Ballet - A slow and painful death

It’s not a big secret that Wifey works for one of the top 4 ballet companies in the country – the Boston Ballet. So really, no one should be surprised when I say that I’ve seen my fair share of ballets. But I have to come clean with something – I strongly feel that ballet is starting to eat away at my will to live.


Granted, not all of the activities that I like would be considered fun by Wifey – drinking until my face is numb being one example, or trying to fart the alphabet even. But none of my fun activities come close to being as torturous to Wifey as the ballet is to me.


Our agreement is this: The little lady will put up with all of my shenanigans throughout the year, which includes the above activities, if in return, I go to TWO ballets with her per year.


Sure, two ballets per year doesn’t sound all that bad –especially to all you women who read my blog. But I assure you, it’s an all out assault on my senses. Sitting in cramped seats for up to two and a half hours, staring at prancing ladies and buff dudes with no shirts, with their junk all but hanging out. Add to it the fact that the only alcoholic beverages at this event are served during a 10 minute intermission, at prices that would make a seasoned Fenway beer vendor blush – and you got yourself a motive for straight up domestic abuse (I’m kidding, domestic abuse is never funny… except in the south).


Don’t get me wrong – I love that Wifey loves the ballet, and I couldn’t be more proud of her achievements (which are numerous) at her place of employment. But couldn’t she have decided to work for NASCAR instead? I’d even take the Museum of Fine Arts over this. Sadly, it’s not the case.


So, it’s with a great amount of anxiety, and hopeless prayers for a tornado to hit Boston, that I tell you that this Friday, I will be attending Boston Ballet’s aptly named “The Nutcracker” with Wifey. Wish me luck.




SILVER LINING:


Although “The Nutcracker” is one of the ballets that I’ve agreed to go to this year, there is another one coming which I’ve agreed to attend. I don’t know the name of it, but apparently this new one features topless ballerinas. No joke. Replace the orchestra with Ted Nugent and you got yourself a date!













- Jack Asher

ADdicting

At some point over the past several years, TV commercials have become as entertaining as the programs that they're interrupting, and I'm totally digging it!

Long past are the days of the stale commercials, whose sole purpose was to educate the consumer on a products' purpose and value. Long gone are the old "You wanna buy dish soap? Here's why you should buy ours" ads. I don't know when it happened or how it started, but at some point, there must have been at least one advertising specialist that figured out that he could better grab a viewers attention by making his ads fun and entertaining.

With that in mind, here are my top 3 favorite TV commercials from this year. I'm 187% positive that I'm completely forgetting several of them, so if there's any that should be on the top 10 list, please let me know.


Just to preface, you're not going to see any E*Trade Baby, Bud Light, or Geico commercials on here. Why? Because I don't think they're that funny - and this is my blog.

3. The Most Interesting Man In The World


Here's the deal. I don't care where I am or what I'm doing when I see this commercial - I want this guys life. I don't care if that does mean that I have to give up the next 30 years of my life and go straight to my 50's, and make me latino - I want this guys life. Sign me up.



2. DirecTV Rich Russian Dude


This commercial is good up until the final 5 seconds - when it becomes great! I mean, the first several seconds are just kind of par for the course for a rich Russian's life. It's totally normal for this dude to choose the shinier golden statue over the duller one, and to have a remote that's diamond encrusted... but when they break out the giraffe the size of a Puggle... I lose my shit every single time.



1. Clown Jumping On A Toy Unicorn



So, I didn't realize this before I started writing this blog, but apparently there are people out there who see this commercial as being creepy and not at all funny. WHAT? There is nothing at all creepy about a grown man dressed up as a clown, sneaking up on a group of unsuspecting children, getting ready to pounce at them like some kind of wacky jungle-cat. If this commercial is wrong, I don't want to be right.







Thanks to Mr. Anonymous for reminding me of this little gem.

- Jack Asher

A Modern Day Biff

So, for the past several months, I've been spending a lot of time thinking about time travel. I don't even mean that I've been dreaming about it at night - I'd say that approximately 17% of my workday is spent thinking about time travel. Specifically, what if I could start over again yet retain all the knowledge I have accumulated over the years? What kind of changes would I have made as I grew up, and how would that shape the person I turned out to be.

I'll level with you, when these thoughts pop into my head, they don't have some existential undertones to it. Nope, these thoughts are all about how awesome my life would be.

Think about it - if I were born again back in 1984, but knew everything that I know today - I'd have such a head start. Sure, the first few years would be practically unbearable. I'd have to go through getting diapers changed again, which sucks. Of course I'd know how to wipe my own ass, but no one wants to see a baby who's completely independent, so I'd have to play ball.

So, although I'd have to deal with acting like a normal baby for the first 4 or 5 years, I could really get going once I turned six or so. Just pick up a guitar and play one of those songs that were popular in the mid nineties, only before anyone's ever heard it. I'd be an instant rock star. 7 year old girls would want me (to hold their hand), and 7 year old boys would want to be me. And that's just at age 7! Once I got into my teenage years, I would really be able to blossom into awesomeness - for starters, I'd completely avoid the entire awkward stage, which would be AWESOME!






All these things would really have a huge impact on my social life, no doubt... but think about the financial aspects of it. Back in '98, not too many people knew of a little place I like to call "Starbucks", I would probably put some of my piggy bank money into that, and watch it grow. Then when November of '07 comes around, just take all the money out of the market and keep cash around until, oh, I suppose March 6th, 2009. Remember Back to the Future II? I'm pretty sure that the moral of that story was to do the exact opposite of what I'm talking about here, but there's no way you could keep me away from becoming the next Biff. Hell, I'd even wear that red valour jumpsuit, just cause I could.







I realize that time-travel isn't possible just yet, and when/if it does become possible, I sure as hell won't be the one to discover it. But it's fun to think about. In the meantime, I suppose I'll just make like a tree, and get outta here.

- Jack Asher

Happy Halloween

Well, the time is almost upon us. The time where children will be laughing in the streets, and college-aged girls will be passed out all but naked, also in the streets. Yes, I'm talking about that spooky, yet comical pseudo holiday; Halloween.

I know what you all must be thinking... aren't you getting a bit old to be dressing up for Halloween? The answer, my friends is not at all. You see, at different stages in ones life, Halloween will mean different things. For instance, to any child ages 5 - 11, it just means that you're going to go out with your parents, and come back with all the candy you could dream of. To kids aged 12 - 16, it means one of two things: either you're going to be staying in because you're WAY too cool to be going out for Halloween, or that it's a perfect excuse to go out and wreak havoc on the neighborhood. To college students, Halloween is a time of blatant promiscuity without fear of judgement or reproach.

And then for people my age, Halloween is just a great excuse to get together with some friends, and get mildly drunker than usual.

So on this October 31st (or 30th, depending on your age group, and responsibilities on the following day), go out, and enjoy the scene. You'll likely see all the accoutrement of the holiday, including but not limited to: ghosts, spider men, power rangers, scooby doo's, scooby don'ts, and of course, a fair share of scantily clad police officers and nurses. Although I can't be sure, I have a feeling that these will be thoughts of all those who are dressing up this year:









Power Ranger - Look, here's the deal.... I want candy, and not just any candy. I know you've got some full sized candy bars hiding somewhere behind that bowl of smarties. Clearly, I'm doing my part... I'm dressed up to the nines, now it's time to reciprocate. I swear to God if you don't give me the candy I want, I'm going to tell my older brother that THIS is the house to egg and/or TP when he and his goons head out into town in approximately 4 hours.




Scary Mask - Hey guys, here's the house that my little brother told me about. DUDE, they're going to be so pissed when they open the door and see all this TP hanging from this tree! EXTREEEEMMMEEEE!!!!!!!






Sexy Nurse - OMG, I am going to get sooooo wasted tonight! I hope Brad's going to be at the party, I know I've hooked up with, like, 3 or 4 of his roommates this semester, but I don't think he knows. Who wants a Jello shot?!!? OMG OMG OMG, I LOVE THIS SONG, WOOOOOOH!!!!!! (as a side note, in the event of serious injury this Halloween, DO NOT consider this girl to be a viable health care provider).








The Situation - Man, I've been hitting the gym for the past 4 weeks getting prepared for tonight. Time for all those protein bars and creatine shakes to work their magic. Dude, don't get stingy with that hairgel, or those rufies. This is my time to shine.





Matching Family of... Bunnies -





Mother: Oh my goodness, I am LOVING THIS! The kids are so cute, and how great is it that my husband is a part of this too! WAIT, DON'T MOVE, I'LL GRAB THE CAMERA!!!!

Father: Fuck. Tonight's poker night, and I'm dressed up as a goddamn bunny rabbit. I swear, if any of my friends see me tonight, I'm going to lose my shit. I'm talking about making a scene, I don't even care if we're in public. The only thing keeping me sane right now is this flask. I hate my life more right now than ever before.

Teenage son: Fuck. All my friends are going out and wreaking havoc while wearing their scary masks, and I'm dressed up as a goddamn bunny rabbit. I swear, if any of my friends see me tonight, I'm going to lose my shit. I'm talking about making a scene, I don't even care if we're in public. Hey Dad, pass the flask!

Toddler: Dude, I don't care if I look like the biggest tool that's ever been... I'm going to clean up tonight! You know what a bunny suit gets you...? It gets you full sized candy bars, that's what.

- Jack Asher

REALLY TUESDAY? REALLY?!?

I had an amazing weekend. My family all met up in sunny Puerto Rico for my sisters wedding, and had a blast. We kayaked, we jetskied, we laid out on beaches, and of course, we drank, a lot. There's nothing like taking a four day vacation in a tropical paradise with your loved ones to remind you that things aren't so bad.

And then I come in to work today, and see this:





REALLY?!?!! 2,637 new emails to go through since last Thursday. Looks like reality just slapped me in the face... wait, no... it looks like reality just stole my lunch money, body slammed me onto the pavement, and just to add insult to injury, it went ahead and insulted my mother.

I mean, I sure as hell don't know 2,637 people. According to Facebook, I have 544 friends. But let's be honest here, I actually have about 10 friends total, and I'm pretty sure that 7 of them don't even like me. So unless my 3 friends sent me 879 emails each over the past four days... I have no clue what's going on.

What makes this even more frustrating, is that I can't just go ahead and delete all of these in one fell swoop (that's a legitimate term, right? "fell swoop"?). The problem is, interspersed with all these effin emails that I have no need or want of reading - there are some important ones from people that will get angry with me if I don't read them, i.e. my boss.

So, it looks as though my day will be spent staring very closely at a computer screen as to avoid deleting the wrong emails, and clicking the "delete" button approximately 2,615 times. You think I can get a disability payout for carpel tunnel?

- Jack Asher

Most awkward sports related injury ever

Long story short, my right leg has been in constant pain for several months now. It started back in February or so, a few months after I had started getting back into my workout routine, and slowly and steadily, the pain's been getting worse as time has gone by. I mean, it even hurts when I’m just standing. Oddly, the only time it doesn’t give me problems is when I’m running. So I finally did something that I hate doing… scheduled a doctors appointment.

The doctor wasn’t much help, as per usual. She told me to stop working out right away, and referred me to an orthopedist, or orthodontist, whichever one fixes appendages. Obviously, I wasn’t about to stop working out, after all, I had a goal to achieve. But I did go to the ortho-guy. The guy took some x-rays and whatnot, and then had me show off my flexibility by having me touch my toes… had it been another type of doctors appointment, I may have questioned this request, but I was in a lot of pain so I just went with it.

Turns out I’m about as flexible as Brett Favre is decisive, which is to say, not very. So the ortho-guy says that may be part of the problem and gives me a prescription for physical therapy sessions.

Here’s the deal. I, like most guys I know only stretch before I go for a run, and even then, it’s pretty much all for show. I just don’t want to waste my time bending down and touching my toes, or lying down bringing my knees to my chest and all that craziness. Workouts should be fast pace, and stretching is the complete opposite. And so, for the next couple of months, I went about my routine as per usual. And the pain continued.

Finally, it got too much. There happens to be a physical therapist who has an office next to my gym, so I went in one day and explained what was going on. He poked around my hamstring a bit and put me in different positions to see where the pain was coming from.

Apparently, this leg issue is coming directly from my ass. You can’t make this stuff up. Apparently, due to my inflexibility, my ass muscles are literally so tight that they’re pinching my sciatic nerve, causing the pain that shoots down my entire leg. Yup folks, you read that right, my tight ass is the reason for all this pain.



So, the guy gives me some stretches to do every day and tells me that it might take a few months, but hopefully it will go away. He also suggested that I get some deep tissue massages in that area to help loosen those muscles up.

The way I see it, I have four options…

1. Stop whining and start stretching, which is painful to both body and pride.

2. Just run everywhere I go, since it seems to be the only time that the leg doesn’t give me problems. Might cause issues in crowded places.

3. Find an open-minded masseuse, and get a thorough ass massage.

4. Learn to live with a bum leg.


Clearly, only one of these answers is realistic. You think I should start looking for an ‘open-minded’ masseuse in the yellow pages, or just skip the frustration and jump right to craigslist?



- Jack Asher

ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!?!!??

I have to tell you all, I just don't know what to think anymore.


I've mentioned before how sometimes I search other people's blogs to see what people are writing about, and kinda fill up the old noggin' full of ideas for my own blog (it's not plagiarism if you've never read the original). You know what I keep seeing??? Lame blogs that have no content except for a few pictures of adorable animals.

Now, normally I'd be fine with this, after all, a blog featuring a Shnoodle can't really compare to my literary prowess - but when you take a closer look, it appears that these lame ass blogs actually have more followers than I do. Now, said it before, but clearly I have to say it again... I need affirmation in pretty much everything I do. It's clearly not enough for me to know that I'm a funny mofo, I need vast amounts of followers up on this site for me to be happy with posts.

So, yeah, at this point - I'm just saying "f*#k it". If cute animals are what the people want, then cute animals are what the people will get.



I figure if someone with absolutely zero writing capability can get 35 followers just by posting a few pictures of the cast of 'Homeward Bound' - then I can surely add some people to my blog by posting these pictures. And you know what? I'm not even ashamed that I'm stooping to this level. This blogging business is a cutthroat industry, if I'm not posting pictures of snuggly puppies, and tiny felines - someone else will.



- Jack Asher

I was a regular Don Juan (back in the 1st Grade)

There I was last Friday afternoon – just hard at work hoping that the few hours of my workday would fly bye (they didn’t – they never do). All of a sudden, I look up at the toolbar, and it looks as though I’ve got a new email.

It’s a Facebook update, and normally – I just totally ignore these because they’re inevitably from someone I don’t have any relationship anymore from High School inviting me to some event that I would never, ever attend. Normally these events have something to do with gay rights, animal activism, or some creepy combination of the two. For those of you who know me well – it’s not likely that I’m going to give up one of my prized weekend afternoons to go protest for the rights of Herbert – the gay humpback whale.

I digress…

As I was looking at this Facebook update, I realized that this had nothing to do with gay animal rights, but rather it was a personal message sent by someone I didn’t know. I dig in a bit further, and this is what the message says:

"If you are the person I think you are, we went to school together at Acacia Elementary in Thousand Oaks California. We were “boyfriend and girlfriend” and you moved to Georgia with your parents in 2nd grade, I think. Let me know. It would be a trip to hear from you!"

Normally, I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast. But this girl I remember well. I mean, I specifically remember how our super serious relationship got started: As I was walking home from first grade, I saw her walking up ahead of me… I ran up to her, gave her a cupcake (a move that I continued to use throughout high school – how do you think I got Wifey’s attention), and then ran off, cause I was too scared to talk to her. If that’s not romance, I don’t know what is. This girl goes on to tell me how she actually had a mini-first-grade meltdown when I moved away.

Anyhow – we catch up, and it’s all really cool and whatnot.

I bet most of you are thinking the same thing right now… wow, how cool is it that we’ve got a tool like Facebook that can reunite people who haven’t even spoken to each other in 20 years! While that is true – this entire situation has led me to think of one thing, and one thing only. I must have been SO pimp back in the day!

I don’t mean to brag (I’m totally bragging) – but how many of you had brief romances back in the 1st grade, never spoke to them again, and 20 years later have them find you on Facebook? Clearly, even in my youth, I knew how to make an impression. And if you extrapolate that out – I must have gotten even better over the years, like a fine wine – I would totally be killing it with the ladies today!

So Wifey, grab your stick – cause you’re going to need it to keep all these ladies away from me now that we’ve seen my true potential!

- Jack Asher

Fantasy Football

Football season is finally upon us.

This football season, however, is not like any previous season for me. This season, I am going to try my hand at Fantasy Football. Now, just so you all know, I have no clue what this fantasy football's all about. In fact, it's strange for me to associate the word "fantasy" with anything other than a 22 year old Norwegian named Wanda, a set of police issued handcuffs, and a rubber chicken - but those are my issues which will be worked out in due time. But here I am nonetheless, a stranger in a foreign land, about to play me some fake football.

Here's the deal though. I have no f*&king clue what I'm doing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a big football fan. From late August through early February, you won't catch me anywhere on a Sunday except in front of a TV, ready to root on my New England Patriots. But do I know all of the Patriot's individual stats? Absolutely not. In fact, my 18 year old sister-in-law knows more about individual stats that I know.

It's not just my general lack of knowledge of football stats that worries me. I also don't even know how to play the game. I mean, it’s fake football. Imagine someone gave you a quiz on the rules of baseball. You'd probably ace it, right? Now imagine that person asked you what the rules are for fake baseball… where do you even begin?

I guess what I'm trying to say is, those of you who are in my fantasy football league this year, get ready for some cheating on my part. I'm pretty much going to go back to my roots from 5th grade history class - and copy the nerdy kid's test answers all season. It may not be the most ethical way of going about it, but I'm really running out of options here.


- Jack Asher

Just when you thought Soccer was lame...

Haha, just kidding - Soccer is still lame as hell. Yeah, I know that 98.4% of the world would disagree, but the cold hard fact is that soccer is the least interesting sport to watch. 9 times out of 10 I’d rather watch a striped bass fishing competition on ESPN 8 (The Ocho), than be stuck watching a bunch of Europeans kicking around a ball, just to have the final score read 0-0 (The 10th time would be when America's playing in the World Cup, because all hilarity aside, I'm a Patriot).

Having said that, I’ll be the first to admit that even a broken clock is right… twice a day.


If you have to say one thing good about soccer players, it’s got to be their ingenuity, right? I mean, you take a look at Basketball stars after they make an awesome shot, and they got nothing. They just hustle their ass right back into position because that’s just the pace of the game. Even in Football these days, you don’t see too many post touchdown celebrations thanks to all the fines that are being thrown all over the place. But then there are the soccer players – the athletes that just don’t give a F**k cause they know nobody’s watching anyway.

So, while I will still reserve my right to make fun of soccer, soccer players, and soccer fans with their awful, awful vuvuzelas - I have to tip my hat to those players who make the sport tolerable to even the most cynical of sports fans.


- Cynical Sports Fan, Jack Asher

iThink you should stop whining

There is so much being said right now about how the iPhone 4 sucks because it drops calls when you don’t have a case around it. In fact, people are demanding that Apple goes and gives millions and millions of free iPhone cases out to it’s users to remedy the problem.

I don’t get it. First off, I have the new iPhone 4 and I see no problems with it, but it’s more than that. I just don’t understand how people can be all up in arms about this. Maybe it’s just because I’m about as adept to technology as I am when it comes to nuclear physics, but I don’t understand how anyone could be upset with this phone. I mean, it does it all!


You want something to manage your finances? They’ve got an App for that. You want something to tell you what time movies are playing? They’ve got an App for that. You want something to make you breakfast in the morning, and read you the morning newspaper – yup, I think they’ve got an App for that too.

The point is – who cares if you need a case to make phone calls on this thing. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like everyone should have purchased a case with the phone when they first got it, cause guess what? The entire front of it is made of GLASS, genius!

Meanwhile – this phone can simultaneously launch a space shuttle, pick the kids up from school, and scratch my ass (that last App costs extra). These folks need to shut up, buy a damned case, and get back to bitching about things that really matter, like Mel Gibson’s voice messages.


- Jack Asher

LeBron-athon

At 9:00 EST this evening, LeBron James is holding a special on ESPN in which he will let the country, nay, the world know where he will be playing for the next several years. How they can manage to drag out saying “I’m going to [Insert Miami, Chicago, New York, or New Jersey here] longer than five minutes is beyond me, but here are my predictions for how this thing is going to go tonight…



Prediction #1. There will be Rocky-esque montages. I’m talking about some clips of LeBron dunking on dudes and throwing powder up in the air for no reason, while they’re playing some Jay-Z tune in the background. It will be epic.




Prediction #2. The people of Cleveland will realize that despite what Drew Carey may say – Cleveland does not rock. The closest it came to rocking before LeBron was around was a tubby comedian with a cheesy sitcom. Now that LeBron is leaving, and rest assured he IS leaving Cleveland, the residents of this never-great city will be left in despair. But hey, at least they have the Indians.




Prediction #3. More Americans will be tuned in to this program than were tuned in to all of the World Cup games combined. I have to hand it to LeBron and ESPN – they know how to hype this shit up. I mean, even my sister, who I’m pretty sure thought that LeBron was the third baseman for the Cleveland Browns told me today, “So I just read that lebron still hasn’t told where he is going...so annoying”.




Prediction #4. Somewhere Doc Rivers, Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett, Ray Allen, and Rajon Rondo, will be smiling to themselves. Because even if Dwayne Wade joins forces with LeBron James – next year will just be like so many other years, with the Celtics going to the Finals, leaving LeBron far, far behind.



- Jack Asher

I've lost my mojo!!!

My last blog was posted on June 17th, 2010. That was 19 days ago, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is a new record for me. Am I embarrassed? Yes. Am I sorry? Absolutely. What can I say… I think I’ve lost my mojo.

These weeks of going without blogs isn’t only out of laziness on my part, although I’m sure laziness would be a contributing factor. It’s also because I haven’t been able to come up with anything funny these past two weeks. Believe it or not, I’ve actually written two other full length blogs these past two weeks. But alas, my senior editor (a.k.a. my sister) said that they weren’t very funny. It didn’t come as shock to me either – I knew they weren’t great, but I was still hoping that they’d be decent enough to post.

No such luck.


I feel a bit rejected right now. Kind of like how Eddie Murphy must have felt after going from “Coming to America”, to “Norbit”.




But, enough of this whining from me. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s writing shit that will make you laugh for a half a second, and then have you forget you ever read it. And so, I shall bounce back once again. I’ll think up some new material on a more frequent basis if it kills me. Hell, I don’t even care if I have to throw embarrassing stories about Wifey in here to make quota – just kidding Wifey.

The point is, the Jack Asher that you all know and love, or at least find mildy entertaining, is back.


- Jack Asher

I Think I Have Something in My Eye

I consider myself to be a pretty manly guy. I drink my whiskey straight, I enjoy the occasional cigar with my friends, and one of my all time favorite movies is Rudy. Now, having said all of this I’ll admit, even I sometimes have my vulnerable moments.

Now, the story which I’m about to get into, it actually took place several months ago. I know I could have posted it back then, but I’ll level with you – I needed this time to come to terms with what happened.

It must have been November or December of last year, I just remember it was cold out; Wifey and I were sitting on our couch one weekend afternoon not knowing what to do with ourselves. For those of you who have spent a considerable amount of time in the Northeast, you can appreciate that a winter in Boston is no time for leisurely outdoor activities. From October through March, we Boston residents just hunker down in our sweatpants, and make sure that we’re stocked up on blankets, DVD’s, and do our best to weather the storm.

Wifey and I finally figure out that since there’s no way either of us are getting out of our sweats, I guess the only thing to take up some time on this Saturday would be to rent a movie. We decide to rent “Marley & Me”.

“Marley & Me”, for those of you who don’t know, looks like it’s going to be one of those lame romantic comedies… you put Jennifer Aniston and Owen Wilson together, and then you throw in a Labrador retriever who pulls all kinds of shenanigans, and bing bang boom – you got yourself movie magic. For anyone who hasn’t seen the movie yet, you may want to stop reading here, although it doesn’t really take a rocket scientist to figure out how the movie ends. The dog ends up dying.

Now, I’m certainly no rocket scientist (although I do love rockets), and even I, a simpleton, knew going into this movie that the dog was going to die at the end. You would think that I’d be prepared for it. Nope.

I was WEEPING, and I don’t mean that I shed a tear when Owen Wilson said goodbye to his dog, I mean I was full on sobbing like a child. There were tears streaming down my face, I had snot running down my nose, I even had those barely audible soft sobs going on. It was bad. I looked like Brett Favre during one his retirement speeches, but worse! I was crying so hard that even Wifey (who was also crying) was taken aback.






Yeah, that’s right. I cried, and I cried good and hard. I’m not ashamed to say it. I’d like to see any grown man get through that movie without shedding a tear. I’ll even go so far as to say that if you can do it, I’ll be the first to buy you a beer. And then I’ll never speak to you again, cause you have to be one cruel, dog-hating son-of-a-bitch not to shed a tear during that movie.


So, after that ‘episode’ finally ended, I was left red-eyed and thinking to myself – did I really just cry that hard at a movie? But you know what? I’m starting to think that I’m OK with it. Look, just cause I cried at a movie, doesn’t mean that I’m any less of a man. I still enjoy football just as much, and still believe that shoulder bags should be reserved solely for women and Europeans – I just have a soft spot for dogs.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again… Get this man a puppy!


- Jack Asher

Some days, these posts just write themselves...

I really love the writing process. I enjoy the challenge of coming up with interesting ideas to write about, and most of all, I really love writing it all down and hearing people tell me that they actually find my posts to be funny.

However, not every post needs to go through this creative process. In fact, this story didn’t take any creativity at all on my part – cause it all happened just this afternoon.


Most of you don’t know this, but I have a new boss. He started about three weeks ago, he's our new Director of Inside Sales. So far, no one on the team really likes him. Come to think of it, I think I’m the only one that can stand the guy.

I think he’s just too “corporate” for everyone else. I work at a fairly small company, and up to this point, no one on the team really knew what it’s like to be micro managed, and with this new guy on board, it’s a big change for them.

Anyways…

Today, as I was placing calls to prospective clients, and leaving voice messages for some, this new boss comes up to me and asks if I have a second to talk. I say sure. The following conversation ensued:


Boss: You know, Jack, I’ve been listening to the messages you’ve been leaving for your prospects, and I think I have something that might help you out a bit.

Jack: Sure, anything to help.

Boss: Well, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this or not during your phone conversations, but your last name is kinda hard to pronounce.

Jack: Haha (laughs uncomfortably), yeah, it’s a mouthful.

Boss: Well, here’s a suggestion, and you certainly don’t have to do this, I just think it might help… What you could do is change your last name to something easier for people to understand. I mean, you don’t necessarily have to change it outside of work, but maybe you could just change it for work purposes alone.

Jack: Ummmm, but my email address has my last name in it.

Boss: Oh, that’s not a problem… I can talk to the tech guys and have them replace your last name with an easier last name.

Jack: Yeah, Umm, I’ll think about it.



Just so you, my readers, fully understand... This guy was absolutely, 217% not joking. He was recommending that I use a fake last name so that when I leave messages for prospects, they won’t have to replay their messages to understand my last name.

Now, luckily for this guy… I totally see the humor in this situation. My only regret is that all I could think to come up with was “Yeah, Ummm, I’ll think about it”. Sometimes in life, you really need a do over. If I had one, here are a few lines that would have come in handy...


“You know – I’ve always liked the last name Mehoff”

“Good thing I’m not doing face-to-face sales – I can’t afford a nose job”

“Sounds great! By the way, can you point me to the HR department?”


And now, here's another bit of wisdom from yet another brilliant leader:




- Jack Asher

Return to Glory

Well, I’m back.



I would apologize for my lack of posts lately, but let’s be honest – I had more important shit to take care of. In fact, I shouldn’t be apologizing. In these past two weeks, which I’ll just consider a sabbatical, so much has taken place which has served as a breeding ground for blogging ideas. Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while are probably thinking – great, maybe he’ll start writing one blog per day again. Let me assure you, this is not the case. Also, stop being so damn greedy.

So, what’s my first blog going to be about? Perhaps I’ll write about my wedding, which I can promise you, was turned up to 11. Maybe I’ll write about the honeymoon (I’d keep it PG-13 of course). Who knows, maybe I’ll write a new Petey Pancakes segment.

Nope, today’s blog, ladies and gentlemen, is entitled:

Toddlers: Adorable Youth, or Dangerous Drunks?


Hear me out… During my wedding, there was a lot of dancing going on. Wifey and I were dancing, our friends were dancing, even our parents friends were dancing. But out of all this, you know what caught my eye? It was a 3 year old “break dancing” in the middle of the dance floor. It was reminiscent of something I’d do after shotgunning a half bottle of Rubinoff my freshman year of college. And like THAT – it hit me. This kids has to be hammered drunk.

So, I thought about it for a while, and you know what? I’m pretty sure that kids are always drunk!


Exhibit A – Hugging

Have you ever seen one 3 year old hugging another 3 year old? Sure, it’s kinda cute and all because they’re kids. But if an adult were to hug another adult in the same manner, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that the person in question was three sheets to the wind.



Exhibit B – “Accidents”

I’ll admit it. It happened, once. It was in college, after a toga party. I peed. But in all fairness, I know plenty of other respectable people who have had “accidents” after periods of drinking a bit too much.

But kids? They don’t give a damn. They’ll pee themselves at 3 in the afternoon, and they’re not the slightest bit embarrassed about it. It takes some serious drunkness to soil yourself and not even blink an eye about it.








Exhibit C – Dancing

I’ve already gone through this, but just to drive in my point. I know that you’ve seen a drunk person dance, because I’ve posted a video of a drunk man dancing. Take a close look at that video again, and tell me that you can’t imagine a toddler breaking out those same exact dance moves.


I rest my case.



Jack Asher

Kevin Costner's here to save the world... WTF?

So, I was online today just doing some snooping around - you know - trying to find stuff to entertain me during my remaining 2 hours here at work, and I come across this story.

Now, as a rule of thumb, I try to avoid anything involving Kevin Costner. This includes but is not limited to: Robin Hood, Tin Cup, The Postman, and Swing Vote. In fact, the only exception that I'll normally make is for Waterworld... it's a classic, can you blame me?

I Digress

So here I was with just another Kevin Costner item that I was happy to bypass when it struck me that this wasn't just KC participating in another terribly acted movie. This was KC trying to do something for this world. So, against my better judgement, I click on it...



This begs the question of, WTF?!?

Is the world really in such bad shape that we need Kevin Effin' Costner creating some kind of Brita filter for the Ocean? I mean at least give me an actor that I can trust with this level of importance.

Kiefer Sutherland comes to mind, as does Chuck Norris - at least these guys are badass enough to handle this situation the right way. You want the oil pipe fixed? Put a snorkel on Chuck Norris and let him do his thang. Problem solved.

Listen, I know that there's environmental issues at hand here. I know that we should all do our part to try to make this world a better, cleaner place. But the day that I let Kevin Costner do the fixin' for me is the day that I give up on humanity.


- A very distraught Jack Asher

Do I look like either of these guys?

People never tell me that I've got "one of those faces". You know - the type of face that just looks familiar. Yet, four times over this past month, people have actually gone out of their way to tell me that I look like these two guys.

Zdeno Chara, Bruins Defenseman




Andy Petit, The Evil Empire (The Yankees)











Don't get me wrong - I'm kinda flattered, it's nice to kinda sorta look like a famous athlete. However, I have no clue how anyone sees any resemblance. Am I the only one that's totally confused by this?

In any case, while it's all fine and good to be compared to these athletes, I'm still holding out for people comparing me to Brad Pitt (from Fight Club, not Benjamin Button).

Footloose Part 2: My problems are solved.

So there I was just days ago worrying about my lack of dancing skills due to my upcoming reception to follow our nuptuals. And then I stumble upon this... All my problems are solved, and not just the dancing problems either. I mean, obviously I'm going to take a page out of this guys book and rip it up on the dance floor, but it's more than that. This video just makes everything in life that much better. I feel as though my food tastes better, that the sun shines brighter.


For those of you coming to the wedding, you know where to find me. I'll be on the dance flo', just walkin' it out.

On a side note, anyone know where I can find a belt like this guy has?




Thanks to barstoolsports for bringing this to the masses.



- Jack Asher

I don't hate ANYTHING as much as Arizona hates Mexicans

This is saying a lot for me, ‘cause I hate a lot of things. I hate waking up before the sun’s up on most days, for instance. I also hate overcooked steaks, but I digress.

There’s been a lot in the news over the past few weeks about Arizona’s new law that requires immigrants to carry around their registration documents, and enforces a zero tolerance policy on illegal immigrants. I’m not going to dive into my personal beliefs about this law because, frankly, I don’t really enjoy talking politics. Besides, everything that could have been said about this legislation has been said. Everyone from Glenn Beck to John Stewart, and even a few well respected reporters have gone on the air and spoken at length about their views of this new law. At this point, I’m over it. I think I have a solid understanding of both sides view in the matter - and I have my own opinions on it. Case closed.

And then BOOM! Imagine my surprise when I come into work today, and I go to CNN.com, as I normally do to start off the day, and right there on it’s home page is a report entitled: “Arizona bans ethnic studies in public schools”.

You’re f***ing with me, right?

At this point, I don’t even think the Arizona state government is doing these things to align with their political ideals. I think that they’re doing it because A) They’re publicity whores, or B) They honestly hate Mexicans more than I’ve ever hated anything in my entire life.

I can almost understand it if they’re doing it for the publicity. After all, how often is anything having to do with Arizona ever in the media? If you were to ask me to list in order the most important states in America, Arizona would be right near the bottom along with North Dakota, and Canada. If this is in fact the reason behind their madness, then by all means, I hope they enjoy their 15 minutes of fame.

Now the alternative, on the other hand, I just can’t fathom. There’s no way that people can hate Mexicans that much in real life. Think about all the great contributions that Mexico has given us over the years… Taco Bell comes to mind, as does Tequila – although I highly recommend not mixing the two.


All in all, the matter is out of my hands. Arizona, I hope you enjoy your Mexican free state. Oh, by the way, I also hope you don’t mind that pretty much every city that’s not overrun by rednecks is embargo-ing your ass.



- Jack Asher

Footloose

The wedding is fast approaching, and I still don’t know how to dance. At all.

I guess I’m just so used to getting by on my wit and charm alone, that I never really cared that dancing was just one skill I never mastered. When I say I don’t know how to dance, I mean that I don’t know how to dance. Elaine Benes from Seinfeld could dance circles around me.

It’s not as though I haven’t tried either. Throughout my life, several friends have tried to teach me, including Wifey, who actually majored in dance. It’s not their fault, really. I’m just not teachable. When they try to teach me how to Tango, my internal rhythm says Cha-cha. When they try to teach me to dance to hip-hop, my internal rhythm automatically goes to the funky chicken.

I’m not so worried about the first dance; it’s a slow dance which is something I’ve been decent at since the 7th grade. Back then we made sure to keep our distance between us and our dance partner - I’m pretty sure the same thing applies in your mid 20’s, right?


I digress…


I’m not so worried about the slow stuff, I’m more worried about the faster songs - the kind that actually takes a sense of rhythm to dance to. I guess one option is just to avoid the dance floor all together with during those songs – after all, I’m going to have to schmooze throughout this wedding anyway, might as well make sure I do it at the most opportune times.

What’s that? Oh, you want me to come dance? Sorry – I’m actually catching up with Crazy Aunt Betsy who’s telling me a riveting story about her pottery class.


Then there’s the second option of only doing the dancing I know – which includes the aforementioned chicken dance, and the ever popular fist pump (courtesy of MTV’s “Jersey Shore”). But something tells me that Wifey would not approve.


I guess the last option is to learn how to dance in a hurry. That means that I can either park my ass in front of the TV while watching Kevin Bacon in Footloose until it just sinks in, or I can try my luck with some brave soul who’s willing to teach me. Any volunteers will be asked to sign a waver admonishing me of any guilt in the case of broken toes.


Any takers?



- Jack Asher

The Awkward Stage

I’ve run into a bit of a problem over the past week or so. You see, Wifey and I have these grand plans to put up framed pictures of ourselves on this mantle at the wedding – you know, pictures of us growing up from when we were kids and all that. Well, after going through all the pictures I could find, I’m really only comfortable putting up pictures of me between the ages of 0-6, and 17 – present. Why can’t I put up pictures of me between the ages of 6 and 17? Because I was one awkward mofo.

Listen, all boys have awkward stages, usually they’re between the ages of 12 and 15 or so. Mine lasted a bit longer. Pretty much, if adult me were to come across me at any point between 6 & 17 – I would be forced to turn to Wifey and say “Holy S**t, that’s one awkward kid”.

So, by now those of you who remember me during those years are thinking to yourselves – “Holy s**t, he really was totally awkward” – but the rest of you who didn’t know me during that time may be wondering what about me could have been so bad. Let’s dig a little deeper, shall we?

The Clothes – Listen, I can’t blame anyone but myself here. I mean, of course it didn’t help that this phase took place during the early 90’s – but that’s no excuse. I just couldn’t care less about what I was wearing – ever. My jeans were generally too short, my shirts were just embarrassingly out of sync with the current decade, and generally three sizes too large for my scrawny, scrawny self. I remember once in 8th grade, I didn’t have a clean collared shirt to wear to school (my school required all kids to have a collared, tucked in shirt), so I just grabbed one of my dads XL shirts – without the slightest notion of how ridiculous I looked. You see, I really didn’t care about how I looked, the only two things that were ever on my mind at that age were: girls, and The Simpsons (in that order). Little did I know that improvements in my overall appearance may have had some effect on the girls. The Simpsons, however, loved me no matter what.

The Hair – Ok, this might be what really brought the whole awkward-ness phase together for me. No boy in his early teenage years should ever, EVER, be allowed to decide on his own haircut – I realize this only now. Much too late I’m afraid. Ok, here it goes. I had long hair, but not long enough for it to look like I rocked out. Nope, it was just under chin length. And it was parted in the middle. Oh, and if that wasn’t enough – it was all too often over-gelled. I swear it’s not as though I was actually trying to win the award for most awkward kid in North America – it just kinda happened. Again, I have no one to blame but myself. My parents and sisters all tried to convince me to chop off the excess ‘do’ – but I was having none of it. I knew that I looked like a rock star, and I was damn proud of that hair.

The Braces – Honestly, this was just the icing on the cake for me. With our without the braces, I was awkward as F***. But if there were any doubts about my awkwardness, the braces cleared it all up. Here I was a kid of 13, with clothes that didn’t fit, a redonkulous hair cut, and unable to say three words without spitting on the person I was speaking with.


Oh, did I mention that I was a smelly kid too. (I’m not too sure about this one, but I’m willing to bet it was the case).



I have pictures of myself during this phase – I have quite a few actually, but you can bet your ass that I’m not posting them on this blog. It’s embarrassing enough having to live with the knowledge that I was the kid that made everyone say “Holy S**t, that kid’s awkward”.





- Jack Asher

Definition of a bad idea...

Today was starting out so good. I woke up at exactly 4:39AM, 6 minutes before my alarm clock goes off, which meant that I was able to turn it off and get up without waking up Wifey. Decidedly a good start.

Because I leave home twice a week at the ungodly hour of 5:30, there was no traffic, and I got the best parking spot at my office building – it pretty much faces directly towards the exit so that when I leave for the day, I never have to look back at this awful place.

I get into the office at 6AM, and as per usual, nobody else is here. This is nice for two distinct reasons. 1. I don’t have to listen to my whiny-ass co-workers for the first 3 hours of work, and 2. I am free to fart as loud, and as frequently as I please. So far, I’m batting 1000.

I make a few phone calls, and the day’s going by pretty quickly. After-all, I only have to work until around 2 or 3, since I came in so early. And at this point, I’m pretty psyched. I have these grand plans to go home, rest for a little bit, and then go for a nice 4-5 mile run around the Charles River, because it is truly a beautiful day.


And then it happens…


At Noon, I head into the cafeteria where I usually purchase my lunch, and I take a look at the daily specials:

- Baked Meatloaf with Mashed Potatoes
- Classic Reuben Sandwich
- Chicken and Vegetable Curry
- Egg Salad Wrap
- Some Kind of Weird Quiche


So I take a look at the options, and I decided that today, I’m going to be worldly, I’m going to go with the Chicken and Vegetable Curry. I order my food, and wait a couple minutes for the guy behind the counter to hand me my meal.

When he does, it feels as though I was just handed a cinder block in a brown paper bag. This thing was heavy! If I had to guesstimate, I’d say that it easily weighed around 3 pounds.

No Problem, I tell myself – I’ll just eat half of it, and save the rest for tomorrow’s lunch. Yeah… that didn’t happen. Anyone that knows me can attest that if there’s food in front of me, it doesn’t stand a chance.

3 LB of Chicken and Curry later, I’m sweating like an Injun in the Alamo (did I mention it’s hot out today?), I smell like the dude that sits diagonal from me (which is not a good thing), and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to stand up to walk to my car any time soon, let alone go for a 4-5 mile run.




Definition of a bad idea.




- Jack Asher

Shenannigans in Montreal, Eh?

Well, I’ve put a lot of thought into this post - that's actually totally false- I just put it together a minute ago. Regardless, I feel as though it’s necessary to let people know how the bachelor party went last weekend, but at the same time, I don’t want to simply list out detail by detail all that happened during our time in Montreal – that would be boring and lengthy. What I will say, however, is that I have absolutely no regrets about the past weekend, my conscience is as clean as a whistle, and that this past weekend with some of my best friends completely and utterly surpassed my expectations.

My friends are not super-wealthy at this point in their lives, nor would I expect them to be. We’ve all only been out of school for just a couple years, less in some cases. So when I found out that we were heading to Montreal for the weekend, I just kind of assumed that we’d be budgeting-it-up a bit. That assumption was confirmed when the best man sent me a picture of the hotel we’d be staying at; a small hotel in Montreal, quaint, but pretty nice:










And then we got to the hotel that we were really staying at, The InterContinental Hotel in downtown Montreal. This, apparently, would be the theme throughout the weekend.



Every where we went, everything we did - we did it in a big way. When we went to a club, the guys didn’t purchase drinks from the bar, they ordered a VIP table with a bottle of Grey Goose. When we went to the pub for a few beers, we didn’t get pints, we got gallons. When we went out for our meals, we didn’t get burgers, we got filet mignon. And so it went throughout the weekend, over-indulgence was the name of the game. I ate and drank more in one weekend than I have in the past two weeks combined.

Did I need all this? Of course not… honestly just having the opportunity to watch Petey Pancakes ask strippers to marry him and let him take them back to America would have been more than enough entertainment for the weekend. But these guys went above and beyond their duties this weekend.

Thank you to the Best Man, Petey Pancakes-The Boy Wonder, The Doc, Angry McJameson, and The Pharmacist for an incredible time, let’s do it again sometime soon.


Jack Asher

The Biggest Fan

I love NBC’s “The Biggest Loser”. There. I said it.

I don’t know what’s happened to me over these past 15 or so weeks, but I’ve become a biggest loser super fan – and I don’t just mean that I make sure that I’m on my couch every Tuesday evening ready to watch. What I’m talking about her is on a whole other plain. What I'm trying to say is, I’m emotionally invested in this season.

While my opinions on each of the participants vary widely, and I downright hate one of the trainers, I’m going to see this season to the end. Here are a few of my thoughts on the remaining contestants. (I’m leaving last week’s loser on here as well, because my sister hasn’t caught up yet, and I wouldn’t dare ruin it for her).



Ashley

This girl just annoys me for some reason. Don’t get me wrong, I think her progress is incredible, and she clearly works hard every single week. Honestly, and I know how this sounds, I think I just don’t like her so much ‘cause she’s ugly. Not inside and out – just out. It’s also not at all because she’s big, after all, it is “The Biggest Loser” – she just doesn’t look right to me, and therefore, I don’t like her. Feel free to judge away.





Daris

Again, not my favorite. Same deal as with Ashley, this dude works hard every single week. But in his case – I just don’t think he has the drive to go all the way. And his curly hair looks stupid.









Koli

Koli’s my boy! Sam and Koli are by far the hardest working individuals in that house. They 200% deserve to win the whole thing based on their intensity alone. But I like Koli for other reasons as well. He’s just all around a good guy. Everyone in that house looks up to him, not only because of how hard he works – but because he’s just a sweetheart! I guarantee that every lady in that house – Allison included – has a bit of a crush on Koli.




Sam

I just said that Sam and Koli deserve to win based on how hard they work, and that’s totally true. However, Sam irritates the crap out of me. If this show was called “the biggest condescending loser” – it would have been over in week 6 with Sam as the champ. When they were all split up into two teams, and Sam was the only guy in his group… he made it clear to everyone that he felt that it was his role to be the leader. Now, I’m no newcomer to jokes at women’s expense – but come on dude! You’re on national television in 2010, you can’t be going on talking about the poor little girls needing someone to look up to. Yeah, we know that your cousin is a natural born leader – take a lesson from Jeb Bush, and just deal with it behind closed doors.




O'Neil

Not since the days of Carl and Laura Winslow have I been so attached to an African American family on TV. You throw anything at this guy and it’s like no big deal to him. What, you’re kneecaps are about to fall off? No problem, ill just work at my own pace. Fall down and crack your head open during a challenge – I’ll just walk it off. Throw in a death in the family… well they would have wanted me to continue on my journey anyway. The man is an effin HERO.




Sunshine
I don’t care what people say about Sunshine – she’s a saint! You put me in a room with my dad for longer than 3.5 minutes – someone’s going to be injured. This girl, on the other hand, has been living in close quarters with her dad, working out with him – and still, she’s the most supportive daughter he could ask for. Sunshine. Saint.





Michael
This dude just pisses me off sometimes. You never know if he’s actually going to have a hard workout or not. Really, it’s a 50/50 shot, which coincidentally is the ratio of laughs to silence he gets after telling one of his awful jokes. The dude was happy as can be when he (slowly) jogged a complete mile. Really? REALLY? Every other contestant in that show is running laps around you, and you’re grinning like you just completed the Ironman Triathlon.



Jillian the Trainer: You’re an F***ing trainer, not a licensed psychotherapist. ‘Nuff said.

Bob the Trainer: Indifferent


My prediction for this seasons winner: Sunshine.

Now excuse me while I go and fix me a bowl of ice cream – with extra cream.


Jack Asher

"I do... But you can't legally hold me to it!"

Let me share with you the most recent nonsense of my life.

Last weekend, Wifey and I headed down to Long Island to do some wedding stuff. We had the final meeting with the photographer, we finalized our menu, and she had another dress fitting. But the real reason that we drove down… To get our marriage license.


Let me rewind.



About two months ago, Wifey and I were down in Long Island to meet with the Justice of the Peace who will be marrying us. While we were sitting down with him, we discussed the ceremony, as well as what needs to be done to make this all legit. He told us that we would have to come down on a weekday no more than 60 days before the wedding, and bring two forms of ID to city hall, and we’d be able to get the license right then.

No problem. We drive down late on Thursday night, and take the next day off of work. After all, this is important. So, 9:00AM on Friday, we gather our documents (we each have our passports as well as our drivers license), and we head to city hall.

We find the right department and tell them merrily that we’re here to get our marriage license. The very first question that the clerk asks us: “Do you have your birth certificates”?

Apparently, in the great state of New York – a passport and drivers license does not qualify as proof of age. You either need an original or certified birth certificate, or Baptismal papers.

Slight problem here… I’m Jewish – so the Baptismal papers are out (too bad they didn't ask for circumcision papers - racists). And neither I, nor my parents have any idea where my Birth Certificate could be. I explain this to the clerk, and she reassures me:

“It’s really no problem, I can pull it up right here… you were born in NY, right?”


I was born in Los Angeles. F***.


The next several hours were a blur of Wifey freaking out, and conversations with the city hall of LOS ANGELES.

Long story short, we’re getting a certified copy of my birth certificate expedited to NY… that is, so long as they have my birth certificate on file. Then, assuming we receive it, we’ll have to get our marriage license the Friday before our wedding, and hope that nothing else goes wrong.


So, for those of you attending our wedding in 33 days… come, enjoy the food and the festivities, but don’t be surprised when we are NOT pronounced Man and Wifey.


- Jack Asher

It's the Final Countdown! Da da da da, da da da da da....

Well, it’s T-Minus 3 days until I’m off to celebrate the end of freedom with my buddies. That’s right. Next weekend, I’ll be with some of my closest friends, in a foreign land, enjoying my bachelor party. But what exactly will I be doing? I have no clue.

I only know that the festivities will be held in Montreal, as well as who will be attending. Let’s go over some of the main players in the guest list… hopefully it will provide a bit of insight to what lies ahead.

Best Man: He was a clear choice for best man, not so much because of the fact that he’s my best friend, but rather because he knows how to throw one hell of a party – something that is clearly important in this kind of choice.





Petey Pancakes, The Boy Wonder: Should need no further introduction.



The Doc: Not only is The Doc a good friend, but he’s also one of the most responsible friends I’ve ever had. This guy is pretty much at the top of his class at a prestigious med school. Wifey is thrilled that he’ll be there because A) he has medical training which may come in handy, and B) he has the capability of drawing the line between fun and stupidity – something that not all of us (see the above name) possess.




Angry McJameson: This guy is just outright scary if you don’t know him, and sometimes even when you do. Angry McJameson is huge (he’s a personal trainer), and has been known to drink Jameson by the barrel. Pretty much, he’s the muscle of the group. Hopefully we won’t be needing him for his brawn during the weekend, but if so, I’m glad he’s on our side.





The Brother (in-law): I know what everyone’s thinking here… Will I be able to enjoy myself with my future brother-in-law hanging out with us for the weekend? Absolutely. I’m actually really excited he’s coming out, because we haven’t had too many opportunities to hang out in a social setting, and he’s all around just a good guy.







Now, from what little bit that I know, this list is incomplete. That’s certainly not for a lack of respect for the other gentlemen that will be attending, but rather because I’m tired of coming up with clever-ish nicknames for them.

The way I see it, this is like a puzzle that has many possible solutions to it. If things go one way, then Petey Pancakes’ may start up with his usual antics and get us all thrown in jail. If they go another way, Angry McJameson may have to throw up the fisticuffs and duke it out. Who knows, maybe it’ll be an awesome combination of the two?

My point is this… with a group as diverse as this, we’re bound to have a memorable time.



- Jack Asher