Genocide, raw dogging and big balls

Ah, the holidays. Good tidings, great cookies, doing unto others as they did unto you, all that shit. For me and my friends, the weekend, starting Thursday night, included two very good, very serious movies (and for one couple, Meet the Fockers, which was only depressing if you're a fan of Robert DeNiro's filmograpy), a good makeout sess for me, while a couple friends made do with some "intimate encounter" with girls they just met.

We hit the Matzo Ball last night, the Retro Eve one with the city-famous Afrodesiacs, not the more scene-y and well-lit Rockit or the desperately single and socially inept Jdate function at some bar I've never been to.

The Matzo Ball was good, most of my friends looking for tail (or to be more delicate, trim) found some, in varying degrees, shapes and sizes.

I also ran into the girl I hooked up with there last year, a couple girls I've dated or hooked up with, which is, as I've said before, the point of an All-Jewish "mixer."

While I can't give reviews on my friends' sexual dalliances, I can give four stars to both movies I saw, Million Dollar Baby and Hotel Rwanda. I saw the latter today, which was supposed to be the precursor to Life Aquatic, but unfortunately the print never made it to the theater, hijacked by hipsters on the open highway, I guess. So we were bereft of whimsy this Christmas, unfortunately, but I did get to see a fact-based story about genocide with a guy who played a country-music loving porn star.

So what did you do?

Good tidings and cock shots

First up, I'd like to let those Anonymous posters and J-Rod know I love the comments, keep 'em up. Though I still think you're gay, J-Rod, or Gay Rod. Gay, gay, gay, gay (Just kidding, I know most fantasy owners are bi, or married, which is similar). And Phil, love the segway. It's really revolutionized urban transit. As per Phil's request, I think I've "syndicated" this site, so it has an RSS feed, which is http://gardenapt.blogspot.com/atom.xml .

I don't know what that means, but enjoy!

I have a huge stack of papers in front of me that I'm supposed to be editing, but since I make roughly 6 nickels an hour, I'd share with you some funny tales from our holiday party.

Before I talk about this year's holiday party at my anonymous company, I must harken back to last year, in the more innocent time that was 2003. Back then we looked at baseball players innocently, knowing in our hearts the only cheating going on was stealing signs or banging chicks on the side. Those things are now looked at wistfully, like Mike LaValliere.

So back to 2003. Our slapped-together party was at Slugger's, a Wrigleyville bar that specializes in post-season depression after baseball's done. Our boss got it into his head that we should have a Golden Tee tournament for money. Granted none of us had ever spoken about this game, or golf in general. So we went there early and proceeded to get drunk and play out-dated arcade games. One of our interns, a 21-year-old black (that is an important note as you'll see) girl of generous proportions, got bombed out her gourd and slowly began making inappropriate comments to Rob and myself, including making blowjob gestures to Rob, insinuating he's "in bed" with our boss. Also some Mexican guys asked to watch her pee, but that's neither here nor there.

We move on to Bar Louie across the street, where said intern challenges our boss to why he forgot to pay her (in fact, she sent in her hours too late). "Andrew, you bitch! Where's my money?" was her delicate way of broaching the subject. To his credit, our boss realized she was wasted and told her he would resolve the matter in the next week. She repeated her inquiry, colorful as it was. Our boss turned around. At that moment she blurted out, somewhat quieter, "Hey Andrew, ever fucked a black chick before?"

Soon she informed my date that if she "wanted to get off, she better get on top," then threw up on herself, in mid-sentence, seemingly peed her pants and kept drinking.

She showed up to work the next day, explaining simply that "y'all just never seen me drunk before."

This year we realized there would be no way to equal that performance. We went bowling to Diversey Rock and Bowl, famous for its bad local commercials of hipster chicks, ugly ones at that, talking about how fun it is to bowl near the highway. While they tended bar, we bowled. I don't want to brag, but I nearly broke 100 once. Of course that's not the real story.

The real story was our "intern" Eric, who's our boss's doorman's son. We hired Eric as a favor to our boss and he seemed like a good worker at first. He made a ton of fact-checking phone calls and seemed like a nice-enough guy. Then he we began to notice how much he sleeps at work. And not just nodding off, but actual head back in the chair snoring. I found it hilarious. My more responsible co-workers felt otherwise. He also told us stories about the time he went to jail for assault (he fell asleep on a train going to the South Side and woke up to find some guy going through his pockets. So he got up and beat this guy unmercifully, which is understandable.). He also offered this bon mot to our other intern Dan, a sheltered, North Shore Jewish kid:

DAN: How was your date? Did you take her out to dinner?
ERIC: Dinner? Man, I took her home and fucked the shit out of her. She's not the type of girl you take out the house.

He also offered another doozy that's serious enough I can't repeat it here ...

Eric wins this year's "Inappropriate Act of the Party" by showing our co-worker Lynsey a picture of his cock measured next to a remote control. I never found out which was bigger. Lynsey, who is extremely attractive and a bit saucy, asked why he would have this on a camera phone, and he replied "I was messing around and wanted to show it my boy."

Needless to say, I can't wait until 2005.

Blog for the rest of us

We're in that lull now, the time between Hanukkah and Christmas. The beautiful pocket of time known as Festivus.

Festivus, brought to the public's attention in a 1997 episode of Seinfeld, is sure to become cliché and overdone - see this article, for example. http://www.nytimes.com/2004/12/19/fashion/19FEST.html

Heck, my paper in Yuma, Ariz., had a Festivus party two years ago. But I enjoy being cranky, so, to quote Frank Costanza: "The tradition of Festivus begins with the airing of grievances. I got a lot of problems with you people! And now you're gonna hear about it!"

Sportscenter: Boo yah.

Most educated fans avoid watching this show with the sound on unless absolutely necessary. Most of the good talent has left the anchor chairs and those on there now have devolved into shucking and jiving shills for themselves. Caricatures of caricatures. The show is bloated with idiotic games and meaningless Q & A's. Every in-house production is promoted to the nth degree, no matter how crappy it turns out.

But that's not really my problem. What's really annoying is those people still stuck in 1996 and still rave about how they never miss it! Most of these people are girls, including every girl on Jdate who's trying to sound attractive to sports-mad guys.

The only guys who still watch regularly are fantasy nerds, which actually is probably good for the Jdaters, because as I'll explain later, those type of people are perfect for each other.

Fantasy sports: The reason most guys like, or in some cases obsess over, fantasy sports is that it fulfills our competitive desire to be smarter than our friends when it comes to sports knowledge.

This competitive drive is particularly strong with traders, brokers and other business-type dorks who beat my F in Econ 101, and dorks who are looking to fill the emptiness in their lives, most caused by latent homosexuality.

But like most non-fantasy addicts, I'm sick of hearing about everyone's team like they did anything but read a magazine and draft players based on statistics. It's not rocket science or for that matter, earth science. Photosynthesis is more interesting to me, and I'm a sportswriter.

Thankfully fantasy football is almost over (and it's done in my apartment where Rob is sulking away his playoff loss today to Phil Schwarz's Rolling Segways, and probably blaming Epstein.) and we have a three-month lull until fantasy baseball gets going.

Now onto Jdate. If you're on Jdate, don't lie. Don't say you're quitting any day now. We know you're not. Or if you do quit, you're join again in a few months when someone "hotlist's" you. Be like Miller, who not only found his girlfriend there, but also still patrols it like Frank Drebin.

As a semi-frequent purveyor of the site, I have one suggestion for you girls (besides the Sportscenter line). We know it's possible to like watching baseball games while drinking a beer AND staying in sometimes to watch a movie and cuddle. It doesn't make you special.

Tivo: Yes, I get it. You can tape your shows. It's not the best invention ever. Seriously.

The Apprentice and its fans: Is it over yet? I'm convinced the Bush Administration created this show, the DaVinci Code, the O.C., Tivo, free fantasy sports and iPods as an opiate to the middle-class to upper-class American public.

If every American took all the time they spent discussing these trivial things and concentrated it into changing the world for the better, we'd...Ah damn, my blackberry's vibrating, gotta run.

A learned man speaks, or writes

Some would say I'm a learned man - with "learn-ed" pronounced in two syllables for any of you dumbasses out there, and that means I have certain responsibilities. So as a PSA (that's Public Service Announcement, like when Joey from Blossom would tell you about reading or mousse or something), I figured I'd share the wisdom with you, my readers.

Hiring a topless waitress is not as easy as it sounds. We learned that Friday when the one Johnny hired for his housewarming party got cold feet (or nipples, as it were) and refused to take her top off because there were too many girls there. No one pointed out that a whopping 100 percent of strippers are bi-sexual (A very scientific survey of the one stripper I've known personally). While she wouldn't undress, and believe me no sober person would ask her to, she proceeded to hang out at the party, throwing out a creepy vibe that reverberated off his Judaica and minimalist decor.

One guy, who shall remain nameless got a "lap dance" from her. I use sarcastic, finger-motion quotation marks around that because no one really knows what happened in that room, but he claims it was just a lap dance. What I do know is that I had to donate $40 for something.

Another John Doe spent the night trying to get her number, reportedly trying to impress her by telling her he's in marketing.

I've also learned that topless waitresses, judging by the one I've now seen, are nasty skanks with legs the size of Lisa Nemon (that's each leg the size of one, small girl).

Another life lesson imparted on me against my will:
If a girl tells you to meet her and her friends out a club completely out of your way, make sure to ask if in fact, her friends are also girls (This also works well if you're a girl looking for some cock, and unlike 100 pct of all strippers, you're not bi.). This problem came up last weekend, when my boy Farbman talked us into going to Soundbar (Eurotrash meets, um, Eurotrash) from Lincoln Park.

He invoked the "friends" clause, which is kryptonite to me, as it should be. If a guy tells you he wants to meet a girl he has a reasonable chance of sleeping with, and she has "friends," you're pretty much indebted to go. As it stands, Farbman's a good-looking guy who's shallow and self-absorbed (but he's nice too, girls and smart!), so I figured there was a good chance on this one.

We took a cab downtown and paid $20 just to get in (Lesch, don't faint). His girl came out to meet us and, as expected, was very attractive. Five, 10 minutes later, she was still talking to us, seemingly unmoved by her hot friends, who were obviously waiting for us.

"Hey, where are your friends," I muster.

"They're around...Most of them are international." she says interestingly. That's a weird statement, I think to myself. "I met them in college." I try to envision a gaggle of hot Brazilians living in Champaign (or Urbana).

A few minutes later we walk by three Indian guys and she lets us on the secret. "There's half of them," she says innocently as she goes to talk to Keizer. "Like Keizer Soze!"

A few minutes after she laments the whereabouts of her girlfriend, we start to make the push to leave.

"I can see this isn't your place," she says to me, as if I can't hang in a club, seemingly oblivious to the fact we're not interested in listening to trance with Keizer and the rest of the Usual Suspects.

We eventually break away and after a brief stop at Barleycorn's, I end the night in the relative cocoon of my corner bar Gamekeeper's surround by my gorgeous friend Lynsey and my favorite busty Jewish bartender in the city (just beating out Deja Vu Pam) the lovely Jo.

Other things I've learned but don't feel like writing at length about:

I've also learned Funk is a great place to meet quirky, cute, Jewish actuaries who know Chad Mezvinsky, the jean shorts king of Peru. It's not, however, a good place to step on a large black man's shoes ... Some guys fly into cities on New Years to party like rock stars, some do it to play Clue in a small apartment ... If girls advertise they're throwing a wine and cheese party, and you don't like wine, bring beer. They won't have it ... The Luvabulls aren't all that lovable, but they sure love to dance (Again I only know one, but I trust my statistics).

The annual Matt Greenberg award for the most non-sensical sports statement of the day, also known as the "Indians are the best team in the league ever!" award:
"That was one of the all-time terrific plays of the year." Joe Theismann on Sunday Night Football.

And in closing:
"What is art? I don't know, but I think it has something to do with the gays."
Ali G

Readers weigh in

My reading tastes skew toward The DaVinci Code and James Patterson books, i.e. I'm not that smart. What do you think I should be reading?
-Melissa M. Chicago

That's a good question. I don't know what James Patterson writes, but judging by his target audience, it can't be that good.

So here's some reco's:
If you're obsessed with pop culture: Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman. Most of my readers have read this, and I give it my 5-star approval. It's impossibly good.

If you liked Catcher in the Rye in high school: Go for Nine Stories. Salinger's short story book. Excellent.

If you've never read David Sedaris: READ DAVID SEDARIS. What are you waiting for? Start with Naked, then Me Talk Pretty One Day, then his new one, Dressing Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. Also Barrel Fever, which has his best all-around story.

If you like sports: Playing for Keeps by David Halberstam. A good Michael Jordan retrospective. Follow with Michael Leahy's new expose on Jordan with the Wizards...Sandy Koufax A Lefty's Legacy by Jane Leavy...You Know Me Al, old Ring Lardner tome on an unsufferable baseball player that rings true today.

If you're a Jew ... The Chosen by Chaim Potok. I know most people read this in, like, 8th grade, but I just finished it. Awesome...Also Tough Jews by Rich Cohen.

If you're fucked up: All the Bret Easton Ellis books. Seriously, they're all awesome.

Laguna Beach is ending? Should I kill myself, or just start back on my anti-depressants? - Martha T, Chicago
I know it's tough. My diagnosis: Order Playboy TV. A week of Night Calls and you won't remember that show, or any others show, ever existed.

Why don't you post more? I know you don't work.
- John S, Chicago

That's a good question.

You watch a lot of TV. What's the worst commercial on right now?
- Ben S, Boston
Easy. The Yasmin commercial. It's a birth control pill with a solid minute full of warnings. But they don't stop "the date" while they're rattling them off. So we see two young sexed-up people moving up the steps of the girl's brownstone, amorous and randy, while the announcer's warning about how Yasmin doesn't stop HIV and can cause high blood pressure, cervical cancer, hysterical blindness and clubfoot. It's quite odd.

You're very good looking, some might say strikingly handsome. That's it. No question. - Emily P, Los Angeles
How'd that get in here? Who's screening these?

Not my brother's wife...

...As many people know, my older brother has the same name as former Pirate pitcher Kris Benson. For better or for worse, my sister-in-law is nothing like Anna Benson. Read below to find out her revenge for her husband's imaginary infidelity.

http://www.nypost.com/gossip/pagesix.htm