Archive for the ‘General Awesomeness’ Category


Smiling Through the Fight

January 17, 2013

Students flooded into the classroom and were greeted by fate’s gift to a school day: the substitute teacher. With everyone taking longer than usual to get in their seats after the cheers and jokes, 15 year-old Henry Andrade hopped into the room on his one good leg with the aid of crutches. Wearing a flat-brimmed hat and crisp, creaseless sneakers to match, the teacher followed protocol and asked Henry if he could remove his hat. Quickly taking the defensive and responding with indignation, a couple loyal friends protested 557062_544426055569788_1378746052_n[1]against the “sub’s” request.

“He just got treated for cancer! He can wear it!”

Sensing the teacher’s embarrassment after receiving a red-faced apology, Henry unleashed his patented, brilliant smile and waved down his friends.

“Guys, chill. How was he supposed to know?”

The nervous “sub” was grateful. In a brief, first interaction, the teacher learned all anyone needed to know about Henry Andrade: he quickly impacted everyone he ever met with his calm attitude, unique style and of course that smile.

* * *

With a passion for playing sports and helping to inspire others, Henry embodied a coach’s dream in a high school athlete. After playing soccer his whole life, a form of bone cancer common in adolescence called, osteosarcoma, settled in Henry’s femur when he was 14. The ensuing surgery to remove the cancer resulted in a steel rod, a permanent limp and a change in sports. He may have limped on land, but he glided in the water as a member of the North Providence High School Cougars’ swim team.

The following year, now a junior, the cancer came back. He knew doctors needed to remove his right clavicle and a portion of his left lung, but Henry refused surgery until after the Division III swim meet. Swimming in the freestyle and backstroke events, Henry scored points for his team at the divisional tournament, and more admirably, inspired every other Cougars’ swimmer to be their best, even at their worst. North Providence won the Division III title that year.


Henry never fell behind in the water, or in the classroom over those last two years of high school. After graduating on time and with his fellow Cougars’ class this past June, Henry enrolled at the University of Rhode Island in the fall. Forging new friendships and hardening the old, he immersed himself in college life. Unfortunately, halfway through his first semester studying kinesiology, cancer again began attacking Henry’s body; this time at a more rapid pace. Forced to leave school, Henry found himself back in the Hasbro Children’s Hospital in Providence, RI.

While spending time in and out of the hospital, Henry was paid a visit by New England Patriots Pro Bowl Defensive Tackle Vince Wilfork back in November. The only thing in the room bigger than the (generously listed) 325 pound Wilfork, was Henry’s smile. As the Patriots battled on the gridiron, Henry fended off cancer with an immeasurable strength. While the Patriots surged on the football field, winning ten of their final eleven games to clinch a bye in the playoffs, Henry’s health began deteriorating further.

During their playoff bye week, another Patriots player stopped in to lift Henry’s spirits. Defensive Back, Devin McCourty, surprised Henry with a visit, and signed the gloves and cleats he wore during the Patriots final regular season game. It took Henry no time to make yet another friend. The two exchanged phone numbers, and were soon following each other on Twitter.


Four days later, on January 7th, Henry passed away. Although unquestioned, the hundreds of friends and family there to pay respect at the wake proved Henry’s impact on nearly every person he came in contact with. Amongst those who waited their turn, which equated to hours, to say a final goodbye to their beloved friend was McCourty. He spoke to Henry’s family and dedicated his team’s playoffs in Henry’s honor. McCourty tweeted: “RIP @TheRealHenny94 I pray ur resting now…I’ll always remember ur smile and the fight I saw in u #TeamHenry.”

Less than 48 hours after McCourty attended Henry’s wake, he took the field as the Patriots hosted the the Houston Texans in their divisional playoff game. On the opening kickoff, the Texans kick returner, Danieal Manning, found a seam in the defense, and broke free at midfield. The closest Patriots’ player trailed about eight yards behind. As an entire stadium of cheering fans deflated, one player accelerated. Just as Henry walked with a limp, but glided in the water, McCourty seemed to fly on the field as he chased down the Texans return man. McCourty’s saving play prevented a touchdown, and set the tone in a game the Patriots dominated from that point forward, winning 41-28.

There is an old cliche that people love sports so much because they mirror life. This story is about the life of a survivor, fighter, family, community and a professional sports franchise who did not mirror sports, but were enlivened by them. It is also a simple, biased remembrance by someone honored to call Henry his friend. I was that substitute teacher.


The Patriots will take the field Sunday in the AFC Championship hoping it’s the next step in ultimately winning the Super Bowl and being remembered above all their peers. Consider it another chase from behind for Devin McCourty and the New England Patriots: Henry Andrade is already up in that rarified air, smiling down on everybody.

Join Devin McCourty and the rest of #TeamHenry, Donations can be sent to: “Team Henry Memorial Fund, P.O. Box 114132, North Providence, RI 02911.” 100% of your donation will go to The Tomorrow Fund, Pediatric Cancer Research, NPHS Scholarship in Henry’s Memory and the St. Thomas Church Food Pantry.


41 Men More Influential than Tom Brady: Impossible

October 19, 2011

When Gisele picks you, it's tough to top.

This week, unveiled their latest list of the “50 Most Influential Men of 2011,” and the publication basically blasphemed all over the place.  All the usual suspects are there: Jobs, Obama, Zuckerberg, Clooney et al. Obviously, Tom Brady is on the list because he’s in a rarified air reserved for the likes of DaVinci, Galileo, Franklin, Einstein and Moses. The real indignation isn’t that Brady is somehow 41 spots below #1, because it’s possible 41 saints and Greek gods are ahead of him. Where loses all its credibility is when you dissect some of the men ranked ahead of Brady. The top four are: Steve Jobs, Seal Team Six, Larry Page of Google, and Warren Buffett. I guess some arguments could be made for these computer geeks, economic genius’ and skilled assassins, but Tom still easily defeats them.  Here are just ten of the men ranked ahead of Tom that make less sense than Helen Keller playing Scrabble.

#7 Prince William: Actually one of the least influential on this list. Dude doesn’t have a discernible skill aside from losing his hair at an oddly early age. Rumors persist that this is why Tom Brady grew his hair long, to get some plugs. Whether that’s true or not, it’s just another example of why he’s more influential than Prince William. Dude dissected the problem and solved it.  Seriously though, does it get more uninfluential than being the “guy in line to be the guy in line to be the king of a country that no longer is ruled by a monarchy?”

#8 Anonymous, hacking group that promotes “civil disobedience”  on the web: I don’t even know what this one means. Like, is “Anonymous” the groups name? Or are they so sneaky and covert that they don’t even have a name, just an unwritten hacking stroke deep in a systems mainframe. Aside from being nameless and faceless, and thus, not Tom Brady, I haven’t heard one thing these guys have done besides give my PC from ’98 the Trojan Horse virus. That shit was pretty fucked up though. Fried a motherboard like Colonel Sanders.

#9 Ryan Gosling: Canadian Actor- Homie trails Brady in so many regards it’s not even funny, the least of which is Americanness. This Candian born actor is best known for his role in “The Notebook.” Sure, that movie might have revolutionized the dating game, and made it cool for bros all over to include it in their favorite movies section on facebook (this bro, included), but ultimately, it’s a crappy chick flick. To further weaken his cause, I just googled “Ryan Gosling girlfriend” and the top story is from 2010 about  how he is finally ready to move on from his ex, Rachel McAdams.  If you’re an influential man, I should be able to google your girlfriend and be wading through an internet cesspool of chicks linked to you. Google “Tom Brady girlfriend” and you get a story about him marrying Gisele. Boom. Dripping in influence.

#12 Jon Stewart- Daily Show Host/Comedian: Let me get this straight. The guy who isn’t even the most influential fake-news studio host on Comedy Central is supposedly more influential than Tom Brady. This scenario highlights the lack credibility in this list. Stewart has long been the least funny of of the nightly news duo, as Colbert consistently kills it while Stewart fishes for laughs with his annoying shrieks. Put it this way, would the jester ever be considered more influential than the King? Then how can a comedian be more influential than a quarterback? Varsity quarterbacks got girls in high school, class clowns played Dungeons and Dragons.

#13 Andrew Mason: CEO of Groupon– AskMen definitely didn’t do their research on this one. First off, Groupon doesn’t even work for businesses. People get your shit for cheap, once, then move on to the next place that will give them shit for cheap. So on and so forth. No buyer resiliency is seen. This business model is failing faster than an Obama stimulus package, and Andrew Mason should have gotten out while he could make billions and buy sports teams. Anyone remember how Mark Cuban made his money? Me either, but Yahoo gave him a couple billion for it at the time. Maybe if this dude owned the team Tom Brady played quarterback for, he’d be more influential.

 #21 Barack Obama- President, United States of America: Didn’t the country get downgraded? Doesn’t that mean the President of America is like, the same as Cuba or something? I know Tom Brady is more influential than Fidel Castro, so without getting too political, let’s just say this is obvious.

#24 Anderson Cooper- Journalist/TV Host: If this were a list of most influential gay men, Anderson Cooper would be way high up, and definitely higher than Tom Brady. I feel like Anderson Cooper and Neil Patrick Harris are in the same boat. Like, out of nowhere, everyone found out they were gay, and suddenly things made sense. In both cases, you have to believe these guys hooked up with tons of chicks while they lied to themselves about it feeling right.  Unfortunately, this isn’t just a list for “men” and in that regard, the host of any poorly rated CNN show can’t possibly outrank Tom Brady. I mean, have you seen the ratings for an NFL Game that Brady plays in? Blows AC-360 out of the water.

#30 Peter Dinklage- Midget Actor: One issue I have consistently felt has plagued the little people community is their lack of focus in declaring what they want to be known as. For a while, midget was bad, and might still be for all I know. Then they wanted to be dwarves, but everyone found that a bit too Tolkien. Nowadays, I have no clue what they want to be called, I just know that this Peter Dinklage bit off more than he could chew or reach. Tom Brady is 6’4” and runs the 2-minute drill in his sleep. Dinklage was the angry midget in “ELF” who is now on “Game of Thrones” and for some reason, ranks ahead of Brady. Something is disproportionate here, and it’s not the limb-torso ratio of Dinklage.

#35 Jimmy Fallon- Full-sized Actor: Now I know AskMen is just  with all of us. Like, really? Jimmy Fallon influences more people than Tom Brady? Dude hosts a talk show at like 1am. If you’re awake at 1am on a weeknight and you’re watching Jimmy Fallon, you probably don’t have a job to wake up for the next morning. If you do, you probably suck at that job, and at life. Sure, Fallon has played a lovable loser just fine in some movies, and he has even made me laugh twice, but to say he’s more influential than Tom is heretical.

#41 Julian Assange- Wikileaks Founder: Remember when Wikileaks leaked all that censored top secret stuff and shit was about to hit the fan? Me neither. One of the biggest teases of the internet age had to be Wikileaks, right? This dude was like sexually assaulting chicks, fleeing to Sweden and lawyering up because the whole world was trying to sue his ass for leaking secrets that put security at stake. Since then?  No idea. If anything, this just shows how weak Wikileaks was, and how Assange has no influence. When Tom Brady was spying on people, he won Super Bowls. Assange did it and got nothing.


No Occupation? Occupy Wall Street!

October 12, 2011

Some time last week, a bunch of hippies decided to storm Wall Street like it was the Bastille during the French Revolution. If you don’t know what the Bastille is, you’re probably one of those hippies occupying Wall Street. Really, this whole fiasco of the uncoordinated, unintelligible mass of dirty people rallying together around the concept of: “rich people suck,” should surprise no one. The hippies of the 60s and 70s were bound to produce offspring that held similar ideals such as peace, love, poverty and pot to such a high degree. The only thing I don’t get is why it happened now. Like, some time last week, Bank of America realized they were going out of business and stuff, so they announced they were charging everyone $5 a month to have a checking account.

Next, a series of events happened that left America’s collective head spinning and  searching for answers. Picketers were stifling our clean-cut businessmen who smell of dry cleaned designer suits and cologne with the rancid stink of white-people-dreadlocks, hemp necklaces, unwashed cargo shorts, Birkenstocks and beards. Suddenly, Steve Jobs was dead, and the 99% were being spoken for by less than .0000000000001 percent (math on this could be highly inaccurate). I don’t know about you, but after all that, I could use some 22 year-old model… Caitlin O’Connor!

Pretty sure Capitalism yields pictures like this. I think I read it in an Econ textbook somewhere.

Suddenly, I find myself on a bus home from New York City, where I thought the only occupying was taking place. Little did I know I would be greeted by Boston hippies of a similar ilk making sure they can catch the subway home after rallying. Now, it didn’t surprise me that these people had no car to drive themselves into the city with. I overheard them talking and was able to draw a few concrete conclusions. They are as follows.

1- These people don’t have jobs. Obviously.

2- These people don’t know how to create jobs, they just want to get angry at a global collapse and expect the educated people who work hard, to figure out how to save them. It reminds me of last week’s episode of The Office when Ryan complains to Pam how everybody wants to be rich, but nobody wants to work for it. Pam replies, “Didn’t you come in at 10:15 today?!” To which Ryan simply smiles and shrugs: content with that trade off.

3- These people are confused, even within their protest. Not that you can blame them. Like I said, they decided to rally over a $60 annual fee from a big bank, months after a double dip recession, and years after the initial crash.

4- These people are misguided, to say the least. Their best friend, a gargantuan government, is smart enough to know you can’t just let the financial sector that runs a capitalist economy fail. Unfortunately, the government has been paid back almost all the money they lent out to the banks in their bailouts, only there still aren’t any jobs. Shouldn’t the protesters be outside Washington after multiple failed stimulus bills, TARP funds, and job packages that did nothing but add some seasonal Census workers.

5- One good thing came of these protests. Her name is Kat, from Bayside NYC.

Too bad she's probably a Vegan. Turnoff.

Maybe the best part about all this is that these protesters get arrested, and think they are martyrs on the level of suicide bombers in Jilalabad. High comedy all around. I directly heard one woman who was a part of the Boston occupation (ironic word when you think about it) say, “I just wish they wouldn’t get arrested tonight, there was hardly any news coverage!” This summed up the whole situation so fittingly I couldn’t help but smile and think of capitalism.

Stay tuned…


The ESPYs Running Diary

July 14, 2011

We’re live at the ESPYs in sunny LA for what is sure to be a roast of Lebron James, and a toast to Aaron Rodgers. Obviously, I’m one of 174 Americans watching the red carpet show and from the looks of it, ESPN has their full posse of blonde women who know nothing about sports, but are amazing at awkward jokes in interviews with athletes that lead to painfully stunted answers, employed for the evening. Sorry, that sentence was almost as awkward. Nary ten minutes ago, Kevin Love and Blake Griffin were backed into the “no homo” moment of the night as Erin Andrews brought up how they discussed each other’s outfits/matching Ray Bans.

Truly serious journalists working for ESPN this evening.

Aside from that, some chick named Jenn Brown is backstage interviewing players who can’t stop thinking about getting her drunk after the show, and Michelle Beadle ambitiously plays the less-hot-but-cooler-than-Erin Andrews card. Speaking of odd sexual tension, Brian Wilson is obviously in a tuxedo unitard, and Justin Bieber has stolen the show with his boyish good looks and inability to be taller than Selena Gomez. The show is about to begin, Tunde is going to be in and out making hilarious comments, so let’s get to the diary!

9:00: One of the coolest highlight montages is consistently the ESPYs show open. You forget about some plays, remember others, and see plays you must have missed during a long weekend bender trippin’ on Paoti with Spider Monkey off the coast of St. Barth’s.

9:05: The athlete’s who died in the past year montage reminds us that Sparky Anderson wasn’t already dead.

9:08- Seth Meyers comes out for his montage. Somehow this dude just soared onto the scene because he looks oddly like the special ed kid Timmy from South Park, and for no other discernible reason.



– Seth busts out what seemed like 7 consecutive lame Brian Wilson beard jokes.

-Seth only makes one real joke about the Heat and one backhanded joke about them. ESPN and Nike obviously forced that limit, otherwise Seth would have made not one, not two, not three, not four, not five, not SIX jokes about them.

– Seth does a series of “Dodgers are so poor jokes” with his best being they no longer have a 3rd base coach, they just put up a mirror that reflects the first base coach.

– Seth says Yao Ming announced he is ‘retiring from basketball, but he could just be retiling his bathroom,’ arguably his best joke of the entire montage that only drew awkward laughter until people got it, but he had already moved on.

9:21- Consensus on Seth’s grade sat at a 6 within the six humans currently living in our apartment that was legally rented to just four humans.

9:22- Emmanuelle Chriqui comes on to present an award that I obviously forgot by now, because she’s talking and I haven’t heard a word she’s said. She’s in something black and sparkly and her hair is straight a perfect and she’s smiling, and I’m just mush.

Not even fair to other girls.

9:23 Turns out the award is for best breakout athlete. Jose Bautista is in this category with a bunch of rookies, a collegian, and an azn female golfer named three tiny syllables with a dash in there that formed her surname, too. Bautista is turning 31, and just followed up a 54 home run season with 31 at the All Star Break. Does this dude know this is the post-steroids era? Not 1997.

9:24- Blake Griffin wins the award, camera cuts to Cam Newton, and he is STUNNED. Blake thanks “Sloan” for the award– solid move, Blake. Tunde and I aren’t sure how we feel about the new race that’s been created where half-white/black people are now dominating sports. Tunde obviously has a leg up on creating such an athlete in the future, since he is an athlete and I write a blog about them.

9:31- Chris Berman is out presenting a series of serious, uplifting stories from the year including Mark Herzlich’s recovery from bone cancer, and wounded warriors climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. You could see Boomer shaking, while he held back one of his annoying voices with a last name pun and his own man-made sound effects.

9:35- Best Championship Performance ESPY goes to… Timmy Thomas of the Bruins! Seemingly a no-brainer, Tim is visibly shaken as he graciously thanks his teammates. Dude is like Brian Cardinal, only if Brian Cardinal was the best player in the NBA.

9:38- Video Spoof time brought to you by Blake Griffin and Kevin Love. This clip is legitimately funny, so you should just watch it. Now:

9:43- Maria Sharapova announced the winner for best upset: “The winner is, THE VCU!” I know, I know, it’s awesome when people who speak English as probably a third language put definite articles where they don’t belong in everyday speech.

9:50- They try to do a live skit about the Vancouver Kissing Couple. Basically, it was the worst, least funniest thing that has happened on TV since one of those animal cruelty/adoption ads you see on ABC Family after midnight with a Sarah McLachlin song in the background. At this point, I’m getting physically upset at how unfunny this thing was. Who previews these things and decides they might make anybody laugh? Chris Berman?

9:53- Yes, the Vancouver Kissing Couple skit lasted three painfully long minutes. Kind of like any three-minute interview involving Erin Andrews asking an athlete questions.

9:54- Justin Timberlake is out with Aaron Rodgers, and he’s obviously just being his overacting, trying-too-hard-to-be-funny self. I miss the days when comedic actors were comedians, and not lead singers of boy-bands who started banging Hollywood actresses, so they thought they could act, too.

9:56- Best College Athlete award, and I’m not loving the lax bros chances here. Cam Newton is literally sick to his stomach as he loses another award, and this time it’s to a white guy. As Tunde has so eloquently said, “I mean if it’s a fan vote, the white boy is gonna win. If they ain’t got no internet, how they supposed to vote?!” Before the award was given out, I said Cam’s got this (since he did have arguably the greatest season in college football history), with the caveat that if it’s a fan vote (and it is) Jimmer has it on lock. Bang.

10:04- Kiefer Sutherland is out to present the Arthur Ashe Courage Award. Generally the best part of the ESPYs, we get the added bonus of Matthew McConaughey narrating the story. Maybe we will be brought to tears, similar to his compelling monologue on the highway of the Brooklyn Bridge to win back Kate Hudson’s heart in “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

Dewey Bozella served over 30 years in prison for a murder he didn’t commit. He was offered parole multiple times if he just admitted to the murder. He refused and finally was proven innocent. Total bad ass. He boxed his way through Sing Sing prison, and hopes to open a gym to train young kids in the community. The situation is even more dire because the gym he currently trains at was just closed down. Something tells me there are a couple people in the audience tonight to help him out. Just sayin’…

10:28- Best Male Athlete intros and Rafael Nadal better not win. I’m fine with any foreigner, but this man-capris wearing fool, taking this award, even a German.

10:30- Dirk takes it… then leans over and kisses his gorgeous African-AmerGerman(?!) wife. So obviously, he’s going to be making the new superbreed Tunde is so worried about. Just picture a 7-foot light skinned fellow burying one-footed jumpers, and jumping over whatever new South Korean car is being made in 2031. On a serious note, is there a reason we didn’t know Dirk’s wife was black? In the pool of all the racially intolerant nationalities who might marry outside their ethnicity, you have to figure the German guy with blonde hair and blue eyes wasn’t a favorite here.

Serena, in the flesh...

1032: Serena Williams breasts are out to announce the upcoming award to Best Female Athlete. I’m not sure where feminists stand nowadays.  They could be proud you can see 62% of Serena’s rack, since no society ruled by men should force her to conform to their ideals of appropriateness. Or, they could be mad that she just got every man’s attention and made us realize we were about to keep watching an award given out to a female athlete, just because we saw 62% of her rack. Total conundrum.

1034: Tim Tebow is out on stage with Brooklyn Decker. ESPN didn’t have to think long about which athlete posed the least threat to want to have a pre-martial, adulterous affair with her.

10:35- Britney’s “Till the World Ends” plays for the Best Female Athlete, and Lindsey Vonn “Did it again.” Tebow just nailed that double entendre: both using Britney, and the repeat award to a T-bow. Boom. I did it too.

Vonn uses her speech to ask Bieber to take a picture with her for her facebook page. Standard.

10:43- As a final bit of torture, Seth Meyers takes the stage following a commercial stepping over the Vancouver Kissing Couple. This joke is more dead than the entire opening montage of dead athletes combined.

10:45- Seth teams up with Bill Hader of SNL to do a “Dirk Nowitzki Academy for Awkward Basketball” skit. German jokes got uber repetitive in this one.

10:47- Kevin Love is on stage with some skinny-fat kid who ESPN tells us is Jonah Hill. Unless Jonah finally popped, this dude on stage being called Jonah Hill has just been released given his “Make a Wish.” Jonah Hill apparently lost 248 pounds without telling anybody. Almost all his fat is gone, besides the back of his neck, which looks like a cancerous tumor is still there. I don’t know what award is being presented because I can’t stop looking at skinny-fat Jonah Hill. Dude officially has no place in Hollywood now. I assumed he’d just get fatter and fatter until his heart exploded that fateful night he did too much coke. Now, he’s not even the funny ugly fat guy– he’s just ugly and chubby (and the kid from Two and a Half Men has that market cornered!). I can’t stop thinking about the amount of surgery required to tuck all that excess skin away. Hope he called Octomom’s plastic doctor.

10:51- Turns out the award was for best game, and the Eagles 4th quarter comeback against the Giants wins it. Pretty sure Brett Favre deserved this one for the game he kicked at Jenn Sturger.

10:59- Stu Scott is out to talk about the V Foundation in honor of Jim Valvano. The foundation has raised over $100 million to date, which only made me say: “Wait, that’s it?!” Susan G. Komen must be smoking that total, no?! I mean come on people, the V Foundation has been around for 18 years now, donate some money in the name of one of the greatest speeches ever given, ever. Google it and try not to get chills.

11:01- Anthony Robles is the V Foundation Award winner, and this should shock nobody. This dude was born with one leg, and went out and won the NCAA Championship in wrestling. Sure, he’s in a lower weight class than he should be because he’s missing 20% of his total weight (obviously didn’t have to Google that), but that doesn’t make this story any less inspiring. Plus, he went to Arizona State, so he obviously gotten more ass standing on one leg than anyone else in the history of mankind.

Anthony Robles, embarrasing an able-bodied person.

11:05- The story only gets better as we find out Robles’ birth dad ditched the family upon his birth. Then his mom got sick, and his stepdad bailed, too. Robles said he wanted to quit wrestling to get a job and help the family, but his mother refused. So, Robles obviously memorized an inspirational poem along the way and recited it to us. Yes, I am currently typing with goosebumps. I could not feel any worse about my life, than right now. Until right NOW, because I’m thinking about you reading this blog, and not even being the one who wrote it, so I feel a little better.

11:11 Cam Newton, Amber Heard and Cee Lo are out to present the award for best play, but let’s be serious, this has all the makings of a perfect threesome. Black dwarf. Black enormous physical specimen, white chick starring in an upcoming show about the original Playboy bunnies.

For the record, I don’t love the random dude in the MLS who scored a game-winning regular season goal in less-than-amazing fashion to win this one…but he is nominated.

Sure enough, Abby Wambach’s header in the final minute to tie the World Cup game against Brazil that happened three days ago, wins the award. Obviously, if Abby didn’t have the Bieber haircut, this goal would have never happened, ipso facto, Bieber just had the best play of the year. Standard.

11:17- Right on uffin cue, the Biebs in the flesh is presenting the final award of the evening with Danica Patrick. If his balls had dropped yet, he’d be considering ditching Selena for Danica by now. He might still bag Danica, though, because he’s Bieber. Anyway, the award is for Best Team, and the soundtrack to the nominees is Fabolous- “It’s My Time.” Easily one of the top three pump up songs of the last couple years.

Since the NHL won’t win this award, the Bruins are out, even though they probably deserve the award for what they overcame in the playoffs to win the Cup. America is voting, and since literally everybody in America hates Lebron (Miami is a part of Cuba, right) the Mavs win the award.

11:27- I’ll wrap this up as quickly as Seth Meyers did since we are over the 2,000 word mark, and quicker than Bieber in bed with Selena. I know this blog caught you all off guard because it’s been a few weeks since you last heard from me. No worries, one day I’ll give you an explanation. Until then…

Bieber straight killin' it.

Stay tuned…


8 Pound 6 Ounces Colton, Don’t Even Know a Word Yet

June 23, 2011

DISCLAIMER: This is for the people who wrote on my facebook wall yesterday. If you didn’t, aside from sucking, just stop reading now. You don’t deserve this particular blog post.

DISCLAIMER #2: Even if you read this, it makes almost no sense. It’s like part fiction, part biography, part delusions of grandeur. Basically, it’s a lot like Obama’s book, “Audacity of Hope.” Only he was serious.

So in the past, I became notorious for my personalized facebook birthday-wall-post-thank-you’s. Consistently banging out a hundred plus messages like it was just a walk in the park. Yesterday, however, I think my wall completely altered facebook forever. My computer ran slowly, I struggled to follow my fantasy baseball team, and facebook creeping came to a near-screeching halt as every five to seven minutes someone else dropped some love on my digital canvas. Sure, Verizon has been having some trouble in my area, but I think the reason behind this slowdown is obvious. Yesterday, I put up numbers that Wilt Chamberlain could be proud of. Clearly, it’s not every day I’m born. In fact, yesterday is the only day I celebrate my birth. If you missed the event, or took part and are suffering from post-partem depression, calm down, it’s only 364 short days until the next time you get to write on my wall. In between, our great country will celebrate its own birth, Jesus’ birth, George Washington’s birth, and Marisa Miller’s birth. Now I’m not saying my birth is nearly as important as all of those (with the exception of maybe G.W.), but none of those people or sovereign nations will write you a blog, either. So here we go…

If you thought anyone else would take the first spot in my birthday blog, you probably didn't know me well enough to write on my wall.

If you want to know how I came to be, I’ll forward you to the post John MacKinnon left on my wall. While it basically caused me to stare at my computer screen unblinking for about 6 minutes, it’s unfortunately most likely pretty accurate. Now that we’ve reached the point where I know I was not, in fact, dropped on the doorstep by storks, left in a basket by the Nile like Moses, or birthed through the head of Zeus like Athena, we can move on to the important things. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard about those people who can recall details from every single day of their lives, but I’m not one of them. I can only assume the thoughts going through my head while I was chilling in the womb.

For one thing, I obviously decided I wanted a Y chromosome. Can’t even imagine being a girl. Constantly persecuted for my good looks. Switching best friends every month: depending on who got hotter than me, or started a menial conflict over a guy. Spending potential alcohol money on fake nails, tans, make-up and shoes. Draining my dad’s bank account and going on a Eurotrip for “culture” that doesn’t extend itself beyond the pot in Amsterdam, the clothes in Italy, the sex in France and the stalking of Prince Harry in London. Basically, after two girls, my dad hit the jackpot with me.

Don't let that above paragraph make you think I'm not grateful for XX chromosomes like Leeann Tweeden...

After diving into the world feet first, because that’s how ballers do, I thought I’d play a little joke on everyone and fake a suicide by wrapping the umbilical cord around my neck. Talk about your all-time backfire. Everyone started freaking out and screaming and stuff. Obviously, my sense of comedic timing has improved tenfold since this original stunt, which may or may not be true for the purposes of storytelling. For the first couple years of my life, I just chilled out, mowing Gerber and soiling myself like it was going out of style. Pretty soon I started forming memories, an addiction to David the Gnome, the WWF, baseball (specifically, the Red Sox) and Strawberry Milk. This all built up to my first grade birthday party. My dad made toys for a living so he got 20, seven year olds into the company meeting room where we rated the new action figure line with a 🙂 😦 or :-/ face. I’m not sure what you call that last face, but I call it the uneasy/constipated face, depending on my mood. After some smiles, frowns and constipations, the party favors of GI Joes and Transformers were given out. My dad basically cemented my legacy as the coolest birthday host until Billy Madison started throwing his blowouts.

Sometime after this glorious first grade banger, I became disenfranchised with the whole birthday party concept. Perhaps it was due to the stretch from 3rd grade on when I stopped having parties thrown for me because of Little League All Stars, having two older sisters, and only two parents capable of getting us everywhere. The summer birthday is an amazing thing, but it does not lend itself to easy elementary school celebrations. The last day of school rarely made it to June 22, unless there were a bunch of snow days. Thus, teachers never started the day singing to me, giving me gold stars, hoodsie cups and letting me make friendship bracelets all day like the rest of the kids born between September and early June. From that point on the extent of my birthday celebration was a Wiffle ball game in the backyard while my dad grilled meat and my mom kept the pink lemonade flowing like it ain’t no thing. Sure, I never threw wild pool parties with wet t-shirt contests and chicken fight contests, that’s what ASU is for, but I was happy raking home runs into my driveway.

ASU absolutely has to be fake life. Like this does not happen...

Even my 21st birthday started off as tame as possible. When it came time to choose my stomping grounds, I selected the bar that has treated me so kindly for the two years prior to my legality. Some people turn 21 and forget about the little people, make new friends who can go to the cool bars and ditch everything else. I paid homage to the old reliable J Tree by having my party there. Even though the original plan involved going after midnight so I could use my real ID, people got drunk and antsy and I decided I’d just use the Maine, 23 year-old version of myself one last time. After eight of my friends got kicked out of the bar in three distinct incidents, the next thing I knew I was being pulled from a cab and thrown to the ground. Apparently the poor townie whose friends took her to JTree for her bachelorette party told her fiancee to meet up with them?! Who knew…

Which brings us to present day. While I may never forgive my family for the toys and riches I missed out on from all those lost childhood birthdays, I take solace in the fact that I’m not one of those painfully annoying people who start birthday countdowns, create entire weekend agendas mapping out each afternoon and night using adjectives like: “sloshed” “Shwasted” “wasteyfaced” or even the repugnant combination, “shwastyfaced.” After all that self-promotion, how can anybody expect people to actually care that their day meant anything at all. I guess not everyone can rely on great friends to flood their wall all day with well wishes without that kind of promotion. If you read this post until now, you truly earned this thank you. And this…

Just wouldn't be a birthday blog without Rosie Jones. PS- googling her and finding anything with clothes on is getting tougher and tougher. It's amazing what the Revolver has done for her career.




Memorial Day NYC Weekend Recap

June 1, 2011

I may or may not still be sweating, but less than 19 hours after arriving home from a Memorial Day long weekend trip in New York City, I obviously have awesome things to discuss. My weekend actually started on Thursday night as I drove up to Boston for a job interview Friday morning. I considered writing a blog about how easy job interviews are once you can actually get them. For your sake, I decided there is no point harping on a poor economy and the fact that unless you know somebody you probably won’t even get the interview. If you do, try to speak as eloquently as myself, give a firm hand shake, tie a full windsor knot (or wear a pencil skirt if you’re a girl?) and constantly give yourself backhanded self-deprecating compliments to confuse your interviewer into thinking you’re humble, while subconsciously commending your own exploits. If you’re wondering this is basically how my job interview went…

From my interview in Boston, I drove back down to Providence, inhaled a lunch, and got to the bus station for the trip to NYC. Obviously, the bus was 30 minutes behind schedule, but once I got there the fit hit the shan almost immediately. The following are just some of the wonderful observations I made during my time in the Big Apple over this Memorial Day weekend.


if Vanessa Hudgens is doing it, shouldn't you be? Well, unless it comes to sexting pictures. Actually, do that, too.

If I were a weatherman, aside from constantly using adjectives such as “crisp” “tingly” “moist” “airy” and “heavy” my favorite day of the year would be that Memorial Day Weekend forecast projecting sun and 80-plus degrees. Not because I finally get to drape my body in white linen head to toe, but because I get to start off the telecast with the opening line: “IT’S CORK WEDGE SEASON, BITCHES!” Honestly, not since the invention of the Stiletto back in the Roosvelt administration (took a guess, not looking that up) has a shoe changed the intercourse game more. Chicks are just strolling around three to five inches taller than normal with their leg muscles flexed up into the most tantalizing manner ever screaming for guys to take notice. Well, notice I did. Obviously, walking around the streets of New York you better be looking at the pavement, because lord knows with each step, you risk running into the gauntlet of gum, dog crap, mustard packet, vomit, sleeping homeless person, blood, open manhole cover, or crackhead’s face. Along the way though, the glory of a toned girl wearing cork wedges, a sundress and a straw fedora catches the eye in this picturesque weather and erases all of that vileness. So here’s to you, cork wedges, and all of your holy healing powers.


High irony that the slogan on the back of my Metro Card on the NYC subway read: “OPTIMISM.” Oh, you didn’t know there is a slogan on the back of NYC T pass, er, Metro Cards? Pft, amateur. Anyway, you better stay optimistic down there, because aside from the fact that half the street-side stops were closed for what I can only assume were terror reasons, that is only the first obstacle down in the underworld of America’s largest city. I would challenge anyone to walk down there and not immediately have some type of shit particle fly up into their eyes from the constant wind blowing around in these tunnels. Once you’ve contracted a Stye infection, you have to cram onto a train where you are trapped prey for panhandlers. The odds on favorite to panhandle aboard this moving trap is an Eastern European woman with dirty child in tow who breathes into your face hoping you drop change into her found Subway cup (the sandwich shop: the actual subway doesn’t give out the cups for panhandlers apparently). Basically, what you can gather by now is that if you can walk it, or cab it for a reasonable fare: do it. I’ve got a good friend who will almost never bend on this matter, and I can’t say I disagree. At least the freaks on the Boston T think they are rappers/DJs or just mumble quietly in a corner to themselves. I don’t know about you but I think it’s time for a visually appealing Memorial Day inspired break.

WWE Diva- Kelly Kelly. Yup, they just named her Kelly twice. America?


If you aren’t waking up, rolling out of bed, shotgunning a Gatorade and playing some Fifa before you go get drunk at a brunch special in the city, you just aren’t in New York City. Got to give major credit here, this is a huge thing in NYC as places all over have great drink specials. I obviously went to a restaurant called Lasagna for my drink special. Making the easiest choice since voting for Carrie Underwood on American Idol, I added $9.95 to my brunch of a smoked salmon and spinach scrambler (classic alliteration) for unlimited bloody mary’s, mimosas, bellinis and screwdrivers. Got to give even more credit to the super awkward foreign guys serving the drinks. They kind of hovered around like the sneaky butler from Mr. Deeds until you ordered another drink. They rarely understood your order on the first try. But, these determined motheruffers just kept on dutifully refilling mimosas and loading up screwdrivers like one of Pavlovs dogs responding to classical conditioning. After inventing a drinking challenge (because, what’s drinking if it’s not a challenge) of having one of each drink offered in succession and then in reverse order, it’s pretty much time to go home for a nap. Or, in our case, it’s time to go get 10 pound mugs of beer from a German place called Bierhaus and happily quote Beerfest lines for the rest of the afternoon.


For whatever reason, something about rooftop drinking just makes drinking more fun. The only person who knows the true answer is the same person who can explain why puck sluts are attracted to hockey players. Okay bad analogy: we’ll never understand the puck slut thing. Perhaps it’s that potential to fall to your death if you drink too much, but it’s probably just the extra-sensory feeling you get when you are 100 feet up having a cocktail. Naturally, where we stayed for the weekend had roof access and allowed for some of the best pre-gaming in the city. Any time grown men are forced to ask the girls who have cameras to take pictures of them in front of the Empire State Building, for the sole purpose of a Facebook default…  ah screw it, grown men ask for default pics all the time, but still these are really cool defaults.

Of course I'm not showing you my facebook default. So here's Taylor Cole, she was in "The Event" and since no one watched that, you can see her now.


Blolz. I know, right!?! Shouldn’t this place be in Provincetown or San Francisco? Well, in NYC, the trendy clubs are all here, and for the first time in my life I get to openly admit to loving me some meat packing. Somehow, in the magical way that hasn’t been seen since Lord Voldemort’s backfiring curse on Harry, 14 of us were able to maneuver into the same club. Even more amazing is that for the most part, everyone got out together and alive. Naturally, with such a large pack of people in a crowded drunken state, there were some casualties: a removal from the club, and a stray wanderer included. Overall, though, everybody fist pumped for so long carpel tunnel became a concern, then grouped up, used their inner munchy GPS and located cheap pizza by 4am.


It was Memorial Day weekend and you better have had a BBQ to attend or prepared one yourself. In our case, after the girls we were with opted out of having fun and grilling meat so they could attend an Alexander McQueen “art” exhibit at the Met that I’m pretty positive was completely mythical, the men journeyed on to Jersey City. After walking aimlessly around New York and New Jersey trying to find sausages to put on the grill, we gave up and decided we’d just bring the sausages already in the group that wouldn’t be going on a grill. After sipping some Sam Summers at a gentle pace whilst mowing multitudes of beef patties, the drinking games quickly ensued. All that needs to be discussed to show our love for America is the way we settled a game of full-beer-full-flip Flip Cup. After deciding both sides cheated in some way, the tie was broken, not by replaying the game or with lame penalty kicks like they’d do in Europe, but with a shotgunned beer relay race. America!

Because Blake Lively has been getting a lot of pub lately, and we all know Leighton steals the show, literally, figuratively, whateverly.


By a chance train shutdown and transfer, we were forced to get off at the World Trade Center subway stop. Going up a six wide escalator that was about three stories high, I commented how impressive the station alone was. Overhearing me in an escalator next to us was a local New Yorker who commented, “You shoulda seen it before the attacks.” Which quickly put into perspective the weekend as a whole. As we got outside and stared at not only the impressive construction of the new Freedom Tower, but also the breathtaking plans for the foundation fountain and reflecting pool, we were all taken aback. I immediately thought how many people were back in the area, riding the subways, and living their lives freely. All the above shenanigans I discussed are only possible because of the Armed Forces kicking ass and upholding peace everywhere else in the world. Happy Belated Memorial Day! Don’t forget what the day and time with your family and friends is really for.

Yup, America, motorcycles, and cork wedges!


My Book’s Foreword

May 24, 2011

Some time during college, I had the idea to write a book about getting through college with a 4.0 social GPA. One could argue (at least I would) that the more friends you make in college, the better your future opportunities. Sure, there are the foreign exchange students with 4.0 actual GPAs who cure cancer and stuff, but none of those people are reading this blog. Thinking through some titles, I settled on something along the lines of “How to Get Through College Without Reading: Ironic I Wrote a Book.” I actually started the book about a year and a half ago, and combined have probably put about two hours into it since then. I’ve got like 3,000 words (aka- a tad longer than my bin Laden blog), so I thought I would post the foreword. The timing is good because I know nothing about this Israeli/Palestinian conflict and there’s nothing funny about what took place in Missouri. Don’t worry, I’ll throw hot girls in still. So here you go: the foreword to my book, written over a year ago and most likely to never be completed…

In case this blog isn't your cup of tea, Kate Upton twitpic'd a glass of beer, which you have to enjoy.

Monday, September 14, 2009


Who invented the foreword anyway? This seems ridiculous. I did no research on writing a book, but I know that some books have forewords, and I will do anything to at least present the image of me being an author. Am I an author just for writing this? If people ask, can I tell them that I’m an author, and not an unemployed college graduate living with my parents? (Editor’s note: you are an author when you are published. BOOM. Just published myself). Have I been too rhetorical in my foreword? These thoughts have all come to mind since I sat down and started typing this.

Bobby Frost... beardless as a baby's ass.

I’m starting to really like the foreword.

I originally intended to write this entire book at a Starbucks where I order trendy author-like frappes and have a cute barista know my order every morning. I’d also love to grow a beard, as some pictures I’ve seen of great writers show them with beards. Shakespeare had one. So did Robert Frost (editor’s note: I just googled Robert Frost to check the veracity of my last statement. It is false. Perhaps I can still be a great writer).

Anyway, I think I should tell a story at this point in the foreword to explain why I’m writing this book. If that’s what the foreword is even for.

Sophomore year of High School I wrote a five-page paper on some topic that escapes me now. It was for English class. So it was probably a paper on Shakespeare or Robert Frost. That’s not important. My Mom asked me how the paper went and I told her I finished the fifth page. She asked how long it was supposed to be (five to seven pages) and then said, so why did you only do five. I answered, “Because it said five to seven. That means I can’t be penalized for doing the minimum.” She told me that it was the minimum and maybe I should consider doing the maximum some time to show more effort. I told her, “Mom, I ALWAYS do the minimum. Doing the maximum is just a waste of greatness.”

Recently found out that this chick Ashley Greene is in the Twilight movies as Edward Cullen's sister. Do what you want with that knowledge, but I'm still not watching those movies.

This motto has generally guided my life in all endeavors that require work. It is also most likely the reason that I am an unemployed college grad living with my parents. Just think, if I did the maximum, I would be working a real job and not writing this book. So far, I’m having fun being an author. It has been 19 minutes. Now, I feel bad for the unemployed college graduates.

In closing, (Just the foreword’s closing. Not the entire book. Otherwise this would be a short book that may not classify as a book since it’s just a foreword) I’m writing this book because some people throughout my life have told me I’m entertaining and tell good stories. If they were patronizing me, this book is really going to suck. If they weren’t, then however many pages this book turns into might go down as the greatest words you have ever read (unless you have ever read Shakespeare or Robert Frost. I’ve spark noted them, and they seem pretty good, so I won’t put myself in their league, yet). The book should be about college, life, and things that are in college and life, and how I feel about those things. I just wrote that sentence and questioned whether I can put “, and” twice in the same sentence. I decided that since I’m the author and it’s my book, I could do this.

So without further ado, here is my book. If you are wondering, that foreword was fun. If I write another book, it will have a foreword, too.

Liked what Kate did with the place in her earlier Twitpic, and didn't feel like finding some other scantily clad model whose boobs don't redefine the game.

Stay tuned…