Women's tennis has always mesmerized me (this goes back long before Anna Kournikova appeared on the scene). It is a combination of the short skirts, the athleticism, the undulating buttocks and the orgasmic cries of ladies as they whack at the ball with all their might that does it for me. Today at lunch, while Jake and I dined on brisket sandwiches from Brothers Barbecue, my obsession with women's tennis reared its ugly head. Jake was trying to make conversation with me but my attentions were transfixed on the television behind him that was broadcasting a French Open match between Vera Zvonareva and Maria Sharapova. It was an epic struggle and, just in case you care, the 18th seeded Maria Sharapova upset the 10th seeded Vera Zvonareva.

Labels: chicks, jake, pop culture, sports

A joke that a pack of designers did not get at the HOW Conference:

Designer #1: I remember you telling me that you and your girlfriend are runners. Are you running any upcoming races?
Me: We are running the Bolder Boulder on Memorial Day.
Designer #2: Oh, I think I have heard of that.
Designer #3: How cool!
Me: It is a fun race. At the end you get to run around Folsom Field.
Designer #2: That's where CU plays their home football games, right?
Me: Yes. They added a feature this year where a group of college football recruits will be sexually assaulting a drunk and incapacitated 18 year-old girl on the fifty yard line.
Designer #1: Oh ... 10 seconds of silence ... So, did everyone enjoy the keynote speaker this morning?

Labels: boulder, career, colorado, how design, pop culture, sports

I just played a game of catch with a large hotel security guard with a Nerf football I won at the Boise Paper booth. He said the football's colors reminded him of the of the local arena football team the San Diego Riptide. Being as the football is green and orange and the Riptide colors are blue and gray, I think he was probably stoned or, like me, had too many drinks at the hotel lounge on the 40th floor last night.

Labels: hangover, how design, sports, tomfoolery

My lady and I had a fantastic weekend in San Diego wrapping up the first part of my west coast tour.

Friday. We wipe the crust from our eyes and head for the airport at four o'clock in the morning. We suck down coffees at a frozen yogurt stand (the only eatery opened in Concourse C). On the plane I spill the coffee all over myself and the seat. I fall asleep remaining in dreamless slumber until we land. My lady uses this time to read her book and reevaluate her decision in dating me. We check into our hotel the Manchester Grand Hyatt and simultaneously agree that the view from the room overlooking San Diego Bay is the tits. After filling our bellies with fish tacos, we embark on a walking excursion of the Gaslamp District and Seaport Village. We take a nap in the park then decide to soak in the hotel hot tub. We get cleaned up, eat a cheap dinner of Mexican food and watch the Cubs beat the Padres at Petco Park.

Saturday. We wake up early, eat breakfast sandwiches and gain entry to the San Diego Zoo. Forgoing the offer to take the bus tour (which I later referred to as "The Fatty Tour") we see everything the zoo has to offer in five hours. We wander through Balboa Park and hail a cab to take us back to the hotel where we soak in the hot tub. For dinner, we gorge ourselves on heaping portions of seafood and meander up and down the boardwalk as the cool ocean breeze rolls in off of the bay.

Sunday. We take the ferry to Coronado Island where we lay down on the first beach we see. We sleep, read and turn over. Four hours later, the ferry carts our sunburned asses back to the hotel like the N 2 Deep song. My lady leaves for home as I weep like a little girl with a skinned knee.

Labels: travels, wife

For the next two weeks I will be going on tour like a trashy hair metal band in 1988. Early tomorrow morning, my lady and I are off to San Diego where we will walk on the beach, eat fresh sea bass, patronize the new Padres stadium, visit the San Diego Zoo, watch a live donkey show in Tijuana and drink our body weight in margaritas. Sunday night, my lady flies back to Denver and I will stay in the OC for the 2004 How Design Conference. The HOW Design Conference lasts three days and I will be attending sessions, chilling with my old boss Michael and last year's partner in crime Scott from Minnesota (who won a free pass to the event and will be crashing in my room, assuring me he will not go all Fear and Loathing up in that bitch) and kicking it California gangsta style by the pool with chocolate honeys and bottles of Courvoisier.

After the HOW Design Conference wraps up, I will be catching an afternoon flight to Las Vegas where my good friends Kaye and Aaron will be getting married. I will be staying in Sin City for one night, winning big at various gaming tables and drinking free watered-down whiskey as I insult professional card dealers for giving me trash.

I arrive back in Denver Thursday evening, only to catch a plane to Boise, Idaho the following morning. In a state that is synonymous with potatoes and the white power movement, I will be attending my lady's grandfather's 95th birthday celebration.

On Sunday, May 23, I finally make my way home to Denver exhausted and battered from almost two weeks of traveling where I plan on crawling into my king size bed and sleeping until Armageddon.

Labels: boise, chili dog, denver, how design, kaye, travels, vegas, wife

Why do cannibals always seem to go for the penis? If I ate humans, I would forgo dining on genitals for two reasons:

1. They are full of tissue, veins, urine and semen.
2. No matter how it is sliced or prepared, it is still a cock. I would probably cut a slab off the hindquarters where I imagine the beef would be thick and tender.

Labels: crazy, tomfoolery

When participating in sports at any level, men need to understand hazing is part of the gig and they have to be ready for it; even if it entails a cock to the skull. I still will not fall asleep on buses due to the fact a sick bastard on my high school football team would wake sleepers up with a used, sweaty cup pressed firmly to their nose/mouth region. I still keep my head on a swivel whenever I take a public shower because another dirtbag on my high school football team would sneak up behind people when they were soaping up and piss on them.

Labels: glory days, sports

The Avs lost their playoff series last night. The Broncos season does not start until September. The Nuggets got knocked out of the playoffs over the weekend. All this town has to watch now is the red-headed stepchild of Colorado professional athletic franchises: the Rockies. Sports fans will receive another summer of Larry Walker injuries, the formula* for winning baseball in Colorado explained in detail at least fifty times by baseball analysts, the Rockies winning 80% of their home games and losing 90% of their road games and colorful stories in the press about baseballs being stored in a humidor because sportswriters have nothing else interesting to write about this sack of shit team.

* Load your team with steroid freaks that can hit the ball to kingdom come and pitchers that do not care if their ERA is above six.

Labels: denver, hockey, sports

When I was in third grade, I wanted to be Tron. I wanted the neon suit, the electric throwing disc, the light cycle and the heroic feeling of killing Sark and shutting down the MCP. My dream nearly manifested itself at the local skating rink in 1984 when the Tron arcade game appeared one glorious afternoon. I fed quarters into that game like an elderly, chain smoking Asian woman in front of a progressive slot machine. Soon the initials S-E-X peppered the high score list and I became master of the multi-leveled tapestry that was arcade Tron. My Tron obsession ended in 1986 when I discovered girls and thereby avoided being a full-blown adult Tron geek and posting images of myself on the internet in a green unitard with a beer gut and prominent pressed ham.

Labels: geekery, movies, pop culture