Friday, June 30, 2006

It's official: Adam Morrison has officially supplanted Craig Ehlo as The Official Eastern-Washington NBA Player of The Official Blog of The Ford.

Sure, the Spokanite (Spokanian? Spokansan? Spokanensian?) has been killing The Ford for four years, ever since he ignored WSU in favor of Dookie-come-lately program Gonzaga. (Want proof?)

Still, The Ford wishes Mr. Morrison and his 'stache well in Charlotte, where it seems everybody who's anybody not named The Ford is headed these days.


Well, The Ford will provide a video link, but all you really need to know is this sentence: "My mustache is very wise."

Also, while we're in an NBA mood, let's give a shout-out to the, um, 13 WSU alums to play in the NBA. Including current Dodgers pitcher Mark Hendrickson.

Frankly, The Ford thinks that says it all about WSU's basketball program. At least until they grom some mustaches.

OK, The Ford vaguely remembers promising no more posts about The Official Hawaiian Vacation, but, well, he's got photos. Sort of.

He didn't take them, but instead relied on The Semi-Official Photographer. Which is why he got a photo that doesn't do much to dispel his myspace reputation as the Sasquatch of page designers -- much rumored, but never photographed clearly.

Eh, c'est la vie.

On the bright side, The Semi-Official Photographer also passed along a photo illustrating the luau/minstrel show The Ford attended Friday night.

Combined with the copious amounts of alcohol imbibed by The Ford at said luau, one could almost make the argument that The Ford was just at a really lame strip club.

But that argument would be really lame. Nevertheless, let's call this gal "Peaches" and say no more, shall we, dear reader?

At least, not while The Ford's still working off a night of drinking combined with a night of gyro eating. And a night of work.

And you thought The Ford couldn't multitask.


Thursday, June 29, 2006

What can The Ford say about getting married?

Sure, he'd like to do so someday. Probably sooner, rather than later, even.

And yet, there was certainly a moment during the reception for the wedding The Ford was in Maui to attend when he was more than a little bittersweet.

Mostly because, well, as happy as The Ford was for the groom, he couldn't help but feel a bit sad for him, too.

The wedding is the official end to the single life. A funeral, if you will, for a guy's swinging bachelor days.

And even if your bachelor days aren't that swinging, and the groom's bachelor days even less swingin', there's still a bit of a melancholy air to a wedding from a guy's point of view.

It's as though our swingin' bachelor selves are being reminded that they, too, are mortal, prone to a sudden expiration around the same time one nears 30.

Such a thing will weigh heavily on the mind of even the most contented man, which explains why, once the opening dances were finished, most of the single guys in attendance at the reception hung back, uneager to join in the dancing right away.

One does not dance at a funeral. One solemnly contemplates the life of the deceased, takes stock of it all, and then drinks heavily. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Then again, that's more-or-less what The Ford does on a regular basis, so perhaps he can be excused for -- following a couple of extra alcoholated beverages -- getting his dance on.

After all, sure, the wedding is a celebration of the death of the single life, but it's also a place to get down with bridesmaids celebrating the birth of their friend's married life.

And those bridesmaids, well, they REALLY enjoy their birth celebrations, y'know?

Still, there was a moment when all the single guys gathered to congratulate the groom, and we all looked at each other, and realized, that this, this party, was but a first step in our inexorable march toward a much gloomier, albeit more routinely-filled-with-sex, place.

We nodded at each other, in silent recognition of the event, shook hands with the groom, and then got down with the bridesmaids.

Our bachelor days could see the end of the road from there, and, well, we were still hours from breaking open a bottle of tequila.

What else could we do?

Other stuff from The Official Hawaiian Vacation:

1.) Sure, as one of the attendees noted, the luau attended by The Ford on Friday night felt vaguely like a minstrel show, with the embracing of seemingly every South Pacific culture that embraces scantily clad men and women shaking what the good lord gave 'em. (Note: That's pretty much all of them.) When really, what the show should be pointing out is Pacific Islanders' impressive mastery of screening patterns onto cotton clothing decades before the mainland. What, those colorful patters are all mechanically created? Well, now The Ford is a bit disillusioned. Luckily, he had all the booze he could drink, plenty of pineapple cake, and a plethora of bikini- and lava-lava-clad ladies to ogle. Someday, there might even be photos of said luau right here, if The Semi-Official Photographer of The Official Blog ever gets around to e-mailing them to The Ford.

2.) The actual wedding went fairly smoothly. But if there was ever a recipe for disaster at a wedding, it's having the minister get stuck in traffic an hour away, and having to call in a replacement at the last minute. Luckily, the emergency minister -- a friend of the caterer -- Lou Gehrig'ed the first minister's Wally-Pippness. A good finish, all around.

3.) Speaking of the caterer, The Ford was definitely ready to forgive him for making The Ford ad-lib a blessing of the dinner (after preparing for only the traditional wedding toast) after he suggested the wedding party finish off an unopened-but-paid-for bottle of tequila after the reception. Nothing soothes the nerves like a couple-five shots of Jose Cuervo with the bridesmaids.

4.) Speaking of The Ford's toast, he's pretty happy with it. The gist, well, you'll have to wait for the video to come out, but suffice to say, The Ford delighted the crowd, and even got in a few generic digs at Idaho.

5.) Most of the final day of The Official Hawaiian Vacation was spent chilling in a Borders near the airport, out of the belief that The Ford would have an easier time getting a cab from there. 30 minutes of cell-phone-tag and an offer by one of the cuter Borders employees to drive The Ford to the airport, and The Ford was ready to admit he probably should have spent some more time at the beach.

6.) The flight back from Maui was long (midnight Sunday to 10 p.m. Monday), but vaguely uneventful. The Ford finally got to see why The Pink Panther remake got such bad (but well-deserved) reviews, won $40 in Vegas, and arrived in Detroit sans checked bag. When the sun shines, The Ford gets drenched. Luckily, The Ford's bag eventually arrived on Tuesday, only 4.5 hours after the airline promised it would be delivered, necessating a sprint from The Official Bar to The Official Apartment at 3 a.m. Eh. At least The Ford has shoes again. There's something to be said for shoes.

7.) Among other things, The Ford now owns two separate pieces of neckwear consisting of shells.
This is equal to the pairs of sandals The Ford owns.
The Ford is definitely getting laid back in his old age.
Other than the whole "being way too intense at work" thing, of course.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Part III

OK, it's Hawaiian Vacation time! Are you excited?!? The Ford knows he is!

Oh, wait, he's done with the vacation.

All that's left is the post-mortem... Dr. Ford, the highlights, if you please....

Wednesday, aka, Day 1
Pretty much covered by the travelogue, but getting carded/rejected at the Hard Rock Cafe certainly cast a, um, sober pall over the weekend. Thanks, Aussie waitress. Y'know, in this country, we accept a fella's ID if the photo and the b-day's right, even if it's expired. And you wonder why The Ford was double-timing his consumption of Mountain Dew.

Thursday, aka, Day 2

Dinner at Bubba Gump: Three things come to mind:
1.) The "Shrimper's Heaven" platter is hardly heavenly when you're leaving out the shrimp cocktail. Though those were some truly outstanding hushpuppies.
2.) No carding here. Despite a group of 4 20-somethings obviously giddy with being in Hawaii. Suck it, Ms. Aussie.
3.) Nothing's quite as fun as being able to get your entire table to salute a random Coug fan walking by, wearing a WSU hat. Go Cougs.

Post-dinner: More of The Official Rules of The Official Blog.
Never go grocery shopping when you're dehydrated. You'll probably end up buying 11 different varieties of beverage. It's like the hot-weather version of shopping stoned. Except that you end up buying a bottle of Gatorade Rain, rather than a jumbo bag of Cheetos. The Ford will leave it up to you, dear reader, to decide which is more embarassing.

If you must buy a straw hat, make sure you're with someone buying an even more outrageous straw hat, the same way a slightly-above-average gal hanging out with some, um, less-than-attractive gals all'uva'sudden becomes a semi-hottie. For example, The Ford bout a straw golf hat. But his buddy, well, he bought a Panama hat. (FYI, it's a Panama for the type of straw, and not for the makers.) Yeah, The Ford was not the semi-hottie in that exchange, sad to say.

Pick and choose your World Cup games carefully. There's nothing wrong with staying awake for U.S.-Ghana. But Ukraine-Tunisia? When you've got a luau (with all-you-can-drink alcohol) and an impromptu bachelor party (with all-you-can-afford alcohol)? Discretion is the better part of valor, there, young fella, and, boy, does The Ford wish he'd thought about that.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Much, much more blogging to do on the final three days of The Official Hawaiian Vacation, but The Ford just can't get into it, sitting here in the Las Vegas airport.

Actually, The Ford had a lot of plans for his Vegas layover that he's just not up for after a 6-hour red-eye flight from Maui.

For example, there was the possibility of a strip-club visit. (This is what a week -- including a bachelor party -- on the one Hawaiian island without a strip club will do to a man.) But, really, for all his faults, The Ford is not the kind of guy who can go to a strip club at 9 a.m. Yet.

At least, not in an unfamiliar town, where he'd pretty much be walking up to a cab driver and saying, "Take me to the nearest strip club."

At 9 a.m.

That, dear readers, is just about where The Ford draws the line. Seriously.

So, instead, he'll just power up The Official Laptop, and wait out the layover from heck.

Of course, this is just one of the things The Ford's not doing. The others?

1.) Hitting the decent Borders Express outside of the security check.

2.) Eating something -- anything -- after going all of yesterday with nary a meal. (Thanks, America West, for your generous gift of honey roasted peanuts.)

3.) Leaving the airport to throw money away -- ahem -- at a casino.

4.) Throwing money away inside the airport, at one of the hundreds of slot machines here.

5.) Buying the first WSU hat he's seen on sale outside of the Northwest in years. (It's white, and says "Wazzu" in giant letters. It's also nestled in between the "Cocks" and "Hairy Dawg" hats. This is what the proud name of Wazzu has come to? It's almost enough to make one agree with ol' V.Lane a few years ago, were one able to travel back in time just to change one's opiniions, and not, you know, kill Hitler or something.

6.) Assaulting anyone with a Chihuahua, dead or otherwise, in the airport or out, which is more than The Ford can say for this woman.

7.) Getting up to see if they've finally posted what gate his flight's departing from. Oh wait, that's what The Ford's doing now.

Thus Procrastinateth The Ford

Friday, June 23, 2006

Just in case you doubted the English tabs are taking this whole soccer thing a little too seriously.

Lest anyone worry the presence of sun, surf, and readily-available Jack in the Box will lure The Ford into a permanent Hawaiian vacation, here's the top things that have bugged The Ford today:

1.) The time. Maui pretty much shuts down around 10 p.m., a really annoying thing when you're still running on Ford Standard Time.

2.) The lizards. The Ford has seen his share of rodents, birds, snakes, and bugs make a pest of themselves, and he's able to deal with them all. (Except for ants. Ants creep out The Ford something fierce.) But lizards? Not just outside, either. The Ford spent several minutes chasing a tiny inch-long lizard out the door of his suite.

Again, a nice place to visit, but wherever lizards are, pretty soon, that's where The Ford ain't.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Y'know, The Ford thought he had a messed-up sleep schedule before.

But The Ford, Hawaiian Style? Yowza, man.

The problem: Hawaii is SIX hours behind Ford Standard Time, also known as Eastern Daylight Time to you, dear readers.

Ordinarily, this might just bring Ford Standard Time in line with most folks' normal operating times.

And yet, not so much.

For example...

The Ford was up until 5:30 a.m. Hawaii Standard, watching the U.S. beat Ghana, and then get SCREWED by the officials. (No Daylight Savings here. Apparently, they're tired of the whole daylight thing. These are my people.)

He then slept for 7 hours, a decent amount of time, not too hedonisitic, but long enough to let the body fix what it needs to fix.

Of course, in Ford Standard Time, he was getting up at 8:30 at night. Which is late, even for him.

Then again, it's tough for The Ford to remember this, since he's adjusted all his watches and cell phones to Hawaii time, all the better to actually interact with folks in Hawaii.

Until he blogs, and activates the one remaining link to Ford Standard Time, the clock on The Official Laptop. So, he's sitting here, right now, typing this sentence, and marveling at how little he's done at 9:30 at night, FST.

But hey, the sky is blue, the sea is rolling, and the night is young. Or old.

The Ford's not really sure, but he's ready to find out.

Thus Timeth The Ford.

So, more from The Official Hawaiian Vacation...

Overall, so far, so good, once The Ford arrived in Maui.

But till then?


Just another travelogue from hell:

6 a.m. -- After staying awake for 15 hours, plan to leave building for airport only 25 minutes away. Should have plenty of time to make 8:10 flight.

6:08 -- Finally leave building after waiting 15 minutes for valet to retrieve The Official Truck.

6:09 -- Realize there's less than a gallon of gas in the tank, thanks to a drive out to Gross Pointe on Saturday.

6:16 -- Refuel truck at gas station on the edge of downtown, though thankfully close to freeway on-ramp.

6:41 -- Arrive at economy parking garage.

6:43 -- Realize that chosen parking gate isn't working, and back out to try another.

6:46 -- Out of desperation, take first parking spot sighted.

6:47 -- Realize parking spot is located on complete opposite side of garage from terminal. Start double-timing it to terminal. Start regretting not choosing luggage with wheels.

6:50 -- Hit line for flight on airline that shall remain nameless. (Hint: It rhymes with Blemerica Chest.) Realize that everyone in the damn terminal is flying to Phoenix with The Ford.

7:00 -- Finally make it to front of line, get checked in, despite slowness of folks in front of him to grasp concept of automated check-in kiosks.

7:10 -- Make it to front of security line, only to be told that expired photo ID needs to be signed off on by front desk worker.

7:20 -- Get boarding pass approved again, and endure extensive individual search by security. It's the first part of the trip that's actually reassuring, since anyone with an expired photo ID SHOULD get some extra attention.

7:30 -- Arrive at gate just as boarding is beginning. Rest of flight should be hassle-free.

8:11 -- One minute after schedule departure time, The Ford's informed that a broken tray table is delaying takeoff. 66-minute layover in Phoenix now down to 65 minutes.

8:15 -- Tray table's fixed. We're headed down the runway. No, wait, we're sitting on the runway with our engines turned off, as we wait for a storm system to clear Indianapolis. 61 minutes to make the connection.

8:20 -- Storm system's cleared. We're in the air! 55 minute layover in Phoenix.

8:30 -- Find out flight is 15 minutes longer than planned, thanks to weather. 40 minutes to make the connection.

9:20 -- The in-flight movie? "Annapolis." And yet The Ford still shells out $5 for the headphones. Actually, this turns out to be a nice little deal, since they're these cool "over-the-ears" things that are really comfortable. Damn, Jordana Brewster is hot, especially in brown uni.

9:40 -- The in-flight annoucements pushing the non-free box lunches keep cutting into "Annapolis." Movie scarcely affected. James Franco still a tool. Jordana Brewster still hot.

10:30 -- Movie strangely watchable, especially the more James Franco gets the crap beat out of him in the ring. Especially when Franco is told by character from Arkansas: "You my Mississippi." James Franco is everybody's Mississippi.

11 a.m. -- Movie/infomercial for the Navy (It ends by playing the Navy commercial theme over the end credits) is finally over. No more Jordana Brewster. The Ford is sad.

12:30 p.m. -- Touchdown! 40 minutes till The Ford's flight to Maui. Run, Ford, run.

1:10 p.m. -- Flight's taking off for Maui. And so is The Ford, after a speedy walk through Sky Harbor.

1:20 -- The Ford is surrounded by the palest people he's ever met who weren't albinos. And they all go to the same school. And they're all giggly and 16 years old. Kill him now, dear God. Enough dumb-ass teen hormones in The Ford's section to kill a cow, presuming it could ever get to second base, under the bra.

1:30 -- Well, at least it's not Annapolis again: In-flight movie (this one free to The Ford, since his nifty headphones still work) is "Firewall," featuring The Official Harrison Ford of The Official Blog. Also featuring Virginia Madsen as a, pardon-The-Ford's-French, MILF-in-distress. Also features Seattle as setting. And yet, The Ford's already nodding off.

1:32-6:50 -- Blissful, blessed sleep, intrrupted approximately five times by Manfred Mann and "Blinded by the light." At least it's drowning out the hormone-factories.

6:55 -- Touchdown, part 2: The Ford has arrived in Maui at last. Bag comes into baggage claim just as The Ford arrives, missing only a comb packed in the side pocket. Good enough.

To recap:
The highlights: Jordana Brewster, James Franco getting beat up, nifty headphones, finding out The Official Sad-Sack Sister Team of The Official Alma Mater of The Official Blog fought off elimination in the CWS, hearing Linda Cohn deliver the phrase "Beaver Nation" with a straight face, finally getting some sleep.
The lowlights: Standing in line, standing in line, standing in line, getting surrounded by hormone-crazed teens, the rest of Annapolis.

After tha? Jack in the Box, Hawaiian traffic, ice cream, bought a goofy hat. Go figure.

Thus traveleth The Ford.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

A sampling of the things The Ford has learned today:

1.) It is apparently, thanks to the roundness of the globe (Thanks, Columbus!), to fly from Seattle to London in less time than it takes to fly from Detroit to Maui. Even with a layover that's barely 30 minutes.

2.) Jack in The Box is exactly as good as The Ford remembers. Bacon Bacon Cheeseburgers for life!

3.) Maui: The beach is nice, but the traffic ain't.

4.) A horrid, horrid plane ride, made only slightly better by the hotness of the female lead in "Annapolis.," Jordana Brewster.

Almost made The Ford want to join the Navy. Almost.

More to come later from The Official Hawaiian Vacation of The Official Blog of The Ford.

Yes, The Ford apologizes for his day off from blogging.

And yes, it may be another day before The Ford has another post of substance. (If, indeed, any of The Ford's posts can be called that...)

On the bright side, The Ford's headed to Maui for a wedding, and taking The Official Laptop, as well as The Official Lap, so he should be able to get into all sorts of the kind of fun that makes for great blogging.

Or else he'll just be giving an in-depth review of The Official Hotel Room. Should be fun -- and horrendously expensive -- either way.

Not to mention a chance to make the "The Ford got lei'd in Maui" joke oodles of times.

Admittedly, it's a funnier joke when said out loud, but The Ford's always assumed his readers had someone read the posts to them; that's the upscale demographic The Ford caters to with his tales of booze, beer, broads and baseball. (Yes, one could argue that booze and beer are redundant; the one who would has obviously not partied with The Ford.)

For now, though, The Ford's gonna leave you with this, in which Nicole Ritchie officially joins the ranks of the great erection creator/deflators. Meg Ryan would be proud. And this, in which The Ford reminds his readers that he's pretty sure Emma Watson isn't even 18. Or all that smart, despite being British. (Say what you will about The Ford, the only evidence of his drunken debauchery is easily deniable blog postings.)

Monday, June 19, 2006

So, The Ford had this idea for a blog post after hours and hours of skimming World Cup photos looking for something decent of Ronaldinho at The Official Newspaper.

So, of course, someone else had the same idea, and did it much better than The Ford possibly could have. (Such shocking humility!) Twice!

So, obviously, The Ford cannot do this.

Instead, he's just going to openly pine for those heady days of the NBA dance team bracket, and wonder when someone's going to put together a similar bracket for World Cup fans.

Because if that happens, The Ford's putting all his money on Brazil. Seriously, have you seen the Brazillians? First, they gave us the Brazillian wax, and now, they give us their Brazillian-waxed fans.

It's almost enough to make up for their quasi-ridiculous habit of going by a single name. (Fred? There's a guy on the Brazillian team named "Fred?" At least show a little love and go by "The Fred, " for the love of Pele.)

Ole! Ole! Ole!

Here now, are The Official Rankings of Female World Cup Fans of The Official Blog of The Ford:
1.) Brazil -- Duh. The total package: Hotness + thriving plastic surgery industry + insanity + Carnivale + willingness to shake that thang, twice over.

2.) Mexico -- Surprisingly hot, even with the overreliance on facepaint.

3.) Iran -- What you lack in freedom, you make up for in willingness to flaunt medium-sized racks.

4.) Germany -- Supermodel contingent -- Heidi Kulm, Claudia Schiffer, etc. -- raises ranking, but let's not ignore hotness of "Average Frauleins" attending the games.

5.) Sweden -- Bikini team yet to show up, but hundreds of other scantily-clad blondes making a difference.

6.) South Korea -- Not so much for the fans in Germany, but the fans in Korea and Los Angeles. Damn.

7.) Italy -- Decent overall ranking, but definitely getting a boost from players' wives/girlfriends.

8.) U.S. -- It pains The Ford to rank his hometown hotties this low, but really, other than a preponderance of American-flags-as-bras, the American gals have done very little.

9.) England -- Just as some countries are one-man shows, so is England a one-Spice squad.

10.) Japan -- See "South Korea," but with less success to drive the ladies crazy.

Runners-up: Spain, Poland, Switzerland, Argentina, Trinidad&Tobago -- Hey, y'all gave it your best, and damn it, that's nothing to be ashamed of. At least until the "Girls Gone Wild: World Cup" DVD comes out. (And you know it will.)

Thus ranketh The Ford.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

The Ford likes nothing more than a good presidential race.





It's way too early to talk about that stuff.

That's the sorta thing that makes music journalists ask Britney Spears about her music, when all we want to know is whether the rack is real, or, ahem, off-the-rack.

No, right now, in 2006, FIVE MONTHS before the midterm elections, it's time to talk crazy.

It's time to talk electability.

It's time to talk about the horse race.

And oh, what a race it could be, with approximately 11% of the Senate talking about making a run. (And you know, dear reader, that Barack Obama, D-Ill., is just dying to set the hearts of all young liberals a-pitter-patter with a late-starting run.)

Ah, but how are we to consider all the candidates this early?

Thank YOU, L.A. Times, for summarizing the race already. OK, for summarizing all the candidates from the Senate alone.

Seriously, 11% of the Senate. The Ford didn't even think the Senate could get 11% of its members to agree on a deli, much less agree that a Senator should be President. That's part of the charm of the Senate. Elections every six years mean crazy people last a long time. Granted, they haven't quite agreed on which Senator, but The Ford's confident that's a tiny detail to be ironed out quickly, thanks to the Senate's history of calm, leisurely debate. Which explains why they're starting now, he supposes.

Oh, and the other guys? Well, we're not even ready to think about the hard-luck fellas from the last elections, huge names like Big John Edwards, "Hee-yaw!" Dean, Bush the Middle, Senor Nader and the Gore Store.

For what it's worth, The Ford's putting his longshot money on Sen. Bayh, but only because that's where his money was in '02, and it seems a shame to waste such a crackpot prediction.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

A simple request to any members of the media who might be readers of The Official Blog:
Please stop saying Jason Schmidt is from Longview.

Y'know, like this article in San Francisco did. (For what its worth, the Seattle Times did get it right here last season.)

Yes, he now makes his offseason home in Longview.

Yes, he's pretty beloved in Longview.

Yes, it's tough to distinguish between Longview and Kelso, Wash., sometimes, considering their oddly shaped joint border, and Longview's dominance of the region, with some 30,000 residents to Kelso's 5,000.

But still, the guy grew up* in Kelso. Went to Kelso High. Nicknamed "The Kelso Kid."

Perhaps, just perhaps, he's not actually from Longview, but instead hails from Kelso.

Granted, this sorta thing can get tricky; The Ford's not unsympathetic. Born in Spokane, raised in Portland, graduated in Tumwater, where's one to say The Ford's from.

Aye, it's a tricky thing.

But for Jason Schmidt?

Not so much.

Born in Lewiston, Idaho, but raised and graduated in Kelso.

Let Seattle bring out its true tartan colors this weekend.

Majority rules: He's from Kelso. A true Hilander.

*This used to say "born." And then The Ford did some actual research, and found out he was a moron. Especially when he forgot to edit his earlier sentences. There's probably a lesson there, but The Ford's sorta dense about that sorta thing.

The Ford can't say for sure, since the fight is happening directly below The Official Windows of The Official Apartment of The Official Blog, but he's pretty sure that when the Detroit police show up to a "catfight," block off traffic by parking across two lanes of road, and use both their siren and their bullhorn to attempt to break it up, well, that's a pretty good fight. Of course, The Ford's unable to say for sure, since he suspects that going downstairs to witness said fight in person while wearing nothing but a T-shirt and shorts (Calm your beating hearts, ladies...) might get his ass kicked, even behind two separate sets of windows and doors.

Just in case you were wondering.

Friday, June 16, 2006

So, so many things to comment on, The Ford might abandon most of his writing conceits. Other than the whole third-person thing. The Ford really, really likes that one. Who knew?

1.) Let's start at the source of so many inspirations: The Official Vending Machine of The Official Newspaper.
In a desperate effort to rehydrate after an early Tigers game, The Ford punched the button combo for Grape Gatorade. (The review of said combo? Less satisfying than any move performed by a female character in Tekken, more satisfying than anything done by Honda or Blanka.)
WTF? Grape Gatorade is no longer purple? It's now blue?

The Ford doesn't know whether he ended up with some freaky isotope -- there was some blather on the label about it being "Fierce" Gatorade -- but frankly, if there's a rule The Ford lives by in this world, it's that four flavors of Gatorade should be identifiable by color alone: Red, Yellow, Orange and Purple.

Now, they've taken Purple away from The Ford. What's next, his right to bear arms? His right to free speech? His right to get freaky with an employee of a gentleman's club? (Oh, right, only two of those are constitutionally protected. Perhaps not coincidentally, they're also the only two with a shot in hell of happening, as well as the only two that were a concern in Revolutionary War times. Though The Ford hears Martha Washington knew how to shake her moneymaker.)

2.) A few weeks ago, The Ford, um, "pointed" out Jennifer Aniston's early arrival at CBS' Early Show.
But we live in the now, and the now just happens to be World Cup time, when the attention of the entire world is focused on Germany.

Except for the U.S., which is, quite frankly, focused on almost anything else.

Thus, The Ford offers, as a public service, Ms. David Beckham, doing her best Jennifer Aniston impression. (There's probably a "soccer ball" joke in there somewhere, but The Ford's movin' on.)

3.) Flashback time!
The Ford had but one goal yesterday: Buy pants. And yet, thanks to Banana Republic's almost-insane refusal to recognize actual American sizes, he failed.

You wanna know why more Americans than ever before shop at Wal-Mart?
It's not because they're everywhere. (Though they are.)
It's not because they offer decent products at a decent price. (Though they do.)
It's not even because they'll let almost anyone walk around barefooted, even throught the aisles featuring food products. (This, too, do they do.)
It's because average-sized Americans can walk in there knowing they'll probably be able to find a pair of pants that fits them.
It's because they recognize that most guys with a 34 inseam might need a waist size slightly larger than 32.
And yes, it's because they recognize that once you've selected your big and/or tall pants, you're likely to want a jumbo pack of Pop-Tarts.

Luckily, he had a secondary mission: To buy a new belt. (Apparently the previous night's sojourn at a local gentleman's club had a less-than-beneficial effect on the one belt he owned.)
And there was Eddie Bauer, stocked to the hilt with belts.
Which is why The Ford is now the semi-pround owner of not one, not two, but three belts. Ladies, beware; The Ford's pants will now be perfectly suspended on his waist.

4.) The danger of following blogs back to their source; The Brits are brilliant, but thank God they suck at CGI, or certain adolescent (and adolescent-minded) males might never leave their computers. (And yes, The Ford may have thought about Ms. Spears' interview with Matt Lauer tonight as he was running this applet through its paces. He's not proud. Just bad at self-censoring. As well as tuning out the conversations of his coworkers about the history of Ms. Spears' chesticles.)

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Y'know, The Ford's still not sure how he ended up at a gentlemen's club last night.

He was at the Tigers game, minding his own business, and then there was talk of "free beer" and "naked women," and before long, there was The Ford, enjoying beer that surely was not free, and women that surely were naked. It was a "Guys' Night Out," surely covered by any conceivable application of Man Laws, especially when no lapdances are involved.

Tonight, though?

Well, that was just supporting a neighborhood business -- one across the street from The Official Apartment -- that's been down on its luck.

The Ford believes both the terms, "Stripper jail" and "stripper purgatory" were used in reference to tonight's watering hole.

As such, not even his white-trash-WASP upbringing can make him feel entirely guilty for visiting said club.

Especially when the ratio of strippers to customers at said club stands at 1-1. Matter'a'fact, that was also the ratio of strippers to Fords. 1-1.

And thus, The Ford brings you, dear reader, The Official Lessons of The Day:

1.) Never visit "stripper purgatory" on a Wednesday. Friday and Saturday may not be much better, but you've got no one else to blame on a Wednesday.

2.) If lapdance Nos. 1 or 2 were unsatisfactory, Lapdance No.3 will probably NOT be appreciably better, in the same way that a pitcher unable to strike anyone out in the second inning will not become Nolan Ryan in the sixth.

3.) Never start drinking at the strip club; arrive drunk, and get drunker. Both your bank account and your strippers will be happier, and more attractive.

4.) Making small talk with a woman is good. Making small talk with a naked woman is OK. Making small talk with a naked woman while paying her approximately $20 every 4 minutes? Neither fine, nor OK.

5.) Perhaps said stripper, feeling comfortable, will offer to split her drink with you. Accept, enjoy, and think not of the "Kids in the Hall" sketch, "Girl Drink Drunk." Anytime a topless woman offers you a bright blue or green drink, well, at that point, you may be drinking a girl-drink, but you're doing so as a man.

6.) If all else fails, know this: You could be this guy. (Goodnight, Cleveland!)

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Who is The Official Tiger of The Official Blog of The Ford?
(The Tigers' advertising campaign this season consists of a single question most fans are unable to answer: Who's Your Tiger?)

The candidates:

Brandon Inge: An early frontrunner, but abandonment of Skee-Lo will cost him in the voting, especiall considering the replacement is crappy current rap.

Jeremy Bonderman: Another early front runner, thanks to his Washington hertiage and build eerily similar to The Fords. And yet, The Ford proves unable to pull the trigger.

Kenny Rogers: Really only in the running based on the strength of an unintentionally hilarious ad in which Kenny Rogers, the singer, endorses Kenny Rogers, the pitcher. Brilliant.

Curtis Granderson: Almost nothing in common with The Ford, but he did enjoy The Official Newspaper's profile of him the other day. Politeness should be rewarded in baseball, The Ford feels.

Carlos Guillen: The Ford enjoys being proven right that Guillen is actually one of the best-hitting shortstops in the American League, but doesn't enjoy throwing up a little bit in his mouth every time he remembers how little the Mariners got in dealing him away (That would be Ramon Santiago, now back with the Tigers, though not a candidate for Official Tiger of The Official Blog of The Ford). (Oh, and for what it's worth, is there a more lopsided trade in the past 10 years than 2 months of Randy Johnson (Astros) for Freddy Garcia, Carlos Guillen, and John Halama (Mariners)? Can't think of much.)

Pudge Rodriguez: While the prospect of a catcher who routinely beats out infield hits is neat-o, The Ford likes his No. 3 hitter, to , y'know, hit.

Chris Shelton: Red Pop's a solid hitter, but The Ford's holding out until the guy hits another double.

Justin Verlander: Too many letters in his name.

Todd Jones: Enjoy the weekly column in The Official Newspaper, the nickname "Roller Coaster," and the facial hair. Don't enjoy the editing of said column, the panic imbued by said nickname, or the time spent trying to emulate said facial hair.

Fernando Rodney: Chances are improving now that he's gone to the 'fro, since The Ford fervently dreams of the day he'll have a 'fro of his own.

Dimtri Young: There's a drug, alcohol or domestic-abuse joke in here, but The Ford's going to refrain.

Joel Zumaya: Not until he starts referring to himself as "Jo-El, last son of a dying planet, able to leap small buildings and throw faster than a speeding bullet."

Nate Robertson: The top candidate right now, thanks to his glasses-wearing, gum-chewing channelling of Daniel Stern in "Rookie of the Year." Oh, and he's left-handed. (A side note: Daniel Stern also directed "Rookie of the Year." No point to that, but The Ford thought you should know that.)

So who's The Official Tiger? No decision yet, unfortunately.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

The Ford generally dislikes the Monday rerun schedule of Conan.

But getting to watch a rerun of a previous ep featuring Lindsay Lohan start a whole discussion on The Lohan Bosom, past and present, well, that's fascinating.

And then a discussion on breast implants, and breast reduction surgery.

OK, The Ford doesn't entirely remember where he was going with this, as he was just interrupted by a long-ass phone call.

There probably would have been a cheap boob joke, followed by some cheap self-deprecating jokes at the expense of The Official Sense of Self-Esteem, but, really, let's just skip all of that, and note two things:

The photographer stalking Lindsay Lohan outside the Starbucks here must really have too much time on his-or-her hands.

Monday, June 12, 2006

The Ford's not generally one to discuss women's physical attributes completely divorced from their personalities.

OK, OK, he is one to do that, but usually not without at least a couple of beers.

How lucky for you, dear reader, that The Ford may or may not have stopped off at The Official Bar on his way home. (The NBA's 9:15 p.m. start times don't necessarily drive a fella to drink, but they certainly buy him a bus pass.)

Apparently, there's a magazine poll arguing for Scarlett Johansson as keeper of the world's best breasts. Or perhaps the world's breast bests. Who knows.

The point is, Ms. Johansson beat out Jessica Simpson and a nearly-40 Salma Hayak.

Best breasts? Scarlett Johansson?

Don't get The Ford wrong; he's all for backing the hotness of Ms. Johannson. Any doubts he had were removed when a female acquaintaince confirmed her own attraction to Ms. Johannson.

He'd just like to see the recognition of said hotness rooted in a "Girl-Next-Door-Who's-Incredibly-Hot" vein, rather than a "Those Tits, That Ass" area. Hotness should be an all-around quality, thanks to breast size being the great equalizer in individual Hotness Quotients.

There's no reason for this, other than it does add an air of mystique to the whole thing, and really, isn't that what ranking the hotness of women is all about?

Similarly, The Ford prefers his NBA MVP play some defense, his home-run champs hit above .300, and his talk-show hosts tell some stories.

The alternative is a sad emphasis on specialization already spread too far across America.

But, you're saying now, dear reader, "That's all well and good, and we appreciate your ability to obfuscate T-and-A debates with rhetoric about the American character, but why won't you just let us compare the ladies Johansson, Hayek and Simpson?"

To which The Ford replies, "Bam!"

And then The Ford notes Ms. Simpson is missing from said gallery, requiring a, "Bam, Part Two!!"

(Oh, and if you wanted some explanations of the poll, and perhaps the, er, "fleshing out" of the top 10, "Bam, Part Three!!!"

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Someday, when The Official Blog has gone big-time, and The Ford rules the world, he'll put into place some rules that will make life better for the common man.

Rule No. 1,049: No limousines in the drive-thru line at Taco Bell at 2 a.m. on a Saturday night.

The Ford doesn't care how hungry said rock stars, prom-goers, bachelors, and bachelorettes might be. If you can scrape together the funds for the limo, you can find a damn all-night diner with decent parking. The Official Fine for this infraction isn't set, but you better believe it'll be doubled if said Taco Bell has a narrow entrance from the street, and no other way to enter the parking lot. 'Cause it's no fun to be stuck in traffic behind a limo doing a FIVE-POINT TURN into a parking lot, especially when all you want is a gordita and a Dew.

Thus Ruleth The Ford.

(And to think, dear reader, you'll be able to say "I read him way back when ....")

Friday, June 09, 2006

An open letter to the media of America (of which The Ford is arguably a member, however tangientially), with apologies to the soon-to-be-ex-sportswriter who got to bear the early brunt of this Fury:

Dear schmucks.

The Ford gets it.

The World Cup is AWE.SOME.

Must you continue to bludgeon him over the head with this?

Especially considering this: The Ford agrees.

He loves the World Cup. Given more money, more vacation time, and less fear of dirty German hippies, he might have crossed the pond and taken in a few games himself this year.

The problem is this: The Ford is sick of articles about the World Cup, well, more properly, articles about the World Cup experience.

Unless this one is different. Is it? Tell me how. Is there a great player out there that will change The Ford's life, just by the experience of having seen him play, the way Pele wiped out poverty and disease 30 years ago in Brazil? Will there be BJs for the players after every third goal? For the fans? Will said dirty German hippie females (The Ford believes the German phrase is "Dirtenstankenpitz") be providing these services?

It's not that The Ford doesn't trust your judgment, mass media. Indeed, the simple fact that you're willing to pay him a living wage at The Official Newspaper suggests an generally copious amount of common sense.

It's just that he's tired of being told on how he's missing out on the world's greatest sporting event when, really, he's not. He likes the World Cup. He plans to watch as much of it as possible, an impressive feat, considering many of the games will be at his personal equivalent of 6 a.m., and he is without cable still.

He's been boning up on soccer, even beyond the few qualifiers he's watched in the past year. Just today, The Ford got into an argument with a coworker over whether David Beckham was England's key player. (Nope, despite what The Official Newspaper claims -- The Ford's going with Michael Owen, even with Wayne Rooney's super-top-double-secret-probation injury status.)

The World Cup is a fantastic spectacle, filled with the top athletes from 31 countries -- and, like, the 10th-string from the U.S., but that's enough to be competitive -- crazed fans, and plenty of just plain solid soccer playing, with goals and everything.

The Ford gets that.

And you apparently will never believe, despite The Ford's actual experience PLAYING SOCCER IN HIGH SCHOOL, that he does like soccer.

Not so much the MLS, but, y'know, that's not a rare opinion, as evidenced by, well, the low attendance and apparent lack of general fan support in cities without teams.

The Ford has watched many European and international soccer games, of my own accord, and enjoyed great portions of them.

Sure, The Ford makes jokes about soccer. He also makes jokes about baseball, football and hockey, and he spends a great deal of his disposable income going to games in those sports within easy reach of The Official Apartment. He might do the same for soccer games, were they within similarly easy reach of The Official Apartment. Unless the dirtenstankenpitz are in attendance. That's a stench too far, dear reader.

Suffice to say, this is not a rant against soccer.

This is a rant against having the World Cup shoved down his throat by everyone who's just discovered the damn game in this country, with the sole argument seeming to be, "Hey, THE WORLD seems to like it; you should, too."

Not so much you, mass media, since if we are to believe your suddenly spontanious outbursts, you've loved the game for years.

But you are vaguely enabling this by continuing to film/write/publish the frickin' stories about how Americans are totally missing out on this World Cup thing.

Which is fine. Maybe we are. But it'd be nice, if possible, if at all allowed by the powers that be, if you'd tell The Ford more about the tournament. Yes, it requires more work from you -- you might actually have to demonstrate some actual knowledge of the sport, and not just spew the same ol' numbers about how the world shuts down once every four years -- but it might actually get The Ford to read it.

Again, mass media, your judgment is generally sound; it's just that The Official Job frequently requires The Ford to read 50-60 damn stories from various sources -- and today, they were all hitting the "Why don't you love World Cup soccer?" nerve, already a bit raw this time of year.

I can't yell at the stories, so I'm going to yell at you, mass media. (Albeit by risking infuriating the random soccer lover who's equally sick of reading about World Cup Fever, both good and bad, and just came to The Ford for drunken tales of liquor, lust and ladies' love melons.) You do the same damn thing every time there's a Super Bowl, and this time, well, The Ford's had enough.

This article here, on (Fair warning: unless you're a member, you'll have to watch a commercial. The Ford can't guarantee it's worth it, since what commercial will be decided by The Commercial Gods, and they hate The Ford's personal brand of hubris -- because if referring to yourself constantly in the third person isn't one giant flashing-neon-sign of hubris, The Ford doesn't know what is.) does a good job of actually suggesting some of why this tournament -- this one, and not just the World Cup in general -- might be interesting. Of course, it takes the better part of its first page sloughing through the other crap, so it's a mixed bag, baby. (But ain't that life? Just ask The Commercial Gods.)

The point is this: The Ford likes soccer. He really does.

The Ford gets that the World Cup is HUUUUUGE. He really does.

But y'know what?

He got that four years ago, in South Korea.

He got it eight years ago, in France, and 12 years ago, right here in the U.S.

And, barring some freakish reversal of the laws of nature and/or The Ford's brain, it's a safe bet he'll get it in four years in South Africa.

Along with a barrage of voices from the mass media telling him why the World Cup is the most super-fantastic sporting event in the history of sporting events.

Though if that whole "BJs for the fans" thing The Ford made up is true, he might just be willing to cede the point.

Thus Ranteth The Ford.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Y'know, it's funny how 6 hours can completely revitalize you.

Around 9 p.m., The Ford, out of bed for about 90 minutes, was feeling like crap, willing to cede the battle to uber-cold, in hopes of feeling healthy in a couple of days. Even pondering the possiblity of calling in sick tomorrow, the first time he'd have called in sick in 5 years as a pro.

Put simply, The Ford's a gamer.

And yet, after a failed attempt to read comic books (the Borders in Oakland closes at 9 p.m. on Wednesdays -- who knew?), a slow, slow, slow burger at Steak 'N'Shake (When the waitress starts yelling at the cook about how long it's taking to get you a burger -- five feet away from you -- without you saying anything, you know the food's coming slowly), a viewing of X-Men 3 (thouroughly mediocre, but it's a good comic-book-geek fix in any event, and the cognitive dissonance cause by trying to figure out how old Kitty Pryde is in the movie is fascinating), and, of course, a stop at The Official Bar, The Ford's feeling pretty good.

Of course, this may because, well, he was packing away the alcohol. His count? 5 beers and 3 shorts in 90 minutes.

Now, at this point, you're probably thinking The Ford's a bit of a lush. Especially if you're a regular reader of The Official Blog.

But it didn't go down like that, eh?

Here's the official recap of The Ford's drinking exploits*:

Beer 1: The opener, sucked down at a moderate pace while The Ford tried to figure out if he was more interested in Frasier (and still felling the Kelsey-Grammer-vibe after X3) or SportsCenter.

Beer 2: Middle relief, as The Ford decides that he's going to focus on SportsCenter, with occasional eyes on Frasier, just to assuage the Seattle homesickness.

Shot 1: A remnant from last week, Hot Bartendress' ode to The Official Birthday, delayed only by The Ford's refusal to bring up said birthday with folks not in the know unless there's a reason. He believes the shot was some sort of "Pucker Fucker." It was green. And full of alcohol. And that's all The Ford cared about.

Beer 3: Originally planned as the closer -- the beer that would take The Ford to closing time -- Beer 3 was milked for a bit, until sudden developments necessitated a change in plans.

Shot 2: "Sex at Scarlett's House." Gratis from the crew of dealers/pit bosses at the MGM Grand who appreciated The Ford's willingness to relocate himself one stool over. The Ford recognized it only by its orange color as it was shoved into his hand by a female dealer, moments before drinking. (The Ford, were he a woman, aside from being massively confused by his/her sexuality, would be a prime roofie candidate.) It's at this point that The Ford got drawn into a conversation with said female dealer about the hotness of Hot Bartendress. There was a consensus, needless to say.

Beer 4: Ditto.

Shot 3: Ditto. Also, some appreciation for The Ford's tolerance for cigarette smoke. Though, at this point, The Ford was beginning to feel like whatever the male equivalent of a bar floozy is. A "himbo," even, relying on the kindness of others to keep him inebriated, friendly, and possibly an easy lay. (The Ford tries not to let on he's a pretty easy lay in any event, free alcohol or not.) This one was a Washington Apple, which apparenly contains cranberry juice, apple pucker, and vodka. Really, it's The Ford's ideal drink, aside from the vodka. And the being done in 5 seconds.
Though the speed-of-consumption of said drink was the main reason The Ford ordered it as his free drink, since he was already nursing what he thought would be his final beer.

Beer 5: But it was not his final beer! Instead, The Ford's attempt to reclaim his drinking destiny, as "last call" hangs over his head like the sword of Damocles, resulted in the ordering of one final beer, a beer to call his own. Sure, it might have been a beer too far. Sure, he'd already had plenty of beer, and plenty of shots to boot. But damn it, The Ford will leave the bar on a beer. And a beer he's paid for, regardless of anything else. It's the sort of thing that leaves him OK with being able to ID porn starlets moonlighting in phone sex ads at the bar.

And there you have it. The blueprint for how a perfectly ordinary night for a guy coming off a massive cold can go horribly wrong, and yet turn our all right in the end.

*Don't try this at home; The Ford's a quasi-experienced drinker, with years at high altitude before returning to sea level.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Feeling down?

Perhaps a bit muddled over life as you know it?

Forget your alcohol, your uppers, your downers, and your choco-tastic snacks... The Good Doctor Ford's got a prescription for ya, dear reader.

The N.Y. Times' Science section.

It's just damn fascinating, it is.

'Cause where else would you read about:

How drinking every day is a GOOD thing for men. (And you thought Doc Ford was off his rocker...)

How Genghis Kahn lives on today. Well, sorta. (Say it with Doc Ford now... "KHAAAAAAAAANNNNN!")

How scientists airlifted frogs into Atlanta. (It's more interesting than it sounds... unless you were on the flight with these guys. Still, you've gotta love any article with the sentence: "the men have a reputation for being especially good at catching and taking care of frogs." How, exactly, does one achieve that reputation, Doc Ford wonders...)

How someday our world will end in a firestorm of solar radiation. (And imagine that, not even a 6/6/06 tie-in...)

How Britain apparently has a surplus of young women with size 32E breasts. (OK, that's not actually an NYT science story, just an observation from The Ford after he first got hip to Keeley Hazell becoming the, um, "face" of the new PS2 Formula One racing game. Remember Keeley? No. 2 hottest woman in the world according to the Brits in FHM's survey this year? Of course, No. 5 was Kelly Brook, another Page 3 girl with, er, appreciable talents that generally enter the room before she does.)

There you have it. Frogs, Khan, and ginormous breasts. What more do you need for a good day?

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

So ....

Just for the record, a giant bouquet of balloons, including one with a giant picture of Elmo is NOT a bum repellent.

Though The Ford did not have time to make the Elmo balloon sing like it usually does. That might have done the trick.

Thus Claimeth The Ford.

Monday, June 05, 2006

The Ford went to the Tigers game Sunday.

Not for any particular reason, other than, well, he likes baseball, and is willing to hack his sleep to four hours to watch an early game.

Oh, and he also turned 27 on Sunday, adding another reason to go to the game. The big 2-7.

Following the game, he went home to chill out, maxing and relaxing, then went and read some comic books, then went drinking, then went to a gentleman's club with a friend.

A good day all around.

In honor of that, here's just fewer than 27 thoughts that occured to The Ford at the beginning of Year No. 27. ( there would have been 27 thoughts, but that seems like a lot of work for The Ford to do on a day when he's been drinking heavily.)

1.) Bud Light is not your "bud," your pal, or even your acquaintance. Nor does it weigh signifigantly less than any other beverage of a similar size.

2.) Why do people insist on doing the wave during close games? The Ford understands baseball games can seem boring to the uninitiated, but at the same time, most folks are paying at least $15 to get in the door at the game. You'd think the least they could do is pay attention until the game is out of reach. The wave, by definition, is a useless cheer, since it doesn't encourage either team. All it say to the players is, "Hey,we're bored, so we're going to amuse ourselves with pointless gestures around the stadium." Leaving your seat to masturbate in the bathroom does approximately the same thing, and will probably leave you more satisfied at the end.

3.) Why do people INSIST on leaving their seat during the inning? Or returning to their seat during the inning. Could they not wait until the 3 minutes between innings, and thus not block the view of the folks who are actually at the park to watch the game? The view's just as good from the concourse, and a hell of a lot less annoying to other fans.

4.) Much has been made about DC's decision to make the new Batwoman a lesbian. And that's fine and dandy. But if you kill off Green Lantern's girlfriend, shouldn't there be some mention of it at least three weeks after it happens? 'Cause the last time a Green Lantern from Earth lost some love ones, he decimated the Green Lantern Corps. The Ford expects nothing less from Kyle Rayner.

5.) Let's say you're a major-league manager. You've got two slumping hitters. One's still hitting .320, the other, .210. Which one would you sit for the better part of a week? The one hitting .320? Congratulations, you're Jim Leyland. Of course, the Tigers still have the best record in baseball --The Ford's considering copyrighting that phrase, a la Pat Riley -- so who can judge?

6.) The Ford sucks way more at Street Fighter II than he did 10 years ago, which was the last time he played it in an arcade before Sunday night. Then again, he's also WAY better at Ms.Pac-Man, suggesting that every thing comes in cycles. Then again ,when he was playing SFII the first time around, he was WAY too interested in Chun Li's moves, if you catch The Ford's drift. Now? Not even the hottest video game character around, much less The Ford's touchy-feely fantasy. Though she's still slightly hotter than Ms. Pac-Man.

7.) Franziskaner is a way better beer on tap than from the bottle. Even if you have to go to a small little bar barely a block from your apartment. That said, The Ford still prefers The Official Beer, straight from the bottle.

8.) Robot Chicken is good bar TV.

9.) Few things are sadder than seeing a ground of 5-6 hot girls out drinking with one male in the group. That dude's just got no chance of a happy ending to the evening. OK, one thing's sadder: Being the one dude.

10.) There's something oddly creepy and self-affirming about recommending a stripper's lap dancing skills to a buddy, and having he buddy report back that the recommendation was well-deserved. It's like the letters section of Consumer Reports, without the eye contact.

11.) Building a good rappor with a stripper is almost as satisfying as seeing a pitcher and catcher build a rappor. Because really, knowing that a shaken-off signal is not the end of the world is similar to knowing that no one likes the ass-slap move, save the ass-slapper. And even then, probably not so much.

12.) The Ford received four pieces of good advice Sunday night:

13.) Always bring as much cash as you intend to spend to a gentleman's club, and no more.

14.) If you much spend more, don't hit the ATM in the club; rather, explain to the bouncer that you left cash in your car, and go to the ATM across the street. (there's ALWAYS an ATM across the street.)

15.) If you have to leave a club to get money from an ATM, it's time to go home.

16.) When you're walking in downtown Detroit, it's always good to pull a few "crazy Ivans," just to make sure you're not gonna get beat down.

17.) No one -- NO ONE -- is buying The Simple Life advertsing campaign that appears to feature a Paris Hilton with breasts. Every man, even the ones fresh off a night of drinking and lap dances, recognizes that Paris Hilton is not that endowed. To pretend otherwise is just insulting our intelligence.

18.) How did Christina Aguilera go from being the great Latina pop hope to the GQ headline "White Heat," in, like, 5 years. Is this the Bush administration's doing? Is this how they're trying to stem the "problem" of illegal immigration? Becasue if it is, The Ford's in favor of it, just for the semi-nude pics of Ms. Aguilera.

19.) When did GQ get the stones to start getting all these musicians and actresses to pose artistically nude. First Keira Knightley and Scarlett Johansson, now Christina Aguilera. Bicely done, folks.

20.) You know it's a slow night in a gentleman's club when you get into an argument over which Katie Holmes movie is on the one TV not showing FSN's seemingly endless replays of poker shows and a Mike Illich biography.

21.) The Ford doesn't know if you knew this, but in addition to owning the Red Wings and Tigers, Mike Illich is a devoted family man, a lifeling Detroiter, and the founder of Little Caesars.
22.) The Ford backed his way around a corner in The Official Truck not once, but twice on Sunday. He's feeling pretty good sbout that.

23.) There's going to be a Fantastic Four 2? The Ford can't help but feel partially responsible for this, since not only did he go see FF1 in the theater, but also shelled out for the Ultimate Avengers animated DVD this week. Granted, the two probably aren't that related, but still, The Ford's not exacly convincing Marvel that geeks won't go to see anything remotely based on a comic book.

24.) Superman gay? Thanks, L.A. Times. The Ford could go into a whole lecture about how Lois Lane's breasts have gotten progressively bigger over the years -- as though the artists feel she needs to compete with Wonder Woman's Wonderbra -- but he's not gonna, if only because he's been accused of focusing on the bosom too much, and really, this blog entry is not gonna help that impression.

25.) Some homeless fella was the lucky beneficiary of The Ford's white liberal guilt. After months of stonewalling folks, he finally gave in a gave a guy a $20 bill. Granted, he was in a bar at the time, so perhaps that's an explanation.

See, fewer than 27. That's two to grow on for next year. At least until two things occur to The Ford later tonight.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Huh. The new Batwoman's a lesbian.


At least it's better than her throwing herself at Batman all the damn time, like the original version did.

Of course, apparently Officer Montoya's a lesbian as well, which comes as a surprise. Then again, she was partners with Harvey Bullock for way too long.

(What, you didn't know The Ford was a comic book geek?)

You want more reactions? Glad you asked. (Really, The Ford just likes the idea of someone form CNN getting paid to Google "lesbian Batwoman." That's good money, it is.)

Friday, June 02, 2006

Fascinating. Just fascinating. So much better to think about than the droplets of water that form on surfaces colder than their environment, which is usually how The Ford entertains himself at parties or in bars.

Also vaguely interesting? This, especially as The Ford remembers his last trip to the grocery store, which produced a loaf of break still unopened, but mold-free nearly a month after its "use-by" date.

Medium-length story short: "Damn, Paris Hilton's got breasts!"

Medium-length story, slightly expanded: The Ford's walking to The Official Bar, when he passes a billboard in the parking lot advertising the next season of The Simple Life, which is apparently on E! (a network that should be more popular with The Ford, considering its inherent grasp of the joy of punctuation, but still makes him feel vaguely dirty every time he watches it.)
On the billboard, airbrushed as all-get-out, Nicole Ritchie's lost a TON of weight. And "Damn, Paris Hilton's got breasts".
Which is a little scary to see, since, by The Ford's reckoning, she's already maximizing her Hotness Quotient by acting/living/being a skank. But big breasts, they tend to throw off the time-tested Hotness Quotient formula. Add big breasts to a skanky persona, and well, it's utter -- not udder -- madness.
And then The Ford catches this blog posting, and all his worrying is done. Paris Hilton has nipples, but an average-sized bosom.
And if there was ever a sentence that would send me to hell, it's that one.

No wait, it's this one: Despite some distrubing gender-specific choices, The Ford took the quiz to see whether he is Paris Hilton or Nicole Ritchie. He, apparently, is Paris. He's really not sure how to feel about this.

Don't you wish, dear reader, that The Ford had stopped with the short version of the story.

In other news, The Ford's still gonna turn 27 on Sunday. In case you were worried. Also, The Ford is still pretty shameless. So that's good news, as well.

In other continuing sagas, The Ford's bad haircut phase might be about over. While The Ford is now getting secondary signs that he needs a trim (i.e. hair popping over the collar and rolling over the ears, necessitating the hair tuck move from "Wayne's World," the top of the head is finally the right length. It's holding a combing all day, and is even adjustable, should a strong wind disrupt said combing. Really, that's all The Ford wants. A haircut where, for at least 3 weeks, he can comb it in the morning, and never again have to worry about how it's sitting.

Finally, The Official Late-May Cold Of The Official Blog of The Ford has hit Stage 3: Hack-a-Ford.
Yes, it's coughing galore wherever The Ford ventures. He'd feel worse about that, but simply drawing a breath seems like a moral victory at this point. Plus, years of poor athletic play have inured him to shortness of breath and great, raspy gasps as other folks look on in horror at the person about to die in their vicinity.

The. Ford. Does. Not. Die.

He just multiplies. (Usually in his head.)

Thus hacketh The Ford.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

The Official Blog of The Ford's Official Reasons To Hate Pat Riley.

1.) The hair.

2.) The suits.

3.) The copyrighting of "Three-peat."

4.) The hair.

5.) The abomination that was NBA basketball for years during the 90s, especially the years when Michael Jordan was retired. Seriously. When they listen to The Ford and expand "crimes against humanity" trials to professional sports, Riles will be one of the first in the giant baby cribs that pass for benches at trials these days. John Starks hefting up 3s as part of an "offensive game plan." Anthony Mason. The entire 1994 NBA Finals that set basketball back 10 years. (The best lines in the write up on the Finals: " Whether it was Maxwell shouting at a fan or Olajuwon shouting at his teammates, the Rockets seemed to lose their cool in front of 19,763 crazed fans at the Madison Square Garden.
What the Rockets didn't lose, however, was Sam Cassell's passion to win. " Word.)
Don't believe The Ford? The NBA finally, just this season, changed the rules to get back to the way basketball was before that series. And all of a sudden, it's fun to watch again. Go figure.

6.) The hair.

7.) The way he still has Stan Van Gundy's blood on his hands after the coach -- who seemed to do just fine in taking the Heat within a half of the NBA Finals last season -- "resigned to spend more time with his family." Right. If your family was Jeff Van Gundy, would you be clamoring to spend more time with them? Right as Shaq, who the team is built around, is coming back from injury and things are just starting to look up again? Thought not.

8.) The way he refuses to acknowledge that the Heat were a good team last season, choosing to bask in the cavalcade of love from knee-jerk sportswriters who seem to forget that the Heat, given a healthy Dwyane Wade last season, probably would have beaten the Pistons in Game 7.

9.) The way he continues to try and set basketball back with adopting the "Hack-a-Shaq" strategy to Ben Wallace. It's not even that defensible a strategy, considering Wallace is shooting only slightly higher from the field than he is from the line. All Riley's doing is making NBA fans -- and sports journalists -- spend 30 more minutes a night wanting to blow their brains out.

10.) The hair.

11.) The way his coaching during this season seems to consist mainly of telling Dwyane Wade to shoot the hell out of the ball. The Ford's pretty sure he could have done that for half the price.

12. ) The suits. (Thought The Ford was gonna say "the hair," didn'cha?)

13.) The way he could have put away the Pistons in Game 5 -- considering he was 11-0 in elimination games with a 3-1 series lead entering Wednesday's game -- but instead choked, raising the spectre of The Ford having to work until 1 a.m. on The Official Birthday, if Riley chokes again Friday. The Ford's all for the Pistons willing the whole damn thing, but he'd also like some big-league debauchery on his b-day, y'know?

Thanks, Riles. Nicely done.