Second Effort

Well, the incessant clamoring to a follow-up on the parental pow-wow has gotten to me so I will take a few minutes out of my insane schedule right now to enlighten you on the gory details. But first, Friday night…

Sara and I met up with a group of friends for a going away party of sorts in honor of Matt and Maggie. We started at the best restaurant in town, (and, you know, I am a former food critic for a collegiate newspaper) One Twenty Six, for dinner and spirits. I’m accustomed to fairly civilized company when Matt and Maggie are in the mix, but between Polly showing up with a set of 6 of those hillbilly teeth and the mere presence of Scott Iverson, I knew it would be all downhill from there.

Lucky for me the Tipton girls cross country coach was seated right next to us with her family, giving Iverson a good angle to stare throughout the meal baring his lovely teeth. There would be some splainin’ to do following the escapade. I don’t remember what everyone ate, but it was good, and so were the three bottles of wine. Just a question for you at this point, is it annoying to add a clap to a boisterous laugh? I realized Friday that I do this all the time and am slightly concerned.

After dinner (sidenote, Scott stole my debit card and bought a CD with it across the street whilst I was trying to use his at an ATM, luckily we weren’t done drinking and would soon figure it out) we made our way to Maggie’s favorite watering hole in the wall, Joe’s Place. The thing about Joe’s, as with the Deadwood, is they are the perfect joint to hang out, drink, listen to bad 80’s rock music and still be able to converse. The other thing is, you go home smelling like you smoked a pack of unfiltereds and exhaled through your ass. Thing about that for a minute.

A good tiime was, I think, had by all. Pictures of the event in question can be found by clicking the title of this post. Embarrassing moments that stand out include: Licking Matt, Introducing Mike Cummings and saying, “His name is Cummings, get it?”, introducing myself to a republican blogger guy that I read purely for aggravation and amusement, and applauding another blogger guy who has given up alcohol while completely bombed. I would say it was a successful night overall. Coincidentally, upon our departure in the wee hours, Rod Stewart’s Maggie May serenaded one half of the honorees in a timely fashion from the jukebox as if to say goodbye. It was a real tear jerker. Or just weird.

And for the final insult to my manliness on the night, I sent M & M a sappy drunken e-mail when we got home about how much Sara and I would miss them. I blame Sara for this, though, because she saw me composing it, even read some over my shoulder, and didn’t have the common courtesy to reach around and stop me. (For some reason I can never separate the phrases ‘common courtesy’ and ‘reach around’) So yeah, I dread the day that message shows up on blogbot5000, but don’t doubt that it will because Matt saves every goddamn thing he could possibly embarrass someone with down the line. Anyway, I crashed hard with red wine, chocolate cake, pork, Crown Royal, Absolut Citron, some strange ass blue shot, blue cheese, Pabst Blue Ribbon, lots-a-Lienies and Amber Bock all mingling in my bloated gut.

Then there was Saturday. It really wasn’t that bad, and had I been taking notes I probably could have come up with some pretty amusing stuff for you, but because I thought that might be in poor taste I abstained. I will, however, back up a David Sedaris theory about conversation topics in these kind of situations. I think it was him, Sara will know. But somebody once wrote about how dogs and kids kind of serve the same purpose when you can’t come up with another topic of conversation. Sara’s dog Meg has never been so integral to 4 hours of anyone’s life as she was mine on Saturday night. Honestly, I was probably the downer of the group. I was pretty tight lipped all night as the parents and Sara really made things enjoyable. Dean’s ribs didn’t hurt either. I mean, if he’ll make ribs like that for me for each introduction of a family member, I’ll start bringing them one at a time…and I’ll even start with Grandma Lori. Shiver. And I’m not sucking up, he doesn’t read the blog, Sara won’t allow it.

See, I either built this up to much or you guys expect too much of me, or maybe it just went too well. I dunno, but we were there for the better part of 5 hours and time flew by. We did not, however, spend much time on the actual wedding topic itself, and didn’t touch the monetary issue, so I suppose that’ where the real fireworks might pop up.

I guess my biggest challenge was the not smoking thing. Dean and Renee don’t know yet. And usually it isn’t a problem for me to go without while around them, but with Dad there partaking in the occasional nic stick, I was jonesin’ pretty bad. Discovering that little tidbit at some point should make relations a little more interesting. Probably about 5 minutes before the ceremony.

After the mixer, Sara and I went to yet another farewell party for M & M to say goodbye. Maggie was a bit of a crier, and they forgave my unfortunate e-mail, but the odd thing was when we climbed in the car to take off, Maggie May was rockin’ one more time from the cherry Buick stereo system. That’s wack. Maybe even wiggity. Probaby god just fucking with my head again.

The fall preview has been bumped to next week as a result of me not wanting it to suck. But that will require my full attention the next few days, so I’ll sing off here and start writing about volleyball and cross country, like I’m paid to. You know, that job j thing. Do you think Say Anything is ready to go to a subscription format?

Well, checking the headlines there isn’t a whole lot going on the world today, at least not that the readership for this blog cares too much about. So I reckon you’re stuck with my shiznit. Despite it being Wednesday, one of my regular sit around and stare at the computer screen days (one of three per week) I actually have a shitload of work to get to. So this may be semi-brief. There’s a fair amount of activity in my life this calendar week, however, so maybe not.

Last Friday Sara and I had a lovely dinner with Trent Reedy’s wife, Amanda, at Atlas in the IC. It was good to hang with her and get a little further insight into the goings on with Trenty in Afghanland, though I did get a lengthy letter from the self titled English Major last week. He’s remaining upbeat, writing his second novel and will hopefully be home in time to attend our ‘blessed event’ next October.

Afterward the three of us caught up with the NI crew, convening at Joe’s Place for a few drinks and whatnot. In attendance were Kevin Koppes and some of his geeky friends from his Magic the Gathering shop in IC, Ames resident and traitor Kelli Andresen, Jill Johnson, who says she is a big blog fan but has yet to leave a single comment, Katie Hammitt, who called me while we were at Atlas and said that she was having trouble taking a shower without anyone watching after working all summer at a camp in Maine, while it seemed like a nice offer, I had a buffalo chicken burrito in front of me, and you know what won out in that case, Eric Andrews, hippie extraordinaire, and Jess Blome, future wife on one Michael “too busy fishing to go out and meet my future wife” Cummings.

Oh, and there was a surprise visitor as well. One Dan Sterenchuk, former UNI Student Body President, current training and operations manager for the National Mass Fatalities Institute, and all around golden boy. AKA, Sara’s ex-boyfriend. This was actually my first run in with Danny-boy since my pre-Sara days. We spent about six hours getting hammered on Kamikazes and Alabama Slammers one night at Sharky’s for Lynn McCurley’s birthday. Were it not for Sara’s stories, I would have just thought Dan was a great guy that like to pole dance and get friendly with mops. Well, Sara’s stories, and the fact that I had to emerge from his skinny ass shadow with the Konrad family.

Dan was there with another group and after exchanging hellos, we really didn’t see much of them. So I don’t really have anything bad to say about him, except that he was wearing a shirt that rivaled Seinfeld’s Pirate blouse. What a jerkoff.

Anyway, a good time was had by all despite threats from Kevin to kick my ass and the young Ms. Hammitt being bored with an adult bar. By the time I was 21 I was done with the frat and so-ho infested skankdom of da clubs, but, to each their own, I suppose.

I said this would be brief, didn’t I?

OK, so Saturday and Sunday I spent much of my time swearing at the TV while Vijay “Women threaten my Fijian Manliness” Singh won the PGA Championship at Whistling Straights. By the way, I dug out my scorecard and I had grossly exaggerated my score. I actually shot 104 with a 46 on the back nine. And I have to say, finally on Sunday the course played as it should have, there were only like two guys that went sub-par in that round. Too bad they didn’t play it like that all week.

This week will be spent talking to coaches and assembling the highly anticipated “Conservative Sports Fall Preview Section.” Which means I will work in the vicinity of 8000 hours listening to coaches from three schools tell me they might have a chance and Tipton coaches downplaying the fact that they will kick everyone’s collective asses. And you thought my creative writing skills weren’t getting a workout at the Conservative.

But there are bigger goings on this weekend. First, on Friday night we bid a fond adieu to Matt and Maggie who depart of Ann Arbor next week to worship the Maize and Blue. Hopefully this will involve good food and copious amounts of drinking. Matt and Maggie one of our few “Couple Friends” in the area and it will be sad to see them go. I’m not sure if I’ve written this previously, but I blame the two of them completely for turning me into a beer snob after five years of enjoying the very cheapest of swill. I’m sure it will comfort them as they move on to know the impact they had on one wayward soul. Maggie, it should be noted, is also responsible for more than a few of my extra pounds these days, and that’s just because of one very heavy, very chocolate cake. Farewell, my yuppie friends, farewell.

But I can’t be too hung over for Saturday, because Saturday is the big one. The meeting of the minds, the bonding of the blood, fear and loathing in Cedar Rapids. My parents are coming down to the Konrad abode for our first real sit-down to talk about the wedding and other dreadful topics. Dean is Bar-B-Qing us up some ribs and we’ll just ride things out. The rents have only met on one other occasion, that being move-in day last year. There wasn’t a lot of time for fraternization or acclimation on that day, so this will be an interesting experiment.

Not surprisingly, both sets of parents think that we are embarrassed of them, but that’s not exactly the case. They are just two different sets of people that we are pretty much forcing to become, not necessarily friends, but something resembling family. And we all know how uncomfortable family is around each other. I mean, barring Sara wising up on this whole relationship of ours, our parents will have to know and be civil to each other for a few years, and just to kick things off on the right foot, they get to talk about planning a wedding and who is going to contribute how much to funding said event. No stress there or anything.

But, at this point anyway, everyone seems excited about the planning, and who knows, it could be a good point of bonding for the group. It’s just a big step, and once a guy loses his virginity, there just aren’t any big steps he looks forward to. Yep, ever since last Tuesday its gonna be down hill. Oh yeah, Mom and Dad, Sara’s parents don’t know about the blog, so please don’t bring this up on Saturday…seriously. They might not shell out as much cash if they get any more inisght into just who I am before the knot is completely tied.

OK, so there’s a blog to get you through hump day. It’s been a while since anyone commented, but the stats are showing that more people than ever are reading. You can no longer evade the watchful eyes of my blog, I know if you’re sleeping, I know if you’re awake, and I know if you’ve got your hand on your balls, knock it off Drake.

Monday is never a good day for me to blog. But this one comes straight from the boss, my boss, not Springsteen. Though that Boss might get a kick out of this too. Click the title of the post or go to http://www.clothingoftheamericanmind.com/jerseys.html

I’m a little disappointed they don’t seem to have my size (LandMonster), but I figured with my readership, I’d through a little business their way. I’m particularly fond of the Unilateral Cowboys.

I’ve seen a lot of funny stuff floating around along these same lines, but these ones take the Yellow Cake.

Despite the arrival of a beautiful Friday, I’m a little pissed off about a few things today. First, in regard to some topics I have recently, if not frequently addressed, the Cubs and this chump ass golf tournament going on right now.

The goddamn cubs lost in 11 innings yesterday to a team that I cannot fathom making it to the playoffs. It didn’t help that they got hosed on a call in the sixth inning:

“I missed the play. That’s all I can tell you. You don’t like to miss them. I looked at the replay and it’s clear he got the bag.”

n Umpire Bruce Froemming on a controversial play in the sixth

Fucker. But anyway, while I understand the Cubs are not going to win all of their remaining games, it seems like the losses they take are truly heartbreaking, which can’t bode well for team that will no doubt have some tight games in they do indeed win the wildcard. Last year the Cubs had a habit of winning in dramatic fashion. Since now former Cub A-Gonz and Steve Bartman tanked it for them last year in Game 6, they seem to have a knack for losing that way. And it doesn’t even have to be a close game. These pricks will be down three in the 9th inning, which would ordinarily be a good time to turn the channel and start the healing process. Instead, they put the first two guys on and have Sosa, Alou and Ramirez due up. Yeah, it’s hard on me and the rest of the Cub-faithful, but it’s got to be worse for the guys in the dugout and bullpen. I feel especially bad for the pitching staff who has, if this is even remotely possible, overachieved this season only to have their chances for wins blown by the heart of the order. And by the way, Sammy certainly does not belong in the heart of the order right now. Send his ass to the 7 slot and put Aramis where he belongs. We should trade Sosa right now while he still has some worth, he’s still making some plays in the outfield and still hitting around 40 jacks a year when he doesn’t have a sneezing fit.

Alright, I know not many of you care about that stuff, so I’ll move on. I really can’t believe how pussy the PGA of America is being with this golf tournament. Are they afraid the top guys are going to stop playing the final Major of the year if the courses are too hard? I don’t get it. Don’t they know that we like to see these guys struggle to shoot par. Who gives a fuck if they want to bitch, it’s a major, it’s got to be hard.

I was blown away yesterday when I saw some of the early scores. Darren Clarke, who makes me look like a physical stallion, goes 7 under with like 11 fucking birdies? Are you shitting me? Two days earlier after a practice round he said it was “the hardest course he had ever played.” That’s cause he was playing it from the back tees with tough pin positions, like it’s supposed to be set up for a Major. Yesterday every goddamn pin was dead ass in the middle of 300-foot wide greens and they might as well have been playing from the fucking ladies tee. And just so you understand it isn’t just me, here’s an excerpt from an interview with course designer Pete Dye and Herb Kohler, the man who paid for the fucker to be built:

Q. When you built Sawgrass, it was an understatement to say that the players were not pleased with it, and we are hearing some of those comments about this golf course, even though the tournament has not taken place yet. In your mind, do you think that perhaps today’s PGA TOUR player is getting spoiled by the homogenized layouts they play week-in, week-out?

HERB KOHLER: Well, I can only remember — well, you all remember Ken Venturi and Mike Souchak, great players, and they played in Indianapolis at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway in 1960. I was a general chairman and they had nine holes inside the track and nine holes outside the track. They played a tournament on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday and had the race on Saturday and then finals of the tournament on Sunday. They parked the cars on the last nine holes on Saturday and every beer can in the world would be out there that night and every chicken bone, but remember, they were removable objects. I said to Mike Souchak and Kenny, they were staying at my house, I said, are you guys going to be too upset about playing out there Sunday, there are going to be a few chicken bones and beer cans all throughout the golf course.

That was the first time the PGA TOUR had ever played for $50,000 with the exception of George May. Mike Souchak said to me, he said, “Pete, don’t you worry about a damn thing.” He said, “We’ll play right down main street for $50,000.”

So maybe you figured out from that, there’s been a slight change.

Q. Reading between the lines a little bit, is sounds like you would like to see this course playing more difficult than it is this week.

HERB KOHLER: Oh, I guess some people might say that.

It doesn’t help that they fucked up the U.S. Open this year when they let the greens get so dry that they died, but they are making what could be an historic tournament play like the goddamn John Deere Classic. I have a feeling things will be tougher on the weekend, but I see they’re lighting up the course again today, and I think it’s just a shame. All because douche bags like Vijay Singh walk into the clubhouse complaining about how hard the course is. The thing is, assholes, you are the best golfers in the world, you are supposed to play the toughest courses in the world. If you don’t like it, I’m pretty sure I can round up 100 guys to play that course four days in a row for a few million dollars pay. Shit, the course would probably still make a profit with all the drinks we would go through. And I really want to piss off one of those cliffs into Lake Michigan, but never got the chance the first time I was there.

OK, so I told you I was pissed off about this stuff today. Now onto another rant topic. I had planned on going to Minnesota this weekend to play golf and watch the tournament with Brian. But, I forgot about this party that my boss was having on Saturday that I had committed to a long ass time ago. So I’m sticking in Iowa City this weekend, which presents the opportunity to go out with a bunch of Northern Iowan Veterans that will be in town tonight. No problem there, and I am excited about it, but because I know Mike Cummings has been basically sitting around in a pool of his own filth for a few weeks, I encouraged him to come out with us as well. you would think a guy who hasn’t seen a boob he wasn’t paying for in 5 years would be interested in going out with bunch of single, good looking twenty-somethings, but no, he’s headed to Wisconsin to fish. At first I thought no big deal, the guy is entitled to go fishing in one of his last weekends before law school starts back up. The thing that pissed me off is the little bitch wants to stay and go out with us, but is afraid to call his parents and say he will be a day later. That’s right, he’s staying up there for like 5 days, so it’s not like he won’t still get the little escape he was looking for. He will deny the fear of his parents, but here’s my backup on the issue. He’s 24 fucking years old and still hides from his parents to have a cigarette. One time at Festival of Trails he made me hide behind a trailer with him so no one would see him smoking and tell on him.

I suppose someone will comment and say I’m still afraid of my parents too. Well, you look my dad in the eye when he’s pissed and tell me you don’t feel a chill run down your spine. He’s just a scary dude, so I’m entitled. For those of you that don’t know him, let me paint you a picture. He’s kind of like an older, shorter, clean shaven Tom Selleck, and he has the weaponry of Selleck too, and the borderline insanity of a Ray Liotta. That’s about right.

But back to pissy little Mike. One of my other big pet peeves with anyone is when they have their mind made up about something, but manage to ride the wire for as long as possible about it. Last night this is what I got from Mike, “I’m leaning toward staying for tomorrow night.” Now, I can’t emphasize enough that I really didn’t give much of a shit if he came with us, I just wanted him to say yeah, I’m going with you, or no, I’m a big fucking pussy who’s scared my mommy might get mad at me so I can’t go. It’s that simple. but knowing Mike as I do, I knew that when he kept saying I’ll think about it and I’m leaning toward staying, I should have interpreted it as the big fucking pussy line, cause that’s pretty much the route you can expect him to take most of the time, and this goes way back to when he was an even bigger pussy in high school.

Now I can’t really imagine any of this is entertaining or enjoyable to most of you, but I need to spew all this poison so I feel better and don’t ruin my Friday night. Because with the arrival of football season, Friday night will no long exist for me, so I need to take advantage.

Last rant for today, I think, goes out to New Jersey Gov. James McGreevey, who will resign in November after publicly declaring he is gay and had an affair with another man. What an absolute asshole. It’s one thing to hide the fact that you’re gay in a society that isn’t as accepting as it should be, I can understand that, though I think it’s kind of sad. I can’t understand fucking up a woman a child the way he has in an effort to cover his sexuality with a wife and daughter. And I’m not a huge fan of adultery either, but you know, assholes do that, and fairly often these days. But the fact that he is an elected official in some position of power and is just quitting because of the media insanity that is sure to follow his coming out just seems like a major abandonment of the duties he was elected to do. Not to mention the good he could do for gay rights as a governor. I guess the people of the Garden State are all better off because obviously these guy has no faith in himself to be a leader and can’t really stand up to anyone over anything. But it still pisses me off.

So I’m sorry I went on a bender of negativity there, but I feel better now. Let’s see if I can’t bring you a little smile as I sign off this post.

I see Julia Child FINALLY died. I know, we’re all torn up over the loss, but Sara and I were just talking not too long ago about that poor little foreign bastard, French-born chef Jacques Pépin, who was still doing that show with her. God I felt sorry for that guy. You know he’s like a classically trained chef and Julia would just stand over (literally, she was like 6’9″ I think) his shoulder and tell him how he was fucking it up and how she would do it if she could just get her hands, which were more like claws at this point, to stop shaking for three seconds and pick up a spoon. Then again, she probably would have just beat him with any instruments she actually got into those gangly old paws.

Kirsten Dunst is in for the role of Marie Antoinette in a new Sophia Coppola movie. Isn’t she the one that rode through the village on her horse naked? Cause that’s a scene I need to put in my date book right now.

Lastly, Fred Savage got married and, dashing the hopes of my generation, it wasn’t to Winnie Cooper. Is it bad that I still think the 13-year old actress (I remember her name, Danica McKellar) was hot as hell? Don’t answer that, I don’t care what you think.

Wow, third post of the day and it brings us back to another infamous for mer Hawkeye, one Eddie “The Pentacrest is a Perfect Place to Pass out” Podolak. Scanning Dr. H.S. Thompson’s most recent ESPN Page2 submission, I was surprised to find this comment:

“Many are called, but few are chosen at this level; and that is the way it should be. If it were up to me, I would put Ed Podolak in the Hall of Fame. He was big, mean, fast and crazy — which is just about right for an NFL running back. But he never made it to Canton … and neither will I, for that matter, but so what?”

Surprised for a second, that is. Then I realized the vast expanse of reasons why Thompson would be a Podolak fan. I’ve not read his “The Rum Diary,” but I can only guess that EP plays a key role. If only he were a Hawk fan, I have a feeling one trip to Kinnick and the Bus would be enough to keep him coming back to Iowa City for the rest of his chemically preserved life.

And it seems, the Hawkeyes very own commentator is a regular feature in Thompson writing. Little did I know, check the link.

Click the title for a good story about the PGA course this weekend. I cannot wait to watch these guys play the same course I did a few years ago. I hope Tiger shoots an 80 and Vijay falls off a cliff. Still rooting for Daly to win, I betcha he’ll got through a pack of Camel Lights on this course.