So, You've Decided To Go To the Gym Drunk . . .

Here are some things to keep in mind . . .

1. Don't attempt as much weight as you ordinarily would, as you'll find your equillibrium will be slightly off, or really off, depending on how many "pops" you have had.  I damn near tipped over tonight attempting some decline dumbbell presses.  I am a bit of a dumbbell.  Drunkbell, as it were.

2. Keep your small talk with staff and other patrons to a minimum.  I didn't have my gym card on me, so he had to pull me up in the system with my driver's license.  He pointed out that it says I was born in 1901 in their system, to which I said, "Yeah, that Civil War was a bitch."  He pointed out that I would have been born after that, so I said, "Right, World War 2.  Would have been too young for the first one."  Good recovery!  Did I ever tell you that I majored in history in undergrad?

3. Now, I know you're lubed up, but really try hard not to start singing along to your iPod.  Even if you let a little eek out, it will quickly turn to belting it out like Whitney Houston at the Super Bowl if you're not careful.

That's all I can think of tonight.  It's been a long night of drinking and lifting stuff, trying not to drop weight on my nuts.  Can you think of any more tips, readers?

The Lobster Man

The last two summers I rode a rickshaw bike/cab as a summer job, but the 4 or 5 summers before that, I was at Navy Pier, taking pictures of tourists.  I'm back on the pier for this summer, and I had my first day back yesterday.  I really like it there.  I have limited responsibility since I'm starting back at entry level, and it's not a job where I have to use my brain a lot - like my real job.  What I do a lot of is getting sun, cracking jokes with customers and coworkers, and just enjoying myself.

Because of all of this, I was in a terrific mood when I saw The Lobster Man walk by.  He is a man who appears to be in his 40's or 50's, has long blond professional wrestling hair and build, always shirtless, always tanned/leathery, and he's always drinking beer outdoors on the pier.  He looks almost exactly like Dog the Bounty Hunter if that helps.  Someone I knew who tended bar out there got to know him a little, and evidently he claims to have had a high profile government job for many years that he couldn't talk about much, which affords him the lifestyle to drink 7 or 8 beers at $7 a pop every other day or so during the summer.  I know another guy who has heard about him and is pretty sure he is the same guy he sees shirtless driving around in a Ferrari. 

So, as I said, I'm already in a great mood when I see the The Lobster Man walking past me on the way to hang the hog (go pee), so I said, "Hey, good to see you, man!" as if I know him personally, which I don't.  He either recognized me, or more likely just played along when he said it that was likewise good to see me.  Strange that I was so stoked to be back on the pier that I just blurted out how happy I was to see The Lobster Man.  It's going to be a good summer.  I'll be having a $7 draft with him out of a small plastic glass with him really soon, and as the beer instantly gets warm from the heat, the two of us will talk about all the men he has killed for this great nation.  

Get Your Dinghy Twanged

Last night I went to Chellie's birthday party at a bar down the street, and because LSD and I were so busy with home improvement tasks, when we looked at the clock, it was already 11:30PM.  Needless to say, everyone was rather ham-boned when we got there, and we were stone sober.  My homie, Oats, was no exception.

There was a karaoke DJ booked solely for the party, and when I came through the door, Oats reached out to tenderly grab hold of my face and beckoned me to join him for a song later.  It was awesomely gay.  Later he was telling LSD the story of when we were eating beef sandwiches and watching netflix over by his place after a long night at the bars, and he got a booty call at around 2:30AM.  He said he had to take her up on it, and I was too tired to go home, so I just crashed there.  When he came home the next morning, he found me sleeping in his bed.  Sort of a dick move on my part, but when your host leaves you at his house for some ass, the guest is entitled to upgrade his sleeping situation, no?

The point of this post is to bring you a new colloquialism for coitus that Oats invented on the fly while telling this story:

Oats: So I take off to go get my dinghy twanged, whatever that means.  

(We all start laughing at this point, and he joined in, wondering how in the hell he blurted out such a fun and silly phrase, and then he jumps back into his story.)

Oats: So, yeah, I go off to go get my dinghy twanged.

(He uses the phrase again!  Right away!  Let's see if it catches on, all you dinghy-twangers out there . . .)

Patterns

This phone call may or may not have happened the other day.

Susan from Visa: Is this Dr. Kenneth Noisewater?

Dr. Ken: You bet your ass.

Susan: Uh.  Okay.  I'm calling to check if there has been some fraud or theft involved with your account.

Dr. Ken: Oh snap!  I hope not.

Susan: Let me just review some purchases with you.  Did you spend $500 at Bill's Furniture Emporium today?

Dr. Ken: Yes.  That one was me. 

Susan: How about another one in the amount of $145.56 at Sears.

Dr. Ken:  Yup.  Me again.  Bought me a new air conditioner.

Susan: Okay, good.  Lastly, how about $125.70 at Target?

Dr. Ken: All me.  Had to get a bunch of stuff for the new apartment, toasters and the like. 

Susan: Well, good to know.  Just wanted to be sure because it didn't match your usual patterns.

Dr. Ken: My patterns?

Susan: Yes.  Our system finds things that are not in line with how you usually spend.  You see, Dr. Noisewater, you usually only spend over $100 at places that appear to be bars, usually on Friday and Saturday nights.

Dr. Ken: Yeah.  I'm working on that, Susan.  I have a lot of demons, you see.

Susan: Sorry to hear that, Dr. Noisewater.  Seems like your demons get the best of you in a similar patter, often times Duffy's for $100 and then another $100 at The Liars Club in the same night.

Dr. Ken: Okay, Susan!  I said I'm working on it.

Susan: Very good.  Well, anything else I can help you with?

Dr. Ken: No, I'm okay.  You seem nice.  You want to get a drink sometime?

Susan: That's against our policy over here at Visa.

Dr. Ken: I understand.  Well, if you're ever in Chicago, you know how to find me.  You know my "patterns," after all.

click

The Coruscant Heat

It seems like everyone in America is tuning into the NBA finals hoping for the Heat lose, but I wonder what a galaxy far, far away might make of this match up?  This got me thinking which star wars baddies would best represent a team that is such a "wretched hive of scum and villainy."

Darth Vader.  "That's game, bitches!"

LeBron James

             Equals . . . 








Explanation: I like this choice because no one hated LeBron when he was with Cleveland (The Rebellion) but then nobody could stand him when he sold out and signed with the Heat (The Empire).

                                         

Dywayne Wade

 Equals . . . 

Grand Moff Tarkin

                              
  









Explanation: Wade just seems like the kind of guy who would blow up your whole planet just to test out his new Death Star, just to show you what's up.  

Pat Riley.  "Kiss the rings, bitches!"

The Emperor

 Equals . . .










Explanation: Pat and the Emperor are both evil old duded running things from behind the scenes.  I bet you didn't know that under that robe, the Emperor's hair is slicked back.

"Sniff these ringless fingers!"

Selacious Crumb

Equals . . .








Explanation: Erik Spoelstra is that little weasel that no one listens to.  When you see him trying to draw up a play for his guys while they just talk amongst themselves, you just can't help but think he might as well be Selacious Crumb outlining a pick and roll.

Chris "The Ostrich" Bosh

Jar Jar Binks

      
                  Equals . . .

Explanation: There is nothing deeper here than 'dude just looks like Jar Jar Binks.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
And there you have it, people.  What do you think?  Anyone I missed or anything you would change?  Leave me a comment.                                                                                                                    

Richard Dawson, Long Time Host of the "Family Feud" Recently Died . . .

. . . and does anyone else remember how he was always kissing contestants on the mouth?  That seemed odd to me even as a little kid.  In this clip, he meets a very horny family of women who all seem to want to get in his pants when he kisses them.  He then admits that he got "aroused."  Well, Richard, you were a very funny man and had a great career, but your best accomplishment will always be laying these four sisters backstage.   

twitter line

i finally have the little tagline for my twitter account.  it came to me when i was biking a gzillion miles today:

work out like an animal, drink like a fish, fuck like a beast.

what do you think?

the bike lock story

I was biking home from the gym today, holding my bike lock in my had, when I saw what I thought might be some sort of domestic dispute between a young couple.  As it turns out, they were just play fighting but for a moment there I thought I might have had to go upside this dude's head with a u-lock. 

Here is the little scene in my stupid head that I wrote in that fleeting moment:

Dr. Ken: Hey, buddy.  Why don't you leave the little lady alone
(little lady is kind of demeaning and sexist, but that's just how old fashioned chivalrous types talk)

Man: Just stay out of this, Lance Armstrong.  This doesn't concern you.  Or your one nut.

Dr. Ken: It certainly doesn't involve Lance's testicle, so yeah, we'll leave that out, but it does concern me now because there is no way I'm leaving without . . . doing something.  Are you okay, miss?

Woman: No.  I'm not.  He's an asshole and he's drunk and mean. 

Man: You shut your stupid mouth, woman!  And let me and Armstrong finish our conversation.
(This is kind of how stereotypical wife beating types talk, I think)

Dr. Ken: Listen, why don't we just put you two in a cab and call it a night.

Man: Sure.  We could do that.  Or I could whip the ever-loving tar out of your stupid hipster ass.

the man begins to roll up his sleeves and walk towards Dr. Ken in a threatening manner

Dr. Ken: (stepping off his bike and wielding his bike lock) Think this through.  I don't want to clock you with this bike lock, and you don't want to get hit with one. 

------------------------------------------------------------

The truth of the matter is that I would probably just pull around the corner and call the police.  If I did opt for the U-Lock beating, I would likely miss with a piss-poor flailing attempt and get beat up.  Probably the girl would even get a few licks in, and they would resolve their differences by agreeing that I'm a giant pussy.

Natural Endings

Sometimes I go to this hole in the wall bar for Boston fans in Chicago because my buddies Oats and Southie like to go, and it's grown on me.  You're guaranteed that the bartender gal with giant boobs will get three quarters drunk midway through her shift and then way beyond drunk once she punches out and gets on the other side of the bar.  You can just tell she was smoking hot around 7 years ago, but the hard living has taken its tole on that face of hers.

One time a cop with giant mutton chops came in to deal with a regular who was stumbling all over the place, and I realized the cop was a regular too when the big chested bartender said, "I got an 8 ball over here, so you better frisk me!"  The cop just hung out talking to folks for a bit and then took the stumbler home in his squad car.

Last week I was in there watching the Celtics, back when they were still in the playoffs, and for whatever reason some lady in there was going off about Asian massage parlors and damning any man who ever set foot it one.  She was greatly outnumbered by men defending this practice, one of which was quoted as saying that "a happy ending is really just a natural ending."  I Googled this phrase, and it does not appear as if it has been used in this sense, at least not in the first page of Google.  So, I'm giving this fella full credit and dropping this phrase for all 7 of my readers to see.  Thanks, buddy, and thanks, shit-hole bar.

I saw Roger Waters from Pink Floyd play "The Wall" the Other Night . . .

. . . and here are some thoughts.

1. Roger aged very well into that big face of his, and believe it or not, he is a better looking 65-year-old man than a 25-year-old.

Here he is from the other night

And here he is in the Nineteen Seventies

There were ladies there saying that he looked like Richard Gere.  Yes.  Heart throb and American gigalo Richard Gere.  And these were young and attractive girls saying this.  Girls who would have no idea that back in the day he looked like Georges Muresan.  Of course they didn't know this because few really knew what rockers looked like back then, before the MTV days.  No band will ever make as many amazing records as Pink Floyd for a myriad of reasons, but one is that Roger could just be ugly and make art without people caring what he looked like, what brands he was wearing, or who his date was to the Grammies. 

(This guy didn't put out "Animals in 1977, but he is 7'7" and uglier than just about any animal.)

2. The show was at Wrigley Field, which is where the Cubs play and my favorite place on planet earth, so how could I miss the guy from my favorite band in my favorite place?  One thing you may know about me is that I love a good urinal trough.  What I noticed is that a lot of the people there were not the usual ballgame crowd, so they were shy and waiting for the stalls.  No way all those fellas had to go poop - they just didn't want to join in the trough fun.

Gross, yes.  But more efficient.  

3. During ''Young Lust," the one about him figuring out his wife was cheating on him so he decided to bang every groupie he could get his hands on, they showed very hot and naked women on a giant screen.  As a man in a long-distance relationship, it was all I could do to stop myself from flying in my girlfriend that very night.  Earlier in the show a bunch of little kids sang the chorus for "Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2," and my partner in crime that night, James Douglass Morison, said, "I hope those kids aren't still here.  They're all going to get their first wood tonight."


(She's naked right about 2:35)

4. When "Run Like Hell" was playing it reminded me of when I ran my first race as an adult.  I believe it was only 5 miles, but that was really hard for me back then because I was a long haired doughy guy who rarely worked out.  While running the race, my long stupid hair flopping around in a stupid pony tail, they played "Run Like Hell" over the loud speaker, and I just remember clapping along and feeling really good.  So, among all the other reasons I have to thank Roger and the remaining, surviving members of Pink Floyd, I can thank them for getting me into running, the thing that keeps me sane, where I can think straight, and put my universe back in order.  Thanks for everything, Floyd.

Unusual Playlist Titles

I have one of those iPod shuffles with no buttons on it where you hold down a button on the headphones for a voice to tell you the names of the song or playlist.  It's a robotic white guy voice, but every once in a while it's a woman robot.  And for some reason all my stuff by Tool is read by a German speaking robot.

I like to get a workout in around 5 days a week, so I do anything to motivate myself, including naming playlists funny things to make the white guy robot say funny things.  Here are the names of the playlists currently on the little green foul-mouthed shuffle:

1. "A Gym Triathlon.  Put It In My Pooper."  One day I thought I would make up goals for three different exercise machines (treadmill, upright bike, sitting down bike) for a little triathlon I could do with no rest in between.  I'm a weirdo.  Put it in my pooper was just for laughs - not part of the triathlon. 


2. "A Shed Aquarium, Muthafucka!"  You will notice I put the letter "A" to get the new list at the beginning of the queue so I don't have to cycle all the way through.  Shed Aquarium is the place to see all kinds of aquatic animals in Chicago, and it was a milestone for building up miles for my latest marathon.  Muthafucka was just funny because Mr. Robot is just so very white.  He says it nothing like Samuel L. Jackson.

3. "Arm Day for Pussies." This was an attempt to employ some tough love on myself to get me to work harder on my scrawny girl arms.  I wish Mr. Robot had yelled it at me like an asshole high school football coach, but he did a pretty good job all things considered.


4. "Beach Workout Bonanza."  I'm not crazy about this title.  I just needed some Megadeth and the like to get me through a bunch of workout stations in the park near the beach.  Should have threw a damn swear into that title.  Damn it. 

5. "Chest Rockwell."  Those of you who are fans of "Boogie Nights," my favorite film of all time, know that this name is the character John C. Riley invents to be the crime fighting sidekick to Dirk Diggler's Brock Landers.  Inspiration for this one came on a day when I was trying to engorge my concave, awful excuse for chest muscles.

6.  "McCormick Place, My Niggas."  McCormick place is the giant convention center in Chicago and the spot I run to and from to know I'm ready for a marathon - do believe it's around an 18 mile trip.  "My Niggas" was just to, again, make a white robot say goofy ass hoodrat stuff.  Wait, "Goofy Ass Hoodrat Stuff" is not an all together bad playlist title . . .

7. "Oh Yeah!  Time To Run Around This Big Ass God Damn Lake."  This was the perfect title for running around Lake Geneva.  You got a better name for it?


8. "Pull Over 'Dat Ass Too Fat.  Woot Woot!"  On the way back from Wisconsin, Dr. Ken and his lady were singing this one all through out the cheese castle, so when I got home I just had to hear White Robot sing it for me too. 

9. "Quadzilla Day"  I figured this was a good title for when you're lifting weights with your legs, which is an incredibly boring muscle group with which to lift things. 

Okay, that's all I got.  My muscles are still weak, but I had a few good laughs.

I'm sorry I've been out of the blogosphere for so long, but I have been busy getting moved into my new place and just now got Internet in this joint.  Believe it or not, at 35 years of age, this is the first time I have ever lived alone.  So far, I love it.  At least I think I do.  Allow me to weigh the pro's and con's . . .

Con: I have no dishwasher, laundry machines, or garbage disposal.  I see this as a good experience for me to make me really appreciate a place down the rode that has a bunch of nice amenities - it's humbling.

Con: It's a really small place, but at the same time, I kind of like that.  There is less space for stuff to pile up, and it's easier to keep things neat and tidy.  Also, I'm constantly spinning records, so I'm never to far away to give a record a flip like a flap jack.  

Con: It can get lonely, but actually, being alone helps you figure yourself out more.  I forgot about that.  The longer you spend with yourself, the more you become yourself.  I'm that guy who when I'm out in a crowd I need to keep everyone laughing and feel a need to be fun.  Alone, I can sulk, wallow, sing like an idiot, dance like a buffoon, and walk around in my undies.  In a related matter, I can also use the bathroom to shower or do other things in compromising positions with the door open to hear my records with no fear at all of anyone walking in on me.  

Never mind, there are no cons, as it turns out.  I should have done this a long time ago.  Expect a lot more writing in this year to follow.  And not just blogs: more stories, podcasts, and all kinds of fun projects.  A solo Dr. Ken is a happy and productive Dr. Ken.