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

Sometimes: You Gotta Roll The Dys

At this point in the year, whatever snow may fall will be sure to get the Raiders of the Lost Ark Nazi treatment by our old friend Mister Sun. With this in mind, people are free to leave the homes that protected them so in search of a more recreational life. Baseballs will be caught, pools will be swam in, and double scoop ice cream will seem like a rational idea again. Yes, it's true, the habitable Chicago months are almost here.

Life, circa tomorrow.

As many of us know, this kind of nice weather typically gives way to wheeled transport. People know that the ground now has a high enough coefficient of friction to support a lifestyle free of just walking and running. Take yourselves back to those PBS documentaries of the 90s. You know, the ones with the men and women bravely wearing striped white-and-red tank tops, roller blading in a park, riding their bikes through a forest, and driving their Cabriolets with reckless abandon, all while up-tempo half piano/half synth music serves as the score. There's no denying, this is a pretty great life.

Yet amidst all the wheeled tomfoolery, let us not forget our year round, chair bound brethren.

Sometimers, the wheelchair users of the world have sat idly by for too long - not even given the opportunity to twiddle their thumbs because their hands are too busy literally gripping the silver lining of their lives. To this I say, it's time for us to get inventive.

Too long has wheel chair technology been manual labor. Sure, some of you will say that we have electric wheelchairs with the joystick that makes the user feel like they're in the worst video game of all time. I agree, this is a step up, but the time has come for change. The real issue here? The wheelchair structure.

My crack team of English associates spent hours and hours laboring over what to do with this, when it finally dawned on us. Let's steal another Englishman's work!

I introduce to you: The Dyson Ball Wheelchair

(.....hold for iPad-like Apple-ause)....(good)

Oooooh. Ahhhhh. Eeeeee.

In the tradition of Imagineers worldwide, let me continue stealing from Dyson, by posting their description for their ball vacuum:

"The new Dyson upright machines ride on a ball so they turn on a dime - no more back and forth around corners and obstacles. Inside the ball is the motor, giving the machine a lower center of gravity and improving maneuverability even further."

Honestly, who in the hell would have thought that description wasn't for wheelchair technology?

Having seen the mock ups, let me tell you a little about what's hidden inside the ball that makes this chair so special. We're talking about a .57 L Hemi engine. If those truck commercials have taught me anything, it's that my walking replacement device will sell if I say the word Hemi.

Now some of you current chair owners might be thinking that the idea of filling your vehicle with gasoline is not only inconvenient, but downright dangerous, and you would be right to think that. Come on, what do you take me for, some kind of monster? But yes, you'll need to have some gas in there, you know, for that Hemi. Don't worry though, our machine gets 150 miles to the gallon, so you're good forever.

For all you Marvin the Martians out there (think Green) there will also be a battery powered, generator based model. Be forewarned, you will lose street cred among your peers.

This is it people, the future of what I want to start calling "wheeling." Can you imagine the joy you would feel not only seeing someone take a leaning right turn into the wide doors of a library, but in fact how sweet it would be to do it yourself?

That's right! Now the wheelchair-laden aren't the only ones who get to have all the fun. I see the Dyson-Jones Wheelchair (DJW) being as much of a recreational/convenient/versatile piece of art as WD-40 - which, incidentally, I'm sure is a staple in the wheelchair market.

The DJW would open up a new chapter in the storied history of wheelchair athletics. Street races, basketball, and curling would now become even more bad ass. This is something we can actualize, and perhaps even create an entirely separate Olympics around. How original of an idea is that!

The 200-meter dash just became a reality.

Together, we can all achieve a future a filled with yellow balls of which we are not scared to tell our significant others, but rather proud of.

And don't worry, the ad campaign will prominently revolve around the 2001 chart topper Roll Out (My Business).

Keep it wheel,

Tapan Jones

P.S. - Also, we have a new game for you guys. In all of our illustrations, the initials "TG," for our acclaimed illustrator Thomas Glass, Jr., will be hidden somewhere. If you can find them, post your answers in the comments. Jonescrest, out.