2010 is going to be my year.

I decided that soon after the miserable holidays that I "celebrated" last year. After all, I've been in the shit long enough, haven't I? I'm tired of being broke. I'm tired of being unhappy. So in 2010, I decided that on top of continuing my endless quest for a job that pays actual money, I was going to be happy. Even if that means broke and happy, it's happiness that's important.

In order to accomplish this feat, I made a few attainable resolutions to myself, the first of which is to blog more often. I mean seriously, look around, this place is about as up-to-date as Sarah Palin's closet in a non-election year. So, like Tiger Woods, I've gotta get on top of that. Let's call this "one small step for man, and one giant leap for Butter." (And don't judge me for referring to myself in third person by my twitter handle.)

I also resolved to myself that I need to start getting out more. Between weekend trips to DC and my new found sport(?!?) Of GeoCaching, I've been fulfilling this resolution just fine. I'm hoping to visit all of the DC museums before the year's end, but I'd be happy with 50%. As for the GeoCaching, which for those of you that don't know, is essentially using billion dollar government satellites to find Tupperware hidden in the woods, it has kept me busy and exploring parts of Virginia that I otherwise would have ignored. (And Toasty likes it too.)

I also realized that there are a few important people in my life that I need to reconnect with. My small family is one of those "people." It's rough sometimes and I don't know that I'll ever be able to check this one off my list, because just like children, when it comes to family, you can't live with 'em and you can't shoot 'em.

My old pals from my Rhode Island days, Kelly & Monica, have been at the top of my "need to reconnect with asap" list for about 3 years now. Due to the circumstances of being a hippie, I never thought it would happen, but Kelly finally joined Facebook and we got back in touch about two weeks ago. You know how you can really tell who your good friends are? Vanish from each other's lives for 5 years and then get back together with them; if it feels like no time has gone by, you're golden. And I've got to say, as much as it blew losing touch, staying up watching the Olympics until 4am and drinking PBRs with good friends and a 20 pound cat never felt so right. Mission Accomplished. Next on that list: Theresa, Toni & Karbo.

Unfortunately this process has not been all good. In the process of knocking out some lines of my Two-Thousand-Ten-Do-List, I've been less than reliable when it comes to answering my cell and returning calls.

Believe it or not, that was one of my big ideas too. It's a pretty simple one: Answer the fcuking phone when people call you. I think to myself, 'If people are taking time out of their schedule to call you, you who has no job or pressing appointments, pause the motherfcuking DVR and answer the phone.' I just realized how bad I am with this, as I got angry typing that last sentence. I'll work on that, I promise.

Well it's 3am and my thumbs feel like they're about to fall off my sweaty palms after typing this entire blog post on my BlackBerry, so I'll bid you adieu, for now.

Until next time, America...

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A Letter I'd Like To See (But Won't)

Dear America,

I take it back. I don’t apologize.

Because you know what? It’s none of your goddamned business. I work my ass off 10 months per year. It’s that hard work that gave you all those gooey feelings of patriotism last summer. If during my brief window of down time I want to relax, enjoy myself, and partake of a substance that’s a hell of a lot less bad for me than alcohol, tobacco, or, frankly, most of the prescription drugs most of you are taking, well, you can spare me the lecture.

I put myself through hell. I make my body do things nature never really intended us to endure. All world-class athletes do. We do it because you love to watch us push ourselves as far as we can possibly go. Some of us get hurt. Sometimes permanently. You’re watching the Super Bowl tonight. You’re watching 300 pound men smash each while running at full speed, in full pads. You know what the average life expectancy of an NFL player is? Fifty-five. That’s about 20 years shorter than your average non-NFL player. Yet you watch. And cheer. And you jump up spill your beer when a linebacker lays out a wide receiver on a crossing route across the middle. The harder he gets hit, the louder and more enthusiastically you scream.

Yet you all get bent out of shape when Ricky Williams, or I, or Josh Howard smoke a little dope to relax. Why? Because the idiots you’ve elected to make your laws have have without a shred of evidence beat it into your head that smoking marijuana is something akin to drinking antifreeze, and done only by dirty hippies and sex offenders.

You’ll have to pardon my cynicism. But I call bullshit. You don’t give a damn about my health. You just get a voyeuristic thrill from watching an elite athlete fall from grace–all the better if you get to exercise a little moral righteousness in the process. And it’s hypocritical righteousness at that, given that 40 percent of you have tried pot at least once in your lives.

Here’s a crazy thought: If I can smoke a little dope and go on to win 14 Olympic gold medals, maybe pot smokers aren’t doomed to lives of couch surfing and video games, as our moronic government would have us believe. In fact, the list of successful pot smokers includes not just world class athletes like me, Howard, Williams, and others, it includes Nobel Prize winners, Pulitzer Prize winners, the last three U.S. presidents, several Supreme Court justices, and luminaries and success stories from all sectors of business and the arts, sciences, and humanities.

So go ahead. Ban me from the next Olympics. Yank my endorsement deals. Stick your collective noses in the air and get all indignant on me. While you’re at it, keep arresting cancer and AIDS patients who dare to smoke the stuff because it deadens their pain, or enables them to eat. Keep sending in goon squads to kick down doors and shoot little old ladies, maim innocent toddlers, handcuff elderly post-polio patients to their beds at gunpoint, and slaughter the family pet.

Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll apologize for smoking pot when every politician who ever did drugs and then voted to uphold or strengthen the drug laws marches his ass off to the nearest federal prison to serve out the sentence he wants to impose on everyone else for committing the same crimes he committed. I’ll apologize when the sons, daughters, and nephews of powerful politicians who get caught possessing or dealing drugs in the frat house or prep school get the same treatment as the no-name, probably black kid caught on the corner or the front stoop doing the same thing.

Until then, I for one will have none of it. I smoked pot. I liked it. I’ll probably do it again. I refuse to apologize for it, because by apologizing I help perpetuate this stupid lie, this idea that what someone puts into his own body on his own time is any of the government’s damned business. Or any of yours. I’m not going to bend over and allow myself to be propaganda for this wasteful, ridiculous, immoral war.

Go ahead and tear me down if you like. But let’s see you rationalize in your next lame ONDCP commercial how the greatest motherfucking swimmer the world has ever seen . . . is also a proud pot smoker.

Yours,

Michael Phelps

[theagitator via slog]

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Maybe I Don't Feel Like Such a Fat Ass Anymore...

it's ironic that i just played five minutes to kill (yourself) 2 this afternoon over on [adult swim]. (and in case you were wondering, i was able to do it with 45 seconds to spare; after eating trash and drinking the contents of a colostomy bag in the park, i finished myself off by throwing myself into a wood chipper. not kidding, check it out HERE.) i think i could have saved myself the trouble had i just had access to a "happy" meal from McFatty's though. it could have been an instant coronary had it consisted of the following:

a monnow valley burger, medium-rare. this burger, from bompas & parr, is comprised of a hamburger patty with two slices of melted cheese, tomatoes, secret sauce and onions sandwiched inside a krispy kreme original glazed donut and garnished with a sliced gherkin. no worries though, the monnow valley burger only has 1000 calories and 45 grams of fat. it's practically diet food, and speaking of coronaries, this burger is also nicknamed the luther burger.

"would you like fries with that?" as a matter of fact, i would, as long as it's an order of these sweet potato fries covered in whipped cream and cinnamon sugar. wait, listen! can you hear me getting fatter? these happen to be a specialty at chicken charlie's, last seen at the l.a. county fair. (along with fried spam, fried artichoke hearts and fried pop tarts.) chicken charlie must live by anthony bourdain's fry-o-lator credo: "if it's smaller, slower and stupider than i am, batter it up and throw it in the fryer."

and why not wash down all of that deliciousness with one of these 2300(!?!) calorie death heath shakes from baskin robbins? i'm pretty sure that a normal adult male should consume about 2,500 calories a day; and although this shake nearly meets that requirement, there is a bright side, the saturated fat in one shake is over 3 times the recommended daily allowance of 20 grams, which will put you on the fast track for heart disease. of course, that's if the type 2 diabetes caused by all 266 grams of that sugar doesn't get you first. this beverage is so healthy, it should take away all the guilt you feel for eating that burger and those fries.

and i thought that i was a fat ass for downing 68 of the omnivore's hundred. but in any case, does that sound like a "happy" meal to you? maybe if you're michael phelps.

[via consumerist and cake wrecks]

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"Boner Shrinker"

i'm still a phelps phan, but thank god for tina fey on snl last night, michael should stick to swimming.

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No Comment...

oddly enough, i came across this when i was trying to google a recipe for scallion pancakes.

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High Horses...

horses are the devil’s creatures. they lie, they whore, they talk trash behind your back. they snack on the innocence of young girls and shit where they please. horses are the very soul of corruption. this is a fact.

but horses are also drug addicts and filthy olympics cheaters. look:

"four horses have been banned from competing in the olympic games jumping competition for doping, the international equestrian federation (fei) announced thursday."

that’s from a story you can find here. it goes on to explain:

"the horses - representing brazil, germany, ireland and norway - had been suspended after testing positive for a prohibited substance, the fei, which controls the sport, said in a statement."

oh, horses! will they ever learn? dope is for dopes!

[adrian ryan for slog]

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I Dare You...

actually, i quadruple dog dare you to try and watch this without cringing. i couldn't do it. but between shrieks, i did enjoy the sounds of .38 special. peep this.

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Here Here We We Go Go Again Again...

first there was dong dong. and much like the jesus bumper sticker incident, once i mentioned it, they seemed to appear everywhere. and so the top 100 list of names NOT to name your children is filling up fast during these olympic games.

oh, and let us not forget my ex, mi sook yoo.

ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce to you, owner of beijing's 'happy ending tours,' fun fun...

[defamer]
...and relief catcher for the chinese national baseball team, who is now short a few front teeth, yang yang.
[nbcolympics]

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Unstoppable Inspiration...

just one more reason why HE is UNSTOPPABLE.

Phelps' Gold a Dying Boys Wish
By Alan Abrahamson for NBCOlympics.com

It was late, after midnight, and a little boy lay asleep in his bed. Just 11 years old, he was a desperately sick boy. He did not, as it turned out, have many more days left to live.

It was late, and Michael Phelps' plane had been delayed, and so by the time he got to Stevie Hansen's bedroom, Stevie could not be roused. No matter. Michael sat there on Stevie's bed, holding Stevie's hand. Just talking, certain Stevie could hear him. For two hours. Maybe longer. No one remembers exactly.

The next morning, Stevie woke up and said to his mom, Betsy, "I wish I had woken up. But I know he was here."

Betsy Hansen sighed and said, "He was so thrilled."

A little more than a year has passed since that night, since Michael quietly paid tribute to the fighting spirit and the soulfulness of a little boy who, before cancer took over his body, had himself been a swimmer, too -- a boy who dreamed of one day being like his idol, Michael.

"He was an inspiration to me," Michael said Monday.

Michael Phelps is one of the greatest American athletes of his generation. At these Beijing Games, he won eight gold medals, the most ever at a single Olympics, topping the seven that Mark Spitz won in Munich in 1972.

His fame is staggering.

But it can be nearly impossible in our sound-bite culture to see Michael as he typically is away from the spotlight -- the genuineness about him, the profound and fundamental decency.

To be sure, Michael is not perfect. He is not a saint. He is still but 23 years old. He has made mistakes, and acknowledged them.

But in the relationship he forged with Stevie Hansen, and as time went on with Stevie's family, his parents Betsy and Steve and younger sister Grace, Michael's uncommon decency could not have been more evident, more profound.

Here was a life lesson as a life was slipping away -- what it means to be a real friend, and what real friends do for each other.

"He's a very giving person," Debbie Phelps, Michael's mother, said. "He has always wanted to give back and make people happy and make them -- give them a little piece of him, a piece of his heart. Because he has a great heart."

Betsy Hansen said Michael "bravely came into our lives" when doing so meant "he was himself going to feel some pain," adding, "It takes courage to embrace a family in that position. He did it.

"It wasn't to better his image in the community or in the world. He just reached out to a little boy who thought, 'You're a really cool swimmer, I've always wanted to meet you.' "

Stevie was only 7 when he was diagnosed with a brain tumor, in October 2002.

Stevie was, even at that young, a promising age-group swimmer in Maryland, where Michael grew up and was training -- the Athens Olympics were still almost two years away.

As a 6-year-old, Stevie was already not only swimming but winning awards.

The day before surgery, Michael came over. He brought a flag, some shirts, a poster. They shot hoops in the driveway. They talked -- about how each of them loved junk food.

Michael sent balloons to the hospital. When Stevie woke up, his dad, Steve, recalls, he "just clutched the balloons, smiled and went back to sleep. It was like a lifeline: 'Michael cares.' "

Over the next year, Stevie seemed to get better. That next summer, Michael sent Stevie a note saying he wanted to come watch Stevie swim at a local meet. Which he did -- showing up unannounced.

"Stevie came over and said, 'Wow, you came!' And at a full run he leaped into Michael's arms," Steve said.

That afternoon, Michael watched from behind the blocks as Stevie raced in the free, the fly and a relay. Michael was coaxed into swimming a relay leg himself in a parents' and coaches' race -- even though he had to borrow a suit.

Michael and Stevie had lunch together. Michael signed autographs for all the other kids as well; he signed for Grace using a red Sharpie on her forehead. She calls Michael a "special friend."

That October, doctors found tumors on Stevie's spinal cord. He underwent another surgery; again, Michael "sent a big basket of stuff to the hospital," Steve said.

Stevie would, ultimately, undergo two more surgeries.

Michael would go to Athens, win eight Olympic medals, six gold, come home a star. He would move to Michigan, following his longtime mentor and coach, Bob Bowman, to train for the 2008 Games.

Still, Michael stayed in regular touch with Stevie, with Grace, with Steve and Betsy, and when, in April 2007, Betsy called Michael's mom, Debbie, to say, "We have a disaster here ... he wants to see Michael," Michael made it happen.

His plane was late. Bags were lost.

Still, Michael made it happen. He and Debbie showed up at the Hansen house well after midnight.

And stayed for two hours, maybe longer.

"Michael never dropped his hand," Betsy said. "It was so touching, so touching -- to see this big guy touched by the frailty of life, that Stevie wanted him."

Stevie had -- just like in the movies -- told his parents he wanted Michael to try to win an Olympic medal for him.

Even though Stevie wasn't awake to hear it, Michael made him that promise.

"I said I'd try to get a medal and hopefully it'd be a gold one," Michael recalled Monday.

Debbie was there that night, too, and when mother and son left the Hansens, stepping softly across the grass, wet with dew, it was hand in hand. "Death as we know it is not an easy thing to take as an adult, let alone a child," Debbie said.

The next day, Michael posted a note to Stevie's personal page on an Internet site for people confronting serious illnesses. It read, "Stevie, it was great to see you last night. I'm really glad I got to visit. You are very brave. You really are an inspiration to us all. Talk to you soon -- Michael."

Betsy responded with this post: "Yours was a gift," she wrote, "like none other."

Stevie passed away on May 29. The memorial service took place on June 4.

Michael came back to Baltimore for the service. He sent a "spectacular spray of purple flowers," Betsy said, adding, "Purple was Stevie's favorite color."

He stood with the Hansens as they greeted friends and family. "A wonderful, selfless display of caring," Betsy said.

"It was never about people knowing he did it," she said. "It never went out in the press that he was here. Never.

"No one ever knew the depth of the relationship between them."

Michael said Monday, "When he passed away, when we went to the funeral -- it was hard. It was an honor for me to have someone like him look up to me."

He paused and added, "I'm sure he's looking down on us and I'm sure he's cheering from above."

Grace Hansen watched from far away this week, back in Maryland, as Michael won those eight medals.

"I saw him swim every day," she said by telephone and then added in a remark about Michael the swimmer and Michael her friend, "He's really good."

[nbcolympics]

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And He Does It!!!

THE FIRST IN 112 YEARS!!!

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In Defense of Nothing...

i want to be like mike.

to say that i've been obsessed with watching michael phelps in the olympics would be an understatement. and i know that i'm not the only one, as nbc is reporting record numbers in viewership during primetime swimming events.

i've been loving all of the articles online and in the blogosphere about how unfair all of the attention is; and that other athletes are competing in his shadow.

why should we care? why should we care that an american olympian, baltimore born & raised, is the face of the beijing games in the united states? why should we care that he has won more gold medals than any olympian in the modern olympics' 112 year history? or that he has tied a record that was last set thirteen years before he was even born?

we should care because he's done it all the old fashioned way, with hard work & dedication, sans drugs.

we've held other athletes on a pedestal in the past: michael jordan & the dream team, derek jeter, that whiny bitch brett favre. but think about it. really think about it. swimming is not considered a spectator sport in the u.s, and is rarely televised. so swimmers that work their asses off just as much as nba/nfl/mlb stars, without the kabillion dollar a year contracts, have the olympics, once every 4 years, to show the world what they can do.

i agree that he's not the only olympian. and others work hard too, there's no doubt about that. but even amongst one's own team, there must be a winner. and for the u.s, michael phelps is it. and he's got the medals & the world records to prove it.

so for 17 days out of every 1460, if the proverbial spotlight never leaves the likes of michael phelps, it's okay by me. because i want to be like mike.

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Check Out My Gold...

my friend ron sent me this on facebook this morning.
i got a good laugh from it.

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Dong Dong? Really?

dong dong? really? reeaally? and i thought that only americans didn't think through their choice of baby names. after all, the united states did grace the world with children with names like dick butkus, alabama gypsyrose jennings and diva thin muffin pigeen zappa.

in this case however, i think china takes the gold medal in the "horrible naming event" at the olympics in beijing with dong dong.

[article from nbc olympics]

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Lucky Number Se7en...

Move over Mark Spitz.

Michael Phelps won his seventh gold medal of the Beijing Olympics on Saturday, edging Milorad Cavic by a fingernail, .01 of second in the 100m butterfly on Saturday at the Water Cube.

Phelps, who was seventh out of eight swimmers at the first wall but made up ground with his turn, still looked to be behind Cavic in the final meters but got to the wall first in 50.58 to Cavic's 50.59.

Spitz won his seven gold medals at the 1972 Munich Games. Phelps will try to beat the record in the 4x100m medley relay Sunday in the final day of swimming in Beijing.

While the pre-meet, potential upset talk in the 100m fly centered around world-record holder Ian Crocker, California-trained Cavic, who competes for Serbia, surpassed Phelps in the heats as the second-fastest man to swim the event. He nearly spoiled Phelps' chase at history.

Phelps said Cavic's words before the race fueled him.

"Cavic said it would be good for me and good for swimming if he won," Phelps said in an NBC poolside interview after the race. "I'm at a loss for words. I had no idea the race was that close. I was lucky enough to get my hands on the wall first."

Phelps said tying Spitz has been a longtime goal.

"In my dreams I always wanted it," he said. "I thought in the perfect circumstances I could do it."

Spitz marveled at the way Phelps has dealt with all the media attention and pre-Beijing hype since Phelps won six golds in Athens.

"I've always marveled at the fact that in the last four years, he has had to live with a lot more expectations and anxiety that I had to deal with," Spitz said.

[nbc olympics]
[toon by mike luckovich]

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China's Gold Medals Found to Have High Lead Content. [What a Surprise]

China's impressive haul of gold medals at the Beijing Olympics was tarnished somewhat today when it was revealed that "abnormally high levels of lead" were found in the first-place medallions.

The medals, which were supposed to be made entirely of gold, were instead found to be composed of 99% lead alloy and coated with a gold-colored lead-based paint.

The shocking revelations roiled the Olympic complex today and sent officials looking for answers from the Chinese manufacturer of the medals, the Wuhan One Hundred Percent Gold Medal Corporation.

"We are trying to determine how exactly so much lead got into those gold medals," said a spokesman for Wuhan, China's largest exporter of gold medals. "Until we do, we are urging all first-place athletes not to lick, taste or suck on their medals."

The news about the potentially toxic gold medals spread panic among Olympic champions, especially U.S. swimming phenom Michael Phelps.

"I am very, very concerned about my extensive contact with gold medals," Mr. Phelps told reporters. "But what am I supposed to do? Stop being so awesome?"

In other Olympic news, China's hopes for winning more medals in women's gymnastics were dashed when one of their leading gymnasts vanished down a bathtub drain on Tuesday.

Immediately after Jiang Qimin's disappearance, Beijing authorities launched a search for the acclaimed seven-pound athlete.

Jiang had been the subject of speculation earlier this week as many foreign observers doubted China's claims that the two-foot-tall gymnast was sixteen years old.

In an interview with NBC's Bob Costas on Monday, Jiang sparked controversy with this response to a question about her age: "I want my sippy cup."

WOULD IT SURPRISE YOU IF IT WERE ACTUALLY TRUE? ME NEITHER.

[andy borowitz for the huffington post]

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A Gold Medal in Manscaping...

HATERS.[someecards]

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Those Poor, Poor Hungarians...

my poor pops. as if yesterday's weightlifting/elbow popping event at the olympics wasn't bad enough for the magyars, today i found them mentioned in the latter of the best & worst moments of the opening cermonies. more specifically, number one on the worst list.

1. Team Hungary's entrance. Though they'd already established that they weren't the right men to discuss fashion, NBC analysts Matt Lauer and Bob Costas couldn't help themselves when the Hungarian women (pictured, above) entered the Bird's Nest wearing what has take the gold medal in Worst National Ensemble. "What do you think of these outfits?" Lauer asked. "Well, it's all a matter of taste," Costas answered. "Diplomatic as always," Lauer noted. Awkward silence. "They appear happy about it all," Costas said. "Slowly digging yourself out. Hungary, Line 1," Lauer joked.

those outfits make me think of bloody cows, used tampons and/or what a fatass ends up looking like on a paintball range.

check out the complete list on [ew.com]

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They Call It the Clean AND Jerk...

...but something tells me this guy won't be doing much of either anytime soon.

although i'm all for team usa in the olympics, my heart goes out to this dude, a weightlifter from my dad's homeland of hungary. watch closely. i promise it's NOT some cheesy poltergeist video, it's real footage from the olympics in beijing. ENJOY!

**YOUTUBE KEEPS BOOTING THE VIDEOS, TRY THIS LINK.

is anyone else curious about what those people with the cardboard shields do for the 23.5 hours a day that someone's arm isn't being violently popped out of it's socket?

my guess: they're stuffing egg rolls.

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UPDATE: Coolest Moments...

as i posted over the weekend in THIS post, george w. was corrected by his wife, laura 'reason #2738645 why not to run with scissors' bush, on how to hold the american flag properly. thanks to my dear reader, the sausage queen of deerfield beach, here is a photo (with included caption) prepatrioticlesson.

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The French Talk Smack, The U.S. Kick Ass...

UPDATE: HERE is a link to a video of the entire race.

in today's edition of "team usa pride," the unsurprisingly arrogant french swimmers "[we] came to beijing to win this race," or at least that's what they told a reporter in the olympic village. this race being the 4x100 freestyle relay which has been out the hands of u.s. athletes for eight years. team usa: michael phelps, garrett weber-gale, new jersey native cullen jones, and jason lezak never responded to the threat of the french beating the u.s. in the race; and held tight to a medaling position throughout it. however, in the last 5 or so meters, jason lezak gained about 2 body lengths to beat the french by 7/100 of a second. how's that for pulse pounding entertainment? i screamed so loud that my cat teo ran for cover under my bed. i then settled down and celebrated with a piping hot plate of french freedom fries. GO USA!!!

in further, yet brief and comincal news, the 'redeem team' beat china this morning 101-70. i think it's the first time that i have ever watched an entire basketball game in my life. (of course in the olympics, and entire basketball game is also over in 40 minutes.) there is both photo AND video of george w. raising the roof in celebration of the win; a feat that is sure to make it onto david letterman. i'd be willing to bet i'll be able to enjoy it again on tomorrow night's show.

just one more thing- who the hell raises the roof anymore? that's so 1998.

[check out nbcolympics.com]

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