Things I don't hate

I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time bitching about the things I hate.  Like mayonnaise and Julia Roberts.  It's sort of who I am.  But today on the bus--where I overheard two dudes loudly going on and on and on about how much they hate Justin Bieber--I realized that that can be exhausting.  Who can hate Justin Bieber so much that they must angrily bitch and moan at 7:13 AM on a Friday when everyone else is patiently counting down the minutes until 5pm? 

As such, in celebration of it being Friday, I thought I would make a list of things that my stunningly sexy readership of 9 may think that I hate, but in actuality, don't bother me in the least:

1)  Bieber

Might as well start here.  I can't name or hum a single song by this kid.  I have no idea if he sucks musically or not.  All I'm going on here is what I hear people complaining about the guy.  Ok, so he has kind of douchey hair.  I'll give you that.  And he has more money than god.  But hell, he's just a kid that was thrust into a spectacularly successfully money making machine.

Can we blame him for that?  He's sort of like the next generation's version of Macaulay Culkin.  Sure, we may all remember Mac fondly now, but that's revisionist history.  There was a swift and brutal backlash against Macaulay Culkin back in the day that abruptly pushed him into an early retirement.  It's very easy to forget how much people hated that kid for a while.  So, Mac relaxed for a couple years, divorced his parents, slept with Michael Jackson, got married, got divorced, laid low and then eventually came back as an indie-movie darling and I think we can all agree, he's sort of awesome now:

God, I hope that picture isn't photoshopped

Point is, yes, Bieber is over-exposed and has that hair but it wouldn't surprise me if he either went the Mac route or the Timberlake route and remade his career on down the road.  I hated Justin Timberlake for a while...c'mon, the dude was in 'NSYNCH (did I get that right? I refuse to google it) but through a series of SNL appearances, that fun Pepsi commercial where he was killed by a big screen TV, "Tit-Gate" at the Superbowl, and some pretty good roles in the occasional movie, he's made my short list of dudes I'd probably have to set aside my heterosexuality and bang given the opportunity.  I can "not hate" Bieber and at the same time hope to god he never makes that list too, right?  I better move on.

2)  Rebecca Black

This is one that I don't get at all.  Sure, her song "Friday" was not very good.  Let's get that out of the way right now.  But is it the worst song every released?  Hell no.  I mean, the Black Eyed Peas shit out a worse song 8 or 9 times on their average album.  Bob Dylan recorded entire albums on auto-pilot that were worse than "Friday".  I can even think of a few Beatles songs that are worse: "Birthday", "The Long and Winding Road", "Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da" and "Michelle", just to name a few.  

I really don't understand what the spite and fury is all about.  What we have here is a 14 year old girl whose parents paid for a music video to be made of a song the girl didn't even write.  The lyrics speak about the average, every-day "problems" of a teenage girl, not about Nancy Pelosi and John Boehner having a dirty three-way with the Declaration of Independence.  Where is the controversy?  "Friday" is the definition of innocuous. 

And yet, because of this song, the girl--a freaking teenage girl--received death threats.  What?  Why?  I don't get it.  I hope she makes a shitload of money, does Bieber and writes a hilarious book someday.  The ridicule she received was not at all equal to the annoying qualities of the song. 


3)  Mondays

For just about forever, Sunday has been my favorite day of the week.  See, on Friday and Saturday, we're supposed to act and behave as functional human beings.  We go out, have drinks, mix in a dinner, run errands, visit people and generally better ourselves.  Sunday?  I consider it a loss if I change my underwear.  Sundays are all about sitting on the couch, watching football and movies, playing Nintendo and not showering.  Sunday is the perfect bridge to Monday.

If you can't deal with a Monday, then you didn't do Sunday right.  

While I don't hate Mondays, I do think that these days they are rather sad and bittersweet.  One one hand, I have to drag my fat ass out of bed, take the bus-to-the-train-to-the-bus in 40 degree weather all to help grown men masturbate.  On the other hand, I won't have to worry about that commute much longer.

Sigh.

4)  Jesus Christ

Despite what you may believe after a few of my posts these last few days, I gots nothing against the King of Kings.  Honestly?  Jesus seemed like a cool dude.  While I may not believe that he was the son of God, I do think he was a prophet of sorts and pushed a message of love that people these days really, really seem to ignore.  It's hardly his fault that millions of people have been killed in his name.  And if he's watching us today, he's probably cursing Republicans right now, saying things like "WTF?  I never said word-fucking-one about gays." or "Help the poor!  Help them!  Remember?  Love!?  I healed lepers!  You can't help a cancer-ridden single mother of 3 with her hospital bills!  Christ!"

What did Gandhi say?  "I like your Christ.  I do not like your Christians."  That seems about right.

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Thus concludes the only blog you will likely ever read where JC, Beiber and Rebecca Black have something in common.  Happy Friday!

The Poll Results are In!

And apparently I'm wrong.

My loyal readership of 7 may remember a few weeks ago when I posted the "Literal Sally" story about my wife.  Our argument boiled down to this:  When I went off to watch the Chicago Bulls play basketball, was I watching "Boys playing with balls" or was I watching "Boys playing with ball"?  Well, the results are in and they are not pretty:

Boys playing with ball:   3 votes (33%)

Boys playing with balls:  6 votes (66%)

Full disclosure:  I voted twice. So thank you, kind stranger, who voted with me.  It's just you and me against the world. 

I still say that within the confines of the marital argument, I'm right.  Sure, maybe not grammatically or even drunkenly correct....none of this changes the fact that there is only one damn ball that matters.

Alas, the people have spoken.  And, as I've always said, everyone is entitled to their opinion, even if that opinion is wrong.

Whatever.  You guys suck.

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This seems as good a time as any to bring up the results of my first poll:  "Should Mike lay off the crap?".  This poll was thrown up after my recent visit to the doctor's office who found that my cholesterol level was "John Goodman High".  This was also after a fast-food bender of epic proportions.  The results:

Should Mike lay off the crap?

God, yes!  Krishni loves you!  6 votes
Nah. If there's anything these last 32 years has taught us, it's that your colon can handle anything:  4 votes
I dunno.  Do you have insurance?  0 votes

First and foremost, I'd like to thank the 6 voters who seem concerned about my physical well being.  Secondly, I'd like to thank the 4 voters that will continue to encourage me to destroy myself from within.  That'll be a whole lot of fun. 

Hey, isn't tonight the all-you-can-eat spaghetti dinner at The Rail?

Wheeeee! Opening Day!

I was going to write a hilarious moment-by-moment account of my Opening Day experience with Brad but the truth is, it would have looked something like this:

8:37 am:  Open 1st beer.  Take shower with said beer in hand.
10:01 am:  Arrive at Brad's.  Brad and I play 'Thunderstruck' by AC/DC for 90 minutes while consuming many beers.
12:15pm:  Arrive at Comiskey Park.  Consume many beers

***scene missing***

5am:  Awake in Brad's bed with no pants on.

I know that somewhere in the middle, I ate a kosher dog, tried the new 'Ball Park DiGiorno' pizza stand, left the game early since we sorely underestimated the weather and were freaking freezing by the 7th inning, went to The Rail on Damen Ave to eat and kill 2 hours (drinking) before the Bulls game, drank 17-20 beers between the two of us before, during and after the Bulls kicked the living shit out of the Celtics, smashed in some more pizza and arrived back at Brads.

For the record, that was 15 hours of drinking for the two of us.  It's been a while since I tied one on like that.  Our bartender at The Rail even bought us a totally superfluous shot of Jameson.  She really, really didn't need to do that.

Oh, and the White Sox won.  So, except for the part where I woke up on Brad's couch, went to his bathroom and instead of returning to the couch, I just crawled into his bed with him, it was a pretty good day.  He might beg to differ.