Coach's daughter kind of has a point.

Sheesh.

Why don't Joey and Pacey just do it already?

Thoughts from the bar...

In no particular order, really:

1. We love Mike Timlin's Puma cleats.

2. We hate Johnny Damon's.

3. Our favorite nights are when no one speaks and/or touches us, and we're OK with this.

4. We kind of wish Real World France girl next to us talked to us, but she had a friend and they didn't really seem into doing anything other than showing the bartender their cells and how cool they are.

5. We *really* can't stand the guys who don't know what effing beer they want. "I'll take a Bass. Oh. You don't have Bass? Oh. OK. Um. I'll take a Honey Brown in a bottle. Oh. You don't have that? Smithwick's is like Bass? Huh. Well. I'll take a Blue Moon, then. Oh. Wait. Wait. No. Make that a Yuengling." Oh how we hate thee, beer-waverer guy.

6. Marlon Anderson's play tonight to end the Phillies-Mets game (AP Photo, above) was on par with A-Rod *slapping* at the ball a couple years ago and your hero yelling "WOOOO!" during a softball game earlier this summer. Bush. Effing. League.

7. Why, oh pretty girl, are you not smiling back when we smile at you?

8. The acoustic duo tonight played, in order, Babylon, Save Tonight and The Letter. We kind of wanted to deck the lead singer, take his geetar, and take over the set, but that's kind of frowned upon in artistic circles.

9. Finally, this guy. Oh, this guy. Oh this guy with his telling his stories, loudly, to his friends. We'll end with this guy. We translated what he's really saying in parentheses because it's fun.

Loud Dude: Dude. Dude. Listen. It's like this, dude. Listen. There's this girl at my beach house (I fantasize about her constantly and haven't f*cked her and she turned me down once. Bitch). This girl, dude. She's like (Ugh. We can hear our sixth-grade Latin teacher rolling over in his grave; Dude. Loud Dude: She *is*) my best friend's ex-girlfriend (I so used to watch her wander around the beach house in his dress shirts and tiny pink panties) but now he's married (I'm jealous; the wife is hotter than the ex) and she's not with him anymore. But it's weird, dude (It's only weird because I totally want to f*ck her but I can't because she turned me down once. Bitch). She's like (Ugh) there and I'm there and I think there's a vibe (Why did she turn me down? I have nice teeth) and, dude, I don't know. There's a vibe and it's weird and I don't know, dude.

10. (Yeah. We don't like this guy).

Ahhhh. So good to be home.

From the Press of Atlantic City: An Atlantic County grand jury indicted five men Tuesday on charges that they arranged and filmed a sexual encounter involving Atlantic City Councilman Gene Robinson last November, attempting to coerce him into resigning. The indictment charged brothers Craig, David and Ronald Callaway, the last better known as Jihad Q. Abdullah, as well as City Councilman John Schultz and suspended city employee Floyd Tally.

Meanwhile, the Phillies, fresh off losing two out of three, and major ground in the wild card race, to the Padres, have won their last three games, including two against the Mets. The Mets now lead the East by four, and the Phillies, despite having perhaps the worst in-game situation manager of all-time who is somehow now a manager of the year candidate, and despite having a roster *depleted* by injuries and pitching that, in a word, sucks, well the Phillies are kind of in it.

Our marketing suggestion is "Phillies: Refuse to believe in them and don't dare jump on the bandwagon and let them surprise you but act like you don't care because you're too busy doing the sh*t that you want to do and they've f*cked you the last two years with the early-season losing and the strong pushes at the end and then the missing the playoffs by one game."

But boy do we love us some Chase Utley and Ryan Howard.

And oh Joey with the jealousy

Christ, Joey, let it go. So what if college boy has a hot friend from high school who is clearly better than you? Let it go, kid. Wait, though. We know we just said to let it go, but letting college boy kiss you on the hand makes you melt and actually let it go? Ew. Slut.

Guess what we're doing later?

So far, the best vacation ever has been just that, but now it's time to detox from the Guinness and the walking and the geetar and the running and the harboring and what not to sit in front of the TV and watch the entire first season of Friday Night Lights. This makes us happy. So happy.

Oh Joey with the fairytales

So Pacey drives Joey to see smart college boy and Pacey is all GRRRR GRUMPY GRRRR CYNICAL and Joey is all, "Fairy tales can come true, Pacey, because I'm hanging out with an older man who will treat me right and nevermind everyone knows he's got the gay and the scientology craziness and a kid that looks weirdly like us and is actually kind of adorable but sometimes throws tantrums when I take pens away from her while shopping in Paris and, wait, oops, I mean, nevermind it probably won't work out because this Prince Charming in this episode of the Dawson's Creek is in college and totally playing the 'I'm wicked smart and hey take off your panties while I conjugate verbs' card and oh Pacey you'll be there for me in the end like you always are" and Pacey is all GRRR ENJOY YOUR WEEKEND YOU UNGRATEFUL BITCH GRRRR but doesn't say that, no, instead he's all, "Bye Joey pick you up Sunday when your heart is broken" and meanwhile Dawson is so going through a momma's boy phase and Jack just used the word "exacerbate" and now Pacey is randomly hanging out with the "DID YOU KNOW THE HUMAN HEAD WEIGHS EIGHT POUNDS" kid from the Jerry Maguire and no, kid, Pacey's name is not "Pissy" and Christ, what's with all the Tom Cruise tie-ins but wait, HUMAN HEAD kid is kind of funny saying, "Whatever, Pissy" over and over again.

Hey! We'll be home later!

Wait. They have the internets in hotel rooms?

Quick thought as we watch the Red Sox - White Sox replay on the NESN.

Rescue Me sucks.

And now back to wandering around Boston slightly intoxicated from the Irish Black and Tans and coming home to the hotel and wondering where all the people went from last night and randomly putting on FX as we "research" on the "Web" and are startled by Tommy Gavin's glasses and what really is happening this season, anyway?

Gone fishin' but not literally. It's more in the figurative sense of the verb.

We wonder how they feel about the TD Banknorth Center, which is kind of the same thing.

Be back Tuesday kids!

According to Men's Health, well, wow.

Page 88 of the September 2007 issue: Situation? "You want to move your make-out session to the bedroom." Don't say: "I really want to make love to you." Try: "Can you imagine how great it'd be if we made love?"

Um. We prefer: "So we gonna hit skins or what?" over pretty much all of the above.

We took some liberties and made some edits

The fantastic irony here is we used to think Aaron Lewis of Staind (yes, Staind) was a freaking genius because of the the line, "It's always raining in my head." But these days, we're not as cloudy. We stay positive and somewhat focused, we don't doubt ourselves as much, we're kind of just livin', you know? But then oh with the rain this week and waking up thinking about the senseless Brady Bunch.

So if Moms Nature switched it up properlike because it's now sunny in our head and she needed to balance up on the world, well, our bad. Granted, we still think it's the Global Warming obvi*, but whatevs*, LOL*.

*Oh our God. We've officially become a 20-year-old blogger.

I think i'll go for a walk outside now
the summer sun's callin my name
(I hear ya now)
I just can't stay inside all day
I gotta get out get me some of those rays
everybody's smilin
CLOUDY day
everybody's laughin
CLOUDY day
everybody seems so happy today
it's a CLOUDY RAINY WHAT THE EFF AGAIN WITH THE GREY day

I think I'll go for a walk out side now
the summer SUN? WHERE? HAVEN'T EFFING HEARD FROM IT IN DAYS knows me by name
he's callin me BUT I'M LYING BEING NO SUN EVER THIS WEEK
I gotta get out, gotta get out, gotta get away
I gotta get away, get away, get away, get away
Into the JESUS RAIN AGAIN day....

Cant you dig the CLOUDshine
Love and MIKE AND CAROL, WHAT'S A SUN? are the same
Cant you hear him callin your name?

Oh, I think I'll take a walk everyday now
the summer RAIN UNEFFINGBELIEVABLE THIS WEATHER has show the way to be happy now
I just cant stay inside all day
I gotta get out get me some of those rays
everybody's smilin
CLOUDY day
everybody's laughin
F*CK AGAIN, RAIN day
everybody seems so happy today
it's a CLOUDS CLOUDS CLOUDS RAIN RAIN RAIN day

Cant you dig the RAINshine
Love and THIS IS RIDICULOUS are the same
Cant you hear him callin your name?

I think I'll go for a walk outside now
the summer AW EFF WE GIVE UP's callin my name
I just cant stay inside all day
I gotta get out get me some of those rays
everybody's smilin
BACK TO BED day
everybody's laughin
CHRIST IT IS AUGUST, RIGHT? day
everybody seems so happy today
it's a F*CK WE DON'T EVEN OWN AN UMBRELLA OR SLICKER day

everybody's smilin
DAMNIT day
everybody's laughin
AT LEAST WE HAVE COFFEE day
everybody seems so happy today

By Labor Day?

Jenna, um, wow. Please, please eat something. And while you're all about the bidness of removing, um, stuff, how 'bout taking a look at those lips? You're really, really starting to scare us.

Well if he says it's OK, it's OK

From Todd Zolecki of the Philly Inquirer:

Cole Hamels said he never was worried about the results of yesterday's MRI exam of his injured left elbow.

"Every time I've listened to my gut, it's worked," the Phillies' ace said yesterday at Citizens Bank Park. "And so I knew it wasn't anything serious. I knew it wasn't anything that had to do with the ulnar collateral ligament, the Tommy John ligament. I just knew there wasn't something right. It was having a little minor muscle strain. That's nothing too big."

It's serious enough that the Phillies placed Hamels on the 15-day disabled list. But they also said the lefthander's elbow has no structural damage - which means the ligament is intact - and are calling the injury a "very minor" elbow strain.

Hamels is eligible to be activated from the disabled list Sept. 1, and he said he was very confident he would miss no more than his next two starts.

"This was very good news, considering," assistant general manager Ruben Amaro Jr. said.

Lefthander Fabio Castro will take Hamels' place in the rotation this afternoon in the series finale against the Los Angeles Dodgers. Castro was 1-4 with a 4.23 ERA in six starts for triple-A Ottawa.

All you need to know about the Phillies and injuries, though, is this little gem from when Chase Utley broke his hand. It was a commenter on Beerleaguer.com who put it best: "Chase could have his arm amputated tonight and the Phillies would say he's day-to-day."

So not so much with the upfront, but here's hoping Hamels is back for the "stretch run," which included a 15-3 drubbing by the Dodgers last night. Awesome.

And no, it wasn't the whole issue-laden, tiny spunky white girl in chains thing, either.

So we ordered the Black Snake Moans on the On Demand last night and whoa Nelly what a capitivating flick. Ricci and Jackson (like how we use the last names like we know them?) nail tormented souls. Ricci, in particular, catapulted her way up the celebrity women we want to be, um, friends with because of her performance. And, again, headline. It was more with the confronting the issues and working on them while an intimidating black man fixes you steak and sings the blues and less with the wanting to make love* to every single person in town with penis except the poor fat preacher.

*We just love the term make love. It just rolls off the tongue, right?

So do the stars know where we work?

If they do, we're stumped.

PISCES: Today you'll be able to clean off your plate and help an underappreciated coworker at the same time! You've got a lot of things going on, but they don't -- and they're bored. Ask them to help you get your work done, and you'll be helping them more than they'll be helping you. What they do will get them noticed in a way that will finally raise their profile -- they'll be very grateful to you for putting everything in motion. Every minute of your time will be booked today.

Why is it never "You'll have a busy day of checking pro wrestling news sites and trying to write the perfect love song and you'll eat lunch at noon for exactly eight minutes like you always do and you'll take two legit bathroom breaks and many, many other ones depending on how often you fill your water bottle and you might punch the air at least once because your boss is out of the office, again, and you'll definitely email your best friends at least 39 times and you'll probably shake your head, defeated, when someone in another cube says something like, "He don't need that no more"?

Your Philly Sports Update

HELLO SPORTS FANS! THIS IS OLD MAN SNAP WITH YOUR WEDNESDAY MORNING, ONCE-EVERY-876 POSTS PHILLLLLLLLLLLY SPORTS UPDATE!!! BUCKLE UP, BOOOOOOBIRDS! IT'S TIME FOR THE PHILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLY SPORTS UPDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE!

1. Cole Hamels, stud pitcher for the Phillies, is out with strained elbow it quite possibly the most important part of the Phillies season. So Chase Utley is due back in a week to save the world, and Cole Hamels goes down. Awesome. Sure, the Phils beat the Dodgers last night, but they have two more with LA before San Diego and then the Mets come into town. And no, we won't call the Mets the "Mutts," like many fans do. It's a ridiculous nickname and you may not like their 18 alternate uniforms, but you have to respect their manager and like four of their players.

2. The Eagles released Jeremiah Trotter yesterday. If he signs with the Giants and new defensive coordinator Steve Spagnola, ugh. But for now, respect the man: "Obviously, I want to be here," he told the media yesterday. "But (Coach Andy Reid is) making a decision that he feels is best for the team. That's what this league is about. The turnover ratio is big every year. They're always bringing in someone to try to better the team. Who knows what the future holds, but, like I said, now is my time. I understand why he did it - I know he didn't want to do it - and that means a lot to me."

3. Did we mention Cole Hamels is out for three weeks and the Eagles just cut the heart and soul and vocal and emotional leader of their D?

4. Sixers, still about four years away from sh*t.

5. Flyers. Um. Flyers. Oh. They lost in the Stanley Cup Finals in 1997 and we kind of haven't really been on board with them since the Devils destroyed Eric Lindros in the playoffs like six years ago.

6. Cole Hamels.

THAT'S ALL THE TIME WE HAVE NOW FOR YOUR PHILLLLLLLLLLY SPOOOOOOOOORTS UPDAAAAAAATE! WE NOW RETURN TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED POSTS ABOUT DUMB 80's MOVIES AND AWFUL COMMUTES AND SOMETIMES RANDOM HAIKUS!

Looking back, cheesy movie

But *fantastic* soundtrack. Yes, we mean the City of Angels. We read a survey the other day and one of the questions was, "What song makes you cry?" We couldn't think of an answer. And then we put on the City of Angels soundtrack tonight while we did actual work on the internets and, well, tears.

"I Grieve," by Peter Gabriel. Gets us everytime.

But that's not why the soundtrack is so good. From Jimi to John Lee to, sh*t, even Paula Cole, the music's got some soul to it. And don't tell us you don't want to sway your hips all sexylike when you hear that Paula Cole song.



And yeah, old school Britney, which has nothing to do with either the movie or Paula Cole, helps.

Shame on you.

Dirty. Dirty dirty dirty DIRTY. Just because it's Hayden's birthday doesn't mean you can ogle her like a piece of meat. She is an actress and a young role model. Leave her alone. Dirty. Evil dirty evil dirty dirty. Tsk, tsk, you.

We didn't even buy popcorn *or* a soda

So here's the thing about the Bourne Supremacy: it's a kick-ass, high-fueled, add-your-movie-review cliche, but we must mention Joan Allen, and the strange, yet nice, sensation she gave us every time she set foot on the screen. That either makes her really, really hot, or us really, really older and somewhat into cougars.

Oh dear.

We don't know, either

But the answer: Always. This show always makes us happy.

Before you start to worry

So we downloaded "Get Into the Groove" tonight. It marks the first and only time the Madonna appears on our iTunes. Truth be told, it reminds us of when we were 9 years old, and getting to see Desparately Seeking Susan qualified as desparately sneaking porn.

So there's that.

Maybe the ol' man's ol' man has a point

"He doesn't like the F word," our moms said yesterday. "He feels it brings the conversation down. He doesn't even like 'freaking.'"

Well, we do use ast*risks all the damn time. But maybe we should clean it up a bit.

What is this, 1992?

PISCES: The inspiration and energy you've been waiting for will hit you square in the face, first thing in the morning. Hop on this righteous wave of productivity and ride it for all it's worth! It probably won't last all day long. Other people will get a kick out of your new and improved attitude, and you could gain some support from former foes. Intellectual ideas aren't going to appeal to you much today. It's all about action and adventure. Move with big gestures, and laugh the loudest!

And why with the exclamation points?

Wow. We actually got the lyrics right. We kept thinking it really was "Alien." And we were right, but what do aliens have to do with love?

In other words, we rediscovered the Hagar-led Van Halen tonight and can't with to run to "Poundcake" tomorrow like we did back in our first, "Wow, we don't have to be a fat kid anymore" phase back in '91.

Contact is all it takes
To change your life to lose your place in time
Contact! Asleep or awake
Coming around you may wake up to find
Questions deep within your eyes,
Things you've never realized

Chorus:
So when you sense a change
Nothing feels the same
All your dreams are strange, love comes walkin' in
Some kind of alien
Wait for the opening
Then simply pulls a string

Another world, some other time
You lay your sanity on the line
Familiar faces familiar sights
Reach back remember with all your might
Ohh there she stands in a silken gown
Silver lights shining down

Chorus
Love comes walkin' in

Solo

Sleep and dream is all I crave
I travel far across the Milky Way
To my master I become a slave
Til we meet again some other day
Where silence speaks as loud as war
And the earth returns to what it was before
Chorus
Love comes walkin' in

OMG! *Saturday morning* 90210!

So Andrea is all BRANDON I HAVE TO SCORE WELL ON THE SATs OR I AM ROYALLY F*CKED AND I HAVE TO GO TO PRINCETON and Brando is all, "Chill, Andrea, it's all good and besides it's only a matter of time before you get knocked up by Jesse the bartender and *then* you'll be royally f*cked because surely your grandmother will not approve of *that* relationship" and Steve is all take the Alfred B. Mitchell SAT course, Brando, because if it's not Alfred B., then you be screwed and oh with the repeating this awful catchphrase in every other scene and Brenda is all, Kelly, read this breast check chart in Cosmo and let's examine ourselves, fully-clothed and with our jeans belted high above our navel and I hope my bangs don't get offended that I'm touching another part of my body and Donna is all, "Huh, it's only a matter of time before Daddy buys me implants" and Kelly is all, "Bren, maybe you should have Dylan do that because Lord knows he'll be doing it to me the summer before senior year because I am hotter than you" and Brandon is always with the work at the Peach Pit and Steve is all, "Brando, say hi to Nat for me" and David is all when do I get to ditch the dork best friend so I can accelerate my learning and take Donna's virginity in like 18 years.

Welcome back, 5

We hope Mr. McNabb can stay healthy, and, dare we say, we have a slightly hopeful vibe going for this team, this year. Still, not so much with the drinking Jack during playoff games in, say, New Orleans, or with the *huge* smile when the Eagles beat the Giants at the Meadowlands each year, especially when in bars filled with senseless Strahan jerseys.

We wonder how good the rest of the NFC East will be, but with a healthy quarterback and a legit D, the Eagles still have some championship in them. We hope.

Is we ready for some football? Yes, we is.

And now back to what we think the runner blonde next door with the short shorts and the black sports bra is thinking...

"Man. There he is. He's so HAWT, this suit guy who pulls in with Boston blaring, gets out of his car, goes upstairs, changes into khaki shorts and his v-neck T-shirt and grabs a beer out of the fridge. I'll keep stretching my quads and hopefully he'll grab his geet-- YES! YES! He grabbed his geetar and is practicing Save Tonight on it! OMG I might totally faint from his hotness. I'm going to stand here and stretch all night as long as he serenades me with his musical goodness. YES! OMG. ORIGINAL SONGS THAT I DON'T KNOW BUT THEY SOUND DREAMY!"

Vs. (of course) What she probably is thinking...

"Suit guy is home. Yawn. Wonder if he'll be all 'Look at me! I'm tuning my geetar!' Yup. There he goes with the senseless geetar. I better get inside and shower so my boyfriend can come over and make sweet love to me."

And then we saw her ring.

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Huh.

Sure, it's a fortune cookie. But why *this* particular fortune, today?

No one is standing in your way anymore. It is time to move forward.

This made us almost as mad as the check-out guy who *insists* on twirling our keys every time we hand them to him to use our discount card

Granted, the check-out guy did manage to put the chicken in the bag without spilling it out of the container like last time, and he did remember to keep the Comet and the Draino separate from everything else, but still, the twirling of the keys has to stop.

Please.

No more with the twirling of the keys. We'd had a long day, couldn't wait to get out of our suit, and we maybe had to pee. And there he is, twirling. And then smirking when we gave him the death glare.

Oh. That's Jenna Jameson above and to the left. We feel like maybe we should mail her the chicken. Girl, you unhealthylike.

Oh. And the Comet and the Draino? Wow. So *that's* what the bottom of the shower is asposed to look like.

A word about K-Dawg

So Kaci figured out there's more than one small laundry room at the folks' house, and although still with the licking and the purring, boy does she ever like to pounce on the feather stick thing.

And jump and spin and pounce and gnarl and purr and jump again and spin again and pounce and spin and jump, etc. And then with the looking, like, "COME ONNNN" when you stop flipping the feather stick thing and then "HEY! LOOK! A strand of string on the couch blanket!"

And then with the batting and the gnawing and jumping and "OH! LOOK! The feather stick thing is back!" and then back to the jump and spin and pounce and gnarl and purr.

Holy sh*t. Bush is still president.

From the AP:

WASHINGTON - Karl Rove, President Bush's close friend and chief political strategist, plans to leave the White House at the end of August, joining a lengthening line of senior officials heading for the exits in the final 1 1/2 years of the administration.

A longtime member of Bush's inner circle, Rove was nicknamed "the architect" by the president for designing the strategy that twice won him the White House.

Bush was expected to make a statement Monday with Rove.

Hey Karl, any chance you can get ol' "Mission Accomplished" to go with you? Seriously. Not to get all political, again, up in here, but what the eff has ol' "Oh the war must go on" been doing since his re-election, besides effing more sh*t up?

Christ.

And she said baby...

OK, not so much with the 3 a.m., but we did wake up once at 4 a.m. and then again at 5. No dreams, really, just wide the eff awake.

Good times.

Kind of where it all started

Speaking of not proud, we somewhat remember watching this back in the day and singing along. But it all paid off.

So we're playing the geetar on the ol' porch tonight, just strumming Hey Joe and totally soaking in what is a very pleasant evening.

A nice old lady limps by with her cane.

"I can hear you playing guitar," she says, stopping just beneath the porch.

"Oh," we say, not surprised because well, we were playing the guitar. "Is it too loud?"

"No," she says. "It sounds nice. Are you in a band?"

"Yeah," we say. "With (our) friend Dave. We play acoustic."

"Oh," she says. "That's nice."

And then she walked away without asking for our autograph. Not that we would have given it out or anything. In a heartbeat or, you know, not. We're just glad she didn't ask if we were ever on the Kids, Incorporated.

Fire Steve Smith

So the Phillies are down two in the first inning tonight against the Braves, and they load the bases with one out. Aaron Rowand strikes out. Next batter Jayson Werth smokes a one-hopper to the right fielder. Now, with a 3-2 count and the bases loaded and two out, all runners are moving before contact.

Jimmy Rollins is on third and scores easily. Pat Burrell, whom announcer Joe Morgan said, inexplicably, "can run" is sent by stupid idiot awful worst third base coach EVER Steve Smith. Burrell is freaking toast and the Braves end the inning, up one.

Steve Smith sucks. Joe Morgan is an eeeeeeeeediot for saying Burrell -- who doesn't run like a statue, he is a statue -- has wheels. And Old Man Snap is pissed he's watching the Phillies on a Sunday night when he swears he will *not* get his hopes up about this team this year.

There. We're never one to shy away from making an actual point in these here parts.

We admit we have a small problem.

From memory and in no particular order*: Jessica Sweet. Harmony. Isabella Soprano. Eve Lawrence. Penny Flame. Brooke. Calli Cox. Gwen Diamond. Sindee Jennings. Avy Lee Roth. Teagan Pressley. Karina Kay. Kate Frost. Katie Morgan. Carly Parker. Venus. Riley Mason. Lauren Phoenix. Sophie Dee. Emily Evermoore. Bree Olsen. Tory Lane.

* Even though we have like four other hobbies, we're still so not proud.

Dear Sarah Miller

We're on to you, Sarah Miller.

We read your September 2007 Men's Health article on "Animal Magnetism" and "Being Cool."

"You want to impart to everyone -- especially any woman who might be sizing you up as a potential hook-up -- that hey, being you is pretty good, maybe even fun," you wrote. "It's a simple concept that's hard to fake."

You continued: "Thank God, then, that there are no rules pertaining to what women find cool. There are cool loud guys and cool quiet guys. Cool guys listen to jazz and electronica and rock and country, as do uncool guys. (No one who listens to jam bands is cool)."

Hold up.

First of all, Sarah Miller, we question your credentials. Most of your "article" sounds like you're trying to browbeat your reader into being the perfect man for you. To wit: "Cool guys refuse to engage in activities that make them look silly..."

Eff that. The "sillier" the activity, the cooler one is. We're all about the playing of the I Never during happy hour. And so what if we like to crush the meatballs thrown by our 8-year-old God son when it's our turn to bat in whiffle ball, and we throw untouchable curves when he bats?

Does this make us uncool? No. And wait. We forgot. Oh yeah.

Jam bands.

We submit that those of us who still listen to the jam bands are the epitome of cool. Cool is letting go of every care and worry so one can bounce up and down to an 18-minute fiddle solo. No worries about what one looks like. No trepidation. Just bouncing and arm waving and a li'l "WOOOOOOOO!" every once in awhile.

Nothing is more cool than that.

So, Sarah Miller. We leave you with this: We are cool because we march to our own drummer -- and that drummer follows the 18-minute fiddle solo with a 27-minute solo of his or her own. So think on that, Sarah Miller. Think on that.

And don't even get us started about the li'l chart on page 160 that says women are more likely to tap our ass if we wear cargo shorts and a clean white T-shirt than if we wear denim shorts and a flannel shirt.

OK. Not so much with the denim shorts. Ever. Never, ever. But flannel shirts? Nothing wrong firing one on with our old combat boots and ripped jeans like we did last Wednesday while cranking the Citizen Dick, right?

Wait. What?

It must be '80s week

OK. It's not the scene and it is the actual video. But admit it: you totally get chills every time Ren saves Willard from that evil bastard Chuck.

Why with The Footloose? Because it's on the VH1 Classic tonight. Why are we watching? Because we can kick sweet dance moves when need be and we secretly wanted to be as cool as Ren McCormick back in the day.

And now on a very special Tootie the Tattler...

That's right, Mrs. G. We could ring their necks, too. Selling that garbage to kids. No need to give Natalie a case of the munchies. What. Wait. What did we say? Oh. Our bad.

(Thanks, MK).

And now we feel bad

From the Courier-News: One person was declared dead at the scene of an accident on northbound Interstate 287 in Bedminster shortly after 7:30 p.m., state police said.

The driver who died was not identified by police. At press time Tuesday, many details were not known about the accident at mile marker 20, south of the ramp for eastbound Interstate 78, where Interstate 287 splits.

So sorry to those of you we expletive-texted from about 9:45 to 10:45 last night, as essentially seven lanes of northbound traffic merged into two. We were 15 minutes from home, still bloody from a headfirst slide, and very, very tired.

We were also very, very alive, so, um, maybe we should think on that for awhile.

It can't be a metaphor

So in our dream last night, the overhead, old-school microphone kept going, um, limp. It wouldn't stay in place, and although our voice was butter, the microphone kept moving away from us. The band had to stop midway through the first song, and it took forever to get the microphone to just be a microphone.

Then we rocked out to much applause, but still. We used to have nightmares about not getting on stage, and now when we have dreams complete with *needing* to be up there, well, the microphone goes all limp bizkit.

HEY! Remember the Limp Bizkit? You totally rocked out to "Nookie." Don't deny it.

And here's why always with the Conchords.

"Name the TV Theme Song" = Fantastic Times

We did forget one. An important one. The Nicole Eggert one. What fun colors and oh our goodness she got HAWT(er) on the Baywatch, but you knew that.

We know. Always with the Conchords.

It's just that, well, if you don't watch the show, this is the one you want to watch. And if you woke up *way* more earlier than usual, than we recommend watching it on the On Demand at 6:30 in the morning whilst eating Honey Nut Cheerios and a banana. Coffee somewhat optional but not really.

Baguette! Non, merci!

Sunday night 90210! Sunday night 90210!

So Brenda is all OMG my bangs are so dope and Brandon is all I didn't pour coffee into the mug I'm now drinking out of, which is weird because there should be coffee in it after I "acted" like I "poured" coffee into it and mom and dad are all, "Kids, we need a number for the parents you're staying with in Palm Springs" and Brenda is all God can my jeans be hiked up any higher past my navel and Brandon is like, "Dad, f*ck Nat, I want to go to Spring Break, too" and dad is all, "Brandon, you have to work for a living because you're Brandon f*cking Walsh and that's what you do" and David is like, "Steve! Steve! I have a house we can all stay at!" and Steve is all "Me and my mullet love you, David Silver, and how many episodes before your blonde friend with the goofy part kills himself with a gun?" and David is all whatevs, I'm so doing it with Donna this weekend and Donna, Kelly and Brenda are like "Whoa whoa whoa, why is that geek coming with us?" and Steve is all, "Chill, ladies, I got it covered" and the blonde friend with the goofy part is left sulking in the hallway, devestated he can't go to Wally World or some sh*t with his so BFF David.

And that was all in the first *two* minutes.

*

(AP Photo).

We'd feel a whole lot better about Barry Bonds hitting his 755th home run, thus tying true Home Run King Hank Aaron's all-time mark, if the arrogant SOB would simply be honest and acknowledge he is a cheater.

Instead, we get to see him stand at the plate and admire his now-steroidless home run fly into the opposite field seats, smirking.

Asshole.

And now back to things we've never done.

So earlier this year, the A-Rod got himself in some trouble by shouting, "I got it" or something like that as he ran in front of a Toronto Blue Jay infielder who was about to catch an easy pop-up.

The ball dropped and the Blue Jays were livid.

So yesterday, during game three of what turned out to be a five-game, all-day, placed-fourth-out-of 24-teams tournament, we ran to third and in front of the shortstop, who had just fielded a ground ball.

"Wooo!" we said, hoping he would try to tag us and thus, keep the inning of a tight game alive.

As soon as we did it, our heart sank. The shortstop ignored us, got the out at first and ran into the dugout.

Unlike the A-Rod, though, we immediately stopped both the shortstop and the third basemen.

"Sorry about that," we said. "That was ass and (we'll) never do it again. Christ. It's not like (we're) the A-Rod."

Let's not talk about two games later when we hit a two-out, bases loaded, what-would-have-been-a-double but for the ump f*cking us and calling it foul, and, therefore, a two-foul-ball, rally-killing strikeout. Bastard.

Nor shall we talk about when the ump threatened to eject us from the game for mouthing off about the bad call for three straight innings.

Oopsies.

And now back to perhaps things one shouldn't say when one is being set up on a blind date by one's teammate's girlfriend

She approached us, nicely and a bit reserved, and asked us if we were single.

"Depends," we said. "But, yeah. Why?"

She has a friend who's perfect for us, she said. She's our age, would think we were funny, deserves someone nice, etc. So can she get our phone number to pass it along?

"Sure, but, well, (we're) not really a relationship-type person," we said.

Oh, she said.

"Dating's fine though," we said. "But should we lie about the relationship thing?"

No, she said, I guess not.

HOLY CRAP

All we want to do is go get our laundry, fold it, return safely to the ol' apartment, and go to bed.

But oh our goodness with this vicious lightning that has us cornered. Christ. It's everywhere. We know not when we shall get our clothes, so long as this lethal lightning lingers.

No need to get all struck up by it, you know?

What would you do?

So about three months ago, a sweaty, beefy fella in a suit with his shirt untucked approached us in our parking lot and asked us for a ride to the train station. His car, a brand-newish Honda Accord, wouldn't start, and he was running late.

So ever-the-good-samaritan, Old Man Sucker gave the poor guy a lift. He said he'd give us his card and that we were his guardian angel. He said he'd see us around the neighborhood. We practically sped off, because frankly, clingy neighbors make us nervous.

This morning, we turned the ignition and promptly put on The Goonies theme song in order to start our morning commute as pleasantly as possible. And no, we don't whisper, "You're not Chunk, You're not Chunk" over and over again.

Sweaty beefy guy appeared out of nowhere with the same spiel as last time.

Car wouldn't start... need a ride to train station... sweating... suit pants and oversized polo... sweating... stammering a bit... coke problem? nah... drinking problem? Probably... do we help? Huh... still with the car not starting and the sweating at 7:30 in the morning...

"(We) took you to the train station before, remember?" we asked.

"You did?" he asked. HAH! We were now very skeptical of this same spiel.

"Sorry. (We're) going the opposite way," we said.

Now. We feel bad for the guy, but we also had the thought last time that he had either left his bomb-laden briefcase in our backseat or was setting us up for future muggings. We could so take him, but still. Does he have a gun? A knife? Is he a raving lunatic?

And, like three weeks ago, he left his car windows down completely overnight, and parked pretty much drunkenly in the lot. We don't trust this man.

But then we saw him huffing it to the train station a few minutes later -- this, after we back-tracked and cruised, happily and with air conditioning, to the local bagel joint, Cyndi Lauper a-blarin'.

Sorry, Sweatybeefyman. Maybe you aren't a serial killer. Our bad.

Li'l Booking, Big Oopsie

Matt Roloff, pictured above, patriarch of Roloff family on the Li'l People, Big World on the TLC, and busted for DUI this week: Amy, I told you this before. People make mistakes and how can our children learn from ours if we don't make mistakes? It's like when I was building the House of Hubcaps in the back yard in 1989 --

Amy, wife of Matt, loving mother of four: And you realized you didn't have any hubcaps to build the house with? JACOB. Put that down.

Matt: Yes. I realized we didn't have any hubcaps so I stopped building. This is what my DUI arrest is. I realized I need to stop building Houses of Hubcaps in my own life and that our children can learn from that. When I was born a little per--

Amy: Oh, Christ. Again with the little person birth thing. Matt. I was born one, too, and you don't see me harping on it perpetual-- JACOB. I said no peanut butter before dinner!

Matt: If he wants to have peanut butter, he should have peanut butter. If I want a beer, then damnit, I should have a beer. If you want to climb the shelves at the supermarket like I know you do because I've seen it a thousand times on the opening montage, then you should do that and learn from your mistakes. These are the decisions I feel our children should be able to make, learn from, and make the world a better, place.

Amy: I so wish I could smack you upside your head, but these cameras make it really, really hard to whup up on you, Clubber Lang-style.

Last night, we dreamt of San Pedro

The only real question, then, is why the f*ck is Old Man Snap, a man's man, a real man, a kiss-stealin', wheelin'-dealin', jet-flyin', limosine-ridin' WOOOOOO son of a gun Nature Boy Ric Flair-type man waking up with freaking LA ISLA BONITA in his manly head?

Jesus. We need to get a hold of ourselves.