Nike Hires Vick and More Brilliant Business Moves

July 5, 2011 Oregon

Nike has named Michael Vick as an official spokesman. In a press release prepared from Generic Press Releases Inc, their statement acknowledges Vick's previous prison sentence for dog fighting and gambling. “Michael acknowledges his past mistakes,” Nike spokesman Derek Kent said in this press conference with a straight face “We do not condone those actions, but we support the positive changes he has made to better himself off the field.” Yes, this is the very same Vick that the very same Nike dumped in 2007. When Kent was asked in the press conference what changed since Nike's 2007 statement calling Vick's cruelty to animals as “inhumane, abhorrent and unacceptable.” Kent covered his ears and repeatedly said, “La la la la I can't hear you!”

When asked why Nike decided to resign Vick, Kent explained. “At first we weren't sold on the idea at all. But then, the fans of Philadelphia changed our minds. We all know Philly is a horrible sports town. They throw snowballs at Santa Claus and puke on their young. Yet, they seemed to take to Vick. And we realized if he could sway the drunken illiterates in Philadelphia, he might have really changed his life around.”

To his point, we went to a local Philadelphia sports bar to gauge fan's opinions on their star QB. “Aw, let me tell you something about Mike Vick,” South Philadelphia resident and local roofer Joe Samboli tells us as he wakes from the bar, warm PBR slowly dripping down his bushy, graying mustache. “As long as that little spaz can throw a football, he can electrocute my mother. I don't care about any of that garbage. If he wins us a championship, I will personally give him my blind father's seeing eye dog and tell him he can do whatever he wants.”

Later on that morning, we meet 12 year old Reggie Claymore as he is running in the playground wearing a green 7 Vick jersey. “No. No one ever gives me a problem,” he tells us when asked about wearing the Vick jersey. “All the cool kids and internet tough guys in my neighborhood wear it because we're bad that way. It's the way we show we're rebels and street. So, yea, we're all bad and fans of Mike.” When asked what team Vick used to play for, Reggie says he does not know. He also doesn't know who Ron Mexico is. “Everyone's given him a bad rap, and he didn't do anything wrong, just like most of the kids here. We're all renegades. All the old people hate us and we haven't done nothing wrong.” After leaving his interview, Reggie trips on a curb, falls and cries all the way home to mommy.

At the press conference, Kent went on to detail that this is just a small move in rebranding Nike. “We have a entirely new set of spokesmen for Nike for a new era. We are proud to announce Ben Roethlisberger has just signed on with us.” A journalist from the Gazette immediately asks why sign Ben. “Well, we at Nike realized that we weren't hitting a pretty big key demographic.” Kent goes on to explain that 'key demographic is “young, backward cap wearing males who ride motorcycles poorly and are accused of rape. “You will note,” Kent tells us with just a hint of that douchery Nike is longing for, “Ben was suspended a whole 6 games and during that time did an immense amount of soul searching. We feel he is a unique figure in the sporting world. I mean, let's face it, he was accused of rape and women still wear his jersey. You can't buy stuff like that.” Another reporter, this time from the Pittsburgh Gazette asks, “Well, if you were looking for douche, why not just sign Jeff Reed?” Kent does a spit take from a Nike water bottle and replies, “Please.”

“We are also branching out to our Canadian fans,” Kent continues. We are extremely happy to announce the signing of 'The Canadian Crippler' and former World Heavyweight Champion Chris Benoit.” An uncharacteristic hush falls over the normally unflappable group of reporters. Benoit has been in seclusion since killing his wife and child in June of 2007. Reached by phone, Chris commented, “Yea, I was real surprised Nike reached out to me. I heard they were going in a new direction, and I was really happy they thought I could lend a hand. I feel honored to be included with such gentlemen as Vick and Roethlisberger. Still, I am surprised they pursued me. Hey, at least I looked out for my dogs when I was killing my wife and son.”

“Chris will be instrumental in opening up the Canadian market even more for us,” Kent continues. “For years we have only focused on the American consumer. That was our strength, plus most Americans don't mind that their athletic wear comes from overseas sweatshops. In fact, a recent study we commissioned showed that over 87% of our premium priced athletic wear is worn by fat asses who list 'sitting on the couch eating Funyuns' as their main form of exercise. Chris is anxious to turn his fellow Canadians onto Nike.” Benoit continues, “Yes, I look forward to educating my Canadian friends on the many advantages of Nike's premium sportswear. And I would like to thank Nike for selecting me. The fact that I killed myself 4 years ago hasn't stopped them at all. Nike is the true Rabid Wolverine.”

Gord Thirout from TSN asks a question. “Why Chris Benoit? Wouldn't a hockey player make more sense?” Kent replies, “What the hell is a hockey?” Thirout explains hockey to Kent. “O, right, right, right,” Kent realizes,”yes, sure I am familiar. Well, we tend to stay away from hockey, minus the occasional Nike/Bauer stick or equipment. Plus, Reebok's got them all sewn up. And Crosby's a pussy! Can I get an amen to that?” as Kent raises his arm for an air high five. No one air high fives him back. Kent has a sad.

Kent takes a swig of what must be either water or crazy juice from a -surprise-Nike water bottle. “I can tell by the look on your faces that you have questions about this water bottle. Well let me tell you, this baby here is our stainless water bottle that comes in 4 colors and costs just $20.” Nancy Steiner, a much admired journalist from Atlanta asks, “Why does a water bottle need to cost $20? What makes it so special?” Kent shows an uncharacteristic flash of uncomfortableness. “Well,” he stalls, “it's got the swishie thing on in. See? That's value right there. Plus, for your convenience, it's got a screw top...” “I can buy that exact thing without the (and she makes the air quotes) “swishie” at the Qwik Stop for $1.73.” This uncharacteristic behavior from Steiner and shows just why she is admired so damn much in this business. Kent stammers for a second before saying, “Excellent point, Nancy, and I can tell you this is already a favorite of Mr. Vick. He's had some water bottle issues in the past, but no bonehead from TSA will question him when he sees this fine piece of premium athletic equipment.”

As Kent pauses to take another swallow from a premium piece of athletic equipment, another reporter seizes the opportunity to ask the following, “With this new direction Nike is taking, one wonders if Ray Lewis was approached. He seems like an ideal fit.” Kent is thrown in an instant rage. “Let me tell you about Ray Lewis. Ray Lewis is not a man, Ray Lewis is not only an embarrassment to the sport, but athletes everywhere. Ray Lewis is what is wrong with sports today. Ray Lewis is a snitch, and Nike don't play that. He also happens to be endorsed by a lesser apparel company that sells cheap pieces of spandex. We sell premium athletic equipment.”

But we are not here to talk about characters like that. We are here to talk about the bold new direction of Nike. And while we have already announced Mr. Vick, Benoit and Roethlisberger as spokesman, we are not finished. Now, I probably shouldn't be telling you this,” Kent says as he leans into the microphone to whisper, “we are this close to landing a certain recently retired QB. At least we think he's retired, you kind of never really know with this guy. But he has an appeal. He appeals to older guys and younger women who are adept at social media.”

This new direction for Nike is troubling for some. Take, for example, Jose Canseco. In a phone interview, Canseco said, “I think this is a bunch of . This is a joke.” It's difficult to ignore the slight air of disappointment in Canseco's voice. “I suppose they are trying to be all controversial now, “ Jose continues, “and who's more controversial than me? I mean, I am the guy that exposed steroid abuse in baseball. And I'm still out there. I'm currently ranked number 27 in celebrity boxing. Or maybe my brother is, I am still kinda confused. Either way, if they really want to be edgy, I am not hard to find. I know where I'm at at all times.”

“Look, this is more than about selling premium pieces of sportswear. This is about redemption. Michael Vick possesses many abilities and qualities that we hold in high esteem here at Nike, “ Kent tells the assembled media throng. “I mean, here is a guy who is immensely talented. Against all odds, he becomes a top quarterback in the NFL. He earns millions from football, and even more via endorsements. Hell, he earned more just sitting on his butt in the off season than most ham and eggers earn in a lifetime. And while he is earning millions, and yes some of those millions were coming from Nike, he got into a bad business deal. He jeopardized his multi-millions subsidizing a side project that generated a few thousand. OK, so maybe Mr. Vick is a bit bad with math. I certainly don't think that makes him stupid or ungrateful. What American can't see this as an honest mistake? Mr. Vick's dreams came crashing down, much like a third world youth working in some foreign and unsafe sweatshop making sub par goods wholly marketed on a label and a simple logo. Americans are incredibly forgiving of even the most stupid of actions. The folks of Washington, DC even elected their crackhead mayor back in office! For some strange reason even most of us here at Nike don't quite understand, the public embraces this buffoonery. Who are we to not help further this story along? “

Now Mr. Vick is a hero. He attends youth training camps. He recently won an award from esteemed BET network. Now, let me ask you; would BET award violent behavior? No, they wouldn't. That would be foolish. We may market to fools, but we are certainly not fools ourselves. Michael Vick is back, and he has a job to do. I mean, for cripes sake, the freaking President called him to commend him on his remarkable turnaround. The president! How do like them apples? “And just what is Mr. Vick's job?” Thirout interrupts. After another swig from the bottle, Kent answers, “He throws a ball.” At this point, Kent's phone rings. He looks at the ID. “My, I am so sorry for this. This is unprofessional, and I apologize. We are nothing if not a compassionate and polite company. But please forgive me, this is an urgent call and I must take it. Please excuse me.”

At this point, Nike spokeswoman Megan Saalfeld rises from the background. “Please excuse me,” she says as she appears to be wiping avocado from her mouth, “I just grabbed a quick lunch at Subway. Have you guys eaten there lately? I would murder my own mother for one of their foot longs!” Audible face palms are heard from the reporter pool. She goes on to say, "We do not condone those actions, but we support the positive changes he has made to better himself off the field." Reporter Yanni Bobaganoush from USA Today immediately raises his hand and says, “Ms. Saalfeld, that's exactly what Derek told us at the beginning.” As Saalfeld fumfers for a reply, Kent storms back to the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are all extremely lucky to be here today. Hot off the presses, Nike, the world's preeminent maker of premium sporting goods proudly announces our newest spokesman-Casey Anthony!” Stunned silence covers the reporter pool. Reporters look at each other wide eyed with a surging sense of disbelief mixed with horrible decision making skills. We need a second to compose ourselves at this bombshell announcement.

Bobaganoush is the first to compose himself and weakly asks Kent, “Um...uh...do you have any comment....on...ah...this new signing of Casey Anthony?” Without missing a beat, Kent confidently replies, "We do not condone those actions, but we support the positive changes she has made to better herself off the field." Bobaganoush says, “You've already said that exact comment about Vick.” “Yea, well, we're a little behind in paying Generic Press Releases. You have to pay those guys a lot for the work they do. Anywhoo, Casey has signed on to help promote out new NikeKids line. She will be taping her first commercial for us when she gets back from her 2 week bender. And with that, our line up is complete.”

Another moment of awkward silence ensues. Kent seems to relent. “Look, I know you guys are smart,” he tells the reporter pool, because flattery is always a solid way to get your point over. “I sense some trepidation here. Why are you guys not excited about all this news? Is it Vick? It's Vick isn't it? I know it's Vick, I can tell it in your eyes.” Suddenly, this press conference is veering off into creepy territory. “Do you think Nike will get nothing but glowing press about this? I mean, he's paid his dues, he's kept his nose clean. He's returned to All Pro form on the ol' gridiron. Has he not redeemed himself?”

All valid points. But here is the issue that irks a lot of people, not just dog owners. He committed a horrible crime, and yes he served his time. Which could have been much longer if he wasn't a gifted athlete. However, I believe most people are upset that he was welcomed back and accepted by most in the mindless mainstream who prefer their athletes don't suffer consequences for their own inconsiderate actions. Odds are if that was you or me who ran Bad Newz Kennels, our ass would be getting violated daily for years upon years in jail. Doesn't matter what our job is, as long as we aren't a gifted athlete. I think it's unfair Vick can go right back to making millions playing a game. I think if it was just about any other profession, an animal abuser/killer would be shunned and never get their original job back. I think it's unfair that most people never even bring it up. Hell, in an interview, the Vickness even said he wouldn't change a thing. Huh? Not even a passing mention like, “Well, shucks, I would take back all that dog killing business. That was a pretty boneheaded move on my part.”

I don't see where Nike feels any need whatsoever to sign Vick. There are plenty of other athletes out there with compelling stories. And a brief Google search of Nike reveals their legendary sweatshops like here, here, here, here, and hell, I am running out of here's. I am happy Subway is catching such heat. They had options, they could have dropped their sponsorship of the award or demand he be removed from the list. Even after Vick received his “award” Subway had a chance to do the right thing, but elected not to.

Now, after doing this research, I think Nike and Vick are a perfect fit. Both huge entities of douche and shallowness. Both have criminal pasts. Let's ignore that past and keep shilling “premium sporting goods” at vastly inflated prices, OK? Wearing Nike or UnderArmour or Reebok or whatever will not improve your poor performance in rec sports. Think wearing a $45 dollar shirt that 'wicks away moisture and emits pheromones that make you sexually attractive to member of the opposite sex' makes you run faster? No. Spoiler: it's what's beneath the shirt, shorts, etc that makes all the difference. Please don't be so taken by a damn label sewn on by tiny Honduran hands.

I will not support Subway. I haven't supported Nike since they immediately started sending swag to Vick upon his release like a spurned lover. This is an issue that should not go away. Ditto for Roethlisberger. He must be thanking his lucky stars this whole Vick thing happened when it did. But then again, what do I know? I can't throw a ball and am cursed with common sense and common decency.

The Circle of Life; The Cycle of Crap

Life is cyclical. For every reaction, there is an equal and opposite reaction. For every yin, there is a yang. Often all we do is just shuffle stuff from one spot to another. It’s all some sort of karmic balance. You give to get.

So I come home one day to find a flyer in my mailbox. It seems someone on the street thinks it will be a good idea to have a garage sale. I think this is a horrible idea. It’s an odd phenomenon, garage sales. Who had the audacity to look at all their junk and go, “You know, I betcha my neighbors will pay me for some of this crap.”

This to me just sounds eerie. I mean, if I had to, I would much rather buy stuff from someone I didn’t know. I would feel kinda strange buying something from my neighbor. I don’t know why I get caught up in this sort of stuff. Like I will be suspect when I see what crap my neighbor is hawking. I mean, if it’s not good enough for him, what makes me think its good enough for me? “Geez, if my neighbor Mike is selling this 10 lb. dumbbell, there must be something wrong with it! Maybe it’s only 9.8 lbs.” I don’t know about you, but the thought of buying clothes at garage sales is kind of, well, icky for lack of a better word. What happens if they then get jealous seeing me wear their old clothes around the ‘hood? “Damn, that Kev sure knows how to rock my old velour track suit.” This is too much pressure for me.

Yes, I know this is a great opportunity to get rid of a lot of stuff we don’t use. But is it efficient? I mean so we have to waste a whole night picking out shit we don’t want/need in the hopes one of our neighbors is gullible enough to snap it up? And even if we do sell anything, will the profit of 3.47 justify the time and effort it took? I think not.

This is one example where I blame reality TV. It’s gone through fads; bike building, poker, wedding cakes, little people and now we have something called American Pickers. I haven’t really watched the show too much, but it’s basically about these 2 guys who go and swindle…uh buy old shit from people who don’t know its true value. For example, they see a rusting metal sign and buy it for $20, and it gets appraised for something ridiculous like $500. Now in this economy, I want to meet the tool that has 500 to blow on a shitty sign. Great, so now I have a sign that has some sort of assigned value, WTF am I going to do with it? Hint; you’ll put it in the damn garage with the rest of your stupid shit. So now everyone thinks they will find a diamond in the rough. Everyone thinks they are going to find that long lost Renoir painting in the crazy cat lady’s shed. Get real.

Do people go to these things with lists? Is there something really specific they are looking for? If so, that is a pretty poor way to shop. I really think people go with the mentality of, “lemme see what I can buy that I would never normally buy new.”

Yea, I have a ton of old shit I don’t use in my garage; so does everyone else. That’s what garages are for. I think there is some sort of long standing ordinance in my township that says so. In fact, a quick cursory look around my garage reveals all kinds of candidates. Who needs a 42 quart fryer? Because I at one time apparently did. Boxing gloves, every garage sale always has boxing gloves. And bowling balls. I also have some sort of component to a Sony stereo that I am sure is outdated by now. I see a half inflated palm tree. I have an empty keg.( And yes, it was a killer party.) I think my neighbors will see how little I think of them and their tastes when I try to push all this shit on them. “Hey, Lou, you need a half used can of teal spray paint?”

So I am doing what any self-respecting man would do. I am getting the hell out of Dodge for the day. I’ll stick the wife with the responsibility of hawking my shit that I would be too embarrassed to myself. She can sell my hard hat that holds 2 beer cans. She can sell my wrestling ‘action figures’. I’ll dust off all my old Nerf guns and wipe the rat poop of the electric racing set. Ha, that’ll teach her for wanting to participate.

My street will be littered with picnic tables and card tables, all holding the SWDW (shit we don’t want). CD holders, shoe trees, glasses from Burger King. Out of fashion blouses, worn shoes, dignity, ugly lamps. I hope the Google Map car doesn’t pick tomorrow to drive down my street.

The irony is that soon enough, anything you buy will slowly morph back into ‘junk’. That popcorn popper you bought will reside in the spot where you kept the never used funnel cake kit. Yin and yang. In and out.

We all know how the deal works; most of this shit will either be left out all night, or put out on the next trash day. If you play the waiting game, you will be rewarded.

This was one of those rare, rare occasions where I was pretty wrong about the whole deal. My guess of grossing 3 dollars was way off. Good lord, people will buy anything if it’s cheap enough. That electric race set netted us five big ones. Of all things, it turns out the Nerf guns were most popular. T tells me kids were snapping them up. After realizing we had the hot commodity, we of course jacked the price up. Even as she was wrapping up, a mom and teary eyed son appeared at our door. “I’m sorry to bother you, and I normally don’t do this sort of thing,” she tells T, “but my husband and son were just here and he bought a Nerf gun. Now my youngest one wants one, too. Do you have any left over?” We just so happened to have some left over, and being big hearted and all, T didn’t even jack up the price like I would have done. My biggest fear is that all the neighborhood snots are going to be running around and assaulting me with my own weapons.

My guess is my street will be doing this again next year. My guess is it will be all the same shit that was out before; just on someone else’s table. My guess is I will be spending the week in my garage signing baseballs as Babe Ruth and that player who was on steroids. Not, not that one, the other one. Now if you’ll excuse me, its trash night and I’ve got some work to do.

The Characters You Meet at Indie Rock Shows

Being the grizzled and respected music critic I am, I have been to literally thousands of shows; rock, pop, country, acoustic and Swedish yodeling. As I was at yet another indie rock show last night, something dawned on me. Goddamn, these people all look familiar. As I scanned over all the shows I’ve been to, I’ve realized there are the same people at every show. Not literally the same people, of course, but the same kinds of stereotypes of people at shows. And if there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s the stereotypes can unite us all.

With that in mind, I began compiling a list of these characters. And while the title implies indie shows, the fact of the matter is these stereotypes are at every show. Perhaps you’ve seen them, and never realized it. Perhaps you are one of them and didn’t know it. Perhaps I am using the word ‘perhaps’ too much. Perhaps.

What follows is a quick list of such characters. Surely, it’s not complete, but my appointment with the Swedish massage girl awaits, and we al know how that ends.

The Crazy Hat Guy

Telltale Signs: um, the crazy hat.

Behavior: Crazy Hat Guy comes to be seen. The hat is usually some variation of the typical Stetson/10 gallon hat. Maybe it’s because he thinks since the band is from the West, by wearing a cowboy hat, he will somehow establish some sort of quiet camaraderie with the band. Even though the band is from Seattle. Crazy hats can also include the lighter, straw variation; great for outdoor shows. Note; sideways caps and mandanas do NOT count.

CHG will worm his way to the front of the stage in order to get someone in the band to wear his crazy hat. The band will usually oblige. Little does CHG realize that traveling musicians have notoriously bad hygiene. Along with the hat back, he will also get lice and ringworm. He just never learns.

The Coterie

Telltale sign: The coterie is made up of a pack of older women. Most are typically spotted at the shows of bands that had one mainstream hit ten years ago, and have still managed to put out a respectable body of work since then. The number in the coterie varies. They typically ‘dress to impress’, as this is their big night out with ‘the girls from college’. What better way to drink top shelf drinks and reminisce about ‘the old days’? There is usually one large woman (as is the rule in packs such as this), although the rest typically have bingo arms.

Behavior: The coterie is looking to recapture the magic of their college years when the band played their school ‘like every two months’. Sure, while they are hanging with all the girls from Hammond dorms, they try to dress a grade better. And by that I mean ten pounds of monkey crap in five pound bags. These outfits may have looked hot ten years ago, but the only thing screaming more than the singer is their seams. They often take pictures of themselves by the side of the stage as the band is playing. When the band gets to their one hit, they dance like tipsy monkeys. While the Coterie is happy to be at the show, the only ones happier are their husbands getting a fucking quiet night at home.

The Diehard

Telltale signs: The Diehard wears a shirt that says Northwest Tour 2007; thought the band clearly didn’t hit the Northwest till 2009. You can tell he wears the shirt all the time, even though this show is the only “cool” place to wear it. Think about it; do Insane Clown Posse shirts look cool anywhere outside of an ICP show? No, they don’t. It’s not like you need Vanity Fair to tell you that. Chances are his email address and handle on message boards is an obscure song title.

Behavior: Diehards know all the words to ALL the songs, even the obscure ones. The Diehard typically further reveals his devotion in the following exchange. The singer will say something to the effect of, “Well, you guys have been such a great crowd tonight, we’re gonna play a song we never play. In fact, we only played it once; 9 years ago at Artie Feinstein’s bar mitzvah.” The Diehard will raise his hands and yell, “YYEEAHHH!!” And somehow, the Diehard will know all the words and makes sure everyone near him is aware he knows all the words.

The Ben Folds Guy

Telltale signs: He looks like Ben Folds (duh), his head is too big for his hair, and his glasses tightly cling to his face. Usually dresses like Ben. However, during the summer, acceptable clothing is a ringer t and the ugliest plaid cargos you could ever imagine.

Behavior: The BFG is more noteworthy for observational purposes rather than outright behavior. He will typically be off in a dark corner. But he is at EVERY show. Gangster rap, blues, Russian throat singing, karaoke night. I have personally seen this guy at everything from Ozzfest to a blues concert in Borders. Not much is known about the Ben Folds Guy outside of this.

The Broskis

Telltale signs: Much like the coterie, the Broskis travel in packs. They are easily discerned by their caps, collar shirts and obnoxious behavior. Often seen raising shots at random moments.

Behavior: Obnoxious. I often wonder why they go to shows, just to drink overpriced shots and get in people’s way? Like BFG, they seem to be at every damn show; unsubstantiated reports have even placed them at Lilith Fair. Their MO seems to just wander into a club and get trashed. They often demonstrate little to no familiarity with the band playing. Tend to give manhugs and high fives as the evening wears on.

The Old Guy

Telltale signs: Grey hair if any, glasses, cold, wrinkled, expressionless face.

Behavior: Generally harmless, if a bit creepy. He seems to be there for the music, but appears out of place. Maybe he’s just checking in on his daughter. In which case, she said she was 18, OK?

The Handsies

Telltale signs: Their hands are always in the air, responding to the vocals. For example, if the singer is singing “goodbye” the Handsies will wave goodbye. If the singer is singing about the sun, the Handsies will raise their hands up in the air. Their interpretations of other actions are both astounding and worrisome. They will also try to grab any band member if they dare loom too close to the edge of the stage.

Behavior: It’s like a twisted call and response. Their arms will shoot up in the air at the slightest provocation. You don’t want to stand near the Handsies as they will spill your drinks without remorse. While this looks cool from the stage, it’s as annoying as fuck if you’re next to them. Avoid them, as their actions border on attention whoring. Let the Old Guy deal with their shit.

The Yellers

Telltale signs: Um, all their yelling.

Behavior: They have what scientists have recently termed ‘concert Tourettes’. All the yellers do is yell requests. From the first song to the last, there is always another song they want to hear. Yellers can be anywhere; front row to last row on the balcony. Yellers have a bit of the Diehard in them, as they feel the more obscure their requests, the better of a fan they are. Yellers are annoying and often yell for a song the band just played while they were in the bathroom. Yellers are the bane of bands’ existence. Like the Handsies, the Yellers are to be avoided.

The Drunk Girl

Telltale signs: You really need me to spell this out for you?

Behavior: As in life, Drunk Girls come in two varieties; benign and annoying as fuck. Benign Girls are generally well contained, not sloppy and not obnoxious. They are just there for a show, some Miller Lites and to have a good time. AAF Girls, on the other hand, are whole ‘nother ballgame. They get polluted on girly mixed drinks and proceed to make asses of themselves and detract from the show. They stumble. They dance and careen into other people. They sing made up lyrics and yell out during slow songs. Their overloaded purses swing as they text their BFF Ashley what song she just heard. OMFG! AAFGs feel compelled to try and dance on stage. The AAFs will be the ones covered in their own vomit by the time the lights come up. At least I hope that’s their own vomit.

By no means is this list complete. And that is where you come in. Feel free to add your own Characters.

My Buddy

(OK, right at the top; this is a dog post. If you are not a dog owner, feel free to pass on this one. I have a bunch of other entertaining Klogs you might want to read. 2009 was a particularly good year.)

And the good news, the very good news, is that I finally got a job. And that is reason for much celebration, and removal of several things from eBay. While I could go on about the exuberating, the fact of the matter is happy Klogs are rather boring Klogs. I know my audience prefers my usual pissy, bitter, sarcastic, dark, pessimistic stuff. Happiness is boring, so I will spare you that.

Now that unemployment will soon be a thing of the past, it’s time to put the whole experience in some sort of perspective. There are PLENTY of things I will not miss about this unemployed life. I will not miss the unending money woes. I will not miss the stress unemployment puts on just about every aspect of life and relationships. I will not miss the constant mental anguish it causes; the nightmares and pervasive negative thoughts and self image. (Is this Klog dark enough yet?) I will not miss the emails from Monster, CareerBuilder, etc, all pushing the same lousy damn jobs. I will not miss the hours trolling other websites for decent gigs. I will not miss the constant sending out of resumes to jobs I could really care less about.

And to be fair, there are some things I actually will miss. In a bizarre way, I will miss the thrice daily airings of the Maury show. Those rednecks always make me feel better about myself. I will miss that hot chick that used to do afternoons on the now defunct Gems TV. I will miss the free time that I used to write reviews and Klogs. I will miss the dayloads. Boy o boy will I miss that unemployment stereotype. I will miss that feeling I get every afternoon to take a nap, and actually TAKE the damn nap. That might be a hard habit to break. But above all of this, I will miss one thing far more than any of the above.

I will miss my buddy.

Over this three year nightmare, Bauer has been a constant. He’s always been there for me. He was more than happy to get his belly scratched and ears rubbed. I know he enjoys that sort of thing, and in a way non dog owners don’t understand, it was probably better for me. When I wanted to cry or scream, Bauer was always there to give me a chance to calm down.

Whenever it felt like my little world was crashing down; when the four walls were closing in, a bit of time with the dog did me a world of good. While my moods wildly swung from hour to hour, a bit of Bauer time always, always worked to calm me down. Bauer just has a way to chill me out, so I wasn’t a raving fucking lunatic when my wife came home.

Sure, it wasn’t always easy; there were times when he drove me nuts. He would bark and yip to go outside like someone left him a well done steak on the front yard. So I would go down and put him on the tether. By the time I returned upstairs, and just as my ass was to hit the chair, he would immediately bark and yip to come back in like there was a well done steak on the living room floor. Silly dog, he knows if there is any well done steak around here, it’s mine.

Some days all he does is whine; whine to go out, whine to come in, whine to play. I’ll hear the clicks of his nails on the hardwood floor come up to the steps. He will keep his rear paws on the floor, and stretch up three steps to try to get my attention. I will slide the chair over, and just see the top of his knucklehead over the step.

When I need the break, I will go down and play with Bauer for 10-15 minutes. When I stop and head back to the grind, Bau will follow me to the steps with the toy in his mouth. As I start to go up (Bau knows he is not allowed on the top floor of the house), he will loudly drop the toy. Sometimes it’s a sorrowful sound, as if to say, “Aw, c’mon, man, I still wanna play.” That breaks my heart. Other times it’s an angry “Well, FUCK you then.”

He loves the outside. As I write this, he’s been outside in the front yard for seriously 3-4 hours. He’s a sun pup. On the hottest of days, he is happy to lie on the black top driveway. He does what we call the dead dog. If you passed by, he is literally so relaxed and still, you’d think he was dead. He will often refuse to move when T tries to pull into the driveway. There are times I will let him out front, and sit down on the stoop. Bau will sit, and scoot his hips over till he’s leaning on me. I will put my arm around and pet him as he raises one paw. It’s moments like these that totally chill me out and calm me down. I would totally sell this picture to MasterCard for use in their Priceless promotions. Using a fine Samsung digital camera of course.

He has a sudden tendency to bark at, well, nothing really. Often I will hear him rouse from his sleep, dash up the steps, and run to the bay window barking his head off. And he’s totally failed me when it’s come to holding up his end of the bargain. I have literally hundreds of hours of him on video; none of which can win me $10,000 on America’s Funniest Videos.

He’s always there, wanting to go for a walk and get me away from the PC and these four walls. I’ve done my best to spoil him now that the weather is nice. We’re off in our own little world. We go on long walks that probably chill me out as much as it does him. There’s a simple joy seeing him bop around the neighborhood, just thrilled to be outside. Sometimes it really is that simple. I’ve started taking him to the dog park as well, where there are all kinds of sights and smells to investigate.

He knows what to do to get me to cheer up. Sit next to me, offer up the belly, etc. Hell, one day I went down, and he had a box of donuts. I don’t know where he got them from, but they were all Boston crèmes, and I wasn’t asking any questions.

And I feel bad. I will really miss those times. I wonder if it will really make any impact on him at all. I won’t feel too bad, in a few weeks, T will have off for the summer, and I am sure will spoil him. After she does my laundry and cooks my dinner of course.

But I will miss my buddy.

The Write Stuff

“Do you like mysteries?”

The voice greeting me upon my entrance belongs to a woman more than twice my age. It belongs to an author doing a signing at Barnes and Noble. No one is there for her, and she has to hock her book literally one by one. And this makes me think, “Do I really want to be a writer?”

I just felt so sad for this woman. Here she is, clearly well past retirement age, gallantly pushing her book in some bumblefuck B&N. Good lord, could that ever be me? How would I hock my book? “Hi, do you like short, mildly humorous essays about such various topics as unemployment, Hallowmas and the Maury Povich show? I use the word ‘fuck ‘ a lot. O, I’m sorry, I didn’t see your three year old there.”

I mean, I feel bad for her. I am pretty sure she wasn’t expecting a mad rush of people, but, still. I can kind of sympathize with her; no one’s asked me to sign a single damn copy of my Wildwood story. Heartless motherfuckers. My list of people to piss on when I mysteriously have a ton of money and power grows daily.

It’s an illusion that just because you get a book published, you have it ‘made’. For every Steven King and Janet Evanovich, there are folks like this geriatric slaving away with no money or recognition. I blame people like John Grogan. Grogan wrote Marley & Me. Before he wrote that book, he was a columnist. I read some of his early stuff, and it bounded between the sappy to feebly humorous. Marley is by far his best work, and one of my top 5 books of all time. Maybe when I read a sixth book, that will change. Since then, Marley has turned into a cottage industry for Grogan. There’s a whole line of Marley books out now. I can’t begrudge him. But, all because of just one book, he can live comfortably the rest of his life. And isn’t that what we all want?

But is this really the life I want? I mean, if millions of people want to read about Fred Hadayia and Mandy Moore peeing (by far, the 2 Klogs that drive people here), well then maybe I should expand those topics. Perhaps a Roger and Me like search for the illusive Fred. Maybe tales of chasing down Mandy’s husband, Ryan Adams, outside one of his gigs and cornering him. “C’mon, Ryan, I am sure you’ve seen her shit, too.”

Any bookstore is filled with thousands of books by ‘normal people’, books that never make their money back, books that no one reads. It’s frighteningly like the music biz. It’s not that I want to write a book; I don’t. But I am on the eve of submitting another piece to the same Wildwood paper that might get published. (Yes, this should be another Klog, but there’s only so much multi-tasking I can do, a’ight?) And even if I did write a book, what the hell would it be about?

I can’t imagine writing a book. That’s got to be incredibly tough. And, to be clear, by book, I mean a real deal book. Not some vanity book, written by such literary heavyweights as Jenny McCarthy and Monica Lewinsky. But if I did write a book, what could it possibly be about? Below are the only topics I feel I know enough about to maybe fill a whole book:

Unemployed and not bleeding

How I kept my organs off of eBay

All the people who didn’t hire me are racists

Things you can make with dog hair

The occasional alcoholic

Hockey is for men, baseball is for fairies

Reviews of 500 albums you’ve never heard of

Places I got into because I look like the signer from Nickelback

But who am I to judge? I am a poor reader at best. The older you get, the harder it is to find good books that have lots of pictures. Is it my fault I am a visual guy? I have no appreciation for the literary ‘giants’. Haven’t we given this Shakespeare guy enough play already? Kindles and Nooks and iPads are great and all, but if you’re using those to read Chaucer, clearly, you don’t deserve the technology. I mean, let’s focus on some writers who don’t wear questionable dress. I personally nominate Uncle John from the oft ignored Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader series. That guy makes me laugh. And he doesn’t use the king’s fucking English.