Vuvuzelas, Jeremiah Wright, and the NBA draft

I need to give my props to Landon Donovan and team U.S.A. for advancing to the round of 16 yesterday. Hopefully, they have some magic up their sleeves and can make a deep run. If not, I'm rooting for Germany and my main man Bastian Schweinsteiger.

Speaking of the World Cup, a bunch has been made about those horns that all the fans in South Africa like to blow. A bunch of people find them to be irritating and obnoxious. Some people have gone as far to say that they are ruining the World Cup and to me thats a stretch. Now, I don't reallly see what fans fascinations with blowing large pipes have to do with the game of soccer, but thats another issue. Besides, fans have always had stupid, irritating things to keep them entertained, like those thunder sticks in Anaheim. Now as for them being irritating and obnoxious, I'd imagine they probably are. They strike me as one of those things that I can only hope Shouldice never gets a hold of, especially for little Elvis' sake.

I was passing through the Towson Cirle today and there was an elderly man protesting a fella named Barry and his ideas on political reform. The old geezer was claiming that we couldn't trust anyone who believed in wizardry and I couldn't agree more. The other side of his sign claimed that Barry was ruining the country with his ideas on taxes and healthcare. As I passed my fellow patriot, I couldn't help but to honk my horn, scream hell yeah, and give him a thumbs up.

Speaking of Barry and his belief in wizardry, my mother mentioned that Ross and I should visit the chief wizard's church when we go to Chicago with the Jacobys. And let me tell you, if Ross and I do visit Reverend Jeremiah Wright's chuch,well, it will certainly be interesting. I'd reccomend reading my blog post about that one.

Speaking of the Wizards, it seems all but inevitable that there going to select John Wall with the number one overall pick in tonight's draft. And I certainly can't fault them for that, because Johnny Wall can cetainly ball. As for the rest of the draft, well that's a bit of a mystery. That kid Turner from TOSU can flat out play and teams shouldn't worry about DeMarcus Cousin's attitude because the man's a beast. The Pacers select tenth overall and I wouldn't be surprised if they took Luke Babbit, Gordon Hayward, or Cole Aldrich. Larry Bird seems to have a thing for white guys. We can't forget former Terrapin Greivis Vasquez either. Personally, I don't think he has much hope in the NBA, unless the Spurs get a hold of him. Greg Poppovich knows how to get the best out of guys like Vasquez and for Vasquez' sake, I hope he goes to the Spurs.

I'm hoping to start blogging a bit more, this whole one post a month thing is just unacceptable.

A Return from the blogging DL....

After several years of becoming growingly annoyed with the website known as Facebook, I finally decided to do the reasonable thing and delete it completely. Upon my attempts to alleviate myself from Facebook, I quickly noticed one rather irritating fact. Deleting Facebook is far from the easiest thing to accomplish. Do yourself a favor and scroll through the options Facebook makes available to you and you will find that their is no option for deletion that is easily accessible. They do however offer an option where one can "deactivate" their Facebook account and this option serves about as much of as purpose as non-alcholic beer does. By "deactivating" a Facebook account, one is essientially doing nothing at all. All of your friends can still view your profile page and you can still log back in at anytime and all of your information is instantly retrieved. They than send you an email saying if you manage to go two weeks without logging in, you MAY have to create a new password and SOME of your information will be lost, but that is about as much hogwash as anything that typically comes out of Barack Obama's mouth. I waited the two weeks and logged back in, merely for the purpose of finding out what changes had been made and with very little surprise, I found their were none. I instantly received an email welcoming me back to Facebook with excessive exclamation and at this point, I was done with the program. I was forced to resort to googling how one deletes a Facebook account. The funny thing is once you have typed "how to delete" into a google search "how to delete your facebook account" is the most searched for option in all of google with over a million hits. It turned out that I was not the only one having difficutly deleting my Facebook. I selected the featured link, followed their directions, and once again had to go two weeks without logging into Facebook. Supposedly, though my Facebook account is now deleted. Although, I'm sure the damn place has still retained all my information but I've been informed that you can no longer find me through a basic search which I guess is good enough. Also, when you attempt to delete your account Facebook attempts to alter your leaving multiple times. First, they throw up pictures that you have been tagged in with your friends, claiming that so and so will miss me. Well, quite honestly, if they really do miss me they can resort to old fashioned ways of contacting me, such as a phone call and if you don't miss me enough to call me or text me, than I probably don't really care that much about you either. No offense. After the pathetic pictures, they ask you to select a reason for deleting Facebook from a short list, once you have selected your option, you are than forced to enter a textual reason, further explaining your decision. My initial selection was other. When I was forced to provide further information, I entered "wkd" or quite simply the first three letters I could hit on the keyboard. I did not need Facebook obtaining any more information as to why I wanted to delete my profile only so they could continue to make the process much harder than it really needs to be.

Speaking of Facebook, if you haven't seen the Southpark episode regarding Facebook, I highly reccomend checking it out. Even if you are the kind of person who gets offended by crappy cartoon characters excessively cursing, you will find it hillarious. It truly is one of the funniest things I have ever seen.

Several weeks ago as it has been a long time since I last blogged, I stopped by a food and beverage establishment in the greater metropolitan area and was minding my own business, when I was approached by a rather old lady, most likely in her seventies. Her name was Barb and Barb was drinking a glass of Chardonnay by herself at two in the afternoon. Barb had overheard me complaining about my current job and said she could help. She advised me to go get a job at the Charred Pork Bucket, also known as the Charred Rib. According to Barb, who works there only on Saturday night, the majority of the employees at the place suck. Now, I've been to the Charred Pork Bucket a few times in my life and I don't think I want to work anywhere Dick and Dave hang out on a regular basis, especially if this ol' kooky broad named Barb works there as well. Barb began to tell me that her main form of income is as a traveling meat salesman, she sells meat all over the mid-atlantic area, primarily in northern Delaware, but the owner at Charred Rib has been one of her most consistent clients over the years, and they are absoulutely desperate to get "good-looking and hardworking young talent" in the place. Barb than slightly grazed my shoulder, handed me a business card, and assured me I could get a job anytime. At that point, I did the only thing reasonable, I threw a few bucks down on the bar, waved good-bye to the bartender, and hightailed it out of there in my lovely Yellow Bug.

As for the Yellow Bug, I eventually had to turn the car in and buy an automobile of my own. It certainly is a shame though because I can only imagine what would have happened if I packed Ross and the Jacoby's into the Yellow Bug and headed out to Wrigley.

I don't really know why, but in my mind, the playoff dissapointments of LeBron James have almost become comical. Perphaps it's because the media jumps all over him as if it's all his fault and perhaps it isn't. Either way I couldn't help to smirk when Rajon Rondo and the Celtics eliminated the Cavaliers.

It appears this weekend that I will be headed to Atlantic City to celebrate Ryan's retirement from the Armed Services and I've never been one to miss an opportunity to visit AC. I mentioned something about the trip to my buddy Rob and he handed me some great advice regarding AC. Rob simply said "Just stay away from roulette and the massage parlors and everything will turn out fine." Judging from some of my past trips up there, I couldn't agree more.

A Day Without Shoes

As I was working today, I heard some kid mention someting of an event that a bunch of students participated in at Towson. The event was titled "One Day Without Shoes" and it was designed so that people across the country could get a first-hand experience of what life would be like without shoes. The purpose of the event is for people to gain awareness on what those individuals in many 3rd world countries experience on a daily basis. The majority of people in 3rd world countries do not have enough money for shoes and as a result they are often on their barefeet. While, I do not have a problem with the overall goal of this organization, providing shoes for the poor, this one day event just seems obnoxious and insignificant. In my opinion there seems to be nothing to gain from this so-called "experience." First of all, come tommorow, everyone will be sporting their shoes once again. Secondly, I don't understand how not wearing shoes makes you relate to the troubles of a third world country. These activists are still not overwhelmed with poverty, have hope for a successful life, and have the luxury of knowing they can put their shoes back on tommorow. The people in third-world country have none of these luxuries. Not too mention, today was an absolutely beautiful day, it wasn't raining, or it wasn't excruiatingly hot to the point that the sidewalk would burn your feet. If this event really wanted people to feel sympathetic towards those without shoes,maybe they should host the event in mid August or perhaps host it on a day where it is pouring rain. Also, the majority of these kids still had the comforts of clothing, where as those people in third world countries do not. I'm not trying to shoot down the idea of helping out those in third-world countries but if your gonna help, do something worthwhile. Don't just take off your shoes for a day to in order to feel better about yourself. In no way are you "experiencing" what it is like to lack the money necessary for shoes by walking around Towson's campus shoeless. It's a nice gesture but quite frankly, it's a pointless one. Now, I don't really know how many kids participated in this event, I just heard something about it at work and the kid showed me a silly flyer. He had the same point of a view I did on the matter. I guess your wondering, wouldn't you notice if a bunch of kids were walking around without shoes? Well, no I most definitely did not. But I know I'm not the only who doesn't pay too much attention to a man's shoes. It was my main man, Red from the Shawshank prison who once said, "I mean, really, how often do you look at a man's shoes?"

And it begins.........

In one night, Oriole fans unrealistic optimism has turned to extreme pessimism in Baltimore. Tonight, the Orioles blew a wonderful opportunity to start the season with a victory as Tampa Bay won in the ninth. Shortly after the game, I made the mistake of listening to local sports radio and boy was that stupid on my part. Several callers referred to the Orioles as a major league team with minor league talent and that phrase is just utterly obnoxious as there are few players on this Orioles team that do not belong in the major leagues. Garret Atkins is the only player in the starting lineup that would have a tough time finding a major league job and the bullpen has only a few glaring problems. The Orioles biggest problem lies in the strength of their division. They simply are not ready to compete with the Yankees, Red Sox, and Rays and it showed last night. Even against good pitching-good teams capitalize when they have runners in scoring position- the Orioles hitters just simply aren't that good, at least not yet. There is plenty of potential in lineup, the rotation, and the bullpen, but there is still a whole lot that needs to come together. Ugh, the Orioles and sports radio- I should just stay away, they only bring forth frustration. Also, they need to find a closer. Mike Gonzalez is not the answer, although he could be a valuable asset in the bullpen.

However, if the Orioles do become desperate for bullpen help, they could always turn to Barack. Yesterday, he showed that he had one hell of an arm. Not even the menancing Joey Belle would want to step up to plate against that southpaw. His stuff was just knasty.

Anyways, on a more positive note, Friday marks the Orioles home opener and that usually brings forth good things. I'll have to check in with Stills sometime this week and figure out what his gameplan for the game is, I'm sure it has something to do with Natty Boh's and Sliders and that's certainly fine by me.

Shakespeare, A Shotgun, and A Yellow Bug

March Madness is bound to do certain things. It's bound to bring out the idiots, its bound to provide close thrilling games, and it's bound to bring together a bunch of degenrates with nothing better to do than drink and watch basketball all day. The latter recently happened as Andy, Damon, Ross, and I got together for the first time in way too long. St. Patrick's Day and Andy's birthday may also have had something to do with that, but regardless it didn't take up much time to catch up. I met up with the trio at Buffalo Wild Wing's last Thursday and the place was certainly anything but wild. Although, there were a group of Villanova fans who were high class douchebags. Throughout the course of the day, Ross mumbled numerous curse words in their direction but they never noticed. They just kept on sipping their ice-teas and cheering for Scottie Reynolds. Eventually, I had to catch the fellas up on the ever sexy automobile I am currently driving and I gotta hand it to Stills he called it from inside the wing joint. As for Ross and Damon they seemed more intrigued by the shotgun sitting in the back and the Shakesepeare book sitting on my passenger seat. That and my Rhode Island tags. Damon originally wanted to get a picture of Ross and I in the car together, so he could come up with some creative reference to our sexuality, but thankfully that never happened and we just proceeded into Towson. Our first pit stop was at the old Get Bent Lounge and that place really sucks. The bartenders seemed like decent guys but George still owns the place and there isn't much they can do. Plus, the walls are covered in crappy Irish antiques and pictures, designed to give the guest an authentic Irish feel, when in reality it just looks like a hole-in-the-wall bar with a weird obsession for the Irish. Eventually, we came to our senses and got the hell out of there.

Later that night, we went to Batemans for an inspiring game of trivia with some very nice old people and the Jacoby's. Prior to the start of the game though, the Jacoby's felt guilty because of the size of our team and started their own team. It was rather unfortunate because I don't really think Keith, the guy running the show, really cared and it's always good to have the Jacoby's on your side. Shortly after the start of the game, Mary showed up and as usual the two of us got into a heated debate, resulting in Mary calling me a sexist. Which to be honest, is probably partially true, but I still feel that I made my point. Mary was complaining that Andrew didn't invite her to participate in any bracket challenges this year and as any friend should I supported the man. I told Mary that he probably just didn't want her to waste her money because her chances of winning would be slim. She took my remarks to be highly critical and became offensive and the last thing I would ever want to do is insult Mary, so I came up with the idea that Andrew probably wouldn't fare too well in a doll bracket. At this point the term sexist was brought out and I continued to argue my point, I knew back in the day Mary used to read books about a certain doll and that's what I was referring too, but at the time I could not recall the name of the doll, which led me to Luke and Luke came through big. Immediately, Luke knew that I was referring to the American Doll collection and I think Mary may have been somewhat surprised that I remembered she was quite into the whole American Doll thing or she realized argueing with me is pointless. Either way we proceeded to be civil towards each other and she eventually gave me a potato skin and that was nice of her.


Over the course of the weekend I began discussing the possibility of a road trip this summer and it seems that it may actually pull through. I think I'm going to head to the Windy City and partake in America's pastime. Originally, I discussed the idea with Ross but on Andy's birthday, the Jacoby's said they were down. On Sunday, when I mentioned to Ross that the Jacoby's would be joining the two of us and possibly Andy, Ross had an interesting remark. He mentioned that it would be an interesting mix and when I implied further as to what me meant he simply said something along the lines of "Two drunk assholes and two perfectly good kids." After that comment, I could do nothing but nod in agreement and go about my business.

Anyways, I gotta jet. Basketball has begun and Kansas State is playing and they have Roberto Clemente's son and that kid can ball.

Dwayne Wade- A Sub-Par College Player

I'm blogging today from the library at the university around my way and I must say its eerily quiet, even for a library. I'm guessing that has something to do with the whole spring break thing though. I came over here to attempt to gather research on possible conclusions to The Turn of the Screw by Henry James, but that seems to be a bit difficult and not very interesting, so I decided to blog.

My most recent means of employment has involved catering to the needs of elderly wealthy people with too much time and money on their hands and I must say its a pretty miserable job. There is little money to be made and the majority of the people that come into the place piss me off. For starters, anyone that would spend nearly 16,000 dollars a year to belong to a country club without a golf course is an absolute moron. I keep hearing it's about connections and it's a way of life, but I think its all a load of crap. Making matters worse, the majority of the members have a pompous attitude about them and act as if they are superior human beings. Just because your old, still alive and have money doesn't impress me and there have been times I'd rather talk with Jay. It gets real interesting when they host their social events and a whole lot of these people come together and mingle. Everyone is trying to put on a good front and impress one another and basically there isn't a real person in the whole club. The women all talk about how great their children are and how they are excelling in life, but if you ever see anyone under the age of eighteen enter the place, they appear to be more miserable than Duke fans following the Blue Devils early exit from the NCAA tournament. As for the men, well they always attempt to talk about sports, but yet they either know nothing or just refuse to call our the idiots. Last week, I was tending the bar and overheard a conversation between four elderly gentleman. The conversation started with the Terrapins and eventually moved on to the difference between the NBA and the NFL draft. Supposedly, there are no real surprises in the NFL and the NBA is full of superstars who never excelled at the lower level. This guy was going on and on about how every player that succeeds in the NFL is extremely well known and well heard of prior to their NFL success and the majority of stars in the NBA were complete no names prior to their success. In the course of his idiotic rant, he mentioned that no one had ever heard of Dwayne Wade or Kevin Durant in college, but now their two of the top players in the game. The funny thing is not one person he was talking with had the balls to call this man out and simply inform him that Wade nearly took Marquette to the National Championship game and Durant was only one of the best players in the whole country at Texas. But in this guy's mind, Wade and Durant were simply sub-par collegiate athletes, who excel at the NBA game. I guess its my fault for listening to him though, I really should have just walked away when he mentioned that Tim Tebow will be the next great thing in the NFL.

The big tourney is getting started this week and I'm hoping to get out for some of the games. As for the winner, I'm somewhat partial to the Jayhawks.

Well, I've spent enough time rambling on about silly old people and college basketball, I guess it's time to get back to ol' Harry.

100th Edition- Part Dos

Finally, after several weeks of delaying, I have found some time to post part two of my 100th blog, which is actually blog #102. Anyways, I will continue what I originally started and describe a few of the more memorable moments from the infamous Get Bent Lounge.


Monday Nights at the Kent

At your average bar, Monday night is typically a bit of a downer. The majority of people are recovering from their weekend antics and are trying to insert themselves back into the work week. This was not the story at the Kent. Rather than describe a few of the more memorable Monday nights, I have decided to instead focus on Monday nights in general. I will do this by listing a simple breakdown of how a Monday night at the Kent usually unfolded.

When I was frequenting the Kent on a regular basis on Monday nights, I was typically doing one of two things: working or playing trivia with Andy and Damon. If I was playing trivia, we would typically stroll into the bar around ten-thirty. If I was working, I would typically receive a text message from Damon simply stating "Kent". In the case that I was working, I would usually arrive just a bit behind schedule, usually no later than eleven. At this point there would always be a few random people sitting at one of the corners of the bar. Sometimes they would be hippies, other times they would be nineteen year olds, occassionly you would see a couple on a date, and from time to time there would be homeless men. Either way, the bar was pretty much always empty upon my arrival. Shortly after my arrival, a member of the Dream Team would stroll in and begin to drink and eventually their whole starting lineup would arrive. Once the Dream Team's starting lineup was in tact, they would bolt for another bar, because their options were limited at the Kent, and like wolves, the Dream Team travels in packs and at some point Mikey would stumble in and begin slamming Jack and Cokes.

Now, the night typically went one of two way, either it remained calm until close or absolute chaos prevailed. The latter typically occured on Monday night's when Pat and Jason, or Pat and Graham, or Pat and Gabe, or even Pat and Stan had been hitting the bottle, prior to our entrance. These nights were by far the more interesting of the two. In fact, there are two posts on random Monday nights at the Kent, if you feel like strolling through the history of my blog. Anyways, on these nights anything was bound to happen. Intense games of Uno were quite common, those Draw Four cards can be just devastating. Karokee nights without the assitance of a Karokee machine were also quite freqent, prompting several instances where Andy felt it necessary to dance on the bar. Football games in the parking lot were a common thought, random clapping and USA chants, and constant cursing of the Steelers were all bound to occur. All these events I have just described typically went on from the hours of midnight to one-thirty at one-thirty things tended to get a bit dicey.

By 1:30, every other bar in the vicinity of the Kent is calling last call and that meant it was time for the stragglers to appear. First, the Dream Team would return short-handed. One or two members of the team had usually been sniped by some poor schmuck at some other bar. The ones who made it back often came back with a large group of vultures desperately attempting to woo one back to his apartment, but if you leave the bar with a member of the dream team and youre destination isn't straight to your apartment or the back seat of your car, your chances are slim. In fact, once back in the Kent, these girls were rejuvenated and it's at these moments that people like Damon and myself have been tempted by their vices. A few minutes till two, guys like John would typically stroll into the Kent. Guys that piss people like Pat and Jason off because they don't show up till 2, demand attention and shots, piss off the regular patrons of the bar, and probably don't even leave a tip. At this point the only thing left to do, was to throw a twenty down on the bar, thank Pat, and get as far away as possible, because the only thing left is a den of inequity.


I was debating talking about numerous Thanksgiving Eve's as the fifth and final part of my 100th post, but I decided to leave it at Monday nights. I can always put up a post about Thanksgiving Eve, but everyone really knows what goes on that night, so I will leave it alone. Anyways, spring break is next week, so I'm hoping I get the chance to put up a couple more posts.

Pink Football Jerseys and Bad Beats

I know, I know, this post was supposed to be dedicated to the Kent Lounge. It was supposed to be the second part of my 100th post, but I decided to go with something else. Part II of my Kent memories will come later. Today, I was browsing through some old files and found a few pieces I wrote in October of 2007. I found them to be somewhat interesting and amusing so here they are.

“Dude, I had pocket Aces and this donkey calls me with Jack-Nine of Diamonds…”

Thanks to ESPN and the popularity of the World Series of Poker, we have all been introduced to one of the most horrific things on earth. While a certain level of skill is needed to succeed in poker, it is still a game of luck. However, there is only one certainty in the game of poker, wherever the game is being played, someone is telling a bad beat story.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to listen to friends, strangers, opposing players, give me their own bad beat story. While the stories continue to change, one thing doesn’t. I don’t give a damn. Neither does the dealer, neither does the guy sitting next to you, neither does anyone anywhere. Push comes to shove in the game of poker, your gambling. Every time someone’s pocket Ace’s get “cracked” by Jack-Nine of Diamonds, someone is outraged and has a bad beat story to tell for days. Seriously, you gambled, you lost, it’s going to happen again, sit down, shut the hell up, and get over it. Have you ever gotten a phone call and had to listen to your buddy say, “dude I was watching the mega-millions lottery drawing, I so had the first two numbers right and than out of nowhere comes a 12 ball. Its complete bull-shit, how does my luck run this bad? It happens every time.” No, you haven’t because lottery players have accepted that their gambling, poker players not so much. Bad beat stories are like that mosquito bite on the middle of your back that you just can’t scratch. You know it’s there, you feel it itching, but no matter how many times a day you try and scratch it you just cant reach it. All day it sits there nagging you, bothering you. You’ve tried the left hand over the right shoulder and than taking the right hand and going around the left side of your back, but you just can’t reach it and now you’ve reached a point where you’ve become so frustrated you just accept it for what it is. That’s what bad beat stories have become, when you go to play poker, you know your going to hear them, you know theirs nothing you can do about them and you just accept. While the story is told are you really are thinking is “I don’t care, I don’t care,” but yet the words out of your mouth are “Dude, that’s horrible,” or “Are you serious? What I joke, what’s he doing calling with that hand?”

Bad beat stories have become so annoying, that I think the Devil has installed a new torture chamber in hell, where hell’s inhabitants must sit in a room and hear bad beat stories for days straight. By the time these inhabitants are released from the room, returning to the bottomless fiery pit and gnashing teeth must seem like you’re getting a Swedish massage from a gorgeous blonde compared to the bad beat poker room. Seriously, if you give me the option of having to listen to a string of bad beat stories or listening to Roseanne Barr sing the National Anthem, while performing a striptease, well I’m facing a dilemma and may God bless my soul, with whichever choice I choose.

A Football Paradox

Bone-crushing tackles. 6”6 300 pound men. Aggression. Testosterone. Fearless competitors. Freakish athleticism. These are just some of the words or phrases you might hear when someone is asked to describe the National Football League. However, whenever I attend a game in this day and age, these things are rarely one of the first things I notice. As I am sitting at a pre-game tailgate or walking into a stadium one of the first things my eyes tend to catch, is a pink uniform.

Every team in the NFL, now sells pink uniforms for their star players. Can you imagine Ray Lewis busting through the defensive line and delivering a jaw-dropping hit against LaDainian Tomlinson, all of this while donning a pink jersey? Something in that situation, just doesn’t fit. Football is supposed to be the pinnacle of masculinity, yet these pink jerseys are selling off the charts. I just wonder what former legends such as Lawrence Taylor, Dick Butkus, Jack Lambert, and “Mean” Joe Greene, all players who were known for their ferocious defense and devastating mean streak, would have thought if they looked up in the stands and saw someone wearing a pink jersey. Now, I personally do not have a problem with the color pink, I just never thought it find its way into a football stadium. A place where the masculinity is soaring, where fans can yell at the top of their lounges, drink beers, curse, and for their actions they are given high-fives and compliments.

However, the strange part about this pink jersey is its appeal. For some reason, the appeal of a woman wearing a pink jersey is off the wall. It’s a combination of two of the greatest things God has put on this earth. Women and football, what more could a man ask for. Seriously, the NFL marketers have found a way to make a football uniform sexy. They have found a method to keep football as that manly event, a place where a man can go out and have a few beers with his boys and cheer for his favorite team, and now he also gets to have the feeling of seeing women dressed up and supporting his favorite team, while still being able to keep that girly attire that is so attractive.

Pink and the NFL, it may sound like a paradox, but it has worked. Throughout time we have seen pioneers in the world of mixing two great items. These pioneers have given us beer and buffalo wings, peanut butter and jelly, and now pink uniforms and football, America owes them all a thank you. Now I’m not proposing that an NFL team designs a pink uniform for its players to wear, because Jared Allen staring down an opposing quarterback while wearing pink may not work, but, if your watching the game from your seat and happen to stare two aisles down, you may see a couple of petite blondes sporting a pink Ray-Ray jersey and at that time, you will see the paradox working.

A Memoir to all that was the Kent Lounge-Part I

This is my 100th post and for some reason 100 is a significant number, so I've decided to make this a somewhat significant post. With this in mind, I decided to focus on the one place that pops up the most on this blog, the Kent Lounge. Unfortunately, the Kent Lounge has taken a turn for the worse and I no longer know a single bartender there unless you count George, but no decent human being would ever count him. However, there was a time where I knew every bartender there and I enjoyed having a beer or two there from time to time, and it is those times that I will focus on. So here is a list of a few of the more memorable moments at the Get Bent Lounge.

Townsend slugs an unsuspecting overweight minor in the face

There are moments in everyone's life that they are not proud of and this moment is certainly one of Townsend's. Several years ago, I headed up to the Get Bent Lounge with Townsend, Mike Major, and Bill Mosner. It was a cold night and the weather was keeping many people inside, forcing the four of us to provide our own entertainment. We did this the only way we knew possible: drink beer and play titty touchers. Eventually, we grow weary of touching tits on a screen and started debating our next move. The Rec Room, Souris, and other bars in the immediate area were thrown out as possible ideas, but than Townsend came up with one of his own. He proclaimed he was going to slug someone in the bar for no apparent reason whatsoever. The man was quite adamant on his proclamation so we decided to let him carry on with it and he began to debate, who to slug. His first thought was to slug Paulie for the sole reason that Paulie was an overweight old guy wearing an Eagles jersey, but Bill and I informed him that Paulie was friends with Pat and was probably not the best option. We scouted the room and eventually decided that the only reasonable option was the fat kid in the corner. This poor soul was minding his own business in the corner of the bar and appeared to be on a date with an overweight individual that resembled a female. After a few shots of liquid confidence, Townsend confidently strolled up to the couple, tapped the guy on the shoulder and sucker punched him in the face. Defenseless, the little chubster fell off his stool and onto the ground and Townsend was quickly headed out of the bar. As one could expect, the guy came storming out of the ball and confronted Townsend violently. His violent confrontation caught the attention of the local law enforcement and they were soon interacting. At this point, Townsend looked at the police officers and said, "I swear officers, the kids on drugs, I've never seen him before in my life." The cops than separated the two, and demanded to see legal identification. Townsend obliged but the pudgy kid with a black eye failed to do so and was taken away in a police car. Several years have now passed and Townsend has accepted the stupidity of the night. He is rightfully embarrassed by his actions and typically acts a bit more appropriate now, but there is one moral to this story. If your going to take a girl on a date, stay far, far, away from the Kent Lounge, for it is nothing but a den of inequity.

Ross and Damon go out-by themselves.

Typically, whenever one sees Ross and Damon at the same bar, they are accompanied by Andy and this is a good thing. You see, Andy is the voice of reason for the two of them and the only one amongst the trio with a sense of decency. Take Andy out of the picture and trouble is bound to happen and it certainly did one night at the Get Bent Lounge. I don't know why Andy didn't make it out and at this point I was still recovering from my brain blowing up, so that left Ross and Damon by themselves. I don't know how the night really went along, but I know it involved lots of shots. After the shots started to take the toll, the conversation probably started to dwindle and a change of scenery was probably needed and it's at this point that the presence of Andy was certainly missed. With Stilling around, Damon would have most likely just disappeared and Ross would have just ventured out to the parking lot and thrown up, but that wasn't the case. Instead, the two decided to head to a place worse than the Get Bent Lounge, they went to the Ramada. After about thirty minutes at the Ramada, because no one can survive more than a half hour there, they decided to head to the only place worse than the Ramada, Kaos. Fully tanked and swearing like sailors, the two of them entered Kaos and began mocking every lifeless soul that spends his pennies on third-rate strippers with pasties. By two, Ross was being carried into Damon's car and they were on their back to the Colony to pass out. Upon arrival, Damon had a rather difficult time getting Ross inside so he did the only reasonable thing, leave Ross in the car to sleep it off. At some point the images of Kaos must have woken Ross up and caused him to move around a bit, because he managed to pull down the emergency brake. Several minutes later, Ross was waking up as he realized he crashed Damon's car into some girls apartment at the Colony. Thankfully for Ross though, Creech was there and the two of them were able to push the car out of the living room and escape from the fat girl Creech had just nailed before she could ask for his number.

Vaeth speaks his mind to a member of the Dream Team

This is another moment that I failed to be present for, but yet I heard the story so many times, I had to mention the night. Rumor has it that one night Vaeth, Andy, Damon and Ross were drinking beers at the Kent. Shocking, I know. Eventually, a few members of the Dream Team strolled in and one of them was with her overprotective boyfriend. My personal beliefs are that anyone who would ever court a member of the Dream Team has to be despicable themselves, but to each their own and if this kid finds it in his heart to date a member of the Dream Team than so be it. I just don't want to hear him whine and cry when she cheats on him again and again and again. Anyways, alcohol eventually took its course that night as it usually does and Vaeth began to that thing where one coughs than says a derogatory word about someone in close vicinity and than coughs again. He proceeded to do this until the particular member of the Dream Team he was referring to noticed and took offense. Once she spoke up and expressed her feelings of Vaeth that overprotective boyfriend was forced to speak up as well. Here, the emotions began to escalate and Vaeth was forced to put the nail in the coffin. As the girl was trying in vain to defend herself, Vaeth simply said " You slept with Geilfuss." Even though the statement was not true, it was delivered effectively and the point was clearly made. From what I can gather it was similar to when the fat kid in the Sandlot tells the rich kid he throws like a girl. Either way, the emotions started to escalate and that over protective boyfriend attempted to start a physical confrontation with Vaeth. It got to the point where Andy had to get involved and play the role of mediator. Things eventually boiled down and Vaeth, Ross, and Damon went back to doing what they do best, drinking beer. The overprotective boyfriend went back to crying to any helpless soul willing to listen and as for the member of the Dream Team, well she took advantage of all the commotion and sneaked off with George to his office.

Plenty of Snow and College Basketball

The snow continues to fall here in Charm City and at this rate it seems that we may not see dry land until 2014 and that would certainly be interesting. Personally, I'm tired of the white stuff and I would like to return to my normal routine of school and work instead of blogging at 9 pm, but there are certain things in life I can't control. I guess the only thing left to do is to drink beer. Hopefully, Pat is working at the Rec Room. I'm thinking that tomorrow might be the day that I finally take advantage off the time off and read some books by dead white guys, but maybe I'll just shovel snow and continue to watch young black guys play with an orange ball. It's more interesting.

Well, the football season has come to an end and every time I turned on the radio today, all I heard was members of the media making a big fuss over the fact that Peyton Manning didn't shake Drew Brees hand. Granted, the man probably should have and it would have been the right thing to do, but there are lots of times in life where we don't do the right thing and if I just screwed up one of the biggest moments of my young life, I doubt I'd be willing to go and shake the hand of the competition that beat me, especially if there were 3,729 people nagging me with pointless questions. But maybe thats why I'm a horrible person? Who knows?

College basketball is heating up though and that's a good thing. March may very well be the best month of the year for the sole reason of conference tournaments and March Madness. One is basically guaranteed a chance to take off work and start drinking beer and watching sports at 3 p.m. Or once again maybe that's just me and one of the reasons I'm nearing 25 and still living in my mother's basement. Who knows?

One good aspect of college basketball this season is that the team coached by the devil from Westpoint is not performing all that well. I know their ranked in the top ten, but they've lost some crucial games and watching them lose crucial games is very enjoyable. Is it just me or does anyone else think the guy might be a racist? Seriously, every year he finds some of the best white players around and makes for a pretty competitive team at least until the Sweet 16. The more I think about it, he has recruited some blacks in recent history and pretty effective black guys, but as you may know, once I write something in this blog, I seldom change it. Even if it is inaccurate or incoherent. Plus, two of the better black guys he recruited were from Alaska and that doesn't really count.

Speaking of white guys in college basketball, I wonder what happened to Trevor Huffman. That man could ball and with help from that power forward who now plays for the Chargers, the Golden Flashes made one impressive run in the tournament not too long ago. Trevor Fucking Hoffman.

Post number 99 is now in the books, next up number 100.

Fuckin Google images. I tried to get a good picture of Huffman and all I could find was pictures of him playing for some team overseas, it was disappointing. So I decided to put up another picture of a mid-major kid who could flat out ball.

"I Slept with Tiger too!"

The Super Bowl is just a few days away and personally I can't wait for the damn game to get started. The past two weeks, those in sports media have had way too much to talk about when it comes to one football game. I've heard about all I can hear on Dwight Freeny's ankle. The man is going to play, it's that simple. Yesterday, I also heard those so-called experts that work for some company based in Bristol, Connecticut debating the comfort levels of both the Colts and Saints with the field at Miami. Supposedly, the Colts and Saints are both comfortable with the field because they both defeated the Dolphins in Miami during the regular season. One could say that or they could just simply realize that the Colts and Saints are both far superior teams the Dolphins. I highly doubt at any point in practice, Peyton Manning or Drew Brees suggested that their teams take a time out from running drills or watching tape so that they could become more comfortable with the playing field. Maybe I'm alone with this one.

Well, the old timer in Shakespearian tragedy is still hanging in there. Two weeks down the drain and the old fella is still plugging along. Although today he did one of the more interesting things I have ever seen in a collegiate course. Midway through the professor's lecture on Richard the Thirds seduction of Lady Anne, the old man received a telephone call. Rather than quickly try and turn off the ring tone, the old man answered the phone call and proceeded to have a short conversation. He was respectful enough to keep it moderately quiet and express the fact that he was in class, but he continued on with his conversation for several minutes. Unfortunately, I could not hear what he was rambling on about but I'll assume it had something to do with getting his diapers changed, he seemed rather cranky.

Speaking of old people, I work with an elderly lady named Trish. Trish is probably pushing 65 and despite her age she has apparently been frisky with a younger man. A younger man who goes by the name of Tiger. Trish is so proud of her recent sexual accomplishments that she has bought a tee-shirt that states, "I slept with Tiger too!" However, Trish is not the only one in her immediate family who wants to make their claims public. Trish's husband, Jack, also proudly wears the shirt. As for Tiger, well, I'm not really surprised. From his recent transgressions, he hasn't seemed too picky and as for the whole homosexual encounter, well, he does know how to handle a shaft.

Pre-Gaming at the Ronald McDonald House

Well, this utterly pointless little blog has served a purpose once again. Saturday, I received a check for nearly 78 bucks from Google Incorporated as a result of my prestigious work. Actually, it has more to do with those silly little ads on the side of my blog than prestigious work, but thats all irrelevant. I was actually quite surprised when I received the check because I didn't think I'd ever receive any monetary benefits from google, I just got a kick out of the random advertisements they displayed on the site. Judging from the past history of ads posted on my blog, one might come to believe I have a strange devotion to gambling and football and a history of legal troubles. Google included a letter explaining how the whole thing works and how I could increase my rate of pay but that seemed rather boring and I just threw the letter in the trash. Perhaps I'll use the 78 bucks to help feed the hungry.


I've been helping Corey and his uncle out quite a bit lately and last Friday that led me to the state department of assessments and taxations. Due to school and a few other things, I got down there rather late. In case you don't know, the state department of assessments and taxations is located downtown close to Martin Luther King Boulevard. Anyway, on my way home I was stuck in traffic, which is typical for a Friday evening in Baltimore city and I decided to try an alternate route home. Basically, I was just going to take a bunch of random turns and just hope and pray that I was going in the right direction. Somehow this idea seemed to actually work, but along my travels I passed the Ronald McDonald House and it brought up some old memories. Now, I haven't been to the Ronald McDonald House in quite a while and that's probably a good thing, but I did spend a few nights there at one point in my life. It's never good to take advantage of charity groups but several years ago I did just that. The Ronald McDonald house was generous enough to donate one of their rooms to the Major family when Ryan was recovering from his injuries. His mother was usually working in Silver Spring so that left Michael in charge. Basically, Mike had been given a free apartment in downtown Baltimore whenever he decided to come home from Salisbury. At this time, none of our friends had places in downtown Baltimore and getting to and from the city was always a major problem. That is until the Ronald McDonald House came along. With the friendly fast food eating clown, offering us a couple of beds, the two of us were set. There were several nights, when we would begin pre-gaming for the nights activities at this house and those nights always got interesting. First of all, alcohol was banned from the premises, so we had to sneak it in via a back pack. Secondly, noise was supposed to be kept to a bare minimum and for those of you who know Mike Major, well that can be a problem. Finally, getting back into the place post 2 a.m. was even more interesting. But, somehow we always managed. Looking back on it, it probably wasn't the smartest idea, but I haven't always done the smartest things in life. The Ronald McDonald House is not meant too encourage alcoholism or late night shenanigans but we ignored those ideas and instead made it quite the party place. Plus, they had free food and video games so they were basically begging us to stay. Now, only had the Hamburgular or Grimace been around, I bet you those two are party animals. I can just gee Grimace getting wild with some girls on the Dance Floor.

A Possible Solution to the Ravens lack of depth at Wide Receiver

Going into the off-season, the Baltimore Ravens have plenty of needs. The most glaring of which are at wide receiver and corner back. The local sports radio has been filled with people calling in and expressing their hopes and aspirations for the Ravens acquiring a big play wide receiver such as Brandon Marshall or Anquan Boldin. While I would certainly welcome either one of those receivers to the team, I think it is far fetched that either one will end up in purple and black, so that leaves the Ravens with two options: free agency and the NFL draft. Judging from the Raven's past in the NFL draft when it comes to wide receivers, that option seems rather bleak. Travis Taylor and Mark Clayton are the only two receivers the Ravens have selected in the first round and both of them have turned out to be busts. Clayton still has a chance but that chance is getting smaller and smaller by the moment. So that leaves free agency or trade and there are only a few names out there. Buccaneers wide out Antonio Bryant could be of some help, he is a vertical threat who can stretch the field, but he has injury problems. There is also the guy who cries about his quarterback, but he is getting old and also dissed the Ravens several years back so that probably won't happen either. I'm going to propose one option for the Ravens that the majority of talk show hosts and obnoxious fans that call in to bother the talk show hots have failed to mention. Sign the one and only guy out there that can not only catch, but can also cure cancer. The man who can make Chuck Norris cry and the man who will deliver the city of Baltimore from twelve straight losing seasons, the man who gets repulsive girls from Frederick all hot and sweaty to play wide receiver next year, a man named Matt Wieters.

Once again, I am running short on time and have to post another short entry. Hopefully, next week I will be able to post a decent entry. Currently, I've got some ideas brewing, but I guess they will just have to continue to wait and develop in that great mind of mine. Plus, the 100th blog entry is rapidly approaching and that one most certainly will have to be special.

Gambling on Old-Timers who Partake in Shakespearian Tragedy

I logged onto ESPN.com this morning and noted that one of their feature stories regarded Archie Manning. Supposedly, Archie Manning rooting for his son in the upcoming Superbowl is a major news story. Now, Manning does reside in New Orleans and did spend the majority of his career playing for the Saints, but anyone who actually thought he would pull for the Saints instead of the Colts on Super Sunday, is an absolute moron. Granted, Archie has plenty of ties to his former team and his city, but to imagine someone rooting for a team they no longer play for rather than rooting for their own son is just absurd and far from a major news story.

I'm taking this class on Shakespearian tragedy at the university across the street and there is an old-timer in the class. Not your typical college old-timer who may be in his late twenties or early thirties but an old-timer by anyone's standards. This old geezer must be pushing 80 and it appears that at any minute he may just peel over, but yet he is out there trying to pursue new academic challenges. In fact, the old timer greeted the professor as soon as he walked into the door with a stern handshake and introduction. During this introduction the old-timer mentioned his high expectations for the course and spoke of his days working in the union. I didn't want to eavesdrop on the conversation so I wasn't able to catch what specific union the old man was a part of, but either way it should be interesting to see how the man fares throughout the remainder of the course. I'm tempted to start a pool with my fellow classmates to see if he makes it through the whole course.

Short and pointless entry today, hopefully there will be more soon, but I have to skedaddle.

The Greatest Athlete....??

As everyone probably already knows, Tiger Woods was recently named Athlete of the Decade. Woods's accomplishments on the golf course in the past decade were undeniably amazing and he undoubtedly deserved the honor of being donned as the decade's greatest athlete. Lance Armstrong, Roger Federer, and Michael Phelps finished second, third, and fourth respectively, and either one of those three would have been a viable choice. Finishing out the top five was Tom Brady, but with only three votes out of 142, it was obvious that Brady didn't really garner much attention.

The debate over who is the greatest athlete is one that has always developed lots of interest. Sports radio hosts are constantly fielding questions and offering their opinions on who is the greatest athlete of all time. Shortly following the completion of the last century, ESPN composed a list of the 100 greatest athletes of the past century. They named the series Sportscentury and revealed the so-called top 100 athletes of the 20th century. Topping the list was Michael Jordan, the legendary Chicago Bulls guard who dominated the 1980's and 1990's with his fade away jumper and gravity defying moves. Jordan prevailed over Babe Ruth, Muhammad Ali, Jim Brown, Wayne Gretzky, and 95 others. While, I am not here to argue that Jordan was not the greatest athlete of 20th century, I do find it funny that his own coach felt that Jordan was not even the greatest athlete he ever coached. Jackson claimed in an interview that Dennis "The Worm" Rodman was the most athletic player he ever coached, a pretty prestigious claim considering Jackson has coached Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Shaquille O'Neal and of course, Kobe Bryant. Jackson's comments although not well known are similar to the comments offered by a number of sports fans and sport talk hosts across the country when it comes to the debate on the level of certain athletes.

The majority opinion seems to direct one to an athlete's dominance in their individual sport. For this reason, the Jordan and Gretzky's of the world are often considered the top athlete. However, this opinion leaves some great athletes in the dust. Athletes such as Deion "Prime Time" Sanders, because it was Prime Time who ran one of the fastest forty yard dashes ever recorded, succeeded in both baseball and football at the professional level, and retired as quite possibly the greatest cover corner in the history of the National Football League. ESPN ranked Sanders as the 74th greatest athlete of the century, nearly forty spots behind a horse. Another phenomenal athlete who didn't even crack the list was Dave Winfield. Winfield, a Hall of Fame baseball player, is the one of only two players too be drafted by Major League Baseball, the National Basketball Association, and the National Football League. The other? Dave Logan. It was once considered that the person who won the decathlon was the greatest athlete on Earth, but yet, Jim Thorpe was the only decathlon winner listed on Sportscentury's list.

Nine years from now, the associated press will probably honor someone else with by naming the athlete of the decade. LeBron James, Albert Puljols, and several other athletes will probably be among the finalists. It's quite possible that Tiger Woods could once again win the competition, because whenever Tiger comes out of that Hooter's girls bedroom and emerges back on the golf course he will inevitably be successful, but one question will remain. Are they truly the best athlete of the decade? I guess that's just up for debate and left for radio hosts and obnoxious idiots who call in to the show to continue to babble over.

In other news, this silly blog finally proved that it has some meaning. After months and months of wondering and searching, I came across a Megatouch 2009.5 edition. If you remember I once mentioned I was considering boycotting Megatouch due to their refusal to accept Geilfuss as a valid last name. Following my post, I was contacted by the Director of Marketing and Finance for Megatouch who assured me that in their 2009.5 edition, Geilfuss would be accepted as a valid entry. So you can only imagine my excitement when I came across this new machine at JD's bar in Canton. After a few rounds of Race Poker, I finally achieved a high score, entered in my last name, and was quite pleased to see Geilfuss as the bearer of high scores. It won't be long till more and more bars have the 2009.5 edition and no longer will the Jacoby's have to enter in multiple versions of my last name upon receiving a high score.

Also, it has come to my attention that Dennis Rodman will be teaming up with Dr. Drew on the new season of Celebrity Rehab and if this is true, good things are bound to happen, because when it comes to entertainment, there are few people in this world as entertaining as The Worm.

Stuck on A Deserted Island

I'm taking a winter course over at the University near by and on our first class the professor made everyone in the class play a completely silly game as an icebreaker. Supposedly, the point of this icebreaker was to help me bond with my other classmates so I will be more likely to ask them questions outside of the classroom if I need help or something like that. The professor wanted us to write down 10 things that we would each bring with us to a deserted island, submit the answers to her, and than as a class we would try and guess who in the class has submitted each answer. She also mentioned that certain items such as cell phones and computers which would typically seem like pointless items to bring to a deserted island, would get reception on this island but yet you still couldn't use it to rescue you. So basically she was proposing a scenario that is never going to happen to anyone and making it even more far fetched. Making things even worse, if we were going to take an item such as a television or computer we had to limit ourselves to one channel or one feature on the computer. I found this game to be very pointless, but yet I've never been much of a rebel so I decided to go along with the rules, plus, it kinda reminded me of one of those utterly pointless games I used to play with Pat on a Monday night at the Kent when there was no one at the bar. Anyways, my list looked something like this:

A television with ESPN
A beautiful woman
A dog
A high powered and accurate rifle( I assumed ammo came with the rifle since it was a silly game)
A machete
A lighter
An unlimited supply of water bottles
An unlimited supply of booze
An unlimited supply of suntan lotion
Good strong rope

Now, that I had finished this pointless and redicoulous game, I was forced to listen to all the other silly answers my classmates had jotted down. Cell phones, computers, books, and a wide variety of utterly pointless and meaningless answers were given. Some people even went to the extreme of bringing other family members or friends, and in some cases there were a few people that wanted to bring specific pieces of jewelry or clothing. As for me, I would never choose to bring someone I truly liked or respected with me to a desserted island, because I just couldn't wish that upon them. Being stuck on an island sounds pretty awful, if you've ever seen the movie Castaway, you will remember Tom Hanks' character made friends with a volleyball because it was so bad. Granted, one of my choices was a beautiful woman, but this beatiful woman would have to be someone I've never met or interacted with in my life, because well there are certain needs a beautiful woman can help fulfill, plus it wouldn't be awful to possibly have some human companionship. Bearing that I wouldn't be responsible for selecting the beautiful woman, a dog seemed like the next most reasonable choice. Because the phrase beautiful woman can be left up to interpretation and for all I know, the person selecting the beautiful woman to accompany me to this deserted island could be someone like Big Adam in which case I could very well be stuck with a member of the Dream Team or perhaps a woman even more repulsive than any member of the Dream Team, in which case I would resort to the dog for companionship. Quite simply, the dog is merely a backup plan in case the woman is either not that beautiful or an obnoxious wench. Plus, even an amazing woman would probably drive me insane at times on a deserted island, so a dog seemed like an essential selection.

The high powered rifle and ammo seemed to be the next most plausible selection, because eventually I would need to find food and a rifle would not only make hunting easier, but a lot more entertaining. Plus, I could probably find various items on the island to use for target practice. The machete kinda goes hand-in-hand- with the rifle as it would be used for hunting purposes as well as safety purposes. The lighter, well if you've ever seen any movie where someone is forced to make fire on their own it doesn't seem to easy, so a lighter just seemed like an obvious choice.

The water bottles should be a pretty obvious selection too, being that the majority of islands are surronded by salt water and salt water tends to not be the most hydrating of liquids. As for the booze, well if I'm stuck on a desserted island with no one to talk too besides one woman and my dog, booze seems pretty crucial. It would help ease the fact that my next few years are basically going to suck, could serve as a painkiller if I were to ever injure myself, might help me fall asleep on the cold and windy nights, and plus it might make that broad I'm stuck with a bit more amusing. As for the suntan lotion, well you may remember several years ago, I got sun poisining on an 80 degree day and it resulted in a few very painful days, so it's basically there for pain prevention. As for the rope, I've never been very good at making knots and those kinda things, but if I'm stuck on a deserted island, I figure I could get lots of practice and the rope would one day help me build a raft and if it didn't I could use it to help me with other tasks on the island. As for the TV with ESPN, that seemed pretty self explanatory. If I'm stuck with only one channel, I might as well go with ESPN, because with ESPN comes Sportscenter and Monday Night Football.