Think Outside the Bun in the Fast Lane...

Buenos nachos,

As I was arriving home from a long day on the road last week, I realized I was hungry and remembered that besides some chip and dip and some condiments from food from a BBQ I hosted the past weekend, I had no food. So I decided to zip on up Rt 3 and had a craving for Taco Bell. Usually when I desire Taco Bell, I am one of two things: incredibly drunk or realizing I have only around $6 in my wallet. So I sped up the road and then I realized that there are two things that really piss me off. I decided to entertain you by writing about them.

1. Taco Bell Commercials. There are three fundamental reasons why any of us eat at Taco Bell: we are mesmerized and sucked into the perception that we can have a full meal from the money that is on the floor of our car, we are incredibly inebriated, or we have little or no standards to "Mexican" food whatsoever. Of course since one of those bean burritos for 79 cents won't fill up even the smallest child, we often go hog wild and order 4 regular tacos, 2 soft tacos, 3 bean burritos, several things we can't pronounce, and of course, a large diet coke. It still only comes to around $6 and we have the perception that we will be having a Mexican food feast only to realize that they use an eyedropper to put the "meat" into the food and exactly 4 minutes after the last bite of whatever you order, you begin the dreaded sport of projectile shitting.

The new commercials feature some asshole on an elevator who takes a bite out of what appears to be a giant cheese-filled sandwich from some douchebag stupid enough to open up his lunch in a crowded elevator. What pisses me off about this commercial is that you actually get angrier at that douchebag for not only opening his lunch in an elevator and then talking to people about his lunch but realizing he didn't immediately punch the other guy in the face the second he ate his food. I can only imagine how excited these two actors were to find out that they were in a commercial from a "major sponsor", read their script that called for acting like a total tool for Taco Bell, and then having to go through with it.

Speaking of Taco Bell, to this day I can not order the Nachos Bell Grande. When I was in college, one of my roommates came home from a long night at the bars, totally wasted, and of course carrying the overflowing bag of take-out Taco Bell (which smartly is open past 1am). Of course since I was such a great student, I was stone cold sober while studying for an important exam to help better my career aspirations. OK, so this whole story is a little embellished... anyway, as I proceeded to see him wolf down the entire bag in about 15 seconds while proclaiming after each bite that it was "the best __ ever", I went down the hall of my dorm to avoid getting sick to my stomach and about five minutes later, heard him running down the hall to the bathroom. Thinking he was throwing up, I felt compelled to follow him in (for some reason we used to do this a lot) only to see that instead he was there in the handicrapper, door open, laughing his ass off and taking what probably was the foulest smelling dump ever and them proclaiming that he was taking a "Beer Shit Bell Grande".

To add to the effect, I present to you... the Nachos Bell Grande. Bon appetit. Sorry, I should have warned you not to read this while eating anything.

Here's a picture of my dorm room during my junior year of college with my old roommate who took the aforementioned dump playing either Mario Bros or TechmoBowl on our No-Friend-O (I'm on the floor probably assembling a camera or some video equipment for my esteemed television career).



Yep, you guessed it: we got laid a lot. That's a fucking Flounder stuffed animal with a lei around it hanging from our ceiling which we thought would attract the girls and show how "sensitive" we were and the bottle caps on the ceiling would look like "stars in the sky" as we both enjoy post-coitus snuggling in our bunk beds. BUNK BEDS!! Of course all it really took was this secret potion I like to call "alcohol".

2. People who come to a complete stop in the "Fast Lane" on a highway. The whole reason to get a Fast Lane tag in your car is so you can avoid having to scrounge for change, roll down the window, pay a toll for a road that is probably long since paid for, and then moving along. Of course the line that you have to wait in to play the toll is bad enough; we have to slow down to PAY. I would gladly slow down if they were giving us something back. So, most states have this Fast Lane (some call it EZ Pass) designed to allow you to drive on through as the toll gets automatically charged to your credit card or bank account, softening the blow of realizing you're actually being charged and of course, allowing us free Americans to avoid as much human contact with strange toll collectors as possible.



Of course there's always some jerk who gets confused that they are in a Fast Lane and don't know what to do. You with these tags know what I'm talking about, they zip down the lane (because unlike the paying toll booths, there is no line), they slow down and then speed up, then slow down, then put the directional on, you honk, they try and back up, you don't let them, and they go through, hoping that they won't be charged a fine or get a letter in the mail with a camera picture of their car going through the lane with a comment that the toll-booth police were thoroughly enjoying the footage showing your confusion. By the way, do NOT let these people back up. You have to learn not to do it again somehow. Tough love, my friend.

But the worst are those people who slow down to nearly a complete stop and who DO know what they are doing. To those who do, here are some reasons not to: 1. They call it FAST Lane, not Slow Down to a Stop Lane; 2. Remarkably, electronics has progressed quite a bit since the card-reader machine and those scanners can pick up your car at remarkably fast speeds, like scanning food at a supermarket; and 3. You just suck if you do. I have determined that you can go through the Fast Lane at around 25-30 mph and not get caught speeding. Give it a try sometime.

So to make a long story short, I got home later than expected and enjoyed my chips with leftover dip, pickles and spicy mustard. Yo quiero Doritos.

Thinking outside the bun,
Mike

Gentlemen, start your engines...

Hey there all,

Even though I have lived up in Little Canada, aka New Hampshire, for a few years now, I have often been looked at by the natives up here as an "outsider". Sure, it could be my driving habits, taken directly from where I grew up in Massachusetts (my driving school motto was "License Yours, No Questions Asked, Just Don't Bounce The Check), my quasi-accent, the fact I still add 5% sales tax to some things, or that I am not currently driving an American-made pickup and I don't own and have never shot a gun, at least not for the hell of it.

But then it dawned on me that I haven't done the ONE thing that separates NH from the rest of the New England states. Yep, you guessed it.

I hadn't been to a NASCAR event.

Through pure serendipity and calling in a favor, I happened to grab a few free tickets to this past weekend's "Sylvania 300" series. While thinking that perhaps Sylvania makes light bulbs that are now 300 watts, instead I was told that this indicates how many laps each car goes around the track during the race. Ok, I'm getting it now, this is easy.

In a town just north of Concord (city motto: "No, We're Not Named After the Grape, Sorry") called Loudon (town motto: "The First Four Letters of Our Town Describe Our Races") there is absolutely nothing besides a Shell station, some run-down apartment buildings... and naturally, a race track with grandstands that fit 95,000 people. Because no one knowingly and willingly enters the town of Loudon ever besides twice per year for its two annual racing events, the roads are understandably not equipped to handle cars and trucks carrying 95,000 people so I was told to arrive early to beat the traffic, pack a cooler of beer to take into the racetrack, and not cheer for anyone named Busch, unless it's one of those cold beers in the aforementioned cooler.

WAIT.

Did I just get told to pack a cooler of beer to take INTO the racetrack? It is OK to bring IN beer to a sporting event? Yessiree! It turns out that NASCAR did a marketing study and found that watching 300 laps of cars going in circles to the left can be "boring at times", so I'd need an excuse to forget that I am indeed doing this. OK, I'm beginning to warm to the NASCAR experience.

To capture the experience, I tried to remember the approximate times of the day where something noteworthy came up and then what I did. Because bringing in paper and a pen to write down things to remember would tip off fans that I can read AND write and therefore provoke fans to make fun of my "fancy writing thingie", I used my noggin to try and remember, and only because I took a picture of myself at around lap 190, staring off into space, drooling, completely catatonic saying in a monotone voice "I'm going to write about this," while feeling I'd morphed into Cousin Eddie from "Christmas Vacation", here goes:

10:45am: After losing a debate that I shouldn't drive my Lexus to a NASCAR race for very obvious reasons, I donned my rain jacket and my Schlitz hat and my friend Janell and I begun to head up to Loudon with a cooler of tailgate food, a second special cooler of beer, some chairs, a camera, my last will and testament, and a rain jacket. She had been to one of these before and promised that I "was going to love this". I noticed she was crossing her fingers. Hmm.

11:05am: We're already past Concord and there was absolutely no traffic. The rain is coming down pretty well. Not a good sign.

11:10am: We then get onto the road that leads to the speedway which appears to be around 7 miles of stop and go traffic. Not a good sign, but in a different way.

11:20am: I notice one of those cell phone towers that has the fake branches on them that is made to look like a tree but because there are around 20 total branches on the gray metallic tower and the fact that the tower is easily twice the height of the rest of the evergreen trees, I asked her if the she thought if the people who made them seriously thought they were going to fool anyone into thinking that rather than a cell tower, it's just a really ugly, super-tall tree. "Only you would think of something like that," I was told, to which I pretty much agreed. But seriously, who are they trying to kid? Did I mention we were stuck in traffic?

11:20-12:15pm: Several witty comments made by me which were basically too boring or mundane to mention here, and since this blog is basically made to capture these gems, you can only imagine how boring they must have been.

12:15: Finally we get to the road where the parking lots are. The scene it total chaos. There are cars everywhere. Lots were filled with squatters just looking for parking spots and places to tailgate. We missed the turn to where our friends were and instead ended up in the "Family Parking" area which were really a bunch of RVs that apparently have to be fully occupied by 10pm. Time to turn around.

12:20: Ironically, we found a parking lot and spot that was about 200 ft away from where our friends were. This is a good sign!

12:25-1:30: After meeting up with Josh and his cousins, we tailgated for about an hour. It's a typical tailgate, like before football games, except rather than seeing people wear clothing and hats where the home team colors dominate, all you see is numbers.



1:50: We walk to the grandstand area and get our tickets. I am told that we CANNOT miss the "gentlemen start your engines" declaration as well as the actual starting of the engines, so we quickly get in line to security.

1:52: The 14-yr old kid who checks my cooler of beer opens it up. "Beer," he says. "Have a good time." Ladies and gentlemen, we are officially NOT going to Foxboro.

1:53: The lady takes my ticket and scans it. "Make sure that if you leave, you get your hand stamped so you can get back in." I look at her quizzically. "You mean you can LEAVE... and you can come back?" She shook her head and I then knew it was too good to be true until she added, "Only if you have your hand stamped". She then smiled. Ladies and gentlemen, we are officially NOT going to Fenway.

1:55: Told to hurry by Janell so we wouldn't miss the engines revving up, we go inside to as far as the gate as we can go. Turns out we are right at the starting line, and on that starting line on the track are a bunch of people including... Senator John McCain. I have just gone from a Springer-show audience to being 30 feet away from the possible next President of the United States. Only in America... or at least, Loudon NH.



1:55-1:59: McCain says something about how great it is to b e in New Hampshire and how happy he is to be back in the Granite State. I would imagine that his speech is written something like a Mad Lib that goes like this:

"My fellow Americans, I am honored and proud to be back in [state name] for this [event name]. It's always good to be back in the [colorful state nickname]. My wife [wife name] and I love coming back here. Unlike [name of unsuccessful Democratic presidential candidate with a funny name, like Dukakis], we are committed to serving the good people of [state name, of if confused, just say "this state"] for the next four years. Why, I remember back in [pick a year between 1960 and 1970 so no one will call you on it] when I was here [name of a worthy event or charitable cause] and I can still [taste, smell, see] the [popular food item] that I've known to love here in [state name]. And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, [sporting event catchphrase]!!"

Of course I couldn't really hear anything since I think I forgot to mention that the engines had already started anyway.

Here's how close we were to McCain, not that I could just be lying and secretly have a big zoom lens (ladies dig the big zoom lens):



2:05: After a few practice laps, the cars rev up and go. There are few feelings in this world that compare to being only a few feet away from a track where cars driving at around 200 mph produce a wind of exhaust, tire pieces, driver's teeth, etc., that come flying at you. I now know why sitting in the front row is less expensive than seats 30 rows up.



2:10: I ask "who do I root for" and am told "just pick a car and follow it". Since not only do I not care who is racing, I look at the cars and couldn't make up my mind. So I saw one that said "Stanley Tools" on it and thought, "well I did use some Stanley Tools when I did my Home Depot kitchen over, so I guess I'll pick that one." It was the #19 car and I think "cool. Josh Beckett. Fred Lynn." I have to remind myself I am not at Fenway, not that the cooler of beer I'm carrying doesn't constantly remind me of this.

2:11: I then see the Home Depot car and want to change my mind. F me. Janell says that I can't once I pick a car. I think I called her "Ms. Nascar" or something not that either of us could really hear anything.

2:20: Getting to our seats, 30 rows up, cooler in hand, we sit.

2:20-2:45. And we sit.

2:46 (or so): A crash! I hate to admit it, but watching crashes are fun. It sure beats...

2:50: More sitting.

2:52: Time to take a picture of the #19 car for everyone! Problem is, they go too fast. So, this picture was as close as I got:



2:55: Hey, I just realized that I'm bringing my new universal "coolie" commemorating Mike Doolan's 30th Birthday. This is my favorite coolie because I think I have about a dozen of these and don't care if I lose them (sorry Mike). Here's a picture of me trying to amuse myself while cars go around in circles:



3:00 to whenever: Since I really couldn't hear much since my ears were plugged, I then did a little bit of people watching. And here are my observations:

-- To our left was a child around 11-12 years old and presumably his Dad. Every time a certain car came around the turn, he would stand up and flip the bird and yell "FUCK YOU!". Interesting. I then looked for the car with the "Department of Social Services" sponsorship.
-- None of the race cars are sponsored by Colgate, AIM, Pepsodent or Dial, Dove, Right Guard or Ivory. Coincidence?
-- Racing car shirts are like Christmas sweaters: you drag them out once a year and then curse yourself if you have to leave the environment where you're wearing them and be exposed in them. Not that I am a fashion plate by any means, but the colors of most of the shirts are probably best suited for walking through the woods during hunting season and trying not to get shot. However with just a Schlitz hat and a black rain coat, I was considered "preppy".
-- No one really seemed to boo anyone. I did hear some boos for Jeff Gordon who, according to the guy we walked up behind to get to our seats, was "a fag" and for the Busch guy because I think people thought he was the president. Wait. I didn't hear anything because of the earplugs. I established this already.
-- I was able to see who was ahead and then count how many cars my car, #19, was behind. It was a little emasculating to see Janell make a "four" or "six" with her hands and then I flash both hands three times to let her know my loser car was in 30th place. I then felt much, much better when I reminded myself I really didn't give a shit.

I was then caught staring with my mouth open in a catatonic like trance at absolutely nothing whatsoever. She was fortunately able to catch this exciting moment on film and the picture is below. I believe that my mind was playing a continuous loop of some country music I heard on the way in and my mind was thinking mundane thoughts like "Green is a pretty color... Lowe's... Tony Stewart... people applaud... beer... 42 laps to go... exhaust... I like green... "



I then tried to guestimate how much time we had left sitting and staring at cars going around in a circle. Using my astute mathematical prowess (HA) I took a car and timed it. I counted. Around 40 seconds to make a lap. Around 40 laps to go. Hmm. Not being able to completely figure it out since I suck at math, I thought that I'd have about 1/2 hour to go.

Then, more accidents.

It at least allowed me to take pictures of cars.



OK, enough pictures of cars. Hey, the guy in front of me has a t-shirt from a place called the Boothill Saloon! I've never heard of that before!! I have to get a picture taken of it! Might as well include us in the shot as well!



To make an already too long story a little shorter, I'll sum it up by saying that someone named Greg Wiffle won (I assume he is related to the ball), we hung out because 95,000 people leaving all at once just isn't that coordinated, they played Sweet Caroline and Dirty Water to TRY and make it appear that we are still in New England, and then we left to tailgate for the next, oh, 8 hours, where I got my ass kicked in beer pong by Janell and one of Josh's cousins.

Good times, and actually, I think I might go back for the next race. Yep... I can feel my teeth loosening right now...

Mike

Sportscaster Babes

Ladies, there is no need for you to read this blog, not that any of you really read these things anyway. This is dedicated to the men out there longing for entertainment in written form, specifically those who love watching sports.

Oh, OK, so you're reading anyway. Fine.

It used to be that TV sportscasters were hired either for their knowledge or their insight into the game and not for their looks. This period was long known as the Cosellian Era, named after Howard Cosell who either you loved or hated but who had a voice that was easily identifiable as well as mockable. If you think Monday Night Football, you used to think Cosell, Al Michaels, Don Meredith... all good sportcasters who either showed off their Syracuse degree (Bob Costas, Michaels, etc.) or their pride of not being too banged up from concussions to talk in semi-complete sentences and some rememberance of their playing years (OJ Simpson pre-murder, Meredith, Criqui, etc.).

However after the Cosellian era, ratings seemed to drop. A sharp team of marketing individuals did a survey to figure out why. They came back with two answers: breasts. Guys like looking at breasts. Guys also like watching sports. Hmm. Breasts. Sports. Watching sports. Seeing breasts. It was the metaphorical peanut butter-meets-chocolate of sports broadcasting.

Now, football had cheerleaders specifically for this purpose. But it was hard to justify the camera to go to cheerleaders besides by accident since they bring little or no tangible value to the game. I'm sure that early scripts that were rejected went something like this: "1st and 20, Bradshaw in the shotgun formation. Three wideouts at the line and Harris now in motion. Candace is waving her pompoms. Bradshaw calls for the snap." Somehow, while we liked Candace and loved her pompoms, there was no reason to go to Candace at any point besides a football player going out of bounds and into the cheerleaders by mistake. Ha ha, "mistake!". So a great innovation was introduced: the "Sideline Reporter" or "In-Game Reporter".

And so it was born: justifying a hot chick to be shown on camera to share nothing substantial whatsoever but give you another reason to not get up off your couch during a lull in the action.

The steady rise of sideline reporters was documented by none other than Melissa Stark, hired by ABC to at least provide some sort of distraction from the gang of idiots like Eric Dickerson, Dennis Miller, etc., who worked Monday Night Football. While we had to put up with their witty banter, we hung around for those magic words: "And now let's to go Melissa Stark on the sideline." For those who don't remember, the dialogue was something like this:

Dennis Miller: "So Favre goes back to pass and it's... incomplete. Just like this one gig I did at the Chuckles in West Chester. I mean, talk about dying."
Eric Dickerson: "Yo what it is, I be dyin' if you be bringin' up mo stories like dat!"
Dan Fouts: "Yeah."
DM: "I second what you said Eric, whatever that was. Which reminds me of this one time on Saturday Night Live, when Dana Carvey and I were--"
ED: "Let's be goin to Melissa Stark on the sideline."
Us: "(THANK YOU)"

And there she was... in a nice tight sweater... saying absolutely nothing of substance but us not caring... out of her mouth were the words, "thanks guys, and I had the chance to speak to Coach Holmgren and he said that Favre felt 'ready to play' today, and that he'll let his actions come out 'on the field'. Back to you in the booth," but what we heard was "check these girls out. This sweater is easily two sizes too small. Blah blah, Holmgren, blah blah, back to you in the boobs. I mean, booth."


Unfortunately, angry girlfriends/wives who were listening or watching to the sportscast, not understanding a thing Miller or Dickerson or Fouts was saying yet noticing us drool and yelling "SHHH!" when Stark came on, called and complained, and ABC then ordered her to have a kid, wear frumpy sweaters and Hillary-like hats, and then banished her to NBC where she covered sports no men watch, like the Olympics or figure skating.

But that did not stop the trend from continuing. Here in Boston, NESN figured it out. Hazel Mae, Tina Cervasio, Kristin Mastrionni (sp?) and now the future Mrs. Robinson, Heidi Watney, all patrol the airwaves waiting to tell us interesting tidbits like a player's charitable contributions, an amusing story about the cherished family pet of one of the players, or an interview with a fan about their long journey all the way from some town no one's heard of.

So alas... my own Top 5 of who's on today, and free free to agree/disagree (note: comments add words to my blog!!). I will add photos of each one for you to peruse and to keep you reading.

5. Stark. I just wrote about her. Read above.

4. Jillian Barbarie. She used to be on Fox NFL Sunday and now only makes cameo apparances on a local NY sports show. I believe she once did the weather for an NFL show, like any of us cared if it was going to rain or snow at a football game since the viewer is most likely on their couch. She was not only hot, but filthy. When she showed up with Pamela Anderson one time, it made the highest rating of the demographic "Men 18-35 Not Looking At Any Person's Face". Has the look like she's just dying to tell us of her first threesome.


3. Hazel Mae. No longer on NESN anymore, she was a lot of fun and perky and really into sports but none of us cares: she had incredible breasts. When she was hired, she was referred to as "Witch Hazel" as she appeared to be a little bit of a butterface (everything's nice but her face) but then during the 2005 Opening Day for the World Champion Red Sox, wore this dress that showed the girls off. Insisted on dating players which meant she liked to have fun and you can just tell was DYING to drop a double entendre here and there to spice up a broadcast. And I once wrote that if I were a player having an interview with Hazel, it would go something like this:

Hazel: "So Mike, with that big stick in your hand, I bet that the feeling of the ball, or balls, and that big stick, um, oops my microphone fell down my blouse... hmm, well that must have been something, huh?"
Me: "..."
Hazel: "Um, Mike? My eyes are up here."
Me: "..."

She will be missed but I think she and the girls will be just fine.


2. Erin Andrews, ESPN. Wow. There is a reason why watching ESPN Sportscenter four times in a row on a rainy Saturday morning isn't that bad or monotonous and Erin certainly helps. Honestly, I have no idea who she is or what she talks about or where she came from in life nor do I really care at all. Now THAT'S a sign of a hot sportscaster.



1. Heidi Watney-Robinson. OK, so one can dream. I can remember where I was when she was hired. They had just fired Tina Cervasio and all of her teeth and then announced the hiring of this feisty vixen from somewhere out in California. Sure, I'm a sucker for blonds, but never before did I see someone so pretty ask questions to mundane yet look absolutely incredible doing it. Note that she actually went up in the "power rankings" because she was recently rumored to be dating Sox captain and catcher extraordinaire Jason Varitek, who recently got divorced (hmm). You may ask why she went up but 'Tek is one of those players who would make your wife/girlfriend/mistress's "list" of people that, if they ever had a chance to sleep with them, would be ok with you just like I assume you have one. And you wonder why I'm not married yet!

Not to sound stalker-esque but at a Sox game this past week, part of the reason to move down behind the visitor's dugout was to see Heidi and her blond locks get ready for what I assume was a thought-provoking and inquisitive interview with one of the stars of the game. However I would think that if she were interviewing me, the Q&A would go something like this:

Heidi: "So Mike, I saw that the wooden bat in your hand made contact with that ball thingie. How did that feel?"
Me: "Holy crap you're hot!"



And the exclusive picture taken behind the dugout below... she just yelled over to me saying what I thought was "when are you going to ask me to marry you?" but people around me heard something quite different.



Apparently she won't be on NESN for long, so enjoy her while it lasts. And yeah, I'm a homer: it had to be a Boston chick taking #1 (sorry Erin).

Ok that's it. Enjoy your weekend and be sure to watch your sports this weekend. Opening Day NFL!

Mike