The Unofficial "Rip on K-Fed" Thread! (Volume I)

So which one of these photos do you think is more embarrassing for Miss Brit? This unflattering statue…

Or being spotted in public with this unflattering man?

Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s a fact. In this world there are tools, and then there are TOOLS.
We here at Snarky Friday have patiently resisted delving into the mind of Kevin Federline (or, as one of our favorite sites “Snarkywood” calls him, “Federwang”) up until now, mainly because he’s such an asshat that I was hoping to wait until he really fell flat on his face, and then rip on him. You know, kick him while he’s down. That’s the Tommy G. way.

But Federwang recently gave an interview to Blender magazine, which according to the article written by Jeanette Walls and the nice people at MSNBC, proves once and for all three things:

1 – Federwang has one enormous set of man-rocks.
2 – Federwang doesn’t have the slightest bit of couth in that pointy little head of his.
3 – Federwang is a huge, huge, freaking huge tool.

Here’s what Dumbass Fed had to say (the emphasis is mine):

Blender mag asked Federline what he’ll do if his upcoming album fails. “I’ll be at your local strip club, but I’ll be the one dancing,” he replied.

With all the hours he devotes to rapping these days, how does Federline find time for his wife and children, the mag asked?

“I have no golf game anymore,” he explained. “Monday through Friday, I get up at 7:30 a.m., train at the gym for two hours, then go to the studio. I have weekends off to see my kids and to spend time with my old lady.”

Okay, let’s dissect his scaling of the wall of ignorance as such:

First, Federwang claims that “if” his music career sucks more than a $5 hooker with a crack habit, he’ll go swing from the strippers pole.

“I’ll be at your local strip club, but I’ll be the one dancing,” he replied.

1 – Okay, first, what’s this “if” crap? If I have any voting power in it, his album will tank faster than plans for “Ishtar II”. He’s gonna suck; it’s inevitable. I’ll stake my reputation as a blogger extraordinaire and a Federwang Hata on that.

2 – Um...who’d really pay to watch Federwang take off his clothes? I might give him a buck to keep them on, but really now.

3 – Actually, I’d actually love to come see him show up at Sioux City’s “Mavericks” strip club – it’s next door to the John Merrell slaughterhouse in the industrial part of town, in an area that’s definitely a “working man’s domain”. I’ve never been in Mavericks, but from what I understand, if you were to rate the girls who work there on a scale of 1 – 10, they’d all come in at about 3 below zero. The girls wear pasties, g-strings, and bags over their heads - it’s that kind of place.

So if Fed was to come work at my local strip club as the threatens, I’m sure he’d make all sorts of new friends. And we’ll find out what the locals think of his “pretty little mouth”.

Next up, let’s look at his comment about his busy daily routine:

“I have no golf game anymore,” he explained. “Monday through Friday, I get up at 7:30 a.m., train at the gym for two hours, then go to the studio.”

Oh, bitch, bitch, bitch. Some of us actually get up way before 7:30 there, pal. And if you really call jerking it at Gold’s gym for two hours “work”, then buddy, you’ve got some seriously misaligned priorities. Go back to McDonalds, jackass. I’m sure they’ve saved your old hairnet for you.

Finally, here’s the line that really killed me:

“I have weekends off to see my kids and to spend time with my old lady.”

Well, it’s nice to know that you spend a little quality time with your babies, Kev. Are you teaching them the importance of sponging off other people’s generosity yet? Maybe you can show them how a guy with an I.Q. in the single digits can somehow become famous for doing little more than impregnating women. Or, maybe when they’re about four years old, they can teach you how to read. That’d be nice.

But spending time with YOUR OLD LADY? Since when is referring to your meal ticket as an “old lady” considered a term of endearment? You’re trailer trash, Feddy – not a biker. Britney is all what – 22? I don’t think that qualifies her as your “old lady” quite yet, especially since I still suspect you’ll be out of the picture and stuck dating Paris Hilton and/or Courtney Love within two years.

So this is probably the first of several rants against Kevin Federline you’ll see here. His album comes out in August, and I can’t wait to tear it apart. Why? Because it’s so much damn fun.

People should be famous for heroic deeds or outstanding talent or selfless giving to others. Not for being a pinhead dipstick who thinks he’s God’s gift to slutty women.

So until K-Fed opens his mouth and says something else stupid (which will probably be Sunday), I’ll end it here. Lord knows he’ll give me some good material soon.

Have a good weekend, Federwang. Try not to lick any frozen stripper poles.

$&@#!!!

There was an odd AP article online today about a survey they held regarding...profanity.

You know, cursing. Swearing. Uttering naughty words. Saying something stronger than "dookie" or "daggum". Dropping an F-Bomb.

(Side note: You know that it's a slow news week at the Associated Press when they have time to call up 1,000 random people and ask them how many times they say "H-E-Double Hockey Sticks" during the course of their day...)

Here's the gist of the article:

Nearly three-quarters of Americans questioned last week — 74 percent — said they encounter profanity in public frequently or occasionally, according to an Associated Press-Ipsos poll. Two-thirds said they think people swear more than they did 20 years ago. And as for, well, the gold standard of foul words, a healthy 64 percent said they use the F-word — ranging from several times a day (8 percent) to a few times a year (15 percent).

Younger people admit to using bad language more often than older people; they also encounter it more and are less bothered by it. The AP-Ipsos poll showed that 62 percent of 18 to 34-year-olds acknowledged swearing in conversation at least a few times a week, compared to 39 percent of those 35 and older. And more men admitted to swearing: 54 percent at least a few times a week, compared to 39 percent of women.

Wondering specifically about the F-word? Thirty-two percent of men said they used it at least a few times a week, compared to 23 percent of women.

Interesting, no?

I try not to swear all the time, but sometimes it just can't be helped. If your hands are full and you drop your keys, why then it's perfectly reasonable to loudly mention excrement. Idiot drivers always deserve a colorful moniker. Stupid people who purposely do stupid things can usually count on being called a derogatory term, usually about their lack of having a legitimate birth. And a certain President of the U.S. has a permanent nickname with me that describes his cranium as being phallus-shaped.

But overall, I've managed to cut way back on my cursing. In high school though, I could out-swear a sailor. It's what we did - everyone - so it just sort of grew on you. Before you knew it, you were dropping f-bombs without even realizing it.

Remarkably enough though, I didn't curse as a little kid, mainly because I didn't know any swear words. I was 6 years old before I learned my first one.

My older sister Paula (who was about 20 at the time) was across the street from our house, talking to a friend. I wanted her to come home and make me some lunch, but she was too busy chatting. So Lamont, the naughty kid from down the block who apparently knew a thing or two about swearing, told me to go over and "tell her to come home now, or you'll kick her ass."

So I did.

I marched across the street, right up to Sandy's front porch where they were chatting, and in my best six year old voice, bellowed, "Paula, you come home right now, or I'll kick you ass!"

Well, she came home all right. Dragging me by the ear all the way. And after having half a bar of Ivory soap shoved in my mouth, I discovered what the word "ass" meant. Hey, I had no idea up until that point. But I knew NOW.

So here I am, 35 years later, still swearing when need be. I'll drop the occasional curse when it's warranted, and sometimes I'll even add a naughtygram in this blog, just for emphasis or a laugh. But mostly I try to save my swearing until it's really necessary.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go check the headlines and see what that &#%!$@!! Bush is up to today…

6 Months of Birthday Fun!

Get this.

How incredibly, overwhelmingly, unbelievably f’ing cheap is my employer?

They’re SOOOOOO incredibly, overwhelmingly, unbelievably f’ing cheap that come this Friday, they’ve invited us to stop by for birthday cake. This birthday cake is meant to celebrate everyone’s birthdays...FOR SIX MONTHS.

That’s right – in order to cut costs, this one cheap grocery store cake is intended to celebrate the births of every single employee born between January 1 and June 30. One cake = six months.

Cheap, cheap.

They sent out an e-mail today to wish us all Happy Birthday! – come celebrate your special day (whenever in the next few months it may be) with a small slice of cake. Just play along and pretend that it’s actually your birthday, will you? That’s the team player spirit!

I really hope they’re not going to try writing everyone’s name on one little cake. The poor decorator would probably get a cramp trying to squeeze in 6 months worth of names. (On second thought, the baker would probably charge extra for that, so we can be fairly certain that they’ll skip that formality.)

Back in the “olden days” (when we weren’t a bare-bones tightwad company and before they laid off 92 percent of the staff), they used to have monthly birthday cakes for each department. It was a nice gesture, and half the time the cakes weren’t that bad.

But nowadays, they’ve cut costs so deep that they can’t spring the $14.95 a month for a cake for those who actually have a birthday in the current month. So instead they’re buying one cake, and letting it cover 6 months in one shot. I suppose it’s better than nothing, but not by much...

To be totally honest, I really don’t care about the stupid cake. I made enough of them in my bakery years, and I really don’t enjoy generic store-made cakes coated in thick sugary icing. I probably won’t even go over and have any.

But what does bug me (besides the cheapness, as you’ve probably assumed) is the fact that I have to celebrate my birthday on March 31, a good 12 weeks before my actual birthday. It’s a long way off until June 24, and they’re trying to force my 41st birthday on me NOW??? Hell, I’m still not fully accustomed to being 40 – now I have to bump my birthday up 3 months, just to accommodate their 6-month birthday cake?

So what’s next? Maybe for the Fourth of July, instead of a picnic we can just rub our eyes really hard until we see fireworks.

Or maybe for Halloween they can just buy one Hershey bar, then when the kids come by for trick-or-treating, they can just take a cheese grater and shave off a little piece for each of the little goblins. Just think of the money we’ll save on fun-sized bars!

Rumor is that for Christmas this year they’re just going to buy one card. We can then take turns reading it and absorbing the warm holiday greetings, then pass it along to the guy in the next cubicle. Then as an added bonus they’ll make us all take a week of unpaid leave again. Ho, ho, ho indeed.

Just look at how cost conscious we’ve become! Why, the savings alone should be enough to let the executives have that long golf weekend (oops – I mean “offsite training seminar”) in Palm Springs they’ve been dying for!

Oyvey.

But back to the March 31 birthday cake for all of us poor bastards born in the previous/next three months. Forget it. Call me in June and tell me Happy Birthday then, if you wish. I refuse to grow older any sooner than I absolutely have to.

Perhaps I’ll go pick up a piece of cake and set it aside until June. God knows it probably won’t taste any worse after 3 months.

Nah. That’ll just make me look like a cheapskate.

Staring Into The Sun

Those were some pretty amazing photos online today from the solar eclipse that passed through South America and the Middle East this morning, weren’t they?

Of course, what’s Rule #1 of any decent solar eclipse? DO NOT stare into the sun, if you know what’s good for you.

But you know everyone does it. Hell, I would.

They used to really try to freak us out about the dangers of looking at the eclipse. Whatever you do, no matter what, for the love of God don’t even glance at the eclipse! Why, it’s worse than looking at the contents of Indiana Jones’ Ark of the Covenant – your face will melt off or something!

But what can you do? It’s like someone telling you not to scratch a mosquito bite. Instinctively, you’ll scratch.

How can you not stare into the eclipse? It’s not like one happens every other Sunday – these are rare occasions, and nobody wants to miss it, even if it does lead to potential blindness and/or other social ills.

I remember being in 8th grade when a solar eclipse happened to pass over Seattle; all week long we were warned over and over and over again not to stare into the eclipse. We were given instructions for making a pin-hole viewing box, where you’d poke a small hole in a shoebox, and then look at the eclipse’s shadow or some crap like that. Ooooh, thrillsville.

Anyway, the time finally came for the eclipse – it was about 9:30 AM or so – and half of the school was hiding in the basement, just in case the darkness was truly a sign of the apocalypse or something evil like that. Fortunately, my science teacher felt it was important that we have a chance experience the eclipse up close and personal, so he snuck us all out the school’s back door to see it for ourselves. (Obviously, this was back in the days before everyone was so damn sue happy. No teacher would dare pull such a stunt today.)

So outside we went, to see the eclipse. But keep in mind that this was Seattle, which meant that it was OVERCAST! Yes, the biggest astronomical event of the year was officially blocked by Seattle’s usual crappy weather.

But it did get dark – sort of. Seattle wasn’t in the direct path for total eclipse coverage, so it ended up being more like dusk for a few minutes. The birds sang loudly, the street lights came on, and that was about it. We couldn’t see a damn thing through the clouds. Talk about having it rain on your parade...

So for those of you lucky enough to experience the eclipse today, remember: no staring into the sun, if you know what’s good for you. Wink, wink. Sure, your retinas may be burned out, or you might see the hidden secret behind the eclipse (lottery numbers, Greek Gods, Viking warriors, and/or a Klingon warship), but either way you’ll have a memory you’ll never forget.

And quite possibly an image burned into eyeballs forever and ever. Unless of course you’re a 13 years old smart-aleck living in the soggy Pacific Northwest, that is. Then you’re more likely to get rain water in your eyes than fried corneas.

Something For Nothing

Today is Swag Day at my employer. Cheapskates of America (and in particular, Iowa), REJOICE!

Once every quarter or so my employer allows outside vendors to come in and set up a “technology fair” to show off their latest products to the sales reps, in the hopes that they’ll then sell their crap to the masses. Technically, these product demos are intended primarily for the sales divisions, but everyone company wide can’t resist the opportunity of stopping by to check out what the vendors are pushing.

Why? Because the give crap away.

It really doesn’t matter what it is that they’re giving away, as long as it's free. Although, in the past there have been some fairly decent “gimmes”. In the past we’ve actually walked away with padded mouse pads and wrist guards (I actually still use mine), screwdriver sets, leather computer cases, stuffed animals for the kiddies, flashlights, denim shirts, computer monitor cleaning kits (actually quite useful!), and other semi-worthwhile items of junk du jour.

Being the tightwad Iowans that we are, we just can’t resist the thought of stopping by each table and helping ourselves to one of each – or, as is often the case if it’s an exceptionally primo giveaway, as many as we possibly can. Today however wasn’t one of the better swag days, but there were a couple of decent giveaways.

Today’s Swag Crapfest included:

Embroidered baseball caps (no team – just the company name)
Burlap book bags
Leatherette CD visors for your car
Playing cards from two different vendors
Logoed notepads
Logoed Bic pens
Logoed cartons of mints
Logoed folding reusable lunch bags
Logoed Yellow highlighters attached to a string to wear around your neck
Logoed oversized paperclips/undersized money clips
A plastic disk with a short cable attached, which had an honest-to-God roach clip on the end. Yes, a roach clip. Break out the Pink Floyd, kids – they’re passing out paraphernalia! (We couldn’t come up with another possible use for this useless thing, other than the obvious-yet-illegal…)

So you stand there for a few minutes, try to pretend that you’re really interested in what the vendor is saying, then wait for your freebie, hands out. It’s just that easy to come home with worthless crap you never knew you wanted!

It’s kind of amazing to watch. Slap your company name on any piece of cheap junk, then sit back and wait for the scrounges to come slobber all over your stuff, in the hopes you’ll give them one of your mostly-useless swag prizes.

The people here just love vendor days. “What is it? Never mind – gimme two of ‘em!” An oversized pad of bright pink Post-it notes with your company’s logo covering 80 percent of the writing space? Gimme! A glow in the dark combination ink pen/calculator/emergency beacon? Gimme, Gimme! A 5 gallon bucket of dog crap with your logo on both the lid and bucket and a matching shovel/scoop/hand blender? Oooh, Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

I watched two of my team members just go to town on the swag this morning – they took stuff that they’ll never use, have no real need for, and in the case of the roach clip, has no practical (read: legal) use. But what the hell – it was FREE!

Still, let him without sin cast the first stone, right? I’ll admit that I now have in my possession one of those leatherette CD visors. And a deck of cards. And I could always use a new notepad. But that’s it. I swear.

And I didn’t pick up a roach clip. Honestly – a guy has to draw the line on his swagging somewhere, doesn’t he?

Catching Up

Well, here we go again.

I was knocked flat by the strangest cold/flu I’ve had in a long time. Sure hope it’s not a case of bird / cat / skunk flu or something like that. Whatever it was, it wasn’t much fun. Fortunately, I’m on the mend, and soon I’ll be back to my usual snarky self.

This, on top of 18 inches of snow last Monday/Tuesday, it was a pretty short week around work. Which is okay. This is my last week of peace and quiet – my manager Skippy Whitebread returns from his military leave / janitor school next Monday, so I’m trying to enjoy the non-nagging while I can. He’ll have 7 weeks of anxiety stored up when he returns, so next Monday is gonna suck big time. I'll have to be sure to bring an extra AC/DC CD to lisen to really loud while he's having his 9:00 AM spaz attack.

Oh, and if this week isn’t strange enough, don’t forget – Ashlee Simpson will be in town this Friday. I haven’t heard how tickets have been selling for this fiasco in the making, but I still suspect that there will be more radio station giveaways in attendance than there will be those wiling to voluntarily pay good money to sit through her pseudo-singing. Will I be there? Yeah, right. Right after my elective root canal surgery and I write that large check to the Republican party. Oh, and hell freezes like the above photo. Twice.

So overall March is going to go out like a lion, which hopefully means April will be warm, calm, peaceful, and Ashlee-free.

Hey, a fellow has to dream…

Spring has spring
The grass has riz.
I wonder where
the birdies is?

Hooray! Today is the first day of Spring! Winter is officially over! Can you believe it? At long last, it's now okay to shed those wollen undergarments and enjoy the warmth of the season!
Here's how we "chose" to celebrate the first day of Spring here in Sioux City...

Yep - old man winter is having quite the laugh at our expense. Still, it's pretty to look at, isn't it?
It's a regular winter wonderland, albeit about 3 months too late to bring any Christmas joy. (And no, I'm not going to ask the guy across the street to put back up his plastic Santa Claus in celebration of the snow. They'd never come down at this point.)

I'm just so ready for some nice weather. And overall, winter wasn't as mean to us as it could've been. But getting up at 6:00 AM to shovel four inches of this heavy, wet gunk isn't the best way to spend your Monday. I'd rather be admiring the flowers popping out of the ground or the new leaves on the trees, not salting my driveway so I can get my poor deprived convertible out of the garage.

Ah, but Spring is indeed here - and this stuff can't last forever. Can it? Right?

Forget it. I'm going back to bed. Wake me at the end of May, will ya?

The Parade Crasher in Green

It’s Saint Patrick’s Day – a day where the beer flows green, which is naturally followed up with copious amounts of green puke. Ah, tradition!

Being from Irish descendants (amongst others), I’ve always appreciated the sentiment of St. Patty’s Day, even though I don’t plan on consuming massive amounts of green-tinted brew today. (Maybe a green lime margarita, but that’s about it.) I also won’t have corned beef and cabbage or Irish stew for lunch, but that’s only because of poor timing and the fact that I’m the only in my house who actually likes corned beef. Maybe I’ll just have to go eat some clover instead.

My employer is having a Saint Patrick’s Day costume contest this afternoon at 3:00 – why? I’m not sure. Maybe they think this is their idea of “fun” – watching your co-workers walk around in little green bowler hats or wearing fairy shoes where the toes curl up on the end. Me? I’m wearing my regular old sweatshirt and a Donald Duck t-shirt today – maybe I’ll go put on some dark orange sunglasses and tell everyone I’m Bono.

So as you’ll notice, I’m really not all that excited about celebrating Saint Patrick’s magical-go-lucky day. But there was one year that I literally got into it…

I crashed Seattle’s annual Saint Patrick’s Day parade.

It was March 17, 1982 – I was 16. At the time I was going to high school half a day, then I’d catch the bus and go through downtown Seattle to the Capital Hill neighborhood to attend college classes. It was a good deal – half day of boring old high school, followed by a half day of college. I got credits for both schools, and was by far one of the youngest college students at SCCC.

But my usual 1.25 hour bus ride from Rainier Beach to Capital Hill was going to take longer than normal that day – because 5th Avenue between James Street and Pine Street was shut down for the parade. And because my bus was an electric trolley, and needed to cross 5th Ave to get up the hill to college, there was nothing they could do but pull over and wait for the parade to end.

So what was a stuck kid in a green t-shirt to do? The bus was forced to pull over on 3rd and James, so I got off and decided to walk up the street two blocks to 5th Ave and watch the parade.

Ah, but that’s where the parade was starting from, and all around me were floats, high school bands, local Irish groups, and a lot of people getting in line, ready to march down 5th Ave.

I stood around for a minute, watching the chaos that comes from several thousand people trying to line up (many of whom had already started their AM with Irish coffee, apparently), then they were soon on their way. Let the parade begin!

But soon there was a huge gap in the parade route – two groups of semi-drunk guys were arguing over who was supposed to go next. And there I was, one of the few spectators at this point in the parade route, bored by their fighting and late for school.

So I stepped off the curb and joined in the parade.

The walk down 5th Avenue from James St. to Pine St. was about a mile all together, and for the first few blocks there really weren’t that many spectators. I just walked right down the middle of the street, marveling at the fact that the Seattle Police Department was holding up traffic at every intersection in my honor. Besides, I'd never been in a parade before - well, at least one I wasn't technically invited to be in.

But by the time I (and the rest of the parade) hit University Street – about 4 blocks from the end of the parade route – I noticed something: The crowd has suddenly increased. A lot. The sidewalks were 2 – 3 people deep, all looking at me, many waving at me and clapping.

Well. That was pretty cool.

So there were only two things I could do at this point. I could’ve sheepishly admitted that I was a party crasher and I really didn’t belong behind the motorcycle group that was spinning circles on their bikes down 5th Ave…

…or I could have just gone with it and waved back.

Guess which option I chose?

Anyway, by the time the parade and I hit Pine Street, there was literally thousands of people standing around watching me march down the street. I’m sure many of them wondered just who the hell I was, but I was too busy waving to the crowd to care. At this point the cops and everyone around me in the parade must’ve just assumed I belonged there, so who was I to spoil the illusion?

We finally hit the end of the parade route, where I shook hands with the two groups of drunk guys behind me (they’d finally made nice and caught up with the rest of the parade), then walked up a block and caught the bus again to college.

Once in class, several of my classmates admitted to watching me in the parade, and they all asked how I got involved with the festivities. I just smiled and blamed it on the luck of the Irish.

So happy St. Pat’s Day, to everyone. Be sure to go out and have some (safe) fun today, don’t drunk-kiss too many strangers, and if presented with the opportunity, as spontaneous as it may be, be sure to dance in the middle of the street (provided the cops have stopped traffic for you, that is).

Because sometimes in life you just need to jump into the fray and see where the party takes you.

March (Crawl) Madness!

My employer’s Internet access today has slowed to a crawl – it’s barely functioning. Why? Well, it’s not your typical IT crash or a virus in the network. And the two squirrels on the treadmill haven't run out of energy, either. Nope, it‘s an entirely different type of bug that’s causing all the headaches:

March Madness.

Yes, our entire company’s infrastructure has returned to the Stone Age because a bunch of sales bozos are hogging all the bandwidth to watch college basketball online.

Now, I know that I’m not one to call the kettle black – I’m admittedly blogging across their network, but at the same time I’m not tying up our limited resources by watching basketball on my monitor. I’ll post this rant, then move on with my life. The Neanderthals down the hall will spend the next 8 hours drooling as their mind slowly turns to mush as they watch a bunch of 19 year old kids from schools they’ll never attend run up and down the court. Yawn.

I don’t get the whole March Madness thing. Perhaps it’s because I’m not a huge sports fan, and perhaps it’s because I’ve got better things to piss away my time on than trying to predict which of the 64 lucky teams will make it to the finals. But mainly it’s because I JUST DON’T CARE.

Quick – name the final tour teams from last year, and who they defeated to get to that position. If you can, congratulations! You just earned a free pass to go outside and get some fresh air. Lucky you. You deserve it.

But March Madness is big business around here – if you’re into placing under-the-table wagers, that is. A few years ago a huge betting ring was being ran out of my department (before the massive layoffs chopped about 92% of the staff), and you should have seen the amount of money that was trading hands. It was remarkable; these guys who bitch over having to pay an extra dime when the Coke machine prices go up were dropping $50, $100 a game.

And it's all anyone will talk about for three weeks – brackets, rankings, seeds, divisions, bubbles – if they’d put that much effort and dedication into their work, maybe we’d still be profitable, you think?

I know people who’ve purposely taken vacation days today and tomorrow to stay home and watch college basketball all day (and night). And you just know that when they come back to work on Monday, after four solid days of listening to shoes squeaking on the floor, it’ll be ugly. Bloodshot eyes, expanded beer guts, little pieces of Cheeto-s stuck to their unshaven faces. Yep, that’s a good time.

Me? I’d rather take the Lovely Mrs. G. to a vacation hotspot (outside of Iowa, for those of you who think that “vacation hotspots” are nearby) than spend four days sitting on the couch as my cerebral cortex slowly dissolves. Spending time outdoors with your lovely bride is a much better way to burn off a day, and it sure beats losing your mortgage money betting on some college freshman’s free throw abilities.

So with any luck our network will be back up soon, the sports sites will be blocked (IT usually locks out anything sports-related this time of year – gee, wonder why?), and people will return to doing what they actually get paid to do.

Blogging.

Oh. And other stuff, too. Yeah.

The Joys (not) of Spam

I’ve had my same primary e-mail address through Yahoo for almost 10 years now – In fact, I’m one of the first people to have a @yahoo.com e-mail address, I think. It’s worked well over the years, and it’s my primary go-to address. Sure, you have to tolerate their little sig file on the bottom of every message, but for convenience sake, it’s been the way to go.

I also have a second Yahoo address for my Web site, which I’ve had for almost 6 years. It’s publicly listed on my site, so naturally you’d expect the occasional spam message.

Junk mail comes with the territory – who hasn’t been deluged with offers of Viagra, home mortgages, porn galore, credit cards, and too-good-to-be-true offers from some distant prince in Nigeria? Death, Taxes, and Spam – three things you can’t avoid.

Having a popular Web site with a publicly listed e-mail address, I usually get about 90 – 120 spams a day. It’s a pain in the ass, but what can you do? The spam filters usually catch about 90% of it, and that’s that. You deal with it, you move on. No big whoop.

Then last night hit.

Some jackass selling boner pills sent out a massive spam all over the world, using my e-mail address as his return address. So when I logged in last night, I had close to 1,500 e-mails. All returned spam, all blamed on me.

Jackass.

Most of the messages were those MAILER DAEMON bad e-mail address notifications, but there were a lot of personal “out of office” auto-replies, too. Then there were a few angry replies from those who decided it was necessary to go off on the spammer who sent them that crap.

Problem is, the spamming bastard never saw your reply. He used a phony e-mail return address – my address. So you're cursing at the wrong guy, people. You need to kill the original messenger, not the innocent bystander whose been hijacked by this prick.

Jackass.

I’ve always been very proud of the fact that my Web site doesn’t have any advertising. No pop-ups, no banners, no flashing messages congratulating you on being my one millionth visitor. I never send bulk messages to visitors, and I don’t collect cookies. It’s just not necessary, and quite frankly, it’s rude as hell. True, I may not run the prettiest site ever, and I'm not exactly swimming in multimedia or Flash graphics or 3-D art, but you're also not subjected to a zillion and one Java ads.

It’s not like I couldn’t sell my soul to the Web Devils if I really wanted to – advertisers send me messages all the time asking to slap a banner on my site in exchange for money per click. I usually don't even bother responding to them, 'cause there's no way they're going to talk me into selling ad space.

You see, what I still have (despite it all) is a little bit of pride, and a whole lot of dignity. Why would I want to muck up my site with someone else’s crap? If you really are looking for an erection pill or a lower mortgage rate or your missing classmates, then you’d be out looking for it – not visiting my humble little site. Besides, my site costs me about $9 a month – hardly worth trying to pass the expense on to the general public.

But this scumbag spammer who thinks it’s funny to use my e-mail address for his scams? I hope there’s an extra hot spot in Hell waiting for you, where little demons get to spend all day shoving large manila envelopes down your throat.

Jackass.

Sioux City Goes Bob!

For the most part, Sioux City’s radio selection SUCKS. There are about a dozen radio stations in town – 3 country stations, 2 right-wing talk/hate stations, a “light hits” station that plays nonstop Christmas music from November 1 – January 5, and several more that are just as equally lame-o. Every day I thank the Good Lord that my car has a CD player; otherwise I'd probably be nuts by now.

A large part of the problem (in my not-so-humble opinion) is that Sioux City is a Clear Channel town – about half of the stations here are owned and operated by Satan Radio Network. They rode into town about 8 or 9 years ago, destroyed anything with flavor, taste, or originality, and then turned radio into the Most. Boring. Experience. Ever.

They took over Sioux City’s “rock” station, which now plays one-hit wonder bands from the 00’s and the same lame-ass 20 60s//70s songs over and over again. I mean, who really needs to hear “Takin’ Care of Business” or “Slow Ride” for the gazillionth time? Meanwhile, the DJs think they’re funny (but they’re not), they play about 30 minutes of ads in a row, and they spend far too much time sucking up to themselves, thinking they’re cool when really they wallow in lameness.

Clear Channel also decimated the local pop station – nowadays they only play the top 30 songs, over and over and over and over and over and over and over… I honestly don’t know why they bother with new material – they could just put on the same 90 minute tape, and let it replay all day. Hey, maybe that explains it! Also, Clear Channel are the heartless goons responsible for bringing Ashlee Simpson to town at the end of the month, so they deserve a public flogging for that alone.

Can you tell I’m not a Clear Channel fan? I’d better hope they’re not looking to hire any smart-aleck writers for a while….

But yesterday a new, bright light came to the Siouxland radio dial – BOB. BobFM, to be specific. For those of you who’ve never experienced “Bob” (or, as the format is known in some other places, “Jack” or “Alice”), it’s a mix of just about anything and everything from the history of music. 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, even stuff from last week – it all makes it onto Bob’s playlist. They don’t take requests, and they don’t pack the airwaves with college dropout DJs. But what they do is play some really cool music.

I first discovered “Bob” last summer while in Spokane for my sister’s funeral. While I was in town for two weeks of funerals, packing, wrangling with lawyers, dealing with families, and yes – crying – Bob was on the air, cheering me up with music you can only describe as FUN. The sort of stuff I had on my own personal CDs, mixed with other classics I hadn’t heard in a long time. Lots of 80s rock, lots of funky 70s stuff, and a little bit of the new, cool stuff thrown in.

No crap about milkshakes bringing boys to the yard, and no obnoxious Britney singing about being Toxic. Just lots and lots of cool, perfect for driving around, music.

So now Bob is on the air in Sioux City, and I for one am THRILLED. The only bad part is they took over the one station in town that was halfway decent (not Clear Channel owned), but I suppose that’s the sacrifice you have to make to escape lame contests and horrifically dull music.

Welcome, Bob. Welcome to town. I hope you stomp Clear Channel in the ratings. Now, would you mind playing Wang Chung for me? The Lovely Mrs. G. may not approve, but I’ll be sure to sing along.

"Weather" You Like It...Or Not.

March in Iowa – it goes something like this.

On Friday, it was sunny and 62 degrees. I had the top down on the convertible. The birds were singing, kids were out playing, and if you happened to look closely, you might even see a flower or two trying to push its way out of the soil a little bit. It was all good.

This morning we had three inches of snow, which fell on top of a solid inch of ice. It’s currently 27 degrees with blowing and drifting snow. My poor convertible, "Baby" (named after racers on "The Amazing Race" who always holler, "C'mon, Baby!" to their partner as they climb waterfalls or slide down mountains), which only 3 days earlier had been the Hot Shot of the neighborhood with her top down and the music blaring, is now shivering and begging me to drive her somewhere warm. I spent my morning shoveling, then scraping, then cursing as my car skated on the roadways. Not a fun way to kick off Monday, I assure you.

They say around here that if you don’t like the weather, you should wait an hour, because it’ll change. Brother, ain’t that the truth.

Here’s to hoping it swings back the other way real soon. I know I’ll be grateful, as will my pathetically chilled Sebring. Poor baby.

(Don't) Keep The Tip!

I spend a large part of my time in this forum discussing two subjects near and dear to my heart – restaurants and cheap-ass Iowans. What can I tell you? They’re both perfect fodder for mocking. So bear with me as I tell you yet another tale of misadventures in dining.

Last night the Lovely Mrs. G. and I decided to get out of the house and drove down to Sloan, Iowa, home of Winn-a-Vegas. Winn-a-Vegas is a casino, owned and operated by the Winnebago tribe of Nebraska. (No, there are no motorhomes out front, and I wouldn’t dare joke with the 7-foot tall Native American security guard about them if I were you…)

Anyway, Mrs. G. and I went to throw some coins in the slot machines for a while, and while we didn’t come home millionaires, we did have a lot of fun, played for quite a while, and Mrs. G. even came home with more money than she started with, so bonus points to her! (My casino luck is usually somewhere between that of a two-leaf clover and a rabid rabbit’s foot: i.e. zilch. But I didn’t do *too* badly…for once.)

But before we went a-gaming, we stuck our head into the Winn-a-Vegas restaurant for some mediocre-but-edible eats. Their buffet was only $7.95 for dinner, and while it wasn’t exactly gourmet, it suited the needs.

It was there that we witnessed the following confrontation:

As we were being seated by a woman we assumed was the manager, a waitress came running up to her, grabbed her arm, and quickly yelled, “I need to talk to you – RIGHT NOW!” What’s up with that?

Well, we sat down at a table along a mirrored wall (lots of mirrors in this place for some reason). The same waitress came to us a minute later looking frazzled, took our drink ordered, then disappeared. Mrs. G. and I went to check out what was cooking (a salad bar that on a scale of 1 to 10 would rate about a 4, some omnipresent fried chicken and mashed potatoes, a vegetable medley that was definitely off key, and some mystery meat sausage).

We came back, and at the table next to us (which we could easily spy on in the mirrored walls) was an older woman, who was being confronted by the restaurant manager and a huge Indian security guard – the kind of guy you’d say “yes, sir” or “no, sir” to, if you knew what was good for you. We really couldn’t hear what was going on, but it wasn’t a “Hi, how’s your food?” type conversation. So naturally being the nosey people we are, we watched as we ate our salad. It was dinner and a show!

About a minute later the old lady’s husband showed back up at the table, carrying a large plate of “goolah”. (Websters Dictionary defines “goolah” as any food that’s easily plopped onto a plate in a splat-like configuration. Hey, don’t take my word for it – look it up!) The old coot was decked out in typical Iowa fashions – bib overalls, Husker cap.

The old coot put his food down as he was grilled by the security guard. Again, we couldn’t hear very well, but he’d obviously done something very, very bad, and was cornered.

Finally, I could hear the old coot say, “Look, I’ll pay back whatever it was,” and then he opened his wallet and handed the manager two dollar bills. The manager and security guard glared at him for a minute, then walked away.

It was then that it dawned on me what the old coot had done: HE’D STOLEN THE WAITRESS'S TIP MONEY!

Sure enough, on his way through the dining room on his first pass to the salad trough, he apparently walked past a recently vacated table, saw $2 sitting there for the waitress, and decided to pocket it.

Of course, being a casino loaded with silly little devices called SECURITY CAMERAS, he was busted. Either the waitress or the cameras caught him in the act, and that was that.

Anyway, he and his missus finished their food about halfway, then paid and left, hopefully in severe shame. I’m still surprised that they didn’t put him in their holding cell for a little while, just to teach the old coot a serious lesson, but I guess it wasn’t up to me. (If it was, I would’ve also peed on his Husker hat, just for fun.)

So there’s example #315 of why some Iowans are the cheapest bastards on the face of the planet. They’ll steal tip money from hard working waitresses. Disgusting, ain’t it?

In the end, Mrs. G. and I had fun at Winn-a-Vegas, and we left the waitress a nice tip for the friendly service she gave...us, at least. But I was sure to push it back a little further on the table, lest any old codgers be led into temptation.

As for the old fool with the sticky fingers, I hope to God he’s ashamed for the rest of his life. But I somehow doubt it. He’s probably at church today with Scotch tape on his fingers for the offering plate.

Ah, Iowa. The heartland of values. Just watch your wallet, if you know what’s good for you.

It's Spelled Out in Black and White!

Do you believe in "signs"? Messages from above that tell you something you should do? Whether they're divine intervention in our otherwise blah lives, or just some oddball coincidence, there's one thing that's certain: You shouldn't ignore the signs.

Um....nudge, nudge. Know what I mean? Know what I mean? Say no more!

A Very Merry Unbirthday To You!

Last night was one of those rare occasions when the planets align perfectly and all three of us are home at the same time. Remarkable, in this day and age, that all three Gressels are in the same room at the exact same moment. See? Miracles do happen.

To celebrate, I took The Lovely Mrs. G. and Miss Katie out to dinner at Applebees. Applebees is an okay place – certainly no Olive Garden, by God – but overall their food is okay, the service is adequate, and it’s one of the few places my semi-vegetarian daughter will willingly eat. (I offered to take her to “House of Cows and Pigs: Where Your Dinner Screams For Mercy”, but she told me I wasn’t funny.)

Anyway, Applebees has one thing going for it that you won’t find at many other restaurants (including that beloved Olive Place…): they give out free dessert on your birthday. Even if it’s really not your birthday, they’ll still dole out a birthday brownie. (I’ve never seen them check I.D., but maybe if you come in every day for a month claiming it’s your birthday, they’ll start to get suspicious.)

Your free Applebees dessert comes with an added bonus, though – 5 or 6 members of the wait staff are forced to tromp out to your table clapping, then they must sing the trademark Applebees Birthday Song to you.

I’m paraphrasing a bit (because I'm too lazy/proud to go online and look it up), but it goes something like this:

Here we are at Applebees (here we are at Applebees)
Your favorite grill and bar (your favorite grill and bar)
Have a happy birthday (have a happy birthday)
For today you are a star (for today you are a star)

One, two, three…
Ha-ppy Birthday,
Hap-hap-happy birthday.
Ha-ppy Birthday
From your Applebees crew! Whoo!

It’s a humiliating little ditty, one that must be sung over and over and over again by the poor bastards who apparently lost a bet and/or who’ve pissed off the manager. It’s like a little circle of restaurant Hell; being forced to clap and sing the Applebees Birthday Song for all eternity to ungrateful customers too cheap to buy their own dessert.

Last night at Applebees we had the joy of hearing the birthday song at least four times, including once for a pack of teenage girls (one in a tiara) who probably spent two hours at a prime table during the dinner rush, split one Diet Pepsi, and then asked for a birthday dessert and four spoons. Yeah, I’m sure their waiter was thrilled to waste a four-top on them, then have to disgrace himself by singing the Applebees Birthday Song for the millionth time in exchange for a 50 cent tip. It's like being a monkey in a fez, only without the organ grinder.

Anyway, the birthday crowd at Applebees usually comes in four distinctive groups:

1 – Those who are faking their birthday (you know who you are) for free dessert.
2 – Those who absolutely HATE being sung to in public.
3 – Those who absolutely LOVE being sung to in public.
4 – Those who’ll outwardly say that they HATE it, but deep down inside LOVE the spotlight, because other than from their cats and the occasional telemarketer, they rarely receive any attention at all.

Miss Katie is definitely in the #3 category. She loves the Applebees Birthday Song to no end, and will gladly sing and clap along at any time. For a kid who doesn’t eat meat, she really is a ham. We’ve actually taken her to Applebees several years for the whole ordeal, and she enjoys it more and more every time.

The Lovely Mrs. G. is a solid Birthday Song Hater, though. She’s made me promise that I’ll never, ever do it to her, and so far I’ve kept my word. Even last summer when we both turned 40 and it was so tempting to do, I resisted. Partially out of the love for my wife, and partially because I know that my birthday is just two days after hers, which gives her 48 full hours to plot some really nasty form of revenge.

As for me, an old friend did pull the Birthday Song bit on me once, back when I was 27 or 28. But I got the last laugh – from my seat in the dining room I could see straight into the kitchen, and I could see the staff gathering together around a dessert with a candle in it. So the moment they started walking out of the kitchen, I excused myself and went to the restroom. There they were, chasing me through the restaurant, clapping and trying to pin me down long enough to sing their damn song. Heh, heh.

In the end, I did have to take one for the team and "enjoy" my 30 seconds of painful embarrassment. And I hope to God that they didn’t all take turns spitting on my brownie as payment for making them come back a second time.

So in honor of the nice people at Applebees who are forced to sing to ingrates on their birthday, I thought I’d write them a new jingle:

Here we are at Applebees (here we are at Applebees)
Have another beer! (have another beer!)
It’ll help you forget (it’ll help you forget)
You just added another year! (you just added another year!)

One, two, three…
Ha-ppy Birthday,
Hap-hap-happy birthday.
Ha-ppy Birthday
Now go and F You!

I wouldn’t hold my breath for hearing this rendition the next time you visit the place, but hey – you just never know. Just remember where you heard it from first, in case anyone asks or wants to pay a royalty.

And have a Hap-Hap-Happy Birthday. But please -- buy your own cake.

Tales of a Cubicle Monkey

There’s an interesting article online this week from CNNMoney.com called ‘The Great Escape’ – all about the 30th anniversary of the illustrious office cubicle. The article states that 40 million Americans are trapped daily in their office’s veal pens, pretending that the 3.25 walls that surround their faux-wood desks make for a comfortable, relaxing work environment.

The office cubicle. The cube. The veal pen. The cubby. The shoebox. The office that really isn’t an office. Or, as the article so accurately put it:

“Reviled by workers, demonized by designers, disowned by its very creator, it still claims the largest share of office furniture sales - $3 billion or so a year – and has outlived every “office of the future” meant to replace it. It is the Fidel Castro of office furniture.”

Hello, My name is Tom, and I am a Cubicle Monkey. ("Hello, Thomas".)

I’ve been a full time part of Cube Hell (Dante's 8th level) ever since I came to my employer 8 years ago – the employer I had beforehand just lined us all up along one wall, side by side, facing the wall. My first cubby here was among a sea of about 500; it was literally a maze trying to find your way in or out of it. You really expected to find a piece of cheese or a centaur at the end. The walls were blah grey and the desks were L-shaped; three feet in front of you, two feet on your left. (Being left handed, I begged and pleaded for a “leftie” cube.) It was cramped, and by the time I added an IT computer and a working computer, there was barely enough room for my obligatory “Is it Friday yet?” coffee mug. (Okay, I’ve honestly never owned one of those. Or a Dilbert calendar. I do have some pride, you realize.)

I lived in that little cubicle for almost two years as my employer slowly fell apart around us – every round of layoffs would mean that a few more cubes here and there would mysteriously go empty. Finally it got to the point that there were so few people left they started tearing down the cubicles in sections, leaving huge open spaces in between those that remained standing. At the end it reminded me of a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle with the outside edge complete, and just a couple of pieces here and there spread around the inside. Sad, really.

I did one work with one pathetic cube monkey for a while who actually referred to his cube as "his office" - sort of the same way a prisoner calls his cell his "palace". Jason would tell people to "step into his office", and actually mean it, even though if two people actually did ty to squeeze into his space they'd be close enough to violate the company's sexual harassment policy. Some jokers made him a cardboard door and put tape lines on the floor, ala Les Nesman, but the dorkhead took it as a compliment, not the insult it was intended to be. Ah, delusions of grandeur. Aren't they sweet?

Anyway, today I’m in a slightly larger cube, with three shelves, four computers, and a “Bad Cat” calendar. (Still no Dilbert.) The lighting sucks, the floors haven’t been mopped in years, and there’s enough dust and pollutants coming out of the air vents to kill a million alien invaders, but it’s home. It’s where I spend a majority of my day, thinking up new and clever ways to escape the pod world and actually find a job someday that has natural light. (The nearest window is about 30 yards away. It could be daylight, pitch dark, or raining frogs out there for all I can see.)
But for now, it works. Sure, they’re not fancy, but the veal pens seem to suit the purpose. And it sure beats having to sit facing the wall all day while the lady next to you sucks on her false teeth and slowly farts her way through her afternoon.

So three cheers to all of the Cubicle Monkeys out there. May your walls be made of tack board, may your desktop be eco-friendly, and may your plants never wither up and die from the constant stream of fluorescents. And may Dilbert stay far, far away from your 8:00 - 5:00 world.

It ain’t glamorous, but it’s home. Well, sort of.

Rock and Roll Gets Old

Apparently, it’s not just me who is getting old. Yet hopefully I’m doing it more gracefully than this.

Ladies and Gentlemen, check out what's become of Mr. Eddie Van Halen.

Yikes. When I first saw this picture online this week, my initial thought was “Who is that – an enchanted toothless wicked witch, who somehow escaped from the mystical forests of GumYourFoodLand?” You half expect the caption to be “I’ll get you, my little pretties – and your dental floss, too!”

They always said that a life of debauchery would wreak havoc on you – who knew it’d end up this bad? Poor Edward has gone from Panama to Hell in one straight 3-chord shot.

I’ve been a VH fan for over 20 years now, and I very honestly didn’t recognize Eddie in this picture. If the lunatic in this photo had come up to me on the street, I probably would have put a quarter in his tin cup instead of asking him to play “Eruption”. Wouldn’t you?

Eddie is only 51 years old – just 10 years older than me. God, I hope I don’t slide that much in just a decade. Of course, I guess it probably goes without saying that I’ve lived my life a little “cleaner” than Sir Edward has. I mean, compared side to side, my entire life’s worth of hedonism and sin could probably fit into a long commercial break for Eddie.

But is this really what a lifetime of sex, drugs, and rock and roll will do to a person? I mean, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards aren’t anything like…okay, bad example. Um… Axel Rose? No, still won’t work. How about Ozzy? Nope. Lou Reed? Iggy Pop? David Lee Roth? Puh-leeze, puh-leeze, and double puh-leeze with a cherry on top.

Okay, I give up. Maybe this is what too much partying and not enough begging for forgiveness does to a person. Yet as Neil Young once sang, “it’s better to burn out than it is to fade away”, so maybe it all works out in the end. A long, painful, publicly shunned, self-mutilated, incredibly wrinkled end.

Still, it was fun while it lasted. I suppose.

As for me, I’ll keep my nose clean (and my hair washed and combed), and hope to God that I don’t sink into this poorly-aging quagmire from listening to their music for all these years. In the meantime, maybe I’ll send Eddie a tube of Polident to autograph. Or use. His choice.

The 78th Annual Academy Awards - Live Blog!

It's Oscar Night!
The computer is fired up.
The TiVo remote is at my side.
The snark is on.

7:00 – Live, from the Kodak Theater in beautiful downtown Hollywood, it’s the 78th Annual Academy Awards – the most important 3 hours (minimum) of your frickin life for 2006!

7:01 – The opening montage is pretty cool – all sorts of classic movie scenes intertwined in a Golden Hollywood. Someone gets an “A” in PhotoShop.

7:02 – Oh, God – here it comes. Our first Brokeback Joke. They’re looking for a host. Billy Crystal and Chris Rock? Cool. Steve Martin? The bomb. Whoopie! Dave! Mel Gibson – pimping his Aztec movie. Mr. Moviephone? I bet he’d take the job.

7:04 – Jon Stewart in bed with Halle Berry. Every man’s dream.

7:04 – Jon Stewart in bed with George Clooney. Every man’s second dream.

7:05 – Here we go. Our first gratuitous shot of Jack Nicholson in the front row.

7:05 – The first Death to Smoochy joke. I wonder how many people in the audience have actually seen it? I’m betting on two or three of the lighting grips, and that’s about it.

7:07 – The theme is “A Return To Glamour.” Someone tell that to the ladies with pockets in their dresses.

7:08 – Oh, there’s our second Jack shot. He’s sitting next to Kiera Knightly. I hope they’re not engaged by this time next week.

7:10 – “Sad news. Bjork couldn’t be here tonight. She was trying on her Oscar dress, and Dick Cheney shot her.” 10 points to Jon Stewart’s writers!

7:12 – Jack Shot #3!

7:13 – Jon Stewart seems awfully nervous, doesn’t he? He’s now babbling on about Gay Westerns.

7:13 – Somewhere I’m guessing right now John Wayne is spinning in his 10-gallon grave.

7:15 – The first award – here comes Nicole Kidman. She’s giving out Best Supporting Actor. I voted for Clooney. Because, you know…he’s pretty.

7:19 – George wins! This should be a good speech.

7:20 – George was very humble. A good winner. He got in his digs slightly, but kept his dignity. Good for you, Mr. Pretty.

7:21 – Commercial #1 – time for a roast beef sandwich.

7:24 – We’re back. Someone described the Oscar set as “Poseidon’s microwave”. I’d tend to agree.

7:25 Tom Hanks is showing us the proper way to accept an Oscar and make our speech in 45 seconds. Too bad he couldn’t have shown us the proper way to comb his hair.

7:26 – Ben Stiller, in green P.J.s. Best Visual Effects. King Kong wins. See what $300 million gets you? A little gold statue.

7:30 – Reese Witherspoon. Mrs. G. still doesn’t like the dress. Best Animated Feature. Notice how “Chicken Little” isn’t nominated?

7:31 – Wallace and Gromit win it. I hope they get a gold statue, and not a clay one. Nick Parks and his buddy have cool ties; it’s nice to see they brought one for Oscar. I bet Chicken Little’s producers wouldn’t have thought of that.

7:32 – Naomi Watts to introduce Dolly Parton’s nominated song. I’ve already made one Dolly joke tonight, so I’ll give it a rest. But let me say that I hope I look that good at age 59. Way to go there, Miss Parton.

7:35 – Dolly song is very nice, but I’m not about to burn it to CD. Bring on the Pimp Love.

7:36 – Jack shot #4, clapping along with Dolly’s traveling through song. That Jack – he’s got the beat.

7:38 – As they went to commercial, they showed Meryl Streep sitting with her date Lily Tomlin. Who knew?

7:42 – Luke and Owen Wilson. Two guys, one half of a talent. Live Action Short. I picked “Six Shooter”, even though I’ve never seen one of these movies, and I’ll probably never have a chance to. Shame, ain’t it? They’ll show Deuce Bigalow until the end of days, but you’ll never see one of these.

7:43 – Six Shooter wins. It was a lucky guess, that’s all.

7:44 – The Wilson Boys are back – this time with Chicken Little and Abby Mallard. As we said, this was the only chance that Chicken Little would get on this show. Best Short Film – Animated. I voted for “9”, because it’s Pixar. I think.

7:45 – The Moon in the Sun. John Canemaker wins. I’ve got a lot of John’s books – he writes about Disney a lot. He promotes the power of hand drawn animation, so bonus points to him.

7:46 – Jennifer Aniston. Not really a major movie star, but who cares when you look like she does? Best Costumes. I voted for Memoirs of a Geisha, but what do I know about clothing? I’m the guy with 30 Mickey Mouse t-shirts.

7:48 – Memoirs of a Geisha wins. Chairman Kaga would be so proud!

7:50 – Russell Crowe! Here to introduce a film clip about films based on real people. Cute Chuck Workman film, but that’s about all you can say about it.

7:56 – Will Ferrell and Steve Carrell. Why wasn’t 40 Year Old Virgin nominated for best picture? That’s what I’m saying. Best Makeup award. Will is wearing far too much blush, and Steve has on some lovely eyelashes. Maybe next year they’ll hire union makeup artists? (Yes, I know it’s a joke. I’m not that daff.)

7:57 – Narnia wins. Hooray for Disney! Since Chicken Little wasn’t going to bring home the gold, it needed to have someone come through.

7:59 – Time for the Scientific Award recap, from two weeks ago. Rachel McAdams is here to tell us about all the guys who weren’t cool or A-list enough to make it to the Big Show. But hey, they still got Oscars AND a banquet. Probably a better party, too. No publicists to get in the way of a good time.

8:01 – Morgan Freeman, here to present Best Supporting Actress. I voted for Amy Adams, because Roger Ebert said to. Morgan just flubbed his Teleprompter lines. At least he handled it well.

8:03 – Rachel Weisz wins. VERY pregnant, ain’t she? I hope she thanks her unborn child. Pretty boring speech, but she seemed genuinely surprised, so maybe she’s a decent actress after all.

8:11 – Back from one heck of a long commercial. And look – it’s Lauren Bacall, looking really good for an old lady. She’s introducing yet another Chuck Workman film, this time on Film Noir. Too bad she can’t read her Teleprompter lines. Glasses, my dear! When you’re 80+, it’s okay to put on the spectacles.

8:16 – Jon Stewart presents a film that MoveOn.org would absolutely love. Did Karl Rove help write this?

8:18 – Terrence Howard presents Best Documentary Short. He’s wearing a dashing broach on his tux. Brave man.

8:20 – A Note of Triumph wins – yet another movie I won’t be able to see, because HBO is filled with Shrek 2.

8:21 – I just noticed that they’re actually letting the winners on stage this year. Thank God they’re giving these people their pride back along with their nominations.

8:22 – Charlieze Theron, in an ugly dress that hides her otherwise nice rack. She’s here for Best Documentary Feature, but it’s hard to take your eyes off her bad orange tan-glow. Anyway, I voted for March of the Penguins, because everyone loved it.

8:23 – Whattya know – the little Tennessee Tuxedos won. Good for them. The winners even brought stuffed penguins on stage; I guess everyone needs a security blanket.

8:25 – Speaking of glow tans, here’s Jennifer Lopez! J-Lo is wearing a nice green dress that doesn’t show her cookie. That’s worth an award alone. Anyway, she’s here for the song from the movie “Crash”. I’ve never heard this song before, outside of the movie of course. And quite honestly, I don’t remember it in the film. I was too busy watching Matt Dillon play a baddie and listening to Sandra Bullock curse. Regardless, Crash was a good flick, and the burning car on stage behind this lady singing is a nice touch. I wonder if they just towed in a burning Buick from Compton?

8:27 – Hey! Her lip synching track just skipped! Who is this lady – Ashlee Simpson?

8:32 – Back from more commercials. The show is technically half over, but we’ll see about that.

8:33 Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves. I hope they don’t reenact scenes from Speed 2. Here’s the award for Art Direction. I voted for Geisha, because someone has to win.

8:35 – Keanu gives the Oscar to – Whoa! – Memoirs of a Geisha. I guessed another one right. God – I need to go buy a lottery ticket. This winner is about to get played off – he’s running his mouth too much.

8:37 – Samuel L. Jackson – the King of Cool. I like Julius, and would gladly have a Royale with Cheese with him anytime. He’s cool like the Fonz. Anyway, Samuel is here with another film clip, this time about movies that reflected history and conflict. That Chuck Workman is getting quite the workout tonight.

8:40 – Jack shot #5! Thank God he’s still in his seat.

8:40 – Sid Ginnis, president of the Academy. Wake me up when he’s done. Or when he approves my nomination to join. Whichever comes first.

8:41 – God, Sid is one dull guy. Why can’t they play him off, too?

8:43 – While Sidney rambles on, I counted my ballot. 10 awards have been given out, 14 more to go. C’mon, stud – let’s get on with it! Some of us have to get up for work tomorrow.

8:45 – Thank God Sid is finally through. Now it’s time for Salma Hayek, looking hot as always. Salma is introducing Bill Conti, the musical director down in the pit. He bowed, then gave himself a little bit of a fanfare. Nice touch, Bill.

8:46 – Salma now introduces Itsack Perlman (spelled way incorrectly, I’m sure), to play bits from the 5 nominated films for Best Score. It’s too bad that Hustle & Flow isn’t nominated in this category – I’ve always wanted to hear “Hit That Trick” on violin.

8:49 – Brokeback Mountain just won it’s first Oscar of the night. Some guy named Gustavo is the big winner. Good for him – he scored with the Score.

8:51 – Jack Shot #6, as they went to commercial! Nothing says “Buy Diet Coke” or “Wear Revlon” more than Cool Jack.

8:55 – Jake Gyllinwhatshisname is here, wearing what appears to be the world’s worst rental tux. Geez, Jake – you’re a wealthy man. Buy a real tie, will you? Anyway, here’s yet another Chuck Workman movie – this one about epic films that should be seen in 70-mm Cinerama. I like Chuck as much as the next guy, but c’mon – how many dramatic 5 second snap clips do we need in one awards show?

9:00 – Jessica Alba and Eric Bana. Jessica is looking especially lovely tonight. Eric? Who cares. Jessica is on stage. It’s time for the Sound Mixing award. I voted for Narnia, because Aslan roars like a mofo.

9:02 – King Kong wins its second Oscar tonight. I guess Kong’s growls were more impressive than Aslan’s.

9:03 – It’s Lily Tomlin and Meryl Streep, on stage together to present a special award. That explains why they were together in the audience. Aw. I knew it was something innocent.

9:03:30 – Jack Shot #7!

9:04 – Anyway, Lily and Meryl are giving an honorary Oscar to Robert Altman. They’re talking over each other, which not-so-coincidentally is how Robert Altman films his movies. It’s one of the unusual, offbeat introductions we’ve ever seen, but sometimes ad-lib is a good thing. You’ve gotta love Lily and Meryl.

9:10 – After the film clip, out comes Altman to a standing ovation…and Jack Shot #8! They played him onstage with “Suicide is Painless”, which while easily recognizable, is still kind of odd. A bloody war movie for an honorary Oscar? Anyway, Altman is giving his speech, and pimping his current London stage play AND his summer movie, “Prairie Home Companion.” Way to go to get in the plugs, Bob! I think it’s cool they gave Altman an honorary directing Oscar – now, why can’t we get off our butts and give one to Scorsese, fellas? Okay, off that soap box for tonight. Altman’s speech is sincere, and you can see his eyes watering up. If he was an actor I’d wonder if he’d put soap in his eyes to bring on the tears. But I think he’s honest.

9:17 – It’s time for Ludicris! Chris “Ludicris” Bridges is here to nominate my choice for best song, “It’s Hard Out Here For A Pimp”. It’s actually a very addictive song. And it’s cool to watch all these stuffed shirts have to listen to ghetto rap. I bet half of the ladies in the audience are clutching their purses twice as hard now. They just censored something – I thought “bitches” and “hos” were allowed tonight. Damn you, Janet Jackson. Look what you’ve done to entertainment.

9:19 – It’s an odd musical production – it’s more MTV than Academy Award. The singer also has silver teeth. Bitchin’. Word. Yo. Still, the lead female singer is belting it good. She just held the word PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMPPPPPP for a good 10 seconds.

9:20 – It’s Queen Latifah, here to give out the Best Song award. I voted for “Pimp”, because it’s the only one I’ll ever listen to again after tonight.

9:21 – What do you know – Rap Music Wins! I hope the censor is ready for the acceptance speech. And there they go. One only bleep – not bad.

9:22 – Jack Shot #8! I’m glad to see he survived his close encounter with Negros.

9:23 – Another PAC version of political/sound editing commercials. Very funny, from the boys at the Daily Show. Jennifer Garner is here to present the Sound Editing award, still packing her Mom Boobs. Yeah, Jennifer! Oh, the award. I voted for King Kong, based on that loud growl we discussed earlier.

9:24 – King Kong wins again. That makes 3 awards for a movie about monkeys on steroids. The third version of it. Just imagine how many awards they’d get for an original movie!

9:26 – George Clooney. We’ve already established tonight that he’s pretty, so there’s not much else to say. George is here to run the Dead People Film Clip – honoring a handful of those who’ve croaked in the last 12 months. I’m betting that the last Dead Guy they show will be Don Knotts, who kicked the bucket just a week ago.

9:29 – The last of the dead guys was Richard Pryor. Don Knotts wasn’t included at all. What – did they forget about “The Ghost and Mr. Chicken”? For shame!

9:37 – Will Smith is here to present the award for Best Foreign Language film. I voted for Tsotsi, once again because Roger Ebert told me to. Hey, who am I to disobey Roger Ebert? He might give me a thumbs down!

9:38 – The winner is Tsotsi – thank you, Roger! Thank you!

9:41 – Next up is Ziyi Zhang, from Memoirs of a Geisha. I read not too long ago her English wasn’t so sharp yet. And you know what? She did pretty well – much better than my Chinese. She’s here to give the Oscar to Best Film Editing, which went to “Crash”. Hey, that’s what I picked. Look out, Kreskin. And in honor of this award, I’m editing my comments. Why normally I would’ve told you that….

9:44 – Hillary Swank is here, looking good. She still has a horse face, though. Thank God she never married John Elway. Anyway, that was mean. But it’s time for Best Actor, so there’s no time to apologize. I voted for Philip Seymour Hoffmann, because he said he’d bark his acceptance speech in a bet his made with friends years ago. Just for that I think he deserves to win.

9:46 – Woof! Woof! Phillip won. He’s shading his eyes from the bright lights. What’s up with that? Maybe Jack will loan him his sunglasses. Oh, and he didn’t bark. Spoil sport!

9:53 – M & M’s just had the funniest commercial of the night – a yellow M & M with collagen implants. Ever seen milk chocolate with duck lips? It’s almost Super Bowl worthy.

9:54 – Jon is waving to Bill Conti again. Who ever said that musicians don’t get attention?

9:56 – It’s John Travolta. Vinnie Barbarino lives! Time for the best Cinematography Award. I picked Brokeback, because for no reason.

9:57 – Memoirs of a Geisha wins again. Too bad more people didn’t see their movie. Travolta is waving to people in the audience while the guy gives his speech. What are you, Johnny – 5 years old in the school play?

9:59 – Jamie Foxx is here to give out the Best Actress award. He’s got huge diamonds in his ears. Hey, if I had his dough, I’d have monster bling on, too. Even if it does blind small children from the glare. Anyway, I voted for Felicity Huffman, because I like her. Reese will probably win, but my heart is still with Felicity.

10:01 – Reese wins. I have nothing nice to say, so I’ll just say congrats Reese. Now go home. All night long they’ve been playing music during people’s acceptance speeches, but they shut it off during Reese’s. Fortunately, she didn’t go on for 40 minutes. On behalf of bedtimes everywhere, thanks Reese.

10:03 – This show was supposed to be over by now, but according to my checklist there are still four awards to go – directing, screenplays, and picture. Thank God we’re not in the Eastern time zone yet – it’d be getting mighty late if we were.
10:08 – It’s time for screenplay Oscars, and who better to pass them out than Dustin Hoffman? He’s taking the longest walk out ever. Anyway, this is Best Adapted Screenplay. I voted for Brokeback, because everyone says it’s the one. I’m just one to go along with the crowd sometimes, I suppose. But since I haven’t seen any of the five nominees, you’ve got to start somewhere.

10:09 – Brokeback wins. See? Always trust your instincts. And the teeming millions. Larry McMurtry is one of the winners, and he was his tux coat on with blue jeans. Now THAT’S COWBOY!!! He thanked all of the booksellers of he world. As someone who sold many of his books years ago, I gladly accept. You’re welcome, Larry. Now go have another drink.

10:12 – It’s Uma Thurman, in yet another beige dress. Mrs. G. really wants to know what’s up with that. She’s here to give the award for Best Original Screenplay. I voted for Crash, which by golly won. Again, it was because it was the only one of the nominated movies I saw. I really need to get out more often.

10:16 – Hopefully this is the last commercial break. I can’t take anymore McDonalds, Diet Coke, L’oreal, or AT&T messages. I’m a guy who lives by his TiVo, and rarely watches live TV. It’s much easier to watch 60 minutes of TV when you can fast forward the commercials and get through it in 42.

10:19 – Jon Stewart is back, mocking Larry McMurtry’s jeans. Is that very nice? Oh, well. Speaking of “nice”, here’s Tom Hanks to give out the award for Best Direction. I went with Ang Lee for Brokeback, because hopefully the Academy has a short attention span, and forgot all about “The Hulk”.

10:20 – Ang Lee wins. Yes, The Hunk is a distant memory. Ang makes the only “I wish I could quit you” joke of the night. Nobody laughs. Maybe it’s the accent.

10:21 – It’s time for Best Picture, and there’s only one guy who can truly do the honors – JACK!!! Yes, Jack Nicholson – The Dude! He’s still got his shades on. By God – he’s still mighty cool. I voted for Brokeback, although I’d really like to see Crash win.

10:23 – And the Oscar goes to… Crash!!!! Wow, how wild is that? Everyone thought Brokeback was going to win it all. But look at that.

10:25 – Shocking. Just shocking. But hey, it WAS a good movie.

10:29 – it’s finally over – 30 minutes late. Jon Stewart did an okay job hosting, and overall it wasn’t THAT dull of a show. Predictable, except for “Hard Out Here For A Pimp” and “Crash” winning. Still, not a bad way to spend the evening. Sure beats the heck out of watching college basketball.

So in the Gressel family guessing game, I got 16 out of 24. Miss Katie got 8 out of 24, and the lovely Mrs. G. got 7. Mrs. G. tends to vote for who she wants to win – I vote based on who Roger Ebert says. So thanks to Rog, I win this year’s contest. There’s no prize, other than a few bragging rights until I inevitably push it too far and piss Mrs. G. off with the endless gloating. So instead this year I’ll just keep my mouth shut and not push it too far.

10:31 – Well kids, that’s it. Another Oscar telecast down the hatch. Time to go post this sucker, then drag my butt to bed. No post-show parties for this working stiff.

So congratulations to everyone – winners and non-winners alike. See you next year. I’ll have my tux cleaned and my speech written, just in case.

Because it’s Hollywood – and you never know what’s going to happen.

Oscar Preshow - Live Blog!

5:00 PM (All times Central): Wow, there’s a genuine “buzz” in the air – can you feel it? Only two hours until the Oscars!

Isn’t it exciting? I hope I don’t piddle myself with anticipation. I have my best Vera Wang gown on, I’ve rolled out the 6-foot chunk of red carpet I found behind Pizza Hut’s dumpster, and I have my snarky speech written and ready to go, in the unlikely event I – Thomas J. Gressel, movie fan and wise-ass extraordinaire – surprise everyone and win Best Non-Actor In A Live Blogging Role.

Okay, I’ve probably napped a little too long this afternoon, haven’t I? I need to go get a Diet Pepsi and wake up a little bit more. So I’ll see you in 60 minutes for the red carpet fun.

6:00 – The Variety Club telethon that ABC was showing is now over – enough with helping unfortunate children. Bring on the multimillionaire fashions!

6:01 – Oh, God – it’s Billy Bush. What a tool. Plus he’s related to HIM. That makes him a tool times two.

6:01 – Vanessa Minello – who the hell is that? I must not spend enough of my free time watching Access Hollywood or E! Damn me, anyway.

6:03 – Amy Adam’s dress has POCKETS! in it. You’d better watch those Oscars closely. People have been known to stuff hams into pockets that big.

6:04 – Hey, it’s Dolly Parton at the Oscars. She’s nominated for one of the Best Songs tonight. No matter what happens tonight, Dolly is already the proud owner of two Golden Globes. (Sorry, old Johnny Carson joke. God, I miss Johnny.)

6:07 – Ooh, look! A Carnival cruise commercial. Sigh…..

6:09 – Naomi watts. The Lovely Mrs. G. says that her dress is “very beige.” I don’t think she meant it as a compliment.

6:11 – Paul Giamatti – What, wasn’t there a Gillette Turbo 4-blade razor in the swag bag?

6:12 – Tim Burton just admitted he only own one tie. That’s PATHETIC. I mean, even I own two!

6:13 – Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams. Everything I’ve read this week says that they don’t care about the movie or the awards at all – just their baby. And lookie there - Heath just mentioned baby Matilda! He gets bonus points for honesty.
6:14 – Wil Smith and Jada Pickett Smith. I had no idea he was so much taller than she is. You’d think Susan Anton and Dudley Moore were back.

6:15 – they’re playing monkey trivia. How many of these simian movies can you name? Well, they’re playing “I Wanna Be Like You” from Jungle Book, which gives it instant coolness. Ain’t it great that Disney owns ABC? Otherwise we’d probably have to listen to “Abba Dabba Abba Dabba Said the Monkey to the Chimp.”

6:20 – Billy Bush just showed Cuba Gooding Jr. but called him Terrence Howard. I told you he’s a tool.

6:20 – Good Lord – Sandra Bullock’s dress has pockets, too! I’m smelling a trend!

6:22 – Leonard Maltin is wearing a Mickey Mouse lapel pin. You’re okay in my book, Lenny. I’d have a Mickey pin on too if I was there. Instead, I have a Mickey t-shirt on as I sit in front of the TV in Sioux City. See? It’s like a connection.

6:25 – Oh, now they’re playing movie villain trivia. I hope they show Billy Bush.

6:26 – Ooh, look - it’s a Jessica Simpson soft core pizza commercial. Probably the closest that girl will ever get to an Oscar…

6:29 – George Clooney. Mrs. G. says he’s “pretty”. How can you argue with that?

6:30 – It’s Terrence Howard. The REAL Terrence Howard. Cynthia Whatever just introduced Terrence as “You made us fall in love with a pimp.” Well. Someone hand me a sani-wipe, will you? I’ve done a lot of odd things in my life, but I can honestly say that I’ve never fallen in love with a pimp.

6:32 – Jennifer Aniston. She can still smile after all the crap the tabloids put her through. If that isn’t Best Actress worthy, I don’t know what is.

6:33 – Reese Witherspoon and Mr. Reese (Ryan). Mrs. G. doesn’t like her dress. Not sure why.

6:35. Matt Dillon. I still can’t look at him without thinking of “Something About Mary.” Quick, someone hand him some big false teeth. Ask Billy Bush – I bet he has a spare set.

6:36 – Love Movie Trivia. Brought to you by a Garth Brooks song, or a really lousy Garth knockoff.

6:41 – Felicity Huffman. I voted for her on my in-house Oscar ballot as Best Actress, even though I really think Reese will win. Still, a fella can hope.

6:42 – Philip Seymour Hoffman. He’s come a long way from Twister and Boogie Nights, hasn’t he? Good luck to you, dude.

6:44 – Sound difficulties! Let’s hear it for live television. I’m really looking forward to the “live TV” aspect later, especially when they sing about bitches and hos with “It’s Hard Out Here For A Pimp.” Word.

6:45 – Vanessa is asking Jake Guyanwhatshisname about kissing a man. Move on, people! Move one!

6:46 – They’re recapping the 5 best picture nominees. Since I’ve only seen one of them (Crash), that’s the one I’ll have to root for. Pathetic, aren’t we? Here I am, snarking on the film industry, and I’ve only seen 20% of the movies. Don’t they usually say that if you don’t vote, you shouldn’t complain? Aw, screw it. It’s our God-given duty to comment on the awards. If I don’t do it, who will?

6:48 – They just showed the accountants from Price Waterhouse. I hope they enjoyed accounting class more than I did.

6:51 – There are 9 minutes to go. Time to play several hundred last minute commercials. Because you know that they will only have one – maybe two – commercial breaks during the telecast, right? That way they can remain on schedule. Oscar telecasts like to be on time, don’t they?

6:52 – Billy Bush is now inside the Kodak Theater, standing in the middle of the aisle. Move your fat ass, Bush. You make a better tool than window.

6:53 – Rachel Weitz. I hope I spelled that right – she’s pretty enough to deserve a proper spelling. Mrs. G. thinks her dress is “pretty and simple.” She’s also 7 months pregnant. So good for her, for making maternity look elegant.

6:54 – Jamie Foxx and his sister – who’s hair looks like a Conehead. I hope Wolfgang Puck is serving fried eggs and beer at the Governor’s Ball.

6:55 – They’re critiquing fashions. I hope they mention the pockets.

6:56 – They’re wrapping it up, so it’s time to go inside and start the actual ceremony blog. Before I have to see Billy Bush again.

Let the show begin!

Oscar! Oscar!

This weekend is Oscar Weekend – time for Hollywood to spend 3.5 hours kissing its own red carpeted ass.

I actually love watching the Oscars – sure, they're a bunch of overpaid, whiny bad actors putting on fake smiles and telling the world how thrilling it was just to be nominated, but every once in a while you see something that seems genuinely...human.

And make no bones about it – given the chance to attend the Academy Awards, the lovely Mrs. G. and I would be there in a heartbeat – Governor's Ball, fancy tuxes, overpriced rental limos, designer gowns that just beg for an honest critique from Joan Rivers…you name it. We’d love every single minute of it, because it is what it is: The Ultimate Schmooze-fest. It's always been a dream of mine to attend the Oscars, and who knows - if I ever get off my butt and actually write an award-worthy screenplay, it might happen someday. Hey, if Matt Damon can win....

Alas – I’ll be on my couch in Sioux City and nowhere near Hollywood when the Big Show starts Sunday evening. (My invitation must’ve been lost in the mail, huh?) . But have no fear – I plan on live blogging the entire ceremony, start to finish. That’s right; a real time running commentary on all things Oscar worthy from your old pal Tommy. Just think of all the questions I’ll be able to answer – LIVE.

* Which actor has the worst phony front row laugh?
* Which actor/actress had the worst facelift of 2006?
* Who refuses to take their sunglasses off indoors this year? (Yes, Jack – I’m talking to you.)
* Which celebrity proves that “Reading is Fundamental” when it comes to squinting at the teleprompter?
* Does Jon Stewart dare to introduce Uma Thurman and Oprah Winfrey?
* Did a crying actor get the hook and the musical cue after four minutes of babbling on about something nobody outside of his talent agency care about?
* Did Geena Davis wear another unfortunately see-through dress?
* Does anyone really not get the deeper lyrics of “It’s Hard Out Here Bein’ A Pimp”?
* Did they give the technical guys back their dignity and let them walk up to the stage this year?
* How many Revlon ads can you possibly cram into 3 hours?
* How many Brokeback Mountain jokes can you possibly cram into 3 hours?
* How many shots of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes can you possibly cram into 3 hours? (Hint: One is too many.)

But the biggest question of all…

Will it be worth it?

Absolutely!!!

So check back here Monday AM, bleary-eyed and still wearing your Versace from the night before, for all the fun scoop. Because in my envelope, you’re all winners.

But remember – it actually IS an honor just to be nominated.

I Wasn't Kidding

In the unlikely event you thought I was teasing about Sioux City's love of all things Olive Garden, please check out this link to the Sioux City Journal's opinion column yesterday:

http://www.siouxcityjournal.com/articles
/2006/03/03/news_opinion/editorial/
346329b40cd554438625712500133ca3.txt

For those of you too anxious to click, here's the headline:

At last
Let the celebration begin. Olive Garden is coming to Sioux City.

I swear, it'll be madness when they open. And I'll be nowhere near it.

They're Coming! They're Coming!

Yesterday was a day that will go down as one of the most significant ever in Sioux City, Iowa history. For yesterday, we received THE NEWS.

It was the news all of Siouxland had been waiting for. Years of prayer, hope, and begging had finally paid off.

Small children gazed into the skies with wonderment.
Grown men wept.
Blue-haired ladies peed their pants.
Old farmers stopped complaining and instead joined hands in brotherly unity.

At long last, THEY were coming to town. Finally. Thank God Almighty.

Yes, Siouxland is about to receive…it’s first Olive Garden restaurant.

Now, you probably think I’m just being a wise-ass joker, making fun of those who enjoy semi-mediocre, semi-Italian cuisine. But really, I’m not. (Okay, I am a wise-ass joker. That part has been long confirmed.)

I just don’t get the overwhelming calling to go to Olive Garden that the locals have. I mean, Olive Garden is nice. Nice. Not thrilling, but nice. I’ve eaten there a few times over the last 20 years (they were big in Seattle way back when), and it’s okay – but that’s about all you can say. They make their food their way, and the masses seem to enjoy it, so they must be doing something right.

Yet to me, it’s just not all that and a bag of cannoli. I mean, let’s face it -- Enoteca Pinchiorri it’s not. (The Lovely Mrs. G. will appreciate the Iron Chef reference.) And the service? It’s ranged from rude to indifferent most of the time. So you drive a long way, wait a long time, and sit down to uninspired food served up by a surly wait staff. Where’s the 5-star fun in that?

But none of that will matter once O.G. lands in town next January. You see, Sioux City has literally been drooling for an Olive Garden for years and years, in a sick, almost perverse way that can only be sated by large quantities of bland alfredo sauce and all you can eat breadsticks.

When the press release broke yesterday, no fewer than 16 people I know mentioned The Big News to me. The DJs on the morning radio yammered on about it for nearly a half hour. I suspect that somewhere out there locals are already online salivating over the menu and ordering a pair of expando-waist slacks.

The place will be jam-packed from open til close, 7 days a week. I can guarantee it. In the 7 years I’ve lived in this town, I’ve probably heard people mention their desire for O.G. food at least 100 times (no exaggeration). There have been countless newspaper stories and TV features about the desire – nay, the lifeblood need – to have Olive Garden finally grace our fair community. Local citizens have written massive actual letters to the editor of the paper begging for Olive Garden. Not that they could be bothered by writing about oh...the war in Iraq or high gas prices or the social injustices in the world. Nope, they want their minestrone soup and free breadsticks, dammit!

The nearest O.G. currently around here is in Omaha (90 miles South) or Sioux Falls (90 miles North), but I know people who’ll drive all the way there round trip, then wait in line two hours for a chance to dive into a trough of their spaghetti.

Saying Olive Garden is good, honest, Italian cuisine is like saying the best seafood you’ve ever had in your life is from Red Lobster or the most tender steak dinner you’ve ever had was from the WinnaVegas casino buffet...

...Oh, wait. That IS what a lot of locals say. Mainly because they don’t know any better.

Fortunately, I do. I’ve had REAL Italian cuisine, and let me tell you – it beats the crap out of warmed over breadsticks and bland tomato sauce. If you’ve never wandered into a real Italian restaurant, by all means try it. You’ll be pleasantly surprised. (Try the gnocchi or the fettuccini ala caprice. I highly recommend them both.)

Regardless, Olive Garden will be a smash it. I’m sure there are neighbors of mine who already have a countdown calendar on their wall, marking off the days until the streets of Sioux City will flow in marinara sauce. Personally, I’m hoping to be long gone out of this culinarily stunted town before the fervor of Olive Garden dies down.

Because by then they might announce a Bennigans, and all Hell will really break loose...