Baseball Nerdery

The Debate:

A typical bar debate will begin with phrases like, "Jessica Alba is the hottest woman alive," or "Look asshole, the Packers are WAY better than the Vikings and always will be." (Incidentally, these first two statements happen to be true.) Typical night-out-drinking debates generally do not delve into the specifics of, "Manny Ramirez is quite possibly the greatest right-handed hitter in the history of baseball," and, even if they do, they rarely get past the shouting match of a couple drunk guys naming their favorite baseball players.

When my friends and I begin such a debate, however, something radically different happens. Standard conversation ceases, at least among the few actively involved in the discussion. All talk and action becomes centered in getting to the statistical core of the matter. This is how a night out at the bar turned into a complete statistical breakdown of some of baseball's finest hitters, with a napkin serving to store complete 162-game averages for BA/OBP/SLG/HR/and RBIs for 17 of history's best hitters.

Of course, there was no utterly conclusive answer, but the fun is in the chase. I can, however, make an educated case now for the fact that Manny Ramirez certainly may be the greatest right hand hitter of all-time. A very good case could also be made for Alex Rodriguez, and it is possible that by the end of his career, the consistency of Albert Pujols may prove him best. Historically, Joe DiMaggio could certainly be a threat to these men of our era. Mike Schmidt. Hank Aaron. Jimmy Foxx. Willie Mays. A case could be made for any of them. For funsies, lets just take a look at some stats for these men and others and compare some of the exceptional right-handed hitters of all-time.

Modern (My Lifetime) Players: BA/OBP/SLG/HR/RBI (per 162 games)
(*Bold indicates highest in group*)

Albert Pujols .332/.423/.620/40/123

Manny Ramirez .313/.410/.594/41/133

Vladimir Guerrero .324/.391/.578/36/118

Alex Rodriguez .306/.388/.577/44/127

Frank Thomas .302/.420/.558/37/120

Albert Belle .295/.369/.564/40/130

Mike Piazza .308/.377/.545/36/113

Nomar Garciaparra .315/.364/.525/27/110

Kirby Puckett .318/.360/.477/19/99

Gary Sheffield .294/.396/.520/33/107

Magglio Ordonez .312/.371/.522/29/115

Moises Alou .303/.369/.516/28/107

Edgar Martinez .312/.418/.515/24/99

Historical Players: BA/OBP/SLG/HR/RBI (per 162 games)


Jimmy Foxx .325/.428/.609/37/134

Joe DiMaggio .325/.398/.579/34/143

Rogers Hornsby .358/.434/.577/22/114

Willie Mays .302/.384/.557/36/103

Hank Aaron .305/.374/.555/37/113

Mike Schmidt .267/.380/.527/37/107

Frank Robinson .294/.389/.537/34/105

Ernie Banks .274/.330/.500/33/105

Roberto Clemente .317/.359/.475/16/87

Hank Greenberg .313/.412/.605/38/148

Honus Wagner .327/.391/.466/6/100

Cap Anson .333/.393/.445/6/133

Hack Wilson .307/.395/.545/29/128

Nap Lajoie .338/.380/.467/5/104

Lefties (For Comparison): BA/OBP/SLG/HR/RBI (per 162 games)


Ted Williams .344/.482/.634/37/130

Babe Ruth .342/.474/.690/46/143

Lou Gehrig .340/.447./632/37/149

Barry Bonds .298/.444/.607/41/108

Stacking Them Up:

Even some of these names, great ballplayers as they were, do not really belong in this conversation. To determine the greatest "hitter" I think that we need to establish what I consider the consummate hitter to be--A man who hits for power and average, getting on base and and driving in runs. The man who will get my nod for greatest right-hand hitter will be the greatest combination of all the categories listed. Rogers Hornsby led all of our listed righties in batting average at .358. Hank Greenberg led the righties in RBIs, averaging 148 per 162 games played. Alex Rodriguez is averaging 44 HRs/162 to lead all righties and Albert Pujols' .620 slugging percentage takes that crown. So how do we determine a clear #1? Manny Ramirez, historically, does not lead any of the categories but has very respectable numbers all the way across the board. Let's list out each category's top twelve.

Batting Average

1. Rogers Hornsby .358
   
2. Nap Lajoie .338
   
3. Cap Anson .333
   
4. Albert Pujols .332
5. Honus Wagner .327
   
6. Jimmie Fox/Joe DiMaggio .325
7. Vladimir Guerrero .324
8. Kirby Puckett .318
9. Roberto Clemente .317
10. Nomar Garciaparra .315
    
11. Manny Ramirez/Hank Greenberg .313

On-Base Percentage

1. Rogers Hornsby .434
2. Jimmy Foxx .428
3. Albert Pujols .423
4. Frank Thomas .420
5. Edgar Martinez .418
6. Hank Greenberg .412
7. Manny Ramirez .410
8. Joe DiMaggio .398
9. Gary Sheffield .396
10. Hack Wilson .395
11. Cap Anson .393
12. Honus Wagner .391

Slugging Percentage

1. Albert Pujols .620
   
2. Jimmy Foxx .609
3. Hank Greenberg .605
4. Manny Ramirez .594
5. Joe DiMaggio .579
6. Vladimir Guerrero .578
7. Alex Rodriguez/Rogers Hornsby .577
8. Albert Belle .564
9. Frank Thomas .558
10. Willie Mays .557
11. Hank Aaron .555

Home Runs

1. Alex Rodriguez 44
2. Manny Ramirez 41
3. Albert Pujols/Albert Belle 40
4. Hank Greenberg 38
5. Frank Thomas/Jimmie Foxx/Hank Aaron/Mike Schmidt 37
6. Willie Mays/Mike Piazza/Vladimir Guerrero 36

Runs Batted In

1. Hank Greenberg 148
2. Joe DiMaggio 143
3. Jimmie Foxx 134
4. Cap Anson/Manny Ramirez 133
5. Albert Belle 130
6. Hack Wilson 128
7. Alex Rodriguez 127
8. Albert Pujols 123
9. Frank Thomas 120
10. Vladimir Guerrero 118
11. Magglio Ordonez 115

So now, we have the top 12 in each listed category. From here, I feel like the only way to go is to assign each person in each list a score, from 12 points for first place to 1 point for twelfth place, and then add up the scores. This will give us a quantifiable measure of how they rank, statistically, against one another.

If you do this, you come out with a very interesting list. Now, by no means is this 100% foolproof, obviously, but I think it is a valid means for comparison. Is this a complete list? Absolutely not. You could find a guy not included here that will score similar in points to some of the low-scorers simply because they dominated one or two categories. Sammy Sosa or Mark McGwire, for instance, would score relatively high based on HRs and RBIs alone, but nobody would put them in this kind of company (unless they were a moron).

I give you history's greatest right-handed hitters...

10. Vladimir Guerrero (17 points)
9. Albert Belle and Cap Anson (21 point tie)
8. Frank Thomas (22 points)
7. Alex Rodriguez (23 points)
6. Rogers Hornsby (30 points)
5. Joe DiMaggio (31 points)
4. Manny Ramirez (36 points)
3. Hank Greenberg (38 points)
2. Albert Pujols (45 points)

and #1:

Jimmie "Double X" Foxx (46 points)















*if you know of a player not included here, please do not hesitate to let me know so that I can recalculate.

Minnesota Sucks

Don't get me wrong, I love the University of Minnesota. I love the Twin Cities, especially Minneapolis, for the culture, the hangouts, and above all for the people. There is, however, an element to Minnesota life that continually leads me to question why the hell I didn't make a break for the west coast. Of course, I mean the weather.


When it gets to be springtime in Minneapolis, you can count on one thing for certain--being pissed off. Ridiculously rapid weather-pattern changes, lightning, thunder, snow, heat, tornadoes... you literally never know what they hell to expect. It's 75 and sunny at 4pm on a Thursday, and by Saturday you can be staring down the barrel of an 8" snowstorm. Fuck me.

March 31st, 2008 was a perfect example of why we should all hate Minnesota weather. It was the Twins home opener at the Dome, and had they been playing outdoors the 7" of snow would have put a real damper on the first game of the '08 campaign. Within the week, I'm pretty sure it got to be like 85 degrees before temps retreated to a normal range. Tonight, after a stretch of stable-but-shitty weather, we are experiencing yet more snow.

Just when we think its safe--BAM: A cosmic dick-in-the-eye. You have a softball game tonight? Thunderstorm. Block party next week? Freezing rain turning to snow. Hoping to see some girls show off a little skin in the next couple weeks of class? Well forget that, buddy, 'cause we're looking at a late-April cold snap.

Mother Nature, the skank, has decided that we, in the Midwest, deserve a constant mix of springtime ups and downs. Cold and snowy on Monday? Well its gonna be hot and muddy on Tuesday, bitch!

Minnesota to Mother Nature... we hate you. Stop fucking with us already. I doubt I can take it much longer, and I really don't want to have to move anytime too soon. How much more can I take, though? (Sigh) I don't think a whole lot.

2 Week Update, The Great Drinking Experiment of 2008

Hmm... What to say about these first two weeks? Well, I guess the first and most important point is that everyone was right. I couldn't do it. Birthday parties, friends graduating in May that I might not see very much in the coming years, etc. I was just unable to overcome the fact that, as I have said on multiple occasions, EVERY day is a potential drinking day.

I made it past the first weekend with ease, consuming a measly 5 beers between Thursday night and the next week Wednesday. When BnP (Beer and Pizza) came around Wednesday, I was powerless to resist her attractions. I went and drank relatively (for me) responsibly, and then did NOT continue to drink heavily on into the night. A moral victory for me, at the very least.

It was not until Saturday, April 12th, ten full days after I began my vow of non-drunkenness, that I got shitfaced. I blacked out, arriving at a good friend's birthday party around 10pm, and drinking steadily into the wee hours. I awoke Sunday afternoon, not particularly hungover, but with no real memories after 2 or 3am (I got home sometime after 5, as pieced together based on the fact that that is when my roommate got home, and I was not home then, but managed to wake up in my bed).

So, did I get right back up on the horse, and try to prove everyone wrong now that I'd fucked up and proved them right? Of course not, I fucked up, so now I drink again. I am a man who admits my failures, and this is one of them. I am not completely back to drinking at the high levels of my lore, but for all intensive purposes, I am a drinking man again.

Did I learn anything on my failed sober voyage? Well, I guess it isn't all that bad being sober, not even around drunk people. While I was sober, I managed not to fuck anything up (my first blackout night I broke my phone and had to get a different one). Can I exist in the in-between? Am I capable of pulling off the middle ground between stark sobriety and raving intoxication? All the evidence points to no, which is really too bad, at least some of the time. Ah well, though, if nothing else I can go back to doing what it is I do best.

I'm a Fuckin' Artist!

The greatest thing, undoubtedly, about facebook's graffiti wall feature is getting to feel like a bona fide artist. I discovered this when I viewed a recent collection of my graffitis sent to various friends and family. What I discovered shocked me to my core... I am a fucking artistic and creative genius. Oh, and keep in mind, dear readers, that I drew each of these without the cheater's benefit of a mouse. Yeah, I thought so.


This one is among my earliest works, and was given to a dear friend and roommate of mine, Mr. David DuBois. I drew my inspiration from a Lite-Brite set I never owned as a child, but saw many commercials for. I longed for that Lite-Brite, and I never got one. I cried myself to sleep every night. My juvenile angst was brought out in this dramatic work I gifted to David. If you stare at it long enough, you'll hear the angels weep for my lost childhood.



This is another early piece. It is my successful attempt at minimalist man-love. It is in response to a graffiti that was left for me by my dear friend Kevin. You can see that I have literally "bent him over the table" and am giving it to him with my phallus, which I represented slightly smaller than scale for fear of appearing cocky. This is a jubilant piece, and was recently appraised for auction at $27,000, though after my death the value will likely skyrocket into the six and seven figure range.



My earliest masterpiece. I call it "Snowy Night." This was an early gift to my younger brother, Jake. It blessed his wall shortly after the graffiti application came to my attention, and is widely considered one of the most influential pieces in the history of the Facebook graffiti application.



This I call "Dawkins v. God," and it is my latest breakthrough in the world of art. This piece is iconic not just because it foretells the death of God in the world consciousness, which is coming in the next few generations (chalk that Nostradamus-like prediction up to me, as well), but also because it serves as a brilliant retelling of Richard Dawkins's book The God Delusion, which I wholeheartedly recommend to anyone. It is currently located on Mr. DuBois's graffiti wall. He is, to date, the largest collector of my works.



Finally, my most controversial work. It has come under great scrutiny, despite its very obvious genius, because of the homosexual overtones. From my middle period, or as it is collectively known to Jeff Neuman scholars, the Rainbow Period (2007), this piece is in fact not homosexual in nature, but rather is a triumphant defense of man-to-man love in the strictest heterosexual sense. It is also owned by Mr. DuBois, and is considered by most art historians to be a piece of exceptional importance.



As an example of the slop that passes as "art" on graffiti, I have posted this original by Ben Catterall. This travesty is both short-sighted in its scope, and poorly executed to boot. Beware, gentle readers, that when you go searching for the brilliance of my work, you may come across things such as this, which are eyesores among eyesores. Unfortunately, not everyone can be a fuckin' artistic genius like me.

Words I Can't Hear in any Context Without Laughing

I have the mindset of a 15 year old boy. I have never disputed this, and in fact rarely argue when the figure drops to 14, 13, or even 12. I have a classically "dirty" mind, and this has rarely, if ever, struck me as inappropriate. I have a tendency to go above and beyond the standard crude thoughts however, and even in wholly unexpected situations I will find myself pondering questions that would unnerve some people. I know this because when I ask a question like, "So, how many dicks do you think that girl has sucked in her life," or, "Do you think she's ever done anal?" pointing to a girl on the street, I tend to get some pretty strange, or even disgusted, looks from friends and passersby.

It is no surprise, then, that there are a multitude of words and phrases that, in any context, I cannot help but laugh when I come across in daily, non-dirty usage. Examples are as diverse as they are numerous, but all have some--whether obvious or not--connection to a "vulgar" concept that I find absolutely hilarious. Go ahead, call me immature. Call me "dirty-minded." I take these so-called insults as badges of honor. Badges that say, "Society and political correctness have not smothered my inner adolescent."

In light of this I have compiled a list (by no means comprehensive) of things that I can't hear or read without giggling like a 6th grader in his first Sex Ed class.

Facial

This on should be obvious, but you'd be surprised how often it comes up in television and print ads for face creams. I don't care how soft it makes your skin or how much younger it will make you feel, this is something I'll never be able to take seriously... ever. They might as well call it Money-Shot Cream.

Cream Pie

This one should also be fairly obvious to anyone who's watched a decent amount of porn, but for anyone who doesn't know I'll direct you to the definition of creampie at Wikipedia. This comes up every time I'm at Dairy Queen, or Baker's square, or anywhere they serve dessert and somebody is trying to describe a delicious banana cream pie. Sometimes I wish I could look past it, just to focus on the delicious treat in front of me, but it never happens.

Load Size

Also fairly obvious, but it comes up over and over again both in the world of hauling things with large vehicles, and as a setting on most washers. Haha, load size.

Massive Taco Bar

Only I could take something so innocent as a 35 foot, make-your-own-taco stand and picture nothing but a long bar on which a multitude of prostitutes are lying, pantless, with their feet up in stirrups.

Come Again

Really? But I just came. Have you ever heard of a refractory period?

Uvula

Sounds far too much like vulva, and in fact, I got the two confused quite often as a youngster (I had some peculiar reading interests).

Oral Exam

As a liberal arts student, I am forced by my college to take 4 semesters of foreign language. This, of course, means muffling my laughter for two years every time my Italian teacher says, "We'll be having our oral exams next week. If you're looking to develop your oral skills before the test I'll be holding additional office hours..."

Of course there are many more examples, and you can undoubtedly think of your own. The point is that I am immature, exceptionally immature, and to a large extent I am proud of that fact. As I said above, I like to think this indicates an undying adolescent glow that emanates from somewhere deep inside me. (Deep inside me, haha.) So if it is your nature to think as I do when these hilarious terms come up, don't stifle it, embrace it, and we'll all be a little less mature and a little more happy.

The Outer Fringe of a Blackout

There are those times when you are out drinking, and a sudden, distinctive feeling comes out of the back of your mind. You may have had ten, fifteen, twenty, or more drinks at this point, depending on how long you've been at it. This chirp, a mild alarm in the back of your head, is trying to tell you something. Something like, "Whoa, buddy. We've been here before." It is telling you that you are on the outer fringe of a blackout. You are in a state of suspended animation, like how time seems to slow in the brief moment before a car crash.

It is like peering over the edge of a cliff, into a deep, black chasm. Here, you know that one tiny slip, one pebble skidding underfoot, and it is down into the dark. In this case, that pebble is your constitution. It is your will to turn down that next drink.

A gambling man may say to himself, "Hey, it's not getting any more fun sitting here thinking about all this." Perhaps his pebble slips and he buys another drink. He falls, but catches a branch on his way down. He is safe, avoiding the blackout abyss, and is no worse for the wear. He steers his course, and has a good, drunk time all night.

Now, say he takes the drink, slips, and misses that branch on the way down. At the bottom of that cliff are the scariest things to any heavy drinker. Sex with fat/ugly women, waking up in the hospital, or the drunk tank, stories of being thrown out of bars, waking up in a place you've never seen before, and the list goes on. I am a gambling man, and this abyss is a place I've ventured many times.

These days, when I am afforded this momentary cosmic pause to reflect on my drinking that evening, I turn down that next drink. I would suggest, that should you find yourself at this edge, you do the same. This is because it is a rare event, at least for me, that you should find yourself aware of an impending blackout. Often--far too often--the liquor will hit you before you have a chance to recollect, and like a man shot in the head by a sniper, for you everything just goes dark.

So when you are given this opportunity, this absolute gift, to salvage a night, take it. I say this with the experience of a man who has been there, and who has both heeded and ignored my psyche's advice. Once the moment passes, and you know you're in the clear, then by all means go ahead and order that next drink. But if you see yourself on that cliff, and you give in, allowing your footing to slip, and you wake up next to a she-hippo, don't say I didn't warn you.

Truck Novelties: Announcing Your Stupid Redneck Status to the World

Is there anything quite as indicative of the redneck than the ridiculous novelties adorning his (or her.... shudder) truck? Ludicrous inventions, such as Truck Nutz, are the perfect way to tell the world, "I'm proud of my red neck, motherfucker." And of course, they do just that. My only major issue with this, of course, is that there is nothing whatsoever to be proud of when calling oneself a redneck. Rednecks are, as the rest of us know, fucking stupid. If you didn't know this already (and you should have) just watch some Larry the Cable Guy. Their idiocy and that character made that man a millionaire.

There is something even more deeply chilling about the stupidity of rednecks, however, and I alluded to it above. Their pride. These assholes are actually proud of the misspellings of words on their bumper stickers. They're prideful of the very nature of their ignorance yet they seem to recognize themselves as the "American Ideal." Ironic, is it not, that the very people whose borderline illiteracy has almost assuredly prevented them from reading anything about America, its laws or its politics, its history or its future, see themselves as the epitome of it?

Still more ghastly is the ferocity with which they seem to advertise this prideful ignorance. A primary weapon in the arsenal of any bullshit-spewing redneck is his/her truck. Large, environment killing, mud-tire sporting, eardrum-rattling, redneck-Christian bumper sticker wearing, lift-kit heightened, redneck trucks. They infuriate me, and this is why; they have come to represent, with their very existence, a mobile billboard for the advertisement of all that is hick (and the ignorant pride that entails).

We've all seen these trucks on our roads and freeways, and perhaps some of you have not fully considered the message behind them. "I am a redneck and I'm damn proud no matter what you say." Well, now perhaps you will join me in my response to this message, and that response is, "Hey redneck, fuck you."


Jeff N.

The Great Drinking Experiment of 2008

The name of this article, coupled with previous posts detailing the exploits of my many drunken nights (or days), may suggest an experiment of the nature, "How long will it take me to drink 100 beers?" Or, "I wonder if I can get my BAC over .20 in under an hour?" Indeed, and sadly some might say, this is not the experiment of which I speak. Perhaps a more appropriate title would be the Great Non-drinking Experiment of 2008. The experiment, I will explicitly state, is to see whether I can go for one month, from April 2nd to May 3rd, without drinking to the point of intoxication. This may sound an easy feat for an average person, but indeed, I am no average person in this respect. As of yesterday, I was averaging drinking to the point of being legally restricted from operating an automobile an average of 4 or 5 times a week (to say nothing of the times I've doubled that limit or more).

I have often been known to promote heavy drinking, as well as promoting certain bars and specials at which binge drinking is the norm. I am going out of my way right now to say that by no means am I taking back any of the positive things I have said about alcohol, or the heavy consumption of it. I will at no point stop promoting heavy drinking for anyone who participates, or is thinking about participating in this grand exercise of free will. What I am doing is that which, in the last four years, I have not done-- I am exposing myself to the other side. I will attempt this daring feat in an attempt to gain an additional perspective from which I have long been detached. I will maintain an update of my sober "exploits" and report back to the drinking world what, if anything, differs in the "responsible drinking" lifestyle.

"Great, what's next Jeff, opening a savings account? Maybe you'll go to every class, too, huh?" You may be thinking this to yourself, due to the obviously contradictory nature of my newfound non-alcoholism. My answer, of course, is no. As with any good experiment, it is frowned upon to change more than a single variable if we are to deduce valid results. The same is true here. I'll attempt in every way possible to lead a life of relative non-productivity, with the only change being a drastically reduced alcohol consumption. With that, I hope you will wish me luck. When it's all said and done, I hope I can pass on some insight as to how the "other side" lives. If I do, and its helpful, maybe you can buy me a beer.

The Drinking Week

(Just taking down a couple of brewskies at my favorite U of M bar, Big 10, back when they did $1.50 pitchers on Tuesdays. I don't know who the guy on the left is.)




Every day of the week is a viable drinking opportunity. Regardless what you've been told about the improprieties of drinking at certain times through the week, there are a host of reasons for you to have a few any day you please. After all, there wouldn't be seven days in the week if you couldn't use each and every one.

Soused Sundays:

I credit the NFL for the vast majority of American Sunday drunkenness. Without this blessed league, most lesser drinkers would find no reason to begin drinking before noon on the Sabbath. That being said, there is absolutely no reason for the NFL to have the monopoly on Sunday drinking.

Why I drink on Sundays:

After a long weekend of partying and sleeping in, the realization that another week is about to have its way with my soul sends me into a deep chasm of depression from which the only escape is alcohol. Now, knowing that you can drink everyday should certainly cheer your spirits about the week, and this has certainly been the case for me. Rather than dwell on the boring week of work and school, I have chosen instead to focus on the activity of finding ways to enjoy each day of the week, and Sunday is no exception.

Why you should drink on Sundays:

Other than the NFL, a plethora of exceptional drinking activities exist. Outside of football season, drinking softball leagues are a popular way to booze on a Sunday. In addition, professional baseball, basketball, and hockey all play on Sundays throughout the year, and any sporting event is a potential drinking event. The bar scene on Sundays can be a little slow, but this often means better service and better specials. Here, on the U of M campus, Blarney's supports Sunday drinking by offering any of their specials from throughout the week. In addition, there are several bars that offer all-day happy hours. A host of other reasons to drink exist on Sundays, and I'm sure you can find your own if you look for them. The key is to have your consciousness raised, and your social barriers broken down, to the point where you can take any situation, any day, and turn it into an enjoyable drinking situation.

Merry Mondays:

Monday, like Sunday, has a built-in drinking event every September through December with the NFL and Monday Night Football. MNF has been the most popular reason for decades to drink on Monday nights, and is absolutely a viable and respectable reason to knock a few back. As with Sunday, however, we mustn't allow the NFL to monopolize early-week drinking.

Why I drink on Mondays:

In addition to the aforementioned MNF, I have found several good reasons to drink on Mondays. Mondays are those days in which the dread and depression you feel on Sunday are realized in practice, and obviously, Mondays generally suck. With the right attitude, and the correct amount of alcohol, however, even a Monday night can be a great night. I have joined a softball team this spring that plays Monday nights, and, as one of my teammates owns a bar, we have a great excuse to go out for beers and wings after double-headers.

Why you should drink on Mondays:

Bowling leagues generally meet on weeknights, and Monday can be a superior night to participate. Quite obviously, bowling and booze go hand-in-hand. Also, happy hours and specials abound in bars across the country on Monday nights. Again, college and professional athletic events are occurring in this country essentially every day of the year, and they are all a perfectly good reason to get a little tipsy. (Even a high school sport can be a good time, just remember to paper-bag your drink).

Tipsy Tuesdays:

Tuesday is perhaps the most greatly overlooked day of the week, and drinking on Tuesday is no exception. Domino's 2-Fer Tuesday campaign honorably shed light on this issue (while allowing myself and countless others the chance to mooch off somebody else with a fortunately-timed hankering for pizza). As we all learned from Domino's, Tuesdays can be fun too.

Why I drink on Tuesdays:

Tuesday is actually my 2nd or 3rd favorite day to drink of the entire week. This is due, in no small part, to one of my favorite bar specials of all time. On Tuesday nights, between 9pm and midnight, Big 10 Restaurant and Bar sells $1.50 pitchers of Beast Light. That is pitchers, not pints, folks. Yes, it is Beast, which is pretty gross, but when you are almost too drunk to read your bill, and it comes back for $13.50 for the entire night for you AND your group, it is a good thing.

Why you should drink on Tuesdays:

I am sure that, no matter where you live, it will be possible for you to find some kind of deal on a Tuesday night that makes a bar worth patronizing. If you live anywhere near Minneapolis, come on out to Big 10 and meet up with me. We'll get drunk for $6 each and have a blast. It'll almost make you forget you have work/class the next day.

Wasted Wednesdays:

Ah, Wednesday. Without a doubt my favorite drinking day of the week. This is do primarily to the existence of "beer and pizza," or BnP.

Why I drink on Wednesday:

To anyone who doesn't know, BnP is the bar special to end all specials. $6.99 for all the beer one cares to drink, as well as all the pizza one may care to eat, from 5-8pm every Wednesday at the American Sports Cafe. (To anyone who may have said to themselves, "$6.99, that's bullshit, it's $6.50 including tax," I have some sad news. The price has been raised, resulting in a cost of approximately $7.50 now). In addition, Wednesdays provide cheap student tickets to Twins games all season, free darts and pool, coupled with $8 all-you-can-drink rails and domestics at Brother's, and a host of other amazing specials.

Why you should drink on Wednesday:

If you have a job, or go to school, Wednesday is likely the midpoint of your week. You have bravely trampled Monday and Tuesday, and are awaiting (dreading?) Thursday and Friday. As a celebratory effort for your bravery in the first half of the week, and as a mental rebuilding and regrouping for the latter half, you absolutely must drink on Wednesdays. The world seems to know this, and has provided us with ample reasons to imbibe on hump day, as well as the bar specials to help us achieve it relatively cheaply. If you live in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area, it is absolutely worth the trek to 33rd and Como on a late Wednesday afternoon to experience BnP.

Thirsty Thursday:

The "Thirsty" moniker has long stuck on Thursday, presumably because of college students. I learned very early in college that any time you have a day off, the night before is to be spent thoroughly shitfaced, no exceptions. Because I did not have a Friday class for the first year and a half of my college career, I became (and have remained) emphatically devoted to Thirsty Thursdays.

Why I drink on Thursdays:

As I alluded to briefly above, I first heard the term "Thirsty Thursday" when I got to college. After hearing it a few times, and after learning to associate Thursdays with Sailing House parties and Brother's $5 all-you-can-drink domestics, I have permanently moved Thursday into my weekend stable. The day I stop seeing Thursday as a weekend is the day I will probably have a real job, and subsequently, will die.

Why you should drink on Thursdays:

As has been highly touted in statistics released in many studies, Americans are putting in more work hours than any of their world counterparts. What does this mean? Well, we are not the world's healthiest nation, so I can only deduce that work = death. This being said, it is of utmost prudence that we all extend our weekends to include Thursday. If we can't get Fridays off, then we take them off mentally. It is for our health.

Fuddled Fridays:

At long last, the weekend is upon us! (At least it is for those of you who have not raised your consciousness to include Thursdays in your weekends.) This means we are free to let our hair down, throw some liquor down our booze-holes, and have some fun. Fridays, we drink with impunity, knowing that we are no longer bound by the laws of the oppressive week.

Why I drink on Fridays:

I drink on Fridays simply because I can. It is the weekend, and mid-week teetotalers are no longer around to scoff at me for being drunk. Hockey game pre-partying and house party or bar-hopping is a traditional staple of Friday drinking. On Fridays, everybody is drinking, and if they aren't, they have a damn good excuse or they are no friend of mine. As my good friend and true alcohol icon Rizzle once said, "If I can't find something to do soon, I'll have to start drinking by myself."

Why you should drink on Fridays:

Friday is the perfect day to drink. You can wake up at one o'clock in the afternoon on Saturday. On Saturday mornings, you have no coworkers around to harass you for the bags under your eyes or the vomit stains on your shirt. Nobody is calling you out for smelling like booze, because hopefully, they were all out doing the same thing.

Sozzled Saturdays:

Saturday, like Friday, is a classic drinking day. These are the days that you will find the most people at the bars and clubs. They are also the days that students on college campuses are most likely to throw parties. In addition, the great American tradition of college football plays out on Saturdays throughout the fall.

Why I drink on Saturdays:

No event in the history of man has ever provided the same level of excuse for drinking at 8am than has the 11am college football game. Keg and eggs, as I refer to any drinking that can be done at the same hours as one might eat breakfast, is a true and glorious rite of passage. Reasons to drink on Saturdays, just as with Fridays, are abundant enough that no one should ever have to experience one of these days sober.

Why I drink on Saturdays:

In addition to the already stated college football, I keep myself drunk and busy on Saturdays by watching college hockey or basketball, having my friends over in the afternoon for impromptu drinking competitions (power hours, beer pong, 40-hands, etc), and going out to house parties and bars.

Why you should drink on Saturday:

Sunday is an ultimate day of recovery. What better way to spend a day of recovery than to be recovering from a long night of closing down bars, strip clubs, et cetera with your buddies, or scamming on hot girls at a club? I submit to you that to use a Sunday as anything other than a day to nurse away a hangover (and of course drink when it's gone) is an affront to God himself. (While I'm on the subject, church should never, ever be used as an excuse to not go out on a Saturday night.)

Parting thoughts:

There you have it, your drinking week in full. Let me part with some words of advice. If you should decide to go out each of the days in a single week, and drink to your hearts content, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Do not, at any point, allow anyone to make you feel bad about your decision to drink on a Sunday, Monday, or any other day. Instead, push forward and order that next round. The cause of the functional (or in my case, quasi-functional) alcoholic has a long way to go, but as we move forward it is certain that our cause, and our kind, will soon be accepted once again.


Jeff N.

Trimming vs. Shaving, The Ball Hair Debate

A couple of friends and I were sitting around one day, not doing a whole lot, when I said one of those things that just popped into my mind.

"Damn, my balls are stickin' to my legs like nobody's fucking business. Dude, that's the thing I hate about the day you shave them."

I looked around the room, and to my astonishment, only one of the three guys had that look of "I know, man.... I know" on his face.

"You guys telling me you don't know what I'm talking about?"

Again nobody really chimed in so I asked the one buddy of mine in the room with the sympathetic look on his face, "Dude, you know what I'm talking about?" He responded in the positive, and the debate was on. I will recap the various arguments for and against the respective practices of ball-hair maintenance. Keep in mind this discussion is limited to ball-hair, as everyone knows a well-trimmed, but not shorn, bush is the way to go for any non-pornstar male.

SHAVING:

Pros:

• Girls like licking a hairy ballsack about as much as guys like licking bushy vaginas, and everybody likes to get their balls licked/sucked.
• Feels quite nice to the touch.
• Is more visually pleasing to the female eye, and along with a well-trimmed upper bush, gives a more aesthetic view of the genitals, which also makes the penis appear larger.

Cons:

• Involves putting a razor on your ballsack. (Although I still contend that with the sack pulled tight, this is safer than hovering a scissors or clippers near the sack).
• Is arguably the most work to maintain.

TRIMMING


Pros:

• If trimmed close enough, is not too different aesthetically from the shaved sack.
• Does not involve touching open blades directly to your genitalia.
• Doesn't require quite as much maintenance.

Cons:

• Women licking/sucking balls can feel the 1/8" hairs on their tongue (and though I don't specifically care, this may make them less into the act, and less likely to repeat the act).
• Doesn't feel as nice as the shorn sack.
• Doesn't allow quite the same level of ball ventilation.

WILD SACKIN'

Pros:

• Easiest form of maintenance is no maintenance.

Cons:

• This is just plain fucking gross. Do you know how long my ball hairs would be if I never shaved them?
• Most women will find you utterly reprehensible, and those that don't should.

No clear winner will emerge here today, though the clear loser is the Wild Sack approach. Personal preference is the name of the game, but keep in mind these little pros and cons when deciding what to do with your ball hair. And oh yeah, by fucking Christ, never Nair or wax your balls. Then again, if you're dumb enough to think that might be a good idea, go for it.

Moderation = Boring

There is one word in the English lexicon that has prevented more fun than any other. I'll admit, I had heard it thrown around from time to time, but had to look it up to write this. Apparently, "moderation" is the avoidance of excess or extremes. Doesn't sound very fun to me. Everything I do, I try to do in extremes. This is especially true of my drinking, gambling, smoking, and other perceived "negative" behaviors.

I consider these, of course, to be my primary life activities. In such activities, this "moderation" is not my traditional approach. This is because I can't remember many good stories that revolve around me drinking one beer an hour for an evening, or from winning $15 playing online poker and stopping while I'm "ahead." I don't remember anyone regaling me with a story of the weekend that they slept with their girlfriend twice in three days.

Don't get me wrong here, there are some things I do in moderation. School, work, and responsibility--these are the primary examples of restraint in my life. In the realm of enjoyable things, however, self-discipline has no place.

Yes, I have paid for some of this excess with countless hangovers and drunken injuries, financial instability, and a few strained relationships along the way. Knowing what I know, though, I still think it's been more fun this way. The last thing I ever wanted was to be "that guy," the one who hates his middle-of-the-road job and his middle-of-the-road existence, and regrets playing everything safe. At this rate, though, that's not something I'll have to worry about.

What do I think of Me? Part 2

When we left off, I had just let young Jeff onto the fact that he has made some mistakes in the last few years. He seemed a little bummed, and I can't say I blame him. We decided to get something to eat, so I borrowed our parents car, wanting to go to Chipotle. Unfortunately, there aren't any around Hudson, Wisconsin at this time. After settling on Arby's, where they didn't have the 5 for $5.95 that I was looking for (the past sucks), we got back to talking.

Me: So, are you upset to find out how little you've actually accomplished by 22?
Him: Nah, I mean, I guess not. I don't know what I expected, really. If you're a senior, you're at least graduating this semester then, huh?
Me: Not exactly. Well, no. The soonest you could graduate is December '08, and that is what I'm shooting for.
Him: Alright, four-and-a-half years isn't so bad. You probably have a pretty tough major huh? Do I go into engineering, or a pure science?
Me: Um, fuck, well.... You started in aerospace engineering. Not everything really went as planned, though. A lot of booze, and gambling, and some other stuff kind of got in the way of that.
Him: So, what, you switched to math? Biology? Business?
Me: Well you switched to economics, at first.
Him: At first, Jesus man. So what is it now?
Me: English
Him: Oh, fuck me. Are you kidding. Goddammit man! I'm a fucking smart fucking kid, how the fuck did you mess that all up?
Me: Hey, hey, hey now. You're still smart. At some point though, you found out that writing is the easiest thing for you to do well with the least amount of effort, school-wise. So you/I/we decided that English would be the path of least resistance to a degree and we could just cut our losses and get the hell out of college.
Him: (dejected) Fucking great.
Me: I know, man, it sucks. You should be thinking grad school right now, not about struggling for a BA in English, but them's the breaks kid.
Him: (a tear in his eye) Yeah.
Me: Alright, alright. Don't get too upset. I mean, I'm only 22, things could still go up from here. You're not done yet.

Finding myself in the position of defending my life, to my young self of all people, has got me feeling a little off. I don't really have a plan of attack from here. I'm beginning to think it was a bad idea to come here. What was I thinking? Well, I have to salvage it from here.

Me: Alright, alright. Here's my promise to you. From now on, I'm going to think about you every time I decide to skip a class, or to drink that next beer when I'm already wasted. I'll keep going with this writing thing, see where that takes me. Otherwise, man, I'll put some other skills to use. I'm not worried, really, and you shouldn't be either.

I don't know what of these things I've just said I actually mean. Hey, at this point I'm just trying to sell the kid on his future, and keep him from slipping into some kind of early depression.

Him: Ok.
Me: Hey, we're smart. We're resilient, and we're pretty good with people. Plus, this is America, and you if you don't make money, you're a fuckin' douchebag.
Him: What?
Me: Oh, sorry, Departed reference. It's going to win best picture in 2007. It rocks.
Him: Good to know, I suppose.
Me: The point is, man, don't give up. I know I won't. We'll be fine.
Him: I thought so before I met you.
Me: I know, but it will all be fine, I promise.

So, there you have it. Shortly after that I hopped in the Delorean and came back. He's a tough kid, though, I think he'll be fine. As for me, I guess I just have to start believing the shit I was feeding him to keep him from weeping in public.

Beat Off on It, and Get Back to Me

Have you ever heard the saying, "Well, sleep on it and let me know." Silly question, of course you have. Now, raise your hand if you've ever heard somebody tell a guy, "Alright then, just beat off on it and let me know in 5." I'm assuming, for multiple reasons, that there are no raised hands.

The reason for this is simple. Anyone who has ever asked you to sleep on a big decision has probably been trying to fuck you (figuratively, of course). When a salesman tells you to sleep on a decision, what he is saying is "I want you to think I care about what's best for you, and I think that by playing you I will eventually get the sale." How do I know that? Well, beside it coming across as painfully obvious most of the time, I have done it to people. A lot of people. It's surprising how well it can work on the right customer.

If it were socially acceptable (and I'm pissed that it's not) to tell a guy to frost the pastries, and let you know his decision, most people wouldn't employ that strategy anyway. Unless you are absolutely sure that you can catch him in the short-but-euphoric high immediately post-orgasm, you are probably not going to get the sale. This is, of course, because of the exceptionally clear thinking a man experiences between 5 and 20 minutes after blowing his load. All men know what I am talking about.

The question I have, then, is why more men don't employ the technique. Abusing the wicked-stick at the right times could save a lot of men a ton of hassle. Sexual examples, obviously, are the most prudent. 95% of cheating could be effectively ended if men were more intelligent about bludgeoning the beefsteak. Every time you think about another woman, just crank the love pump and catalog how bad you would have felt if you'd have just boned some skank. Seriously, CATALOG THE THOUGHT. This is key... write it down somewhere. This is because in the next couple hours you WILL forget how bad you felt. WRITE IT DOWN.

Making the bald man puke isn't just an effective means of avoiding cheating, though, the single man can employ it too. If alcohol makes women look good, being horny and drinking makes them look great. If you are going to hook up with a girl, it is best to have seen her at least once while sober, but this can't always be the case. If, however, you are going to DATE a girl, you must have seen her at least once immediately following a game of tag with the pink torpedo. If you can't sneak off into a room to rope your pope and come back to look at her, the very least you can do is spank the frank and then look at a picture of her. This will tell you whether she is definitively as attractive as you think, and will give you an idea of how your friends are seeing her.

There are many more times that it can be beneficial to unleash your alabaster yak. I, in my compulsive gambling days, would sometimes start a long poker session by slamming the ham. Occasionally, when I got on a cold streak and I was starting to go on tilt, I'd click "away from table" and punch the munchkin. I don't have any definitive stats, but I honestly think it helped.

I once got stuck on a particularly tough level in Trauma Center: Second Opinion for Wii. I left the room for a bit, plunked my twanger, and came back. BAM! First try. I was operating like Dr. Benton in the old-school ER. I honestly hope that, if I ever need surgery, the entire surgical staff has taken a moment to nerk their throbbers.

So there you have it. Masturbation saves again. If you think that you might benefit from a little genital stimulation via phallangelic motion, give it a shot. Big test? Love the muppet . Big game? Flog the bishop. Can't Sleep? Shake the snake. You might find it helps immensely and becomes a part of your routine. Hey, it can never hurt, and at least you'll have gotten to liquidate your inventory.

The Blackout Paradox

Have you ever blacked out from drinking too much? If not, I must say it can be quite an experience. It's like oversleeping, in a way. You expect to have been somewhere doing something, but you weren't. The major difference, of course, being that you actually ARE there after you black out, you just don't know it until you wake up strangely in your bed the next day and have to ask your friends.

But where does that time really go? I equate it most to that time before you are born, and that time after you die. This time is a black void. There is nothing there until you hit this world, and there is nothing once you're gone again. A blackout is just like that. It is a very peaceful place, and it passes instantaneously, though it may have lasted many hours. The billions of years before you were born passed as the blink of your eye until you got here, and the infinite time after your death will pass just the same. A blackout is, as far as I can tell, the best way to determine what it is like to die.

Now this may sound heady, and depressing or scary. In truth, it shouldn't be. Can you remember a time that you were angry, in pain, sad, or depressed in the middle of a blackout? If I could sum up what religion I most closely ascribe to, it would have to be the Church of the Blackout. The only way to determine what your afterlife will be, and the only way to come to grips with that, is by trying it out a few hours at a time here on Earth. Alcohol is my holy water, my mind is my church, and I have seen the black.

The Night I Spent in Detox

I love this story. Not for my sake, mind you. This is embarrassing stuff. People seem to like the story, though, and I am nothing if not a performer. Like a drunken puppet, I am here to amuse. This is an absolutely true story, and it occurred in the fall of 2005.

I was a sophomore at the University of Minnesota. My friend Dave, and his teammates on the sailing team, were throwing a back-to-school toga party. I had RSVP'd a resounding yes, and as that Friday approached I was eager to get my party on. My friends in C-Hall and I started drinking around 5 or 6 that day after class. A 1.75L bottle of Karkov and some beers down, we were ready to get going. That's just what we called a Friday--the party was icing on the cake.

Anyhow, after consuming an evening's worth of alcohol in a few short hours, we were ready to get going to this party. My only sheet to wear was blue, and I haphazardly threw it on, toga-style. You haven't been to college until you've walked a mile or more blitzed, dressed in a toga, so that you can keep drinking. In any case, we had a blast. Ample beer, lots of people (many of whom were good looking girls in nothing but a sheet), Captain Morgan shots--Hilarity had no choice but to ensue.

After drinking to the point of blacking out, and then drinking much, much more I lost the next 9 hours to a void. I let a resident physician at Fairview hospital explain what he knew about my night.

Angry Resident: "The policemen that dropped you off found you lying in a bush in your toga, which is in this bag."

He hands me a bag of my belongings and keeps talking.

Angry Resident: "You were passed out, drunk. Your toga was sopping with urine. You lost control of your bladder. Your friends were nowhere to be seen. There was nothing they could do for you, you had to be brought here."

I looked down at the IV needle in my arm, and all I could think was how I felt well-hydrated and not the slightest bit hung over. I need an IV stand and a nurse by my bed every time I drink. I looked in the bag. Urine soaked boxers and my blue bed sheet. I am fucking stupid.

Still drunk, and pressing to fill in the voids in my evening, I inquire.

Me: "So how drunk was I?"
Angry Resident: "I don't know, we didn't test your BAC. I'd guess up there, maybe 0.3-0.4"
Me: "No shit? Huh."
Angry Resident: "This is a very serious matter. You could have gotten alcohol poisoning. You were not in control of your actions, and you could have passed out anywhere. You're lucky you were just off the sidewalk and not in the middle of the street. You need to drink FAR less and be more responsible. People your age are rarely in here, it's usually the younger people in your condition."

I had a fake ID in my wallet that night. It was my picture, and my real name and my real address. The only piece of information different from my actual license was the birth date, which was my real birthday, only two years off. I looked down at my wristband.

Neuman, Jeffrey S. 10/4/1983.

Hahahahaha. I couldn't help but laugh. Dodged an underage there, baby! I collect myself.

Me: "How did I not get a drunk and disorderly, or anything like that?"
Angry Resident: "The policemen felt sorry for you. You were covered in your own urine and were whimpering rather pathetically."

I have what I think was a flashback to that evening. It could have been a dream. I see police officers, and I feel the cold fake leather of a seat that could only be in the back of a police car.

Officer 1: "Where do you live?"
Me: "I don't...... I can't.............. Uhh. Wha? I'm not.........sure. I go to.......I'm a student."
Officer 2: "We gotta get him to Fairview."

And so it was. I woke up with a needle in my arm, but no ticket anywhere in my possession bag. I was worried.

Me: "So can I go now? What's the deal here?"
Angry Resident: "You have to get someone sober to come pick you up."
Me: "It's 6:30 in the morning. All of my friends are still drunk."

I look through my phone.

Nate: Still drunk
Dave: Still drunk
Britt: Still drunk

You get the picture. Who am I going to call to bail me out of the hospital at this hour? My parents? Of course not. I finally sucked it up and called my cousin. He was my roommate at the time and never drank. Talk about an awkward phone call.

Roommate: "Hello."
Me: "Hey, I'm at Fairview. Can you come pick me up?"
Roommate: "That's a five minute walk. Why are you at Fairview?"
Me: "It's a long story. I need to have someone sign me out."
Roommate: "Fine, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

The ride home was more awkward. I was in hospital scrubs, as my clothes were still wet. I was, understandably, not in a talking mood.

Roommate: "Your mom is on her way over."
Me: "Oh... fuck."

Someone at the hospital decided it was his job to call my parents. I think that might be illegal, but I guess I wasn't in a position to stop him. When we got back to our apartment, I immediately crashed. As refreshing as an IV is, I had had a disturbingly eventful night.

My mom got to my place and, as I had expected, used every form and synonym of the word "idiot," and just like Brad Neely's Harry Potter, she spouted fuck-word after fuck-word. I was not a-vailable. How did I get in this position? How did I end up in that bush? Is my mom ever going to stop bitching me out? She was always a rampant kid-caller, much to mine and my brother's dismay. In the three weeks after that night she was calling me seven times a day. One day she called me at 2pm on a Tuesday.

Mom: "Are you drinking right now?"
Me: "Of course not. Goodbye." (I might have been.)

I have since managed to (almost) live down my night spent in the hospital. My friends don't call me Detox anymore. My mom still thinks I'm a drunk. I guess showing up smelling like booze, in the same clothes as I wore the day before, to family Christmas didn't help my case. I have since not been back to the hospital, and have had few run-ins with police. A girl I was seeing at the time broke up with me, and told me I was too reckless and it wasn't fair to her.

Yeah. Apparently I ended up with the police while I was on my way home, stopping every so often to pee on something or throw up in the street. The girl guiding my drunk ass heard there were cops around, and decided there was too much risk involved in being seen with me. She assisted me to a bush just off the sidewalk, where I laid down and then proceeded to piss myself and whimper. If she ever reads this, fuck her.

Television Sucks

I used to believe that the invention of the television, and its many subsequent upgrades (LCD, plasma, DLP, 1080i, 1080p, etc.) was a remarkable and important social breakthrough. After all, the ability to transmit information and entertainment into the homes of millions is a highly important sociological phenomenon. The potential to keep everyone informed on current issues, to bring their favorite team's games to the fans, to provide quality entertainment at a reasonable price--these are the aims and promises of such a universal system of media.

That is what I used to believe. That is what I still want to believe. But this is indeed very far from the reality. Let me start by saying, yes, I do watch some television. The majority of what I watch, however, is live sporting events and various recaps of those events (read: Around the Horn, PTI). From what I can see, nearly everything else is shit. Shit, excrement, garbage, dog vomit, waste, etc. These things, in reality, disgust me far less and provide more stimulation to me than the majority of what I have seen the last several years on TV.

Do not get me wrong, I used to love television, and to the extent I wrote above, I still do. It is when I venture outside the realm of the ESPNs and FSNs that things get hairy. If you don't believe me, take a look at the most recent ratings.

The three most watched shows of the week are American Idol- Tuesday, American Idol- Wednesday, and American Idol- Thursday. WHAT THE FUCK?!?! What kind of stupid-fuck, townie-pieces-of-shit do I share a country with? The rest of the ratings only serve to reinforce my hatred for mankind. Oprah's Big Give follows closely on the heels of the Idol triumvirate (sigh....).

Following in the top 20 are gems such as Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, Don't Forget the Lyrics (a karaoke version of Idol.... fuck me), Survivor: Micronesia (did you know that show still existed?), and Here Come the Newlyweds (I was too disgusted to read the description of this one).

For the season, American Idol's Tuesday and Wednesday editions hold the top 2 spots, while 3 and 4 are held by Dancing with the Stars Monday and Tuesday. This means there are more people who watch these shows on a regular basis THAN ANYTHING ELSE ON TELEVISION! I'm literally breathing into a paper bag, trying to calm my nerves and stop shaking with rage long enough to type the rest of this.

Is it because there is nothing else on at these times? Is it due to the insane popularity of "reality" television. Is it America's sick fascination with watching others do what they can't? I don't know, and frankly it doesn't matter. The bottom line is that MILLIONS of people sit down three nights a week to watch and see which fuckwad sings like shit and gets kicked off and which fuckwads sing not-like-shit and stay for another week.

I wish I could personally slap everyone who makes that show, and the dozens of similarly shitty shows, the most popular shows in the world. I wish I could scream at every dumbshit that calls or texts to vote for that show. But I can't... and it wouldn't matter if I could. People are stupid--Really, really stupid. It's been that way forever, and it will be that way until some just god realizes he gave the beautiful gift of life to humanity, and they used it to create shitty reality TV.

God, if you're out there and you're reading this, kill us all, every last one of us. Sure, there are some good ones among us, but this entire planet is an infected zone, and the only cure for "stupid" is Armageddon.

Fun With Beer Math

Do you have any idea how much money you've spent on alcohol in your life? Any clue how many calories you've consumed in beer? Could you fill a swimming pool with the amount of beer you've consumed? How far could a line of beer cans and bottles (representing your consumption) stretch if you put them end to end?

To answer these and other questions, we first have to get some gauge on how much we've consumed in our lives. For me, I am throwing out the one or two drinking episodes I had before college, simply to make the math easier. First, I will determine the easiest thing to estimate, the number of total alcoholic drinks I have consumed in my college career.

I started in the Fall of 2004. I did not drink heavily for much of that semester, but because I am going to err on the safe side and estimate lower-end numbers through the rest of this experiment, I feel this will come out in a wash.

I have been drinking on a very consistent basis since September of 2004. That is 3 years and 5 months. This equates to about 179 weeks of drinking. I would say that an average of 3 nights per week drinking is a very honest and accurate guess, without overestimating. This gives me a total of 537 drinking experiences. That seems like A LOT. This is already fun.

Now, on many of those occasions, as my friends will tell you, I have had a tendency to put down quite a few drinks. I would say that an average of ten standard drinks (defined as a shot of liquor or a 12 oz. can of beer) is a very fair estimate for each night of drinking. This is college, after all. That means I have consumed approximately 5370 alcoholic drinks in college. (To put that in perspective, I have been alive approximately 8200 days.)

Alright, that is all well and good, but now for the real fun we need to start breaking this down. I would estimate that approximately 80% of my alcohol consumption in college has been in the form of beer. While it started out perhaps 60-40 in favor of liquor, the last two-and-a-half years have seen me drinking almost exclusively beer (to avoid the kinds of awful, awful decisions and expansive blackouts that often occur when I try to drink liquor all night long).

This means that I have consumed roughly 4296 beers and 1074 shots. A standard shot is 1.5 ounces of liquor. This means I have consumed 716 ounces or 21.2 liters of straight liquor in my three-and-a-half years at the U of M. I have also consumed roughly 179 cases of beer in this time.

How much is that, really? Well, that is 403 gallons of beer. This is roughly enough to fill an average bathtub 10 times, or this aquarium once. In addition to liquid volumes, there is also waste to be considered. 179 cardboard cases of beer. Nearly 4300 bottles and cans and 22 plastic and glass liter bottles. The average can weighs about 15 grams. If the 4300 beers were all cans, which weigh less than bottles, they would weigh a collective 142 pounds. If you stacked the cans end to end, each can being approximately 4.5 inches tall, they would stretch for nearly five-and-a-half football fields. 1613 feet. If stacked on top of one another as a free standing structure, this tower of cans would qualify as the 6th tallest structure in the world. It would stand some 130 feet higher than the Petronas Twin Towers in Kuala Lumpur.

An average shot has about 130 calories, and the average 12 oz. beer has around 150. This means I've consumed approximately 139,620 calories in liquor, and another 644,000 calories in beer, in my college career. This gives a total of 783,620 calories in alcohol consumption. Eating 2000 calories a day, a person consumes 730,000 calories in their meals in a year.

How long would it take to consume all of that booze again? According to several online BAC calculators, I can consume 8 drinks every 5 hours and stay at a BAC of .07. In order to drink all of these 5370 alcoholic beverages, while remaining under the legal limit of .08, I would have to drink for approximately 3356 hours. That is about 140 consecutive days of constant drinking, without sleep.

What about blackouts? How much of my life has slipped into the chasm of a blacked-out state? As stated earlier, I have consumed alcohol, at least somewhat heavily, about 537 times. As an estimate, I would say that I have experienced some form of blackout on about 10% of these occasions. 53 times that I have lost part or all of an evening. These blackouts have ranged from a half-hour to several hours, up to 5 I'd say. An average blackout, then, is probably around 2 hours. That is 106 hours, or about 4.5 days. Four-and-a-half days that I was alive, but have absolutely no memories... that's kind of frightening.

Then there's the money. Even though a large number of these drinks were consumed in bars, I will calculate the costs as though I purchased it all in liquor stores, in order to not exaggerate the costs. 179 cases of beer. The average case of beer, with tax, costs me around $18. That is $3222 dollars worth of beer. 22 liters of liquor. The average bottle probably costs me about $20. That's an additional $440 in liquor. $3662 dollars worth of alcohol is a very conservative estimate for my 3+ years in college. That is much more than the $1900 or so I have spent on books, and a little more than 8 months of my rent here in Minneapolis.

I can't stress enough the fact that, for me, these are conservative estimates. In reality, the numbers could be far greater, but are almost certainly not any less than those I have published here. It really puts in perspective the massive amounts of alcohol that can be consumed by just one college student. In writing this, I have gained a lot of perspective about my own drinking habits. Above all, I have a significantly renewed respect for my liver. Keep up the good work, buddy. I promise it will all be better someday. Maybe.

Scientology is Destroying My Faith in Humanity

First and foremost, I have to admit my utter shock and dismay at learning that Jason Lee, a longtime favorite actor of mine, is a scientologist. Apparently he has had ties with the church since the 1980s. I am upset with myself for not finding out sooner, and for allowing myself to become attached. His only redeeming quality in my mind at this point (beside Mallrats, I could never hate Mallrats) is his decision to not throw his beliefs in the face of others.

My now-dead relationship with Jason Lee aside, I really do believe that Scientology is a thing to be feared and despised. Now, before I start sounding like a Christian propagandist speaking about Harry Potter's demonic tendencies, I want to qualify something. I think that ALL religions are stupid.

The reason that Scientology elicits so much more rage from me is not that it is far more irrational than other religions. In reality, it is not. I mean, is the story of Xenu bringing billions of people to Earth 75 million years ago in spacecraft resembling Douglas DC-8s really that far fetched? Trick question--of course it is. The thing to keep in mind is that Catholics believe God doesn't want them to eat meat on Friday, and Mormons believe Joseph Smith was a real prophet of God. Every religion has its superstitions, and this is not the reason I despise Scientology above the rest.

Their are far more pressing reasons to hate Scientology. First, and foremost, are Scientologists. They are even more pretentious than Christians in choking others with their beliefs. And, unfortunately for everyone, prominent Scientologists tend to be rich, famous, or both. This, also very unfortunately, tends to mean that they think people want to hear what they have to say, and they have the capacity to make it happen. Tom Cruise is obviously at the head of the retard-brigade in this respect, but there are an INORDINATE number of prominent Scientologists.

Their prominence, coupled with their immense desire to "share" their faith with others, is also a reason Scientology scares the bejeezus out of me. Some of these are (somewhat) intelligent people and they may actually be able to convince others. Their disease may spread.

The exceptionally cliquey nature of Hollywood, coupled with this most debilitating mental illness, has the potential to create an epidemic. I don't want to be forced into seeing a movie starring an all-Scientologist cast, but that's the future I foresee. It's only a matter of time if someone doesn't stand up. Well, I can't let it happen. I love movies too much to hate every one I watch. Matt Stone and Trey Parker took a big step when they showed everyone just how stupid Scientology is, and if you haven't seen that South Park, watch it.

I would urge everyone to avoid any movies featuring prominent Scientologist actors and actresses, but that won't happen. I'm going to try. I am well aware that this would mean passing on some quality flicks, but it is for the greater good, and it is a personal quest. If you ever want to go see another Tom Cruise flick, stop to think, "This man ate the placenta after his child was born in complete silence (he wouldn't allow the doctors, or even his wife, to make a sound during the delivery), and he is obviously a raging fucktard." And then just don't go. Simple as that.

When are they going to make widely-available, free, reliable porn for cell phones?

Technology, in my lifetime, has advanced at what I would deem an exceptional rate. The widespread availability of PCs, PDAs, cellular phones, and other devices has had a profound impact on society. These gadgets have revolutionized the way that we stay organized, access information, and entertain ourselves. I had the particular good fortune to come of age at the time when the internet gained universal acceptance and became a common household utility. This allowed me the opportunity, at an early age, to familiarize myself with the internet's vast array of offerings. Of course, I am talking about porn.

I feel an amazing debt of gratitude both to those men and women who pioneered the development of the internet and to those blessed souls who filled it with porn. In addition to feeding my insatiable adolescent desire for masturbatory material, these great men and women provided me, and innumerable others, the opportunity to explore my tastes and boundaries in the safety and security of my own home.

For all of the developments in the internet (and their direct impact on the world of porn), I am still dismayed by what I perceive as a significant lag in the porn-technology sector. The lack of widely-available, free porn on most cell phones is a travesty. Why should I be tied to my laptop to access porn when I can get Facebook, email, ESPN.com, and the three other non-pornographic websites I visit regularly all on my phone? If my phone can stream mobile YouTube videos, why can't I stream standard porn websites? All that I know for certain is that I have long trusted pornographers to utilize every advance in technology to bring their art to the masses. I know there is advertising potential in free, mobile porn, so I don't know why it isn't more widely accessible.

I know that it must be on the brink. I'm sure there are a few breakthrough entrepreneurs bringing this service to valued customers out there, somewhere. If you know of any, and would like to help a guy out, send me an email. Until then, I'll be waiting on bated breath for the day I can wake up in the middle of the night with a boner, feel the desire to beat off, and need only to flip open my phone to get the job done.