Justin Bieber

One of the things I pride myself on is that I don’t, in the normal course of my daily affairs, punch 16-year old kids in the face. It’s just one of those rules I like to live by. I think perhaps I learned it in church. Regardless, I am pondering a one-time exception to my otherwise firm principle in the case of Justin Bieber.

My feelings took a turn from general annoyance to the just discussed rage after reading that Bieber, at the age of 16, is releasing his "memoir". I love the cover that they have been so kind as to release ahead of time, though. There's nothing that annoys me more than a memoir that is only 80%-90% official. Rest easy Bieber Nation, this one is 100% official!

We love u 2, Justin

But here’s the real question- what in the hell are people in their twenties (and older) doing listening to this stuff? While out this past weekend, I actually witnessed people theoretically old enough to be receiving paychecks from corporate America voluntarily dancing to one of his tunes. After a bit of follow up research, I believe the song in question was "Baby". I do have to admit that the lyrics are quite impressive for a lad of 16...

And I'm like
Baby, baby, baby ohh
Like
Baby, baby, baby noo
Like
Baby, baby, baby ohh
Thought you'd always be mine (mine)

I suppose it's just that kind of insight into the human condition that has fans on edge awaiting the October release of the book chronicling Justin's life journey thus far. I have no doubt that the prose will be on par with the great stories of Ernest Hemingway. We can only hope that, in similar fashion, the story ends with the main character getting gored by a bull or angry marlin.

Julia Roberts Follow Up

Murls, God bless you for addressing the absurdity of Julia Roberts' “iconic” status. It baffles me to no end, and I very nearly threw something at the screen the first time I had to endure the Julia Roberts playing Julia Roberts scene in Ocean’s 12.

I was a bit troubled that when you went searching the recesses of your mind for an ideal masseuse, the wheel stopped on Brigitte Nielsen. Even at her peak, as she stood by watching Ivan Drago get pumped full of ungodly substances prior to felling the great Apollo Creed in Rocky IV, she seemed a bit rough to me. And having been forced to sit through her season of Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew Pinsky, I can tell you it has gone downhill from there.

I believe there's been a mistake, I requested a female masseuse.

Otherwise, you were spot on. I'm not sure why you left out some of her other travesties, such as Stepmom, but perhaps you were just displaying a bit of mercy. I will say that for whatever reason, she annoyed me in Sleeping with the Enemy perhaps more than in any other film (excluding the previously discussed Ocean's 12 scene). Watching her and Kevin Anderson duel it out for cheeseball of the year made it hard not to find yourself rooting for the angry and unstable husband. The only thing I could never figure out is why in God's name the guy wanted her back badly enough to drive to Iowa to retrieve her in the first place.

Julia Roberts (and the annoying Kevin Anderson) from her most appealing angle in Sleeping with the Enemy

None of the Above

***Post by Murls

During a recent 'situation' in which I was kidnapped, bound and gagged, and forced to read People Magazine's 'Sexiest People' issue, I stumbled across the following poll:

This little example of hard-hitting journalism pretty much frames my long-running confusion with the altar upon which the world places Julia Roberts. She has been revered as the world's queen of actresses for at least a decade, and of all the most bankable actresses in Hollywood, she seems to hover above the rest of them in stature. In fact, if you were fortunate enough to endure the epic saga that is Oceans 12 you will remember that she even partook in a parody of herself; a parody in which she was so worshiped that she was given special access to some lame jewel-encrusted egg (which was eventually thought to be grinched by some dude in a tracksuit performing impossibly-lamer dance moves through lasers).

"My agent is so fired."

So we all agree that Julia Roberts is staggeringly famous and adored, right? The thing is, I don't think she's been in all that many good movies.

Nicholson, Duvall, Deniro, Pacino, even Leo . . . they are considered great and each have a handful of ridiculous movies in their quiver (gross). Lest you think I'm being sexist, we can say the same for Meryl Streep, Diane Keaton, etc. But here we have the hallowed Julia Roberts, and the list from which I should choose her best movie reads like a form of punishment for shoplifting in at least 9 states. Let's review:

Pretty Woman: Blockbuster, damn successful film, this cannot be denied. But what absolutely perplexes me is, why in the crapdom is this movie so iconic and considered a benchmark for romance? I believe I speak for every man on the planet here - she was a hooker!!! What in the pots and pans is romantic about a chick that has anything to do with being a hooker?! I realize that kissing a frog and having it turn into Prince Charming is a bit outdated, but no way little girls across America are now daydreaming of turning a few tricks with some fat bald men en-route to meeting Mr. Right. Maybe throw in a crack pipe and some track marks just so you can say you had the full experience?

Nobody finds love on an empty stomach.

Oh, and also, SHE WAS A HOOKER!

My Best Friend's Wedding: Sorry, I'm finding it difficult to type with this pencil in my eye. Once this film ends I will remove it. We'll talk soon.

Charlie Wilson's War: Pardon me? That was a movie? It had Tom Hanks in it too?! Soooooo . . . it's a nice piece of revisionist history involving the least interesting characters to ever be allegedly linked to the most obscure aspect of the Cold War in the 1980's, AND it's a politics play. You know what, cancel my 4 o'clock massage with Brigitte Nielsen, I'm in.

Wait. Shoot. I can't decide.

Erin Brockovich: Good movie, good acting, good actress. Bravo, Julia, seriously.

Runaway Bride: Spoiler alert!

"That's a wrap!"

No, I Don't Watch That Show!!!

I feel like at least once a week, I have a conversation that goes a little something like this:

Friend/Acquaintance: "Hey, do you watch (insert name of trendy cable show)?"
Craig: "Oh yeah, uh, yeah, well no, well I've seen it a couple of times but I can never remember to watch it on a regular basis. Yeah, but it seems really sweet."
Friend/Acquaintance: "You should watch it", with a look of scorn and disapproval.

I'm sorry! I can't keep up! Earlier tonight I started thinking about taking the $13 per month gut punch and resubscribing to HBO and then broke into a sweat when I remembered that some of the hip shows are now on Showtime. Maybe HBO isn't cool anymore; maybe Curb Your Enthusiasm and Entourage are yesterday's news. Showtime has shows about serial killers, lesbians, and pot. Seems trendy to me, but then I won't have time for the shows about vampires!

As I have mentioned, some of the TV viewing time in my house is burned on shows that have no place in a respectable society. Still, there's seriously no way to keep up. I pondered trying to climb on board the Mad Men bandwagon this summer, but we missed the season premiere and I don't know if I have it in me to try to catch up.

It just seems like it was a better setup back in the heyday of network TV, when there were three legitimate channels and everybody watched whatever made it into the prime time slots. I guess I should embrace the progress and the fact that programming options are so abundant. My glorified view of 1980's television overlooks the fact that people were so short on options that they actually kept Hotel and Falcon Crest on the air for five and nine seasons, respectively.

Why, yes, our show did suck, but at least people knew where to find it.

It's really just part of the larger narrative of my falling behind the times in general. I think the government is in initial discussions to have my house listed on the National Register of Historic Places due to the fact that you can find both a home telephone and actual CDs inside.

Stuff About Stuff and Having Too Much of It

Whoa, say what? While in Nantucket last week, I ventured into a local bookstore in search of tales of the sea or perhaps a nautical map that appeared to hail from centuries ago. Though sadly much of the store turned out to be run of the mill bookstore fare, I did find a couple of books and a magazine worthy of purchase. As I stood in line, I noticed the guy in front of me head toward the exit with a book about "stuff". I thought nothing of it and made my way to the counter, unaware that I was headed for some serious irony.

As I stepped up, the lady behind the counter informed me that they were giving away a free book and tote bag to everyone making a purchase. Okay, I guess I'm all for some free stuff I thought. Perhaps it's something with a bit of local Nantucket flair or something tied to the island's whaling past? Nope...



That's right, it's a book about how we all have too much stuff and how that fact is destroying our lives and the planet. And how best to promote such a minimalist philosophy? Why, by handing out unsolicited copies of your book and a similarly themed tote bag to people who have expressed no discernible interest in them of course. Unreal. Alanis Morissette, in the unlikely event that you Google yourself and find yourself reading this blog, that's ironic.

Why yes Alanis, it is ironic.

Power Outages, Vacation, and the Philly Connection

A power outage here at the house tonight almost prevented my posting for another day, but thankfully I am back up and running. There is nothing more instantly debilitating than losing power at your house. When I arrived home from work to a powerless house, my thought process went something like this.

6:30 (Pulling into driveway) "Hey, the garage door opener isn't working."
6:32 (Walking into house and noticing all lights and appliances off) "Ahh, it looks like a power outage is to blame."
6:33-6:40 (Walking around outside with dogs) "Hmmm, I guess the computer and television will be unavailable."
6:41 "Wait, I can't heat up or in any other manner prepare food."
6:41:30 "Wait, it's too dark to read in here."
6:42 (While standing in the closet with a candle looking for a t-shirt) "Uhhh..."

And that, my friends, is how you find yourself sitting solo with a magazine and an oversized sandwich at a Philly Connection 15 minutes from your house at 7pm on a rainy Monday night. It's not a good place to be mentally. Actually, it's just literally not a good place to be. Luckily, I called home and the answering machine picked up, confirming that power had been restored. It was just in the nick of time as well, for my next move was to go watch the movie Salt by myself had the power still been out.

A far cry from last week, which we spent in Boston and Nantucket. We had a fantastic time in both places. In Boston, we walked around and saw a number of the historical sites in addition to taking in a Red Sox game at Fenway. Let me offer this piece of advice. If you find yourself in Boston looking for Fenway, do not operate under the otherwise reasonable assumption that people wearing Red Sox shirts and jerseys must certainly be headed to the same place you are. I pity Paul Pierce or Tom Brady mulling about that town searching in vain for someone sporting Celtics or Patriots gear. Over the course of three days I saw zero Bruins clothing items, one Patriots t-shirt, and two Celtics items (one shirt and one hat, I believe). Red Sox gear, meanwhile, is everywhere. It is unreal.



After Boston, it was on to Nantucket, which is just a flat out different world. Anytime in the course of a day you can notice a ring for sale for $121,000, a woven basket for sale for $2,500, and then sit next to a guy at a bar who starts off a conversation- "well the thing about snow in Vermont is...", you know you have ventured onto foreign turf. It was a beautiful place, though, and we had a great time. While walking around the island, I came upon this gravestone. If you have to go, and I suppose we all do, this seems like about as good a writeup as you can have...

He was a seaman on board the ship Northumberland 84 guns under the command of Sir Geo. Cockburn that conveyed Napoleon Bonaparte to St. Helena in 1815 and received marked notice from the Great Emperor. He was also a seaman in the Albion 74 in the attack on the city of Washington in 1814. In 1820 he was shipwrecked on the island of Nantucket where he resided the remainder of his life. He was well known as a successful master rigger for 50 years. Honored for his integrity, respected for his uniform courtesy and beloved for his kindness and generosity.

I'm Back!

Well, after a fantastic week in Boston and Nantucket, I am back home and back on the blog. Permit me this Sunday evening to hole up and recover, and then I'll be back with more. I was going to try to post something more substantial, but I started off by going to Google image search. I see that even something that ran as smoothly as Google Images can't be left unchanged these days for too long. Thanks Google, it wasn't nearly challenging enough before when you could just type in what you were looking for and have returned to you pages with a manageable number of pictures and a brief description that made it clear why this picture might be relevant to your search. Far better, apparently, to barrage my screen with hundreds of pictures requiring me to scroll over them to understand what marginal similarity they might bear to my search. Things I don't enjoy- Sunday nights, change, and Google images.

My next post will have a brief trip recap and will be of a much sunnier disposition. I was going to close with some relevant- yet still humorous- picture but, ah you get the idea...

Brace Yourselves

Can I ask you to take a seat please? Are you sitting down? Okay, I need to let you know something. I am headed out on vacation tomorrow morning, and as such there is likely to be only a single post next week. I know, I know, its going to be a struggle for you. We are headed to Boston and Nantucket for a little R&R. I plan on posting something mid-week. Until then, I'm out!

A Note to All You IT Guys

If you are in the network engineering field or in IT more generally, please read this. I had a conference call with a couple of network engineers at my company yesterday. Without getting into specifics, their team rolled out a project a couple of months ago that triggered some unintended consequences for me and some vendors with which I work. They are now about to roll out phase two, and so they did me the courtesy of placing a call to discuss the status of their corrections for the first set of issues. Fantastic! Thanks for the kind gesture...or so I thought.

I have one thing I would like people in IT to realize- the rest of us don't know what in the hell you are talking about! After some brief introductions, they launched into the details of what had happened and what was in store for me when they rolled out phase two (which they were very excited about). I pulled my Post-It Note pad close and tried to capture the essence of the call. This is what I honestly ended up with...

"Great, thanks for the call, I think I've got it."

Farewell, My Friend

Last night as I was about to hop in bed, I grabbed a wadded up shirt to don for the night. Then it hit me that this shirt, now serving as a last line of defense for our bedding against the inevitable Monday night sweats, was once a proud member of my wardrobe. In happier times this shirt spent its days on a hanger amongst other clothing items that might be selected at any time to be worn in public settings. Now, like a great pitcher five years past his prime, it was being called on for mop-up duty.

The downward spiral of a great t-shirt is a lengthy, and ultimately depressing, path. Unlike when you notice a glaring rip in your boxers and start the six month wind down process (six months is about right, no?), the t-shirt is capable of hanging on for years past the time when decency should have demanded its retirement. And hang onto it you will, for it is indeed rare to find the shirt that hits the mark on every possible attribute- overall length, fit, sleeve length, neck size, neckband width, material weight, and style.

In its infancy, a top notch t-shirt can find itself being called on as a fashion statement in social settings. Once a bit of visible wear-and-tear sets in, a downgrade to errand running and milling about the house duty is in store. Finally, the former alpha shirt finds itself resembling Swiss cheese, partially see through, sporting an armpit hole large enough to fit your arm through it, and being called on for a yard mowing session or a night of sleep when the forecast calls for heavy sweat.

The great champion, in its final days

Over The Hill

As I type this, I am embarrassed to note that Lionel Richie is playing in the background on iTunes. That embarrassment will be short lived, though, my friends. Not because the song will come to its end momentarily. No, it is because when I awaken tomorrow I will officially be an old man, and old men may freely jam out to Lionel without a care in the world. I may no longer be able to navigate my way to that song if I accidentally accept the download of the latest version of iTunes, which will assuredly be a technological bridge too far for me. Should I encounter Say You, Say Me or Penny Lover, though, my 36 full years on this earth will entitle me to sweet enjoyment. Yes, my birthday is tomorrow. I shall bid farewell to year number 35 and begrudgingly usher in the back half of the thirties.

Today while waiting dutifully in line to purchase the 20 oz. Diet Mountain Dew required to power me through the afternoon, I was forced to listen to the abomination that is Lady Gaga on the radio behind the register. For just a moment I worried that my desire to shove my fist through the radio was a sign of my old man instincts kicking in, that I was officially out of touch with pop culture. But then it hit me- there's nothing wrong with being appalled by an "artist" for whom these are the suggested search results...


So I will look to moments of enlightenment such as that to offset the sinking feeling I get the next time I can't figure out how to operate an iPad.

Craig D'Arcy, age progressed to tomorrow morning.

God Bless You, King James

I had begun to lose hope. It's been a long, long time since I've been passionate about the NBA. Certainly I've tuned in to watch the Hawks get mauled in the postseason, but for the most part I had reached the point of indifference. But perhaps just in the nick of time LeBron James has come to my rescue. I realized tonight, while suffering through ESPN's stomach turning special in which he announced his decision to join the Miami Heat, that I believe I now hate LeBron James enough to pique my interest in the NBA.

It was hard to say whether the whole disgusting production left me angrier with James or ESPN. From Stuart Scott continually referring to James as The King to the perfectly placed Vitamin Water reach-in cooler behind James in the gym from which he crushed the collective heart of Cleveland, it was appalling. The very fact that LeBron and his entourage went to ESPN and engineered airing the whole thing on a special entitled The Decision is beyond disgusting. It's what 17 year old high school kids do to announce what college they're attending, not what 25 year old "men" do when hopping on the first train out of a town that worshiped them. Not to mention the fact that I view his decision as a cop out. Unlike Jordan, Kobe, Magic, and Bird, he couldn't get it done on his own. So he's taking his ball, his ego, and his sycophant posse to South Beach. Perhaps the most annoying part of his announcement was the fact that I think he's lying about when he actually made his decision. I don't believe for a second that he made his final decision this morning. I think he's known it for at least a week and probably for longer than that. Otherwise, I don't think Chris Bosh would have already committed to the Heat. For LeBron to actively play a role in building the whole situation up just so he could maximize the shock value of his decision strikes me as petty and obnoxious.

It works out great for me, though. LeBron has taken a huge step towards joining two former stars for whom my hatred ran deep- Michael Jordan and Isiah Thomas. That might just be enough to get me back into the NBA again (at least until the inevitable strike next summer). If I can get the image of Linda Cohn and the voice of Stuart Scott out of my head before my nightly dreams kick in, the hour I spent forcing myself to watch The Decision may have been well worth it.

LeBron says goodbye to Cleveland, and I say hello to my new least favorite player.

Correction

Since I strive for accuracy here on the blog, I felt the need to make a correction. While walking down the hall at work today, it dawned on me that I slightly misstated the reason I started my personal boycott of Atlanta Bread Company in a recent post (yes, these are the things that bounce around my brain while at work). I wasn't mad specifically about the limited amount of turkey I received. What angered me was the fact that I didn't want any of the standard sandwich fillers- lettuce, tomato, etc. I did however request a slice of Swiss cheese. When I realized that I was charged an extra $0.75 for the cheese, even though my sandwich was approximately 1/3 as large as everyone else rolling through the line, the boycott commenced. Just needed to set the record straight.

It was the cheese!

How I Spent My Weekend

I hope everyone had a great 4th weekend. Did you spend it at the lake cruising back streets in oversized golf carts drinking jello shots and Nuvo with your lady, then capping off the evening watching the entire fight card for UFC 116 with a crowd of lake locals? No? Just me?

French vodka, sparkling white wine, and passion fruit nectar- what's not to like?

(As an aside, you have to love that the drop down box to enter your age on the Nuvo site goes to 12/31/2008. I admire their responsibility in turning any 18-month old children away from their site attempting to read up on this tasty adult beverage.)

Well, it was a solid time despite the rather unusual itinerary. We actually did hang out by the lake for quite awhile before transitioning to the aforementioned nighttime plan. One of the locals had the Nuvo, which he selflessly shared with all the ladies, as well as a round of jello shots. As I mentioned, the main focus was UFC 116. I'll skip the recap, but it basically entailed fists and elbows slammed into faces, some uncomfortable looking submission holds, and a good bit of blood on the canvas. I did learn that they don't test for steroids in UFC, a fact obvious to anyone who takes a good look at the evening's champion Brock Lesnar.

Happy 4th of July!

Just a quick note that I'll be out of pocket for the next several days. Hope everyone has a great Independence Day. One quick depressing thing to pass on. I didn't watch the first episode of the new season of The Real World in New Orleans, so I just found out this morning via a Mississippi State message board that a fine student from MSU is one of the cast members this year. She's, uhhh, not great.

One Month and Counting...

Hello again all you Wahoo maniacs! This is Harry Doyle here welcoming you to another edition of Teepee Talk. Hey, in case you haven't noticed, and judging by the attendance you haven't, the blog has been up and running for a full month now.

Okay, that covers my Major League reference quota for the month. I did want to say a quick thanks to all of you who have been dropping by and especially to those of you who have signed up as followers. According to current trending analysis, I'm on pace to hit the hundred follower mark right about the time of my first post belittling the chintzy senior's discount at Shoney's.

In the meantime, the second month promises even more excitement and cutting edge analysis. Either that or I'll run out of material entirely and just start republishing Glenn Beck conspiracy theories. You'll have to check back to find out which way we're headed!

Getting fired up for month number two of Sic Transit Gloria...good seats still available.

Taqueria swill Hole

Do any of you find yourselves boycotting various entities? I don't mean the "I'm upset about the oil spill in the Gulf and am boycotting BP" or the "I don't buy products manufactured in China due to their appalling use of forced labor from political prisoners" kind of boycott. I mean the kind where you go into a barely suppressed rage in an Atlanta Bread Company over the quantity of turkey on your sandwich in 1999 and successfully refuse to set foot in another one to this very day.

My most recent boycott is Taqueria del Sol. Simply driving past one of their locations on my way home tonight reminded me of how angry Taqueria makes me. I was trying to capture exactly what it is about this place that drives me crazy, and shockingly their website laid it out perfectly. Their home page features three reviews, and the first one includes the following line- "You know not to grab a table early or break the house rules because the system works." I'm sorry, I can't remember which of the following things I left my house hoping to accomplish:

1) Become a pledge at Omega Theta Pi
2) Enroll in military basic training
3) Enjoy a couple of tacos and a beer

Welcome to Taqueria, you may now order.

How about taking yourself a little less seriously? In case you aren't familiar with this place, the concept is that you place your order up at the register and then they bring you the food. Quality food, limited service, affordable price. I'm with you so far. But somewhere early on they seem to have added "treat people like dirt" to that list. My relatively new boycott of Taqueria is still long enough that I can't remember all the things that have disgusted me while dining there. Our last house had a Taqueria less than a mile away, so we went above and beyond to overlook the glaring deficiencies for convenience sake. Rule #1 at Taqueria is that you don't sit down until you order (no saving tables). Other places don't have to invoke this rule, because other places don't make everyone queue up and order at a single register that guarantees 30+ minute lines at all times. In addition, you can be assured that when your time to order finally arrives, if you pose any question whatsoever to the person taking your order, you will be made to feel like the jackass of the week. Another important thing to remember at this swillhole is that they do not have servers. You should most definitely not ask any employee walking in your vicinity for a napkin, more chips, or anything of the sort. One other random annoyance that I now recall is that the one by our old house was not open for lunch on Saturday. That makes sense. There's no reason the general public would expect a Mexican place with a deck to be open on Saturday afternoon. Also, I swear the place had "no cell phone" signs posted. I would go verify this, but the odds are that I would punch either a wall or the person at the register before completing my visual surveillance.

So if you happen to be from out of town and find yourself in Atlanta, please do not visit Taqueria del Sol. This city has approximately one Mexican restaurant per 50 square feet, so your options are numerous. Don't select the one that proudly displays how seriously it takes its "rules" on its web page. Gracias.

Car Troubles

This past week while driving around town, my car let out its familiar ear-piercing beep alerting me to a new malfunctioning component. I crossed my fingers (well not really, I was driving at the time) hoping it was notification of a low wiper fluid level or perhaps a faulty brake light. Unfortunately, I also noticed that the ABS and Emergency Brake lights were on.



I knew that was likely a bad sign, but decided to peruse my handy Audi manual once I got back home to get the diagnosis straight from the manufacturer of this high-performance vehicle. After turning to the correct page, I got a nice synopsis of what I should expect to see from these indicator lights. Further, I was informed that I should give my local dealer a call when I had a chance. Got it. Now let me move on to the second bullet to see what I could be looking at here so that I might properly slot this situation on my to do list.


Okay. The back half of my car could break away from the front seat at any moment. Thanks for the heads up. I guess I shouldn't drive to lunch today if there are more than two of us.

USA-Ghana In-Game Diary

The USA is taking on Ghana in the first phase of the “knockout round” of the World Cup, and you know you want the play-by-play insight of someone who knows absolutely nothing about soccer. Well fear not, because I’m here to bring you my running in-game diary. It’s not original? So what, I say. I actually did this once before on a short-lived prior website. At that time I chronicled an Atlanta Hawks game early in a season in which they went 13-69, so compared to that I was overflowing with excitement at the prospect of a US World Cup game. So without further delay, here we go…

2:00 Crank up the vuvuzelas, we’re live for the USA and Ghana.

2:02 ABC shows us the first live shot of the stadium for tonight’s game and it’s, uhhh, really small. I thought these things drew huge crowds.

2:03 It just started to sink in that I am on the hook for 30 minutes of pregame analysis, as the match doesn’t actually start until 2:30. I should have DVR’d!

2:05 Bob Bradley, the coach of the US team breaks down the Ghana squad as follows: “Their attacking players are creative.” So they’re into music, poetry, and what not?

2:06 According to Alexi Lalas (who has gone totally corporate with the haircut, by the way), the keys to a US victory are discipline and possession. Duly noted.

2:17 My wife just let out a disgusted “Oh my God” after the fourth set of commercials started rolling. Apparently there really isn’t anywhere 30 minutes of actual pregame discussion needed to set the stage for this match.

2:21 Okay, I’m a bit of a soccer skeptic, but the highlight montage from the last-minute win over Algeria just succeeded in getting me fired up.

2:23 Both teams enter the field, and it has a bit of an Olympic opening ceremonies feel. Credit where it’s due- It looks like they put the game ball on a ceremonial pedestal and then have someone grab it to get the match started. Solid touch.

2:27 I don’t love the idea of playing Ghana. As the last African nation still alive, I kind of want to pull for them in general.

2:28 ABC puts the starting lineups graphic on the screen for Ghana and, wait, what? Ghana’s coach is named Milovan Rajevac? I didn’t see that coming.

2:30 We’re underway!

2:32 The first US scoring chance comes up empty. Boo.

2:35 The play-by-play announcer tells the audience to “Stand by for a night of shredded nerves and beating hearts.” Will do.

2:36 Ghana draws first blood five minutes in. Half the team storms the track surrounding the field and does a partial victory lap. It isn’t the greatest testament to your sport when goals elicit this kind of reaction.

2:38 #28 for Ghana gets on the board by recording the first fake injury of the match. He executes it to perfection, drawing a yellow card on the baffled US defender.

2:40 Whoa, I just realized that the color commentator is former US player John Harkes. I thought it was the voice of Mary Carillo. I’m not sure on which of the three of us that reflects the most poorly.

Mary Carillo, apparently not providing color commentary for the World Cup.

2:41 Bill Clinton and Mick Jagger are seated next to one another in the stands. Hide the women and children after this one’s over.

2:45 To my very untrained eye, Ghana looks dominant at this point.

2:46 So why isn’t the announcer that yells “Gooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!” doing these games? I guess the fact that he doesn’t speak English is a bit of an obstacle. I’m not sure it’s a deal breaker for me, though.

2:47 Steve Cherundolo of the US just picked up a yellow card. One of soccer’s many strange rules- he doesn’t have to sit out the rest of this game but would have to sit out the next game if the US advances.

2:49 The announcer (who has the phenomenal name of Ian Darke) says the US team is “looking like rabbits in the floodlights”. I take it that is a bad thing.

2:51 Mary Carillo: “When the players stop moving, then that means there’s really a low percentage of options for players to pass and move.” Brilliant.

2:52 Good God, it sounds like one of the fans has brought in a ship’s horn in lieu of a vuvuzela.

2:52 Argh! A near US goal is thwarted by the Ghana goalkeeper.

2:54 I think the tide is turning….ahhh I don’t know what the hell is going on.

2:55 Hold on, Ghana has a corner kick and one of their players is lined up in the goal! This is legal in a sport hell bent on low scoring?

3:01 Mary Carillo is not happy with the US performance thus far.

3:04 Bogus! Another near miss for the US.

3:06 Another weird soccer rule- Ghana is playing a man down for the moment because one of their players is injured.

3:08 Ghana’s uniforms have me thinking McDonald’s.

Ghana, I'm lovin' it.

3:11 Fake injury number two by Ghana. This time there is no call.

3:12 Ghana launches a shot on goal that curls just 30 yards over the crossbar. Just a bit outside.

3:14 Is it a good sign that I find myself scrolling through the channel guide? I think not.

3:14 Hey, Die Hard is on TNT. What’s it been, three days? Up next, The Bourne Identity!

3:24 It’s halftime, with the score 1-0 Ghana Black Stars. My key takeaway to all of you out there nearly 90 minutes in- The US needs a cool team name like the Black Stars or Bafana Bafana.

3:32 Early in the second half, the US very nearly scores. I actually did just yell “Get in!” at my TV. Alright, I am dialed in.

3:34 Ian Darke just credited “the change of shape” for the good start to the second half by the US. I’m confused.

3:37 I feel like Monte, Harry Doyle’s color man in Major League.

Harry Doyle: Monte, anything to add?
Monte: Uhhh, no.
Harry Doyle: He’s not the best color man in the league for nothing.


3:40 Clint Dempsey pulls the first fake injury of the match for the US.

3:41 The US and Ghana just collectively headed the ball five times in a row. I thought I had accidentally changed the channel to the circus. Bring on the juggling elephants!

3:44 A nice defensive stop by Jay DeMerit prevents a second Ghana goal.

3:46 Yeah! The US has a penalty kick coming. Dempsey, not realizing he already got the call, just repeatedly slapped the turf in faux agony.

3:47 Goal!!!!! Landon Donovan ties it up on the penalty kick.

3:54 ABC just showed the Ghana bench. Question- Why does FIFA force the benchwarmers to garb themselves in those FIFA bibs. Are they worn as a symbol of shame for not making the starting lineup. Maybe they should just go with sackcloth.

4:00 We’ve got some running, some kicking, and some horn blowing.

4:01 The attendance is “nearly 35,000”. Again, I seriously thought these matches were a big deal on the world stage.

4:07 Clint Dempsey goes down and momentarily freezes while deciding whether it’s his knee or his head that just got “injured”.

4:13 We’ve made it to the 87 minute mark, and the US is unable to take the lead despite being continually on the attack.

4:15 Folks, we’re staring down the barrel of 30 minutes of overtime. Ehhh…

4:16 Currently the game is in three minutes of additional time, which is probably the strangest soccer rule of all. Why can’t they just stop the clock when the situations occur that cause additional time to be added?

4:18 Announcer Ian Drake as regulation ends in a 1-1 tie: “It’s going to be a long night here.” Agreed.

4:20 Apparently Ghana’s government paid for 1,000 fans to travel to the World Cup to support the team, but their budget ran out after 15 days and they were forced to return home. That’s not funny, but then again it kind of is.

4:25 The 30 minutes of extra time is underway. I trust I’ll be getting time-and-a-half for this.

4:28 Ghana scores three minutes into the extra time. It doesn’t look good.

4:33 Eight minutes into the extra time, the US barely misses off a corner kick after a Ghana player, having apparently been shot, was just carted off on a stretcher.

4:37 The continuous clock is a serious problem. Ghana is obviously stalling.

4:44 #10 of Ghana just pulled an appalling fake injury. Soccer is going to have to address that issue if it wants to be taken seriously by me (and you know they do).

4:48 Unbelievable! Another fake injury by a Ghana player. He’s carried off the field sitting upright on the stretcher.

4:50 Ghana just burned two minutes by substituting for a player on the far side of the field from their bench. I say again, the continuous clock and fake injuries must be addressed.

4:53 With four minutes left, it appears to be over for the US.

4:57 The final is 2-1 Ghana, and that is a wrap. There were some entertaining moments, but I think that covers my soccer watching for another four years.

Houston, We Have A Problem

You know how to tell that all is not as it should be in your life? You are in your kitchen preparing a nice turkey and swiss sandwich or other dinner item of your choosing and notice that your wife is about 10 minutes into an episode of Tori & Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood. If you respond by dropping your sandwich in disgust and lobbing an offhanded comment in her direction, all is well. If, however, you semi-frantically begin fretting about whether or not Tori is refusing to allow Dean to continue his motorcycle racing career and ask your wife to pause the DVR and give you a recap, then it’s probably time to admit that you have gone a bit off the rails.

Note that heightened interest in such a show is not necessarily quite so problematic if you are a college-aged girl or a wealthy homemaker with limited hobbies and interests. A 35 year-old male is probably not the target market, though. I know this because the advertisements that followed the aforementioned episode were for tampons, women’s razors, and skin rejuvenation products. I blame my wife, as she is certainly the one who brought such wretched programming into our house. I’ve managed to fend off her reality TV shows with varying degrees of success. I have abstained almost entirely from all of The Real Housewives shows (I can hear the odious sounds of part three of the Real Housewives reunion in the other room at this very moment). Others, such as Keeping Up with the Kardashians, have been harder to shun.

And so the battle lines have been drawn. The next showdown is apparently coming over 9 By Design, a horrendous looking new show about a self absorbed couple that make their living as interior designers and, apparently, by using their seven helpless children to secure a TV deal. Pray for me.

Come on Tori, let him ride his bike! He promises he'll be careful this time.