Controlled Randomness

I experienced another God Wink. While going to get Pho I drove behind a license plate that said AWESM PHO.

1)who has a pho license plate?!
2)what are the odds of them being in front of me while i'm on my way to get pho.
3) this happened miles away from the Pho place in case you're wondering and...
4) it's pronounced Pha....

Check out the last blog I wrote about God tapping people on the shoulder.

God…Semi Colon, Dash, Closed Parenthesis

Leave The World More Slippery Than You Found it.

I find advertisements for general products quite amusing. Ads that don't ask the listener to buy anything from a specific company but rather to remember that the general product exists. The most notable being the cotton, milk and egg campaigns. Not necessarily in that order though. And who could forget the “other white meat.” (Hopefully that will save me from getting an angry letter from the Pork people.)

In reality, many general products have organizations charged with the task of promoting said product. I recently stumbled upon an ad in a magazine promoting synthetic oil. Ah yes synthetic oil has been there for us hasn't it? From babies taking 1st steps to birthday parties to prom nights, synthetic oil was there every step of the way making sure the engine in our cars kept running. It's integral not only to our happiness but dare I say, our existence.

Okay, the ad was for one synthetic oil company but there was no clear push to sell it so it felt like a general synthetic oil shout out. There was just a write up on the guy who “Changed lubrication History.” I think the editors of the Delta Sky magazine give its readers too much credit. Or this reader at least. Why not engine history or machine history? As far as words go “lubrication” is right up there with “moist.” Both take Gandhi like control to hear and not let out an internal chuckle or feel a little grossed out.

I can't imagine many people will see the ad, then run out and buy Amsoil Synthetic oil. They might giggle or write a blog but how many people on a plane need to deplane and haul ass to the synthetic oil store. I guess if the need for it ever does come up, I will call upon the company spawned by the father of synthetic lube, I guess.

Waiting in Memphis

I recently found myself in Memphis, in front of a cash register in Krystals, waiting to be served. Krystals is basically White Castle south. And much like White Castle, you would have no good reason to go there before 10pm. I was on a late night run with my cousins. We simply needed some sustenance before bedding down for the night. They opted to go to the Mcdonald's on the other side of the parking lot. I wanted those sweet White Castle indulgences they call burgers, but Krystals would have to do.

The vibe was extra ghetto. So much that the lime green Cadillac in the parking lot barely stood out. Separating from my two female cousins, even if though we were only a small parking lot away, seemed like a major risk. And the cop car parked two spots away from the Sprite can Caddy produced from me a smirk but not sigh of relief.

So I wanted to quickly make my tiny burgers run and get back to my kin. There was no line in Krystals but I quickly could tell that getting out of there quickly was unlikely. A woman stood at the register counting money. It was a minute before she looked up. I thought, “okay, she didn't want to lose count but now that that's done...”

The thought was cut off by her barking an order to Keisha somewhere in the back to clock in and man the register. Mind you there were 3 other girls visible and not working. Well, To be accurate one was kind of sweeping but I wouldn't look for her on the 2012 curling team. Fine maybe these other girls aren't train on the register... So another few minutes passed while I waited for Keisha to clock in while me and four idle workers looked at each other like we were all stupid.

Finally Keisha emerges to take my order. The catch? She's wet! I'm serious. Her face and hands are wet. Oh Hell no! Like maybe she came straight from her job at Water World. I've been waiting almost 5 minutes to order, you might as well take an extra 20 seconds and towel off. The health inspection implications are endless.

I know some of you doubted me that the vibe was ghetto. Still doubt me? The burgers were pretty good by the way. Can't let a little condensation and trifling ways come between me and my bite sized pieces of heaven.

What Up Oprah!

I have long since been through with rappers talking about how they charter planes. Really? And not only do they charter planes it's usually a G4 that your favorite rapper brags about hoping on with the same impunity that you display when you jump on the Manhattan bound R train. (Picadilly Line for my London crew :-) The money talk is a real drag.

But along comes a song about money, so catchy and so campy that you have no choice but to like it. I love the 'billionaire' song so much because it captures people's rich ambitions...but not really. Even when I sing it my mouth defaults to saying millionaire. Wanting to be a billionaire is like wanting to be a superhero. It's okay to dream about but too far fetched to stress about when you absolutely never become one.

The fact that the singer wants to be a billionaire so “freakin” bad suggests the singer knows the whole thing is a little silly. And that's enough for me to give him a pass. It's almost like he's singing about being a gazillionaire. Just a guy with a few free minutes playing the “what-if” game. No harm in that as long as he dusts himself off at some point and goes about his daily chores. Lawns don't cut themselves.

Every time he says “What Up Oprah!”, I giggle. It's pitch perfect irreverence. Imagine being so rich that you can shout out Oprah like she's your local skateboarder. It would be like meeting Jesus and giving him a pound while saying “What you tryin' to get in to Lord?”

The main reason for being cool with it all is the fact that Travis McCoy raps about giving the money away as opposed to making haters nauseous. (Haters must have the weakest stomachs)

I just hope the album version doesn't have “effin bad” instead of “freakin' bad” That would tarnish the whole listening experience.

What would yo do with a billion freakin' dollars?

My friend Hasan has a different opinion of my latest guilty pleasure:

Btw: the greatest hip-hop entertainer of all time flys coach...sort of.

Billionaire song By Bruno Mars and Travis McCoy

The 1st Apple

I was on a train from Edinburgh, Scotland to London. We stopped in York, same York whose namesake is my hometown. I was tempted to get off and tour Old York but time and the cost of same day train tickets stopped me from disembarking in the York old.

From the looks of it, from my seat on the train, New York is quite a departure from Old York. The sequel is usually not as good but I think York Part II is a better watch. I think it's fair to say that New York could be called New and Improved York. I wonder if the people of York derive any pride from the fact that they're name spawned, arguably, the best city in the world. Or maybe they're bummed by the fact that New York has taken their name and really really ran with it. I think I would kinda root for a guy named New Dwayne, even if there was no relation. Then again if New Dwayne found the cure for Cancer or something, I could see it getting annoying having people ask me if New Dwayne was named after me.

ME: Yes, New Dwayne was named after me. Yes he cured Cancer. Yes that is amazing...but I write a blog damnit!

New York used to be called New Amsterdam...(down at the new Amsterdam. Staring at this yellow haired girl. Mr Jones Strikes up a conversation..*) A few years ago I found myself in Amsterdam and I was able to go through the original Harlem and the original Brooklyn. I definitely put my mental lighters up.

Perhaps we will discover new planets and build new cities and one of those cities could be named after my city. “Welcome To New New York.” And if we name a city after that city it could be New New New York. Good times. Do people in Mexico have a special place in their hearts for New Mexico?

An argument for York over New York from the York tourist board. How cute. Plus a little New York/York history lesson.

* Lyric from Counting Crows song “Mr Jones”, one of my top 3 pop songs of the nineties.

Can't Spell South Without The "Tea"

I recently wrote a blog about the ubiquitousness of Tea in England. Not that I tested this, but I wouldn't be surprised if one could order a cup of tea at a chicken fight in England. The hard part would be finding the chicken fight. Once found however, no one would blink as you put 20 on the fowl in red and ordered an English Breakfast, heavy on the sugar.

I was initially comparing the acquisition of tea in England to the same conquest in New York or Los Angeles. Tea time in the South though is about as frequent as Haley's Comet sightings. I never knew how good I had it in La La Land. I was in Oklahoma and almost all of my tea requests were met with a confused look. As if I had actually inquired about a chicken fight.

I could not even get tea in Mcdonalds...during breakfast! I found them not carrying tea to be egregious. I found them acting like I was the weird one to expect them to carry tea to be down right silly. You serve coffee so the ability to heat water is in place. Now dip some leaves in that hot water instead of coffee beans. See Mcdonalds in Oklahoma, That wasn't hard now was it?

The profit margin on tea must be astronomical. Up to 2 dollars a cup?! I can buy a garbage bag full of tea bags for a dollar. Every cup they would sell would basically pay for all their tea inventory. I think that math precipitates all food establishments keeping a box of tea around for the occasional non-coffee warm beverage seeker.

After some thought, a more sinister explanation for my tea woes came into focus. Maybe the places carry tea but my servers were either too lazy or judgmental to whip me up a cup. Whatever the case I know I'm not weird or difficult when a country with a currency way stronger than ours chooses tea as their national drink. Cheers mate...sip...sip.

Money Ain't a Thing

I have a thing for foreign currency. Other countries are leaps and bounds more creative with the design of their notes than we are. I also love that here in the states we say things like “it's all about the green” or “it's not about black and white, it's about that green” These literary jewels hinge on all our money being the same color. All the other countries I have visited have all multi-colored notes. “It's not about black or white, it's all about purple... and orange... and silver holograms...and...”

Other countries also pull from outside of the old guy in a wig box to put scenery or animals on their currency.

U.S. HUSTLER: It's all about the Benjamins baby!!
INTERNATIONAL HUSTLER: It's all about the elephants and mountain ranges and picturesque landscapes mate.

So whenever I can put a foreign note aside instead of cashing it in, without taking too big of a hit, I do it. Money can also give insight to what a nation treasures and into their history as well.

My new prized possession is a 10 million dollar bill from Zimbabwe. A 10 million dollar bill that can probably get you a cup of coffee if you're lucky. Best of all. It has an expiration date on it! Zimbabwe mainly uses US dollars as their own money has gone wayward. I'm not an expert on currency but somehow people lost faith in the Zimbabwe dollar, as money is only worth what the collective agrees it's worth. And having an expiration date on money is not exactly a ringing endorsement from the government.

Can't wait for the hit Zimbabwean game show: “Who wants to be a Gazillionaire Through the End of the Year.”

a white paper on the Zimbabwe dollar hyperinflation:

Warmest thanks to South African Comedian Tony for giving me the 10 Million dollar Bill.

My World Cup Take on NBC Nightly News

Hey Guys,

Just wanted to share with you a piece that ran on the NBC nightly news featuring me in South Africa speaking on The World Cup.

Enjoy,
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032619/ns/nightly_news#37541224

Ask Stephen Hawking (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

QSN: I wanted to add a quick side note here. If you do nothing else make sure you read the link below about Stephen Hawking and health care. Cheers.

I’m not at all familiar with the work of Stephen Hawking. I know his work relates to space and time, I think. I’m told even attempting to understand Hawkings can send an average man running for a bottle of aspirin and a hug from his mom. I stay away from intellectual pursuits that I’m unsure of. Not very brave I know but at least I can say that I might understand Mr. Hawkings’ theories if I ever have the chance to look through them. (replace time with courage.) This is the same reason I won’t take the test for Mensa. I don’t want to labeled a genius anyway. Well, not officially at least.

I am struck with a question though that is so simple it borders on genius: Why don’t we have Stephen Hawking explain the financial situation once and for all and make some solid recommendations. We have the world’s preeminent brain breaking down blackholes. How about some help with Detroit? I say we tell Steve, we’ll listen to your spiel about aliens to your hearts desire but 1st what say you on outsourcing?

I wouldn’t be surprised if he has already chimed in with something people didn’t want to hear or let be heard.

Einstein had some choice words about over consumption.

I didn’t find anything on Hawking and the economy but he did sort of chime in on health care

I’m Packing (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

I don’t want this blog to sound too much like the faux motivational speech George Clooney gives in the Movie “Up In the Air.” However I recently went through a massive lifeboat exercise of sorts. I packed for a 7 week trip and only brought a carry on suitcase and a book bag stuffed to the rim. Also in the suitcase, taking up precious clothes space, were 40 copies of my comedy CD “Dwayne Perkins To The Rescue.”

How many people reading this blog can boast such an achievement? Packing is basically creating an all-star team of your clothes.

ME: Black Sambas, you get to represent Me on my great Europe-Africa tour, congratulations. And to all you other sneakers, thanks so much for trying out. You should be proud.

Sometimes choice breeds confusion and inefficiency. I’ve been a well oiled machine on this tour. Picking an all star clothes team isn’t only about having the best pieces. It’s picking the pieces that best fit together. The shirt that can be worn in casual and dressy situations. The blazer that you can wear to a business meeting or the dance club, without looking like you came from a business meeting.

For my two month trip I chose some select items to carry me through. It reads like a complete wardrobe because of the combinations. What if we had to do this with friends, or jobs or entertainment? Dwindle it down to what or who you would engage if all of a sudden a cap was put on said thing. I’m not suggesting you ditch friends or throw out your Dukes of Hazzard season 3 DVD but do you know what you would part with if you had to?

Brooklyn, We Go Too Hard (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

So my South African shows have been a hoot. I’ve kicked it in Soweto, The Brooklyn of Jo-burg. I’ve partied. I’ve grocery shopped. I’ve caught a bit of World Cup Fever…Achoo.

I’m not looking at this city through rosy glasses but the danger wrap that Johannesburg gets is over stated. All the dwellings have electric fences around them but don’t many of ours have fences around them too? Every place I’ve lived in LA has had a fence around it and not the white picketed variety.

In a moment of endearment for the city, and science, I decided to prove my point on stage at my show. I told them that I live in an “Adjacent” neighborhood. So all my comings and goings really take place in the neighborhood next to my hood. My hood is quiet but there is a shall we say “element.”

To drive my point home harder than an Alex Rodriguez line drive, I asked the crowd if any of them knew more than 5 people who have been shot. In the crowd of ~50 no one knew over 5 gun shot victims. I proceeded to tell them as I’m telling you that I know well over 20, maybe over 30. I’m not vying for street cred here but I personally know or knew through school, family, my neighborhood over 20 people who have had lead fillings sans anesthesia. Which place is more dangerous again?

I’m not unique in this fact. Everyone in my hood would boast the same stats. So would anyone from The South side of Chicago, Philly, Los Angeles (south of the 10 freeway), Detroit…
So, which place is more dangerous again? I don’t think about it that often when I’m eating scones in my local coffee shop in Eagle Rock, CA playing Spider Solitaire but I shouldn’t know that many victims. And none of the shootings happened during military action. Just around the way gorilla warfare a. Ride around your city for a while. You might discover you’re more 3rd World adjacent than you thought.

Color Me Human (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

So one hold over of South Africa’s apartheid is an oddly specific classification of people based on color. There are many people who in the US would be called black but in South Africa are called “colored.” So basically colored people are mixed, Think Collin Powell. But it’s not simply based on skin tone. Sometimes a colored person can be shades darker than a black person. Those people are considered Dark Coloreds. Huh? It comes down to language and even you’re pitch black but you speak only Afrikans (the language of the Settlers based on Dutch) then you are colored. Meaning somewhere along the way you’re pure African lineage must have been broken. Coloreds also lived separately from blacks and thus didn’t retain or learn any of the tribal languages.

The US had the field slave versus the house slave. That was often based on skin color but I can’t help but marvel at South Africa’s formalized system. I can’t figure out if it’s more racist or less racist because the settlers were at least acknowledging their own blood on some level. Were the US oppressors more racists, less racists or simply lazy when they just decided anyone with an ounce of black in them would be considered black.

The whole thing is silly. Perhaps the black population in South Africa dictated a stronger “divide and conquer” approach.

I had a colored guy after a show spend 10 minutes trying to convince me that I was colored. See, most of my SA crew is black and they assure me I am black. I think it’s because they like me. They waiver on Beyonce and are torn on Chris Brown’s black status. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time running names by them to see where they would fit. It’s a lot of fun.

The colored guy actually looked a lot like my cousin Haywood and to be honest the characteristics of colored people in SA is similar to those of blacks in the US. We both seem to suffer from identity crisis. Them because they never really fit in anywhere and us because we were striped of our culture and basically had to create a new culture which is still a work in progress.

In case you’re wondering I consider myself black, even here in SA. I feel a kinship toward the black people here. My advice would be for the coloreds in SA is to reassimilate into the black community. I of course am woefully unqualified to say this and it probably opens a can of worms over a century old. Or we can have the coloreds move to the US where they be black to there hearts desire. Either way they can’t be white. That’s what started this whole mess to begin with.

For American blacks we need to keep our black title. It anchors us and every body needs an anchor. Not sure who celebrated harder, the blacks or the coloreds, when Barack won.

I Have A Dream…I Still Have A Dream (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

So lately I have been having dreams within my dreams. So basically I’m having a dream, wake-up and then I’m still in a dream, and then I wake up from that dream and I’m actually awake. Is this common?

It’s like, I’ve emerged from my 2nd level dream, stretched and commented on what a crazy dream that was, made some tea (loose leaf) and then turned to the talking chair and discussed sports before waking out of that dream only to do it all over again. Minus the talking chair.

So I did what any red blooded American would do. I googled “dream within a dream.” I came across a website that explains dreams called dreammoods.com. I’m Not sure if they are the preeminent expert dream people but they did go through the trouble of buying a dreamy domain name so they probably know more than me. Apparently, your subconscious does this to protect the dreamer from waking up and the inner dream is usually about a crucial hidden issue that needs to be dealt with...Now if I could only remember what happened in my dream’s dream. I got nothing.

My concern is how many levels deep can this thing go. How can I ever really know if I’m awake? Maybe I’m asleep right n

Scoot Over

I was caught up in complete scooter fever while in Rome. Every block is littered with Vespas. Business men scoot to work. Young women scoot to meet their BFFs. It’s a scene man. They also have stores that sell Vespa apparel. I considered buying some Vespa gear but then I thought I better hold off until the day I actually get a Scooter. There’s got to be a special place in poser hell for people who front like they ride a scooter. That would be like telling people you reached a higher level in Dungeons and Dragons than you really did. What’s the point really?

When I do get a scooter, if my current spending pattern is still in place, I probably won’t buy a Vespa anyway. Then I would be the guy with the Vespa gear rolling in a Vespa knock off. That’s even worse than not having a scooter. That would be like putting your Hyuandai keys on a Mercedes key ring. There are some cases where “fake it ‘til you make it” simply doesn’t apply.

Then again riding a Vespa while wearing Vespa apparel may be akin to over accessorizing. I think I will get that Vespa T-shirt and stand tall in the face of scrutiny from real Vespa riders and people who would clown me either way. I wear a Yankee jersey and I don’t play for them. Here we go Vespa….Here we go!

Size Matters

Okay, I went to Rome, maybe the most important city ever in the history of civilization and so far I’ve written two blogs about run-ins with panhandlers. Mi perdoni l'Italia. Of course Rome has much more to offer than skillful beggars. The coliseum, the forum, the Vatican, majestic structures that are clear evidence of man’s intellect, boldness and faith.

This blog isn’t about any of that though. Rome is proliferated with scooters, smart cars and such. At first sight, to my American eyes, it looked like the city was a great big bumper car ride that someone had decided to build a city around. I’ve long since yearned for a scooter but friends nudged me away from the idea. LA being a sea of SUVs, they didn’t have to nudge very hard. A smart car would be safer if you don’t mind waiving your manhood and being shun by the community.

Here I was in Italy, where machismo was born and it’s perfectly okay for a man to ride a scooter or a smart car. I grew up next to an Italian neighborhood in Brooklyn. Nothing girlie about that hood or its inhabitants. Especially on Friday night if they’d been drinking.

It’s called smart for a reason but even the name can evoke jeers in the US where smart has somehow become synonymous with suspicious and elitist. Rome moves with grace and efficiency in no small part due to the small car sizes. I’m not saying we should all trade in our SUVs for smart cars. Just the people who have absolutely no need for SUVs should. Then again I completely understand feeling like you need an SUV just to drive and have a fighting chance amongst all the other SUVs. I still don’t have my scooter after all.

I just don’t know how success or manhood became dependent on car size and horse power. We need a champion UFC fighter to endorse smart cars. I’m not sure If I’m quite tough enough to turn the tide.

Waste Not, Want Not

I’m always amazed at how wasteful the US is compared to most of the world. We run through napkins at Starbucks and McDonalds like the Tasmanian Devil. It’s like every napkin becomes contaminated with cuddies upon making contact with our mouths and to fold it or use another part of said napkin would put us in grave danger.

But the wastefulness doesn’t stop there. We leave lights on like we’re expecting extra terrestrials to stop by and need a beacon of light to guide them in. I’m guilty of it too. I sometimes leave my television on in hotel rooms when I’m gone just to avoid the God-Awful Hotel menu station that pops up whenever you turn on a hotel TV. Wasteful, but that hotel menu station is painful to watch and good luck finding TBS again.

The contrast is stark when you travel overseas. Lights are all on timers, hotel rooms require the key to be inserted into a slot for the electricity to work in the room (which also drastically cuts down on key misplacement) and don’t even think about getting more than one napkin with any food order.

You might expect this type of miserly approach from a place low in resources. A place that might not have enough napkins to go around or operates on generators installed around the time the hula hoop came out. But the place I’m describing is London. I wouldn’t be surprised if London used ½ the electricity and paper that New York uses. Even the soda cups are smaller.

For a person visiting the US our portions and general approach to everything must seem like a stop over in Wonderland. When traveling abroad it takes a day to adjust but then you realize that unless you’re really throwing down some serious barbecue, one napkin is more than enough and your hotel doesn’t need to be illuminated for your imaginary friend (let her imagine the light J

I can’t see us changing our ways significantly anytime soon but until we stop binge eating at buffets, driving humongous cars we don’t need and wearing white sneakers with khakis, we’re going to be the butt of a lot of jokes on the international scene.

Not to worry though I’m spreading coolness everywhere I go to counter the khaki effect…well me and Mos Def.

The Entertainer Has Become The Entertained (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

It’s funny how we are always on the prowl for entertainment and good times. All over the world people clock out on Friday, leave their place of business and turn their attention to the business of having fun. Sometimes they find themselves in a comedy club. Then it’s up to me and my peers to provide the good times. We proudly oblige them.

Being a part of the entertainment wing of the services industry means I’m working during the peak hours when others are consuming entertainment and in the midst of so called good times. This by no means means I get skimped on being entertained.

For the best things in life truly are free and if you haven’t tried going out some nights without drinking, I highly recommend it. As a non-drinker I can tell you that the joy I get from watching drunk people usually far outweighs the annoyance factor from suffering them. It’s legal voyeurism. I’ve seen friends throw up on friends in San Francisco, people bloody and sobering up from their injuries in England (she wasn’t really injured btw), people shirtless in the freezing cold in Chicago.

It’s the best form of entertainment. Completely real and unconscious of itself. I think every person who gets completely wasted should be videoed and forced to watch the video the next day while nursing their hang over. Then again that might take away from my entertainment.

People tend to be suspicious of the person not drinking. For they will truly remember what happened the night before.

A Whole New World (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

I recently wrote a blog about a run-in between a bus driver and passenger in Birmingham, England. The passenger had the last word as he said, “Welcome to the real world” just before exiting. I guess my question is did hearing that statement usher in the driver’s arrival into the real world? Or, was he already in the real world and not aware of it as no one had formally welcomed him? Kind of like driving to Las Vegas and missing the “Welcome to Nevada” sign. You may not know it but you are in Nevada. The different color police cars are the best proof of that fact.

I think when people say welcome to the real world they think it will have a profound affect on their listener. As if that lone statement will cause the person it was directed to to do a complete 180. Change their ways, as per the welcome-er.

FRIEND: Bill you’ve changed? Is it your hair?
BILL: No, I finally joined the real world.
FRIEND: Thank God! I was afraid to tell you. Feels good right?
BILL: Feels great! I’m a little bummed that now I can be affected by gravity. I’ll miss stepping off cliffs and not falling.

The next time you’re tempted to welcome someone into the real world (and basically play God) try saying “It is what it is” Instead. It’s way cooler and just ambiguous enough to be open for interpretation and not make you sound like an A-hole.

Go England! Get Busy (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

I’m writing this blog from a Bed & Breakfast in South Africa while Vampire Weekend’s plays from my laptop speakers. I have their song “Horchata” on loop, in lieu of not having any. South Africa is home of the 2010 FIFA World Cup. It always makes for a great story if the home team wins. But even the locals here know that Bafana Bafana* winning it all is a massive long shot. So besides South Africa winning and instantly becoming the feel good story of the decade, I would have to say I’m going for England. Even though the English, like Red Sox fans, seem to revel in losing, I think a country so dedicated and in love with soccer is due for a victory on the game’s grandest stage.

I don’t know enough about soccer to know if England has a legitimate shot or not but it would be cool. Although I would not want to be a part of the clean up committee there if they do win. Why not good ole US of A? It would be awesome if we won and I’m told we have a fighting chance. But how American of us would it be to win the biggest event in a sport that’s not even our 4th most popular sport. Soccer is currently 6th or 7th in the states, maybe. Nestled snugly between WWF (which is not even real) and Lacrosse (also, not real. A stick with a net at the end? Really?!)

Case for the U.S. winning? The U.S. winning the World Cup could do wonders to further soccer’s rise in the states. The term “soccer mom” has been in our lexicon for the past twenty years so it makes sense that some those “soccer kids” would have kept up with the sport.

I just hate it when a person or team that couldn’t care less beats out people with real passion about something. That’s why I’ve never taken up the harp. What if I’m a harp prodigy? How awful would it be for me to sit there at the philharmonic with the other harp players who’ve dedicated their lives to the harp, while I’m eating Funions and reading a comic book in the much coveted 1st harp chair.

And after the show when we go for drinks and the other harpists start sharing horrible harp teacher stories and they turn to me and I tell them I’m self taught, how annoyed do you think they would be? The rest of the world are those harp players. Go England.

Lawn Jockeying

So today I did my P90X routine in a small park in London, well more like a big garden with a nice lawn. The Plyometrics routine consists of a lot of jumping. I was staying in a 200 year old rickety building and not sure if the people below me were in the mood to hear the pounding of my 190lb frame landing over and over and over. So I figured I would tip toe through the tulips across the street.

It was a glorious day for outdoor jumping: Perfect weather, plush green lawn, vibrant flowers emitting agreeable scents. The only way it could have been better was if I had a ghetto blaster accompaniment blaring either Kriss Kross’s “Jump Jump” and/or House of Pain’s “Jump”. Yes, I said better.

About 3 quarters way through my serene vigor some landscaping guys came in to do some sprucing. A frequent occurrence, I’d imagine given this park’s, appearance. Although they were basically gardening and I was doing the “mother of all P90X” routines (as dubbed by Tony Horton, the P90X man himself), I still thought to myself that these blokes were way more manly than me. Sure I could probably do more jump squats than either one but they were working with earth. They were installing grass, moving dirt, pushing wheel barrels using leveling devices and digging with shovels. The very things my workout was meant to emulate and substitute, given my sedentary coffee shop, comedy club lifestyle.

And me? Well, I had to do a Google Image search on “gardening tools” to figure out that thing they were moving the dirt in was called a wheel barrel.

Sad, but boy is my core strong.