Fool.

Andy Roddick is an idiot. And it's a shame too, because I actually don't hate his new 'Pong' commercial. Dude, moving up from Mandy Moore? That's a cross-court forehand winner if I ever saw one.*

* I don't know how that really plays in this context, but I had to end with an obligatory tennis reference.

Poisoned.

I feel like I may have food poisoning. I've never had it before, so I'm not sure. But this is for sure: fish and chips always have consequences, friends.

Back from the dead.

I never thought I'd hear this again.

Also, I got my MacBook back. So far, so good. Sadly though, I'm still cringing and waiting for the first sign of failure.

On Pizza Hut being my only option for a slice.

I've been getting cravings lately. I wish I could have this airmailed to me.

Course, he forgot to add in the dual $2000 cinema displays.

Suck it, Dell, and suck it hard. Not that this will actually make more people buy a Mac, but still.

"I can't tell you how good that is."

Thus sayeth the commentators on CBS during the 2nd playoff hole at Bridgestone just now, when Tiger had a downslope shot in the tall rough behind the green. He rocked it, of course, and after finally getting a birdie on the 5th playoff hole, won the tournament. It wasn't the prettiest round of golf; hell, with that shot over the clubhouse Friday and the four straight bogeys yesterday to surrender the lead, and giving up a three-shot lead today on the back nine to be forced into the playoff, it was not even close to being a pretty tournament. But it was a gritty tournament, and Tiger has cemented the message he's been driving home all summer: I don't have to outdrive you. I can beat you straight up, short off, in the trenches, and everywhere else you can imagine. Forget the naysayers; dominance is fucking exciting to watch.

Jerry Orbach would be proud.

So I wasn't going to post this morning's dream because it was truly bizarre, but hey, that's what makes it interesting. In the first half, I was watching an assassination happen in Manhattan, from one skyscraper across into another one late at night. It involved some high-ranking female executive who had to be taken out, and after watching the assassination and piecing together the whodunit, I was able to go back in time and stop it. Then I followed along as Tiger Woods, in addition to being an incredible athlete, turned into a detective and while running and ducking through the NYC subway tunnels, investigated allegations of rape against the entire USA national basketball team by a group of Muslim women. Long story short, Tiger knows the entire history of subway systems, and was able to prevent the team from being executed by a couple of large fellows with axes.

This couldn't possibly have anything to do with watching five hours of Law & Order: SVU last night, could it?

James Earl Jones ≠ Frank Sinatra.

Latest dream: After a weird run-up involving celebrating the Everest expedition of Sir Clive Owen in Central Park (as well as his PhD hooding in astrophysics) with Marjorie and other CPCers, Mischa and I take to the skies in a 50's style airliner that is hijacked by James Earl Jones and a couple of other members of the NAACP. I single-handedly take back the plane by swinging those plastic chairs with the metal legs, only to discover that it's not James Earl Jones, but Frank Sinatra! After seizing both handguns from his lackeys, I try to restore order, but then a bunch of male flight attendants, while serving food to the passengers, pull out machine guns and pump my body full of bullets while I try, unsuccessfully, to shoot my assailants with pistols that turned out to be empty, thus leading me to realize in my dying breaths that I was set up. My last thought is to hope that Mischa doesn't have to step over me on her way off the plane.

All kidding and puns aside, a dream like that just takes the life out of you. I woke up simply thinking, "Shit."

Hoff.

Yes it's been the better part of two decades, but rewatching this video is like getting a fresh look at the Zapruder film: questions naturally and inevitably arise. Notably:

What's with the keyboard scarf?

If you're buying a jacket covered in lights, why not get one in which all the lights flash at once?

How many Berliners started rebuilding the damn thing right there?

And seriously, why was he there in the first place? Peter Jennings, yes. But the Hoff? To invite him there on *that night*, put him on a hydraulic lift, plant a camera in front of him, and think 'Yes, a German people who have been separated for 40 years will appreciate this'?

Dear Audioblogger,

I've made four attempts at an audio post to truly capture the experience of walking out of the Only Movie Worth Seeing, and you will not put them on my blog. Thus my readers are deprived. Technology sucks. You suck. I hope you get a ping-pong paddle shoved up your ass.

~Ryan.

But is the bread ever worth it?

I just had another dream right now as I was napping that I was in NYC with friends from Kansas, but I got separated from them and was doing my own thing. I get a phone call from one, telling me to go to a police station and sign a report for something that happened to him because he's too busy, and that they'll have all the details. While waiting outside the precinct for a fight to subside, a perfect, sweet redhead that I had seen earlier in the evening with her friends walks by and recognizes me. She comes back out of a bar, alone, to sit and talk and we're flirting. Soon afterwards a cop comes out with the report, but with lots of details (including names and phone numbers that I don't have) blank and underlined for me to fill out. As I'm filling that out, and trying to keep the redhead from walking away, Howard fucking Stern walks up and starts hitting on her! So now I'm trying to fight off Howard Stern while filling out a police report that is apparently about a fight over free Italian bread in a restaurant. Fortunately, she's not interested in anything the King of All Media has to say, and keeps nibbling on my ear until I decide 'Fuck it, the bread's not worth it.'

I'm going to go see Beerfest now.

Jezebel.

I just had a dream in which I had started a magazine, and one of the cover lines was 20 Hottest Women of the Bible: Genesis through Isaiah! I mean, what?

Footy.

THIS is what ESPN should be broadcasting in the middle of the damn day.

In Defence of the Greatest Movie Ever.*

Cal: Shake and bake.
Ricky Boby: Did that blow your mind? BECAUSE THAT JUST HAPPENED!

Ricky Bobby: I wake up in the morning and I piss excellence.

PA Announcer: Girard is sitting on the pole position, which is a statement of fact and in no way a comment on his sexual orientation.

Reese Bobby: There's nothing more frightening then driving with a live goddamn cougar next to you.

*Clearly a madman wrote this title, knowing that it would only be a couple days until Beerfest!

Record breaking, pt. 3.

And if I was in NYC right now, I'd be cheering these guys on.

On watching ESPN in the middle of the damn day, pt. 2.

I watched it. The whole thing. And while there is indeed much I could say about this aspect of youth life that I never even knew about until an hour ago, I'll just stick with this:

In the head to head 3-6-3 relay competition, the teams switch sides for each race.

THEY SHARE THE SAME TABLE!!!!

There is no wind advantage to take into account here. It's not tennis and you have to stare into the sun on your serve. You're not in the Swamp, trying to call audibles in the student section. It is literally a sheet with a line drawn on it, spread over a table. I think no further comment is necessary.

(Oh, and forget the Xbox 360: I'm buying this little baby with my first paycheck! Wouldn't have known about it had I not been watching teh stackin'.)

On watching ESPN in the middle of the damn day.

World Sport Stacking Championships? Are you shitting me? Is jump rope and putt-putt out of season right now?

Of course the Germans are dominant. They're wearing the best team jerseys. Don't worry though; we'll get 'em back at Beerfest! Only two more days!

Lee, that salad bowl of jello ain't nothin' anymore.

Introducing the hamburger than could kill you where you sit.

The most brilliant music video you'll ever see?

Easily the most brilliant use of treadmills.

10,000.

I'm nothing if not a sucker for a good, comprehensive list.

Rock & Roll Government, pt. 2.

It occurs to me that I hadn't posted this, despite coming up with it in class one day this spring. Imagine that you must replace the top government officials with music stars. Enjoy.

President David Bowie
VP Tori Amos
SecState Joni Mitchell
SecTreasury Bono
SecDefense Henry Rollins
Attorney General Ice-T
SecInterior Simon & Garfunkel
SecLabor Bruce Springsteen
SecTransportation Tracy Chapman
SecEnergy Jimi Hendrix
SecEducation Pink Floyd

Speaker of the House Aretha Franklin
Senate Pres. Pro Tempore Bob Dylan

First Lady ABBA

Inspiration from who else?

Rock & Roll Government.

Hypothetical question: If you were president, and could also play a mean bass, what would be the name of your cover band?

For me, it's a close call between Pocket Veto, and Millard & the Fillmores.

"He's a freak." "Yes, he really is."

Thus sayeth the commentators on CBS right now, regarding the most dominant athlete of any sport, ever.

ETA: Okay, I probably wasn't the first to ever claim that, but I did say it before this guy.

Speed.

It's like that classic photo of the bullet and the apple, only with eggs and light bulbs and shit.

It's true.

Don't deny it.

Practice.

Four and a half hours driving within a span of seven hours, 250 miles covered in a triangle over eastern Kansas, and I'm right back where I started, minus $35 in gas, my MacBook that is in for repairs ("Oh, we've heard about this from many other people. We'll just go ahead and take it in; you can pick it up next week."), and several minutes of my life spent lipsynching to 'Hips Don't Lie' by Shakira while stuck in traffic coming off I-35. If nothing else, it's preparing me for the full-day drive in a couple of weeks. That is, if my car doesn't melt before that.

Shutdown.

Almost exactly two months to the day I bought it, the MacBook is failing me. Yesterday morning it began randomly shutting itself off, exactly like it would if the power suddenly cuts out. There are no error messages when I restart it, but it does it whether it's starting up (twice it's shut down in the middle of bootup), soon afterwards, or it may even go several hours, with no rhyme or reason to it. AppleCare phone support was a joke, and from reading the Apple.com forums last night, I see that this is a problem that plagues anywhere from 12-20% of MacBooks. Serves me right for buying a first generation portable; I should've stuck with my instincts and waited to get an iMac. Anyway, I'm gonna trek up to the Apple Store in Country Club Plaza in KC tomorrow and see if they can diagnose this; I'm thinking/hoping it's a power supply problem rather than logic board, and that I can get this fixed before I leave for Santa Fe. For now though, I've set up a makeshift desk (small coffee table) for my old eMac. This sitting on the floor thing is already getting old.

WD40.

And to continue on the point from last night, these guys too. Although in many ways superior to the solar death ray, you literally couldn't pay me enough to do this.

Borat.

Of all the unanswered questions still out there in the universe, how this man is still alive is definitely at the top of the list.

Fantasy.

I just did my first ever fantasy football draft on ESPN.com, and it. Was. Awesome!

My team's name? GoFast. I think I'll start another team and name them the HurtinBombs. You knew I was gonna.

My starters are: Carson Palmer, QB; the Edge and Dominic Rhodes, RB; Santana Moss and Roy Williams, WR; and Todd Heap as TE, with Kellen Winslow, Curtis Martin, Big Ben, and Joe Jurevicius on the bench.

On the glory of sport.

If you read nothing else this week, do read this piece by Greg Garber about sportsmanship and Little League. Up to now I've never had a beef directly with Little League, as I've directed my ire towards the general landscape of the parents, coaches and multi-million dollar industry pushing young athletes into year-round, one-sport mindsets. Traveling teams for big sports start in elementary school; I heard that one magazine has even started ranking the top national football prospects in fourth grade. Clearly the system has gone out of whack, in which children and teens are not allowed to play for the sake of play, to enjoy sport, or to even play a couple of sports; apparently cross-training is now confined to yogilates and swiss ball crunches. The vast majority of kids in my high school, if they played one sport, played another; hell I would've gone out for football in addition to track had my mom not come up with a 'rule' that I couldn't play if my dad wasn't at home that season.

The point is, the very same people who decry all of the bad things about sports today–the steriods, the cheating, the assholes–are the same ones perpetuating those things by twisting our youth in an absurd and slavish devotion to the bottom line: if I send him to five sports camps in a summer, why not six? If her team has a weeknight game, then surely her sixth-grade teacher will understand, right? In the era of Halo and Maddenoliday (don't ask), I think the proliferation of sport academies, along with the AAU and other leagues filled with poachers and conmen, has contributed to the upward trend of youth obesity in at least two ways. First, with specialization at younger and younger ages, starting spots and varsity teams are slotted automatically for a select few who attend the aforementioned six camps a summer; other school-age athletes sense this, and believe that if they have little or no chance of advancement, then why even go out for sports? Second, when you are, shall we say, encouraged to play a single sport year-round, then chances are you will not be going out and playing a pickup game of soccer or flag football afterschool or on the weekend; when the best athletes are thus taken out of the neighborhood talent pool, those pickup games no longer exist, leading to all of the other kids' downtime being spent on Xbox or PSP.

How to rectify this? I don't know. Because in the end, we want the best athletes on the field when we root for our division 1-A schools or our professional teams, and we don't care how they got there (we're actually getting more interested in how they get taken off the field, if only to revel in our mock disgust). However much I feel and want to root for the young boy in Utah with the cranial tumor and a chance to tie the game, I can't fault the opposing manager. Why do we play? We play to win the game. I just wish somebody knew what the hell winning is supposed to mean anymore.

Makes you long for the days of "We must protect this house!"

Under Armour, in their infinite wisdom, has decided to do away with actual words and use just simple sounds that really have no relationship whatsoever to cleats on hard floors in advertising their apparel and gear. But if their commercials don't get you jacked for football season every year, then you have no heart.

Seriously, between 'Click clack', 'Go-fast boats', and 'Hurtin' bombs', I am very optimistic about the state of testosterone-injected catchphrases in this second half of 2006. Come on Beerfest; don't fail me now!

Lee, be careful what you wish for.

Disclaimer: The preceding clip does not constitute an endorsement for Roll Tide, Charles Barkley for Governor, or Ohio-class nuclear submarines carrying Gene Hackman and Denzel Washington.

Readership.

So since my last week in NYC I've gotten an inordinate number of people saying "Oh I'm reading your blog!" To which my standard response is "Wow, I thought only three people in the world read this thing, and I was two of them."

This has had a disconcerting side effect though in that I find myself invariably doing some self-censorship on here, which I rather dispise. The whole purpose of this blog was to be a creative outlet for all of the things going on with/around me, or the detrius I find on the internet. There wasn't going to be a topic off-limits, and my life was to be an open-book (though admittedly, one that only I would write). Anyway, I'm now walking the tight-rope that accompanies being famous. If anybody has something they would like for me to talk about, I'm taking requests.*

*First person to 'request' Freebird will get and I mean pummeled with their own shoe while they sleep. Lynard Skynard, my ass.

Game theory.

So my dearest friend in the entire world has been going through a guy situation. I don't know the guy well, and I really don't care to. I just know that they have had quite a history for almost exactly a year now, and he's pissing me off even more with each passing day.

Basically, he comes across as your average emo guy, the one who wears his heart on his sleeve and then proceeds to tell you all about it. On his Myspace page. His blogs over the past few months have devolved into screeds about how good of a guy he is, and how that should be good enough for my friend, and she's just put him through the wringer, and he's tried to protect her and tried to be worthy of her religion and so on. I've pretty much heard the story from only her side, admittedly, but Myspace is a primary source, so I feel confident in my scholarly advice for this gentleman: Dude, grow a pair.

To be true, I myself have gone through the period of darkness that engulfs a man when he can't understand the realm of relationships. But the main thing that every guy in that situation has to do is to get past the 'magic formula' belief: that idea that as long as are you kind enough, and sweet enough, and buy dinner and pay attention to her birthday, that she should be falling all over you. It's called treating relationships as a checklist, and it doesn't work.

The simple truth is that girls suck. And guys suck. The only hope that any of us have is that we will know enough not to go into every mating ritual with a set definition of what constitutes a good and working relationship. Do you have to change who you are? Of course not. But a person is measured, and rightly so, by their actions; that's the manifestation of what's inside. I won't ever think that because I'm a caring, affectionate guy that I should get brownie points. At most that should earn a 'Good. Then you're off on the right foot.' This is the NFL, ladies and gentlemen, and if you're not willing to get your shirt dirty, then get out of the game.

Anyway, I just hope this guy will get the message and soon. My friend deserves to be able to concentrate on her new job and her sparkling, fabulous future without this guy popping up every other week or writing long messages to her that she'll never read on Myspace. Blogging is so emo.

Casita.

I got a place in Santa Fe, and will move down there on or about the fifth of September.

Lists, pt. 2.

I'm always a sucker for these kinds of things, but this is a really good list of ways to change sports for the better. I've been calling for American leagues to adopt relegation for a while now, if only because I cannot stand putting the words 'Devil Rays' and 'Major League' in the same sentence.

Is blood money just money to you?

Cause it's not just a kick-ass song, it's also free for download.

I left New York City much too early.

And I have yet another reason to wish I wasn't in Kansas.

No need to bring physics into this.

Tonight on the phone:

Lee: So I figured out how we're going to make our money Ryan.
Ryan: Shoot.
Lee: It's not going to be a publishing house. We're going to get some 'go-fast boats' and smuggle people from Albania into Italy.
Ryan: I love it!
Lee: Seriously, the best part of that movie was having these trained professionals refer to them as 'go-fast boats.'
Ryan: Every weapon and vehicle has its own technical name or acronym, but we're just going to name the boats by a general term for speed.

Ryan: I was just watching a special on the weapons of the Afghanistan and Iraq wars, and they were showcasing this new bomb. Now it's 1,000 pounds, but it splits into ten–
Lee: Wait wait! Did they call it the 'go-boom bomb'!?
Ryan: You just made the rest of my story irrelevant.

Ryan: You like your new apartment?
Lee: I do. Not all of my furniture fits, so my breakfast bar is also my desk.
Ryan: Nice.
Lee: I have a sink, and next to that is the microwave, and behind that is my printer!
Ryan: That's efficiency.
Lee: I just have to make sure I'm not microwaving and printing at the same time, which was always a concern before.

Ryan: Did I send you the link to the top five things to do with your MacBook?
Lee: Let me guess, the top one was cook a steak?
Ryan: This guy turned his MacBook over, put some foil down on the battery, and cooked an egg!
Lee: Wow!
Ryan: He might have done some hash browns too, but I'm not sure.
Lee: See, it's the best machine in the world. Not only can you connect to the internet, you can make breakfast!
Ryan: So when you said your breakfast bar was your desk, I thought "Hey, Lee's on top of that!"

Lee: But it should be a nice quiet place to learn to love the law.
Ryan: But you're not just going to be learning the law, Lee. You will be the law. And I apparently just turned you into Judge Dredd.
Lee: Hey, another Stallone reference.
Ryan: That movie is going to be the end of me.
Lee: "To beat this guy you need speed. You ain't got it. You have calcium deposits on most of your joints, so sparring is out. We're gonna rely on blunt force trauma!" That's just incredible.
Ryan: Because any sane trainer would've just stopped at the first statement. "To beat this guy you need speed. You ain't got it. So, um, thanks for coming in!"
Lee: That pretty much takes care of it!
Ryan: "And if you want to know where I'm going with this next, two words: calcium deposits. Think about that, while I go get a sandwich."
Lee: *laughing* Oh god.

Lee: I also loved how they were looking at the two boats coming in on satellite feed, and immediately knew who it was that was behind the shipment because they were using 'go-fast boats.' Because the guy obviously wasn't stupid enough to use the 'go-slow boats'!
Ryan: In a pinch he would use the 'go-reasonably speed boats.'
Lee: *laughs*
Ryan: And they were talking about the skill involved with driving these boats to make them show up as one on the radar, but I'm sitting there like "But you're watching the two boats on the screen!"
Lee: The satellite imagery kinda takes care of that! And the thing with the plane, making the one go up so that it gets the same radar signature, and the guy in the tower just looks at the plane, on a vector from Columbia, disappearing and says "Oh, it's just a ghost!" and walks away.
Ryan: They told the second plane to check the airspace to his right and look for them, and the guy glances out his window and says there's nothing there. I would be like "Hey, there's nothing else within 100 miles of you, how about you actually lean over and take a look?"
Lee: "I mean, it's only another airplane literally on your wing."
Ryan: "It's not like it would cause turbulence or anything due to the airflow from the plane being right below or on top to you."
Lee: "I've studied Bernoulli's effect. I know the physics behind this, but hey, don't worry about THAT."

In Defence of the Best Action Movie Ever.

People keep complaning about the lack of character development in the remake of Miami Vice. About how there isn't one real line of dialogue in the entire script. About the way the plot moves along without seeming no regard to whether it should.

Let me make this very clear: WHY THE FUCK SHOULD ANY OF THAT MATTER? HM? If I see the names Michael Mann, Jamie Foxx and Colin Farrell involved in a production, I'm not expecting Pride and Fucking Prejudice. Once the words 'go-fast boats' are uttered, that's all the dialogue I need. Hell, Mann even managed to pull off my one pet peeve about action movies–love interests–without fucking up the movie; indeed, the inclusion of Gong Li was an inspired choice, and I believe the way that Isabella and Crockett managed their affairs were entirely in tune with their characters: bold, brutal, and fleeting. Besides, with the digital production, the cinematography, and thus the action scenes, had a feel to them that made this movie very unique; you could almost taste Miami in this film in its lightning-backed, mojito-fueled grittiness.

Was Miami Vice the most intricate action movie I've seen? That honor probably belongs to Ronin. Batman Begins was astounding in its retelling of a much-familiar story, with great action and toys to boot. And Jason Statham of the Transporter fame is, in the words of your humble correspondent, the greatest badass in the history of badassery. But for wrapping it altogether and making me want more, for making the tactics and gunplay so believable I almost couldn't stand it, and most impressively, for making me think that perhaps South Florida wouldn't be a bad place to live after all, Miami Vice is the new standard.

Vice.

Michael Mann, you magnificent bastard. Thought you could make the best action movie I'd ever see? Well you were right. By the end of the movie I was even contemplating growing out a mustache, Colin Farrell-style. Anyway, good call on the digital film. As well as the whole 'minimal dialogue' thing.

Sweet mother of all that's righteous.

Staggering. Stupifying. I can't believe it's actually going to be a movie.

I can't wait to watch it!

Seriously..

Why the hell did I willingly choose to come back here for a month?

Here, in this case, being Humboldt, or as I like to call it, the boil on the asscrack of America.

You know you've been dying to see it.

It's called 90 square inches, bitches.

The Ultimate Finale.

And on the 45th and last night of the Summer of Ryan, it ended with a jumbo slice of pizza. In fact, that's not what I had wanted; I had just wanted a small slice, but they were out, so I had to get the jumbo. If that's not a sign of something, I don't know what is.

Anyway, it was a fantastic night. The reception was great; I got to see most everybody from the course, and I talked quite a bit with the coolest professional couple EVER (she used to work at Outside, and he's a freelance illustrator). Then we went out to a bar on the UES and I got to have a beer with everybody and say goodbye to those still around. These people are amazing; they're talented and smart and determined and we're going to run this fucking industry in ten years, if not sooner. Anyway, I love them all, and I can't wait to get back to this city to see them again so we can get and I mean blitzed. Goodnight all; get some sleep tonight, cause we know the city won't.

The Ultimate Run.

This morning I took my last workout in NYC for the summer, and for the occasion, I chose the ultimate test: circumnavigating Central Park in the already 80-degree heat of daybreak. I saw parts of the Park that I never saw before, and revisited places that I've come to love. I ran down the Literary Walk (you know that tree-lined boulevard you see in your dreams? This is the reality), by the Ramble, and took one last lap around the Reservoir. But perhaps the most poignant part of the morning was finding the bridge over the Pond, at the southeast corner of the Park on 59th and 5th Ave. In this tucked-away part of the Park you can look out over a magnificient landscape in the foreground, and yet your eyes are automatically led up. Running and walking through the Park, I realized that while I've enjoyed my summer in New York more than I could've imagined, I still don't feel welcome here. Though I've walked among the skyscrapers of Manhattan, I'm still not part of them or what they represent. That will change. I won't come back to New York City until I'm ready, but when I am, watch out. This is gonna be a sight to see.

All a matter of degree.

They were running a fire alarm test while I was out getting some lunch, and when I came back to the building, feeling the drops of sweat start to build up in my pores, the lady informed me to wait outside for a few moments. I thought of responding "Why don't you just ask me to cook an egg in my underwear? It's about the same request."

Harder than it looks, pt. 2.

It's all for naught at this point, but my favorite books, redux.

Notes on a Shared Landscape David Bayles
Division of Labour in Society Emile Durkheim
Soccer in Sun and Shadow Eduardo Galeano
The Sun Also Rises Ernest Hemingway
The Fountainhead Ayn Rand
Points Unknown David Roberts
The Fire Within Salt Lake Olympic Committee
Rolling Stone: The Complete Covers Jann S. Wenner & Fred Woodward
To the Finland Station Edmund Wilson
Nonzero Robert Wright

Yet more places I would love to work at.

Even if you're not 25-years-old and have just spent $10M to buy one of the most talked-about yet least-read newspapers in the world, this is fabulous advice.

Also, some fine folks have started what reads to be a great, and needed, political journal. And the design is amazing!

On publishing and softball.

Is there any doubt I'm coming back to New York City? Even the softball write-ups are hilarious.