March to the Sea

The Onion has a famous article out there about how ridiculous the razor industry has gotten about adding blades to their razors. I have thought it was absurd from the getgo...10 blades! 26 blades!

I have used the Mach 3 (and experimented with the Turbo) for four years now. Before the Mach 3, I used a regular Gillette razor. It was aight. Then I tried the Mach 3 and it was better--closer shave, fewer nicks, etc. However, it still wasn't great. After using it for a couple years, I got into a conversation with some college roommates about razors...we brought up the Mach 3. My roommates raved about it: Best razor ever. Closest shave ever. I kinda shrugged off the discussion, adding at one point that while I used it, I didn't think it was that great. My shaves were never as close as I thought they could be.

My roommates laughed at me, I remember. They told me it was me, not the razor. They told me I wasn't shaving against the grain, or that I wasnt replaing the blades as often as I should be...I thought they were probably right. Three blades should be plenty for a close shave. And all my roommates seemed to think the Mach 3 (especially the Turbo) was amazing. So, I figured it was me (or my stupid rough face), and I stuck with the Mach without question.

Two weeks ago, I took a trip to Super Happy Funland (Walmart) to pick up some contact lense solution. While walking to the small province where the solution is kept, I passed by a display for the Schick Quattro. In the past, I had scoffed at the razor blade battle. But, looking around to make sure no one was watching, I grabbed a Quattro and went on my way.

Back at the ranch, I opened up the razor and tried it out. The results sent a shockwave up my spine rivaled only by the feeling that rattled my view of the world when Jean Van de Velde blew the British Open on the 18th in 1999 (people who say 9/11 was shocking must not have been watching the events of Carnoustie that day).

The Quattro is my new Allah. Finally, I got the shave that I KNEW I could accomplish. I knew it was within my reach, all these years--I just didn't know the fourth blade would actually make a difference. Just goes to show you--sometimes you're too quick to judge. I'm gonna rethink the whole way I live now. No more quick judgments about people. I'm gonna give everything a chance now--maybe two chances! I'm a changed man.

Now get the fuck away from me, assholes.

But I'm watching "The Biggest Loser," and this episode is between two families who work out for a week or so. The family that loses the most weight gets a fantastic prize--a trip to the Caribbean. Thing is, I can't imagine that any of these people are too psyched to be showing off their grotesquely obese bodies on the beach--yes, even after the women go from 250 to 242.

Or, perhaps, if you're willing to tell the world your weight on national TV, maybe you're not too sensitive about how others perceive you. This brings me to the "locker room" principle.

Girls, I honestly have no idea if this happens in women's locker rooms. Do women walk around naked at all in the locker room? Because it's inevitable in a guy's locker room. And it's also inevitable that the naked guy is going to be one of the most hideous people you've ever seen. It's foolproof. The naked dude is always horrifically ugly. Usually wrinkly, always overweight, almost always over 50 and never, ever showing a look of embarrassment or realization that others might be slightly uncomfortable looking at him.

At first, I couldn't understand it. Are unattractive people genetically predisposed to enjoy public nudity around other guys? It didn't seem to make sense--but of course! In order to get so unattractive, you've probably cashed it in. And if that's the case, then who cares if you're naked in the gym or not. You've already lost the ability to care, long ago. And that's probably a great feeling...the feeling of rock bottom. Nothing to lose.

The next time you watch "The Weakest Link," listen for the obviously canned laugh at the end of every mini-burst of laughter. I guarantee you, the show has paid a guy to sit in the audience and scream "HA!" as loud as he can at the end of each joke...I think the show paid each audience member a few bucks to sit and watch the game show...god, that show sucks.

You know what show is really very good? Match Game. Great concept...there are always many close answers to a question. I enjoy playing along, gotta admit. Plus the wawa guitar theme song is fucking awesome. And it has Richard Dawson BEFORE he went really annoying, very effeminant creepy old guy. "Dickey" Dawson's actually kinda suave on the show.

I'm watching Dick Dawson host Family Feud right now. You know who I really miss? Ray Combs, or whatever that little host's name was. He was like an auctioneer hosting a game show. And he was really funny and ran the show like he really didn't care at all what the fuck was going on. And it looked like maybe he really really hated was he doing and was totally saying "fuck you world, look how dispassionately and sarcastically I'm gonna run a game show."...And then I found out he committed suicide and I suddenly thought, "uh...I was just kidding there Ray..."...and then the joke thought wasn't as funny anymore.

You know you're struggling with the Chronic when you can't quite follow what's going on in Family Feud.

I was on Family Feud. One of my life goals, accomplished at 19. I am so successful.

How does one change personalities at age 50 like Dawson? Did he become a born again and just "become cheezy creepy looks like I aged 15 years in 3 years"? I didn't know there was a religious experience quite like that...

Someone just answered "hutch" as an answer on Family Feud. I don't even know the question, but there's no way "Hutch" is going to be a right answer to any question. Unless the question was "make a sound that sounds like huttsh". Then hutch might be number four.

Dawson and Combs were great hosts because of the way they rose their voices on the last syllable of every word when repeating the answer. It was never "ball game" with the voice getting slightly lower and softer on game. It was always "ball GAME!", practically screaming out game. Then as soon as the X hit, there was like a quarter second before Combs said his next word. The game moved so fast when he hosted...Louie and Al from Home Improvement dont come close...sorry fat dudes.

And as much as I dislike Dawson much of the time on Family Feud, again, both he and Combs had a great dry sense of humor. If people said a ridiculous answer, they'd try to make them feel as miserable as possible..."Now, I REALLY think you have a good chance on this one...Hutch was a great answer, I'm telling you. There are gonna be 50, 60 people out there who said it, just watch!" (BAAAAH!!) "Oh! I THOUGHT it was gonna be up there, REALLY! You're telling me no one said Hutch?!"

Survey SAID!

Look! New look!

In an effort to build a legion of fan support, I've changed my blog settings to this radical new template. Tubular!

Actually, if I really wanted to build a new fan base, I can think of a few foolproof ways. One would be to commit a high profile crime, go to jail, and then somehow bargain (probably through marketing my rear for hire) for internet access in my cell. Posts about my daily life in prison, I bet, would get a big audience.

Another method would be to trash everyone I know and to reveal all personal secrets. That would be HUGE! I'd have...like...50 people checking every day! Man, that'd be sweet. I'd feel like I was king of the world! Shucks, I'd be popular. You can be the worst, ugliest person ever and have a wildly popular blog if you just ridicule people you know without telling them. There was this one girl I went to college with who used trash people in each blog--it was great! Sure, everyone hated her and she wasn't exactly a looker, but damn, she must have felt good everytime she checked Site Meter and saw those crooked numbers. 74 people! Wow! So, tune in next time, when maybe it'll be you I choose.

If you can think of other good ideas, let me know.

I'm watching The People's Choice Awards and the host is Craig Ferguson.

Now, I can't say I know too much about the PCAs and maybe I'm even more out of touch with the American people.

But I think it's safe to say that Craig Ferguson's was not The People's Choice for host.

Apparently, the People have nominated 'Hitch' for best comedy. Can't say I saw Hitch, but I just saw the 10-second clip they used to display the movie's high comedy. High comedy because you'd have to be high to find the comedy! Ha! That's on par with the joke they just used for Hitch.

Also, when they showed 'Hitch,' they simply showed the clip and moved on to the next movie. The same occurred for whatever crap movie was profiled second, but when they mentioned 'Wedding Crashers,' the last movie nominated, they showed Owen Wilson sitting in the second row, aisle seat.

And guess what...Wedding Crashers won! Lucky for Owen Wilson that he was there, huh!

Marlon Brando refused an Oscar for Best Actor--what do you think his reaction would have been if he won a People's Choice Award? Maybe they would show a video of Brando from his home, taking a prolonged shit on the award and loudly groaning.

When it comes to unintentional comedy, award shows are near the top. And I don't mean unintentional like "he was in the bathroom when the award was given!" I mean, "Did you see the look of intense hatred on the face of Harrison Ford? Man, he doesn't want to be here."

I bet the People's Choice publicists just wouldn't invite Al Pacino, Robert DeNiro, Jack Nicholson, etc. for fear that they might come (not realizing what they coming to) and panic once they saw Neil Patrick Harris say "kicked in the balls" while presenting on stage. Or, simply, seeing Doogie Howser present might cause them to publicly vomit.

OK, I'm gonna go play the Doogie Howser theme song on the piano.

And you thought Jordan's return was big news.

There are some athletes that take a free agent contract and, despite high hopes and expectations, things just don't work out as planned. Kenny Rogers just didn't work out in New York. He returned home. Jeremiah Trotter just didn't fit in like he thought he would in Washington. But in Philadelphia, he was, and is, an All-Pro.

You know, when I signed up to be one of the Seven Deadly Cynics, it seemed like a pretty sweet deal. Front-loaded contract...sizable signing bonus...promises of playing in the limelight in front of a passionate audience...

But alas, things don't always happen as you plan.

At first, I enjoyed the new scenary. We were a team. We helped each other out and soared to a winning record. Sports Illustrated put us on the cover page.

But then, the curse set in. I soon found myself carrying the team rather than being merely a piece to a championship puzzle. Yeah, I was still bringing it, night in and night out, dazzling the crowd with show-stopping dunks and fucking my bitches on the side. I was pumping out illegit kids and refusing kids' autographs to go find my sports cars. I was doing what I was being paid to do, but my teammates couldn't hang. OK, I had a little help--a point guard from Baltimore had a good season and was among the league leaders in assists and a forward from Tennessee had some strong outings, as I expected would be the case.

But some guys signed some big contracts and quickly got fat and lazy. I thought I had a teammate from Michigan who would bring the funk every night. I expected huge seasons from the Indian and Irishman. I mean--just look at their past statistics! What the hell happened? And worst of all--my boy from Arlington. We grew up together. He talked me into taking the contract so that we could play together. It seemed like an incredible opportunity.

Instead, everything fell flat. They all signed their contracts and stopped playing hard. The crowd stopped coming to see us perform. There was constant unrest among players. We started fighting in practice. And the losses poured in.

So, I've re-upped with my former team, hoping to bring back some of the shine that once glistened off this page. Some say this blog will never be the same. Some say a comeback is pointless, that the luster is gone for good. I know I'm going to have to work extra hard (110 percent) to win back fan support and the four readers who once checked this blog once or twice every three weeks. But damnit, you only live once. I still feel the love. I'm not ready to hang them up. And, maybe, one day, I'll even return to the team that left me for naught, that disappointed my visions and dreams.

After all, you never know. That's why they play the game.