All Over The Place

I still stand by my claim, that nothing really surprises me anymore. But that doesn’t mean I’m immune to being floored. This past weekend I was called, “daddy,” and in the most G-rated way possible. I had thought about the possibility of my soon to be step-daughter using that word on me, but I didn’t really think it would happen. It’s the most flattering, yet terrifying word she could utter. And I never took to the time to Google how I should handle the situation. Truth be told, I kinda wish I could be “daddy” but, she has a father and it’s his right to be the only dad in her life and I have zero interest in getting between them or doing anything to undermine their relationship. I’m not sure how to make her understand this, and I pride myself on being able to talk to kids, but maybe that’s just because I can look them in the eye without bending down.

***

I very much dislike the feeling of sitting on a cold toilet. I’m sure there have been some studies that have concluded the shock to one’s body from sitting on a cold toilet seat is on par with brain freeze. But to sit on a warm toilet seat has to be one of the most disgusting things a human can legally be put through.

***

The on going debate in our home has been; which is the correct way to stir. The lady stirs clockwise, citing the earth’s rotation and professional mixers as evidence that her way is correct. Other evidence introduced is the fact that her mother and grandmother also subscribe to the clockwise motion. Now I stir counter-clockwise, also known as the “correct way.” It just makes more sense. How do you draw a circle or write the letter “O”? You use the counter-clockwise motion of course, unless you’re left-handed, but then you don’t really count as a person anyway. You just pull the spoon, or whatever utensil you may be using, towards your body. It’s more economical, and although I have no proof, I’m sure it’s also more effective. So powers at be, I ask you, please offer a grant so that some University can research this matter and officially back me up on this.

***

Now I’ve been working the same job for a little over a year now. And when people ask me what I do, I’m able to give them my title “Program/Project Manager” and a broad explanation of what it is that I do here. It isn’t that I don’t want to get into it. No, I really don’t know. It’s starting to bother me, and I’m getting more and more stressed by this fact. It won’t be long till I actually do something about it, like you know, try and learn my job. But if they’re gonna find out and fire me, I just hope it’s after the wedding. You can’t fire someone whose planning a wedding, can you? That’s one tier below firing a pregnant woman.

***

Speaking of work, I was recently assigned a new project. So I was starting to stress about it, so much in fact that I didn’t sleep well. So poorly in fact, that I woke up at 4am. So awake in fact, that I drove my ass to work at 5:30 so I could start working on the project. It actually went better than I expected. And I really don’t hate going in that early, it’s a lot easier for me to go in early than it is to stay late. I spend the entire day with one eye on the clock, waiting for the time where I improperly shut off my laptop, grab my shit and head for the door. Just so I can get home and hit the couch, but I move like I have a real purpose. So needless to say, last night I was tired as hell. And that’s a dangerous cycle to mess around with. I really don’t want to start coming to work at 5:30. Leaving the house at 6:45, as I normally do, is early enough.

***

So I was reading a story about this little girl in Texas. Her body was found, and for months they didn’t know who she was. Well they found out who did it and arrested her mother and father, if that isn’t losing a couple of terms loosely then I don’t know what is. Anyway, this won’t sound right but stay with me. It isn’t that I can accept when a parent snaps, and does something awful and it results in the death of their child, but I can somewhat understand it. Something snapped, they obviously weren’t equipped to handle having a child and they fucked up and did something horrible. I can understand that to some extent, but to torture a kid like these sick fucks did? It’s beyond twisted. On the totem pole of pieces of shit, the parent that snaps and kills their child is at the bottom. But parents like these? They deserve their very own totem pole. Even though I don’t believe in it, I hope there is a hell, just so they can go there.

Case of the Mondays

Whoever designed the packaging for children’s toys needs to be tied down, and have their toenails ripped out one by one while listening to Billy Ray Cyrus’ Greatest Hits. This weekend was my first stab at hosting a birthday party for a kid. Kids literally salivate at opening a new toy, and these sadistic bastards make it a 30 minute process which leaves little pieces of box, ties and tape scattered throughout your home for you to find over the next 4-5 months.

Used to be my trick too, I used to give my nieces, nephews and my friends kids gifts with tons of little pieces. It was hysterical to me, now it’s not funny. Sure I had it coming, but wait till I get your 10 year-old a subscription to Playboy. Or share with them the secrets of sneaking out. Let’s see how you like it when I let your kids listen to my entire Tupac catalog. Wonda why they call ya bitch, great song for a 7 year old to learn. It’s an evil game, and I never should have done it. But that was my gig, try and make me pay for it, and I’ll spend my life one upping you. I have that kind of time. As long as my wife says I do.

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Saw American Gangster over the weekend. Quality flick, fell a little short of meeting my expectations, but worth seeing and owning. Denzel should shelve the good guy and Detective roles for a while; he really plays a great bad guy. Josh Brolin, in a role that seemed tailor made for Ray Liotta, did some scene stealing. I don’t think I’ve liked him since Goonies.

Childs Play

As a kid, I was never a huge fan of animated movies. I loved my Saturday Morning Cartoons, but the typical Disney movies didn’t interest me. Not until I took my niece and nephew to their first movie, The Lion King. That movie kicked ass. Since then, while I haven’t made an effort to see all the kid movies, I’ve seen most of the big ones. And they have been some of the most creative and entertaining movies of the past 15 years.

So yesterday I went with the wife-to-be, the kid and some friends to see Bee Movie, for which I was really looking forward to seeing. And it didn’t disappoint. It’s great to see Jerry Seinfeld doing something again, and he’s a genius for taking so long after his show went off the air to get back in the spotlight. And even a greater genius for taking this route. He knows and we know, he’s no great actor. So he didn’t try to reinvent the wheel with this, he just tried to entertain us and the kids.

And the cast is nothing short of impressive. Matthew Broderick, Renee Zellwegger, Chris Rock, Larry Miller, John Goodman, Oprah (I didn’t realize it till I imdb’d it) Megan Mullally, Rip Torn, Michael Richards (which makes it almost like career rehab) Larry King, Sting and Ray Liotta (three of the more interesting cameos you’ll see). I can’t skip the animation staple, Patrick Warburton, formerly known as Puddy from “Seinfeld.” This guy has been in almost every kids movie and show your kid has seen. You know the voice; you heard it in The Emperor’s New Groove, “Buzz Lightyear of Star Command”, Kim Possible, “The Tick,” Chicken Little and now you see him in the very under-rated “Rules of Engagement.”

So check it out, and also rent Surf’s Up. Yeah, I don’t see myself growing up anytime soon. I think being of the stature that I am, helps me get away with being a 30 year old kid.

The movie wasn’t the extent of my child like weekend. There was the birthday party, of which most of my readers were also in attendance. This place, My Gym, fantastic. Never mind the kids, I want to go run around and play. It was like “American Gladiators” out there, complete with a round of joust. This should be available to adults; it’d be a great “Team building activity” and an even better way to whoop your bosses’ ass without getting canned.

For a while, I made a real effort to kind of watch my language on here. But now that more and more of my posts deal with family related activities, I feel compelled to drop a few “fucks” or “shits” from time to time, its hard to maintain one’s edge when talking about weddings, animation and birthday parties. However, it’s pretty easy to say “fuck” when a kid is being a world class shit.

Ten Commandments

Police in Italy recently found the Mafia’s Ten Commandments, which of course I am obligated to post here.

First, the preamble:
“I swear to be faithful to Cosa Nostra. Should I betray, my flesh will burn.”

And now the 10 Commandments, never mind those 10 found atop a mountain:

1. No one can present himself directly to another of our friends. There must be a third person to do it.

2. Never look at the wives of friends

3. Never be seen with cops.

4. Don’t go to pubs and clubs

5. Always being available for Cosa Nostra is a duty – even if your wife’s about to give birth.

6. Appointments must absolutely be respected.

7. Wives must be treated with respect.

8. When asked for any information, the answer must be the truth.

9. Money can not be appropriated if it belongs to others or to other families.

10. People can’t be part of Cosa Nostra
• Anyone who has a close relative in the police
• Anyone with a two-timing relative in the family
• Anyone who behaves badly and doesn’t hold to moral values

The Good Ol' Days

I Care

So there was recently a story on ABC News that I viewed on yahoo, about the quality of eyewear you find at the large chains. Well, the story didn’t exactly make any exec’s very happy, and it probably didn’t make most customers very comfortable either. Well let me assure you, it was completely true. I made glasses for over 7 years, and I was responsible for more than a few pair of shitty glasses. A lot of the blame goes on me, but you get what you pay for. Not the customer, you paid out your ass in most cases, unless you knew me. But the company, they pay nothing and treat their employees like crap.

Here’s the situation, at one of the larger chains. You work in an environment where time is the motivator. The sales team promises customers eyewear the same day, even with in an hour. And if the lab fails to make them in that time, or fails a pair and needs to remake them, they are penalized financially as well as professionally. So passing an iffy pair of glasses pays better than putting an emphasis on quality. Add into the mix the fact that you’re not working with the best machines, you’re not given the time or means to adequately train nor allowed to properly staff the lab and you get what you pay for. Never mind that they are marking up the frames and lenses as much as 300% at even the cheapest stores, the lab guys only see money if their glasses are done on time and without having to fail a pair and start over.

So really, I’d suggest you take your glasses in and have them checked again. This doesn’t go for the friends I made glasses for, those standards were much higher than the company standards. But if you’re going in for a pair in the near future, I have a couple of suggestions:

• Don’t go in right before closing time. If you hit a restaurant right before the kitchen closes, do you think your meal isn’t rushed? Anyone that has been on their feet for 8 hours wants to get out of work as fast as possible.

• Go to more of a boutique, such as Romanelli Optix, which is a proud sponsor of FromTheHirp.com. Smaller boutiques take more time, and put more of an emphasis on quality. They simply can’t afford to treat customers like cattle. I send my own family and friends there now, and not just because the owners are friends. I know what goes on at the stores in the mall.

• Think of it like this, they are basically a pharmacy for your eyes. Do you feel more comfortable going to a pharmacist where you see 18 year old kids behind the counter, or well seasoned professionals who aren’t smoking weed or lighting small fires in the back of the store? True stories, and I might have taken part in the latter story. Maybe, I might have, once or twice…

November Rant, Part I

• At what point will Christmas become a year round annoyance? I saw “holiday” decorations in various retail establishments before Halloween. Are we thinking 2011, or sooner?

• I never dress up for Halloween, but that doesn’t keep me from coming up with ideas for a costume if I ever were to do so. My all-time favorite has been “Jew-Pac,” even though I googled it once and found someone else had come up with the same idea. Asshole. But my idea for this year, is regional as well as original. I’d walk around with a golden parachute and a bag of money, about $55 million. That’s right, I’d be Gary Forsee. Wonder how that would have gone over at our office costume contest. Would I win, or get fired?


• Worst apology of the week: “My sincerest, heartfelt apologies go out to every person I have offended for my regrettable use of very inappropriate language. I am deeply disappointed in myself for speaking out of anger to my son and using such a hateful term in a private phone conversation." He was on the right track, although he was full of shit, till he had to mention that it was a private phone conversation. Just a little something to make us feel bad for ease dropping? This is the guy who makes his money invading peoples homes, he’s a sensitive bitc-er..dog. Wonder how much help he’ll get from the community now, when he’s trying to catch a con. Best of all, he even said he didn’t want it coming out to the Enquirer that he was using such language and have that cost him his career. Oh the irony. And hey, get a friggin’ haircut, ass wipe.

Chapman: Don't care if she's a Mexican, a whore, whatever. It's not 'cause she's black. It's because we use the word "n_____" sometimes here. I'm not going to take a chance ever in life by losing everything I've worked for for 30 years for some f____ n_____ heard us say "n_____" and turned us in to the Enquirer magazine -- our career is over. I'm not taking that chance at all, never in life, never. Never. ... If Lyssa was dating a n_____, we would all say f___ you. And you know that. If Lyssa brought a black guy home ... It's not that they're black. It's none of that. It's that we use the word "n____." We don't mean "you f___ scum n_____ without a soul." We don't mean that s___, but America would think we're meaning that. And we're not taking a chance and losing everything we've got over a racial slur. Because our son goes with a girl like that, I can't do that, Tucker, you can't expect Garry, Bonnie, Cecily, all them young kids ... 'cause I'm in love for seven months, I ... f___ that. ... So I'll help you get another job, but you cannot work here unless you break up with her and she's out of your life. I can't handle that s___. I've got 'em in the parking lot trying to record us. I've got that girl saying she's going to wear a recorder. ...

The phrase, “never say never,” comes to mind.

I'm Trying Here...

I ache, and this isn’t the start of my career as a trashy romance author. I’ve spent the last give days in little boxes hell. There’s been packing, unpacking, lifting and moving. Finally getting settled into the new digs, and it’s looking pretty great. There’s going to be an adjustment period, after all, I lived on the Plaza for about five years. Now I’m back in the ‘burbs. But it’s all good.

Hopefully I can get back to posting on a regular basis. I haven’t seen a movie in ages, so this weekend you can bet your ass I’m seeing American Gangster. I just hope they haven’t raised the prices since my last flick. And there’s a lot of movies out now and coming out that I want to see. Martian Child, Bee Movie, Michael Clayton, Gone Baby Gone, We Own The Night, Fred Claus, and Dan In Real Life. I might need to play hooky and spend a day at the movies. In fact, I think I’m getting the flu right now. Cough, cough.

Now the focus turns to planning a wedding. Should be a trip

Lame post, I know. But I can’t stop singing “Little Boxes” to myself long enough to form any ideas.

Hirpancé

I haven’t posted in what seems like a month or so, sorry ‘bout that. I’ve been a tad bit busy, getting ready to move and all. Not just once, no, I can’t do anything that simple. First we’re moving my girlfriends place, and then the following week we’ll work on moving my stuff. And in the end, we’ll have our stuff. So yeah, I should warn you now. This post is going to have a lot of comments like that; the things that make you throw up just a little bit in your mouth. The type of comments that sound real cheesy, only they are completely sincere. You’ve been warned, and I don’t want to hear about it later.

This is going to be list of things I’ve noticed since getting engaged. As I said, I don’t want to hear about it.

• I still hate the word “fiancé” but sometimes it really just makes things easier. I came home the other day, this “home” technically being her place, and the buyer was there to do the inspection. They were in the basement, so I just wanted to let them know I was there so they wouldn’t freak out if they saw me on the couch. I said yadda yadda yadda, “this is my girlfriends place.” And I stumbled for a second, more than usual even, because I considered saying fiancé instead. It just sounded more formal and appropriate. Instead I sounded like a doofus leaching off of his girlfriend. And I’m a doofus for countless reasons, but not that.

• There’s really nothing cooler than catching a newly engaged woman constantly looking down at her finger and smiling. The fact she’s engaged to you is what really makes it amazing.

• I was used to being single, and content with it. Only having to think about myself was easy. Owning a home made more sense in the long run, but being single I didn’t really care. The easier way sounded better. Owning a home meant yard work, taxes, responsibility for every little thing and mainly it meant being an adult. I want a home now. I think about a backyard, room for toys, sleepovers and Saturday morning cartoons.

• I even want to start balancing my checkbook, something I haven’t done since Clintons first term. And I will, just as soon as we get a joint account. It’s too late at this point to even try with mine.

• I wasn’t a rat pack, but I collected things. Having all my CD’s, DVD’s and even VHS movies has always been important to me. Getting rid of any of them sounded like a horrible idea. Well, I just tossed the VHS tapes I had purchased DVD’s for and gave up on the idea that I needed to keep them. I sold some CD’s I haven’t listened to since the late 90s and decided if I ever wanted them back for the one or two songs I still like on each, I can just download them. Legally of course.

• I’m about to break some guy code here, but oh well. Going into my last poker game, I was expected to catch a fire storm of shit from the guys. God knows I’ve dished it out over the past three years with an uncountable amount of jokes about kids and marriage. But I pretty much only received was congratulations, and one guy telling me I should have talked to him before so he could talk me out of it. I don’t even know who he was. I even had the 5 year old daughter of our host come up and tap me on the arm and with a big toothless smile say, “congratulations!” Poker night isn’t supposed to have cute moments like that, but it did and it was the first thing I talked about after the game when I got home. Chicks love that shit, but so do we, only we just won’t admit it.

• Another thing about poker night. The drive home after a poor night at the table was always horrible. Reliving every mistake over and over lead to a sleep deprived night. Now there’s something to look forward to when I get home.

• Even my blog has changed. I swear I’m still the same cynical grumpy bastard deep down inside, still the same ol’ Hirp. I’m even looking forward to really getting into the planning of the wedding, because my fingers salivate at the promise of dealing with incompetent and moronic people in an industry I know nothing about.

It's a Girl!

No, the title doesn't mean what you think it means. You have to keep reading.

Needless to say (another stupid phrase, if it’s needless to say then why am I saying it and why do you want to read it?) the past few days have been pretty amazing. I don’t know that I’ve ever been this excited. Not just about getting married, but finally being able to live together. We’ve wanted to live together for a while now, but there were some issues with a third party that prevented that from happening. The third party being an ex-husband. Part of me would really love to rant here about everything that took place, but I’m taking the high road and there aren’t rest stops or exits on this road.

So we’re finally going to live together. Mesh my stuff and her stuff, and make it our stuff. It’s gonna be a blast. I’m a guy that actually likes figuring out how to lay out a home, where to put the furniture and more importantly, stereo equipment and video game consoles. Basically, all the things that constitute making a life together are exactly what I’m looking forward to. Even the jokes about my balls, being in a jar or some how no longer belonging to me, that I’ll undoubtedly hear at the next poker game. And let’s be honest, I’ve earned every one of those jokes because I’ve been making them for years.

But Coco, aka Shixa, brings something else to the table, something that is slightly more than a decoration or piece of property we will find a place for. She has a little girl, who I mentioned was such a big help in the Belgium waffle adventure. So for all intensive purporses, I’m basically going to be a dad. Not really a dad, but sorta. She has a father, and I’m not here to push him out of the picture, to replace him, to one up him or steal his thunder. He’s daddy. I’m Greggy, aka G, and that’s all I want to be. I learned a lot when my brother-in-law passed away, and no matter what, you can’t replace someone’s father. Good dads, bad dads, over-bearing pops, or wrapped around a littler finger. It doesn’t matter, there’s one dad. All I can do, and all I want to do is be a friend and hopefully a positive role model. That probably requires I say “fuck” a little less frequently. Shit. Do I hide my Tupac CDs? Do I have to give away Grand Theft Auto? Do I need a belt clip for my cell phone? When is the appropriate time to teach her how to play poker? I think I might be sick.

But we were talking last night, as we watched “Two And a Half Men,” and Jake was fielding calls from some girl. I asked her how kids did that these days, how do t hey get go through the agony of calling someone for the first time and having to deal with a parent that answers the phone, in a day and age where so many house holds don’t have a home phone. So we briefly talked about what age would be right to get her daughter her first cell phone.

Now, call me old fashion, but I can’t picture giving her one before she’s 16. It’s probably not old fashion, I’m sure it has to do with the fact that I couldn’t have a pager at 14, and if I couldn’t then she shouldn’t have the equivalent. That’s mature huh? But then it went from talking about cell phones, to wondering when boys would start calling and she’d start dating. I’m looking forward to that less than I’m looking forward to my next dentist appointment. And I can put off a dentist appointment like a procrastinating champion.

This is a great kid I’m talking and worrying about. She’s funny, sweet, super smart and ornery as hell. Boys are going to be interested, and I want them to be. I hope her generation has such good taste; I just don’t want her to be interested. She should spend her time reading, studying, learning karate, cheering for the Mets, making money in after school card games so she can pay for school when she goes to KU and sees them finally win a National Championship. Then she can become the General Manager for the Mets and get me a World Series Title. No pressure though. Or she can do whatever she wants, just as long as she waits to date. Nothing unreasonable, same deal I made with my nieces. No boys until she’s 35 or I’m dead, whichever happens last.

She Said Yes!!!

I try to be pretty open and honest on my blog, and that includes touching upon pretty personal items from time to time. But a few weeks ago, I began a process that I just couldn’t write about. I wanted to, but it’s a surprise. Then today it dawned on me, I could start writing my posts as I normally would, only I won’t post them till the appropriate time. Could make for some interesting reading.

September 28th, 2007

I bought a ring. I wish I had started writing about this from the start, a few weeks ago when I started looking around with a friend of mine, but no one’s perfect.

Now let me say it again. I bought a ring. Did you hear me? I purchased a ring. Um, I don’t wear jewelry. So you may have pieced this together, the ring isn’t for me. It’s what they call an engagement ring. How ya like them apples?

I don’t have it yet, but it’s scheduled to arrive next week. And next Saturday I have scheduled a night with some friends, and at some point during this evening I will ask a pretty significant question.

There’s something worth mentioning here. I’ve always been pretty anxious, in all sorts of situations. It’s just in my DNA. Playing poker, I still get anxious. I’ve skipped more meals than Nicole Richie, when I’ve had to make big decisions. But I haven’t missed a meal since I started thinking that this is what I wanted to do. Translation, I’m not at all nervous about this. Now, that might change come next Saturday when it’s time to pop the question, but the fact that I’m not nervous now is pretty huge.

September 30th

I’m sure it’s not a fact, I haven’t done any studies or even Google it. But ever since I purchased the ring, I think one out of three commercials on the radio has been about weddings, engagement rings or something matrimonial in nature. Kind of like when you're hungry, all you hear about is food.

October 2nd

So the ring was ordered from an jeweler in Ohio, and was to arrive via UPS today. I gave my parent address, because I just don’t seem to be around my place often. I checked online to see the status, and found that they had attempted to deliver it but no one was there to sign for it. Sonuvabitch. Okay, no big deal. I called and found out I can go by UPS and pick it up tonight. Oh wait, not till 8:30. That’s not real convenient. Also just found out that my shixa (girlfriend) just received an offer on her condo, which has been on the market for a few months. I really want to do this tonight. If she decides to sell, that’s just fine. But she should have all the info right?

I get the ring, and I’ve spent all day debating how to do it. Finally, I picked the way that seemed to fit us both as well as a sure fire way to surprise her. This is important to me. Not to knock those other guys and couples, but I never wanted to be a guy who went ring shopping with the girl. I don’t want her to know its coming. Which I’m hearing now, is really pretty brave of me. We haven’t discussed marriage, so there is a chance I could get a less than desirable answer. I know the chances of this are slim and none, but I have to entertain the idea.

I’m actually not going to discuss the how in this forum. That’s a story for the soon-to-be Mrs. Hirp to share.

She said yes, and that’s all that matters. Now if you don’t I mind, I have a wedding to plan. Could make for some interesting reading.

Gotta Believe?

How’s the ol’ saying go? Something about walking in another man’s shoes, and it never really seemed all that plausible. I can’t walk in someone’s shows, and that’s just a tad bit gross. Well over the past two weeks my New York Mets have some how pulled of some Houdini move, and replaced my familiar footwear with that of Cub fans and Red Sox fans. Both of those fan bases have a long, well documented, history of being let down. Historical collapses, and amazing series of events that would torture them in a way that George Bush would be proud.

But that was their shtick. Other sports fans kind of felt sorry for them, but we also thought that they enjoyed it to some extent. They were the Rodney Dangerfield’s of sports. Bad luck, curses, the cosmos or whatever caused it all were their identifying features. Much like Jay Leno and his nose, Courtney Love and her tracks, or Donald Trump and his hair. It’s never flattering, but necessary.

They’ll probably be offended by this, being that it’s just once for us Met fans. But I have caught a glimpse of their hell. For the past two weeks, watching ESPN.com box scores every night has been like alternating between being punched in the stomach and kicked in the jewels. Blown leads, come backs that fell just short, fielding that resembles Little League, and a bullpen that has been as dependable as Britney’s parenting skills.

The details and stats behind the collapse of my Mets aren’t important here. Baseball fans know it, and I just can’t stomach explaining just how bad this is. The good news, if you can call it that, is t he season isn’t over and they still have a chance to make the playoffs. If that happens, I’ll be ecstatic, but unless they have a pill for it, I can’t get my hopes up.

Oh-No Shows

Spin-offs are a bad idea. They just don’t work. I understand why the big wigs think they’ll work; they’re taking a well received show and trying to double down. But they’re doubling down with a 12 and the dealer is showing an ace. Last night we watched “Private Practice,” the spin-off of “Grey’s” with the impressive cast. But putting together a show that has familiar and well liked actors raises expectations but has a horrible track record. I can only think of one current popular show that started off with well known actors, and that’s “Desperate Housewives.”

As for “Private Practice,” the writing was awful and the acting sub-par. I’ve admitted it, I like “Grey’s” and in addition, I’ve liked Taye Diggs since Go and Amy Brenneman since Heat. But this show felt totally forced. So they have this nice little private practice in LA, and these young good looking Doctors make tons of cake. We soon find out that they do this in spite of hardly seeing patients.

Our main character, Addison, the world class neonatal surgeon from Seattle just took this job without knowing minor details such as what kind of staff she’d have and what exactly she’ll be doing. Suddenly she has her one patient, a teenger who hid her pregnancy from pops, has gone in labor. Instead of taking her to a hospital, I guess dad took a minute to look in the yellow pages for private birthing centers. Never mind that they didn’t have a doctor in that department till this very day. Of course there are complications with the delivery, and this office isn’t set up for Addison to perform a C-section. They call an ambulance, which we’re told will take 10-20 minutes. In this meantime, she figures that the baby and mother wont survive that long unless she “MacGyver’s” it and performs surgery right there.

They sterilize the room, get everyone in scrubs, find surgical tools they didn’t have and prep for surgery in what must have been 8-16 minutes. Because they’ve started before the ambulance has arrived. Of course they perform the miracle. Oh, did I mention they didn’t put her under? No, they had a Doctor who practices alternative medicine work on the patient so she wouldn’t feel any pain. Whew, dodged a bullet there.

This private practice also employs a shrink. She gets a call that one of her patience has gone off the reservation and is in a store counting tile. So she rushes to the scene, along with the practice’s pediatrician to save the day. They figure out why she’s lost it, I guess she didn’t mention her dead son in any of her sessions. Best of all they some how find this out from some medical files, that I think they found in the managers office.

Best of all was the final scene, where the partners all meet to express their frustration with a colleague for not talking with them before hiring a new doctor. This ends with Addison telling them how bad of a day she’s had, how she saved their asses and she isn’t going anywhere. I think she’s trying to tell the audience she’s here to stay. Um, she’ll be lucky to last as long as “Joey.”

Following “Private Practice” was the premiere of “Dirty Sexy Money” which comes with a sort of all-star cast. Peter Krause, fantastic in “Sports Night” and I hear “Six Feet Under” heads a cast with Donald Sutherland, William (I think) Baldwin and some faces you’ll recognize even if you don’t know the names. Sutherland’s family is obviously inspired by the Hilton family, and Krause’s father was the family lawyer. He has suddenly passed away in a plane crash, which seems to have little impact on Krause. Not till the end when he finds out it might have been murder.

I guess the impressive, which is the wrong word for it, aspect of the show is how well it replicates our feelings for the Hiltons and Trumps of the world. We know we’re watching complete crap, but we’re still intrigued just enough to wonder what will happen next.

I am predicting this television season as the year of the jumping of the shark. “House” “My Name is Earl” “Grey’s” and “24” will all at the very least, take small jumps and maybe giant leaps.

Two Things..

I’m not entirely sure of how it happened, but in the past few days I have received two text messages that weren’t intended for me. Not from friends who accidentally clicked on the wrong contact, but completely random. The first was the sort of text that could cause a lot of trouble for a fella.

Saturday afternoon I’m sitting at Long Branch enjoying the best burger in KC with my girlfriend and a good friend, when the text came in. “I love u more than you like me,” it read. Um, excuse me? The area code was 618, which I later found out belongs to someone in Southern Illinois. Getting random texts could rattle a lesser woman, and a text declaring their love for me isn’t doing me any favors. Seriously, the only reaction I could have would be the same no matter if I knew who it was or if I didn’t. Pointing this fact out is probably not my best idea. My friend decided to call the number to see who it was; she said it sounded like a 13 year old girl. This either makes me look even worse, or makes it all a funny case of happenstance. I’m thankful it was the second one. I gotta think that if the girlfriend thought I was texting young girls across state lines, she’d drop me faster than Chris Hansen could appear.

The second mis-text came yesterday. “How are we paying for pizza,” it read. This one came from a KC area code, and it referenced pizza. So it at least sounds like it was for the right guy. But the number was as foreign to me as panties are to Britney. I responded with, “who is we and why are we buying a pizza?” Only to be asked who I was. Beg your pardon, you sent me a text. Who are you, and I’m suddenly hungry. Oh, by the way. What the hell is up with “beg your pardon”? If we’re being all polite, is there really any need for someone to beg? Anyway, turns out it was some guy named Josh and he wasn’t exactly sure how I ended up getting his text. Buying pizza with strange guys could also send the girlfriend running.

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I don’t like Bill O’Reilly. I really don’t like him. I think he’s dangerous, arrogant, ignorant, racist, and any other adjectives that point to him being a mean and bad person. And I just read some comments he made about a restaurant in Harlem, and I can’t for the life me understand why he still has a job.

"I couldn't get over the fact that there was no difference between Sylvia's restaurant and any other restaurant in New York City. I mean, it was exactly the same, even though it's run by blacks, primarily black patronship." Later, during a discussion with National Public Radio senior correspondent and Fox News contributor Juan Williams about the effect of rap on culture, O'Reilly asserted: "There wasn't one person in Sylvia's who was screaming, 'M-Fer, I want more iced tea.' You know, I mean, everybody was -- it was like going into an Italian restaurant in an all-white suburb in the sense of people were sitting there, and they were ordering and having fun. And there wasn't any kind of craziness at all."

http://mediamatters.org/items/200709210007

Sorry, but are you M-Fing kidding me? When I’ve eaten at Cracker Barrel, I didn’t find it surprising that there aren’t minutes from the last Klans meeting hanging up. I’ve bee in a few deli’s, never heard anyone talking about controlling the media and the free world. Never once has the clerk at 7-11 referred to me as an infidel. What the hell is wrong with Bill O’Reilly and more importantly, what the hell is wrong with this country that he’s actually popular? But we’re afraid of the President of Iran and what hateful things he might say? At least that forum allowed for people to debate his comments, ever see O’Reilly react to someone calling him out? I’ve seen five year olds handle bedtime without dessert more maturely.

I love that he thinks “Black Americans are thinking more for themselves.” His entire career is based on him telling people how to think. If we don’t think like him, we’re wrong.

Also, if you listen to the clip on the side you’ll hear Juan Williams talking about the impact of rap music. He says rap music makes women think they need to dance around half naked, and that it tells kids this is the life style they need to live to get rich and famous. That’s rap music. What about rock music? Look through its history. Jerry Lee Lewis marries a kid. Elvis enjoyed his drugs. The Beatles, well they might have used some drugs. And rock music today? Their videos are what, high class? But anything rap does is vile.

Martin Scoresese is rightfully looked at as a genius, yet we’ve seen minors in intimate situations. We’ve seen crime glorified, and applauded it for being realistic. As I said in a previous post, Harry Connick Jr was once arrested for gun possession. There’s a video on YouTube of another nut job, Ted Nugent, waving guns around and making what can only be interpted as threats to Presidential Candidates Clinton and Obama. But if a rapper makes reference to similar activities, its vile and dangerous.

Look up hypocrite in the dictionary, and know what you’ll find? No, not a picture of Bill O’Reilly, but the definition of hypocrite which he obviously fucking is.

Hirp On...

It seemed as if everyone was all bent out of shape because Columbia University gave the head dick or Iran a forum to speak. I really don’t understand why. Seems like we like to sit on the other side of the planet, waving our collective finger at how other countries operate, and preach about how great our freedoms are. Then when given the opportunity to show them first hand how great something like the freedom of speech is, everyone gets their panties in a bunch.

It’s not as if I agree with anything the nut job says, but instead of reading about how nuts he is or dangerous we were given the opportunity to hear it right from the lunatics’ mouth. Are we afraid people will buy into his non-sense? If so, we have bigger fish to fry. It’s pretty simple really, think about parenting. Would you tell your kids to listen to their enemy or tell them to take their ball and go home?

I think Barrak Obama hit one out of the park when he quoted JFK, “Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate.”

I’ll be honest, I may not be the good practicing Jew I should be, but I still have more than a slight problem with someone wanting to eliminate Israel and kill some Jews. As a rule, I’m pretty much against killing any group of people. Even if there was a race, creed or religion that preached the gospel of mullets, Zubaz, Nascar, eating healthy, reality TV, the use of aluminum bats and cell phone belt clips.

However, I glad that they wouldn’t allow him to visit Ground Zero. That would have been like OJ showing up at Ron Goldman’s wake.

Juicy Squirts

Has there ever been such a wide spread case of de ja vu? OJ might actually have his second trial of the century, and in a different century from his first.

• Think Michael Vick is wishing OJ did this a few months ago?
• The original OJ case made more careers than the Concord Institute and Brown Mackey combined. Greta Van Facelift, Faye Resnick (did you know she’s Godmother to Paris and Nicky Hilton), Kato Kaelin (who paved the way for celebs with no actual talent) and Mark Fuhrman (who pretty much blew the case, then profited from the it.) That’s just to name a few. CourTV became huge after this case, who knows if it would have even lasted had there never been any OJ.
• Did OJ’s golfing buddies look at this as a great career opportunity? Someone brought a recording device along for the ride. Pretty sure rule #1, in the Crime for Dummies book, suggests leaving camcorders and other recording devices at home.
• Where was AC Cowlings? Shouldn’t he be on the tape? “You know who I am, I’m AC!”
• Why is Larry King asking Ron Goldman’s sister if she thinks this arrest will help boost sales numbers for OJ’s book?
• Will OJ be writing a follow-up book?
• When arrested while staying in a hotel, do they charge you an early check-out fee? Do they even check you out?
• Did OJ really think these guys would steal his stuff and try to profit off him, but not tell anyone when he barged in and stuck them up? How did someone so stupid get away with such a huge crime?

Amen

This whole thing with Kathy Griffin and her “offensive” remarks has been blown out of proportion, which isn’t a surprise in the least. I’ve thought about the whole mess, and how religion and religious people have gotten it all wrong. Then I realized, the blue print for religion is all around us. It’s pretty simple too, the answer is in sports and sport fans.

Yankee fans, Met fans, Royal fans, Brewer fans and Marlin fans are, in theory, on the right track. They can disagree about which teams to cheer for, and have different reasons for picking those teams. Reasons that often mirror why people belong to a particular relgion, the most common being “I was raised a ____ fan,” or “that’s who I grew up loving.” Just as we belong to one sect or another mostly because of how we were raised. But fans of different teams can disagree on who to root for, can dislike the other team, but the common ground is the game.

If the religions of the world could only grasp this concept, and then substitute Yankees for Wicca’s, Mets for Judaism, Royals for Hindu, Cubs for Muslims, and the game for God. The teams can be different, but the game is the same. Even when you separate the sports, football from baseball or basketball. It’s still competition at the core that draws us in. You can have a stadium full of 100,000 people cheering for different sides, but at the heart of it all they are there to enjoy camaraderie, and connect to something bigger than themselves.

At times it goes to far, but not as often as it does with religion. There was a story about some Oklahoma fan grabbing the sack of a Texas fan in a bar. But that’s difference between a fan and a fantatic. Just as there are Christians, and fanatical Christians that bomb clinics and there are Muslims and assholes that fly planes into buildings.

But for the most part, a Yankee fan and Red Sox can make fun of each other and rip on the other team and it’s just in fun. It doesn’t lead to wars. If religions could just adopt this line of thinking, the world would be such a better place. Then again, the world would be a better place without the Yankees.

Lost Night

I don’t know what the deal is. First, a few months ago, I lost my favorite pair of sunglasses. Happens to everyone, I know this, but I had those bad boys for a solid five year run. It’s one thing to lose them after six months, you almost expect that. But once you make it over two years, you start thinking you’ll have them till you toss ‘em. Then I went to Dallas, and now I no longer have them. And then I some how miss place a coin I kept from my stay at Mandalay Bay. It wasn’t worth much, just a dollar in fact. And even though I won the last poker tournament in which I used it as a card guard, it wasn’t really good luck. But it grew legs and disappeared. And last night I lost both some cash and a money clip I’ve had for four years. The clip actually has some sentimental value, as I got it for being in a friends wedding. It also had some financial value, as it’s from Tiffany and Co., which makes it something I’d probably never buy myself.

I’m pretty sure it jumped out of my pocket while I was in Target last night picking up the new Kanye West CD. Damn you Kanye, you owe me! I’ll call later on and see if anyone turned it in, with the hopes that they just kept the cash and felt bad about someone losing such a nice money clip. I think that’s what they call, “a long shot.” I looked in my car, under the seat, between the seat and console, in the storage compartment on my door, back under my seat. All I found was 60 cents, some gum wrappers, and a few fries. Now I keep going back and forth in my head, kicking myself for losing the clip and then kicking myself for losing the cash. Oh, and let me also mention that when I tried to use my ATM card I received a message that my card had been reported lost or stolen. Not sure who reported my card lost or stolen, because I didn’t lose it and it wasn’t stolen. So that was nice.

To add insult to injury, the whole reason I was even out of the house last night was to see a movie. And it sucked, and I mean like a Hoover. Shoot ‘Em Up is one big mistake, with a bunch of smaller mistakes sprinkled on top. The fact that Clive Owen and Paul Giamatti both signed on for this piece of garbage makes me wonder if someone has video of those two in very compromising positions. Owen was great in Sin City, and tries to play the same character here, only minus anything resembling a plot and void of interesting dialogue. Pretty much void of any dialogue at all. I think they tried to make him funny, but John McClane wouldn’t say the utter crap his Mr. Smith says. Yes, his name really is Mr. Smith in this movie. We have a Mr. Smith, and he spends most of the movie being chased by an army of men, and he easily kills them all while chomping on a carrot, and occasionally uses the vegetable (it is, right?) to kill.

Okay, time for an update. I know that doesn’t make much sense since this hasn’t been posted yet, but whatever. I just called Target, and someone turned in money clip AND my money. Can you believe that? Not much surprises me, but this sure as hell does.

Hirplings

• I love music, but I’m really not a huge fan of concerts. One thing I don’t understand is the encore. The artist ends their set and the audience cheers and cheers, making them come back out to perform some more. Why? Why can’t they just sing all the songs they planned on, and the show ends when they say? It’s not as genuine as we like to think. The artist and often the audience know exactly what song or songs will be played. But we should believe they are truly humbled and grateful? It’s complete bullshit. “No, you’re too kind. Really, thank you. I mean it. No, I can’t. I have to go. One more? Okay, I guess we can do just one more.” Sounds like a car salesmen telling us they can’t go any lower, then giving up and marching to their manager who never lowers the price only to find out he got laid last night so he’s in a good mood and will make this one time exception. Carmax should manage concerts.
• Sprint is pretty happy to have “High School Musical 2” available on Sprint TV. Wonder if they realize more people are viewing naked pictures of Vanessa Hudgens. That should be their big promotion this week. I swear, after I watched that movie, I was going to write about the future of the cast and who would be the first to end up naked on the net and who would be first in rehab. 10 years ago the cast would have been Britney, Christina, Jessica, Justin and the rest of the Backstreet Boys and N’Sync.
• http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070909/ap_on_fe_st/odd_salty_burger I don’t know, call me crazy, but this sounds like a slight abuse of power. Cop eats a burger and gets sick, turns out there was too much salt on the burger, so he halls the grill chick off to jail. Someone let him do this? I wonder what will be in his next burger.
• Like most of America, I had to watch Britney perform at the MTV VMA’s. Let’s see, she looked bad, sounded horrible, the song sucks, she was dressed like a stripper but didn’t dance, she couldn’t lip sync even a little bit and the crowd looked both bored and sad. Britney, your clock is ticking. 14 minutes, 32 seconds. 14 minutes 38 seconds…..
• There’s a new show on HBO, “Tell Me You Love Me.” Pretty good show, feels a bit like you’re watching real life un-happily married couples. “It’s not TV, it’s HBO,” is no longer an appropriate slogan. Not after seeing the following: balls, dude jerkin the gerkin, hand job with the Creamy Italian and geriatric fellatio. Rhythm

Oy

Well, another day and another scandal. The landscape of sports has been forever changed, and in all likeliness it changed long ago. We’re just now getting the memo. One of the greatest stories in baseball this year has been the resurrection and reinvention of Rick Ankiel and his career. His troubles with throwing a strike are well documented and his inspiring return to the show as a slugging outfielder is the stuff movies are made of. Good sports movies like The Natural, Rudy and Rocky too.

But now his name has been linked to HGH, and the court of public opinion long ago discarded due process, which means any accusations have some merit. Unless you’re Lance Armstrong and it’s the French making the accusations. So this triumphant return is starting to feel dirty. It really doesn’t even matter at this point if he did or didn’t take something. The damage is done. We’ll always wonder, not just about him, but everyone else. The other feel good story this year in baseball, has been Josh Hamilton. He’s a guy who was a #1 draft pick, but his career was derailed by drug use before ever making it to the Major Leagues. He got clean, was given a second chance, and made good on it. Another storybook story, the kind we like to feel is a testament to the “American way of life.”

But given the current state of sports, we’d be fools to not at least consider how he made it back. I like the story, and want to believe in its innocence and integrity. Only mama didn’t raise no fool. We’re talking about a guy who took drugs, and those drugs were behind his fall to begin with. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that he began using some other drugs to return to the game and chase his dream. And even if he did, it’s still a powerful story. It’s still a guy who lost everything and found a way to get it all back. We’re idiots to assume our hero’s play by the rules. We like to think they do, and that’s what makes them different from us. But how many people, especially successful ones, always play nice? The guy at work that gets along with every one isn’t usually the boss.

Maybe it’s time we stop being naïve, and just appreciate them for how far they can hit a ball or how fast they can run. Superman may have done it naturally, but that’s because he was playing in a world that wasn’t his. Spiderman’s webs weren’t the result of hard work and Jenna Jameson is working with a body science gave her. If you believe in Jesus, it isn’t like he was playing on the same field as everyone else. I’m sure its real tough to be a great leader when your dad is actually God. Our heroes have never been like us. I could dose myself with HGH for the next 5 years, and I still wouldn’t be able to hit a curveball.

All that aside, it still sucks. I hate hearing a story about someone or seeing an athlete accomplish something great, only to later realize there’s more to the story. I don’t know if we should just blame them, since they are responsible for their own actions. Or perhaps we should blame the media. I also don’t know what’s worse, knowing when something isn’t kosher or all the times we didn’t know something wasn’t kosher. So maybe it’s our fault, we put our own expectations on these guys and we decide what they and their actions mean to us.

Just cause...

Chef Hirp

I am no chef. I’m not a cook. Ovens aren’t my friend. Want me to arrange for a meal at home? Three words: Take-out and delivery. I microwave, boil, broil, heat, grill, simmer, sauté, mix, or bake about as often as I balance my checkbook. And I don’t think I’ve even tried to do that since I was 18. Sorry, dad. So last night I decided I should surprise my girlfriend by preparing dinner. My first concern was for the safety of her child, whom I had enlisted for help.

First stop was the grocery store. I’m like friggin’ Moses in that place. I go in, and almost 40 years later I walk out and I’m lucky to have any items or sanity left. I look like my mom trying to operate a cell phone. Well, I had no clue what to get. I was at Hy-Vee, where I didn’t see a friendly smile on any aisle and if I had I probably would have tried to run them down. I thought about getting her sushi, figured something you don’t cook can’t be too hard to prepare, but I remembered she isn’t a fan of their sushi. I fully understand how anyone can fuck up something that’s cooked, as I’m sure I’m about to do just that. But screw up something raw? Error, does not compute. So sushi was off the list. How about steaks? We had just had some, although I do know how to operate a grill. So I wandered around the store some more.

Then it hit me. A couple weeks ago we had talked about wanting Beligum Waffles, so I purchased a waffle iron. And we had never picked up the mix, so I thought that should be easy. So I picked up the box, which I found rather quickly. Those signs over the aisles are pretty helpful. The box mentioned something about needing eggs. Eggs, I’ve seen eggs, I’m sure I can buy eggs. Who the hell knew there were so many options for god damn eggs? Different sizes, grades and colored cartons. This is not helping me. When watching TV, I want channels to choose from. Going to the movies, I want multiple choices. Listening to my iPod, I have 1000 choices and it’s almost not enough. But eggs? I don’t want choice. I want eggs. All I ask is that they I don’t get them and then an explanation of how I fertilized them. Short story long, I got some damn eggs.

So I had my groceries, and headed to pick up the munchkin. By the way, did you know schools no longer have chalkboards? School with no chalk is like Nascar with no mullets. Might sound like a good idea, but you’re removing the heart and soul of the institution. Anyway, the rugrat was excited by the prospect of helping me prepare these waffles. She knew what was about to happen, she’s a smart kid and had seen my first attempt at making coffee. I won’t get in to much detail about that little fiasco; let’s just say it’s a good thing she was there. I don’t think her mom wanted salt in her coffee.

Now the box said to make 1-2 waffles, use a certain amount of the batter, 4-5 a different amount and 8-10 use the entire box. Of course I use it all. I even found a bowl that it all fit in. The child found the oil for me as well as the other utensils and accoutrement I would need. I found the mixer, which I mistakenly called a blender at first. I knew it wasn’t a blender, but that’s the best I could do to describe. “The blender thing, you hold upside down, yeah that thing,” is how I really described it.

I inserted the two blade deals, asked the young lady to step back, and proceeded to lower the mixer to the bowl. At which point the blade deals promptly fell off and into the bowl. Shocker huh? I secured them and went started mixing. I was mixing and remixing like I was G Ditty. And much like P Ditty, I wasn’t sure when to stop. I had to call pops to ask, because the last thing I wanted to do was ruin all the progress we had made. Oh, time to mention that the girl actually cracked the eggs and added them to the mix. I’m telling you right now, without her help, I would be in the ER with cuts, burns and batter in all sorts of unimaginable places.

Right about the time I finished mixing, the girlfriend came home. You’re thinking, “aw, he didn’t get to finish.” And I was thinking, “whew.” The portion of this procedure I feared the most was actually pouring the batter on to the iron. To do so un-supervised would be reckless, and probably qualify as a felony for endangering the well being of a minor. So with her keeping an eye, I began to pour the mix onto the waffle maker. What a fucking mess that is.

I must be an idiot-savant or something, with an emphasis on idiot, but the waffles came out pretty damn well. We had way too much batter, a kitchen that looked like a Courtney Love yeast infection, and a child that may need some post-traumatic counseling. But we also had some tasty waffles. Which are suddenly less tasty after the Courtney Love yeast infection reference.

Hirp Pop

In Hip-Hop, “beef” is fairly common. It goes back to the beginning of the genre. Originally, rappers used to compete directly. They’d trade insults and try to one up each other and it was all fun and games. It was like friends just teasing each other. At some point things took a turn for the worse. What always struck me as funny is here are these supposed badass thugs who don’t give a shit about anyone or anything. In fact they brag about how little they DON’T care about anyone or what anyone thinks, and this is one of the aspects of the music I enjoy so much. But the second someone disses them or makes them the butt of a joke, then all hell breaks loose. It’s gotten to the point that violence isn’t just a threat, it’s nearly a guarantee. Records are made in attempts to end careers. And sometime’s it’s successful, like when 50 Cent pretty much ended Ja Rules career.

Beef isn’t just a hip-hop phenomenon. Ask Axl and Cobain. There’s Toby and the Chicks or Van Zant and Neil Young. See Mariah and Whitney. Why do you think Harry Connick Jr got caught with a gun back in 92? He wanted to bust a cap in Michael Boltons ass for beating him out of a Grammy. The last example is pure speculation.

But no diss record or beef has done more damage than one pop song by a former boy band member. Justin Timberlake, “Cry Me a River,” not only ended Britney Spears’ career, it has totally turned her life upside down. The former pop princess is now walking firmly, or stumbling may be more accurate, in the hooker heels once worn by Anna Nicole. And it all stems from Justin outing her for cheating on him. She hasn’t been the same.

Hell, look her up on wikipedia.com. Her career is broken down like this with some highlights:
1998-2000: Early commercial success (
2001-2003: Career development (became first female artist to debut at #1 with her first 3 releases)
2004-2005: Great Hits. First sentence about this period of her life starts, “After her marriage to Keven Federline,”

And her personal life is broken down to pre-2004, and 2004-2006 “Marriage, children and divorce”

So maybe this explains why she passed on doing a duet with Justin, that might have been the final insult. To wreck a career, and then come back to them as their last hope is pure genius. Evil genius, but genius none the less. Justin did more for revenge than Michael Corelone.

The evidence is clear, well on to points. One, Justin killed her career. Secondly, I need serious fucking help.

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Last thought for the day. I got a new pair of sneakers a couple of weeks ago, New Balance. So fuck Air or any other gimmick they come up with, these sneakers have shoe laces that actually stay tied. That should be their selling point. I can’t fully express how happy I am to have low maintenance shoelaces.

Arsenio Hirp Show

Driving into work today, I was listening to “Mike and Mike in the Morning” on ESPN Radio. Wait a second I have two things to say before going forward. The beginning of the last sentence totally gave me an Arsenio Hall flashback. Remember when he was “driving in from Cleveland”? What happened to him? Shouldn’t he be hosting a reality television? Secondly, Mike & Mike is the highlight of my morning. It beats the shit out of any pooping.

Anyway, this morning the guys were responding to a listeners email. She, and the fact that this is worth noting will be apparent in just a second, was in a bit of a predicament because she has a dinner to attend Saturday night, in which she’s going to introduce her parents to her boyfriends’ parents. And she claims to be nuts about this guy. But at the same time her dinner is scheduled, so is her fantasy football draft. So she isn’t sure what to do. Let’s just take a second to acknowledge how cool it is that a chick is that serious about fantasy football, and it isn’t because it will give her three hours of quiet while her husband and friends huddle around a table in someone else’s basement.

She doesn’t know what to do, and so the fellas were debating what her options were. She could blow off the draft and drop out of the league, she could ask for a reschedule, she could send someone to draft in her place or she could skip the dinner. She’s having a tougher time with this than George W Bush had when deciding to invade Iraq or not. I understand the dilemma very well. I’ve been a fantasy baseball or football owner almost every year since I was 12. Scheduling a draft has becoming increasingly difficult. Thanks to the internet, it’s now possible to have owners spread across the country. But it’s a bitch to get everyone’s schedules lined up. To do so, then have something that in all honesty is more important pop up, is a real beyatch. And it happened to me this year.

My draft is actually set for tonight, but as life does sometimes, it sent me a curveball. After setting the draft date, a buddy of mine that lives in Chicago told me he was coming to KC. The irony is, one of his reasons for making the trip is to be apart of his fantasy draft in person. But he gets in a few hours after my draft starts, luckily we use the auction to pick our players, so I have it a little easier. My plan is to just blow my load early and get out of there. Sounds like the standard guy plan for a Friday night, right? But standard guy plans don’t exist in these situations. You haven’t seen ridicule till you’ve seen a guy leave either a poker game or draft early. But I told my buddy that he and his wife could stay at my apartment this weekend. So I have to be there to let them in and give them a key.

But technology has given us more than the internet as a draft aid. We have cell phones, and even more importantly, we have text messaging. Push comes to shove, I can draft as I drive up i35. Risks be damned, some things are just that important. Which brings us to the conflicted girls solution. She should text message her picks in. She can hide the phone under the table, take long multiple restroom breaks or just play the “work calls” card. His parents might be annoyed, but they’d also be impressed by her dedication. So what if they aren’t clear on what she’s so dedicated to. The dedication is what matters here. And isn’t that what they would want for their son? And in return, he might just be able to get her to try the one thing they hardly ever do, or the thing they never do. But if she isn’t able to get Bush that night, than I doubt he will either. Reggie Bush, you pervs.

Hirp On...

I’m wondering if Michael Vick’s people have already contacted the networks to set up his reality television show. Come on, I hate reality TV, but “Michael Vick: Redemption (or Salvation)” is a sure fire hit. He could go around apologizing to various groups, we could watch him work out, go through therapy, walk his dogs, interact with both his supporters and detractors and whatever else he needs to do to try and get his life in order after serving his time. Or maybe it’s best to wait till he’s nearing his release from prison to make this deal.

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Last night I watched “Californication” with my Shixa, have I mentioned you really need Showtime? Anyway, she hit the nail on the head with an observation. We were talking about how David Duchovny’s character and his sexual habits, and she mentioned that it’s interesting to see a guy portrayed as a male whore. She’s absolutely right. Typically, we see a guy sleeping around and we’re lead to believe that this makes him cool or a player. But here we see a guy doing it for the same reasons we always think women “whore” around. He hates himself. It isn’t to brag, or so he can add notches to his belt. He is so angry at himself for fucking up with the woman he loves and not being a good enough father, so he is self medicating. Sometimes he uses booze, sometimes he uses broads. There’s nothing cool about it, and you don’t envy him for it. It’s just sad. In a really dark and funny way, but it’s still just sad.

Hirpasms

I really need to step up my blog game, as the kids would say. I’m not sure what has happened. I tell myself that it’s normal, just a phase. I’m sure everyone has swings in their blogging frequency. I haven’t had the time, I’ve been tired, I just haven’t felt it lately. They are all excuses, I know this. It comes down to just making the effort and finding the time. It isn’t as if every entry requires a substantial amount of time, sometimes I can pound out a quick yet quality post in just a few moments. So I’m going to make an effort going forward. That’s the only promise I can make right now.

• I’m a bit bummed that I didn’t win the $314 million powerball this weekend. It isn’t like I was planning on spending every dime. I had a very well thought out plan for the money. I’m considering pressing charges against the winner, er, thief who stole my millions from me. Revenge will be mine, oh yes, it will be mine.

• No one, not even a Powerball winner, has more luck than Vinnie Chase and the boys. Who else runs into Kanye West at an airport and bums a ride to Cannes? Can private jets really just change their flight plans like that? That should probably worry us right? Bin Laden supposedly has a bit of disposable income, why doesn’t he just charter his next terrorist attack?

I read that we will never hear Mrs. Ari Gold’s first name, but at some point we will find out Turtle’s real name. I’m guessing it’s not something as boring as Anthony, but something more like Anofrio or Salvatore.

• I love it, I just read that Michael Vick said, “through this situation, I’ve found Jesus.” He also apologized to his fans, the NFL and pretty much everyone else. Why can’t he just tell the truth? He’s sorry he just cost himself something like $80 million because he was a complete idiot? No need to talk about Jesus, or a fake apology to the kids. He’s sorry he’s going to be spending a nice portion of his life in a very cold cell. He’s sorry that instead of cashing checks, he has to write large checks to pay for his mistake. He’s sorry that he got caught, and that’s about it. I’d love to see an honest apology like that.

Really, what are we supposed to think? Oh, you’re sorry and on top of that you found Jesus. I guess that makes it all worth it. I think we would all be better off had he never found Jesus if that meant he also never found dog fighting. Apologizing after you cop a plea doesn’t mean shit. It’s like a kid apologizing for skipping class, only after getting caught. After the fact apologies have about as much value as shit in a paper bag.

• So Britney Spears turned down a duet with Justin that was to be produced by Timbaland. Basically, she’s drowning in the middle of the Pacific and when a 60’ yacht came to her rescue, she thought treading water was a better option. Those sharks nipping at her white trash heels must not be a concern for her. Seriously, she’s completely retarded. Everything he touches goes platinum right now, and everything she touches turns into litigation.

Hirpsonal

Every family has their own bag of crap deal with. This may not sound like some great revelation, but for me it kind of is. For years I felt I was related to what I described, both in jest and seriously, as the Jewish Kennedy’s. There’s aside of my family that I always felt could do no wrong. Even this blog is linked, literally, to their successes. As a kid I often bragged about their successes to the point one might have thought they hired a minor to handle their publicity. All my friends knew my Uncle designed their dad’s Z, and today my friends know when they are seeing an ad on television that my cousin did. Just as they know that my other cousin is both a published writer and a teacher in a small LA community, Beverly Hills. If I made anyone a mix CD, it certainly contained songs by both cousins.

But for me, their successes were deeper than just what I could brag about. When I see them, it’s almost like watching great friends hang out more than watching parents and kids. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Like many families, our events often included some competition: Water volleyball, touch football in a field on a cold Minnesota fall night, tennis (when Americans played), basketball and heated debates. Being that it’s our nature to be competitive; I couldn’t help but compare my side of the family against that side. It isn’t that I came up in a broken horrible family, but the contrast was apparent. Where they went to world class universities and left their marks, I struggled to graduate high school and spent less time in college than Lohan has spent in rehab. Where they have these exciting, dreams come true careers, I spend most of my days daydreaming at work. Their spouses are summer blockbusters with the rest of the family, the spouses my siblings choose were, um, acquired tastes.

But last night I was informed, without any real detail, that they aren’t without their own family business. And I found myself oddly relieved. The perception I had was unfair to both them, and my self. It reminded me that I do call them the Jewish Kennedy’s, and that Kennedy family was far from perfect. As successful, charming, engaging and impressive they are, they aren’t without their own flaws.

Showtime

Found a new show kids. If you don’t have Showtime by now, you need to get it. Call Time Warner or your cable provider today and sign up. By now you should know I wouldn’t lead you astray. First of all, you’ve been missing out on “Weeds” which is on par with “Entourage,” I shit you not. Season three just kicked off last night, and after you call and order Showtime you should run out to Blockbuster and rent the first two seasons.

Here’s the premise of the show: Cute and sassy soccer mom with two boys starts selling weed in her suburban (very Johnson County) California town after her husband dies. Soccer mom played by Mary Louise Parker, whom I have a slight crush on after her time on “The West Wing.” Her timing is perfect, and she is equally charming when chewing on the straw of her frozen Starbucks drink, dealing her youngest and his gangsta rap song or home made terrorist video, or dealing dime bags to her neighbors. Kevin Nealon plays her accountant and number one customer, and he hits it out of the park. Also hitting homer runs is Romany Malco, who you’ll recognize from 40 Year Old Virgin, and Elizabeth Perkins. There’s a fantastic mix of interesting pot, I mean, plot twists, ichronic, er ironic, commentary about life in the ‘burbs and the highs of parenting. Damnit, I meant ups and downs. Okay, that really didn’t work as well as I had hoped. Basically, it’s a good damn show and you should be watching it.

Last night Showtime premired a new show, “Californication.” David Duchovny plays, tell me if you’ve heard this before, a struggling narcissistic writer trying to find the inspiration to reclaim his voice and spends his time drinking and bedding more women than Wilt Chamberlain in his prime. He’s separated from, yet very interested in his ex and mother of his 12 year old daughter. And evidently, he often smells like pussy. How much wishful thinking do you think goes in to the writing? You know all the writers on staff are wishing this was their life. That they really were these tortured souls, and even though they are complete assholes to everyone they know, gorgeous women just can’t wait to “defile” themselves for these pasty nerds who only have great conversations with their keyboards.

Let’s run down movies and shows that had a similar premise: Permanent Midnight, Basketball Diaries, “Studio 60,” Closer, Wonder Boys, Sideways, and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Anyway, that’s just for those keeping score at home. “Californication” may not be the most original idea, but it’s well done. I’ve never really cared for Duchovny, but he plays a likeable jackass. He’s arrogant, un-apologetic and strangely sincere. After one episode, I’m definitely looking forward to seeing more, but it isn’t a “can’t miss.” I’d DVR it, but I as of now, I wouldn’t feel as if I have to watch it as soon as humanly possible. There’s just isn’t a “Sopranos” rule in effect, but that could change.

Trippy

Last week I made my annual trip to Chicago. It’s always a good time, but this trip was slightly different. Normally I go up there, meet my buddy Red and we stay at our friend Bum’s place with he and his wife. They have this badass pad, which is the perfect place to crash at. Lately, we’ve been scheduling the trip around the Mets-Cubs series, and this year was no different. Although we didn’t actually get to Wrigley to catch any of the games, it still played a significant role in the scheduling.

This year was different because Red now lives in Chicago, and he couldn’t be there for most of the festivities. The biggest difference was the newest attendee, and the fact that it was our first trip together. I won’t downplay this, it’s a pretty big deal in the world-o-Hirp. As expected, we had a great time. But the best part might be the fact that it’s directly opened the door to our next trip. See, our flight out Friday was delayed. First it was 30 minutes, than an hour. Right before the second delay was announced, they informed us the flight was overbooked and they were looking for volunteers to give up their seats.

We gave it some thought, being that we didn’t want to get into Chicago at some God awful time. But in the end we took the deal. In return for taking the next flight, we were given a voucher for $100 plus the cost of our ticket to Chicago. And the next flight was just an hour later. A phenomenal win for us. Almost immediately we began discussing our next trip, being that we now had free or nearly free airfare to just about anywhere worth going to.

Las Vegas, New York, Phoenix, LA, maybe Seattle or Austin. The possibilities seemed endless. In a perfect world, I’d have a bank account that could support regular trips to exciting locations. As we all know, it’s far from a perfect world. We talked about the pros and cons of each city, debated if we wanted to invite friends or go just ourselves. Did we want to go visit friends or family or bypass all that? I started emailing some of our friends who just so happen to have their own vouchers that are itching to be used, to gauge their interest in going someplace with us. Then it hit me, the perfect place for the next trip.

If it is good enough for Michael Corelone to relocate the family to Lake Tahoe, it’s good enough for me. Tahoe has it all. There’s gambling, site seeing, exploring a new area, and peace and quiet and it’s very affordable. I looked online for some hotels, and came across a place called MontBleu. It looks amazing, and being that it used to be Caesars, I’m pretty confident that it is. From what I’ve seen during my research, Tahoe and Reno seem to be more like the old Vegas. Just writing this makes me giddy.

Hirp Diction

I’ve been a bad blogger, and I don’t mean that in the Jules Winnfield way. I make no excuses, I just ask for forgiveness. I hope to re-establish myself as the eForce you came to know, and I know I’m overstating things just a tad.

Enough of the sappy shit, lets do this thing.

Last night Barry Bonds finally hit the record breaking home run. We all knew it was coming, some of us were excited about the prospects, some anticipated the event like a trip to the dentist and some were just curious to see both the achievement and the reaction. I fit the description for all of the above. After he hit the record breaking home run, which I heard about from a chime on ESPN.com and my girlfriend suggested we put ESPN on (how cool is she?!) we flipped the channel in time to see the celebration. Hank Aaron was pure class, and his statement erased any criticism I had of him for not being there in person. In retrospect, he was absolutely right to not be there and to handle it the way he did. I also thought Bonds was dignified and classy in his thank you to the fans, if only he’d show that side of himself 51% of the time rather than 5%.

Later I laid in bed mulling over all that had happened in the game I love. It dawned on me that this “scandal” isn’t any different than most modern day scandals. Driving in to work this morning, Peter Gammons said it best on Mike & Mike in the Morning. He said that this isn’t the “steroid era” as everyone keeps referring it to as, but it’s the era of “whatever it takes.” Not just in sports, but in our society. We have Starbucks shutting down local coffee shops in every big city and small town. Target, Wal-Mart and megastores have replaced mom and pop shops. Our politicians are willing to say anything about their opponents. The Catholic Church pays millions and millions of dollars to deal with it’s skeletons. There’s no one taking the moral high road. But we want our sports to be different.

Truth of the matter is, as disgusting this situation with Bonds, baseball and steroids is, it’s really very similar to George Bush winning the 2000 election. In all likelihood it wasn’t achieved on the up and up. Even if it was, the level of suspicion surrounding it is so thick you can’t tell the difference between truth and theory. And in the end, even if George Bush really did steal the election, he’s still President. You may not have voted for him, it might piss you off and keep you up at night, but at the end of the day he’s in the Oval Office. Well, at the end of the day, the name Barry Bonds sits at the top of the all-time home run list. Perception, morality, and what you may want has very little to do with the reality of either situation.

Those who write books or columns, make jokes on late night television and sell clever bumper stickers aren’t as righteous as they fancy themselves. As much as they feel they are trying to shepherd the weak through valley of darkness, they’re capitalizing off these huge “injustices.” I have yet to hear Mike Lupica offer to return any income earned from his book about the summer McGwire and Sosa captured our imaginations. I haven’t heard any players, who have tried and convicted Bonds and others of crimes, suggest that any team forfeit their World Series titles earned in this era. Bud Selig has kept every dime he’s earned, even though his salary is directly affected by the level of popularity which is highly influenced by the home run and not by the chemicals in those that hit the home runs. Just like Bill Maher, Michael Moore, Keith Olberman and Dennis Miller.

And you will know my name is Hirp, when I lay my blog upon thee.

Take That

So I was out for a drive this weekend, when someone cut me off. Here's video of what I did to him and all his friends..

Killin' It

Let me perfectly clear here, I am not defending Michael Vick. I’ll get to my thoughts on his trial and the accusations in a few, but first I need to air out some people. And by some people, I mean the majority of this country. I want to know how dog fighting is more vicious or cruel than hunting. I’m appalled by the allegations just as everyone else is, however, I think a lot of the people who want to see justice served are just as guilty of being sick bastards.

Maybe I should sit and wait for a response, but instead I’m going to assume what the argument will be and respond accordingly. We all know what happens when you assume though right? I make an ass out of you.

So let me take a stab at what I think I’ll hear: Hunting is a game, it keeps the population of various animals under control, hunting and gathering is in our blood, it isn’t brutal, it’s legal, tradition, and they are killing wild animals. I think that touches on most of the responses I’ll hear.

Well, allow me to retort:
Game: As far as I know, a game takes place when all participants are fully aware they are playing and have an equal chance at victory. Dog fighting is more of a game than hunting.

Population control: Have you seen all the dogs in shelters that are eventually “put down” because they can’t find a home? Also, I think this country has a population problem with bad drivers. Can I start hunting them?

We’re hunters and gatherers by nature: We’re complete idiots by nature. We have big stores that sell food you can prepare or restaurants you can eat in, so you don’t need to kill anything to eat.

Hunting isn’t brutal: Tell me that if you’re neighbor was just out minding his business and caught a bullet in the back of his head that you wouldn’t call it brutal. Just because the killer gets covered in blood after the animal is dead, doesn’t make it any less brutal.

It’s legal: So it is. We have lots of dumb laws. In Columbia Mo, clotheslines are banned but its okay to hang clothes over a fence. (http://www.dumblaws.com/) How about the fact that some 13 year old kid in Oregon is facing the possibility of being branded a sexual predator because he slapped a friend of his, a female, on the butt. They should throw the book at the entire baseball and football team.

Tradition: My people love tradition so much, we have a song called “Tradition,” but that’s a pretty weak ass argument. Maybe I’ll start a new tradition, from here on out it’s tradition to slap a dumbass.

Wild animals: So Bambi isn’t a pet of yours and Cujo is. I’m still pretty sure you wouldn’t dog sit for Michael Vick if he asked you.

So tell me, why is dog fighting so much worse than hunting? Animals are being killed for the pleasure and entertainment of humans. This reminds me a lot of how so many “pro-choice” citizens are also in favor of the death penalty. It isn’t about morality, it’s about power. It’s who wants to say who can do what.

No Joy in Hirpville

Watching Sports Center has become as depressing and upsetting as watching the news. It used to be that sports were a distraction from reality. The ballpark or arena was a place to cheer for larger than life personalities that did amazing things. We saw that the impossible was actually possible. Things sure done changed. The front page looks like a police blotter and a gossip column. The lead story is almost never about a game, and scores are an after thought.

The biggest stories in the big three should be much different. In baseball, it should be this fantastically symmetrical story. We have Barry Bonds, the son of a very good ball player who is also the Godson of perhaps the greatest player to ever play, Willie Mays, chasing down the most famous record in all of sports, 755, the home run record that belongs to Hank Aaron. In basketball, the story should be about the San Antonio Spurs winning their 4th championship in 9 years and their place in history. The main story in the NFL should be surrounding two great quarterbacks jockeying for their place among the all-time greats. With one we had a man defending the title that eluded him like an Oscar eluded Scoresese, and the other looking to recapture his crown.

Instead of stories about what actually takes place between the lines, we have scandal after scandal. And these aren’t run of the mill, someone was caught in a limo with a tranny and blow scandals. These aren’t scandals that just rip apart one athlete’s reputation, no these are much bigger. Two of the three scandals directly question the integrity of it all. In the NBA, the big scandal is a referee with a gambling problem that has been accused of point shaving. This referee just happens to have been working some of the biggest and ironical enough, most controversial games of the past season, including the post-season. Baseball has the well documented steroid scandal, which looks more like a witch hunt than a search for truth and justice. Bud Selig is acting like a jealous ex-boyfriend, determined to keep from moving forward with his life. Football has the one scandal that really doesn’t question the integrity of the game, just the humanity of one of its biggest stars. Michael Vick has been indicted for playing a major role in the underworld community of dog fighting. Did I mention that he allegedly killed dogs by electrocution, drowning, slamming against walls and the old reliable bullet to the brain?

(Also worth mentioning is a PGA vet has gone on record that steroids are now in golf, some of Nascar’s most popular drivers (these guys can make left turns all day long) have been caught with “illegal” cars and there was a wrestler that just took out himself and his family.)

All of this does takes our attention away from the very real possibility that we have five of the top 10 basketball players of all time, in various phases of their careers (Bryant, James, Wade, Shaq, Duncan). That we have the best baseball player (Bonds) and best pitcher of all-time (Clemens), nearing the ends of their careers, some of the brightest upcoming talents and another guy in his prime (Alex Rodriguez) who may end up as the best ever. Manning and Brady are in the mix for best quarterback ever, perhaps the best running back ever (Tomlinson) and one of the greatest coaches (Belichick) at the helm of an NFL dynasty.

So what does that leave for the kids, or any of us, to cheer for? I don’t believe, for a second, that any of these are isolated incidents. I think steroids are imbedded in every sport, and try as I might, I can’t believe that only one referee, umpire or player has used his influence to impact the outcome of a game to his own benefit. And I’m scared to find out how many of our “heroes” pass the time by placing bets on dogs killing each other.

It wasn’t like sports were scandal free when I was growing up. But most of the time they were stories of individuals that could win on the field but could never defeat their own demons. The papers said it was drugs, but it was really an internal battle more fierce than anything we saw between the lines. They’d come back, fail again and maybe get clean for good. Sometime’s they went to prison, but these events also made them human. They weren’t just a jersey with a name and stats any more. But now we have to question the validity of every game and every play. There may have been a slice of innocence left in sports when I was a kid, but that slice is long gone.

The story I’m waiting on now is, a big name athlete is caught using steroids. Turns out he was doing so to make more money so he can gamble on dog fights. His gambling spirals out of control and the mob gets involved, and soon he is throwing games. Oh, this is all revealed during his rape trial.

Entourage Recap and Hirpasms

Entourage got its swagger back. As I said, I was a bit disappointed with the season thus far, but last night this show of ours returned to its winning ways. Like a baseball team bouncing back from a losing streak with a near perfectly played game, all cylinders were hitting last night. We had Ari and his high jinx, Lloyd in all his gayness, Drama doing his best window licker impression, Turtle seeing all the angels and Vince and E diving head first into a giant pile of shit and not smelling like roses, yet.

One of the highlights for me, was E decking the asshole director in the middle of Barneys. The awkward shove-punch heard ‘round the world, was one for all the vertically-challenged. Short guys: one, arrogant assholes: zero.

As for who leaked the trailer, well my theory is Walsh. He wanted to drive a wedge between Eric and Vince in retaliation for Eric being critical of his cut of the movie. Although I got there before it was stated, it did take me a second to figure out that Walsh would be replacing Hanson, but it’s a beautiful little twist. Although I really can’t stand Walsh, and is Vince trying to be the Indie-King or a big star? When does he work with J.J. Abrams or a Doug Liman? Actually, just realized, that this is very much Mark Whalberg. Basketball Diaries, Fear, Boogie Nights, Three Kings, Planet of the Apes, Four Brothers, and I Heart Huckabees were all directed by directors that made their names in independent or more artistic movies. His first movie with a well known director was The Departed, and he had a supporting role. How long till we see Vince find his own Departed?

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• Okay, right now someone sitting behind me is clipping their fingernails. Is it just me, or isn’t it just basic office etiquette to not do anything in your cube you’d do while sitting on your toilet? She isn’t even doing it over a trashcan; if any debris finds its way to my cube I’ll do my best impression of “Shock and awe.” Wonder how she’d react to coming back from lunch and finding a used square of TP on her keyboard. Let’s all hope it doesn’t come to that.

• Personal highlight for the weekend: breaking my friends’ Godfather cherry. How there are still people over the age of 25 that haven’t seen The Godfather yet, is beyond me. Bono, Jay-Z, George Clooney and Oprah are on a quest to make sure everyone has water. Well, I’m on a quest to make sure everyone see’s The Godfather. I’m honestly torn on which cause is more important.

• Personal lowlight: Another awful night of poker. At this point I’m not sure if I’d be better off paying someone $20 to just kick me in the stomach. It’d feel about the same, and actually be slightly less expensive. My patience is down to a pre-Ritalin level, and all I can come up with is the fact that I now have better things to do when I leave the poker table. But truth is, my awful play started before the rush of good fortune away from the table began.

Monday, Movie, and More

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HirpTV

So you probably know by now how I really dislike reality television, but I’m not completely immune to wanting to capitalize off a fad. I tight-rolled my jeans back in the day too, so I have my own idea for the next big show. “Big Foot in Biggest Mouth: The Real Biggest Loser.” Starring: Mel Gibson, Michael Richards, Isaiah Washington, Paris Hilton, Bill O’Reilly, Tom Cruise and Rosie O’Donnell. Larry King, of course, would be the host.

Between putting the contestants through humiliating tasks, such as finding real work, each episode ends with another empty apology. You know the one, where we hear a heart felt sorry and how there’s simply no excuse for their stupid ass comments (no offense to ass’es) followed by an excuse in attempt to make it seem not so bad anymore. Never mind if its a blatant lie like “I’ve never done drugs,” when there’s video on the internet of Paris toking up.

The grand finale is a new movie that has Gibson playing a Jewish Holocaust survivor whose son was killed in Iraq and his daughter turned cop, was raped and killed on duty. Oh, and all of his lines are in subtitles. Mean while Michael Richards plays Washington’s boyfriend in a bi-racial homosexual relationship, and Bill O’Reilly plays dad to Hilton and O’Donnell. Meanwhile, O’Donnell is suffering from post-partum after giving birth to Cruise’s baby, and he actually has to be an understanding and supportive husband, who runs to the pharmacy to pick up anti-depressants’. Roman Polanski directs.

What scares me is this awful show would do better than “Studio 60,” and that’s a direct reflection of how dumb our country has become. I just watched the series finale of “Studio 60” last night, and I still can’t understand why it was cancelled. Well, I understand why it was cancelled, what I don’t get is why no one watched it. Yet 17 million people will routinely tune in to watch a glorified Karaoke contest. And why does it have to be on a prime TV night? The losers that watch Idol religiously aren’t going out on Friday night. Put the retarded shows on Friday night, use the middle of the week for quality television.