planning to eat more than one. The regular Dodger Dog footlongs go for $5 apiece, while the Super Dodger Dogs will run you a cool $5.75.
Hot dogs not your thing? Enjoy some nachos for $6 ($8.50 if you want meat and sour cream). Want a coke? $5 ($6 if you want a souvenir cup). Ice cold beer? $10-$12. Peanuts? $5. Ice cream or candy? $4-$6.
And here's what I love about standing in line at the concession stand at Dodger Stadium. Invariably, you see someone who spends enough money to buy two weeks worth of groceries for a family of four at Vons. On this recent trip, the guy ahead of me (who had his wife and two kids with him) spent $82 on concessions. $82!! Hot dogs, nachos, licorice, beers, ice cream, soda for the kids, and -- sure, why not -- a churro.
And it wasn't like this was early in the game. It was the bottom of the sixth. Jesus, the game was going to be over in 45 minutes. You mean to tell me that you couldn't wait to drink the frosty Coors Light in your fridge? You mean to say that the spoiled brats you call son and daughter couldn't wait an hour and a half to eat Oscar Meyer wieners from your freezer? You mean to imply that your wife wasn't willing to just stop at Baskin Robbins on the way home?
$82.
Hope you enjoyed that churro.
-----
You know how pigs eat in troughs? That's how men pee at Dodger Stadium. Seriously. In the men's bathroom, you don't relieve yourself in a urinal. Instead, you do so in a long steel structure that goes from one end of the bathroom to the other. The men stand next to each other, trying desperately not to brush their shoulders against the guys standing on either side of them. It's like being a part of a chain gang.
And inevitably, the guy you end up standing next to is drunk, swaying slightly after drinking $60 worth of alcohol. And you end finding yourself a part of the following verbal exchange:
Drunk Guy: Who you with?
Nev: (wearing a Dodger shirt) Uh...the Dodgers?
Drunk Guy: YEAH!!!!
Then the drunk guy stammers toward the sink, stops in the middle of the bathroom, screams YEAH!!!! again, washes his hands, doesn't use any paper towels, and says YOU KNOW IT!!!! as he walks out.
When he gets back to his seat, he probably blows up a beach ball.
That's my guess.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
It's official: My newest blog -- http://www.projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com/ -- has been embraced by the gays!!
The Nevdogg.
Gays.
Together, no sexual preference is safe.
-----
That's right: The Nevdogg can now be found in podcast form!! I -- along with New York City voice actor and producer Michael Feldman -- have taken my blog...and essentially started talking about it. :-) It's Things That Matter With Mike And Nev. Check it out at http://www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com/
Do you like Project Runway? Then you're going to hate this blog. It's Project Run(A)way, the first ever hater blog of a TV show. Check it out at http://www.projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There's a high standard in today's fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There's a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.elusivecowgirl.com/
Stephanie Friedberg. She’s a writer, she writes a blog about the art of writing, and she’s one of the few women on Earth who understand Major League Baseball’s "infield shift" concept. Read what she has to say at http://www.thewaterglass.blogspot.com/
Prince Gomolvilas: He's gay, he's Asian, he's a playright and he has a cat named Pork Chop that weighs 19.8 pounds. What more need be said? Get his perspective at http://www.bamboonation.blogspot.com/
Friday, July 18, 2008
Launching A Blog On A Show You Hate: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
Don't forget to also check out my podcast entitled Things That Matter With Mike And Nev. Only at mikeandnev.blogspot.com/)
Nevdogg Note: I hate Project Runway. It's a boring-%*%*$$& show. I don't get how watching people cut fabric has turned into a cultural phenomenon. And then it occurred to me: Why not blog about it? I mean, tons of people blog about shows they like. Why not one on a show you hate?
Imagine the possibilities.
With that in mind, I launched projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com. Every week, I will keep a running diary of the episode and give you my thoughts as to why I'm punishing myself by watching this trash.
If you're a fan of show, or know fans of the show, or would rather read my recap of the show than watch the show...
(trust me: you're better off choosing option 3)
...it's a blog you can't afford not to read.
Below is the first entry to this blog, which was written prior to the season premiere and can also be found at projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com. Enjoy, and feel free to also check out my Episode 1 recap here.
Next week, we'll return with an all new entry at nevdogg.blogspot.com!!
And the world will never be the same.
-----
Anybody can write a blog on a show they like.
That's easy. You're a fan of a show. You love a show. You refuse not only to miss an episode, but insist that you watch it when it first airs (TIVO and DVR be damned). You watch every move, nuance, flaw. Nothing escapes your eye. Then, you excitedly go onto your computer and share your thoughts with the world via your "enter your favorite show here and let me tell you what I think" blog and then proceed to read 5,000 other "enter your favorite show here and let me tell you what I think" blogs that essentially say the same thing.
If you're a fan of a show, you will involve yourself in this scenario every single week, and happily so. It's not work. It's a hobby. And you love it.
Fan blogs: It's been done the world over.
This is what I was in the process of explaining to my girlfriend, L.A. Daily News sports columnist Ramona Shelburne, recently when she suggested that I start a fan blog on a TV show I like. I'm a writer and editor and already host a blog (www.nevdogg.blogspot.com) and podcast (www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com), so this idea of me writing a fan blog wasn't a bad one. But I hesitated. What could I possibly say that hasn't been said? What approach could I possibly take that hadn't been done?
And then...
"Hey babe," I said, "when does Project Runway start?"
"Project Runway?" she replied. "I thought you hated that show."
"Exactly," I said. "It's boring, pretentious, snobbish, deals with ugly fashion and stupid hairdos, and it would be a miracle if I was able to watch an entire episode without wanting to chuck my head through the television set.
"Now that would be a blog."
And here we are.
My name is Nevin Barich. I'm from Los Angeles and grew up in California's San Fernando Valley. I enjoy chili cheeseburgers and anything wrapped in bacon. I like sports, action movies, and the only reality shows I like are Survivor, Apprentice and Hogan Knows Best. My fashion sense includes holes in my socks and shirts I still own from the seventh grade. To this day, I wear my high school gym shorts to sleep because they're roomy and I look good in them.
I've seen approximately 13 minutes of Project Runway in my lifetime and hated every second of it. Nonetheless, I am going to watch every episode this season and give you an entirely new perspective: The Hater's Perspective.
This...is Project Run(A)way.
God help us all.
(To read my running diary of the season premiere, click here.)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
My girlfriend Ramona turns 29 on Saturday. And she's not happy about it.
"Ramona," I said, "you're not getting older. You're getting wiser."
She gave me a look -- actually, more like a death stare -- and replied:
"I'm wise enough."
I kept quiet for the rest of the evening.
(Who loves www.nevdogg.blogspot.com Um...hello?)
-----
That's right: The Nevdogg can now be found in podcast form!! I -- along with New York City voice actor and producer Michael Feldman -- have taken my blog...and essentially started talking about it. :-) It's Things That Matter With Mike And Nev. Check it out at http://www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com/
Hey, guess what? I'm trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There's a high standard in today's fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There's a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.elusivecowgirl.com/
Stephanie Friedberg. She’s a writer, she writes a blog about the art of writing, and she’s one of the few women on Earth who understand Major League Baseball’s "infield shift" concept. Read what she has to say at http://www.thewaterglass.blogspot.com/
Nevdogg Note: I hate Project Runway. It's a boring-%*%*$$& show. I don't get how watching people cut fabric has turned into a cultural phenomenon. And then it occurred to me: Why not blog about it? I mean, tons of people blog about shows they like. Why not one on a show you hate?
Imagine the possibilities.
With that in mind, I launched projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com. Every week, I will keep a running diary of the episode and give you my thoughts as to why I'm punishing myself by watching this trash.
If you're a fan of show, or know fans of the show, or would rather read my recap of the show than watch the show...
(trust me: you're better off choosing option 3)
...it's a blog you can't afford not to read.
Below is the first entry to this blog, which was written prior to the season premiere and can also be found at projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com. Enjoy, and feel free to also check out my Episode 1 recap here.
Next week, we'll return with an all new entry at nevdogg.blogspot.com!!
And the world will never be the same.
-----
Anybody can write a blog on a show they like.
That's easy. You're a fan of a show. You love a show. You refuse not only to miss an episode, but insist that you watch it when it first airs (TIVO and DVR be damned). You watch every move, nuance, flaw. Nothing escapes your eye. Then, you excitedly go onto your computer and share your thoughts with the world via your "enter your favorite show here and let me tell you what I think" blog and then proceed to read 5,000 other "enter your favorite show here and let me tell you what I think" blogs that essentially say the same thing.
If you're a fan of a show, you will involve yourself in this scenario every single week, and happily so. It's not work. It's a hobby. And you love it.
Fan blogs: It's been done the world over.
This is what I was in the process of explaining to my girlfriend, L.A. Daily News sports columnist Ramona Shelburne, recently when she suggested that I start a fan blog on a TV show I like. I'm a writer and editor and already host a blog (www.nevdogg.blogspot.com) and podcast (www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com), so this idea of me writing a fan blog wasn't a bad one. But I hesitated. What could I possibly say that hasn't been said? What approach could I possibly take that hadn't been done?
And then...
"Hey babe," I said, "when does Project Runway start?"
"Project Runway?" she replied. "I thought you hated that show."
"Exactly," I said. "It's boring, pretentious, snobbish, deals with ugly fashion and stupid hairdos, and it would be a miracle if I was able to watch an entire episode without wanting to chuck my head through the television set.
"Now that would be a blog."
And here we are.
My name is Nevin Barich. I'm from Los Angeles and grew up in California's San Fernando Valley. I enjoy chili cheeseburgers and anything wrapped in bacon. I like sports, action movies, and the only reality shows I like are Survivor, Apprentice and Hogan Knows Best. My fashion sense includes holes in my socks and shirts I still own from the seventh grade. To this day, I wear my high school gym shorts to sleep because they're roomy and I look good in them.
I've seen approximately 13 minutes of Project Runway in my lifetime and hated every second of it. Nonetheless, I am going to watch every episode this season and give you an entirely new perspective: The Hater's Perspective.
This...is Project Run(A)way.
God help us all.
(To read my running diary of the season premiere, click here.)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
My girlfriend Ramona turns 29 on Saturday. And she's not happy about it.
"Ramona," I said, "you're not getting older. You're getting wiser."
She gave me a look -- actually, more like a death stare -- and replied:
"I'm wise enough."
I kept quiet for the rest of the evening.
(Who loves www.nevdogg.blogspot.com Um...hello?)
-----
That's right: The Nevdogg can now be found in podcast form!! I -- along with New York City voice actor and producer Michael Feldman -- have taken my blog...and essentially started talking about it. :-) It's Things That Matter With Mike And Nev. Check it out at http://www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com/
Hey, guess what? I'm trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There's a high standard in today's fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There's a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.elusivecowgirl.com/
Stephanie Friedberg. She’s a writer, she writes a blog about the art of writing, and she’s one of the few women on Earth who understand Major League Baseball’s "infield shift" concept. Read what she has to say at http://www.thewaterglass.blogspot.com/
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Someone Parking In My Unofficially Official Parking Space: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
(Don't forget to also check out my podcast entitled Things That Matter With Mike And Nev. Only at http://www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com/)
Someone parked in my parking space at work the other day.
Now, when I say "parking space," let me be clear. It's not my designated space. It doesn't have my name on it and there's nothing to indicate that it belongs to me. Rather, it's the space in the parking garage at my work that I park in every day and, because it was always available when I arrived to work, I grew attached to it, began relying on it, and thus eventually felt like it was inherently mine.
In other words: MY PARKING SPACE!!!!!
It's a good space. Close to the exit and the elevator, well lit. Compared to other parking spaces in my life, it ranks up there with the best. Indeed, we've developed a rapport, this parking space and I.
And then, a couple days ago, I drove toward my space...
...and saw some oldsmobile parked there.
An oldsmobile!!
So, to review:
I drive a Toyota Corrolla.
An oldsmobile was parked in my space.
Remember: I drive a Corrolla.
But an oldsmobile was in the space.
Not a Corrolla.
An oldsmobile.
That means I wasn't in my space.
Which means that someone else was.
Someone else in my space.
MY SPACE!!
There are certain unwritten rules in life that you are expected to follow. When at a baseball game, don't ask how long it's going to take. When sharing a basket of fries, don't slather them with ketchup unless all parties of the fry sharing agree beforehand.
And the biggest unwritten rule of all:
Don't park in someone's unofficial parking space!! That's like hitting on your best friend's girl. It's not just insensitive, it's wrong.
And before you ask: The oldsmobile knew that was my space. People inherently know when a parking space is unofficially official to someone else. When this person parked there, he or she was aware that someone else had previously marked it for their own. Humans have a sixth sense about these things. It's in our DNA.
So that means that this person didn't care. He or she parked in the space FULLY KNOWING that someone else felt it belonged to them even though they had no official claim.
That's mean. That's just mean!!
And as a result, do you know what I had to do?
Park elsewhere.
In a different space.
It took me 30 extra seconds to get out of the garage when I left.
Plus, I felt dirty.
Like I was wearing somebody else's socks.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Admittedly, this isn't really your typical SOTS, but I just had to say something about this.
The other day, my girlfriend -- Daily News sports columnist Ramona Shelburne -- and I were working from home when she does an interview with none other than legendary former L.A. Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda. Ramona let me listen to the inteview tape afterward and Lasorda -- who was speaking about managing the U.S. Olympic baseball team to the gold medal in 2000 -- said the following:
I told these kids when I saw them: I don't know who you are. I don't know where you're from. I don't know if you're good or bad. I don't know what position you play. But I do know this: When this is all over, everyone's gonna know who you are. Because you're gonna bring home the gold. And by golly, they did.
That, sports fans, was just too freakin' cool. I was literally whistling God Bless America for the rest of the day. I kid you not.
(www.nevdogg.blogspot.com is the Olympic gold medal equivalent of blogs. By golly.
--------
That's right: The Nevdogg can now be found in podcast form!! I -- along with New York City voice actor and producer Michael Feldman -- have taken my blog...and essentially started talking about it. :-) It's Things That Matter With Mike And Nev. Check it out at http://www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com/
Hey, guess what? I'm trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There's a high standard in today's fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There's a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.elusivecowgirl.com/
Stephanie Friedberg. She’s a writer, she writes a blog about the art of writing, and she’s one of the few women on Earth who understand Major League Baseball’s "infield shift" concept. Read what she has to say at http://www.thewaterglass.blogspot.com/
Someone parked in my parking space at work the other day.
Now, when I say "parking space," let me be clear. It's not my designated space. It doesn't have my name on it and there's nothing to indicate that it belongs to me. Rather, it's the space in the parking garage at my work that I park in every day and, because it was always available when I arrived to work, I grew attached to it, began relying on it, and thus eventually felt like it was inherently mine.
In other words: MY PARKING SPACE!!!!!
It's a good space. Close to the exit and the elevator, well lit. Compared to other parking spaces in my life, it ranks up there with the best. Indeed, we've developed a rapport, this parking space and I.
And then, a couple days ago, I drove toward my space...
...and saw some oldsmobile parked there.
An oldsmobile!!
So, to review:
I drive a Toyota Corrolla.
An oldsmobile was parked in my space.
Remember: I drive a Corrolla.
But an oldsmobile was in the space.
Not a Corrolla.
An oldsmobile.
That means I wasn't in my space.
Which means that someone else was.
Someone else in my space.
MY SPACE!!
There are certain unwritten rules in life that you are expected to follow. When at a baseball game, don't ask how long it's going to take. When sharing a basket of fries, don't slather them with ketchup unless all parties of the fry sharing agree beforehand.
And the biggest unwritten rule of all:
Don't park in someone's unofficial parking space!! That's like hitting on your best friend's girl. It's not just insensitive, it's wrong.
And before you ask: The oldsmobile knew that was my space. People inherently know when a parking space is unofficially official to someone else. When this person parked there, he or she was aware that someone else had previously marked it for their own. Humans have a sixth sense about these things. It's in our DNA.
So that means that this person didn't care. He or she parked in the space FULLY KNOWING that someone else felt it belonged to them even though they had no official claim.
That's mean. That's just mean!!
And as a result, do you know what I had to do?
Park elsewhere.
In a different space.
It took me 30 extra seconds to get out of the garage when I left.
Plus, I felt dirty.
Like I was wearing somebody else's socks.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Admittedly, this isn't really your typical SOTS, but I just had to say something about this.
The other day, my girlfriend -- Daily News sports columnist Ramona Shelburne -- and I were working from home when she does an interview with none other than legendary former L.A. Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda. Ramona let me listen to the inteview tape afterward and Lasorda -- who was speaking about managing the U.S. Olympic baseball team to the gold medal in 2000 -- said the following:
I told these kids when I saw them: I don't know who you are. I don't know where you're from. I don't know if you're good or bad. I don't know what position you play. But I do know this: When this is all over, everyone's gonna know who you are. Because you're gonna bring home the gold. And by golly, they did.
That, sports fans, was just too freakin' cool. I was literally whistling God Bless America for the rest of the day. I kid you not.
(www.nevdogg.blogspot.com is the Olympic gold medal equivalent of blogs. By golly.
--------
That's right: The Nevdogg can now be found in podcast form!! I -- along with New York City voice actor and producer Michael Feldman -- have taken my blog...and essentially started talking about it. :-) It's Things That Matter With Mike And Nev. Check it out at http://www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com/
Hey, guess what? I'm trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There's a high standard in today's fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There's a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.elusivecowgirl.com/
Stephanie Friedberg. She’s a writer, she writes a blog about the art of writing, and she’s one of the few women on Earth who understand Major League Baseball’s "infield shift" concept. Read what she has to say at http://www.thewaterglass.blogspot.com/
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Debating Whether We Would Be Better Off Being Ruled By The British: A Nevin Barich Independence Day Weekend Blog Special
(Don't forget to also check out my podcast entitled Things That Matter With Mike And Nev. Only at http://www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com/)
A few days ago, I was watching The Patriot -- starring Mel Gibson, who for the remainder of this blog will be referred to as Jew Hating Mel, and Heath Ledger, who for the remainder of this blog will be referred to as Mulch. In this movie, Jew Hating Mel and his oldest son Mulch help lead the United States militia to victory over the British during the Revolutionary War. Although Mulch eventually dies, much like real life, the efforts of him and JHM help the U.S. gain their independence from the tyranny of England.
And thus a nation is born.
But as we celebrate this Fourth of July holiday weekend, I can't help but wonder: What if Jew Hating Mel and his mulch of a son had failed? What if the British had managed to overcome the American rebellion? Would we have been better off remaining under English rule.
I say yes.
Here are three reasons why:
Taxes. We started a war against the British because of taxes. Yet here we are, 232 years later, and guess what? We're still paying ridiculous taxes!! What, I ask you, was the point? It's obvious to me that JHM and Mulch risked their lives for nothing. We paid crazy taxes before the war and we're paying crazy taxes now.
We might as well have let the British have their way with us.
At least we'd have universal health care.
Manufacturing. My car is a Toyota. Toyotas are Japanese. Why do I drive a Japanese car? Because American products suck. Whether it's cars, clothes, homes, canned goods, paper products or electronics, everything we make is flawed, flimsy and needlessly complicated.
We won our freedom to build a new world. And because we did such a bad job, we're forced to fill it with foreign products.
We make a hell of a Big Mac, though.
Give us that.
National anthems. The British national anthem is just plain cool. It lasts approximately seven seconds -- so it's easy to remember -- and everyone always gets really into it at soccer and boxing matches. Plus, awesome people like my good friend Tom Jones sing it at sporting events on a regular basis.
The Star Spangled Banner, meanwhile, is idiotic. First, it makes no sense. Second, it has the word "bombs" in it (that's just stupid). And third, everyone sings it differently. Why does every American that sings the song feel they have to put their own little spin on it? Isn't it enough that you're singing a sacred song? Why can't there be any unity in this country? We can't agree on how to sing songs, we have different opinions on how to solve the gas crisis, and we're wildly divided on processed vs. organic foods.
And speaking of unity, why is it that sometimes America The Beautiful gets sung instead of The Star Spangled Banner? Why do we mix and match our anthems? What are they, socks? You can't just switch out one anthem for the other whenever you feel like it. You can't give away an anthem if you don't like it. It's not a dog.
And speaking of dogs:
English bulldogs.
Score another point for the Brits.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
I was a block away from home tonight when I saw hookers walking across the street.
Hookers.
In Northridge.
The Valley.
Suburbs.
Well ... score one for the government's economic stimulus package.
(This latest edition of nevdogg.blogspot.com was written with the movie Van Wilder 2 in the background. Just thought I'd point that out.)
--------
That's right: The Nevdogg can now be found in podcast form!! I -- along with New York City voice actor and producer Michael Feldman -- have taken my blog...and essentially started talking about it. :-) It's Things That Matter With Mike And Nev. Check it out at http://www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com/
Hey, guess what? I'm trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There's a high standard in today's fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There's a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.elusivecowgirl.com/
Stephanie Friedberg. She’s a writer, she writes a blog about the art of writing, and she’s one of the few women on Earth who understand Major League Baseball’s "infield shift" concept. Read what she has to say at http://www.thewaterglass.blogspot.com/
A few days ago, I was watching The Patriot -- starring Mel Gibson, who for the remainder of this blog will be referred to as Jew Hating Mel, and Heath Ledger, who for the remainder of this blog will be referred to as Mulch. In this movie, Jew Hating Mel and his oldest son Mulch help lead the United States militia to victory over the British during the Revolutionary War. Although Mulch eventually dies, much like real life, the efforts of him and JHM help the U.S. gain their independence from the tyranny of England.
And thus a nation is born.
But as we celebrate this Fourth of July holiday weekend, I can't help but wonder: What if Jew Hating Mel and his mulch of a son had failed? What if the British had managed to overcome the American rebellion? Would we have been better off remaining under English rule.
I say yes.
Here are three reasons why:
Taxes. We started a war against the British because of taxes. Yet here we are, 232 years later, and guess what? We're still paying ridiculous taxes!! What, I ask you, was the point? It's obvious to me that JHM and Mulch risked their lives for nothing. We paid crazy taxes before the war and we're paying crazy taxes now.
We might as well have let the British have their way with us.
At least we'd have universal health care.
Manufacturing. My car is a Toyota. Toyotas are Japanese. Why do I drive a Japanese car? Because American products suck. Whether it's cars, clothes, homes, canned goods, paper products or electronics, everything we make is flawed, flimsy and needlessly complicated.
We won our freedom to build a new world. And because we did such a bad job, we're forced to fill it with foreign products.
We make a hell of a Big Mac, though.
Give us that.
National anthems. The British national anthem is just plain cool. It lasts approximately seven seconds -- so it's easy to remember -- and everyone always gets really into it at soccer and boxing matches. Plus, awesome people like my good friend Tom Jones sing it at sporting events on a regular basis.
The Star Spangled Banner, meanwhile, is idiotic. First, it makes no sense. Second, it has the word "bombs" in it (that's just stupid). And third, everyone sings it differently. Why does every American that sings the song feel they have to put their own little spin on it? Isn't it enough that you're singing a sacred song? Why can't there be any unity in this country? We can't agree on how to sing songs, we have different opinions on how to solve the gas crisis, and we're wildly divided on processed vs. organic foods.
And speaking of unity, why is it that sometimes America The Beautiful gets sung instead of The Star Spangled Banner? Why do we mix and match our anthems? What are they, socks? You can't just switch out one anthem for the other whenever you feel like it. You can't give away an anthem if you don't like it. It's not a dog.
And speaking of dogs:
English bulldogs.
Score another point for the Brits.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
I was a block away from home tonight when I saw hookers walking across the street.
Hookers.
In Northridge.
The Valley.
Suburbs.
Well ... score one for the government's economic stimulus package.
(This latest edition of nevdogg.blogspot.com was written with the movie Van Wilder 2 in the background. Just thought I'd point that out.)
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That's right: The Nevdogg can now be found in podcast form!! I -- along with New York City voice actor and producer Michael Feldman -- have taken my blog...and essentially started talking about it. :-) It's Things That Matter With Mike And Nev. Check it out at http://www.mikeandnev.blogspot.com/
Hey, guess what? I'm trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There's a high standard in today's fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There's a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.elusivecowgirl.com/
Stephanie Friedberg. She’s a writer, she writes a blog about the art of writing, and she’s one of the few women on Earth who understand Major League Baseball’s "infield shift" concept. Read what she has to say at http://www.thewaterglass.blogspot.com/
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