When I open a bar, or purchase an existing bar from somebody else, here's how things will be:

• Families are sweet if they come, but should not expect to be catered to. No kids menu, no plastic cups with tops, no mascot. All minors out by 9 p.m.
• No XM Radio because it sucks. When the best possible station plays songs by The Cranberries, that aren't "Zombie" (which would be for imitation purposes only, I would imagine), then serious issues need to be addressed by Sony.
• Drink. On your shift. Just make sure you pay for it (or get your customers to), don't get obliterated, and take a cab home if necessary.
• No uniforms. Come as you are. Just make certain that all the necessities are covered-tastefully, if possible.
• Crabby? Fine.
• Lady bartenders. You can only have so many "alpha males".
• Only those who are scheduled to pour drinks are allowed access to the booze. Kitchen managers, banquet supervisors, dishwashers, bar managers--stay out.
• Someone's being a dick/snatch? Cut them off, for no reason. We don't need them.
• Baseball gets TV priority over any football game, no exception.
• Good things can come from corporate restaurants, but so can bad things. Lots of bad things.
• Comp tabs are to be used by descretion and the honor system--not my business who you buy a drink for, no explanation necessary, just don't have a $200 tab with $600 in sales.
• Managers? I can do without them.

I kind of hate my job right now, which sucks, because this is the best bar job I've ever had. And I love the bar, and all the people I work with. But it's starting to get a little corporate.....

A quick recap of how softball went yesterday:

• Game 1 was ended by a walk-off inside-the-park homerun. Not by us.
• Game 2 saw me give up 10 runs (of 14 total) and still get the win.
  
  
  

I've got a lot of time to myself tomorrow before work, so you may see the return of the Stat Package. Yes, I think the package reference is funny.

Tiger Woods' swing in slow motion

<a href="http://www.nikegolf.com/swingportrait">nikegolf.com/swingportrait</a>- This is a thing of beauty. Kinda looks like my swing.

Diamond Cutters, D-League Style

I'm pretty sure I've accomplished a first in Burnsville Thursday Night Upper-D Competitive Men's League Softball. This last Thursday I was thrown at by the pitcher for Carbone's Pizza while standing in the batter's box. And he didn't throw at me like this--there was still backspin (which doesn't work) and a little bit of arc to his beanball. Story? I thought you'd never ask:

*Before I get into the events of last Thursday, a little backgound on the subject of this pitcher and my team is necessary. We've played this team 3-4 times and they are a good bunch of guys (Carbone's) with the exception of their pitcher. He trash-talks everyone on base like he's Micheal Jordan, argues every pitch called "ball" and every runner called "safe", and, most importantly, HE PITCHES FROM THE WINDUP AND THE STRETCH!!!!!! I don't know if I can emphasize that last part enough--a full windup with nobody on (or, more commonly, when the bases are loaded) and from the stretch-checking the runner(s) included-with runners on. Naturally, we go back up the middle on him, umpires hate him, and his teammates seem embarrased to play with him. He's awesome.*


The second part to Thursday's twi-night doubleheader involved the aforementioned Carbone's Pizza, and this blog's own Shampoo Your Mullet. SYM, as the visiting team, lead off the game. The first pitch of the game was called a ball, which sent their pitcher off on a tirade about how every strike zone is different (true) and how the game better be called as soon as it starts raining (more on this later). Two pitches later and Brandon is standing on first, recipient of the game's first walk.

I bat second, so in I stroll to the box. I dig in, take the first pitch, and smirk with delight as its called a ball. Same with the second pitch. Now, anyone who's ever played softball has seen the guy at the plate with 2 balls and no strikes on him do something generally ridiculous to offset the pitcher in hopes of drawing a walk. I'm no exception. With two balls and no strikes, I square around to bunt. From the stretch, I see his face get completely red. So he goes into his slide-step, and with a reverse-grip, throws a flat backspin pitch directly at my ankle. I pull the bat back, let it gently tap the bone, laugh loudly, and start the long walk to first base. "Pull that shit on me again and it's hitting the bat!" he told me. "Fine", I said, "you'll get a cheap strike on me". "No, it's coming overhand!" he says. "Really, from the stretch?" I ask, genuinely hoping that he storms over to me. "Fuck you, asshole, its coming for your head!" Anyone who knows me knows that I can't resist a good argument, especially if swearing and name-calling are involved. "What stopped you from doing it now, chickenshit? If you were going to do it, you missed your opportunity, son." By that time I had made it to the bag and the first baseman stepped in to get me to shut up (I did) and to calm his pitcher down (he didn't). I'm pretty sure that getting thrown at in slo-pitch softball is a first, although I could be wrong.

I said I would get to the pitcher wanting the game called, so here we go:

The weather was growing increasingly ominous as the first game ended and the second game started. As we were warming up for Game 2, he was calling for the game to be stopped because someone saw lightning 50 miles away. The ump said that we would play until the flashes were directly overhead, so not to worry about it. He then walked Kelvie, threw a fit and wanted for the game to be done, then beaned me and we had our little exchange. Finally, after Boeser smashed the first pitch to him right back up the middle after I got hit (thanks Dan), he tossed his glove over the fence and walked off the field. Which was exceptionally funny because that left them nine players instead of the standard ten. The third baseman came in to pitch, and the forlorned pitcher moved to third. Where he kept yelling at the ump to call the game because he had a $400 cell phone in his bag that, if ruined, was going to be paid for by the umpire. I can't tell you how funny this was--you really had to be there to hear and see it.

It ended up being a ton of fun that night--I played all spots in the outfield, turning in two diving catches and two misplayed balls, so they even each other out. I also pitched 4 innings, well enough to the point that I may pitch again this Thursday. I'm kicking around the idea of a running diary for this weeks game. I'm not sure, but updates will follow. Go Mullets!

This might be the funniest video ever made. Good old craigslist--always teaching you something new!

Oh Snap!

Who did the "serving", and when was it determined to be "on"?

12 days

Pete told me the other day that he was bummed because I haven't updated my blog in a while, save for a useless (my word, not his) rant on US soccer and the worst acting job turned in this side of an Italy game or the cast of "Date Movie". After thinking about it, I decided he was right. So here's the update:

Item: I finally got an ipod. And I didn't just "get an ipod", I got a fucking IPOD. This is the 60GB Video Ipod that holds in the neighborhood of 15,000 songs. What did it cost me? Movies. I turned over the better part of my movie collection to a guy just outside of North Branch for the ipod and an FM transmitter to play my shitty music in my car. Hell of a deal!

*Me getting this ipod reminds me of a funny cartoon I saw in the City Pages a couple of weeks ago, where there were two sheep standing in a pasture. One is listening to an ipod, and the other asks him "what he's got there." The technically savvy sheep replies that he is listening to an ipod, which shows his individuality and how he doesn't follow the norm as he sets his own rules by listening to what he wants. I forget how the rest of the cartoon plays out, but it's hilarious because, obviously, they're sheep, they follow the pack, blah blah blah. And that's totally me--I'm soooo rad because I can listen to the Dead Kennedys and Skindred (name-dropping!) whenever I want, making me a total individual. But wait--everyone (almost) has one, thereby negating my "cool". They're the new WalkMan!!! Go pick one up!*

The best part is, no matter how lame it is (and really, it's pretty lame), I'm obsessed with this thing. I've spent two days carefully constructing my iTunes Library, leaving out some things and specifically adding others so that my mix is fine-tuned to perfection (read: I'm a royal dork with not a lot to do). They are fun, though.

Item: It is now 12 days later and I'm only now returning to finish this post. Am I really this busy? Absolutely not. As a matter of fact, the only thing I've done today, for exapmle, is drive to Minneapolis to grab a window AC Unit, pick up pizza on the way home for lunch, and make 6 calls to various golf courses/campgrounds in hopes of getting my brother's impending bachelor party finalized. A flu-like virus has made its home in our house, affecting all four girls. Molly, due to her infant/toddler stature, has been the toughest to deal with, mostly because she can't tell us what hurts but also because she's learned the fine art of the Tantrum. Hers are a work of art, really. If I had a caple camcorder I'd YouTube it in a heartbeat. But I don't, so use your imagination.

So with nothing else to say other than comment on the disease-stricken ward that is my living room, I figure its time for softball stories! Which I'll tell in the next post--I just want to publish this one and start anew. Besides, the screaming baby has awoken.