thanks for the book, now my table is steady

Great great Memorial Day weekend. Some sun, some baby, a little sports, some walking around, some good food, some friends and family, some gadget-buying and some Windows XP installing, and some mindless TV.

I'm feeling good and relaxed, or as relaxed as I can feel considering what a chronic worrier I am.

Just the kind of weekend I needed to prime me for my first day on Job 2.o.

Hans, what will you do differently as you approach this new chapter of your life? you ask.

Well, I'll tell you what I won't change, and that's my daily routine. I'll still talc the same special places on my body every morning. I'll still pull my underpants way up past my belly button before putting my trousers on. I'll still give the bus driver a kiss on the cheek as I get on board.

And I'll still go out there rooting out injustice wherever I find it. Rooting it out and kicking the bad guys in the shins.

What will I change, though...let me think.

I will be more organized. As I cleaned out my desk on my last day on the old job, I came across some papers from like 1998 that I had never gotten around to addressing. That's not right.

By the way, Randy, I passed on your resume to the higher ups. Sorry about the delay.

I'll concentrate more. I'll be more focused and mentally immersed in my work. I'll waste less time doing bullshit.

I'll eat better at lunch time.

I'll maintain a professional distance from my colleagues whenever possible, without being a douche about it.

I'll do the chicken dance alone in the bathroom when nobody's watching.

And I won't tuck in my shirt.

Happy workweek, friends. Knock off a little early and hit the bar for happy hour. Tell 'em I said it was OK.

New softball recap from Ambrose is up.

My pop is not shy about name-dropping. He had a career that allowed him to work closely with some of the biggest names of the 20th century, no exaggeration, and he's not averse to talking about it. Today he told a story about a day in like 1973 when a rich high school buddy of his was visiting from Chicago. They went to a fancy restuarant on Central Park South, a place my pop had been a few times, but by no means was he a regular.

Somehow the maitre'd remembered his name.

"Mr. Bungle," he said. "Good to see you. Your table is ready."

My pop was already feeling all big-shotty about the nice treatment from the maitre'd when suddenly a distinctive voice rang out across the restaurant.

"Lars. Lars Bungle!" it said. "How the hell are you?"

The voice, it turns out, belonged to one of the greatest heroes in American sports history, and needless to say, my pop impressed the bejeezus out of his buddy that night. For ten GP's, whose voice was it?

I left the office at 9:12 pm on my last day, feeling a little bit like Sam Malone closing down Cheers alone for the very last time. BJL gets the points.

done and done

Last night I drank the beers down with colleagues old and new and it felt good. A real nice turnout, faces spanning twelve years. I was all:

Then, fittingly, I spent my last day on the job much the same way I spent the first: anxious, confused and a little hungover. I was all:

So it's all over. The first real job I ever had. It lasted a little longer than I thought it would. Like 12 years longer. But it was pretty good overall.

New job starts Tuesday.

First rule of new job: don't talk about new job.

Finn picks up 4 points in the October 1993 top 20 dat, even though technically one of his guesses fell just outside the Top 20. Good job on "Everybody Hurts" and "Hey Jealousy."

For 9 points, tell me what time I walked out of the office today for the final time? Closest guess gets the points.

state of the bungle

OK, some bizness on the agenda tonight. When there's bizness, we tend to work off a numbered list. We're very professional that way.

1) Yes that's an ad you see on top of the page, and yes I was inspired by another well-known webmaster in my decision to give 'em a shot. Yes I may try to move it somewhere less obtrusive. Yes I'm a sellout, but at a very low level. Like single fucking digits low.

2) This post made my day. He's cracked me up several times so I am adding him to the blogroll.

3) Also joining the 'roll is Moncrief Speaks. Good stuff. What I've been digging on his site is that he puts a bunch of old stuff up there, and it takes me back to the era in which he wrote it. I am obsessed with the past.

4) And The Pants. Reminding us that it's OK to be young and dangerous and talented.

5) In honor of my last day, my boss is going to throw a little thing for me on Thursday evening. Email me (bungmeister at verbungle dot combizznitch) if you're interested in throwing back some of the ice cold beer that they keep behind the bar, and please don't mention this blog at any point in the evening if you show up.

6) Dirk Nowitzki impressed the hell out of me the other night. Duncan, too, on a gimpy foot. But Nowitzki played like a wild German dog. He just kept throwing his body around inside and refused to settle for jumpers. I think they'll beat Phoenix in 6.

7) cW has asked for some pictures from the old days, but I won't do it. I am however open to hearing all stories that don't directly implicate me in acts that I should still be apologizing for.

8) We got a long and egocentric softball recap up for you. Enjoy if you can.

9) My new Mac is a piece of shit. I love it, but it's really a piece of shit. I've been holding off on criticizing it, hoping some of the problems would get straightened out. But no, and for 3 grand that's an embarrassment. It gets way way way too hot, right up into my hand like a damn frying pan when I'm on A/C power. When I'm on battery it's a little cooler but it squeals like Ned Beatty unless I run more programs to occupy both processors. Doing so makes the battery run down faster. And the battery ain't great to begin with. All this and I need to re-buy all my software. The new Macbook is a much better and more reasonable option I think. Yet despite all my problems somehow I still love this hunk of crap. They serve some fine fine Kool-Aid at Apple. A shiny case goes a long way.

10) So I got three days left on the job. I would be awash in memories but I am busy cleaning up loose ends and haven't had much time to reminisce. Plus most of the great stories of my life happened in bars and not in an office. Bars, man. Coming up on twenty years in bars. Or rather I would be if I still went to bars.

11) To put things in perspective, I think it's time for a quick look back at my first official day on the job, courtesy of my weekly report:

Monday, Oct. 18, 1993

Brought setup disks to Gina. Set up her computer with WordPerfect, Lotus 123, and printer driver. Came back and made backup copies of software in case it gets wiped out. Rearranged cassette library upstairs, set up new computers/printers. Went to the bank for petty cash, $800.

Wow. They trusted me with $800. I was big-time.

12) 2 points for each of the top 20 U.S. pop songs you can name from the week of October 18, 1993. No research please.

Five To Go

Lately I've been thinking that everything I've ever said, done, or thought is just completely wrong.

Hopefully I'm wrong about that too, but I doubt it.

5 days left on the job, and I'm wondering if there's anything I forgot to do in my 12 years there, and is there still time?

I've shown up for work drunk, so drunk that as soon as I got there I told the lady in charge, "I'm still pretty loaded from last night, so don't expect much from me today."

I got bossed around a little bit but I never really bossed anyone else around. Maybe Joe Monkeyweb a couple of times. But he needed it.

I fired somebody once and put somebody on probation a couple of times. That was no fun and I hope I never have to do it again. REMINDER: STAY LOW ON TOTEM POLE TO AVOID THE RESPONSIBILITY OF MANAGING, REVIEWING AND DISCIPLINING OTHERS

Yes I called a female employee a dogfucker once but I meant it with affection and I was just a 26 year-old shitbag without a clue. That's my excuse. She took it the wrong way.

I mopped some floors. I picked up some tapes here and there. But I never did clean that hallway.

I told the Mayor's wife that I was sorry she fell on the slippery studio floor, and that I'd be sure to talk to our studio manager Joe Monkeyweb about it when he got back from vacation.

I sent way more personal emails than business emails.

I snuck into the Price Waterhouse cafteteria for lunch a couple of times. It was OK.

I played on the corporate softball team a few times. Some dudes take it too seriously and ruin it for everyone else.

I worked hard and stayed late a bunch of times. I made the late run to FedEx a bunch of times, too.

I saw the president of the company shuffle pitifully from one stall to the next, pants down, looking for TP. I saw and heard all the change come out of his pockets as he did this, and I heard him curse God afterwards.

I watched humans and animals having improper relations on VHS at least once, in mixed company.

I did a bunch more stuff but I am tired so you'll have to take my word for it.

I don't harbor any real bitterness towards the place, but if I did, what would be a good thing to do this week?

I've started riding my bike again and I had forgotten how much fun that is. It's gonna be a good summer.

Here is a picture of Oscar Wilde:


For ten points, what modern-day famous person does he remind me of?

We had some good softball Sunday night and I should have a recap for you when you wake up Tuesday morning.

Rolodex Memories

As my last days at the old job count down, I am finding myself caught between intense busy-ness and quiet opportunities to reflect on the past decade and a half.

For instance, today I shared a tender moment with my rolodex.

My rolodex predates the internet. There is actually a card under "E" for "Email" -- on this card I listed the email addresses of the seven or so friends who had managed to get online. It was exciting.

There are also old phone numbers for all of you, pretty much. You've moved on. You've left me behind. cW, you can have a genius point if you can tell me your old work number at CBS. Joe, same goes for you and your temporary film festival gig in the Hamptons.

I'm going to miss a lot of people, but the truth is so many of my good friends have come and gone that I mostly just feel, Well, it's about fucking time.

I was (technically still am) the most tenured employee in the whole company. I was there before you and I'm still there. You're gone.

Damn Brit came by the office today. It was real nice to see him, he's looking good and was very supportive of my decision to leave. We talked about the old times, the "meetings" in the edit room where he and I and Joe and cW would pull off our high-wire pyrotechnics of flatulence. Incredible. But then they left, back in like '97, '98, '99. Bye bye.

When I walked in that door back in '93, I was less than a year off the Trayline. Bill Clinton was less than a year into his first term. Monica Lewinsky was starting her junior year in college. People were still having Pearl Jam-Nirvana debates. I may have still had an earring.

I came into the office, took a look around and figured, I can probably do this for a month or two.

Or 150.

There are enough stories, big, juicy stories, to fill a book easy, and if I felt confident enough in my memory or my writing ability I might give it a try. But to tell the stories right you have to talk about the freaks, and eventually the freaks would figure out who they are, and the freaks would feel sad. And I think that makes it not worth it.

Approximately 6 co-workers/ex-co-workers have died in my time there. One of the 6 may have wanted to kill me.

12 and a half years.

Besides the big untold stories, 12 and a half years is a lot of little things. It's a lot of stagnation, a lot of looking out the window and accepting my place in the universe. It's a few missed opportunities, some bad decisions, and some lifelong regrets. It's a lot of nickels and dimes. It's John Starks and it's Derek Jeter and it's Rudy Giuliani. It's painting studio floors and cheerfully outlasting hangovers and watching animal porn after hours. It's Babyland and 7B and Jimmy's Neutral Corner. It's crack, whisky, and it's whore. It's a tape dispenser that says "Hans" on one side and "Mrsmal" on the other. It's Larry Grace's accent. It's the infuriating unfairness of the cigarette break. It's shirts to come flying off. It's lunches in Bryant Park and drunken office parties and the same generic work experience as every other cube mule since 1932.

It's eating Blimpie's for eight straight days to try to save money.

It seems like a long time, but not 12 and a half years. Like, what happened to 2004? I don't remember a second of it. Did we bat out of order or something?

Damn Brit and I watched a tape today of BJL licking a huge chunk of raw bacon on one of our shows. He looked like he was 19. A handsome devil, too. 1998.

We used to keep score every day, Us vs. Them. We never won. But we always fought hard, even when we were down 35-0 at the half.

Perhaps there were weeks -- months -- years -- when the job was boring, or unrewarding, or anxiety-laden. But the life outside of it was always bursting with love and friendship, beer, song and Yankee baseball.

And above all, laughs. Fifty a day, easy.

I met all the most important people of my adult life at that job or through it indirectly. I am proud to still know you all.

Goodbye, job, you did right by me for the most part.

As for the rest of you, I will never stop having fun and I hope we can have more of it together.

I'll see you on the outside.

Late.

***

In honor of 1993, here is a cW-ineligible genius challenge: when cW and I went out for beers for the very first time, in what bar did we begin the night?

so horny

While I'm fairly comfortable with the official, legally enforceable status of "We Built This City" as the worst song in the history of humanity, I am always on the lookout for potential challengers. On the flight back from Germany, Ma Bungle and I heard such a song.

I found a brief clip on the internet, so go ahead and judge for yourselves.

First marvel at the staggering lack of creativity, as exhibited by the fact that the backbone of the tune is a direct cut and paste of the Dandy Warhols' irresistibly catchy "Bohemian Like You," a song that itself has already been played to death in commercials, movies and primetime teenage soap operas.

Once you get over that, once you realize that it's the most unoriginal song since Puff Daddy's nauseating "I'll Be Missing You" back in 1997, take a listen to that hilarious chorus (at the end of the clip). Now that is funny.

I don't have much to say today. Oh, last week I quit my job after 12 and a half years. That's something. In the interest of self-preservation, once I start my new job I will never post one single character's worth of text about it. Not one. So it's nice to have a fresh start in that sense (among other senses).

I went out to The Bar for Happy Hour tonight and I was actually there for roughly an hour, and during that hour I was indeed extremely happy. How could they have known? I also noticed that I can still guzzle down the Bud bottles when necessary. It's just not usually necessary.

Thanks for the tree-mendous blog title suggestions. We are going to rotate through all of them, in no particular order. You should also note that cW is now within 1 RCH* of winning the championship and joining Joe Monkeyweb in the genius pantheon. Unless somebody can stop his ass.

In the late summer of 1990, MDilly and I buried a bottle of beer in a shallow grave on Bascom Hill in a sad, drunken homage to the Kevin Costner flick Fandango. For ten points, what brand of beer did we use, and for five more, what rather uninspired name did we bestow upon it? For a coffin, we used an empty snack food box. For five more points, what was the snack in question?

MDilly not eligible for these points, so his account will be credited with five points as consolation.

Also, if you haven't checked it already, this is pretty big news: our man dan has a fine new wikipedia-inspired blog going, and he has a new post up that you should hit.

* An industry term** for the smallest possible measurement, it stands for Red C*nt Hair I believe
** Not sure which industry

Republicans Buy Sneakers, Too

NEW SOFTBALL RECAP from Pete B. is up for your enjoyment.

I bought my first-ever pair of Air Jordans while I was in Germany. Tried 'em out on Saturday playing hoops. The sneakers felt great -- probably one of the top basketball shoes of all time according to my highly scientific estimation. However, I am old as fuck, fat as hell and I am now the most unathletic I've been in my adult life. That's OK, you could probably say the same thing about Michael Jordan himself. Eerie how our lives continue to run parallel to each other.

Besides, I am now in the "crafty" stage of my athletic career.

To me, that might be the most convincing evidence that Jordan was the best ever. If you look at the original, pre-retirement Jordan of 1984-93, you might go, "Damn, that dude was the best of his era, by a long ways." Then, when he came back in 1995-1998, he had lost some of his athleticism. A lot of it, actually. He had become "crafty" -- which is a word sportwriters use to describe athletes who aren't as good as they used to be. I remember Jordan himself embracing the concept. He would say things like, "I'm a better player now than I was 5 years ago because my mental game has improved so much. I don't need to do all the high-flying stuff." Sure, he added some moves, honed his post-up game, and never lost his competitive edge. But he wasn't better. Not at all. He was worse. He shot a lower percentage, his assists were down, his defense was off a little. I would guess that the second edition Jordan was only 85% as effective as the first.

And he was still WAY better than everyone else.

I can't think of another athlete you could say that about. Maybe Larry Krystowiak. Maybe.

So I guess what I'm saying is, That Michael Jordan -- he sure was good at basketball.

As a person I pretty much dislike him all the way, though. About as genuine as A-Rod, although nobody ever seemed to care.

Blogging's been light lately because life's been heavy. I am waiting to emerge from some bullshit and when I do, life should improve, although I can't predict what impact that improvement will have on blogging. Nor do you care.

BA, suaerbraten was a good guess but Ma Bungle says she didn't have any of that while we were over there.

We are looking for a new verbungle.com tagline to replace "The information you need from the names you trust." 5 points for each decent suggestion, 2 suggestions max per person.

something more somehow

NEW SOFTBALL RECAP from Ambrose is up and kicking

Someone did something inappropriate and gross to my baby the other day, but I promised Ma Bungle I wouldn't blog about it so I won't. But just as a word of advice: if you're playing with somebody's baby, especially someone who's no more than an acquaintance to you, don't open your mouth and let the baby stick its fingers in there. And if somehow you fail to heed this advice and find yourself with a mouth full of baby fingers, PLEASE don't suck on the baby fingers. Especially if you're kind of a smelly person. Thank you.

So one thing I was worried about here in Munchen was being forced to temporarily suspend my vegetarianism because of the overwhelming meatiness of the Bavarian cuisine. Hasn't really been the case -- I've found something everywhere we've gone, including a really good Italian restaurant and a really good Thai place. But today it was just me and Baby Bungle in the train station with 15 minutes to eat, and I said to myself, Tonight is kinda special...

The brat was actually quite good but the beer...well, there's a reason nobody's brought Lowenbrau to a party since 1986. Yucky.

My current favorite spam subject line is "Full of Health? Then don't click." I like that they are actually going for the reverse psych job. Like, "Wait a minute, I'm not full of health...I better click, pronto!"

Weird shit has been happening while I've been on the road and I'm having a hard time keeping up...is Keith Richards suffering from brain damage? That sucks. Oh, and on the 'Mats reunion tip, apparently Westerberg and Stinson were supposed to go on Jim Rome's radio show, but Westerberg blew it off...Stinson showed up and they played one of the new "Replacements" songs...the baby is sleeping so I haven't been able to really listen, but here it is. Have at it.

I am returning tomorrow (Fri.) and I am good and ready. I would totally come back to Germany, Munchen even, if the whole family could be together and we could really explore. As it was, it was just me and Baby Bungle and we couldn't do all the things that should be done. Whatever, Joe Monkeyweb sent me an email predicting that I would have grilled cheese for dinner on Friday night to which I say You Goddamn Right, Joe Monkeyweb.

I think it's cute how everybody has different laundry detergents and systems of measurement and obscenity laws and electric outlets when you travel around the world. It might be a little inconvenient, but it's a chance for each of us to say, "This is how we do it where I'm from." Fine. But two things that I'd like to see universalized are shoe sizes (I'm a 46 in Europe, a 12 in the U.S.) and time. We should all go to 24 hour military-style time. That's how they roll here in Munich and it makes a lot of sense. A day is 24 hours long, it should go 0-24. Simple, effective, free of confusion. I'm gonna try to get this started in a couple weeks. These guys are on board:


The Haagen-Dazs-dat answer we were looking for was Banoffee. Delicious, although much less interesting than some of your suggestions.

I was walking down the street today when I encountered this:


Help yourself to 9 Genius Points if you can tell me what two words popped into my head when I saw it.

Last but not least: one of the first things I'ma do when I get home is bid on a factory-sealed copy of Windows XP SP2 on eBay and I am going to install that Boot Camp shit on my Mac. I am excited as hell. Windows XP and Mac OS X on the same computer is pretty schweet.

mister muster

A stereotype can be defined in any or all of the following ways:

1. A simplified and fixed image of all members of a culture or group (based on race, religion, ethnicity, age, gender, national origins)
2. Generalizations about people that are based on limited, sometimes inaccurate, information (from such sources as television, cartoons or comic books, minimal contact with one or more members of the group, second-hand information)
3. Initial predictions about strangers based on incomplete information about their culture, race, religion, or ethnicity
4. A single statement or attitude about a group of people that does not recognize the complex, multidimensional nature of human beings
5. Broad categories about people that fail to differentiate among individuals, peoples, and societies
6. Identification of easily observable characteristics of groups of people

In practical terms, stereotyping might mean meeting one dirty Italian and assuming most or all Italians are dirty.

This is a bad thing. It leads to unfair judgments based on race, gender, religion, social class, etc.

I am opposed to stereotyping.

In math and science, extrapolating is estimating (a value of a variable outside a known range) from values within a known range by assuming that the estimated value follows logically from the known values. Or, in practical terms, to extrapolate is to infer or estimate by extending or projecting known information.

Extrapolating is a good and useful tool.

Thus I am extrapolating, and not stereotyping, when I post the following observations from Munich and blindly apply them to all things German. I am very scientific in my approach. Don't forget that.

-There is like a German internet or something. We supposedly have a high-speed internet connection in our hotel room, but 85% of pages I attempt to visit don't load at all, or take forever to load and only give me like a partial page or something. It's especially lousy on big sites like Yahoo and Google. It's like my laptop is confused and doesn't know whether to go to the German or American version of these pages, so it just craps its pants instead. Major gas face.

-In Munich, as in all towns across the world, the scumbags hang out at the train station and the arcade.

-I saw a dude on the street here who was the spitting image of Thomas Muster. I know Muster was Austrian, but the resemblance was weird. Muster was about as unlikely a world no. 1 tennis player as you can imagine, especially after he got run over by a drunk driver. Hard to believe the guy is still only 38 years old -- he looked 38 when he was in his prime! Also vaguely Musterian: Zydrunas Ilgauskas of Cleveland and Peter Stormare of Fargo.

-As all tourists do, we stopped by the Hofbrauhaus and had a bite and a gigandor brew. It's weird to think that not only did Hitler get started there, but as a vegetarian he may have ordered the spaetzle, just as I did. Creepy. At least it didn't say "Hitler's Favorite" on the menu. Also, guzzling down that liter of beer or whatever it is was kinda tough for an old fogey like me. Time was short, so I had to really pour down a couple of long gulps. It made me feel like I was 19 again, slamming beers at a house party. The only difference is this time my friend Joe wasn't around to steal the host's crackers and crumble them into the couch cushions.

-On the way home from the Hofbrauhaus, I almost got into it with an insane, racist street musician, before being wisely steered away by Ma Bungle. This guy would have smashed his guitar right over my head. He looked like a drunk, angry version of Mel Gibson, or, more accurately, he looked like the cashier from Veselka who looks like a drunk, angry version of Mel Gibson. We were being totally nice to him, even gave him a couple of Euros for his lousy singing, and he responded with racist taunts of my wife and anti-American cracks towards me. I was letting him have it right back, too, and I don't think he appreciated anyone else speaking when he was "on stage." It was about to get ugly when Ma got us out of there. As we left, he played his little Oriental riff on the guitar for the third time and said, "McDonald's is open until 3am." I felt like Dave Chappelle: How did he know I like McDonald's? I thanked him for his courteous words and we left. The crowd was 90% behind him, too, which pointed out to me 1) how much America is hated around the world and b) that Germans enjoy racism more than Americans. I said to Ma Bungle that none of his racist shit would have flown in NYC, he would have been booed right into the sewer where he belongs, but she disagreed. What do you think? Plus, I know America has been on a bad run lately, but has it gotten to the point where Germans are allowed to make fun of us? Sheesh.

-I am loving the weissbier. Delicious. Never got into it so much before, now it's all I want to drink.

-Munich is a clean city, and like most clean cities I've been to, garbage cans on the street are curiously scarce. It doesn't make sense. I can only conclude two things: 1) that littering is more common in cities with lots of garbage cans because it's more of a challenge and thus more a statement of rebellion, and 2) Germans must walk around all day with lots of wrappers and stuff in their pockets.

-Traffic here is fascinating:
1) There are tons of bicycles; my completely half-assed estimate is that 25% of the population cycles to work.
2) Traffic always seems to be moving well, possibly as a result of 1)
3) Being a pedestrian kinda blows, lots of waiting for lights to change. I would just walk across against the light but the custom here seems to dictate that you wait for the light to change, whether the coast is clear or not. Maybe that helps with the flow, I dunno.
4) It's hard to get used to those trams whizzing around. I bet they lose five or ten people a day to those things.
5) Cobblestones: great on postcards, not so great on stroller wheels.

-I am far too immature to stop enjoying the fact that the words "schmuck" and "ass" are plastered all over town. The Germans are indeed a silly bunch.

-For eight GP's, what is the awesome new flavor of Haagen-Dazs that Ma Bungle and I have discovered here in Munchen?*

* Ma Bungle was slightly disappointed when I told her that Haagen-Dazs was a made-up name and was in no way authentically German.

Bunglemunchen

So I am in Germany. Been resting and trying to adjust to life over here so I don't have too many observations to share with you. Nor many pictures of the Germans as I had promised.

I will say this about Munich. Beautiful city, truly. Watch out for them trains that run right down the middle of the steet, though; they'll flatten ya. Lots of cigarette smokers. Lots of bicyclists. More than a few cigarette-smoking bicyclists.

And the language -- wow. I knew I didn't speak any German before I got here, but when I heard the people talking, I was like, Holy Cow, I really don't speak any German! Like, they speak it really fast and effortlessly. And they aren't afraid to drop multiple 19-letter words in the same sentence. I kind of thought I could fake it, because a lot of the words are basically the English words with like an extra "jammer" or "weisen" or "nugen" thrown on for emphasis. Like, the word "dog" might be "dogestrauterzugen" or something, like "Now that's a goddamn dog right there, yo." But even with my little decoding system, these people are just too good at German for me to keep up. My hat's off to them: they have mastered the shit out of the German language.

Luckily, they all speak English so I don't even have to go through the motions of sprechen sie whatevs. I'm just, beer please. Thank you. I mean Danke. Danke Schoen. You know.

My goal is a different beer every day. This Franziskaner stuff is one of the most common beers around here. I guess we must have it in the states but I had never had it before. Very tasty.

I thought of starts to a couple stories but I'm not sure how much more I want to give them. Here goes.

***

"Your chocolate is in the peanut butter of my soul," she said, tossing her head back.

Where does she come up with this stuff, he thought to himself, and spanked her again, a little harder.

***

Maybe that's the whole story.

Here's the other one. maybe more the start to a blog post than an actual story.

***

I once heard a story about Michael Jordan's days at UNC. It seems that the varsity players had just played a pickup game, dominated by Jordan of course, and a bunch of his dumbstruck teammates began debating whether Jordan could touch the top of the backboard or not. Finally they asked Jordan directly whether he could do it. He honestly admitted that he had never tried.

Now it became a challenge. Money was laid down, bets were taken, and Jordan agreed to give it a try (after laying down a couple hundred on himself, of course).

He took a running start, deciding to approach from the baseline instead of head-on so he wouldn't smash his face against the glass. And he touched the top of the board with relative ease, landing hard on both feet after a leap that was probably close to 60 inches at its peak.

Everyone was high-fiving, money was being forked over to the winners, but Jordan just stood there, holding his shorts, stunned. Finally, someone came up to him and asked him if he was OK.

"I'm OK," he said, with uncharacteristic shakiness, "I just never really tried to see how high I could go, and when I did, when I saw what my potential was...it scared the shit out of me."

From that day forward, Jordan never jumped as high as he could again.

Now you know what every day is like for me.

***

Thanks to cW and Doug O. for more Munich suggestions. I aim to check some of that shit out as soon as I can. For five GP's each, name the meat dishes that Ma Bungle has consumed in her first two days here. Total = 3.

tonight we blog, tomorrow we ride

I am off to Germany Wednesday night on one of them flying machines. One thing my Great Uncle Karl-Heinz always told me:

Son, he'd say, if you go up in the flying machine there is always a chance you might die. And if there is a chance you might die tromorrow, you must blog with passion tonight.

Don't know about passion, but at least I'm blogging a little. Uncle Karl-Heinz would be happy.

Not much to say, I've been busier than a one-toothed dog working on a bone. My professional life is kind of going nuts right now. There is a whole lot of shit going on and I am faced with some very tough decisions over the next few days, even as I lounge poolside with Baby Bungle in Munich. I hope I figure it out. What I've been through already has been at times exhilarating, contentious, disappointing and most of all humbling. I'm probably imagining it, but it seems like every time I try to break out of my routine and make things a little better for myself, I get slapped down.

Someday, after a bank error makes me rich, I will tell you all about it.

In the meantime, please visit this exciting new site from a certain someone you all know and enjoy.

And please also dig another fine softball recap from Joe Monkeyweb.

Speaking of softball, I have come up with an exclamation that I will use following my next called-shot HR. For ten points, what is it?

Oh, and hey Moncrief, the angry dude (NSFW) on the blogger profile is former Cubs manager Lee Elia, one of the most articulately profane men of his time.

I voted for Elliott again this week. I think Paris is done tonight.

Expect moderate to heavy German blogging, complete with photos of the locals. From what I understand, the Germans are a silly, silly people.