Monday, May 29, 2006

Clock's ticking.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The Official Birthday of The Official Blogger of The Official Blog of The Ford hits in a little under six days.

Yep, next Sunday, The Ford will be living large ... at work.

That's all right; these things happen in the sports department, especially when someone is too stubborn/laissez-faire to ask for the day off.

Nevertheless, something monumental must be done to celebrate the occasion, either on the night before (when The Ford is also working, but can at least expect a deadline-assisted early departure) or the next few days afterward.

People, this is a big one. The big 2-7. Starting down the road to being closer to 30 than to 25.

In baseball terms, The Ford will be entering his prime power years, when all those warning-track doubles turn into meaty-midsection-powered home runs, when all those "old-man skills" The Ford exhibited as a young man finally come into play, when The Ford is eligible for arbitration and/or free agency in all but the stingiest of leagues.

Of course, The Ford's not quite sure how that metaphor translates into the real world, but he's liking the prospects.

In any event, this must be celebrated.

But how?

Ay, there's the rub.

The Ford has no idea.

He imagines drinking will be involved, and possibly fairer members of the fairest sex, preferably in states of various undress. But that seems like a lot to ask, considering how the rest of his life's gone to this point.

Anyway, The Ford needs a plan. A scheme. A hope.

And here's where we turn this whole Interneezy theezy on its heezy. ( That's "Internet thing on its head" for those readers not as willing to make jackasses of themselves with ironic use of outdated urban slang.)

YOU, dear reader, should tell THE FORD how he should celebrate the big 2-7. Apparently, this communication thing is a two-way street. (Of course, The Ford's seen some of you drive on two-way streets, so he's not feeling that confident in any event.)

No hope too big, no plan too dumb, no idea too small. (Aside from the ones that are too big, too dumb AND too small. The Ford's gotta draw the line somewhere.)

The Ford needs a plan. And he needs it soon.

Thus Ageth The Ford.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Thoughts from The Ford as he attempts to survive "EXPOSURE: The Detroit Techno Music Festival," hitting downtown Detroit just one week after the oddly, but much shorter, named "Downtown Hoedown."

Yes, it's a good time for music in Detroit. And baseball (TIGERS!). Though not, apprarently, for basketball. Go figure.

1.) Wow, all of a sudden, downtown Detroit seems hip and alive with young people. No, wait, those are just the damn dirty hipp...techno music fans. Everywhere The Ford goes on his first dinner break in a week (thanks, early deadlines!), there's quasi-hot gals wandering about. Of course, they tend to be draped, in a seemingly X-induced touchy-feely state, across some guy who's not nearly as handsome and dashing as The Ford.
Which should really tell you something about the quality of the guys hanging out downtown this weekend.

2.) It's surprising how the obvious lack of a bra can really ratchet up a gal's hotness. Think of this as the Hippie Addendum to his previously stated theory of the Skankiness Index adding to a woman's Hotness Quotient.
Now, The Ford's not stumping for a bra-less society; he likes the illusion of "perky," even at the risk of false advertising.
But the possibility, however remote, of unfettered udders, under however many layers of clothing, well, now, that's a special level of hot. Call it the "Drew Barrymore Rule."

3.) Why is Detroit so freaking hot? It's not even May, and The Ford's already ditched his habit of taking a jacket with him everywhere. Any warmer, and the pants will become shorts. The shirts will become T-shirts. And the shoes, well, the shoes will stay shoes. The Ford distrusts sandals. You've been warned.

4.) What, exactly, is the proper response to a hot woman who walks up to you in a bar, runs a vibrating device down your spine and drunkenly explains, "It's a massager, not a 'brater"? Seriously, the possible sentences that leapt to The Ford's mind basically caused his brain to jam up, a sort of paralysis by autokinesis. (Yes, The Ford used a rhyming dictionary. You think not being funny is easy?)

5.) When did " 'brater" become proper slang for a vibrator? Or was that just the drunkeness chopping off the first syllable. 'Cause, y'know, alcohol and enunciation are the Hatfields and McCoys of bar conversation.

6.) Were there a branch of symbolic logic devoted to The Ford's life, one equation would have to be: Heat + Technomusicfestival = Bewilderment + intriguement + Ford.

7.) How do people ever hook up on X? Isn't the mental calculus required to distinguish actual interest from drug-induced touchy-feeliness way too much arithmetic for someone also on X? Or do people just not care?

8.) Or do they care, but by the time they realize it, their single layer of clothing is already over there in the corner? Hmm. A less-than-persuasive arguement for underwear. Thus supposeth The Ford.

9.) One way this decade is way, way better than the 1960s, aside from the lack of lynchings and civil-rights-induced riots? The way The Ford can secretly lust after the scantily-clad ladies, AND be bothered by their relaxed attitudes toward recreational drugs, and not have to feel like a hypocrite or a Republican. He may feel horribly repressed AND amused, but a hypocrite? Nope.

10.) How many times can The Ford utter, under his breath, "Damn dirty hippies" this weekend, without ever actually getting within three blocks of the festival?

11.) Why do things like techno music festivals (this weekend) and comic-cons (last weekend) always happen on days The Ford has to work? Oh, right, because he works weekends.

12.) Is "The Ford: He works weekends." too presumptous to put on business cards? Or just presumptous enough?

13.) Is this the longest The Ford's ever gone in a post without a quasi-naked woman, or even just a link to an outside source.

14.) Probably.

15.) Is The Ford the only person, along the lines of that good German word "Schadenfreude," who enjoys reading columns from ombudsmen, even ones as seemingly neutered as ESPN's?

16.) Probably.

17.) Would this be a good spot to a link to a lady?

18.) Anything under 18 is jailbait, man. (Which brings to mind today's best/most-horrifying alternative to the "Old enough to bleed, old enough to breed" phrase occasionally uttered around The Ford: "If there's grass on the field, play ball!")

19.) Because 19 always feels right, this reinforces Thought No.2, plus, you've hung around this long, dear reader, so you deserve a bonus, it's Jennifer Aniston. Showing up for CBS' Early Show. REALLY showing up. If you get the crude double entendre. If not, just click on the damn link.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Coming from a region where you'd go a thousand miles or so inbetween major multi-pro-team metropolitan areas, The Ford's all for big-tent inclusiveness when it comes to recruiting fans.

But seriously, Cleveland, maybe you just need to stay within Ohio. Because while Pittsburgh may not have an NBA team -- they're still basking in the glory of "The Fish Who Saved Pittsburgh -- they're likely not rooting for your Browns-rooting asses. Even with gals like these.

Seriously, you're a big state. You've even got an occasional football rivalry with Cincy. Odd how you're not recruiting in that NBA-less city. Odd, indeed.

In other news, Dr. Ford says that while getting back on the horse is admirable, perhaps one should not cap a 12-hour workday -- while still recovering from a nasty cold -- with beers and chicken tenders at The Official Bar. Taken separately, all these things are manageable. Taken together, well, at least they kept The Ford from decking a couple of the punks hanging out downtown for the techno music festival this weekend.

No, wait, his mistake. It was the warm temperatures and preponderance of plunging necklines that prevented The Ford from pondering physical violence. Peacemakers, indeed.

Finally, here inThe Official Career Corner of The Official Blog, The Ford ponders why he didn't become a wedding reporter. Sure, most of the stories would suck chiffon, but for the one, the one truly fascinating courtship, well, it might all be worth it.

Then again, you might have to write it in a weirdly upbeat manner that comes off as more ironic detachment than anything else. The Ford might be cool with that, though. It's tough to say. Ellen Futterman, The Ford salutes you.

Friday, May 26, 2006

Sore throat? Check.

Runny nose? Check.

Uncontrollable sneezing? Check.

Harsh, raspy voice? Check.

Yes, it's time, once again, for The Ford's seemingly annual late-May cold.

Time once again for him to crawl into bed and ignore the rest of the world for about 96 hours.

Of course, since The Ford also hopes to eat Some Official Food after this 96 hours, as well as continue to sleep in The Official Bedroom and drive The Official Truck, he must also trudge into work at The Official Newspaper.

All of which makes him too tired to do much other than said trudging.

Yes, this annual event robs The Ford of so much he likes to do. Like ... um ... drink. And read. And drink. And talk to people on the phone. And ... um ... did he mention drink? Oh, and of course: blog. (OK, there's one other thing The Ford likes doing, but seeing as how he's spending most of his homeward hours in bed, he ain't really stopping. He'd say more, but this is a family blog, in between all the veiled sex references, cuss words, and scantily clad young ladies.)

Yeah, The Ford's been claiming some "him-time" this week as he waits for the cold to compete its usual progression through his body -- similar to the way The Ford shops and old-but-major department stores: It entered the main way (the throat), screwed around a bit there, then headed upstairs to try on some pants (the nose), and soon, it will head down to the basement to see if there are any nudie mags hidden in a corner (the lungs).

But while he waits, The Ford is gonna give you, dear reader, the lowdown on what's been popping up, now that he's got the whole "typingp-with-hisd-eyews-shut-ttto aviod sneeezingf" thing down.

Now, The Ford's never been much for Eva Longoria. Really, on his personal hotness scale, she's never ranked higher than 4th. Thus Ranketh The Ford.
But this is a pretty decent LAT piece on the phenomenon that is EVA. Because, let's face it, any story that can include the line, "Fernando Valenzuela on a corn flakes box is one thing; Longoria in a wet negligee in the pages of a leading men's magazine, " AND feature a photo gallery of various Longorian moments, is worth a moment's perusal.

But maybe hot Latina women aren't your thing. That's cool. Racist. The Ford's got something up your alley.
Karate Dog!
Yep, that's Karate Dog, an upcoming movie on ABC Family, featuring Chevy Chase (demonstrating some impressive lack of script judgment), Jon Voight (demonstrating that's one's gotta pay the bills somehow between Pearl Harbor and Transformers:The Movie, and just being Angelina Jolie's dad doesn't cut it), Simon Rex (demonstrating the time-honored ideal of regression to the mean -- "Real World to the WB to Karate Dog" seems like a solid career arc.) and Jaime Pressly (demonstrating that a smokin' bod and a co-starring spot on a hit NBC sitcom also doesn't pay the bills that well.)

The Ford really has only four beefs with Karate Dog, besides the sheer inanity of the plot: 1.) How do you land quite a few semi-stars, and yet bill Pat Morita ahead of Jaime Pressly? 2.) Do the creators of Hong-Kong Phooey lawyerless, or what? How are they not in litigation over this. Granted, the idea of a karate-chopping dog isn't great, but The Ford would think it's probably rare enough to be reasonable copyrighted. 3.) Jaime Pressly? Wasn't she in Playboy? Naked? In Playboy? When did ABC FAMILY start hiring gals who've been in Playboy. Oh, right, Charisma Carpenter. Her, too. Mind you, The Ford's not complaining. He wishes more gals who've been in Playboy would show up on family-type networks. It's just a bit unexpected, that's all. Lord knows, were they to start advertising, "ABC Family, now with more former naked women!" The Ford would be a lot more likely to randomly watch ABC Family. 4.) Karate Dog? That's the best title you could come up with? Granted, your first four title ideas were probably playing off of Hong-Kong Fooey, but still...Karate Dog?

On the heels of the Fucking Huskies, we have the Fucking Bruins. Well, really, just Fucking UCLA. NO ONE calls them the Bruins. Except dweebs, and The Ford is no dweeb, no sirree bob. Seriously though, 99 national championships? Damn.
The Official University? 1.
And that's in boxing, which may not even count any more. Oh, and there's this whole 1915 football title thing, but we're not gonna get into that until we get our goddamn TWO SECONDS back from the 1998 Rose Bowl. And there's video tape of those TWO SECONDS! Good luck getting a national championship from before radio had even caught on.

Also, The Ford likes that it took massive public outrage for Hasbro to realize the Pussycat Dolls are neither Pussycats, nor are they Dolls. And that should not change.

Still, the best part of the Daily News' story? That'd be this: "The Dolls, who are hugely popular with teenagers, have a crossover hit with their song "Don't Cha" featuring lyrics about group sex."

Those lyrics, since The Ford knows you've been wondering ever since you heard that song used to peddle light beer, are ...

Fight the feeling (fight the feeling)
Leave it alone (leave it alone)
Cause if it aint love
It just aint enough to leave a happy home
Let's keep it friendly (let's keep it friendly)
You have to play fair (you have to play fair)
See, I dont care
But I know she aint gon' wanna share

Shocking, that.

Finally, The Ford's thankful that the new TV season's most crowded hour got a little less crowded this week, with NBC's decision to move the new Aaron Sorkin drama from Thursdays at 9 to Monday at 10. OF course, Thursdays at 9 p.m. is still a killer hour, with OC competing against CSI competing against Grey's Anatomy competing against, um, Supernatural? (The Ford notes that the new CW network's just gonna pencil that hour in as a loss already. Tough luck, guys.)

Ah...the NyQuil is kicking in. Time for a fond and vaguely furious farewell...(Karate Dog? Seriously?)

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

It's time to play The Fury.

Fucking. Huskies.

Never has The Ford wished so ardently for someone to need Tommy John surgery.

Which is probably not cool, but seriously?

Fucking. Huskies.

There is no sympathy.

You go to The Official Scum-suckin' Rival School of The Official Blog of The Ford, you deserve what you get. You made your choice, and now you shall reap what you sow.

Such is the law of the universe, if The Ford has any say in things.

Here's the alumni for two random schools. One is the embodiment of all things wrong in the world, and the other is The Official University of The Official Blog of The Ford.

Fuskies. Shockingly, serial killer Ted Bundy's been left off the list. That's why The Ford's here. To make sure that didn't get overlooked. (For what it's worth, they also left off former Seattle SuperSonic Detlef Schrempf -- who gets a pass from The Ford for actually being Germany and thus not being able to recognize pure evil in university form.)

Go Cougs! (Note the lack of serial killers from WSU. Huh. Says something about the inherent benefits of a schooling amidst the rolling hills of the Palouse. Though that Tim Leary fella might not be an argument for it. Though it is fun to read about him getting held hostage by Eldridge Cleaver.)

Oh, and on the subject of fascinating, this site is. Especially the archives. Oh, and this: "Based on measurements of not only rainfall, but overall humidity, Illinois is by far the wettest state in the country, according to a recent report by national meteorologists. By contrast, Washington is technically the driest state. "

No comment.

Other than this: Fucking. Huskies.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Is there a better late-night dinner/snack than a fresh gyro? The Ford sincerely doubts it. Sure, you can try your hot dogs and nachos, your pizzas and your cheeseburgers, both normal and bite-sized, but The Ford's always gonna come back to the gyro. Period.

Speaking of late night fun....

Dammit, The Ford swore there'd be no hot women in this post. And then he finds this. Lawyer during the week, Vikings cheerleader on the weekend. It's kinda like a modern-day version of "Mary Tyler Moore," but with more Spandex and jumping/bouncing/jiggling. So, um, that's something.

Well, now The Ford feels kinda bad about breaking his promise to himself. Luckily, there's this story that really just makes everything seem a bit better. Though you'll probably appreciate it more if you constantly live with a vague sense of guilt over spending 40-60 hours a week getting paid to obsess over sports. Hey, at least someone is obsessing over more meaningless stuff out there.

Bodes well for The Ford, don'cha'know....

Monday, May 22, 2006

The Ford presents this photo gallery as a look at one of his favorite places in The Official Metropolitan Home Region of The Official Blog of The Ford . Really. Check out the views. Pay no attention to those Sea-Gals in the foreground. None whatsoever.

Once you've done that, you'll need to cleanse your pallet. Might The Ford suggest a light dusting of McSweeney's?

Like, say, this tasty morsel?

Or, perhaps, this will be more to your liking?

Or course, you're probably not here for the fine dining.

It's OK, The Ford knows why you came here.

Over there.

Around the corner.

Behind the fake tree.

you'll find it.

Y'know, that section, where you find out that despite The Ford's desperate attempts to avoid hearing anything about the last half of The OC this season, he has failed. He's heard the big secret about the last episode.


It'll still be one of about 20 DVD sets he'll be buying in two months.

But in honor of said secret, let's give a big shoutout to Mischa Barton.

The maybe-third-hottest woman on the OC -- if we're being generous -- has a nude scene.

That people are excited about.

Strikes The Ford kinda like the folks who were really excited about signing Az-zakir Hakim a few years back. Is he a talent? Sure. But there's a reason he's the third chair, so to speak.

'Nuff said.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

Y'know, The Ford was gonna let this go.

He really was.

Say absolutely nothing about it.

And yet, here he is, blogging away.

About what?

Danica Patrick.

Don't get The Ford wrong. It's not that she's not attractive. She's just not hot.

She. Is. Not. Hot.

But compared to the rest of her peers -- Open-wheel racers -- she's absolutely the hottest person alive, thanks to the almost complete lack of women among race car drivers.

Need proof?

Up there, you had Ms. Patrick.

Below, witness the glory that is Ashley Judd.

(Why Ashley Judd? Well, she's no driver, but as the wife of Dario Franchitti, she's the next closest thing in the IRL/Champ Car series.)Note this: Ashley Judd BLOWS Danica Patrick away. Not even close. And when was the last time you saw Ashley Judd in the top 50 of a "hot list?"

It's like the debate over who was the greatest baseball player ever. Compared to each other, Aaron, Ruth, Williams, Bonds, Pujols, A-Rod, well, they all seem sorta similar, in the way that all the Victoria's Secret models do if you get the catalog early in the afternoon. But if you compare them to the peer group from their eras? Ruth is the freakin' Scarlett Johansson of 'em all.

It's the same thing with Rachel Nichols, who, as a regular gal, ain't bad looking. (This one, not that one.) But since she basically only has to compete with Chris Mortenson, Ed Werder and Shelley Smith, well, she comes off as being God's incredibly hot gift to sports reporting.

When, The Ford will tell you, that title truly belongs to Erin Andrews.

Of course, the fault truly lies not in the women, or their appearance, but in the English language as it's currently spoken.

Seems like there's no good word to describe these outliers within their profession. Once we've tagged them with the clinical-but-oddly-lacking term, "attractive," there's nowhere to go but "hot."

Thus, The Ford proposes a new term for these women, exemplars of attractiveness in their professions, but far from hot: Semi-hot.

As in, "That Danica Patrick's a real semi-hottie."

And if anyone ever describes Ms. Judd as semi-hot, well, you'll have The Ford to deal with.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Life is weird.

Really weird.

Oh, wait, you're here for funny stuff, not soporific musings on life.

Fair enough.

After all, as so many j-school teachers tried to beat into The Ford's head, we should "show, not tell."

(Of course, try and spring that little maxim on that girl at the bar, and you're liable to wind up with martini-soaked underwear. And not in a good way.)

But The Ford digresses.

On with the weirdness.

Last night was spent in a not-particularly heated discussion with The Official Gal-Whose-Nickname-Is-Pending of The Official Blog of The Ford over whether the high-five is still in vogue.

Y'see, The Ford comes from a time (the early 90s) and place (Western Washington state) where high-fives were very much in vogue, thanks to the efforts of the High Five'n White Guys.

He has a hard time accepting the presumed death of the High Five, replaced as it seems to have been with the "dap" or the "pound."

But, as the saying doesn't go, it takes two to high-five. And those two have been few and far-between lately.

Which brings us to the present day.
The Ford's leaving the Tigers game, one of many baseball fans abuzz with the glory of the Motor City Kitties. ("Another win! Tigers win! Tigers rule! Best record in baseball!")

He's climbing the stairs onto the concourse, when this dude approaches him, girlfriend in tow, and starts extolling the Tigers' "best record in baseball. Whoo!" and accompanies the "Whoo" with a high-five. An honest-to-goodness, real damn high-five.

Which The Ford, of course reciprocated. One cannot leave a high-five hanging out there like that.
High-five accomplished, The High-Five'n Dude walks away, with embarassed girlfriend still following, leaving The Ford to turn to his buddy -- ignored in the high-five'n frivolity -- and start discussing whether said high-five actually happened, and whether the high-five is still alive and well. The buddy, well, he's equally incredulous.

The Ford's walked maybe another 10 feet when Random Dude 2 approaches, exults in "best-record," and proffers another high-five, again, reciprocated, naturally.

For those of you scoring at home (even if you're alone), that's two high-fives in the span of 30 seconds, after several years sans non-ironic high-five.

On another weird note, immediately after the serial high-fives, The Ford was approached by a random female fan -- while still inside the park, not 5 minutes after the end of the game -- and asked whether the Tigers had truly won. When told they had, she responded, "Best record in baseball!" But no high-five.
Let's give her some time.

But why were so many folks eager to get a piece of The Ford? He'd like to believe The Official Blog is causing that sort of groundswell, but it seems unlikely, even in a tiny town like Detroit.

Of course, it may have been that between his Olde English 'D' ballcap and his slightly wrinkled khakis, The Ford looked like a true Detroiter, albeit a slightly Disneyfied one. And just as everyone loves Micky, Donald, Goofy and the gang, so too is The Ford beloved, at least for 60 seconds.

As for this spate of high five'n, The Ford has no explanation other than perhaps, with the apparent return of the Tigers to their glory days of 1984-93, perhaps, too, the fans are returning to those lighter days when Eddie Vedder was young, Courtney Love was just the girlfriend, and Jim Leyland was winning in Pittsburgh.

Weirder things have happened. Though probably not on Thursday.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

The next time you're feeling low about some abysmal failure you've just perpetrated on your fellow man, well, buck up fella.

You could have been the creator of one of these products.

(Though, to be fair, if the guy who came up with OK Cola promised 4% of the market, and then the cola pulled in 3% of the market in the test area, isn't that pretty close to success?)

Don't click on this link because of Jason Alexander.
Don't click on it for Jason Alexander with hair.
Don't click on it for Jason Alexander with hair leading a musical tribute to The Ford's favorite McDonald's burger of all time.
Click on it for all of the above ... plus Jason Alexander attempting to combine a white suit jacket with brown pants, for a look that could probably be described as "Crockett's oddly repressed cousin trying to fit in in Miami."

If you do all of this while eating the McDLT's spiritual descendent, the Big'N'Tasty, then, truly, The Ford will salute you.

This just in, on the "Things you probably already figured out, but hey, we've got 24 hours to fill" channel... The Tigers are pretty good.

Just (more or less) got back from watching Justin Verlander outduel Johan Santana.

Shoot, even when the Tigers seem determined to give the game away (A sample: "Wait, is that Magglio Ordonez? Trying to steal home? At half speed?"), they manage to come right back and do everything right. ("Wait, they've got the runner on first in a rundown! Don't! Don't throw to third! No! OK, well, he's out. That worked.")

Of course, the downside of the Tigers being good is that it's very possible that, if the Pistons lose again soon (The Ford's rooting against this -- he likes his OT very much, thank you.), the good people of the Motor City will have no choice but to attend Tigers games. Which means The Ford will feel very stupid for not buying cheap season tickets before the season. (Hey, if he'd known his schedule would give him an outside shot of seeing 40+ home games this year...)

Not as good as the Tigers, but probably more interesting to anyone NOT living in Detroit, (now THAT's what The Ford calls a segue) are these pics.

Maybe The Ford's just been reading/getting involved in too many photomanipulation debates, but these feel pretty hinky. At least, that's how they feel after a couple hours of careful study. But then again, staring at anyone's bikini-clothed ass, off and on, will feel pretty hinky, if done for a couple of hours.

There's probably a lesson in there, somewhere, perhaps even about staring at people's asses. The Ford chooses not to learn it.

In other news, being sans cable has kept The Ford blissfully unaware of American Idol. Until today, when it all of a sudden started leading vearious newspaper Web sites. Go figure. His only thought: This dude looks way too much like an SNL cast member to be the "American Idol."
C'mon, does the title mean nothing to you people?

Oh, and in honor of the Oilers knocking off the Sharks tonight, let's give a shoutout to the proud fans of Edmonton, who much as their team has this month, just seem to be getting hotter and hotter.

'Nuff said.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Dear Brandon Inge:

Bring. Back. The. Skee-Lo.

Or else he'll be forced to choose a new Tiger.

And let's face it, it'll be Jeremy Bonderman.

Who will then blow out his arm or something, since that's what generally happens to players The Ford roots for.

So, for the sake of everyone involved, bring back the Skee-Lo.

That is all.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

The Ford's gonna lead off with the quasi-naked women, if for no other reason than that's what's leaping to mind.

Jessica Alba? Christina Aguilera? Damn, GQ. The Ford salutes you, even if you're "honoring" Aguilera, a key figure in The Ford's "Skanky Hotness" theory. (the main thrust of which, so to speak, is that women on the cusp of hotness can drastically up their Hotness Quotient with the appearance of sluttiness, but only up to a point. Paris Hilton is another example, just in case you're wanked out on Ms. Aguilera.)

But just in case you're tired/scared of partying with Misses Aguilera and Alba, you could always hang out with Georgia Gov. Sonny Perdue. OK, sure, it's not as cool, but when Waffle House is serving both dinner AND breakfast, how can you refuse?

Unless, of course, you've got tickets to the Miss Hooters Canada pageant, which the Ottawa Sun has been promoting HARD on its SUNshine Girls page (you know the address) for some unknown reason, considering the pageant is in Calgary.

And finally, mostly because The Ford hates for a post starting with quasi-skankiness to end with the same, enjoy some wholesome, um, um, um, oh yeah, let's pimp out an article from The Official Newspaper pointing out the rise of the man in advertising. Because really, that's what pop culture was missing. More men. Still, despite The Ford's willingness to buy things hawked by women in skimpy outfits, he really finds himself digging the Miller ads for "Man Law," if for no other reason than hearing Burt Reynolds lay a verbal smackdown on Detroit-native Jerome Bettis: "I don't want your stinky finger in my beer."

See, that's how The Ford rolls: one day, you get the love for the Detroit natives like Kristin Bell; then next, it's hating on Jerome Bettis. The best part? It's obviously not based on cup-size. Though possibly based on penis size. Which is to say The Ford sincerely hopes Ms. Bell is sans penis. Unless she's not down with The Ford. Then? She can go to H-E-double-hockey-sticks.

And while we're waiting for Ms. Bell to form a pro- or anti-Ford policy, let's all enjoy the Man Laws here, ignoring for a moment that this is pretty much free advertising for a beer company that shut down The Ford's hometown brewery. (The Ford's trying to hold a grudge, but Burt Reynolds is a damn persuasive spokesman. Though probably not as persuasive as Kristin Bell. Ahem.)

Monday, May 15, 2006

The Ford's reviewing the upcoming TV season's new shows, trying to psych himself up for getting cable again. (This week's the week, he can feel it...)

First thoughts?

ABC blows. -- New shows featuring David Arquette and Mick Jagger? Are you TRYING to tank the season? Thought you were doing too well? Wanted to give the other guys a chance? Oy. Enjoy "Lost." Maybe you can work up a spin-off. "Lost: The Others."

NBC does not. -- Start with giving Aaron Sorkin another show. Then add Matthew Perry, Bradley Whitford and Amanda Peet. Stir, and enjoy.
Oh, and let's give Andy Richter a show, too. And John Lithgow. And Jeffrey Tambor. Very nice, indeed.
Almost enough to make up for the screaming absence of "Scrubs" in the lineup.

CBS is resting on its laurels. -- One new show? With no stars atttched? Cool? Who knows.

Fox is very vague. -- Sure, everyone likes short, punchy titles. 24. Lost. CSI. Survivor. House. Bones. But perhaps you've pushed it too far, Fox. "Primary." "Vanished." (And let's not talk about "Prison Break" returning for another season. Still, you made "24" work for multiple seasons, so who is The Ford, aside from, y'know, THE FORD, to criticize?)

CW. -- The Ford's all for Smallville continuing, at least until we get EVERY member of the DCU introduced in a vaguely confusing/winking manner. And Gilmore Girls? Awesome, at least until Rory gets a job at a major metropolitan newspaper somewhere in the upper Midwest, say, on a river that feeds into a Great Lake, far enough away for her own life, but still close enough for the occasional visit from Lorelai.

But how for the love of all that is holy in TV can you not guarantee (Or as we like to say here in The Official City, guaran-Sheed) Veronica Mars a spot on the schedule?

The Ford needs his (Detroit-native) Kristen Bell fix, y'know?

Don't make The Ford lump you in with ABC. 'Cause you do not wanna be there...

Sunday, May 14, 2006

The Pistons lost, and the Tigers won tonight, both in Cleveland, leaving both cities vagely confused about their satisfaction levels.

In other news, let's consider the things The Ford is considering right now.

(C'mon, it's an exercise in empathy, not to mention a lame segue to some Larry-King-esque iteams. You want depth? Go read a Sunday newspaper.)

1.) Not sure how to fix the whole "bad haircut" dilemma. There's the possibility of going to another barber. Like, say, this recent advertiser in The Official Newspaper, which appears to be some combination of barber, strip club and bar, minus beer and nudity. Unless things go really well, The Ford hopes. There's the possibility of just letting the hair grow out, appealing mostly for its cheapness. The third possibility? Drink. A lot. The beauty of this approach is that it works equally well with either of the first two solutions.

2.)* Must. Get. Cable. Finally. Though the news of HBO possibly/likely cancelling "Deadwood" is dulling that urge a bit for The Ford. Yes, where else will The Ford get his weekly overuse of "cocksucker" and "motherfucker," if not "Deadwood." Oh, right, The Ford's a grown-ass man and can say the words himself.
*Or even write them in a blog, and then give said section of said blog an NC-17 rating. Like The Ford just did.

3.) Something strikes The Ford as vaguely wrong about a teen cheerleader for a pro team. Maybe it's because the whole sexual fantasy of teen cheerleaders is so prominent, and yet pro football cheerleaders frequently present sort of a Disneyfied/neutered version of sexuality, especially when you're watching The Official Dance Team get down in windbreakers and long pants. Then again, maybe this gal's sorta the LeBron James of cheerleading, and we should all take the opportunity to be witnesses. Even without a fancy Nike marketing campaign.

4.) This dude probably likes the Clippers a bit TOO much. But then again, it's good for anyone to like the Clippers. And The Ford has no space to complain, considering he's probably paying extra to live in The Official Building of The Official Blog of The Ford, simply because he enjoys walking both to The Official Newspaper AND TO TIGERS GAMES. Then again, it might be sorta embarassing if The Ford DIDN'T live in The Official Building, it being official and whatnot. It'd make for an interesting debate on what makes something "official," if The Ford didn't have better things to do with his time. Anyway, Clippers fan, The Ford salutes you for your ridiculous devotion to your team, and notes that if you're ever in the Motor City, he'll spot you a ticket to a Tigers game.

5.) Y'know, it's been a while. Let's see how prototypical Edmonton women, such as those protrayed in a popular Edmonton newspaper, are celebrating the Oilers' status as the only Canadian team left in the NHL playoffs. Hmm. They appear to be combining Oilers gear with lingerie and regular clothing in an oddly arousing/disturbing way. Like here. And here. And here. Few things -- like, say, a braless Meg Ryan -- are as effective erection creater/deflaters as a sparsely dressed woman holding a hockey stick.

6.) Finally, solely because The Ford has attempted to beat the holy hell out of Esquire for its simply indefensible suggestion that Jessica Biel is the sexiest woman in the country/world/U.S./living, it's probably only fair that he ... link to another extraordinarily unscientific poll of men about who the hottest woman in the world is, this one drawing from a pool of computer geeks addicted to a blog featuring shorts of scantily dressed celebrities. (The Ford goes there only for research, of course, and to note that that his "peers" have Biel at No. 40. Well done, lads and ladettes.)

Does The Ford agree with this poll? Not really. But he's a believer in America, which means he's a believer in democracy, and until we can actually vote on such things in a legally binding way, he's stuck with what we've got. (I'm looking at you, Barack Obama, to get this done.)


Friday, May 12, 2006

Fresh off his victory over a malfunctioning shower drain, The Ford was feeling pretty good.

So, of course, he got a haircut.

Two days later, it's time to assess the damage.


Yes, The Ford has officially exited the "denial" stage of his haircut, thanks to The Official Signs of a Bad Haircut of The Official Blog of The Ford:

1.) After five minutes of combing wet hair, comb stands up and says, "Eff this. I'm gettin' a beer."

2.) Look in the mirror prompts intense craving not only of banana, but to fling one's own feces.

3.) Coworker not only suggests new barber, but hands The Ford Mapquested directions to said barber 12 blocks from workplace.

(Can you guess which one actually took place?)

Thursday, May 11, 2006

With so many things that The Ford does well -- newspapering, drinking, blogging -- it was natural that he'd eventually run up against something he does NOT do well.

Shocking, he knows, but it was bound to happen. Eventually.

Tonight, it was basketball. Now, this may not come as a shock to you, dear reader, if you're familiar with The Ford at all. Granted, he's bigger than most folks, but such size does not basketball greatness make.

Still, The Ford had always pictured himself as something of a raw talent, perhaps along the lines of Ben Wallace. Not so much with the big hair, or defensive prowess, but The Ford can rock a pair of glasses, and pull down some rebounds to boot.

Or such was the thinking in Ford-World.

In the real world, as demonstrated by tonight's pickup game with his coworkers? The Ford has no game. No shooting ability. No speed. No rebounding skills.

Indeed, it appears that The Ford's only skill tonight was a tolerance for pain in the post, and the ability/willingness to move some similarly sized coworkers out of the paint.

A dozen or so rebounds in 4 games were easily outweighed by the scared looks on teammates faces when he attempted a pass across the court. Maybe he shouldn't have thrown the first two 10 feet over a taller teammate's head.

Adding injury to insult, The Ford even managed to roll his ankle with less than a couple of minutes left in a late game. Being the gamer that he is, he laced his shoes extra tight, and limped around the court to finish out the game. Hooray.

Of course, things picked up, as they often do, at the post-game drinking, when The Ford confirmed that while his basketball skills are decidedly sub-Ben-Wallace, his drinking skills are not.

Nor are his "talking-to-random-cute-bartendresses" skills. Well, they are, but they're certainly better than Darko's. (Which has become the true measuring stick in Detroit, even after his timely departure. "This sucks." "Worse than Darko?" "Well, no." "OK, then."

All of which could explain why, as The Ford sits on The Official Couch with his ankle securely covered in a bag of ice, he's not really feeling all that bad about things, basketball or otherwise.

There's probably a lesson in there somewhere, but The Ford doesn't lecture, he just gives you the pieces to take into your own life.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Ever since The Ford moved into The Official Apartment, his shower's drain had been clogged.
Eventually, like most folks would, but probably much later, he got tired of showering in 3 inches of standing water every day.

So he bought this Drano foaming drain cleaner, which was on the cusp of becoming The Official Drain Cleaner of The Official Blog of The Ford, based on some previous drain-cleaning experiences. (A man as spontaneously hairy as The Ford gains plenty of experience clearing clogs in his lifetime.)

But upon an examination of his shower, it turned out there was no way to remove the drain stopper fully to allow the foamy cleanser full access to the shower's nether regions. (The shower, it should be noted in its defense, responded in a way familiar to The Ford from earlier attempts to see netherregions without the proper warning.)

But The Ford is an enterprising fellow, what with all the episodes of MacGyver consumed in a childhood of television.

So he tried to cut a plastic cup to use it as an improvised funnel.

Of course, his scissors, prehaps sensing the futility of the whole effort, proved difficult to find, forcing The Ford to resort to The Official Scissors of The Official Swiss Army Knife of The Official Blog of The Ford.

And cut they did. Soon a funnel was forged from the ashes of a former drinking cup. The Ford is truly the master of his domain.

Really, everything was going well until he poured the drain cleaner into the funnel, and it started foaming even before it had gotten through the opening, which was much smaller than planned, thanks to the poor angle of attack on the drain.

(It's like they designed the damn thing with an eye toward preventing unapproved assaults on the drain with dangerous chemicals. But The Ford digresses.)

The Quasi-Official cleanser is foaming. Foaming all over The Official Hands of The Ford, The Official Bathtub, well, The Official Everything.

It's at this point that The Ford remembers the two warnings on the bottle: "Use the entire bottle" and "Harmful upon contact with skin."

What to do? The entire bottle of cleanser is obviously going to take a while to work through the funnel, time that The Ford was sure would be spent horribly scarring his hands to the point he'd be a candidate for super-villainy in Gotham City.

What to do? The clock's ticking. The skin's burning.

In the end, The Ford did the only thing he could do. He ran. At least, figuratively.

He ended up just pouring the rest of the bottle into the bathtub, around the drain area -- hoping it would eventually work its way down the drain -- and retreating to wash The Official Hands.


And so, as he waits for The Non-Official Cleanser to work down the pipes, as well as for the skin to begin falling off his bones, he's left to regale you, dear reader, with some interesting shit.

Who says The Ford never suffered for his art?

From the L.A. Times: Women excited about chances to wear feminine clothing with team logos. Teams excited about chances to make money off of other 50% of American population. L.A. Times excited about chances to show photo gallery of women trying on clothing. Everybody wins.

From a random Kentucky television station's site: Woman who appeared in a single porn movie was fired from her job as a teacher. Reminds The Ford of a joke:
"Man walks into a bar in a small town, sits down at the counter, and everyone at the counter moves away from him.
The man groans, and turns to face the crowd.
'A man bakes a cake, and no one calls him a baker?'
'A man catches a fish, and no one calls him a fisherman.'
'But fuck one sheep...' "

From the world of geeks (as opposed to the rest of the Internet): You probably already knew there was going to be a "live-action" Transformers movie. (The quotes are The Ford's, since he's skeptical of the live-action nature of anything involving giant robots transforming into cars, guns and tape decks.) You might have known it'll hew vaguely closely to the original cartoon version, complete with Spike Witwicky, a plucky young human replete with even pluckier perm and hard-hat. You maybe even knew it's going to be directed by Michael Bay. The world will be imperiled. Oddly compelling pop/rock songs will blare. Shit will blow up. We'll all live another day. But did you know there'll be a love interest for good ol' Spike? No. Behold the hotness of Megan Fox. Because when The Ford goes to see a movie about giant robots, he wants a human love interest. (And, yes, The Ford will see it. He knows this already.) Really, all The Ford knows is that they better not kill off Optimus Prime again. That had him near tears as a kid. He doesn't know if he could take it again.

From a random celebrity blog: Jessica Simpson's a redhead? With weird-looking breasts? The Ford says: Win some, lose some.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Greetings, early morning blog consumer!
Or late afternoon blog consumer!

The Ford's not picky. Or judgemental.

Which is why he's offering you these bonus links -- likely crippling himself later on in his daily struggle to provide you, dear reader, with the finest in commentary, humor, and web design -- before you even get to his admittedly only-occasionally funny writing down below. (Or you could scroll down to the post before this one, and save these links for dessert, the same way The Ford always use to save the dumplings from his mom's chicken and dumplings. It'll make you feel better when The Ford decides in 16 hours that he can skip a post, having given the world so much already.)

Either way prepare for some stripped down links. (But not THOSE kind of stripped down links...) Why?

Because The Ford likes to start his day with a little music, even if it is a song viral in its ability to stick in your head from just a reading of it:,0,7522844.story?coll=la-home-headlines

Because The Ford thinks reading about Lindsey Lohan in the New York Fricking Times somehow legitimizes his likely abnormal interest in a teen redhead:

Because The Ford's still slightly pained over not getting tickets to Conan's tapings in Chicago:

Because The Ford wants to stretch beyond just linking to newspapers, but really doesn't want to stretch that far, so he'll settle for McSweeney's mocking of "Snakes on a Plane," even though he STILL hasn't seen a trailer for said movie:

Because The Ford enjoys breaking the Rule of Threes on occasion -- but feels four is a wishy-washy number, thanks to its ability to be divided by 2 -- in an attempt to be a "bad boy," in the fashion of these people slightly more famous than The Ford:

The Ford's as insane a baseball fan as one can find, really, considering he didn't exactly grow up with fanatic parents. (Crazy? Yes. About sports? Not in the summer.)

And yet, he's got a long way to go before he reaches Philly fans.

'Cause c'mon, maybe you're not fond of Barry Bonds. Hell, maybe you hate the steroid-stocking, cocky sumbitch who was born on thrid base and thought he hit a triple. (Note: That last sentence was originally "hit a tribble." Which is much dorkier, and much funnier, all at the same time.)

But to spend hours making signs like these:

Well, that's just kinda sad. Save the hate for actual division rivals, Philly fans. It's much more fun to rip into someone you'll see another 18 times a season.

Continuing the trip around the horn... (Bear with The Ford; after a few hours watching hockey AND the CBC, he feels the need to reconnect with the Great American Pastime. Not that there's anything wrong with hockey, or the CBS, but, well, y'know...)

We get the great tale of a Schaumburg, Ill., pitcher getting traded for a pallet of Budweiser -- Approximate value, as near as The Ford can figure? $1,000 -- all so he can be closer to L.A. "Leon Time" is on the move. This one writes itself so perfectly, The Ford has no punchlines.

Rounding third and heading for home...

Oh, let's refrain from pointing out that The Mets are going without Kris Benson and The Official Ex-Stripper of The Official Blog of The Ford, but get to feature "Lima Time." The wordsmith in The Ford suggests that that's dealing two gigantic boobs for one, even if it wasn't a straight trade.

(Edit: OK, The Ford somehow ended up checking out Jose Lima's wife today, and he can report, that, well, as far as boobs go, the Mets are losing very little in the transaction. Of course, there's still the little matter of Kris Benson's pitching skills vs. Jose Lima's pitching skills, but that's not what The Official Blog is all about.)

And the sliiiiiide....

More pimping of The Official Newspaper, made especially sweet since The Ford had no idea this story about Detroit's next Quixotic quest had run. That'll learn him to take days off. The Olympics? Sure, why not. Because if Torino, the Detroit of Italy can take the Winter Games, then Detroit, the Torino of America, can sure as hell handle the real deal.

Of course this would present a couple of problems near and dear to The Ford's heart.

No, not traffic, or how to build the temporary housing suitable for both athletes and tourists, but rather:

1.) Wouldn't the sheer number of columns by visiting media -- on how a.) Detroit sucks, and we're just all waiting for the burning cars or b.) Detroit is much better than expected, thanks to the conspicuous lack of burning cars -- completely cripple the Internet for two weeks?

2.) Based on the flow of strippers to Detroit for the Super Bowl, and the ensuing inflation of strip club ads in both The Official Newspaper and The Official Competition, would it even be possible to publish a newspaper that wasn't 90% stripper. And once we did, would we ever want to go back?

Oh, and because The Ford's ranting about Chicken McNuggets may have distracted him from pointing out some random hot women, let's give a big ol' shoutout to Jade -- a regular gal, who proves the cliche that smart is sexy, at least when one is,um, also hot and willing to show it on a random blog.
So perhaps the saying should be, "Smart, hot and in possession of a digital camera and a tank top is sexy."
Not as catchy, sure, or as bumper-sticker-worthy, but probably a lot more accurate.

Monday, May 08, 2006

OK, no funny.

But maybe a little bit of The Fury.

The Ford spent a lot of time analyzing the menu at McDonald's tonight, thanks mostly to the unheathy confluence of too many Double Quarter Pounder commercials and a belated Cinco De Mayo party at Random Tequila Bar Next to the McDonalds.

While doing so he discovered this:

McDonald's apparently has no freakin' idea how to price its Chicken McNuggets.

Now, ordinarily, this is the point when The Ford would note that he has had a checkered past with the McNugget, beginning with a childhood food poisoning, continuing onto some disturbing experiences he had with undercooked Nuggets the summer he worked at McDonalds, and ending in present day when he strives valiantly to avoid ordering the little bites of death, and frequently fails.

And so he has.

Moving on...

Yeah, no idea on pricing.

Y'see, generally in the modern free-market economy, buying more of something will get you a discount. You get more things at a lower price so that the seller can make a greater profit. 50 items sold at a 4-cent profit gets you more money than 5 sold at a 6-cent profit.
Thus ends the economics lesson.

'Cause at McDonalds, buying more of things costs you MORE more per item.
For example, you can get 4 McNuggets for $1.
But 6 McNuggets costs $2.40.

Yes, 6 McNuggets are 40 cents more than 2 orders of 4.

Ah, but maybe they want us to order more to get a discount.

OK, well, 10 McNuggets are $3.80. 4 packs of 4 would coast $4.
6 extra McNuggets for 20 more cents.

But let's say you're a hungry man, dear reader, or even a hungry woman, and you're going all out: the 20 McNuggets.
Now, if you and 4 of your friends choose to share 20 nuggets, and you each order a 4-pack, you'll be paying $5.
But if you order the 20-pack? Add an extra buck on there, apparently for the box.
It's gotta be the box.

Which is why The Ford is going to take a box with him the next time he goes into McDonald's, just so he can save a buck on McNuggets. Walk right up to the counter, present said box, and inform the counter worker that he'll be paying $5 for his 20 McNuggets, thankyewvurrymuch.

Well, actually, he'll just have The Official McNuggets Box of The Official Blog of The Ford waiting in The Official Truck for a random McDonalds visit when a manager is working the counter.

'Cause, really, The Ford knows it's unfair to go and harangue Random Counter Worker X about McNuggets prices. They make minimum wage to get yelled at by normal people, not freaks like The Ford. The Ford knows this, having been a Random Counter Worker one long, long summer.

No, The Ford will wait until a manager's pushing the buttons for grill orders, and start haranguing HIM. And maybe that manager, making much more than minimum wage can use his degree from Hamburger University to explain why in the bloody hell McDonald's charges more per McNugget the more McNuggets you buy.

'Cause if they don't teach that at Ham U, what the heck do they teach?

I got no funny.

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Yes, The Ford's getting back to speed after a long-ish vacation. (Though you might now know it from The Ford's first attempt to spell "speed": spped.)

Nevertheless, he's finally getting some sleep, and when he's not getting the sleep, he's compensating with the beer.

Thus, the things he's learned from a night at The Official Bar:

1.) Women are always allowed to sit on the bar-type surface. That is, if they're vaguely hot, obviously drunk, and surrounded by dudes. Well, vaguely hot, in a Danica Patrick way, which is to say, not hot by objective standards, but hot when you're staring at a bar filled with dudes and/or bartenders from other bars and/or married waitresses.
This may not make sense to the women who read The Official Blog, but, really, "attractiveness" is a constantly subjective standard, depending on availability, alcohol consumed, (by both parties) and attire. In short, on any given Official Bar night, Angelina Jolie/Jessica Alba/Scarlett Johannson/Marilyn Monroe might not get as much attention as the sub-par Paris Hilton lookalike down the street. Especially if she's hanging out with three guys at once. It's like a live version of Elimidate, but without the snarky subtitles.
In short, it's not you, it's us. Sorry about that.

2.) Few things are more emasculating as catching a woman's German beer mid-spill just as you realize she's making out with one of the three guys she entered the bar with.
It's not like The Ford was making a move on said gal, but still, saving some other guy from getting drenched with beer as he's getting some drunken-gal action is not why The Ford drinks. He drinks to get himself some of the drunken-gal action. And you knew this.
The only folks appreciating The Ford at this point? The dude, and the bartender.

3.) A tiger would SO beat a gopher in an even fight. Unless you give the gopher home-field advantage, complete with gopher holes, in which case the gopher might have a chance to wait out the tiger. Easily the second-dumbest argument The Ford has participated in, sober or drunk. What's the dumbest? Glad you asked, dear reader...

4.) Kool Aid Man would destroy Tony the Tiger in a fight, if only because Kool Aid Man has both the ability to crash through walls (great strength/structural integrity) and a seemingly limitless supply of blood (or Kool Aid, depending on what lets you sleep easier at night.)

5.) Along the lines of "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," but completely opposite in meaning, The Ford presents this maxim of the bars: "The promise of flashed breasts beats the guarantee of Internet porn later." OK, it's lacking the poetical nature of the original, but it seems oddly appropriate on a night of great celebration for The Ford. (What, you thought The Ford would pimp out The Official Newspaper when he's got others to do it for him?)

Things he has not learned:

1.) Whether a voucher for "one free head seccion" is actually a viable IOU, considering a.) the obvious drunkeness of the female IOU-provider; and b.) the poor spelling of said female.
Thankfully (or not, The Ford hasn't decided...), it's not The Ford's problem, but that of the bartender. (One might think preventing a massive beer spillage would provoke the transfer of siad IOU, but then one would not obviously understand the value of said IOU.)

2.) Why anyone living "downriver" in Metro Detroit -- code for "the poor suburbs" -- would choose to drink downtown. 'Cause, let's face it, drinking downtown is pretty awesome -- why else would The Ford have embraced it so totally? -- but the prospect of driving 20 minutes home via various freeways that may or may not be shut down pretty much sucks.

3.) Why the Tigers seem completely incapable of winning on nights the White Sox lose. Granted, this might be because the White Sox are a great team, while the Tigers are playing over their heads, but then again, it's not like the Sox are pulling away. They just seem to sit about 1/2 a game ahead of the Motor City Kitties constantly, a vaguely infuriating situation to a certain blogger who was rooting both against the White Sox mid-week while they were playing the Mariners and for the Tigers, who were unable to gain ground in games against the Angels and Twins.

4.) Why The Ford is a target for gals on MySpace gals like this one. OK, The Ford actually has a pretty good idea; he just wanted to point out something to all the other "ladies" who are going to spam him on MySpace: If you're gonna try and become friends with dudes, at least have friends who are women. 'Cause, knowing what little he does about the fairer sex, The Ford's pretty much instantly suspicious of women with 82 friends, all of whom are male. At least fake the appearance of female friends. The Ford will feel much better about ogling your pics. At least, when he's not at work. In short? Nice work, "Jenn." Other than the obivous porn link, you held The Ford's interest for about 15 seconds.

5.) Of all the stupid stats The Ford has noticed -- and he's noticed a lot, being the sports geek that he is -- why is one of them that no June Playmate has ever been named Playmate of The Year?
Oh, and while we're at it, how in the hell is the 2006 Playmate of The Year being named in May? May? May!
There's still, um, at least 6 months before we can reasonably talking about any year-end awards. This sort of "schedule inflation" if how The Ford is now induring ads for 2007 car models and pondering his choices in the 2008 presidential election.
C'mon. Let's stop and smell the roses. It's 2006, folks. That's pretty sweet. Even with Conan still stuck "in the year 2000," we're doing all right. TiVo, iPod, SportsCenter... hell, if nothing else, we're living in a capitalization paradise. Let's not worry about the nest Playmate of The Year for now, at least until we start calling her the PlayMate of The Year.

(Also interesting? Neither a former Playmate of The Year, nor a stock analyst for Yahoo's MarketWatch -- another triumph of mid-2000s capitalitization -- were able to pick the winner of the Kentucky Derby. The Ford's shocked. SHOCKED. Honest.)

Saturday, May 06, 2006

Yes, it's Cinco De Mayo, which, for The Ford, means ...

Well, honestly, The Ford didn't remember it was Cinco De Mayo until arriving at The Official Bar, when he was greeted with "Happy Cinco De Mayo!"

Is it a Happy Cinco De Mayo?

The Ford's always slightly annoyed at Cinco De Mayo, coming so close on the heels of St. Patrick's Day (SPD) as it does.

Sure, The Ford knows Cinco De Mayo (CDM) didn't begin as a drinking holiday. Really, it's a celebration of a Mexican victory over the French in some war that may or may not have involved Napoleon and various puppet emperors/presidents related to him. (The Ford's not up for the fact-checking right now, it being Cinco De Mayo and all.)

Still, it's a bit close to the Big Green Drunk Day for The Ford's tastes, even though, as a semi-professional drinker, The Ford makes no distinctions for holidays.

It's like the dilemma of having Thanksgiving so close to Christmas. Two "big-eatin' " holidays within a month of each other.

Really, whoever's in charge of these here holidays needs to get their act together and spread things out a bit.

Turkey Day and X-Mas are probably a bit set, but really, can't we get a couple months between CDM and SPD?

Really, if The Ford could be considerate enough to have a birthday nearly six months before/after Christmas, you'd think the least folks could do would be to schedule their big drunks slightly better.

(Yeah, that last sentence may seem odd, narcisstic and vaguely blasphemous, but when you're buying presents on The Ford's birthday in the future, you'll appreciate it a bit more.)

Other thoughts from The Official Bar (This is the section of the blog where you imagine I'm like Larry King, but with fewer wives, ex- or not, and no suspenders. Both of these should be comforting modifiers.):

1.) SportsCenter needs to stop scheduling Scott Van Pelt and John Anderson to work the late shift together. It's not that they're bad, seprately or together. It's just too damn confusing to tell the two apart, with their receding hairlines and matching glasses. Even with one having hair, and the other having a crew cut, The Ford has to think too long to tell the two apart. Then again, perhaps this is some bizarre genetic experiment to create the perfect SportsCenter anchor.

2.) Is there a better 90s-sitcom theme song than The Nanny's? Regardless of your opinion of Fran Drescher -- The Ford's a shamfully big fan, both for the big hair, the big, nasal accent, and the alleged attraction to younger guys-- it's a sharp tune that successfully communicates the main theme of the show, as well as introducing all the characters. It's a throwback to great themes of the 60s such as Gilligan's Island, The Patty Duke Show and The Brady Bunch. Plus, it's animated, which is apparently a popular thing these days.
Here's the lyrics, in case you're drawing a blank:
She was working in a bridal shop in Flushing, Queens,
Til her boyfriend kicked her out in one of those crushing scenes.
What was she to do, where was she to go
She was out on her fanny.

So over the bridge from Flushing to the Sheffield's door,
She was there to sell make up but the father saw more,
She had style,
she had flair,
she was there,
That's how she became the Nanny.

Who would have guessed that the girl we described
was just exactly what the doctor prescribed?

Now, the father finds her beguiling,
watch out C.C.,
The kids are actually smiling,
such joie de vivre
She's the lady in red
when everybody else is wearing tan.
The flashy girl from Flushing,
the Nanny named Fran.

(Bonus points if you can name the main character not referenced by name or pronoun in the lyrics.)

3.) The Ford can't reasonably go see the "new" She-Ra movie, can he?
The Ford never much trusted "She-Ra," recognizing her, even at an early age, as more marketing gimmick than liberated, female-friendly sister to He-Man.
Not to mention, The Ford LIKES the irony. He's not sure he could handle an "irony-free" movies, even if it does feature an animated hottie.
Frankly, She-Ra's just another example proving The Ford's long-stated hypothesis that it's difficult to go wrong in American pop culture with big breasts and blond hair. (See: Jessica Simpson, Marilyn Monroe, Brittney Spears, Farrah Fawcett, etc.)
And yet, the geek in The Ford, frequently at the controls of The Ford, much to his embarassment, is trying to make a case. It's disturbing, really.

4.) Not really a thought, but this is easily the funniest thing The Ford's read all day, courtesy of The Official Gal-Whose-Nickname-Is-Pending of The Official Blog of The Ford.

5.) Science should do more stuff like this, if only because it's reassuring to The Ford.

6.) Oh, and in case you're secretly here for the lovely ladies -- it's OK, The Ford understands, be ye man, woman, or computer-using cat -- we've got a plethora of options:

Erection creation/deflation. (You know you have to look.)
Porn-star-who's-visited-Detroit-meets-Hollywood-star. (Aren't you curious? No? The Ford doesn't blame you.)
The disturbing result of science. (OK, besides Pamela Anderson.)
Biggest-breasts-The-Ford-has-ever-objected-to-solely-on-principle-but-that-are-also-safe-for-work-viewing. (The Ford doesn't have much of an opinion on plastic surgery. Or on push-up bras. But, um, when the breasts are bigger than your head? Or merely appear to be, thanks to the wonders of brassiere technology? Maybe that's where we, as a culture, draw the line.)
The palatte cleanser. (Mostly because she's probably the hottest quasi-celebrity The Ford's seen in a while, once you're willing to ignore the possibility of The Ford being attracted to an actress who played a high schooler in "Brick." Granted, she was a high-school femme fatale, but nevertheless...she's 25.)

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

We're not going to discuss the suggestion that The Ford ended up on the N.Y. Post's Page Six site in search of the full text detailing a "catfight" between Lindsay Lohan and Alina Puscus.

To do so would only give credence to said rumors, and The Ford is not about to do such a thing.

Besides, that's not really important.

What's REALLY important is finding out that Page Six has scouted the NFL's Class of '06, and discovered a star: Denzel Washington's son.

Signed with the Rams.

The Seattle Times dug up an interesting link.

The Rams also drafted signed UConn hoops player Ed Nelson.*

Leaving out the question of whether Lewis can actually become a decent tight end, much less the next Antonio Gates or Tony Gonzalez, The Ford has to ask: When, exactly, are the Rams doing their scouting?

Maybe their player personnel people should, um, turn off CBS in March. Not go to the movies. Something. Anything.

Then again, they are in the NFC West, home to The Official NFL Team of The Official Blog of The Ford.

(The Seahawks are also known as The Official NFC Champions of The Official Blog of The Ford, if not The Official World Champions -- The Ford hasn't quite figured out his Official stance on the officials in The Official Super Bowl. Though he's pretty sure they were horrible.)

Also notable? The Official NFL Cheerleading Squad of The Official Blog of The Ford. Featuring, once again, a girl -- or should The Ford say "a gal"? -- The Ford went to school with. Guess which one! It's fun, and pointless.

(Note, former acquaintances of The Ford at WSU are not eligble to guess, if only because you should be able to figure it out pretty dang quick. But everyone else? Knock yourselves out.)

*The Ford was wrong -- Ed Nelson was a free agent, not a draftee. Yes, yes, enough with the gasping. It's been corrected, and an e-mail has been sent out to 50,000 readers. What? The Ford doesn't have 50,000 readers? Well, then, screw them. This note will have to do.