Archive for the ‘Potato Salad’ category

Sweatin’ Bullets

July 8, 2008

Hm, I’m posting. Odd.

• I just got back from shooting an episode in Eugene at the Olympic Trials. I was sort of thrown and off my game during my first attempt to shoot because I sometimes clam up when trying to stop people to talk to them as they seem to be walking somewhere. It still feels a little strange. I’m totally cool with interrupting people’s tailgates, but the walking around thing still gets me.

Anyway, Eugene was a good time – I ate what I wanted to (Glenwood, Newman’s, Broadway), saw some folks I haven’t in awhile (K Diddy, Casey Dean Doolin, Sully, Tony) and hung out with some of Sully’s people as well. Good times all around. I won’t bore you with too much else, especially since I’m guessing you’re beyond thrilled that I’m even writing in the first place. Try not to wet yourself.

• The Dodgers are not very good at baseball and yet are in or around (depending when you read this) first place. Wha? Ned Colletti appears to be somewhat inept, but I can’t quite blame him for injuries, can I? Can I?

• It appears that Corndog is coming down for the weekend in a couple of weeks. If you’d like to see a tall dude, who is probably pale from a long Boise winter, char in LA, please do alert me.

• Casey Dean Doolin convinced Sully, K Diddy, and myself to climb Spencer Butte in Eugene after playing basketball for awhile. Hm, mistake for the ol’ every muscle in my body.

• I’ve been boogie boarding a good amount and can honestly say that I’m slightly less intimidated by bigger waves to the point where I consider myself to be slightly beyond “beginner.”

• My turkey chili recipe is coming along quite nicely. We’re still in development, but things are looking up.

Weeds has been surprisingly good, I hope Albert Brooks isn’t done. It’s always good to have an older Jew on TV accuse everything that isn’t Jewish of being Nazi-related. Fun times.

• I finally played Wii in Eugene and my results were as follows:

Wii Bowling w/K Diddy – Tie, Win
Wii Tennis w/K Diddy – Six straight wins


• Saw a screening for The Year One tonight with Yackie. I really did want to like it – good cast, good creative minds behind it, interesting premise, but really, it’s super-slow and completely hit and miss. Oops.

• The fantasy squad (Tepid Weiners), after nine straight wins, have dropped two straight. I’m still pretty confident, but the Weins needs to pick it up. Heh, pick it up. That’s what she said. What?

• I’ve been looping the Motion City Soundtrack acoustic EP pretty regularly. I’m still a sucker, but not nearly as emo as I probably thought I was.

• I got a PS3 and have been chugging along on the World Tour mode of Virtual Tennis 3. It takes some time, but I’ve been rocking the challenger circuit pretty hard. Yea, that last sentence is probably as nerdy as this post will probably get. NCAA ’09 in a week!

• Looks like another move shortly. Bleh.

I’m gonna go watch some Guy Fieri and pass out. Word.

Back soon?


Foul Balls

May 5, 2008

Hello. A quick announcement – tomorrow I leave for Virginia to help Charlottesville’s Most Trusted Sports Anchor move out of his apartment and drive back across the country (slowly) in a Penske moving truck. We’re stopping along the way at various major (and possibly minor) league ballparks and filming the whole thing.

(Also stopping along the way to film an piece)

Anyway, we’ll be trying to update daily (I know, not exactly my strongest suit) with blogs, videos, and photos from the road. I’m not exactly sure how corporate or non-corporate it will be, but at this point, it appears we won’t hold much back. I will promise this: there will be minimal taint…at most.

This will all be appearing at Get it? See? Hilarity has already ensued.

Basically, it’ll be Dave (his name!) and I bored on the road, doing poor cannonballs in hotel pools, eating terribly, taking years off of our respective lives via food intake, and trying to get on TV at baseball games. I can’t imagine that anybody that reads this out of anything but boredom, so it’ll be right up your collective alleys. All 14 of you.

Anyway, if you feel so inclined, tell your friends, cousins, and possibly-bipolar neighbors.

(because it has both baseball terminology and an allusion to smelly testicles right there in the title!!)


Bull Rush in Abril

April 3, 2008

Ok, I’m here. I’m alive, although I’m not sure anybody equated my death with my lack of posting. If so, you should now be feeling an overwhelming sense of relief.

• Last night I went to the Dodger game with Big Daddy Eisner and BDE’s parents, who gainfully employed me during high school. If by some chance, you’re a casual reader of this blog and need BBQ Catering in the Greater Los Angeles Area, please do go with Rosie’s BBQ. We sat in the orange (second level), which proved to be pretty good. The seats were under the overhang, but still in prime foul ball territory, which always makes things exciting, although BDE and I slightly disagree on catching technique. He opts for catching like an egg, where as I’m of the belief that you should cradle it into the body, rib injury be damned. The game sucked, it was cold, and I made myself even colder by eating an ice cream sandwich in the later innings. Also, I think Scott owes me money for parking. (I will, however, accept BBQ food in the place of money.)

• I did a video with college wrestling fans and participants a couple of weeks ago for SI. You’ve probably already made up your mind about whether this interests you, but it’s up on the new version of my site at SI Tour Guy. Hopefully in the coming months, the SI player will be upgraded so that everybody can watch videos on the site that wants to, with no problems.

• I’ve been running more and more and my body seems to be holding up. I attribute this to my listening to the Tony Kornheiser Show on the ol’ Shuffle. Nothing gets you jacked up to keep pushing yourself like a cranky guy pushing 60 who endlessly complains. Good stuff.

• There’s a Sharky’s five minutes from me that is outstanding, save for their horrible, semi-paved parking lot.

• The Ducks just opened spring practice. I did my best to explain the issues being addressed to Yackie, and I must say, she did a fairly good job of following along. What I’ve done to her may now be more clearly defined as a “near-thorough brainwashing.”

• Frozen custard in St. Louis is excellent. After getting lost (in what must be the most abandoned major city in the country), Sully and I made it to Ted Drewes, where around 60 people were eating frozen custard in 40 degree weather. The other highlight was going into North St. Louis (not East) and getting the best ribs I’ve ever eaten. Were we the only two white people in the neighborhood? Almost. Was it as bad as it was described to us? Not so much.

The best thing was returning the car immediately after eating those ribs and having the Avis employees completely flip out at how great the rib smell was as soon as we opened the door. Good folk in the StL.

• I’ve been watching season one of Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job (actual title), the 12 minute sketch show on Adult Swim, and it’s pretty funny. It gets a little odd sometimes, but well worth one’s time (if he or she were to have too much of it). Friend of the blog Esa (Garbage blog, see right) recommended Frisky Dingo, also on Adult Swim. I’ve watched four episodes (12 min), also pretty funny. See, this is why I’ve been running so much, I either do nothing or kill myself doing something, I’m strange. is the best thing ever to help you do nothing. I’ve been watching Arrested Development episodes that I’ve already seen, nonstop.

“You mean he can’t even grow his own hair? C’mon!”

Oregon basketball is not so good. Next year, the team will be completely different, let’s hope Big Ern gets some new assistants, as well. Luckily, Big Mike Dunigan (incoming 5* center) won’t have to deal with those pesky Brothers Lopez. God was this year awful to watch.

• I think I’m going to start doing some new web stuff in the near future, all this time is ridiculous. Stay tuned. Or don’t. Whatever, it’s coo.

• Old friend Sam is moving to London. I ate steaks with him and other people from the Cbas last weekend. Ray Romano was there, but he seemed to want to eat with other people and not recognize that Sam was leaving. Sucker.

We went up to Sam’s office at Google around the corner, where I got way too excited about free candy and played Rock Band for the first time. I killed it on lead vox during Fall Out Boy and The Killers. EPIC.

• Yackie framed my two magazine appearances with the covers of the respective issues they appear in. The thought is great, but I now am constantly distracted by a Playboy cover in front of me with a giant painted ass. I’m not sure if this is a good thing or not.

• Just so you know, navel oranges are for sure in season.

This is getting long. That’s what she said.


Robot Chicken: Star Wars

June 19, 2007

I’m not a Star Wars diehard (liked it, but have only seen it once or twice), and I’ve never sat through an episode of Robot Chicken, but really, the Robot Chicken Star Wars episode is great. It’s all online and you can waste a good amount of time watching it, which is always a positive thing.

Robot Chicken: Star Wars (link)

Schweaty Balls

June 13, 2007

Hello, I haven’t posted since last week, and now I’m posting. You probably already knew this by the picture above that isn’t Edward James Olmos (but really, shouldn’t every blog picture be EJO?).

• I actually liked the end of The Sopranos, I downloaded the episode (and by this, I mean I pay full price for HBO each month because that’s the legal thing to do) and figured I got a bad copy, just like everyone else thought their cable or satellite went out. I agree with the school of thought that that last season was the viewer really seeing the world through Tony’s eyes and the quick jump to black was Tony getting shot or killed. No time to see, hear, or react to the gunshot, from wherever it came. David Chase always sort of controlled everything and I liked that he controlled the point of view and the tension in that last scene. A lot of people were upset because they invested so much time and wanted absolutely closure on Tony and the rest of la famiglia, but that’s sort of just wanting an ordinary ending for an extraordinary show. And yes, I’m totally a pretentious schmo about this.

• I really have tried to watch the NBA Finals – The Spurs are unquestionably great, but there are just too many other things to do in life that seem more interesting. High atop that list: blog about how boring watching the NBA finals is.

• I played kickball today with Yackie’s 5th grade class. It was teachers vs students – I’m neither – but the teachers were having a hard time in the field, as it was two guys (able to field) and eight women with the identical defensive skillset that can be most easily classified as “not able to catch, throw, or stop a squarely kicked handball.” I covered shortstop and immediately put the fifth grade class on notice. They only vaguely knew who I was, but I had range baby, I had range.

The only mistake I made was putting on sandals this morning, not expecting to be anything other than a spectator. This wasn’t too much of a problem until my tractionless Rainbow sandals (not produced in Rainbow, CA, but in San Clemente, CA) slipped on me and I fell under a towering pop-up at the last second, allowing the handball to bounce off of my head and let the kicker easily jog into second. Other than that, I could be counted on. Oh, the students won, mainly due to a highly-questionable score keeping job by two gymnast twins. It doesn’t matter, though, because I showed my kickball range was like woah today. Yeah, woah.

• It’s hotter than balls today.

• I’m going to the Playboy Yazz Festival with Yackie on Sunday. We’re still trying to narrow down the picnic possibilities. Most people just decide on something, we’ve got spreadsheets, cross-referencing databases and powerpoint presentations ready to go to figure this out. Our priorities are clearly in place.

Larry David and his quasi-militant wife are no longer together. I can’t even imagine how souped-up her new Prius is gonna be with all that Seinfeld syndication money she earned.

• Speaking of which, the Seinfeld where George watches a Nova special on heart attacks and then convinces himself that he’s having a heart attack the day after is so great. The same thing happened to be me, except I was 11 and 80 pounds.

Sully went up to the Eug last week to watch track and field and not eat Newman’s. It was the exact opposite of my two weekends in Eugene since graduating.

Big Daddy Eisner‘s status as a friend of the blog is in question. So far, his possible replacements include Sully’s brother (Big Sully), Yosh Jackman, and Tom Selleck. We shall see in the coming days.

Kris “Diddy” Danielson writes some of the best emails of anybody I know. I can always count on emails that reference both iMovie and handjobs in the same thought, and no, he’s isn’t editing amateur porn for a living.

My toe hurts, probably from this morning’s kickball embarrassment. Good day.

Un _ able #1

April 22, 2007

The title of this post is referring to words such as “unwatchable” and “unlistenable” etc. I’m not sure of any other words that also work along those lines, but if I do, I’ll dutifully document them here. I’ve decided that it’s easier for me to put things I don’t like into words better than I can for things I do, so I’m going to carefully detail why certain actors, shows, musicians (I use this word loosely), and other fine entertainers are terrible. This makes me feel better about myself, and in turn, will generate more blog posting (everybody wins!!).

Today’s episode will focus on Fergie, aka Stacy Ferguson, aka she who assaults both the eardrums and retinas.

My problem with Fergie may not be entirely her fault, though. We’ll start where I assume she imagines herself positioned in show business (not gonna take the easy “she’s a dirty whore” joke here), music.

I was flipping channels Wednesday night waiting for Lost to start, and stopped on American Idol as Ryan Seacrest was introducing Fergie. Apparently, there’s a night where they kill time for an hour with singers and thrown-together segments on hack singers trying out to be the next American Idol. She happened to be one of the special chosen time killers of the night. I’ll break this down as simply as I can.

Fergie is a terrible singer who sang for a terrible pop-rap band who then released a terrible solo record while trying to pose (through extensive plastic surgery) as somebody 8-10 years younger than her actual age. On top of that, she’s hideous looking.

In other words, she’s that rare cross breed of unlistenable, unwatchable, and unbearable to look at. The best term I can think of to describe her is “horribly-assembled.”

Every time I see her posing in some sort of men’s magazine, it feels like such an obvious product of publicists behind the scenes assuming people find her hot or desirable. By now, I can’t imagine that magazines are flying off the shelves because of her. She’s an angry-looking poster for airbrushing and how too many eyebrow lifts can make one constantly look angry.

Here’s a guarantee: Fergie will age worse than you can ever imagine. This isn’t going to end well AT ALL.

Wow, I sort of went off into a tagent there. Let’s get back to the music.

Her songs are terrible and are very clearly an awful, quickie rip-off of Gwen Stefani and Nelly Furtado. I’m not proud of my ability to draw these connections, but I flip the radio too much not to notice. I can’t imagine that anybody I’ll every know or meet in almost any circumstance owns or admits to owning her CD. Hers will undoubtedly be the one album that somebody will find in another’s collection and be the reason that first somebody loses just a little bit of respect for that other somebody.

If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, I don’t want anybody to ever even consider eulogizing me with mentioning how much I liked Fergie. I don’t care what my legacy is, just as long as it’s not as a Fergie fan.

What it comes down to is the simple question of “Why is this person famous?” Ultimately, the system has failed us.

Usually, with terrible acts or shows, I can at least understand why a certain person of a certain age or disposition might be interested, but I’m dumbfounded as to why this woman (?) has a career.

I’m not sure why I even care so much about her fame to spend this much time out of my life to write about her, but every time I’m faced with her songs or image, I’m immediately overcome with confusion/horror/disappointment in the public as to why she’s making so much money and earning so much attention for essentially looking and sounding unabashedly terrible and horse-like.

I’ll be writing more coherently and cohesively tomorrow, I promise. Just had to sort through the mystery that is Fergie before my brain exploded.

The End of the Road, Part II

March 25, 2007

Today was also the day in which the tournament beard saw its demise. After the Ducks throttled SC, I decided I would stop shaving, in an effort to put the team over the top in the NCAA Tournament. The results of the beard and Oregon‘s run are eerily similar. They both started strong, survived and advanced, continued to show promise, did what they needed to do to impress late, but eventually they both had to meet their end. The success of each leaves me with a positive outlook for the future.

Excuse the shirt, it isn’t mandatory-wear for a few months, so it shouldn’t pop up as much in the coming months as it has been recently.

The final beard. Nothing to scoff at. I didn’t feel all that much like a douche by the time it had fully matured and there’s a good possibility it’ll come back whenever I decide on a new cause that needs my support thrown behind it. My gut says a Dodgers World Series beard may backfire horribly.

Internalizing. We had some good times.

I mistakenly covered myself in cream before I realized that it would be smart to do this in steps. You can almost feel the intensity.

Wiping off for the first shaving benchmark.

Sometimes, you just need to know for sure if mutton chops will work or not. Clearly, for me anyway, they pass with flying colors.

Your standard goatee. I’m not comfortable with how much I look like an actor trying to seem rough between roles. Also, this look easily maxes me out on the douchiness scale.

Keep it moving. The name tag on the mirror is from my day on set with Chuck Woolery. I’m still bitter, and still in need of writing that whole thing up.

This picture oozes sophistication. I could very well land myself a manager job at Circuit City with this look. Keep an eye on your daughters…

…because HERE’S THE MONEY SHOT!!! I’m still sporting what I call “The Young Man’s Phil Jackson,” although I’m not sure why. My guess is to continue making horrible faces every time I see a mirror.

You’re welcome.