We are who we thought we were....

I saw a lot of symbolism in a couple of those 4th down calls last night.

We are in the midst of building a program here. We're on the rise.



(Butch explains to EJ why we are always "just thiiiiiiiiis far away")

And last night, we jumped out to that lead, were hammering them, and they responded. On the most impressive drive of the day we take the ball from our 8 to theirs, on virtually nothing but running plays. We are destroying their D and owning the LOS. Why, why, why do you kick a FG w/ a 1 pt lead in that scenario. I get it re: the pts - 4 pt lead vs 1 pt lead, FG beats us, etc...


But in that scenario, in those circumstances; the nation watching, our defense reeling, the fanbase on edge... it was a perfect time for UNC to go for the jugular. What are we playing for if not to WIN. And a TD there is a WIN. A FG is a prolonging of tension, a tourniquet, a bandaid.

And, as it turned out, a LOSS. Now, there is nothing wrong with playing it safe...when you are undefeated, or in the hunt for a conference championship, etc.. But that's not a realistic assessment of where we are as a team or program. Nor of FSU. That was a dogfight. FSU would have gone for it. No question. They are a program that has known success and understands what it takes to win. You have to strike when the time is right.

But in the 2 scenarios when it was time to bare fangs and go for the kill, we trotted out a kicker and a punter.

On national TV. In front of a packed house. With a ton on the line.

We played scared.

I hated that, but it's UNC football.

Palindrome time...

Rats live on no evil star

Sit on a potato pan, otis

A man, a plan, a canal panama

racecar

wow mom, wow

dammit, i'm mad

Do geese see God?

Never odd or even

Red Rum, sir, is murder

So many dynamos!

Ma is as selfless as I am

UNC Football....an analogy

I came up with a real life analogy last night.

Over the past 20 years, UNC football has been a lot like tracking a middle-aged man's romantic life. It's not exciting, at times its depressing, with a couple highs and too many lows to count.






We had a sexy young thing walk out on us 12 years ago and we didn't really see it coming. We were devastated, but tried to justify it like maybe we could do better. We convinced ourselves it wasn't that tragic of a loss. It was.







(Our sexy young thing...with his NCAA champ trophy)







Not long after she left, we realized just how unattractive we were to hot young talent. We got some suitors, but we followed our big head instead of our little one and dated our ex's best friend. It was a disaster. We stuck with it too long, got fat and out of shape, and eventually grew the stones to break if off.


(the rebound...ugh)















Sadly, we found ourselves single, aging, out of shape...still able to bring something to the table but not a great catch, if you will. So we started dating a girl from high school.




(ladies and gentlemen, the worst move ever... John Bunting)


At first, everyone was so happy for us - it made so much sense! We had history together! Big promises were made. Hope sprung eternal. But, it turns out, it was a match made in hell. We had grown in our own mind and wanted more than the homely girl from the small town had to offer. Plus she was somewhat "challenged" and we began to shy from taking her in public. We waited far too long, but we eventually told her to hit the bricks.

It was a fresh breath of freedom.

So we joined a gym, got in shape, bought a new suit and went to the big boy club. We talked with our happy and successful friends about how they went about managing their life. And then....We landed a cougar. A cougar with money. And a crew of hot cougar friends.


(mmmmmmm, Cougar!)


And here we are, 12 years after being jilted, 9 years after being embarassed, 5 years after nearly throwing in the towel...

And we're bitching about our hot, rich, fun loving cougar's crow's feet.


(Butch Davis, UNC's cougar)

Let's get it together, Tar Heel fans. It's been a bad two weeks. But its been a shitty 12 years! It's a weird situation we're in now with the Offensive (literally) Line and its affecting the entire offense. That's not all that surprising. We're in a better place as a program than we have been since 1997 when Mack walked out.

Walk the line.

Well, well - only 1 left to go...

2 straight drafts on consecutive nights, both from the 9 slot (9/12 and 9/10).

Have to say that I'm much happier w/ the 9 of 12 draft. Which is remarkable given how few players I got that I truly wanted. It was a strange draft, RBs flew off the shelves immediately and at the end of the day every team in that league has bright spots and holes...parity in its truest form can be found in Coast 2 Coast this year. Which means it'll come down to deft roster management, gametime decisions, and player pickups throughout the year. As it should.


But the 9 of 10 draft? Horrendous. Given that its a free league, and there is no money to be won or lost, I rolled the dice and went w/ a QB first pick - the estimable Thomas Brady - which wasn't such a shock. But on the 12 pick I was looking at a WR or a RB - and there was only 1 RB that isn't sharing touches left available - so I took him. Ryan Grant. Granted, (lol - pun!) that is far too high for him, but I had to have an every down back, its a roster necessity. But I passed on Randy Moss to get him, which was a tragic mistake. This is the least sexy roster I've ever assembled: Tom Brady, Terrell Owens, Wes Welker, Hines Ward, Pierre Thomas, Ryan Grant, Larry Johnson, Shockey, and the Vikings. My bench is, as usual, full of players that could pay off big or be complete busts. I don't love a single player on my team. I'd trade any of them without hesitation, which is a sure sign of a crap draft.

(okay, maybe Gisele and my wife would disagree about "least sexy" - but that does me NO good)



To top it all off, my dirtbag friend Anar made a reach pick in the 11th for no other purpose than to fuck with me and took Hakeem Nicks off the board, eliminating any chance that I'd have an ounce of fun in this league. So, to get him back I took the Bears D. Which is the equivalent to TP'ing someone's house who ran over your dog.

All in all - a downer. I'll be competitive in my own league for a change, but I have no shot in my brother's league, which is the biggest trash talking league I'm in. Which means I'll be slammed mercilessly all season.

1 draft left. No clue on draft position. Stay tuned...

Another draft in the books, and again Fillmore Slim was able to capture Matt Forte in the first round - this time making a reach for him from the 2 slot. I held high hopes of landing Matt Ryan to complete my all-Matt backfield (first time that was even a possibility...) but alas, he was snatch from me at the turn in the 3rd round. That's right, 3rd round. This was a crazy draft, with QBs gone by Rd 3, Defenses selected in the 4th, and so on. In a draft like that, its hard to stick to a plan, as nobody is following standard procedure. To top it all off, the cpu took over an put me on auto pilot in the middle rounds and gave me Joey Flacco, Ced Benson and Jason Elam (a fucking kicker) all before round 8. I wasn't too happy. All in all, my team is pretty solid, but we'll need to make some adjustments in-season to shore up a weak spot or two.

Draft #4 tonight. My own league. Should be classic. I'm in the 9 spot.

Fantasy season returns...

It's back! Thank god, too. There is absolutely nothing worse than baseball season. Unless of course one is a fan of watching moderately athletic guys stand around, chew tobacco, spit sunflower seeds and adjust their crotches waiting every so patiently for that 3-4 seconds of meaningful action that occurs about two times in any given game. And if you are a fan of that, you should look into real sports. They are more fun.

But bashing baseball, while easy, fun, and endlessly doable is only preventing us from realizing that the fantasy football season is again upon us, and with it, the return of the NFL. For quite some time I had lost interest in the NFL. This was around 1995 or so. I had gotten over my childhood "favorite team" affiliation (Redskins), my young adult "favorite team" affiliation (gambling on the Aikman-led Cowboys) and was mired in a late 90's funk of mild interest in our nation's premier sports league. And then I discovered fantasy football. In a flash, my adult "favorite team" was established, solidified and shall not be turned away like so many other fads. No, Fillmore Slim is unquestionably where my heart and loyalties lie.

Within the annually changing confines of my roster, you will find my favorite players, those I think likely to break out, a rookie or two, a typical dearth of quality wideouts spurned on draft day in favor of mid-tier running backs headed for an inevitable time share or torn ACL, a QB that everyone but me realizes sucks (hello, Brady Quinn!!!), and a defensive unit that I selected 2-3 rounds too early.

And you'll find those things as a result of my favorite thing in sports outside of watching my beloved Tar Heels whoop ass: the fantasy football draft. There is nothing like it. Grown men are reduced to a child-like state of anticipation (think a 7 year old on Christmas Eve) when faced with the opportunity to create their own war room and put together what they think is surely the team to beat this year. Some join to talk shit to their friends, some join for the love of competition, some see it as a money making venture... but me, I join it merely to crow about my untouchable, talented, deep and well balanced team. I will sing the song high and low. I will write a blog for the first time in weeks to tell the entire interweb how I am going to rule with an iron fist upon the masses of the lower level teams in my leagues.

And then I will over manage my team into missing the playoffs.

This is my fantasy reality. I am cursed. I will make inadvisable trades to attain players I don't need. I will bench players I don't like that are due for huge games. I'll overpay for a running back simply because he's over 225 lbs and I like big backs. I will convince myself that Tiki Barber is no competition for Ron Dayne despite all evidence to the contrary. And then, year after year after year of the same results....I'll do it all over again. And this is the glory of fantasy football. It's me being my own NFL GM. And I am Mike Brown.

This year, however, Fillmore Slim is off to some pretty decent starts. I won the draft lottery in a league where the entry fee is $50 and a fantastic bottle of wine. I went with the safe choice - Adrian Peterson - and built what I think is a team with relatively strong upside. The first pick, while vaunted, is not truly the best place to draft from in my opinion, and it was with some optimism that I entered my 2nd draft, with friends from the workplace, as the 6th slot out of 12. My bromance RB crush of the year, Matt Forte, fell to me at 6th after not having seen him go below 4 in a mock draft all year, and from there I did my best to build a RB-strong team with big names. I was able to, but have serious questions about my WR, which will come as no surprise to anyone that has ever been in a league with me. And lucky for me, Dennis Leary and LL Cool J have informed me that I no longer need cable and can watch any game I want, anywhere I want on my iPhone if I just order DirecTV. I am doing so. I suggest you do too.

And so I am 2 drafts in to the season. I have 4 drafts left. I draft 9th out of 10 in a keeper league, 9th out of 12 in the league I run (which of course holds the worst collection of finishes out of any league I participate in), and 2 unknown draft spots.

Look for an update late next week on 3 of the remaining 4 drafts.

Until then, prepare for the onslaught.

Free Mike Vick!!!

Okay, I realize that people are up in arms about Mike Vick's reinstatement to the NFL.

I just don't get why. Mike Vick fought dogs. Okay, got it. Not the best activity. Not really responsible. Apparently, illegal! However, like all things in life, there is a sliding scale to legality.

Dog fighting, as it stands, is pretty low on the list of things I get upset about.

I'm much more concerned with "murder" (see: Ray Lewis, Leonard Little - both longtime, protest-free NFL players), "girlfriend and baby killing" (see: Rae Carruth), "wife abuse" (see: too many citations to count or tally or reference here given my storage capacity limits from blogspot), etc... to get worked up about a guy who managed a dog fighting ring.

Know why? I've been to a dog fight. Its pretty intense, yes. But most of the owners I know truly love their dogs, and I haven't been to a ton of fights, but I have never seen a dog put down for losing. That's just hype. Fact of the matter is, dog fighting is actually fun to watch. Just like MMA. Or like that time we televised "Shock and Awe".

But that's just one component of the inanity of this latest craze. You know, we have guys here in the USA that breed human fighters. But they aren't labeled as criminals. They are our 5-star generals and our politicians who's policies can lead to the death of hundreds of thousands, even millions, of deaths. Why is this not a moral outrage. After all, we are expected to blindly "support our troops" despite evidence that would indicate we fight avoidable and often times useless wars, no? These are men who are celebrated and toasted nationwide.

But lets not expose the inherent lunatic hypocrisy in making daily headlines about how bad a guy Mike Vick really is by talking about things that matter, when we can merely trump it up like he's evil incarnate.

After all, some friends of his fought dogs in his yard at the house he didn't live in.

The horrors.

"Sorry for the delay, Ace!"

I love that line from Ace Ventura 2: When Nature calls when Greenwall finally comes crashing through the doors to Ace's rescue and 88 minutes of failed partnership vanishes in a single moment of glorious camaraderie. I'm wondering if that's not a bit of the situation we find ourselves in here. 8 long days since the last entry and then I come crashing through the doors "Sorry for the delay!!!". The question now...is it enough? I would say so, given that its my blog and I don't care if its been too long.



[Speaking of When Nature Calls, did you know that Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje ^^ played a bit role in the film before going on to play memorable parts in Oz (Adebisi - the scariest bunk mate of all time) and Lost (Mr. Ecko - who remains my top pick in the Lost-spawned "who I would make friends with immediately on a haunted deserted island" game)? I bet you didn't.]



I have good reason for said delay, however. We're in the midst of a move. And as everyone knows, moving sucks. 4 months ago we moved from our top floor Pacific Heights apartment with its glorious 1/2 block walk to the shops on Fillmore street. It was horrific. We packed up 9 years of California life into our rent-portioned space in an oversized 80 foot truck and left the life we knew. Truth be told, that wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was realizing the enormous dichotomy in our situation. Going from our relatively plush digs in SF to the stark reality of a cinder block sublet on a gravel road. It was quite the contrast. At first, it wasn't so bad. But day after day it would eat away at me like a self-judging ulcer. After a few weeks the smallest of cobwebs would send me into a rage. Lately I've taken to kicking permanent fixtures in the sublet to let it know my disapproval. It hasn't yet retaliated, but if and when it does I'm gonna beat the living daylights out of it with a rusted out aluminum bat I found in the yard. Yeah, its that kind of a redneck spot.



Alas, it all becomes okay this Friday. This Friday, we move into a house. A real live house. With multiple entrances, rooms, AC, ceiling fans, problems, light fixtures (coming circa late September apparently), newly sanded and coated hardwood floors, more than one bathroom, a kitchen you can turn around in...the works.

The House:


Needless to say, its been a long haul. The last time I lived in a house was 1994. Holy shit. I hadn't realized that until I wrote it. I've been living in apartments for 15 years. Regardless (although I'm still stuck on the whole 15 years thing, might take me a minute to get over it) come the first of August, we're BACK, baby! Invites will be sent out soon enough. If you don't get one, please don't take offense. Its just that you are pretty low on the visitor priority list and it may take some time to get to you.

And this move won't be so bad. We have hired this company called TROSA to do the move. Now here's a story about a guy who made good on a niche. This TROSA company is basically a program for recovering drug and alcohol addicts that come and move your stuff for like $15/hr. There's a minimum, but its super low, and you get 3 guys for the price of 1 guy at most moving companies. And the catch? If any of the recovering addicts get out of line, don't show up, etc.. they are out of the program. The guy who runs it ensures that they are mannered, friendly, etc... Now, I've got some experience with drug addicts and drunks. I call it "friendship". So I'm not too concerned about that aspect. But that's beside the point. What I'm driving at is this. The guy that started this program saw a 3 fold problem: 1) Addicts need stuff to keep their mind off of using, 2) Moving sucks and people want other people to do it for them, 3) Moving is way too expensive. So he comes up with a moving company that gives addicts a purpose, helps the community at large, and gets the consumer moved for dimes on the dollar. Kudos, sir. Well done.

Speaking of moving, my PNC Malvin is moving as well this month. After roughly 10 years in New York (inclusive of the infamous Montclair, NJ era) my boy is leaving the Apple. He and his newly betrothed are packing up their lives as they know it and heading for Minnesota. But rest easy, that's not their final destination (yet). No, its merely a pit stop to dump all their earthly possessions on their path to do-goodership in Eastern and Western sub-Saharan Africa. Malvin and Manda are going to volunteer their time and considerable skills during the worst global economy of our lifetimes to improving those specific corners of the globe for the residents of Tanzania and Ghana. Now, I'm sure you are thinking that they are probably just doing it for easy access to the cheap saffron of Zanzibar and to get their grubby hands on some blood diamonds in Sierra Leone if at all possible - but I'm fairly confident that their motives are legitimately altruistic. Why? Because Manda is going. If it were just Malvin we'd all be wondering "to what end"? And it would make sense. The guy has wanted to travel his whole life and is fascinated with the Motherland. One could easily see this as a joy ride for him. But Manda is going. Manda of Columbia Law School. Manda who anchors the high-powered and well paying litigation team at Foley and Lardner. Manda who clerked for the State Supreme Court in their future home state of Minnesota. If she's going then one has difficulty applying the shady and self-serving motivations typically associated with a Malvin Moore caper. So, lets all take a moment to congratulate these two for leaving their lives of comfort and privlege and going out to make the world a better place. I, nay "we", salute you! You make America proud.




And so, I must sign off for now. Next up: My Top 5 Rock Bands: Why Led Zepplin rules or Why the Beatles aren't a real Rock Band....

Baby Genius?

Aaah, the weekend. That glorious time where I am free from the constraints of the corporate world, out and about to do what I will, when I want, how I please. It's a glorious time. Sure, one might point out that there is always the ever-looming thumb of the "honey do" list, or the inevitably larger crowds at public gatherings and attractions, or worse seats at the movies, but these are minor complaints best reserved for the unemployed.

This weekend, like all the others of late, were focused on doing renovations at the lovely house we are moving into in Chapel Hill at the end of this month. It's been a busy time filled with spackle, caulk, paint, primer, buffers, nailguns, saws, sand paper, dust, and the ever handy hammer. Doing renovations with a baby is not the easiest thing, so we have started alternating between doing odd jobs and playing with Leo. Yesterday afternoon it was finally daddy's (me) turn to take the little boy out to see the world and leave the mess and clutter of the construction zone for a while.

Leo and I went to Kidzu - the local "children's museum". This place should be a mandatory use of retail space in every town. There is plenty to occupy the youngsters of all ages and its broken into appropriate age groups: a soft, cushioned play area for little ones aged 0-2 years, an interactive building block/arts and crafts area for 2-4 year olds, etc... all compete with comfortable accommodations for a parent to catch a quick 5-45 minute cat nap while "watching" the baby play with others.

After the requisite time smashing things together, drooling, pulling every book off of the shelves, crawling a warp speed into a face plant, turning to random pages and squawking while pointing at a beach ball or a smiling frog, and climbing into impossible positions then dangerously falling off of walls yet managing to land on his bottom Leo and I got down to an old fashioned game of catch.

Playing catch is a time honored father and son tradition. Playing catch with a baby is not the same as the Field of Dreams game of catch, but it has its pleasantries. The first time the baby actually stops the ball in motion. The first time the baby is able to attempt to throw or roll the ball back to you. The first time the ball comes anywhere near you after the baby throws it. All milestones in their own right.

And yesterday, we had a HUGE milestone.

Leo stopped the ball I had thrown to him, picked it up, attempted to switch hands but dropped the ball over the edge of the play area where he couldn't reach it. He spent a second or two surmising the situation, then turned to me while looking a proper mixed bag of forlorn and mischievous.......and said "Uh Oh". I froze. The lady sitting next to him turned and smiled. All the other babies bowed. The heavens opened up and golden light rained down upon my precocious genius. Leo. Had. Spoken.



And so it was that my baby boy's first words entered the ether never to be heard again and directed at his loving and oh-so-proud Papa. "Uh oh". What a first word. In fact, 2 words. In fact, a whole damn sentence! A complete and appropriate thought relating to a predicament he found himself in and accurately relaying his situation to me via verbal discourse. Einstein, Hawking, Slebos. Names that will forever ring out, emanating echoes that inspire awe and honor. The greatest minds of our time, or any other? Indeed.

And what a choice of a phrase to use (honestly "uh oh" is more of a phrase than a single word, right?). Kelley and I use "uh oh" for a variety of reasons; a bonk on the head, a fall from standing w/ help to sitting, a disappearing toy, dropped food, and the grand daddy of all "uh oh"s - the dirty diaper. I think we're potentially at the stage where Leo can merely verbally inform me of his diaper's status, eliminating the age old sniff test, or worse, the often jarring look test. Yes, I expect that tomorrow morning Leo will just say, "Papa, I appear to have soiled my diaper, could you change me?"...or something like that.

I guess my favorite part of all this, is that my child is officially better than yours. If you are reading this, then you are one of about 9 people that check this site. And if you are one of the 3 of them with kids, then MY KID IS SMARTER THAN YOURS!!! That's right Mark, Miranda, and Brook, your kids are wearing dunce caps in the classroom of Leo's peers!



Leo speaks.... and guess what? Beatrice doesn't. Tyler doesn't. Have either of them ever said "uh oh"? No, no they haven't. Cute kids, but they don't talk. I can hear it now, "but Bea is only a few months old". Save it. "Tyler hasn't even started crawling". So what? Every parent knows this undeniable truth: either your kid brings it or they don't. My kid brings it!

Note: the last part is intended to be humorous. I love both of your kids. Despite their being a little "behind".

Happy Birthday, Chachi II??

Happy Birthday!

Today is July 15th - a date that holds no special significance unless it happens to be your birthday. Which is the case for Brian Austin Green. You may not know that name. You may be more familiar with his erstwhile TV moniker David Silver from 90210 fame.

I typically refer to him as Silver; which has paid off huge because in the updated edition of the show airing on the WB that is what they call the ridiculously hot younger sister of Kelly Taylor and David Silver. And by paid off huge, I mean that my buddy Anar called me (because he actually watches crappy TV including that show) and told me that the new show was using my Silver nickname on the new love of his life. I'm sure she's only a half sister or something to one or the other of the original cast members, but I don't really care that much and its not really the point.

What is the point? Today is Brian Austin Green's birthday. Pay attention, damn it! And why should you care? Because David Silver has a knock list like you wouldn't believe possible for a B-level, child actor-turned-D-level-adult-actor. He is the poster child for Hot Chicks with Douchebags. Think Kevin Federline was out of his league with Brit? Okay, admittedly a bad example. But seriously, Silver (or BAG, whichever you prefer) has run up in Tiffany Amber-Thiessen of Saved By the Bell/90210 fame, Vanessa Marcil of 90210/General Hospital hotness, and Megan Fox - a girl so dirty and hot that she's threatening to take the top perch on my Top 5 Laminated List from perennial winner Jessica Alba. That's a helluva trifecta, ladies and gents. Kelly Kapowski?! Bam! That in and of itself is the stuff of legend. But she hasn't been relevant since the early '90s. Nor has Silver. Which makes his recent engagement with Megan Fox all the more impressive, no? I mean, this guy fell off the grid like Corey Haim, but without the unintentionally hilarious comeback attempt. And yet he's hammering home in the hottest lady in Hollywood? How?! (Gratuitous Megan Fox shot coming in 3...2...1)



(aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh)

Okay, we're back... Some go so far as to say that Silver is our generation's Scott Baio. And at first, I loved the comparison. And then my brain starting churning. Is that an accurate comparison? I mean, 3 amazingly hot girls is quite the achievement for a man of such little stature but are we really ready to ascribe such lofty status based on such a small sample size? After further review, no. No, I'm not. I will not sully the name of one of the greatest poon hounds in history with such blasphemy.

And here we need to take a moment to recognize true greatness. Scott Fucking Baio. Chachi. Charles who is In Charge. Cocksman sans précédent. Living Legend.


.... Scott Baio.

Scott Baio made time with Pamela Anderson, Erika Eleniak, Nicole Eggert (former member of my Top 5 Laminated List - I still love you, Nicole), Natalie Raitano, Nicolette Sheridan, Denise Richards, Julie McCullough, Jodie Foster, Heather Locklear, Beverly D'Angelo, Liza Minelli (no, seriously), Melissa Gilbert, and Sheila Kennedy (December 1981 Pet of the Month and 1983 Pet of the Year, Penthouse), among others.

Scott Baio took a bit role as Fonzi's cousin on Happy Days and parlayed it into the single biggest-name Belt Notch list in Hollywood history. His Playmates span decades. He's done the wild thing with every new "it girl" for years. I think he threw Liza a bone just for the comedic value of the story. He even lived out every man's secret fantasy and gotten busy with the Mom from those Vacation movies.


(Yo Clark, Baio smashed your wife!)


Baio has gone so far as to rate his lovers, simply for us mere mortals to revel in the glory of his aura. Locklear earned top honors ("hands down", no less), Liza got a 7 out of 10, D'Angelo pulled a perfect 10, and Denise Richards was awarded a lowly 3 points. And that last part kinda fits. Denise is easy to look at, no doubt, but did anyone doubt that she was a self-involved uber bitch? Now you know, she's crap in the sack. At least to Scott Baio. Which means that you or I would probably never recover. I digress....

Baio's conquests were so vast that he was actually banned from the Playboy mansion in the late 80's because he had run the gauntlet of that year's Playmates and was double dipping in Hef's private stock. Are you serious? I always thought people like Seth Green got banned from the mansion for doing dumb shit like trying to light a fart and accidentally setting one of Hef's girlfriends hair on fire. I never knew that you could actually tap so much ass that HUGH HEFNER got insecure and asked that you not be allowed back in. That's insane!

So in summation, I reject the notion that Brian Austin Green is our generation's Scott Baio on the grounds that the bar is set so high that there may never be another Scott Baio; much in the same way that there may never be another artist the ilk of Michelangelo, another coach with the savvy of Dean Smith, another baby with the grace and joy of a Leo James Slebos. No, my friends. Of his caliber, we may have seen the last.

I grew up on Scott Baio. I watched Scott Baio do work. You, Silver, are no Scott Baio.

Top 5s

Everyone loves a Top 5. Top 5's were awesome even before the John Cusack cult classic, High Fidelity, but as a result of this stellar and under appreciated flick the art of creating a Top 5 has become part of the common American experience.

To wit, over the past year I've created the following Top 5s:

Top 5 Fave Tar Heels of all time (ever changing; don't take it personally, Vince!)
Top 5 Laminated List (everyone knows this - you can hit it, free of penalty!)
Top 5 People to Party With
Top 5 Celebrity Interactions
Top 5 Guilty Pleasure Songs
Top 5 Small Batch Bourbons
Top 5 Teen Movies
Top 5 Craigslist Weirdness Moments
Top 5 Jobs I've had
Top 5 Kills on the Wire
Top 5 Drunk Anar moments
Top 5 Cars I've had

etc...etc... this game is endless fun. Having trouble making conversation at dinner? Just pick a topic and throw Top 5 in front of it. You can find hilarity and debate around every corner.

For instance: my wife, a stunningly intelligent woman was pressed on her Top 5 People to Party With. Over a round of cocktails at The Royal Oak, an historic SF watering hole, she comprised her epic list. Bill Clinton made it due to his immense sway worldwide and his womanizing. Michael Jordan didn't make it because (and I quote) "I've already done that...". Stevie Nicks made it, which came as no surprise to those of us who know Kelley. Down to that critical final component - the 5th piece - she faltered. She picked Don Henley. DON HENLEY. Are you kidding me? Dirty Laundry, Don Henley? The guy who ruined pop music for months on end with All She Wants to Do is Dance? Lead singer of the crappiest, most overrated band of all time the stinkin' Eagles, Don Henley? A guy who's greatest musical contribution was having a daughter hot enough to inspire noted psychopath Axl Rose to write Sweet Child O' Mine???



(Sidebar: I will openly admit that I made that last part up. Axl wrote that song about Erin Everly, daughter of Don Everly of the Everly Brothers. But its a great segue for this: think about it - what song has had a greater social impact than Sweet Child over the past 25 years? Hint: none. Also, I want to add that I know nothing about Don Everly and I'd still put him higher on my people to party with than Don Henley. The Eagles blow.)

Yes, THAT Don Henley. What a truly horrible pick. The moral of the story is that in the end, its HER pick and a good husband would appreciate that and let it go after a few weeks of good natured ribbing instead of constantly hounding her about how in god's name you could use your crucial 5th pick on a guy that couldn't get back together with Stevie Nicks AFTER she got fat and lost her voice.... but I digress.


(No, you go ahead honey...I'll watch Leo during your "party")

The point of that little tangent for us is - anything can happen. My buddy Anar - of making out with chicks just slightly hotter than Roger Federer's ugly wife and getting killed for it fame - is actually married to a gorgeous and quite funny lady himself. When pressed for her Top 5 People to Party With she went with David Blaine AT NUMBER 1 with no hesitation. Seriously, David Blaine. This guy:


She wants to have a magician with her crew, first and foremost!!! Is that weird? You bet your ass it is. Is it funny? Absolutely. Have we harassed Sheri over her immediate and unbridled choice of an illusionist as her top guy to throw down with? Constantly. Can this new Top 5 list concept save your awkward double dates and be the social ice breaker you've been searching for all these years? Try it for yourself and see.

My lists will be forthcoming shortly.

Who are you? Are you Treadstone?

News out of DC today is that CIA Director Leon Panetta has terminated a "very serious" covert program the spy agency kept secret from Congress for eight years! Apparently this program was spawned in the days following the 9/11 Al Qaeda attacks.

It's an interesting story, but honestly, can we get some more information on this? Why was it terminated?! I mean, it has to be an assassination program, right? Why did we pull the plug? No major leaders have been assassinated lately. Is Jason Bourne involved in this? Did he lose it? Is he going rogue in the Eastern European bloc right now killing random political leaders and unwitting operatives? If Oliver Stone makes a movie about it, will Julia Stiles get a role? What do you call covert operations that are more secretive than your standard run of the mill "black ops"? Is this what Michael Jackson's dad means by "foul play"?

Give us some details, Panetta! And get some rest, Leon. You look tired.

The week that was

Sometimes its necessary in life to just get away from it all. Skip out on the hectic day to day of your world and find a quiet place to just "be".

With a week's vacation "strongly suggested" by corporate management around the 4th of July weekend, the family and I headed up to Escanaba, MI on the Upper Peninsula (heretofore refered to as the "UP" and items from the UP will be "Yupper" items - got it?).

Here:



Escanaba is not the most remote place I've ever been, but its not too far off. AT&T Wireless has a store there, but no service. I imagine that their business is mediocre at best. Those Yuppers don't care too much for technology.

So what did I miss in my week of being completely unplugged in the UP? Strap in, this one's long.

Michael Jackson died! The King of Pop. The Man in the Mirror (OOOH!). And contrary to popular belief it was NOT food poisoning from eating 12 year old nuts. No, it was cardiac arrest that took the living legend from us. Though his later years were rife with controversy and outright WEIRDNESS, anyone that grew up in the late 70's and early 80's remembers a different Michael Jackson who gave us amazing songs, jumpstarted the music video industry, and provided years of hilarity in the form of living room recreations of his impossible dance maneuvers. Some will say that there is a special place for paedophiles and while I can't fully disagree with that, I've never been certain that the King of Pop was actually in search of boy toys. He was more just outright crazy, right? Dude lived with a monkey for a few years and named one of his kids Blanket. I'm gonna go with "crazy" and just hope for the best. RIP, MJ (the one on the left...the black Michael)



In other tragic news, Steve McNair was apparently shot in a murder suicide by a beautiful 20 year old lover. A terrible loss, no doubt. McNair was one of the greatest quarterbacks to ever play the game (a former MVP), tough as nails, and an outstanding member of the community. He also apparently liked to bang hot young women and in my view that doesn't tarnish his image much. Though he was married and a father of four, you have to give the guy credit for being open minded in this era of jingoism and nationalist fervor aimed at degrading middle easterners! Not every pro athlete has a Lebanese side piece, ya know? RIP Air McNair.



Oh yeah, Farrah Fawcett died too. Lots of people falling by the wayside. The Infomercial dude as well. So here's to you, poster girl of late 70's auto body shops:



We also saw everyone's favorite Hockey Mom step down from her role as Governor of the State that watches Putin's every move. I wonder if quitters wear lipstick? In any event, after her near-racist pep rallies, her Abuse of Power investigation, her slutty daughter's nightmarish pregnancy, the public castration of her stay at home Hubby, and her denied request to upstage McCain during his concession speech - this last move can only be seen as a resignation, right? Wrong. Many opine that this is merely a ploy to prep for a presidential run. Now you might wonder why an unqualified, undereducated, fiscally irresponsible, redneck hoochie like Sarah Palin thinks that QUITTING HER JOB and turning her back on her constituents (who were stupid enough to elect her) would lend credence to a presidential run. You'd be asking a pretty good question.

What's on this woman's brain? Does she only read positive press? No, because she cited press scrutiny among her myriad of reasons for walking out on a public office position that she should have been thankful to ever hold. Was it the fact that her little baby Juno got knocked up by a semi-literate buffoon who's favorite past times are "shooting shit" and "kicking ass"? Maybe.

For all of us intelligent Americans, I beg you to run, Sarah Palin. And if that doesn't work out, you should probably immediately do porn. Because one way or the other, you're going to do porn. Best to get it in while you still have those legs to work with. My gut tells me you already have a few choice home vids, but it would be SO much easier to sell if you were a Presidential candidate gone bad. I'm thinking you, a moose, 3 KGB agents and a turkey baster. Let your imagination go wild, I have:



Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. "Nailin' Palin". Get some.


Andy Roddick almost won. Wimbledon. So much of that is quintessential Roddick. Almost. Nearly. So close. And such is the state of American Tennis post-Agassi. But you know what? Fuck that. Roddick is a winner. Here's Roddick's wife, huge Tar Heel fan Brooklyn Decker:



I was gonna write something clever here about how hot she is, but just look at her again. She's riiiiight here ^. Giggity.

And here's Federer's wife:


Roddick's wife: amazingly delicious. Federer's wife: looks like my buddy Chip's Aunt Claire. Seriously, my boy Anar hooked up with a chick that looked like that and we clowned his ass for weeks. Weak, Rog...Game, set, match to Roddick.

And keeping with the tennis theme for a moment, I was extremely saddened to hear that Simona Halep went through with her breast reduction. Read more at http://www.totalprosports.com/blog/index.php/2009/07/she-did-it-simona-haleps-breasts-are-gone/

Just take your prozac. A sad day for tennis fans the world over.

Until next time...

That computer is RACIST!

Today's sign that people are looking to hard for a slight? Apparently the new Tranformer movie has some racially degrading dialogue.

One of the culprits of this racially degrading jargon is none other than voice behind beloved cartoon icon Sponge Bob SquarePants - caucasian actor Tom Kenny. The horrors!

And honestly, didn't we go through this same thing a mere decade ago with Jar Jar Biggs? Jar Jar was "the fool" just as Skids and MudFlap are the "fools". Entertaining us through their stupidity just as jesters have done for the last millenium.

I guess what bothers me most about this hullabaloo is not that there are racially sensitive people reacting to a children's movie in a predictable manner, but rather that its overshadowing the return to the big screen of Megan Fox.

When and if I see Transformers 2 it will be entirely based upon my desire to thoroughly inspect Megan Fox thoroughly inspecting a car in short shorts and as little else as possible.

Like so....

Why am I the Luckiest man alive?

It's quite the claim, I'm aware. Luckiest. Man. Alive.

Well, there's the fact that I smoked cigarettes for 12 years and was able to quit cold turkey and preserve years on the end of my life. But lots of people do that.

I guess I could claim its because on my 21st birthday I went skydiving, lied about my weight, and yet my tandem jump didn't result in a Wil E. Coyote-ish Matt Slebos sized hole in the ground. But many have jumped and lived to tell about it.

I suppose it might resonate with people when I say that I've traveled a good part of the world, and lived in some of the greatest places on earth - but there are many more well travelled than I.

No, in the end, I'm the luckiest guy on earth because this is my wife:



this is my son:



and this guy didn't kill me:

Initial post

When trying to figure out a quality and appropriately awesome name for this blog, I bantered with a co-worker.

The following ensued:

Me: "what do you think about the title According to the GoldenBoy?
Is that too random?"

Her: "Youre not the golden boy."

Me: "What?!"

Her: "You're not. You're not Hispanic or a boxer or tiny."

Me: "True."

Her: "or oscar de la hoya."

And so "According to the GoldenBoy" died a simple and painless death, falling softly away into cyberspace amid long forgotten instant messages.