Why the Long Underwear?

Our apologies for the delay. We were gone fishin'. If the topical jokes appear three weeks too late, it's because they are. Enjoy!

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Fashion stagnant would be an accurate way to describe my wardrobe. I very rarely embrace sweeping trends -- except for that one time that I just had to have those pink Uggs to match my Snuggie, and it wasn't like anyone was going to ridicule either of those decisions. I know the names Tom Ford and Oscar de la Renta not because of an intimate understanding of the biz, but rather because of well-to-do rap artists with a flair for lookin' "Marty Mc-"

My wheelhouse generally consists of a pair of dark jeans, a single colored shirt, and a zipper hoodie. This movie-extra ensemble can carry me through most of the year without major issue. Granted, this look doesn't exactly create an inescapable sexual paradise for women, but it keeps me happy and doesn't backtalk.

When it comes to supplements, women and black men accessorize more than anyone else on the planet. Contrary to popular belief, I belong to neither of those two groups, so I'll leave the accessories in someone else's foot locker. Although, I would love a red hat to go with my red shoes and red LRG shirt.

Someday...

The finale of ABC Family's 25 days of Christmas, coupled with the inability of my ultra-luxury '97 Buick LeSabre (pronouced le-sab-rah, I'm sure) to start, confirms that lose-ter is long over and winter has comfortably settled in. The time to step on a crunchy leaf has passed, and by now we've all got that Red Ryder BB Gun to shoot our eye out with. This newfound urge for violence is well complemented with some fresh attire. One specific type of clothing, really.

I'm talking, of course, about long underwear.

Turns white men into Shaft

Now before you fashionistas shoot me full of icy cold glares and a dangerous lack of appetite, hear me out. Long underwear is a wonderful addition to your dressers for a variety of reasons. If you'll just follow me this way...

A Midwestern winter is characterized by snow, wind, icicles, and anything else from the Academy Award winning motion picture Fargo. Yah, it's cold alright, you betcha. The warmth provided by this thermal wear is amazing. It's like a Brink's home security system for your body, keeping the comfort in and the carolers out. Also, get someone to punch in the right code and it too will come off. Now who's complaining?

No one, that's who. This does, however, bring up my second point. Many of you might be thinking aloud at your internet box, screaming profanities about the unattractiveness of a pair of long johns on a possible love partner. Fear not, for you may be forgetting a simple truth. Most long underwear is tight fitting. Tight fitting things show off a person's physique. This display and confidence in one's body are sure to drive your significant other so wild with passion that their lustful eyes will overlook the thatched pattern which has no doubt been pressed onto your skin.

Like the priest or Santa ever had a chance

A final, lesser known, advantage about long underwear is within the restrictive nature of the material. It's an auto diet, making someone consciously recognize their muffin top -- the part of your belly that hangs over and folds along your belt line. It also stops urges to continue eating for fear that your waistband will break up and go on to pursue misguided solo careers.

When this winter starts to get (even) colder, and you're at your neighborhood K-Mart shopping for the season's latest craze, be sure to mentally reference The Sometimes and our hearty endorsement for the best clothing candidate all year -- long underwear. It'll keep you warm, sexy, and in shape. Plus, you'll still be able to wear your Uggs.

Stay bundled my friends,

Tapan Jones

[Art, as always, by Thomas Glass Jr.]

Click to maximize the pictures!

Time Waste Management

Putting things off; Is there anything less off putting? If there's one truth that high school, college, and daily life have taught me over the years, it's the joy in being a citizen of the Procrastination.

The Bill of Rights of said country (which will be done in a week, we swear) states that having a task at hand means having an opportunity to push that task back until about 2:30 a.m. the night before it's due.

Many say this sort of behavior is a perfect example of poor time management, but we here at The Sometimes believe that if you've managed to give yourself 3 and a half more weeks of watching Family Matters reruns, that's an accomplishment in and of itself.

Tom Glass Half Full. Finish Date: Someday

I remember being in high school and seeing the 2003 version of a tweet or status update in the form of my friend's AIM away message. It quipped, "Procrastination is like masturbation, in the end you're just screwing yourself."

This always validated my delay in work. Outside of Christine O'Donnell, I've found that nearly everyone, everywhere thinks very highly of the self-act that shall not speak its name. I always thought that away message was a pro-"pro" statement. Turns out my friend was a square.

Lately, when shifting my attention away from anything that needs doing, I've turned it towards something much, much more intellectually satisfying. And cute.

Angry Birds.

Before I even get into the details of what exactly A.B. is, let me issue a request. For any of you that have an iP(__) with a touch screen, or if you own a Droid phone, make sure to find your way over to the ole' app shop, and snag this game up right now.

Alright, let's talk about the birds and the pigs. Angry Birds is a delightfully charming game in which you control a pack of - you guessed it - birds. These birds, scientific name launchus atthepiggies, have a temper because a bunch of damn dirty swine have stolen their eggs. So, being the victims of theft, the birds react by channeling their inner Kevin Bacon (in Death Sentence) and seek vengeance. They proceed to hurl themselves, via slingshot, at all the ham they can find in the most point scoring manner possible.

Ivan Drago means business

Counting Angry Birds and the recently released Angry Birds Halloween, there are 240 creative and challenging levels at the disposal of anyone looking for a simple way to pass the time.

What this means is that in my quest not to focus on important matters, I've been spending all of my time focused. Angry Birds is a cruel and sexy mistress that tempts you during t.v. commercials, while waiting for a haircut, and especially in line at Subway. Luckily, this mistress won't threaten to tell to your wife everything, or throw a tantrum in the middle of a restaurant because you never take her out anywhere nice...or prior to 11 o'clock.

But the best thing about this game is that, unlike LeBron's ego, it has an end. All the levels can be completed, and you can even go through doing the 3-star challenge and still find yourself satisfied when it's all over. Think of it like the Bible -- once you get through it, it's time to preach the word. Which is pretty much what I'm doing right now.

Really gives a new meaning to "tablet" computers, huh?

If games don't strike your fancy, there are many other ways to delay the inevitable assignments in life:

1) Get in the habit of watching YouTube clips you never thought you'd see. There's always that little pudgy kid who lip-syncs covers of pop songs, or clips of The Rock during his historic years inside the squared circle. Those will pass 20 minutes, easy.

2) .......I was going to finish this list, but I started watching old Jordan highlights. Man, that guy was special.

So with exam season in the air and jobs that need projects done, we hope we've played an important role today. Meaning, we hope you read this while you were supposed to be doing something much more important. Whether you were or you weren't, sorry, but we cannot give you back the last 3 minutes of your life.

Now it's time for you to go forth and delay some more. And remember, if it's not due tomorrow, you've got plenty of time. That goes for all you pregnant ladies, too.

Here's to screwing yourself,

Tapan Jones

[Art, as always, by Thomas Glass Jr.]

Click to maximize the pictures!

P.S. comment on what you do to procrastinate, and the best one will receive a buck from yours truly.

Time to Be Self-Central

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Just a quick little note before we dive in to this bi-week's post. We at the Sometimes want to apologize for the unusual 4 week gap in between entries. Our writer (that's me!) had been focused on things that don't happen on computers, and finally got all of that behind him. Our artist (that's Tom!) has been waiting to draw up something new, so with that, let's get back to the action.

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Remember when Galileo got beat up for saying that the Earth revolved around the Sun instead of everything revolving around Pope Roman-name the Fourth? Being a man of science, I would have been quick to have The Lei Man's back in that tussle, but honestly, I think I'm finally starting to understand the position of everyone else.

Tug of World

Not that I'm a particularly selfish or ignorant man, nor have I ever shown a penchant for wailing on nerds, I can just understand - much like those early physicists - being the center of attraction. I hope you appreciate the gravity of that joke.

Double G was, in fact, correct. The planets in this solar system do orbit the Sun and not the Earth. Should have figured, what with the "solar" in the name and all. Anyway, we've accepted this fact and consequently have a much better understanding of pretty much everything. Hell, we set our clocks by it.

Which is actually what I've been waiting to get at for 3 paragraphs now. I've lived in and around the wonderful city of Chicago for a little over nine years. The people are swell, the weather is cooperative for 6 months out of the year, and the Art Institute is free on Thursdays after 5. It's just a great place.

But one thing has always upset me: Why aren't people up in arms about Central Time? You know, that whole thing where we're "an hour behind New York and two hours ahead of L.A."

I have always felt that CST should be what the rest of the timezones orbit around.

Something about the center of things just feels inherently right: The focal point in renaissance art, the fifty yard line on a football field, the spine of a book, and even where they cut your foot long sub. If any or all of these things were shifted slightly to the right, or "east", you wouldn't feel physically comfortable. Observe.

1st and Goal from the 50? Go Carolina Panthers!

Side Pony Girl: Even I think this is nuts

Imagine what it looks like closed.

When you look at a clock, you'll find that 12 is at the top, reigning supreme on everyone else. It's dead center. Having to do everything based on Eastern Time is like having a 1 at the top of your clock - who the hell wants that?

The biggest issue this causes is with confusion as it relates to TV Programming. While the advent of DVR and overall maturity may curb this problem for others, I'm championing the cause for people like me who have neither of those things.

I do appreciate having the last word in "9/8 central," but the time has come to abandon this strange scheduling announcement. Think of it like a bell curve, the meaty part is right in the middle. The central time zone is the everyman, so cater to our needs, and let the outliers do the math. Chicag-0 will be the middle integer.

You said it, brother. (Yeahhhhh!)

If all of this seems like a loose argument veiled in a general superiority complex that I think Chicago is better than New York or Los Angeles, then kudos on your cynicism, because that's totally what it is.

So here's to the bringing The G Man out of house arrest to fight for part two - Heliocentrism: This Time, It's Personal.

Onward to a future where the CST is the BST. In the mean time, the rest of the world can deal with Greenwich.

Clocking out,

Tapan Jones

[Art, as always, by Thomas Glass Jr.]

Read You Like A Poster

The whistle's officially been blown on another Labor Day. Once again, Americans have their noses back to their respective grindstones, and they're smelling the hell out of employment.

Outside of notable fashion changes, Labor Day also signals the end to summer vacation. Many of our readers have completed their undergraduate education, and were it not for the fact that a bunch of wiener kids are no longer running around at our favorite stores and mini golf courses, we would have forgotten about school altogether. So, yes, it is true -- the Nationwide school tour is officially back in season.

With millions of people now adhering to the rigid command of a ringing bell, our youth are taking upon many more responsibilities. As the annual traditions dictate: they must once again bring in sweeping revenues for their institution via sporting events and bake sales, flirt with each other next to lockers when no one is looking, and of course, start hitting the books.

Contrary to what the idiom would have you believe, this book beating occurs much more often at your local library rather than at a Rocky II style Italian boxing gymnasium.

Boxer: Yeah...with punches!

How do I know this? Well I've been spending a lot of time at local libraries lately. I tell myself it's so that I can have a quiet place to study, read, and take in literary culture, but mostly it's to scout the hot librarian talent. Some of these 50 plus women have got it goin' on.

Aside from candidates for a well read divorcée, the library has shown me a lot of other things. For example, did you know that the "shhh" was first spoken at a public library? (I don't think that's true, but doesn't it just (quietly) sound right?). Also, I've learned that hard cover books are wonderful for building a fort, while soft cover books work great as personal fans, pillows, or even kindling -- not that I'm for book burning, but Dickens taught me to want smores.

I have found, however, something unsettling in my expeditions.

Every library has its own decorative motif, this much is undeniable. A change in wallpaper, the alignment of shelves, and carpet color are all contributing factors to making the inside of a library unique. Yet they all have something in common: the READ posters.

Oh yes, you know the ones. Pictures of your favorite celebrity, a book, and the word "read" written in giant capital letters.

The discovery I've made on these motivational posters is pretty clear: Almost no one is reading. The people are just showcasing their talents, and making it fairly obvious that reading is not the reason why they got there. Most of the time they're just holding a closed book to their bodies.

Observe:

Must be reading a Manual

Burn rubber, not books

and my personal favorite

"This couch goes so well with my skin tone"

He has no idea the book is there.

So I took my little dilemma over to the Sometimes Workshop, and asked the trusted artist of all our posts, Tom Glass, whether or not he could draw me up a READ poster with a beloved celebrity reading.

Baby, baby, baaaaaaby books

Even though these posters don't exactly show the benefits of reading, I really hope the American Library Association continues to make them. Let's be real, these things are a welcomed break from memorizing soon-to-be-forgotten test material.

As long as they don't harm anyone, they're okay in my book,

Tapan Jones

Type-cast: What Your Internet Voice Says About You

Close your eyes. No wait, that's not going to work. Keep your eyes open, but imagine you've never heard my voice. Now, audio-lize that this is Barry White typing.

Hmmm, how you doin' darling? You damn sure know I can't get enough of yo' love, don't you baby? Here...I poured you a nice glass of red wine. I've got some dark chocolate for you, too.

Hey! Wake up! Ladies, and many of you gentlemen, trust me, I know how sexy Bar just made those last few sentences sound. Many of you will have to take a couple seconds to throw those pants back on before you keep reading. I'll wait.

...Ready? Okay. Now, what was the point of that little exercise? Was it just to show how powerful the voice of the black man can be? Well, that's the point of most of my exercises, but not this time. You see, the voice of text can be very deceptive.

In my decade and change of using the interwebs, I've gathered some cautionary tales of the type, and compiled some rules of the wrote. Let's dig in.

There was one time in my life when I played wingman for a friend. He was going on a date with a girl and it just so happened she was bringing an extra lady. On our way over, I'd asked him how they had met and if she was cute. His response was simply that, "she types like a hot girl." (Nerd!).

I looked over at him confused, only for a moment, before replying with a "sweet!" I learned my lesson that fateful sophomore day.

As it turns out, you should never take anyone at their written word.

The girl was not the cutest, and neither was her friend. We all watched 2Fast 2Furious hoping it would end none 2Soon. On our way out, it became very clear that they had not expected us to look the way we did, either. The awkward evening ended with a "Well...I'll AIM you sometime."

Vin Diesel would never have stood for a buffer seat

You see, the way we type has a drastic impact on how we're perceived. Side note: if you think this has already gotten too judgmental, you should probably stop reading, but if you do that beware...you've already been judged.

I've met plenty of girls in real life that lose a lot of credibility when they switch over to different mediums of communication. I don't care if you're a stinking rich Rhodes Scholar with the world's greatest ass, if you type with "u" instead of "you" and put 15 exclamation points and question marks after everything, sprinkled with hearts, we're just fundamentally a bit different. You're still really good looking, though.

Many of you are thinking that it's outrageous to demand that the perfect girl be more perfect, but the fact of the matter is I know there will be times when we won't be able to speak face to face and will have to text, e-mail, or Facebook one another. In that eventuality, I'd rather not start cringing.

Now I don't want to be sexist and say only women are guilty of this, because it's just not true. Many men....many, many, many men....commit similar crimes. The exclamation points are the most common occurrence between both genders. Men, however, often combine this with a needless sprinkling of capital letters. I've never seen said men literally scream at people when talking to them in person, so I have no idea what carried over online.

Inner monologue: "I hope she likes me!"

Also, while we're in the keyboard realm, let me just clarify something. Smiley faces should be used only on special occasions. A few years ago, guys realized that anytime a girl sent them a smiley, or if they were lucky enough, a winking face, in a text that it meant they were on the verge of closing the deal. In their brilliant rebuttal, they decided to do exactly the same, but way too often. Have you ever noticed that a smiley face requires you to hold down the shift key? That's a sign from the computer Gods that this will take extra effort, and therefore should be reserved, and conservatively used.

It's important to note, however, that Internet voices do have positive aspects. For instance, I've never seen anyone have low virtual self esteem. When someone's fingers are placed at "asdf-jkl;", they feel a sense of confidence in the lack of proximity with whom they are speaking. Words come out weeks earlier than if they were being said in person. That guy or girl you have a crush on? They love the fact that you type with so much purpose, sometimes even ending your sentences with a period -- just to show how f'in serious you are.

BuffStuff2k3: That's right...A whole book.

You'll also find shy people coming out of their shell. While they may be completely silent in reality, their written words are as commanding as Keen, showing others that they're total badasses after all. (2 of you will get that joke...hopefully. See the tags for answers).

So there you have my little blurb. It basically boils down to this: While you have the ability to acquire, practice, and manipulate any written voice, bare in mind its consequences. If you type like an idiot, that's what people will think you are. If you type like a cowboy, that's what people will think you are. If you type like baritone R&B singer, well, then people will just be all over your nuts.

Do the write thing,

Tapan Jones

The Gold-less Standard

I spend a lot of my life thinking about class. Not the kind where I have daily assignments and get beaten by nuns for stepping out of line, but the other kind - like Mad Men. I've never actually seen an episode of the show, but from what I gather, it's about a bunch of outrageously well dressed men with a penchant for bedding Plain Janes who look like they're gathering around the 'ole black-and-white to watch the moon landing.

It's tough to compete with the coolness that cigarettes, top shelf beverages, well parted and groomed hair, and dashing designer suits on your shoulders can bring. As the 3 wiZZe men once put it, "cause every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man."

That line of thought got me thinkin'. Gentlemen, what happened to us? We used to be able to stare ladies down into an unparalleled seduction. They used to hurl their chastity belts, then giant boxer like briefs, and eventually classy underpants at our well shaved and chiseled jaw lines. It's time for us to get back to our roots!

Let's take a look at the story arc of a gangster's wardrobe. At the turn of the century, they ushered in an era of Mobster that existed well into the 1950s. Suits were worn to every major business summit And just because. Cool suits. Bowler hat cool. It was acceptable to have a cane with you, even if you didn't suffer a lower back ailment. Those were the days, gents.

"Tell 'em not to mess with The Sometimes Boys"

Nowadays it's all sweat suits and wife beaters. Actually, I bet the guy who named it the wife beater is responsible for this decline in style. You're telling me that during an active exchange with his marriage partner that he would say, "Hold on. Just one second. I have to slip into something more comfortable"? Any wife on the planet would have beat his ass on his way over to the walk in closet - and deservedly so. I bet it was called the wife beatme, but he just wanted to seem like a hard ass to his friends.

So the sweat suits lead to a lack of showering, and eventually unnecessary accessorizing. I don't think I've ever met anybody, from any culture, at any age, at any point in time, that was wearing a gold chain who I felt I trusted.

Figure 19.70: The Transformation

The gold chain just screams a lack of taste with an emphasis on looking really greasy. You wear them because you think you're putting on a little shine for the females, but it simply doesn't go with anything. It's as out of place of the Smirnoff Ice in your hand and the toothpick behind your ear.

Where's that leave us? Gentlemen, for the biological benefit of our gender, I am issuing a call to arms....and legs, and anywhere else you wear clothing.

I'm not saying go out and buy fancy gear for all 24 hours in your day. Alls I'm saying is for your next time out, iron your shirt, give yourself a decent grooming, perhaps even manscaping, and rock clothes that make it look like you're a better dresser than Uncle Jeb from Alabama, whose 20th marriage anniversary to his wife/sister/daughter is coming up next month. (Get him something nice). That's all.

It'll be like working out. A renewed sense of self confidence and swagger will come over you like a fine summer breeze. And the women will notice. Oh my, will they notice. The irony of the situation, in fact, will lie at how much faster they want to take those very clothes off.

Follow this advice, and live a happier life. Unless of course we want to turn into this, then go for it:

Double Sexy, All the Way

Stay (so) fresh and (so) clean, clean,

Tapan Jones

The Gate Depression

Oh boy, time to peel back the 'ol tarmac, that was a bit of a delay. Before getting into today's post, it's probably best to explain where the Sometimes has been for the last month.

As some of you are aware, this blog is like your paycheck. Every two weeks you get something you can take to the bank. About a fortnight ago, we had written a post introducing a new writer by the moniker of DJ Garbage. The post smashed a record here at the office, as it was only on the blog for a total of 19 hours.

What happened to said post?

We can't really get into the details, but someone out there was not too happy with what was written, and as professional courtesy, we took it down. We're not in the business of hurting feelings. Well, at least DJ Garbage isn't.

With that said, let us all giggle like school girls because this is the first time a stranger on the internet found us! Weee.

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My mom is a big believer in fences. She says they make good neighbors. Personally, I don't see how something you can't have sex with fills the prerequisites. I mean, isn't that why people in the 50s were so happy? They were always "getting sugar."

This has become somewhat of an issue on the home-front (get it?) because the two other inhabiting members of the Jones residence are not in favor of the idea. If something is going to be wrapped around my house, it would either have to be equipped in Bloons Tower Defense fashion, or be a moat, because I mean, come on.

No human is a match for my monk-de-fence

The issue has become "fencegate." Which is actually what I wanted to bring up, so that worked out perfectly.

I really, really hate how anything that happens in the news gets the word "gate" added as a suffix to the actual issue.

Antennagate. Spygate. Kanyegate. Lionsgate. (Okay that last one just completed the foursome, but you understand my point.)

What the hell is this about? What happened to the creativity and pun based humor of printed news? There is no requirement for one word references to popular stories. If I were to say Tiger Woods, people are going to think about his rock star-like exploits and his politician-like morals. It doesn't need to be called "Tigergate," which I'm sure he would've left just a crack open anyway.

Tiger's new app: the iFuckedUp (click to enlarge!)

I've always taken great pride in the titles of these posts. It brought me a sense of satisfaction knowing that I'd come up with a stupid little phrase to reflect the nonsense about to follow.

Here, let's take the aforementioned stories and come up with better titles:

1) Antennagate: The story of the antenna on the iPhone 4 having a big time structural problem if held in one's left hand. The story could have been called "Make The Right Call."

2) Spygate: The story of current New England Patriots head coach Bill Belichick spying on the practices of opponents in order to gain a competitive advantage. The story could have been called "The 'Chick Next Door"

3) Kanyegate: The story of stuntastic rap star Kanye West grabbing Taylor Swift's microphone during an award acceptance speech to tell her that she was not as good as the all-time Single Lady. The story could have been called "The Kwest for Manners"

See? It really isn't that difficult.

So to you professionals in the reporting arena, I beg you to realize that the Watergate hotel was the name of an actual location. The issue was never about water. Don't you see how your printing press forefathers were actually doing something creative in naming that story?

Now, let's all be good neighbors and kick these gates down. But not you Bill. I still love you.

Doooon't fence me in,

Tapan Jones

The Subcontinental Sandwich

People say a lot of things about sleep. They talk about how it's for the weak, how 8 hours is ideal, and even how Santa knows about when it's happening. Yes, the land over yawnder has been thoroughly discussed among human-folk.

From early childhood, your parents prepped your sleep schedule so that you could catch the early morning yellow rocket to school, and also because they didn't want you staying up too late watching the latest tales of romance and intrigue on Cinemax. They did it for your own good. You simply weren't mature enough to understand the nuances of a performance in Julie & Julia & Juan: Jest Get it On.

These actions made it so that you would be able to function in a normal society, where 9-5 reigns supreme. Or at least, that's what we were led to believe.

You see, the real reason we've all had to get up early our whole lives was because our parents were grooming us. For what, you ask? The 6:30 AM World Cup 2010 matches. Duh!

As of the 21st of June, all you South Koreans, Greeks, Algerians, Slovenians, Dutch, Danish, New Zealanders, Slovakians, Hondurans, Chileans, Argentinians, Serbians, Germans, Japanese, Paraguayans, Portuguese, and North Koreans know what I'm talking about.

I don't know about the rest of you, but for nearly two weeks now, my alarm clock has been set to Vuvuzela. What's more fun than watching football the second you wake up? Eating ice cream while watching football the second you wake up, that's what.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Aldrin

In all these matches, though, beyond the sheer talent of the players, the Chinese women's Olympic caliber diving, and hot foreign broads, there is something I've noticed.

Brazil's attire. For those of you new to the beautiful game, Brazil is known for their bright yellow jerseys - which, incidentally, is the color that they turn all of their opponents shorts into by the end of a game. These jerseys are reflective not only of sunlight, but also the attitude the nation has for playing the sport with energy, smiles, and stamina. And probably also for hiding pit stains. No one wants those.

But anyway, there's a green trim around the collar, the end of the short sleeves, and the bottom of the shirt. Having never seen a world cup in HD, I had always missed out on the crispness of the colors. I thought to myself, in this order, "crispness of colors. green trim. crisp green. lettuce....hey wait a minute!"

And there it was. Brazil's jerseys are totally using Subway's color scheme.

Don't you see? The energy, the smiles, the incredible fitness level. All the signs point to 5 dollar footballs.

The resemblance to Jared is striking

Soccer clubs around the world are known for slapping endorsements all over their players' unis, and it's not something you ever see internationally. So Jared had to go above and beyond, and play his cards close to his depleted grilled chicken breasts in order to pull off the greatest subliminal ad of all time.

This isn't such a bad thing, though. Without any sort of secret urging at the hands of the Patels that run America's Subway and Dunkin' industry, let me say, that Subway is pretty great stuff, and as far as fast food goes, we could all do a lot worse to our doubled down bodies.

So the next time you're watching Joga Bonita hard at play, go ahead and enjoy a Subway sandwich. It's not like you're supporting B.P.'s colors or anything.

....!

Tapan Jones

p.s. Yep, we know Ronaldinho isn't on the squad, but surely, the man must eat. I mean look at those chompers.

Y, O, Y Q-Tips?

For the first time in nearly 3 years, last Thursday, I went for a swim. The water was warm, and the old Chinese ladies at the Bally's pool mostly kept to themselves. They did make fun of my crotch air bubble at one point, but I doggy paddled it off.

The reason I bring up my trip under water is because of the effect it had on the rest of my weekend. For nearly 3 straight days I was handicapped. For the record, I would have parked in those extra cushy spots, but the government didn't process my rear view tags quickly enough. That's bureaucracy for you.

My time in the pool had caused me to go completely left-ear deaf. As a result, I couldn't hear my driver ask me "where to Sir?", nor could I make my usual lefty calls when I didn't think something warranted a righty call.

On the advice of several non-medical professionals, I tried to fix this problem by: creating a plunger with my palm over my ear and forcing the water out, tugging on my earlobe for 20 seconds, and even spending the entire day with my head tilted to the left so that, and I quote, "gravity would take over."

Finally I decided to consult Dr. Internet, and this is when my disability turned to frustration and rage.

The only concrete, consistent advice I could find was: DO NOT USE A Q-TIP!!! It will push the earwax back even further into your ear!!

Here I ask the question that's been on a lot of our minds for a while. What the fuck is a Q-Tip actually good for?

Our whole lives we've been told that this ear canal-sized, dual cotton-edged, mini saber should never be inserted into our auditory receptors. That it would cause a tear in our ear drums, which most of us visualize as such:

Bruised and broken...from this ear on collision

As far as the Q-tip is concerned, I have no idea how to use it. If I use it as a wiping tool, it'll leave little cotton bits everywhere. If I use it as a .... I've honestly already run out of ideas. There's nothing that it's good for, except to be doused in after shave so I can clean out my old Nintendo cartridges. It does a good job of letting me play Mike Tyson's Punch Out!! again, but it's nothing that a t-shirt and a lot of my breath couldn't do.

That band-aid on the knee? Rug burn, caused by imitating Contra

So am I telling you that the only "allowed" use for Q-tips is to clean NES games? Well unless you can come up with something else, then yes, yes I am.

I'm sure the makers of Q-Tips are sitting in their back rooms, laughing, hearing with full capacity because they've never used their own product. To them, and to the rest of you, I say, either come up with a better use, or just go ahead and put the fuckin' thing in your ear. There's nothing that's going to top that convenience.

Ya heard?

Tapan Jones

p.s. comment on some other Q-tip uses, plskthx!

A Chicago Sports Sermon, as Delivered by Reverend Mike

Many people, who probably don't read very much, believe that the world will end on December 21, 2012. They cite some hocus-pocus theory about calendars and planetary alignment and Montezuma's Revenge, but what they've failed to realize is that the planets will align and time as we know it will actually stop on July 1st, 2010, and that all will be right with the world.

The implications of this date have been studied ad nauseum for almost two years now. On this most sacred of days, NBA free agency will begin. And let's make one thing perfectly clear: it will be written that LeBron James is a Chicago Bull.

*amen*

Trumpet blasts will burst forth from the angels in the Basketball Heavens when he inks that new contract. Israel and Palestine will put down their guns and pick up their TiVos, too busy watching The Chosen One throw down in red and black to quarrel. Kim Jong Il will put down his portable, little red button and pick up a tumbler of sweet, sweet Hennessy to enjoy while watching the King. The Second Coming of Our Lord and Savior Michael Jordan will bring peace and contentment to the world as he rampages over the heathen Rondo's and Kobe's en route to 10 straight NBA titles.

*amen!*

With his trusty disciples Rose and Noah at his side, and bringing along his friend Bosh of Toronto, The Chosen One will bring the NBA title back home. Where it belongs. Can I get an amen?!

*Amen!*

Be still, my flock, be still. I need not remind you that on this day we sit in the house Jordan built. O, and where He builds it, they will come. They will follow LeBron to the United Center, and he will thrill those loyal followers by throwing chalk in the air, and by blocking layups against the backboard, and by throwing down tomahawk slams. But make no mistake, friends, there will be lean times as well. He will take threes, and he will miss free throws, and he may even look disinterested at times. But do not lose the faith.

No, friends, do not lose that faith! For LeBron's arrival will come on the heels of a Blackhawks Stanley Cup. It will come on the heels of a magical Jonathan Toews postseason, in which the Hawks will have found their goalie, and after which Patrick Kane will finally shave his mullet! It will come on the heels of a Julius Peppers signing, and, lo, the Bears will have their quarterback! Fathers Urlacher and Briggs will once again roam Soldier Field together, and Chris Harris will be seen laying the wood as once he did in the Super Bowl! And who cares about baseball, really?
The world will be ripe for Chicago's taking, friends. Three teams, and, well, really only two realistic shots at dynasties. But still! The Wayward Bears will rid themselves of the curse of Lovie (*amen*), and they will right themselves shortly, for they have many solid pieces.

The future is bright. Revel in these times, and take nothing for granted. A better decade for Chicago sports may never be seen again.

All donned in jersey-robes.

Thank you, and may Jordan be with you.

*and with you*

Yours in Jordan,
Mike

The Future is Maybe Tomorrow

This is the point in the year where most sitcoms would do a clip show. People are generally a little more busy in their lives until summer gets fully back into swing. But we here at TCS would never subject our readers to that...in large part because we don't have any recorded video to piece together, and ultimately finish off with a gag reel.

What we do have, however, is the next best cop out. Much like many of you new graduates, at some point this summer, the Sometimes is going to be making a life advancement. Let's break it down in what I'm calling "TCS: Preview edition!"

The three of us at the blog have just started to get the ball rolling on what the future holds. With a few ideas in hand, we sure would love to hear from the readers on what YOU want to see more of. But before we can do that, let's give a sneak peek of our deliberations.

(For the record, this is the most I'll ever feel like Steve Jobs, but instead of being dressed in all black, I'm dressed like an All Black.)

I'm also making the exact same face

Oh, before I go any further, I think it's in the best interest of the entire world to know that New Zealand's national basketball team is called the Tall Blacks. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Zealand_national_basketball_team). I know, right!

Okay back to business. Here's what we've been thinking about:

1) Making this a weekly blog.

With the amount of free time we'll be sure to have on our hands, why not write more often? People need to waste time all the time, not just every fortnight. Plus, this is going to open the exciting new possibility of....

2) More Writers

Currently on staff, there are two writers and a master illustrator. To keep the current trend of hearing from your favorite/least favorite only once a month, we'd need other people to fill in those gaps. The other two weeks will be treated as a veritable turnstile of opinions, news, rants, and interior decorating ideas. Alright, maybe not so much the last one, but that would be a great chance for you to tell the world about why they cannot live without those throw pillows in the den.

Just fabulous!

That's right, I said you! While there will be a small pool of contributors that post more regularly than others, the blog will boast the ability for any reader to submit a post at any time - male or female. Just send it in to our handy dandy e-mail address on the right panel of this page. Which, incidentally, brings me to my next point.

3) We'll probably be leaving Blogspot

A little while ago, we went out and purchased the domain name www.thechicagosometimes.com, and of course, we used Go Daddy. Who can resist that Danica? Growwwwwwl. Sorry.

Talking about it, we've decided that if we can figure out how to make a site that essentially mimics this one, just with better archives and a little bit flashier, that we'd be willing to make the switch. The only tiny hurdle is that we're about as good as Spider Man when it comes to web design. But once that's all sorted out, it'll be smooth sailing.

4) A few podcast style entries here and there.

This idea was suggested by a friend of ours (hi Sean!), and it just seems fitting. Considering the things we discuss here are of no real relevance, it'd be pretty fun to post little 15-20 minute conversations among peers every so often. Again, you're all fully invited to participate, and especially encouraged to e-mail conversation ideas.

You could be the next Karl Pilkington!

Well that's pretty much everything. Any ideas you do have, feel free to leave comments on here or send us e-mails if you want Tiger-esque discreteness. You can also talk dirty there, if that's what you're into.

So what do you guys think? Approve/Disapprove? Want us to keep things the same way, or are the ideas something you'd like?

Can't wait to hear from you kiddies,

Tapan Jones

p.s.

The Future Through Tom's Glasses: Robocop, DeLoreans, and Air McFlys

The Bible: This Summer, Say. Your. Prayers.

So the other day I was sitting around my bedchambers reading a Sonic the Hedgehog comic book. Sonic and Tails were spinning their body parts really fast and rolling around on the ground, so it was a pretty good episode. Then, my grandma sent me an email whose subject line was "Weird Walking Cow," so obviously I opened it. That's right up my alley. It was a picture of a cow that was walking weird, so I was pretty satisfied with that day overall and I went to bed.

In bed, though, I got to thinking. How was God smart enough to make spinning hedgehogs and helicoptering foxes and weird-walking cows all on the same day? That would take me at least three days minimum. God must be at least three times smarter than me, and that's saying something. Later, I got to thinking about how God totally flooded the entire Earth when He got pissed, when the best I can do is flood my own bathroom, and that's never on purpose. All in all, I thought, God is a lot cooler than me.

The next day, my grandma sent me an email whose subject line was "Just Saying Hello," and inside it had pictures of cats hugging and rabbits saying hello to one another. I feel like God did that kind of thing for Adam and Eve all the time, always checking in on them and sending them emails with pictures of animal companions and whatnot. I learned in a class once that I should never bury the lede, and I'm sure God could tell me what that meant because He must know everything if He can make cats hug each other one minute and murder the first-born son of every Egyptian the next.

In a lot of ways, God is just like Bruce Willis. Sometimes, He's more Harry Stamper from Armageddon--the devoted father willing to take one for Earth. Other times, He goes into McClane mode and explodes entire cities that tick him off. Still other times, when he's in his Jesus form, he's a lot like Dr. Malcolm Crowe because he has unfinished business beyond the grave. And finally, sometimes you're a little confused about God, like you are about Jimmy "The Tulip" Tudeski. He says nice things and seems charming as hell, but then something like the Crusades happens and all of a sudden Richard the Lion-Hearted is Matthew Perry, and who needs friends in a holy war.

Anyways, all that IMDB'ing took quite a long time. I needed to process everything, so I took a leisurely tea and toast in the drawing room and weighed my options. I finally realized what I'd been missing all along, the most important thought I've ever had: the Bible would be the greatest action movie of all time.

And on the 8th day, God KICKED ASS!!1

If you've never read the Bible, let me set it up for you here. Starring God in Act 1 and Jesus in Act 2, the Bible follows the story of one lonely diety out to prove the universe wrong. He believes that biological life can handle the gift of rational thought; a gift that he's all too ready to bestow upon it. With a dream in his heart and hope in his eyes, God creates Adam and Eve, the first rational animals. With his loving guidance, Adam and Eve will procreate and populate the world with friends to keep God company. But wait. Eve eats an apple, humans fall from grace, and God. Is. Pissed.

The Bible, starring Bruce Willis as God, Jean Claude Van Damme as Jesus, Lucy Lawless as Mary Magdalene, and Keanu Reeves as Satan (also featuring Jackie Chan as Moses, Carl Weathers as Abraham, and Chris Tucker as Detective James Carter), is the greatest story ever told. Equal parts love tale, explosive thriller, and raucous buddy film, it follows the story of God's vicious vengeance on humankind, and the only man who can stop it: Jesus. With his busty lady at his side, Jesus teams up with Moses and Abraham to win God's love back, one high-speed dune buggy chase at a time. The trio travels far and wide, spreading God's word with their insane ATV jumps and feats of strength. Finally, God is appeased. But Jesus' work isn't over yet, because Satan just showed up to town, and he's casually upset I think.

Jesus: He's got the girl, he's got the tools, and now he's got the Big Man on his side.

It's the original Old West Side showdown in the Old East. Jesus, Moses, and Abraham facing off against Satan and his legion of the damned:

Only Officer Krupke can stop this!

Yes, that is Van Damme in black face as Jesus (it's true), Carl Weathers in white face as Abraham (Lincoln), and Jackie Chan in old face as Moses (disguised as Ronald Reagan).

The war rages up and down the Holy Land, and many minions on both sides go down one-by-one, despite having their target surrounded on all sides. Many people walk away in slow motion while fuel tankers explode in the road behind them. Many pistols run out of bullets at precisely the wrong time.

Abraham and Jesus both tear their shirts off in contempt of Satan's poor acting. Rondo slaps Moses in the face and draws blood but still the refs don't call it. The tides are turning in Satan's favor: The Good Guys should have known. Satan and his legion were too powerful, too vile, and stroking far too many cats on their laps. It was going to take a superhuman, a God, to beat Satan. That's where God comes in.

Late one night, when Jesus, Moses, and Abraham are praying before battle the next day, God answers. He descends the escalator to Heaven, but he won't walk the steps, which is annoying. Anyways, God outfits each prophet with his secret weapon: a lightsaber. The next day, Satan's forces are slashed to pieces and forced to retreat back to Hell. Cornered into a dark room and badly injured, Satan says, "Jesus, I am your father."

"Greater is He that is in you, than he that is in the world," Jesus says, "...of pain" (I John 4:4). With that, he slices Satan's head off, holds it above his own, and screams the sweet scream of victory.

Anyways, I think that would be a sweet movie.

Yours in Christ,

Mike