First of all, I apologize for the previous post about Mike Jackson. For some reason, I was mistaken for somebody that "talked smack on the 'Legion of Doom' website (?)" and someone much cooler than I (who I'm sure doesn't live in his parent's basement) left all kinds of crazy responses to the post including copious use of profanity. That forced me to delete the message and repost. I don't know. Don't want to know. Don't care. Bunch of weirdos on this Internet.
I've been advised that I need to recap the weekend for the benefit of the folks I spent a majority of the time with. I was invited to a graduation party this weekend for one Ashly "Ash Bash" Shannon in the lovely resort town of Powers, MI. The food was very top shelf and the companionship of friends new (Steve and Nissa) and old (Ash, Jaime and Amy) was unbeatable.
Apparently the organizers of the shindig subscribe to the same belief as I do that a party is not a party until meatballs get involved. These were not just any meatballs however, as I was informed that these were the "Mayor's Meatballs!" True story. Ashly's grandpappy is the mayor of Powers, MI and also makes a mean batch of meatballs. So I loaded up on the Mayor's Meatballs and a stuffing/turkey combination that was equally as good. Topping off the meal for me was some tasty Taco Salad (which may have been made by the Fire Chief of Spalding. I've had unconfirmed reports.)
I guess there's no point in being modest about the subsequent games of bean bags that occupied us for a majority of the afternoon. We dominated at bean bags. For those that aren't familiar, bean bags is a game played with a board about two feet wide and three feet long (on an incline) with a six inch diameter hole near the top of it. You then throw bean bags toward the hole from 30 feet away, followed by Ashly making up a scoring system out of thin air. Along with my tag team partna Steve, Team Nate was undefeated. That win streak included traversing the bracket of what seemed like a double or triple elimination round robin tournament and a 21-0 shellacking of Team Jerry and Larry. Sadly, not even ESPN8 (The Ocho) or Obscure Sports Quarterly came to cover the Shannon Invitational. Each bean bag that made it in the hole was followed by a cry of "Diiiing!" from yours truly (an homage to the Dan Patrick Show on ESPN Radio.)
Finally, the party moved to Escanaba, where we hung out at the Delft or "The Matrixx of Little Bay de Noc area." I had a smattering of mixed drinks, accompanied by enough shots from Steve to get a rhino a DUI...well, if rhino's had cars.
The folks at Escanaba Taxi were nice enough to pick us up at 2:15a outside of the Delft to return us to the Comfort Suites. Due to a provision in the Hudson's restaurant employee discount policy, the room at the Comfort Suites cost us pocket change. Literally. It was less than five bucks a person. A peculiar thing happened between the time we left to go to the bar and the time we got back to the Comfort Suites. Everybody was totally, knee-walking trashed. I've got Ash pukin' in the room, Amy freaking out because we're too loud, Steve being too loud and Jaime rocking back and forth and saying "pizza" over and over again. At one point Ashly made a break for it down the hallway, walking on her knees. Amy and Nate sprung immediately into action, catching the little hellion before she could get to the elevator and go... I'm not sure she actually knew where she was going. Everyone finally got to sleep. Somehow Ashly got into pajamas during the night and puked again during the night. It had been arbitrarily decided that I would be the odd man out when it came to pillows so I spent much of the night with the comfort of windbreaker as a headrest. Everyone parted ways at various times in the morning in various shades of hungover.
My next stop was at Ma and Pa Holtslander's for a little Father's Day burger cookout. My father is going to have a trip to The Olive Garden (or as he thinks of it: "A little slice of Heaven here on Earth") courtesy of the Nate Dogg. The big guy loves the place. I thought the last time my fam was in Green Bay and I suggested that we go to Damon's instead of the Olive Garden that I had created an irreparable rift in my family. We would be known as the "Olive Garden Holtslander Clan" and the "Other Holtslander Clan", forever to fight on the battlefields of the family car, driving around trying to decide where to eat. This conflict was almost settled by the Treaty of Olive Garden on Casaloma Dr., but as of post time is unresolved.
Go Pistons tonight!
I'm finished,
Nate
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
"Do You Remember The Time?"
Everyone can relax now, the anticipation and anxiousness that was the Michael Jackson trial is finally over. Wow, I can't believe I just wrote that. I think the real tragedy here is not in the fact that Michael Jackson was prosecuted (or persecuted, depending who you ask) for heinous crimes against children, it lies in the fact that everything was so believable. Not one of us actually said to ourselves, "There's no way he did what they are accusing him of." Jacko has gone so nuts in the last 15 years that nothing is beyond the scope of believability. Is that fair? Just because he has a ferris wheel in his front yard, said publicly that it is OK for grown men to sleep with boys and has already settled lawsuits with molestation accusers in the past; is that enough to automatically think he was guilty in this situation. My answer is: It doesn't help.
Do I personally think he was guilty? I believe the story has to be given some credibility (mostly because of his past eccentricities), but the case was handled poorly. The fact is, the prosecution could not produce one shred of physical evidence and had only the accusations of shaky witnesses combined with some hired guns to come in to attempt a failed character assassination. The prosecutor apparently forgot about that pesky burden of proof thing.
In any case, Michael Jackson has experienced one of the most dramatic falls from grace in our lifetime. This guy was the friggin' King of Pop at one time! He sold records like nobody had since Elvis. The album "Thriller" (at one time the best selling album of all time, now second to The Eagles) sold 26 million copies in the US. To put that in perspective, "Hit Me Baby One More Time" by Britney Spears and "Abbey Road" by the Beatles sold 26 million albums combined. Oh, and it did all right in the rest of the world too, at over 63 million copies sold. His worst selling album ever, 2001's "Invincible," still went double platinum. Looking back on his body of solo work (not including the huge successes with the Jackson 5), he only released five major albums and sold 57 million units in the US alone.
Michael also had an unrivaled marketing touch. He pitched for both Coke and Pepsi and LA Gear named a shoe after him (quite an accomplishment in an era where only tall guys named Jordan had shoes bearing their name.) Even when he inexplicably started turning white and wearing what looked like military commander Halloween costumes, he was still the biggest draw in the free world and otherwise. He was The Beatles of his era.
Since the first whispers of molestation began, Mikey has been on a free fall at what seems like terminal velocity. He's had facelifts apparently done by the George Lucas Creature Shop. He's dangled one of his children from a balcony window. He's admitted that he thinks it is "natural" to sleep in the same bed with young boys. He named a kid "Blanket." Even in his most trying hour, with his freedom for the better part of the next two decades on the line (in the recent criminal trial), he seemed to be blowing off the "real" world. He showed up late to court, showed up once in pajama pants and once did a dance routine on top of a vehicle while leaving the courthouse.
My take is that it is a case of us expecting too much from a fragile human being who happens to be famous. From some accounts, Michael Jackson is a broken man and the butt of countless jokes. He will probably go down in history like Howard Hughes, Mike Tyson, and Ol' Dirty Bastard, remembered more for his eccentricities and scandals than for his professional accomplishments. Somehow, I just managed to make a correlation between one of the biggest pop stars of all time and a rapper that wanted to be known either as Dirt McGirt or Big Baby Jesus. Perhaps such an eventual eulogy an unfair punishment for a man who seems tormented in his own skin or a fitting sentence for someone who thumbed his nose at much of the things we consider normal. Even now the talking heads refer to him as the "self proclaimed King of Pop" as if they never bought in to the hype in the first place. They bought in just like acid wash and New Kids on the Block and every other "embarrassing" thing from the past. Maybe it feels good to disregard him now as "Wacko Jacko." Every once in a while however, it is nice to look back on him as "The King."
I'm finished,
Nate
Do I personally think he was guilty? I believe the story has to be given some credibility (mostly because of his past eccentricities), but the case was handled poorly. The fact is, the prosecution could not produce one shred of physical evidence and had only the accusations of shaky witnesses combined with some hired guns to come in to attempt a failed character assassination. The prosecutor apparently forgot about that pesky burden of proof thing.
In any case, Michael Jackson has experienced one of the most dramatic falls from grace in our lifetime. This guy was the friggin' King of Pop at one time! He sold records like nobody had since Elvis. The album "Thriller" (at one time the best selling album of all time, now second to The Eagles) sold 26 million copies in the US. To put that in perspective, "Hit Me Baby One More Time" by Britney Spears and "Abbey Road" by the Beatles sold 26 million albums combined. Oh, and it did all right in the rest of the world too, at over 63 million copies sold. His worst selling album ever, 2001's "Invincible," still went double platinum. Looking back on his body of solo work (not including the huge successes with the Jackson 5), he only released five major albums and sold 57 million units in the US alone.
Michael also had an unrivaled marketing touch. He pitched for both Coke and Pepsi and LA Gear named a shoe after him (quite an accomplishment in an era where only tall guys named Jordan had shoes bearing their name.) Even when he inexplicably started turning white and wearing what looked like military commander Halloween costumes, he was still the biggest draw in the free world and otherwise. He was The Beatles of his era.
Since the first whispers of molestation began, Mikey has been on a free fall at what seems like terminal velocity. He's had facelifts apparently done by the George Lucas Creature Shop. He's dangled one of his children from a balcony window. He's admitted that he thinks it is "natural" to sleep in the same bed with young boys. He named a kid "Blanket." Even in his most trying hour, with his freedom for the better part of the next two decades on the line (in the recent criminal trial), he seemed to be blowing off the "real" world. He showed up late to court, showed up once in pajama pants and once did a dance routine on top of a vehicle while leaving the courthouse.
My take is that it is a case of us expecting too much from a fragile human being who happens to be famous. From some accounts, Michael Jackson is a broken man and the butt of countless jokes. He will probably go down in history like Howard Hughes, Mike Tyson, and Ol' Dirty Bastard, remembered more for his eccentricities and scandals than for his professional accomplishments. Somehow, I just managed to make a correlation between one of the biggest pop stars of all time and a rapper that wanted to be known either as Dirt McGirt or Big Baby Jesus. Perhaps such an eventual eulogy an unfair punishment for a man who seems tormented in his own skin or a fitting sentence for someone who thumbed his nose at much of the things we consider normal. Even now the talking heads refer to him as the "self proclaimed King of Pop" as if they never bought in to the hype in the first place. They bought in just like acid wash and New Kids on the Block and every other "embarrassing" thing from the past. Maybe it feels good to disregard him now as "Wacko Jacko." Every once in a while however, it is nice to look back on him as "The King."
I'm finished,
Nate
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Stars and Stripes and What Not.
I've got a lot to talk about after the loooooong Memorial Day weekend (off Friday through Tuesday.) Let's get started!
Swallow Inn Fish Fry- Perhaps I am a little biased on this because it is from my favorite, nay, only watering hole in the Rapid River area that I frequent. This stuff is good, yo. The main show is of course the fish, but you are definately cheating yourself if you don't try the taco salad on the salad bar. After a couple of more pops I took my fish to go and went home to eat with the folks.
Swallow Inn Friday Night- Had a good time conversing with the usual crowd: Kurt, Johnny, Holmgren, Cole, etc... Got a shot from Johnny later in the night as payment "for that time I stayed at your place in Marquette." Someone should tell him that was over a year and a half ago, I think he's bought me beers and shots already for it and it wasn't that big of an imposition in the first place. Somebody else tell him, though... free shots is free shots. Got a sober ride home from Ashley, who got into town around midnight. Funniest point of the night: I get a call at about 10:45 from Ashley. She says, "I just saw a sign that said 20 miles to Rapid River." It sounded a little suspect that she'd be almost to Escanaba, but I shrug it off and go back to my beer. So we wait...and wait...and wait. I get a call a little bit later: "I think that sign said 20 miles to Cedar River. I'm just getting to Escanaba now." Ah, the intricasies of navigating the great Upper Peninsula.
Wedding Bells!- My buddy from way back in the day (like "the first person I ever considered a friend" back in the day), Eric Lundin got married on Saturday. They look like a lovely couple. It was good to see Eric and talk to him in friendly tones again. My years of jackassery at Northern alienated many people and I suspect that Eric fell into that group (obviously through no fault of his own.) It felt great to have all the boys back together; Bruno, Bergman, Lundin and myself. Between the three of them, I think I can account for about 90% of my good memories from back home. We also made up 100% of the 1997 High School Bowl team that was one bad judgement call away from making the "Smart 16." We four shall never meet again... well until someone else gets married. My money's on Bruno. Quote of the wedding: Bergman: "You're staying at home? Oh. Cause I've got a room here for the night if you're interested." Me: "Um. You know how that sounded, don't you." Bergman: "That's not what I meant."
Memorial Day- Same ol parade, less people you recognize, and no beer tent. Yeah, could've skipped that.
I'm finished,
Nate
Swallow Inn Fish Fry- Perhaps I am a little biased on this because it is from my favorite, nay, only watering hole in the Rapid River area that I frequent. This stuff is good, yo. The main show is of course the fish, but you are definately cheating yourself if you don't try the taco salad on the salad bar. After a couple of more pops I took my fish to go and went home to eat with the folks.
Swallow Inn Friday Night- Had a good time conversing with the usual crowd: Kurt, Johnny, Holmgren, Cole, etc... Got a shot from Johnny later in the night as payment "for that time I stayed at your place in Marquette." Someone should tell him that was over a year and a half ago, I think he's bought me beers and shots already for it and it wasn't that big of an imposition in the first place. Somebody else tell him, though... free shots is free shots. Got a sober ride home from Ashley, who got into town around midnight. Funniest point of the night: I get a call at about 10:45 from Ashley. She says, "I just saw a sign that said 20 miles to Rapid River." It sounded a little suspect that she'd be almost to Escanaba, but I shrug it off and go back to my beer. So we wait...and wait...and wait. I get a call a little bit later: "I think that sign said 20 miles to Cedar River. I'm just getting to Escanaba now." Ah, the intricasies of navigating the great Upper Peninsula.
Wedding Bells!- My buddy from way back in the day (like "the first person I ever considered a friend" back in the day), Eric Lundin got married on Saturday. They look like a lovely couple. It was good to see Eric and talk to him in friendly tones again. My years of jackassery at Northern alienated many people and I suspect that Eric fell into that group (obviously through no fault of his own.) It felt great to have all the boys back together; Bruno, Bergman, Lundin and myself. Between the three of them, I think I can account for about 90% of my good memories from back home. We also made up 100% of the 1997 High School Bowl team that was one bad judgement call away from making the "Smart 16." We four shall never meet again... well until someone else gets married. My money's on Bruno. Quote of the wedding: Bergman: "You're staying at home? Oh. Cause I've got a room here for the night if you're interested." Me: "Um. You know how that sounded, don't you." Bergman: "That's not what I meant."
Memorial Day- Same ol parade, less people you recognize, and no beer tent. Yeah, could've skipped that.
I'm finished,
Nate
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