“Can a series end if it never begins? Do the game tapes magically disappear? Are tickets refundable? And of utmost importance: If a series never existed, am I still getting paid to cover it?”

Respect to googly-eyed M-Daily alum Mike Rosenberg for the lead of last night’s Bulls-Pistons recap. I’m disappointed this didn’t turn into showdown everyone was expecting and just feel a bit sorry for the Baby Bulls of my adopted city. Make no mistake, I’m always behind my hometown team, but I felt actually sorry that the Bulls could do anything with a 19 point lead last night except let it slip away. The Bad Boys don’t need another punching bag series where they barely have to shoot straight to pull things out.

Assuming they can crawl their way past Lebron that shit will get them now where when they head West.

I am however, winning a bet that’s gonna bring me some a serious media windfall. Details if I do actually win. No chickens yet counted out of respect for my current overloaded-hotdog hood.

UPDATE: From Bill Laimbeer’s wikipedia article: “Initially raised in the Chicago suburb of Clarendon Hills, Illinois, Laimbeer attended Palos Verdes High School in Southern California and then the University of Notre Dame; in 1974 he played one of the Sleestak during the first season of the TV series Land of the Lost.”

Whhhhaaaaaa??

Don’t attempt to ride your bike while intoxicated and eating Yesterdog when there is a trash can in the near vacinity. It can only lead to hilarity for those around you. Thanks, random drunk guy! You made my week!

PS - Additional PSA: Don’t walk extended distances wearing canvas shoes and no socks. It can only lead to blisters.

Hey, just thought I’d ruin everybody’s day.

Interesting side note, found that while search for a clip from the Mexican movie “Santa vs. Satan.”

To the guy who keeps putting on a dozen consecutive Nine Inch Nails songs at the bar: Look, everyone likes NIN to some extent. We all feel like angsty 13-year-old kids from time to time, and I’ll admit that I have a few NIN albums myself. I’ll even throw a song on on the juke box if the mood suits me, but we don’t need a full hour of NIN when we’re out drinking. The beauty of the juke box — especially the Internet variety like the one in question — is that you have thousands of artists at your fingertips. Change it up from time to time. At the very least don’t pick that shitty-ass remix of “Closer”. That’s a total downer.

To the lady who was intent on not letting me merge onto the freeway this morning: This is a big city. There are a million people in the metropolitan area. We need to look out for each other, especially when we’re driving. There were a number of things you did wrong. You were in the far-left lane for no particular reason. You really shouldn’t do this, especially when there’s traffic merging from the left side. On top of that, you were on a gigantic eight-lane expressway. If you’re going to be driving on it for a while, as you were, drift to the middle and stay out of the way. Worst of all, when it’s 6:45 A.M., like it was when I encountered you, and the other three lanes are empty, please remember that when I’m merging I have only one lane to choose from and kindly use one of the three empty lanes. The least you could do is adjust your speed so that I don’t have to go 80 mph just to avoid hitting you, a mere 1/4 mile before entering the engineering marvel known as the S-curve.

To the guy I’m certain I don’t know who yelled “Hey, man! What’s up!” when I walked past his car outside Meijer and then started laughing hysterically when I gave him a polite nod: Maybe I was just in a bad mood this afternoon and any other day I’d be amused by a character such as yourself, but your game seems illogical and needlessly simple.

To the lady who drives the yellow VW Beetle to work: Your parking jobs are amazingly bad. The lines on the parking lot at our place of employment are bright and crisp, so when you manage to park precisely at the center of the intersection of four of them, that’s quite an accomplishment in the field of just not paying attention. Is it some kind of commentary? Are you shunning the rules of modern society to make some kind of point?

To the guy at the gas station who wanted some of my Gatorade: Thank you for acknowledging my purple shirt. It’s actually a favorite of mine. But, no, you can’t have any of my Gatorade.

Growing up in a rather blue-collar suburb of Grand Rapids, there wasn’t much to do other than play baseball on a tennis court and padless football on an L-shaped backyard. There weren’t too many cool places to hang out within biking distance, so a trip to 7-Eleven for a Slurpee was about as good as it got. There were no more than four flavors available at any given time, and typically the options were Coca-Cola (always dependable), blue raspberry (the best), cherry (anh…), and piña colada (why the fuck would a prepubescent Midwestern boy want some coconut-ass shit in his Slurpee?). Slurpees were always so much better than the shitty slushes that Cone City peddled down the road. With a slush, you’d get about half-way through and all the syrup would be gone and you’d be left with half a cup of ice. But in the hands of a skilled drinker, the syrup and crushed ice were always in perfect proportion in a Slurpee, from beginning to end.

Over the years I’ve tried to keep in touch with 7-Eleven, stopping in for cigarettes and beer, and even the occasional blue razz Slurpee if it’s on tap.

Anyway, so on my way home from work today, I stopped into a 7-Eleven near downtown to use the ATM. As I walked past the Slurpee machine, something caught my eye. It wasn’t blue raspberry or anything else from my childhood. It was, I think, the exact opposite of that: a sugar-free pomegranate Slurpee. Such an idea was pretty upsetting at first, but then I remembered how much I enjoy pomegranate and how sugar-free means healthy. I couldn’t pass it up. I had to try it. Alas, I’m slightly ashamed to admit it, but it was pretty fucking good. If my 8-year-old self could see my now, he’d kick my ass. What an asshole I’ve turned into.

What does Dinosaur Jr have to do with The Big Lebowski? Check out my latest review at recordreviews.org to find out.

I work across from the Hard Rock Café hotel and there was a naked lady in her window that our entire office was watching for like a good fifteen minutes. She either couldn’t see 50 people staring and waving and taking pictures with very expensive cameras or lost a bet.

Looking forward to respect training next week.