The Cleveland In-Dians

8:42am
B-Trip: Home

Morning D was typical. But a few hours later something decidedly atypical took place.

I was in the b-trip when I heard some rustling outside. So I flung open the windows...and could not believe what I saw:

A 60-year old woman Taking D -- not 10 feet away -- on my neighbor's lawn.

Our driveway separates our place from the neighbor's to the north. This woman had positioned herself strategically between their windows with her bum facing their house. She was relatively hidden from the street due to a car parked in our driveway, so really the only person who could have seen her was me.

And did I ever.

I had only just begun to process what I was seeing when she let loose. Imagine turds plopping from a horse. I recoiled, but couldn't help taking another glance. She was dressed in what could have been her Sunday best, but with her bloomers around her calves and her skirt hiked up. In her hand she held a napkin or baby wipe to clean up.

My first instinct was to shout at her, but the events unfolding were so strange I instead raced to find Elle so she could bear witness (Editor's Note: She loves bearing witness almost as much as Heather from 'Rock of Love' enjoys bearing her 'tatters'.). But by the time we got back, the phantom dooker was gone. In her place, just a simple pile on the ground modestly covered by the napkin.

We raced to the front of the house and found the lady walking down the street, nonchalantly away from our house. Perhaps the most puzzling aspect was that she didn't look homeless. Just looked like any other lady. Any other lady with a deep, dark secret.

For the next few minutes, Elle and I took guesses as to what possible caused such strange and horrible event. Had this woman been wronged in some way by our neighbors and was now exacting an unholy revenge? Or was the answer more straightforward? As loyal readers know, I once had an extremely close call. Had the pizza place I went on to destroy not been open, I suppose I could have found myself in a similar predicament.

That hypothesis seemed to be confirmed when the lady headed back our way a few minutes later with a plastic bag in her hand. Clearly, she was coming to scoop her own poop. Elle and I took positions as the lady took a determined turn up our driveway.

But to our surprise, she walked right past her pile toward the back of our place. Was she making sure the coast was clear for some reason? But a minute later she walked right by again, back out onto the street. Then we watched her walk up the neighbor's driveway. Then another neighbor's driveway. Always with the same sense of purpose, but undeniably lost.

It was at this point we determined the lady was suffering from some sort of mental distress. Perhaps she needed help getting home. Clearly somebody needed to be keeping an eye on her. So I put on some shoes to go see if she needed help, all the while formulating how I would subtly shift to evade her shit-crusted hands should they reach in my direction.

But, like teenage romance, somehow she disappeared on me. I searched driveways and courtyards down the block, but she was nowhere to be found. Only her D remained (until later that day when the neighbor's groundskeeper apparently handled that abhorrent task).

Elle claims to have seen the woman wandering aimlessly a few weeks ago. Perhaps she was casing the joint. More likely, she was just being crazy. We are determined to solve this mystery, so I hope to be back with more answers soon.


11:01pm
B-Trip: Home

Reading column from yesterday's LA Times about the preponderance of anti-God books. Take that, God!

http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/sunday/commentary/la-op-siegel7oct07,0,5846932.story?coll=la-sunday-commentary

I tend to side with Kurt Vonnegut on this matter, whose tombstone reads: 'The only proof I needed for the existence of God was music.'

We need to remember that the Lord works in mysterious ways. I didn't understand at the time that an old lady dropping a nasty deuce outside my window this morning meant that the Yankees' season would soon be over. But sure enough...

I wonder what He has in store next week when the Red Sox are sent packing.

If it's true that you can's spell 'World Series' without the 'D', it's looking like D'backs/'Dians to me.

Straight Hip Hop

8:31am
B-Trip: Home

Opened up my email this morning to discover Roscoe sent me the lyrics to his brilliant new hip hop jam 'Vitamin Deez (In Your Mouth)', extolling the virtues of drinking milk. Some of my favorite lines:

"Keep your bones strong now, even when you’re old
May not want to do it, but you’ll do what you’re told"

...as well as...

"When a milkshake born, then a milkshake dies
And yeah, my girl Kelis got a supersize
With her big bootie shakin till the sun don’t rise"

Ah, yes....til the sun don't rise, which I imagine means that bootie shakes til right around high noon.

Anyway, reading Roscoe's poetry got my mind in a rhythmic state. Thus, I've been coming up with a little something of my own while sitting here:

Laugh so hard you fall out your seat
Like a drunk-ass bastard, like my Uncle Pete
Shit's going worldwide...from Des Moines to Crete
Fools-who-step-up go down in defeat
I’m regulatin' busters like chaff from wheat
Yo, screw the '94 season. Shit was incomplete
And fuck them hands in the air, I WANNA SEE YA’LL FEET
Errbody doin' HEADSTANDS on the street
But when the party's over lather, rinse, repeat
For-now,-though, continue sucklin' my lyrical teat.

Like climate change, you can't stop the beat
So when Al emails, just click delete
Accidentally packed 'cold', I meant to grab the heat
Guess I gotta pay for anything I eat.

Excuse me if you will for being indiscreet
I know this shorty who just hooked up with Skeet.
She called him semisweet with 30-thread count sheets
But there’s a mutha fugga I don’t wanna meet.
Put him on the-list-with-the-boys of Backstreet.
She-said he’s not exactly a decathlete.
Somewhat effete, almost obsolete
And just to make sure Skeet did not secrete
He wore a parachute upon his parakeet

5:48am
B-Trip: Home

Elle and I are off to the Hollywood Forever cemetery to have a picnic with friends and watch ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST projected on the side of a mausoleum. The b-trip scenario under such circumstances is anybody's guess, so it's best to take preemptive action.

I.A.E.A.

9:38am
B-Trip: Home

Morning D is not exactly forthcoming. I blame yesterday's quartet.

Reading Jonathan Chait column about Hillary Clinton's voodoo.


5:33pm
B-Trip: Home

Nothing says "Hip Dude" than spending one's D reading a nuclear watchdog editorial!


11:29pm
B-Trip: Home

It's a chilly night, but the space heater makes this D warm & toasty as I peck away at an old crossword puzzle.

D-Parted

8:21am
B-Trip: Home

Took D atop the toilet paper lily pad Elle must have left after peeing in the middle of the night.

The caliber of D that resulted should make you, the reader, glad blogs don't come in scratch 'n sniff form.

Reading a fascinating story about an inside man who brought down one of Columbia's biggest drug cartels.


11:03am
B-Trip: Home

Followup D.

Didn't want to. Didn't have a choice.


2:22pm
B-Trip: Home

You hate to see this happen to good people....

Halfway through my shower, I realized I had to Take D.

Thus, my fresh-out-of-the-shower feeling lasted approximately 30 seconds today.


9:54pm
B-Trip: Home

The big winner tonight (or at least one of them) was THE DEPARTED.

I still believe this is an overrated film -- closer to the BRINGING OUT THE DEAD/KUNDUN end of Scorsese's career spectrum than the GOODFELLAS/"Mirror Mirror" episode of Amazing Stories/'Bad' video pot of gold.

And I'm not just saying that because I was totally let down to find that the movie had nothing to do with the Taking (nor Parting) of D.

Tonight's cinematic celebration does have me thinking about the Best D's in Motion Picture History.

Three immediately come to my mind:

PULP FICTION

Vincent Vega (John Travolta) gets a chestful of hot metal after Butch (Bruce Willis) discovers him in his apartment.

What was VV doing? Taking D, of course.

DUMB & DUMBER

Lloyd (Jim Carrey) sabotages Harry's (Jeff Daniels) date by slipping some 'Turbo Lax' into his tea.

Daniels' outrageous gastrointestinal pyrotechnics will never cease to put a smile on my face.


JURASSIC PARK

The dastardly lawyer Gennaro (Martin Ferraro) meets his unfortunate -- yet cheer-inducing -- end when the T-Rex catches him helplessly Taking D in an outhouse.



These are just three scenes that immediately come to mind. I suspect this is a topic I'll return to regularly as other classic instances of cinematic D Taking occur to me.

And of course, please feel free to suggest your own personal favorites.

Waiving the Corkage Fee

8:33am
B-Trip: Home

Robust up front, with subtle notes of tuna and an ambiguous finish.

Consider me your fecal sommelier.


10:27am
B-Trip: Home

Followup D's wait for no man.

Reading an interesting LA Times editorial about Bush/Clinton dynasties. (Unfortunately it has already been yanked from their website.)

The editorial essentially wondered why Americans would entertain the notion of 28 consecutive years of Bush-Clinton-Bush-Clinton presidencies. (With Jeb Bush waiting in the wings in 2012!).

It would be helpful if Hillary addressed this issue head on. Even if she IS the right person for the job, will she be bringing back a flock of '90's retreads with old scores to settle? God, I hope not.

Washington could use some fresh ideas right about now.


6:38pm
B-Trip: Home

File this one under: Preventative D.

With two parties to attend tonight, Elle and I are in a hurry. But as we prepared to leave, it occurred to me I may not make through both without the urge to Take D striking at the most inconvenient time.

So at this moment I'm taking steps to remove D from tonight's equation. Meanwhile, Elle is essentially standing outside the B-Trip tapping her foot. It goes without saying these are not particularly desirable circumstances under which to Take D. However, it sure beats 'hunkering down' at a cocktail party and emerging to find a half dozen guests cued up outside the door like unwitting lambs awaiting the slaughter.

(Editor's note: this turned out to be a wise move since the first party we attended inexplicably featured three different kinds of chili.)

Just Like The Movies....

8:52am
B-Trip: Home

Some D's are just rarin' to go. No nuance. No interest in being coy...

I've just unleashed a highly-efficient carpet bombing that exhausted my entire armory in about ten seconds.

Just like that. Quick. Easy. A snap.

But was it a little too easy? Surely that can't be everything. Perhaps there's a SigAlert in my sigmoid colon. (this bit of esoteric Southern Cali humor is brought to you in part by El Pollo Loco!).

So I sit.....waiting.....but nothing ever comes.

I could have been on my way like a certain Bruckheimer movie. But no, I spent the next five minutes convinced something else would happen, but it never did.

The entire experience is a lot like shooting a movie. After all the time spent lighting, grooming the stars, arranging the extras, choreographing the camera moves, etc. it's finally 'Go Time'. Once everyone is in place, the director calls "ACTION!"

And every once in a while...it all goes perfectly.

The actors nailed the scene. The sound guy is happy. Camera is, too. Everyone huddles around the video playback monitor to watch the take because, c'mon, could it really have been that easy?

But it was. It just worked out. That shot will definitely be the one used in the movie.

But without fail, the 1st A.D. will toss out: "Wanna get one more? You know...for safety?" The director will comply (after all, by now everyone's in place to do it again).

So you do it again, but this time someone in the background stumbles.

CUT!!

Take 3: A plane flies over, rendering the actors' dialogue useless.

CUT!!

Take 4: Someone's cell phone rings, throwing everyone off.

CUT!!

You spend another ninety minutes trying to recapture the magic of that first take. Eventually it makes no sense to continue so you move on and wonder why you just wasted all that time.

D's like this one have Hollywood written all over them.


3:55pm
B-Trip: Home

If you ever want to get depressed, read today's LA Times article about Jim Carrey.

Yes, he's got a terrible movie opening today (a mere 9% on rottentomatoes.com), but that doesn't warrant this piece about his efforts to "define the universe".

That's something I wish he'd be doing on his own time. Once he defines it I'll be all ears, but for now, in my newspaper or at the multiplex, I'd prefer he just make me laugh. He's got unbelievable talent as a performer, but comedic ability is quickly tarnished if your audience comes to equate you with somber topics.

Just ask the least funny comedian on planet Earth.

And I don't want to get personal, but if you're searching for the meaning of life...is Jenny McCarthy really the person you want riding shotgun?

She's messing with you, Jim. Cut her loose and cheer up.


9:59pm
B-Trip: Home

Freezing outside tonight. That's the reason Elle & I keep the Vornado heater in the B-Trip.

It's always there when you need it to makes your D warm & toasty.

B-Trippin'

8:33am
B-Trip: Las Vegas Hilton (Room 1766)

Though this B-trip may be nothing to blog about, but I'd be remiss not to mention its power flush.

It's something to behold.

If you were to flush while still seated, you'd easily be sucked in. That's the caliber I'm talking about here. The flush not only takes your D, but all of the oxygen in the B-Trip (which is not always a bad thing since, by the time you're ready to flush, the oxygen don't always smell so nice.)

But why, you ask, is such strength remotely necessary?

Well, it makes sense if you think about it. Your D is embarking on a seventeen-story journey. Gravity alone simply won't do in this case because the aforementioned has to pass through a tantalizing gauntlet: The Star Trek Museum, Barry Manilow, Joe Piscopo, Menopause: The Musical, all of which are featured in the lobby.

You don't want the D to get sidetracked. After all, like attracts like.

But kidding aside, I suspect the wise-cracking subcontractors who built this room wanted to present visitors with a gentle reminder about the effect casinos have on your wallet.

And how.

Change of Scenery

8:50am
B-Trip: Home

I typically brush my teeth after my Morning D. But today...I did it before.

It will be interesting to see how the remainder of my life is affected by this decision.


11:28pm
B-Trip: Las Vegas Hilton (Rm. 1766)

Yeah, that's right baby! New B-Trip. At the very least, my next two D's will be of the Sin City variety. So grab a rosary before continuing.

I don't venture away from the friendly confines of my home B-Trip casually. If you could see my current environment, you'd know I left the comforts of home for only the blandest of hotel B-trips. Sure there's an oblong bathtub beside me (comprised of only the finest materials Rubbermaid has to offer), but the depth is such that anyone over age ten would find it only slightly more luxurious than a medium-sized puddle.

But lest you think the LV Hilton isn't fancy, please note: just outside this B-Trip, there's an additional sink!

Why? Well, that's anyone's guess.

The sink has no mirror, no hand towels, and no soap unless I care to transplant some from in here. It's just a random sink. Perhaps Elle & I will need some sort of basin to hold all of our winnings. One can hope.

On a sadder note: I tried to issue a report earlier today from Barstow, CA, from a hardscrabble Chevron toilet with graffiti etched into the seat.

I tried. But, alas, I wound up brokenhearted.

"Regrets, I've had a few......million."

Can't spell 'Democrat' without the D

12:40am
B-Trip: Home

Another pre-bed D. That's two-in-a-row for all you folks keeping track at home on your scorecards.

My grammar is coming correct thanks to this column by Ben Yagoda. (You know if a dude's got 'Yoda' in his name, you're about to learn something).

Turns out the genderless pronoun is back. Linguists call that sh*t 'epicene'. Straight up.

For example, this sentence is now grammatically correct:

After Taking D, everyone feels good about themselves.

The p.c. police (or some distinguished body that would actually care about matters such as this) has been teaching us it had to be:

After Taking D. everyone feels good about himself and/or herself.

Who has time for that?

It would take you forever to determine the gender of all the people Taking D. Especially since you'd keep getting arrested.

From now on it's 'they', 'them', or 'their'. Alternatively, if you'd like to sample 'dem', go right ahead.


10:18am
B-Trip: Home

The problem with Taking D before bed is that there's no telling when the first D of the day will be prepared to make itself scarce. I'm only happy when I can set my watch to my Morning D. To that end, maybe the reason I'm sad all the time has something to do with the fact that I don't own a watch. Hmmm...something to ponder.

While I'm doing that, you can read this Michael May column. He's a professor emeritus so don't mention D around him. Fascinating piece called "Why We're Clueless" helped me appreciate that every foreign policy decision the U.S. makes is basically a shot in the dark. We try to throw our weight around, but the vast majority of things that benefit us (Berlin Wall coming down, Libya abandoning nukes, fall of Shah in Iran) are beyond our control. In fact, much of the time we don't even see them coming.


4:40pm
B-Trip: Home

Elle and I just returned from a little field trip to Crenshaw, where we joined the Great White Pilgrimage toward MLK Blvd. to attend a Barack Obama rally.

Upon entering the park, we were handed Obama '08 posters, including a handmade sign that said "Tell Yo Momma to Vote Obama" on one side and "Te Queremos Obama!!!!" on the other. Apparently the campaign worker felt our street cred needed a slight bolstering before entering the premises.

The atmosphere was festive. The crowd a melting pot of all ages and races, but predominantly black. I'm guessing about 3,000 people in all.

We stood through two opening musical acts. The Scattertones went first. A thirteen-member a capella group straight out of Disney Channel casting, they were just a few voices shy of a complete clusterf*ck. Since at least one of the members was consistently flat, I sincerely hope Obama was still on his way to the venue while they performed.

Next up was Tribaljazz, a predominantly percussive jam band lead by Doors drummer John Densmore. Fat, worldly beats with a meandering flute on top. Two master African drummers, Marcel and Aziz, were from Senegal and the latter performed a wild African dance during the final number.

Dorsey High's drum section marched across the stage before a guy who once lived on LA's Skid Row before picking himself up by the bootstraps grabbed the mic and introduced Obama...at which point we all went bananas.

Obama spoke for about 45 minutes, detailing the misguided priorities of Washington without mentioning any names. With an emphasis on cooperation, he explained how easy it would be to create a universal health care system, affordable college education, a saner foreign policy, and take greater steps toward energy independence if we all just worked together.

He comes across as a guy who has his priorities straight and is determined to see them through. Quite frankly, it's hard not to be impressed.

But he can't do it alone. After all, he is an "imperfect vessel" of our dreams. From most politicians, this line would seem little more than a hedge against future misbehavior ("What's the problem, Kenneth? I told you I was imperfect.") But coming from Obama, it seems genuine.

Answering questions as to his experience, he said he's been in Washington long enough to know it has to change. And let's be honest...as far as experience goes, wouldn't we all feel much better with a self-made former president of Harvard Law Review with a knack for bringing people together in the Oval Office than a guy who drank away decades of his life?

And while he stopped short of tackling the controversial topic of Taking D head on, he did mention 'bathroom breaks' so I have to believe that, like nuclear disarmament, it's an issue close to his heart.

After almost every sentence Barack spoke, a guy next to us shouted out either "Uh huh!", "Yep!", "Speak on that!", or "Got that right!". His antics fluctuated back and forth throughout the speech -- from slightly annoying to completely hilarious.

Quoting Dr. King, Barack mentioned that over time the moral arc of the universe bends in the direction of justice. It happens even faster if we all grab hold of that arc and bend it, particularly if you're the type of person who has a Curves membership.

If there's a candidate more deserving of my vote, I hope someone let's me know. For now, Obama's my standard-bearer.

In the meantime, I'll just be over here trying to bend this rigid f*cking arc.

By the way, anyone know which direction justice is?

President's D

1:04am
B-Trip: Home

What am I doing?

It's so late.

I'm home from an agonizing hockey game and need to take a shower before bed. But since I have to do that, I figure I may as well pinch a loaf.

Or if not a loaf, at least as crouton.

But the D is being so reluctant. C'mon, man. Don't be shy. Come see what the world has to offer.

There....A little sumpin' sumpin'.

Good night, folks!


8:40am
B-Trip: Home

Well, well, well....Rise & shine.

Now the D is ready to go.

Apparently my insides, frustrated with last night's recalcitrance, spent the last several hours teaching this D who's boss.

Turns out it's not Judith Light, after all.


3:50pm
B-Trip: Home

The house is quiet. Elle's Taking G*.

A few hours ago I dropped my relatives off at LAX. Now, after returning emails and trying to catch up on all facets of my empire, I've settled down for a long winter's D.

For anyone annoyed with the current office holder this President's Day, I urge you to check out this amusing LA Times column about Millard Fillmore, arguably our lamest president, by George Pendle.

The best line:

American Heritage magazine said that "to discuss Millard Fillmore is to overrate him."

Ouch.

*G = a nap. D = poo. (To my knowledge, you can't take any other letters.)

Celebri-D

9:20am
B-Trip: Home

Ignoring Elle's US Weekly and Entertainment Weekly stacked in the B-Trip, I read this LA Times column about celebrity by Meaghan Daum. Indeed:

"Instead of 15 minutes of fame, we get personalities who are famous in the eyes of maybe 15 people."

and...

"Now that the mystique of so many celebrities is rooted less in their accomplishments than in their ability to get our attention by provoking our disgust, perhaps it's not fame they're offering but 'fame-iness.' Unlike actual fame, which involves some talent and hard work, 'fame-iness' requires little more than a willingness to humiliate oneself."

I agree.

I'm very enlightened.

That's why I write about my poo.

Hospitali-D

9:03am
B-Trip: Home

Sometimes the Morning D is all you got....the only bit of tranquility you can count on during what is sure to be a hectic day.

My sister and brother-in-law arrived last night from Chicago and will be staying with us over the long weekend. It has been a few years since they last visited so it's nice to have them back.

As I nestled into my Morning D, jalapenos racing to the finish line, I tried to plan our sight-seeing in my mind: Farmer's Market/Grove for breakfast, they'd like to see a movie at the Arclight, we know we're going to Social Hollywood for dinner....

Suddenly, there was a rapping on the front door.

Dicked.

The light tapping soon gave way to the ringing of the doorbell.

Double dicked.

I knew immediately what had happened. My bro-in-law is an avid runner, the kind of guy who finishes just behind the Kenyans in marathons. Accustomed this time of year to running in single-digit wind chills, he couldn't wait to hit the sunny sidewalks of Los Angeles. He embarked on a morning jog before I awoke, and I locked him out when I grabbed the newspaper off the front porch.

I know for certain Elle has not arisen yet. And as far as I can tell, neither has my sis. Or if she has, she might be locked out too.

There's no choice. I must abort my noble mission.

This, of course, is the worst way to ever finish a D. It flies in the face of everything Taking D represents: serenity, reflection, escape. In fact, I posit the primary reason to Take D is because life seems to consist of a constant stream of interruptions, one right after another. Well, that and the fact that crapping in your pants can be uncomfortable.

As far as I can tell, there are two ways you can handle a situation like the one I'm in:

A) Throwing caution and common decency to the wind, you stand up and walk your brownie batter behind to the door as delicately as possible. With an air of nonchalance, you tend to the pressing matter, careful not to let anyone catch of whiff of your stinky booty. Then you retreat to the B-Trip at the nearest opportunity and finish the job. Under no circumstances would you ever take a seat somewhere else before doing so. In fact, it would probably be best for all concerned if you took an immediate shower and never spoke of this again.

or...

B) You wipe as fast as humanly possible, doing perhaps not the most thorough job but one that will pass muster for the time being.

I chose Option B. (It goes without saying that if there was an Option D, I would have selected that.)

As I frantically finished up and raced to the door, my sister also emerged from the guest room to let her husband back inside.

So dicked! Turns out I didn't have to abort, after all.

But karma works in curious ways.

In my haste to finish things up, I haphazardly used way too much toilet paper. This created a stall in the plumbing. The toilet managed to flush for me, but just barely.

About ten minutes later, my brother-in-law excused himself to take a shower. While my sister and I conversed, he sheepishly reappeared...asking if we had a plunger. I knew deep down the clog was a team effort, but he was the one with egg on his face.

The moral of the story? Beware all ye who interfere with my Morning D.


6:45pm
B-Trip: Home

I have a confession to make:

I Drink & D.

Why do I sometimes bring beverages in with me? A glass of water, cup of coffee....frankly, I don't think much about it.

But it baffles Elle.

I can understand that. To an outside observer, the mere thought of it must be repulsive beyond words. In much the same way a newspaper or magazine that has spent time in the B-Trip is no longer fit for regular household use, surely any beverage is immediately tainted the instant my bowels jettison their goods like straight-up exocytotic vesicles on a Golgi apparatus. (You hear me screaming, microbiologists? Holler back!)

However, I disagree with that assessment. In fact, a sip of water may be just what the body needs to keep the process moving.

That said, I've noticed I rarely take a drink. In this case, the glass is sitting just out of reach on the counter. Maybe it's there simply as a security blanket. You know, just in case I need it. Or maybe the placid H2O helps create the proper, calming atmosphere for Taking D. Or perhaps I need longer arms so I can reach that f*cking thing.

Or maybe the best way to look at this quandary is that it's a question not meant to be answered. For example, each morning Elle's half-full water glass migrates from the bedroom to the bathroom counter...but never any further.

If I don't want to feel like I married that 'lil bitch from SIGNS (editor's note: Win that Oscar, Abigail!) it's up to me to make sure the glass finds its way back to the kitchen. I could try to ascertain why this happens (imminent alien attack?), but it's better just to acknowledge this quirk for what it is: Part of the enduring mystery that is woman.

Drinking & D'ing strikes me as the same thing.

Sandra D

8:34am
B-Trip: Home

Sitting here thinking about this new reality show called "Grease: You're the One That I Want." It's a search for two people to play the lead roles in an upcoming Broadway revival of 'Grease'.

After casting a wide net, they've narrowed it down to fourteen people. All are very talented singers and dancers, though some are better than others. Each week the panel will lop off one guy and one girl.

The first two individual contestants recently got kicked off. A standard reality-show sendoff seems to be an exit interview in which the departing contestant waxes nostalgic about the quality time spent on the island or in the house.

But not on this show.

These sadists cut you and then immediately make you perform a gut-wrenching ballad from Grease. All the while, the surviving contestants sway behind you as your backup singers.

As the axed female contestant sang "Good-bye to Sandra Dee" -- tears streaming down her face, her competitors pretending to fix her hair for the big sendoff -- you couldn't help but feel you were watching a person's dreams die.

Now that's quality television.

8:11pm
B-Trip: Home

I brought the aforementioned 'How To Be A Gentleman' in with me and finished it up. I'm sorry to report the book offers little in the way of B-Trip etiquette, perhaps because a proper gentleman certainly would not discuss such a topic.

Here's the closest I came:

When there is a woman on the premises-or if there is any likelihood a woman will arrive soon-a gentleman always puts the toilet lid down.

Sound advice, but I've never really understood why girls struggle so mightily with the seat. Having grown up with two sisters, leaving the seat up has never been an option in my life. But if I ever do decide to leave it up, it's a certainty that Elle will fall right in. And she's not alone. All girls do that.

To me, it's one of life's great mysteries.

If a Gentlemen discovers, during a large business meeting, that he needs to use the bathroom, he leaves the room quietly. He does not need to announce where he is going or when he plans to return. When he must leave a small meeting, he excuses himself, saying: "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Punctuating his words, if necessary, with a modest fart.

A Gentleman Never Runs Out of Toilet Paper

Makes sense, but it would be entertaining to see just how a proper gentleman might deal with such a scenario. Something tells me even Tony Blair would cease any semblance of gentlemanliness under such circumstances.

Tissue Issues

8:29am
B-Trip: Home

There are people with balls, and then there's the rest of us.

There are people determined to follow their passion regardless of the cost, while others simply play it safe.

In a world of cowards, Joel Zumaya stands apart.

The flame-throwing setup man of your AL Champion D-troit Tigers faced criticism last year when the inflammation that dogged him during the playoffs was determined to stem from the 'Guitar Hero' video game.

(FULL DISCLOSURE: Admittedly, 'Guitar Hero' is the coolest game ever)

But when your hobby starts to effect your day job (especially when you also happen to have the coolest day job ever) there is cause for concern.

But as Spring Training opens, Zumaya remains undeterred.

Warming up in the bullpen … Pete Townshend

To those who insist Detroit Tigers reliever Joel Zumaya hurt his arm last season by playing too much air guitar in his spare time, the pitcher has a ready reply: Long live rock!

Zumaya told the Detroit News that he refuses to give up playing the video game Guitar Hero, even though the Tigers believe that was the cause of his late-season forearm troubles.

"They had a tough time trying to find out what was wrong with my arm," Zumaya said, "and I told them I was playing this guitar game. I don't believe that's what it was, and to tell you the truth, I haven't stopped playing it.

"A lot of people have criticized me and told me, 'Joel, put it away.' But I'm still going to play it. Just not as often."

Besides, injury risk or not, the game has its benefits for Zumaya.

"I even got free stuff from Guitar Hero," he said, "because of all the publicity I gave it."

You gotta admit...the guy's got balls. Though I must say, if I were one of his teammates (or especially the guy signing his checks), I'd break into his house and destroy that game.

"Don't worry, Joel. I'll buy you a new one just as soon as you win the World Series."


11:27am
B-Trip: Home

Another pleasant valley Followup D. Could this be the start of a new trend?

WHAT THE F***??!!!

This toilet paper....it's not Scott Extra Soft!!! It's Scott 1000. As I've noted previously, this stuff is no match for one of my D's. My D rips right through it. I might as well wipe with my bare hand.

This situation calls for drastic action.....Aha! A one-act play!

"ELLLLLLLLE!! GET IN HERE!!!"

Kenny's wife enters the bathroom, troubled to find him...knee deep in the hoopla, if you will.

Elle: Is everything alright?
Kenny: Is everything alright? Is everything alright, she says...does everything look alright?
Elle: No. Nor does it smell that way.
Kenny: What the f*ck is this?

Kenny lobs the new roll of toilet paper at her.

Elle: Where did this come from?
Kenny: It was sitting right here. How it got there...I don't know.
Elle: Oh no....I bought the wrong kind.

Elle falls to her knees, begging for forgiveness.

Kenny: Get up. Just tell me this: Was it an honest mistake? Or part of a nefarious scheme?
Elle: A mistake, of course. I'm an Extra Soft believer. You converted me. The regular is way too thin.
Kenny: I see. How many rolls of this are in our home at this time?
Elle: Including that one....eight.

A solemn pause, each of them digesting this terrible information.

Kenny: Let me be.
Elle: There must be something we can do. Let's TP the neighborhood tonight. And if you think about it, it really could be worse. Did you know Scott actually has the nerve to sell a Rapid-Dissolve toilet paper for septic systems. It probably breaks down before you can even get it home.
Kenny: Please, Elle. I just need to be alone.

Elle backs out of the B-Trip, determined to find some way to correct this grave error.

Kenny weeps silently, his tears dissolving not only the toilet paper, but also his hope for the future.

Fin

Valentine's D

8:30am
B-Trip: Home

You know you've found your soul mate when you live for each moment you spend together and happily devote your life to making the other's easier*. Also, when you can say:

"Honey, I'm going to keep track of every D I take this year online."

And after a moment of consideration, when she cracks a smile and does her best Renee Zellweger ("You had me at 'every D'."), you know this love was meant to be.

Elle, you and I are cut from the same cloth. Happy Valentine's Day.

In many ways, I guess we're a lot like the couple in this tender and poignant short film that proudly boasts the D-Liberation Smudge of Approval.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxZGlP-nw0k

Kudos to its creator, Scott Rothman, for helping keep the letter D not only at the front of the alphabet, but also in the forefront of our national consciousness.

*Six, count 'em, SIX "you's" in that sentence. Who says it's all about me?


11:10am
B-Trip: Home

It's been a while since I've delivered a Followup D. I'd like to thank the jalapenos in last night's homemade burritos for the opportunity.

A quote from President Bush's news conference earlier today has been rattling around in my head:

"Let's put it this way, money trumps peace, sometimes. In other words, commercial interests are very powerful interests throughout the world."

Wow....Could this have been a rare moment of clarity? A frank sentence or two shedding light on the real reasons our foreign policy has become such a mess?

Ummmm.....No.

He was actually responding to a question about why, if Iran is indeed the looming threat his administration claims, why are so many of our allies unwilling to support military action?

So don't worry. There were no ulterior motives for the Iraq invasion. Saddam was seconds away from killing us all. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a lot more freedom to cram down these people's throats.

Oh, man....I just took D on my soapbox.

That's gonna leave a smear.

A Few Good D's

8:00am
B-Trip: Home

A strange, suspicious Morning D. Slimy and viscous like Texas tea.

Oh...is that 'TMI'? Feel you're entitled to a little discretion on my part?

Then consider yourself Lt. Daniel Kaffee to my Col. Nathan Jessup. Because clearly you can't handle the truth.

You need to understand something, we live in a world of walls. And behind those walls people Take D. And who's going to write about it? You? You...Lieutenant Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom.

You scoff at my frankness, and you curse the details. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know - that my D, while nasty, probably saved lives; and the candor of my description, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives.

You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want to Take D -- you need to Take D. I use words like "honour," "B-trip," "Morning D." I use these words as the backbone of a life spent defecating. You use them as a punch line.

I have neither the time nor the inclination to censor myself for anyone who logs on and snuggles under the blanket of the very 'D-tails' that I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide them. I would rather you just said "thank you" and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you fire up that laptop and start chronicling your well-mannered and respectable D's.

Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to!


8:10pm
B-Trip: Home

One of those D's that won't let you leave.

All I want to do is go. I've long since achieved Nirvana and need to get back out to the world. But no. "Not so fast", my stomach keeps cautioning, "There's more!"

Again, it's stinky, slimy, and reluctant.

What did I eat yesterday? It had to be the spaghetti & meatballs I had at a friend's place last night. They were delicious ...and unique: Instead of marinara sauce, he used a' bubblin' crude. It's what you might call the road less traveled, and I'm quite certain it made all the difference. With a capital D.

And if you care to go full circle...what movie was my friend a producer on?

Yep.

A FEW GOOD MEN

D-celleration

9:32am
B-Trip: Home

Morning D is in absolutely no hurry today, only just now rearing its ugly head (and I mean ugly) after I've been awake a few hours.

Had some steak yesterday which, I suppose, can gum up the works like Gramps in the cereal aisle.


5:25pm
B-Trip: Home

Sitting here doing a crossword puzzle.

I'd rather not be, but I need to get my confidence back. I ravaged last Sunday's crossword, but was helpless in the face of yesterday's. So I'm tackling today's easy one.

Face it, some D's are best spent picking up the pieces of your damaged ego.

Second D

1:15am
B-Trip: Home

Grace before beauty. D before bed.

Reading about a divorced couple in Brooklyn. It's nasty between them. Way worse than this D.

Their separation is so spiteful that each refuses to move out of their three-story home. So what did the judge decide? Build a wall and divide the house in two.

Chana Taub, 57, got the garage, front door, spiral staircase, three bathrooms, second-floor kitchen, four bedrooms and a nursery on the third floor.

That left Simon Taub, 58, with a side entrance into the first-floor living room and bathroom, along with a second-floor dining room, which he could only access by walking up his neighbor's stairs outside, climbing over a railing on his balcony and entering through a window. To his wife's dismay, Simon paid construction workers to build a spiral staircase on his side, allowing him to get from his living room to his dining room.

Simon says he intends to stay until she moves out. "I want a peaceful life, and that's it," he said. "I don't want nothing to do with that woman."

I can read between those double negatives......he wants her back!

While it's tempting to side with Simon Taub since his wife's viewpoint dominates the article and she's clearly a moron, this little nugget, courtesy of the wife's sister, caught my eye:

"He never flushed the toilet," Newhouse said. "He made her clean up after him. She always had to flush the toilet, even when there was company there."

Now, I don't know the Taub's. It's possible that Simon can do with his poo what Edward Scissorhands can do to shrubbery. If so, then I understand his reluctance to flush. At least until his wife has had a chance to behold his artwork. That's a hallmark of a healthy marriage.

But the Taub's union sounds anything but healthy, which leads me to believe this dude is one gross bastard.

Long story short...Dudes, unless you've managed to either spell out your name or create a world class likeness of Solomon Wilcotts, flush it away.

Every time.


10:10am
B-Trip: Home

SPOILER ALERT: This anecdote ends with an anticlimactic dickover!

So I'm reading an article in The Week magazine about the popularity of virtual worlds. Sites like secondlife.com offer the social equivalent of communal warfare games like World of Warcraft.

Millions of people sign on to these simulated worlds because the real world either stinks, or is too real (Bro.....totally....), or fails to incorporate the term 'Linden' nearly enough.

Second Life seems to be the most popular. Feel like robbing a bank? Go for it. Looking for some sweet inter-avatar congress? (And, really, who isn't?) It's all good. Basically, if you enjoyed THE MATRIX but wished its graphics more closely resembled Dire Straits' 'Money For Nothing' video, then Second Life is for you. It even has its very own news service complete with an anchorman, a one 'Adam Reuters'.

Of course it sounds wonderful. My glaring concern is that I never have enough time for everything in my First Life! How am I possibly going to crack into #2? Unless it offers another 24 hours per day, it won't work for me.

But then a thought occurred to me: What would it be like to Take a Cyber D?

That I had to find out.

So I went to secondlife.com and signed up.

Signing up is easy. Masquerading under the unlikeliest of monikers, Darth Ebbage, I chose the 'city chic' avatar due to its uncanny resemblance to Savion Glover. If I could enter this brave new world tap-dancing like Mumble, I'd probably be knighted within the first five minutes. Or, at the very least, impress the denizens of Second Life while robbing their bank.

Everything seemed to be progressing just fine. After opening the program and logging in, the status bar danced along, slowly pulling the curtain back to reveal a new world of mystery and intrigue.

And then the program crashed.

Dicked.

I tried again. Nope. Another time. Nada. Sometimes I could even catch a glimpse of other users' avatars before the crash, but never for more than a second. Tenacity doesn't seem to get you as far in this virtual world as it can in real life (or RL, if you're a cool cyber guy like Darth Ebbage) because after fifteen different times logging in, I was unable to fully establish a connection.

I assume it's my wireless connection, but I'll be damned if I'm going to plug in for this. Computers serve me, not the other way around. I'll just as soon abandon Darth Ebbage mid-heist than have to run a cable across the room to my desk.

Also, the fact that my laptop is a Commodore 64 can't help matters.

Or maybe it's just karma. After all, Second Life is very popular. I've never been immediately accepted by the cool kids. I tend to be the guy outside the club hoping the bouncer will eventually let him in. And then when I finally do get it, not only does it hardly seem worth the wait, it's certainly nowhere you'd want to Take D.

So given that perspective, maybe I saved myself some time (except, of course, for the ninety minutes I spent trying to log in). Second Life will have to carry on without me.

That said, I'd love if someone could answer this burning question:

Were it not for his still birth, would Darth Ebbage have been able to Take D?


11:30pm
B-Trip: Home

Brought a Sudoku into the B-Trip with me.

But I got stuck.

So I just stared at a piece of newspaper for approximately seven minutes.

Barackin' The Suburbs

9:40am
B-Trip: Home

Wanted to read Tim Rutten's column, but the topic was Anna Nicole Smith.

She dicks me.

This commercial, however, is hereby certified with the D-Liberation Smudge of Approval.


6:00pm
B-Trip: Home

I can hear, in the other room, a replay of Barack Obama's speech from earlier today in which he threw his hat into the '08 Presidential race.

What a dick that guy sounds like. Just an insecure asshole scarcely capable of stringing a full sentence together. Lacking any and all cognitive thought, he'll no doubt squash all dissenting viewpoints regardless of their merit and speak only in pre-approved sound bytes while walking around with his chest puffed out.

Wait...I might be thinking of somebody else...

Oh, yeah. Barack Obama. Impressive speech. I'm going to go ahead and make him my current standard-bearer. If somebody wants my vote, they gotta top his high-water mark. So don't forget to pack your fiberglass pole, Mitt, should you care to do some vaulting.

Who am I kidding? I'm voting for the first candidate to incorporate Taking D into their platform. Even if, Lord help us, it's Christopher Dodd.

Top 10 Reasons I'm Intrigued by Barack:

10) His inauguration would signal an end to the Bush/Clinton/Bush progression of two-family rule that has started to destroy our country.

9) He seems determined to clean up Washington, and hasn't been there long enough to be irreparably corrupted.

8) The dude's track-record shows a propensity for consensus building. The system only works if people attempt to work together.

7) Cleanliness is, after all, next to Godliness.

6) His initials + '08 spells "BOOB" (more or less). That can only be a good thing.

5) He strikes me as genuine human being. Any other candidates come across that way?

4) He's often flashing his bright smile, but there's another face he makes that impresses me even more. It's this stern "You gotta be fucking kidding me" look. I wish I could find an example of it. (I'll come across it at some point and post it later.) Regardless, this skeptical face, while respectful, says he's not to be messed with....and I believe it.

3) He's so frequently humbled. Every time he addresses a group of people, he's humbled. It's important to me that civil servants, including the President, be humbled by my dumb ass.

2) Wants to close the widening income gap in this country. I have no joke about this. Someone needs to address this problem.

And the number #1 reason I'm intrigued...

1) Just like me, he hates getting stuck next to Lieberman on the bus.

Pimp My D

8:50am
B-Trip: Home

I woke up.

I went poo.

More or less in that order.


4:27pm
B-Trip: Home

You may have seen this.

Roto-Rooter is giving away a Pimped Out John, complete with laptop, beer tap, X-Box, Flatscreen, TiVo, seat warmer, and pedals so you can exercise your legs. It's "Perfect for Multitaskers". The total value comes to around five grand, so if you're interested (and don't mind receiving spam from Roto-Rooter for the rest of your life) be sure to get your name in before April 2. The lucky winner will be crowned on National Plumber's Day, April 25, 2007.

Roto-Rooter is naturally giddy about their ostentatious toilet. Here's what they have to say about their promotion:

After all, what is a toilet? A private seat of power, a place to escape and experience a few stolen moments of pure solitude.

I'm with you so far. In our hectic, 24/7 world there are few places left where you can be all but certain you'll be left alone. That is the very essence of Taking D, and why it's so important.

It should be the most wonderful location in your home, but unfortunately, most toilets are bland and boring.

Hmmmm...the B-trip IS the most wonderful location in my home. But having to find some way to run the cable line in there, as a Pimped Out John would necessitate, would make things worse, not better.

Most toilets are just toilets. Plain and simple. As long as they flush properly and are remotely clean, who complains? For anyone honestly concerned about their toilet being 'bland and boring', slap a bumper sticker on it. Or stop flushing altogether. Either way, it's sure to become a conversation piece.

'The bathroom is the perfect place for your very own throne. It shouldn't always be regarded as the room of last resort', contends Steven Pollyea, Roto-Rooter vice president of marketing.

Any time a VP of Marketing 'contends', he's trying to sell you a bag of goods.

Since when is the B-Trip 'the room of last resort'? What about the living room? You actually eat there, what, maybe five times a year? People use their bathroom five times a day.

Can't you just see how this is going to end? Some college kid will win the Pimped Out John for his dorm room. He'll fight the university tooth and nail to allow him to cram it into the tight quarters. Their squabble will be a running gag all semester in the student newspaper. The university will finally acquiesce, but the kegerator is not allowed. He'll be fine with that because he's only 19 and, when you really think about it, only the lowliest of hardcore alcoholics needs draught beer readily-available when taking a dump. I mean, even a thirty year-old Dubya would have found that extreme.....BUT TOTALLY AWESOME!!!

Anyway, Team Roto-Rooter will come out and find some way to cram the thing into his dorm room B-trip. There will certainly be no room for the pedals (so suffice it to say...this guy's quads are f*cked!).

It will be so great for five minutes. Pictures will be taken. But the next day, as he's still getting the hang of it, his iPod will topple off the docking station attached to the toilet paper dispenser. From there it will drop into the dreadful liquid netherworld, a rather annoying turn of events for our big winner. In fact, he'll tire of all the bells and whistles in less than a week. Who wants to spend hours sitting on the toilet? His friends will still think it's cool, but he'll ignore the Pimped Out John entirely except when they stop by. The same thing happened when my Grandmother, rest her soul, gave my siblings & I a trampoline for Christmas.

Here's the thing: B-Trips need to be, above all, sanctuaries. That requires space and openness. Nancy Grace can wait til you're done (and hopefully even longer). As modern technology impinges upon all facets of our lives, we must keep the B-Trip sacred.

"ABC, BBD"

12:35pm
B-Trip: Home

I've never been able to sit still without some song or melody emerging from the fertile crescent of my subconscious to take a few spins around my cranium. In the face of sensory deprivation, I'll fill in the gap one way or another.

Sometimes it's just an annoying jingle that, if vocalized, would legally justify Elle smothering me in my sleep. That happens a lot while I'm jogging. The repetitive sound of my feet hitting the sidewalk provides the rhythm, and I end up spending a few miles trying to eradicate the infantile melody from my brain. This rarely works, since such tunes always seem to have the leech-like death grip of a Wilson Phillips anthem.

That's probably why I've never run a marathon.

Other times, a forgotten song blossoms out of nowhere. It rarely warrants mentioning since it happens so often, but at present Boyz II Men's "Motownphilly" is making the rounds...and it occurs to me that this song may be a kindred spirit.

"Motownphilly" was one of those songs that you knew was gold the first time you heard it. Catchy, fun, and with harmonies so tight they could only be described as 'Cooleyhigh'. Indeed, Boyz II Men was going off. And their music, just like Goldilocks's preferred porridge consistency, was 'Not too hard, not too soft.'

But sometimes newcomers bursting onto the scene like this can be too much for us in the general public to handle. Not to worry. The producer who discovered them - Bell Biv DeVoe's Michael Bivins - swoops in a couple times throughout the song to ease digestion and provide a little background: "Yo, check this out. One day back in Philly, four guys wanted to sing..."

I don't know about you, but I appreciated this formal and proper introduction. Some may have deemed it unnecessary, but it's way better than, say, those heathens from Creed. I still refuse acknowledge them in any way, arms wide open or otherwise.

The video was even more brilliant than the song. Sure, the fashions and dance moves seem comically dated nowadays, but what happens approx. 90 seconds into the song will live forever.

It's the first time we hear from Michael Bivins. And where do we find him? That's right, he's Taking D. Never mind there's a party raging right outside the door. He even brought the newspaper in with him!

Clearly immersed in the Zen-like state one always strives for when Taking D, he's unfazed by our intrusion. I've never been able to make out a damn word he says other than "you know they be talented", but that's alright. Like most of us, he's probably not used to having conversations while Taking D.

It was an historic moment for American music -- the first time someone performed in a video while Taking D.

And I don't believe anyone has done it since. (Though, admittedly, I haven't seen anything Carrie Underwood's been up to lately.)


7:30pm
B-Trip: Home

Pre-jog D.

Reading about Tim Russert's testimony at Scooter's trial.

I have nothing particularly insightful to report, but I do know that if I ever write a book about my father, Randall Pice, we'll never look this corny on the cover.

D-cycle

8:40am
B-Trip: Home

It's recycling day here at the ol' Pice residence. So I'm spending this D multi-tasking my way through a stack of old newspapers, making sure I'm not about to toss out something of monumental brilliance.

Nope. Nothing.


2:10pm
B-Trip: Home

This D could have waited, but I'm about to take a shower. (Admittedly, that portion of my morning routine is somewhat late today.)

The way I see it, it's better to squeeze out whatever I can now than to feel the urge in a little while and spend the rest my day wandering around aimlessly with an unseemly bunghole. Because, you know, fresh out of the shower my b-crack is a national treasure. Like Old Faithful. Or Elvis Stojko.

But probably more like Old Faithful.

(As you might expect, I'm eager to conduct some mass spectroscopy to make a definitive determination on this pressing matter, but the grant is still pending. Stupid Bush Administration! Why must you loathe scientific research?!!)

Meanwhile, I can hear Elle absolutely rocking out to the 'Grey's Anatomy' theme song in the other room. The earnest vocals bring an air of poignancy to this D.

Man, I gotta get this one right...

Ringy Dingy

8:14am
B-Trip: Home

All who know me agree that I am, if nothing else, a southpaw and a newlywed.

Standing on that lake shore in front of everyone we hold dear, I pledged my eternal love to Elle and symbolized it with a band of platinum. What hadn't occurred to me until later was the daily ritual that same ring would engage in for the rest of my days.

You see, I wipe with my left hand.

So each time yours truly Takes D, my ring has a front row seat to an event that, let's just say, I've been having some difficulty selling season tickets to.

And how many wipes does it take to 'cleanse the palate'? Five or so? (I'll have to get back to you on that.) Suffice it to say several times per D this emblem of my eternal affection must be shaking its head in resignation at the cruel hand fate has placed it upon. After all, its a ring. Rings are supposed to enjoy a glamorous existence. Yachts, castles, the odd casino fistfight....no way it bargained for this. And although you could say it's just along for the ride, this is a journey that would make even Mike Rowe wince.

Sometimes I think it's actually trying to tell me something. Maybe something like: "Grin & Bear It." After all, that's what being married is all about, right? Rolling up your sleeves and taking care of business?

No, wait. Sounds like it might be saying something else. (It speaks with a thick Armenian accent that's difficult to make out).

"Remove me when you Take D."

Oh. Hmmm...Did you guys hear something? I didn't hear anything.


5:15pm
B-Trip: Home

File this one under 'Extenda-D'.

If you couldn't tell, I'm going through a crossword renaissance. So although I just attended to the 'business at hand' in short order, I was already fully immersed in today's offering. Astonishing progress kept me from putting the puzzle down, which in turn kept me from finishing up.

It's times like these, I've noticed, when your better judgment has been entirely abandoned, that your body relies on certain evolutionarily-honed defenses to keep you from wasting your entire life. Thus, as I approached the fifteen-minute mark, my legs fell asleep.

You may have won the battle, Body, but I'm already working up my next D! I'll finish that crossword puzzle yet!

On D and Dying

8:14am
B-Trip: Home

Sitting here with my trusty Monday Morning D companion....the LA Times Health Section.

Reading about "graceful exits", all the rage amongst the elderly after Art Buchwald's recent passing. When confronted with a terminal diagnosis, more and more people are opting to spend their final days in the relative serenity of hospice care instead of exhausting all manner of aggressive treatments in a desperate attempt to squeeze out a few more days/months/years. The quality of life in which these people spend their waning time trumps anything modern medicine has to offer.

Why I felt like telling you this, I'm not sure. And quite frankly, I just read this article hoping to find an answer to a question that's plagued me for years:

Colostomy bag...awesome or not-so-awesome?

But no such luck. I did, however, come to the realization that I feel the same way about dying as I do about Taking D:

It's going to happen. Might as well do it on your own terms.


3:28pm
B-Trip: Home

Reading The Week.

As far as I'm concerned, it's the best magazine out there, summing up all the events of the past seven days into enjoyable bite-sized pieces. National/International news, pop culture, food, travel...everything you need. I like to start in the middle with the editorial cartoons, then flip back a page for the Wit & Wisdom quotes - the majority of which come from deceased artists and world leaders (which always blows me away...I mean, how did they get these quotes from Winston Churchill and Oscar Wilde last week??). Some things I'm not meant to understand.

I then digest the rest in no particular order. In many ways The Week is my personal assistant, keeping me up-to-speed on relevant goings on around the globe. Mind you, we're not talking writing quality on par with The New Yorker or Esquire. However, they do take pains to present left and right-leaning takes on each of the major stories, which saves me a lot of time. Can you believe I used to have to check in with Seacrest, Hadley, Ueberroth, Greenspan, and Saget just to see what was going on in the world?

Because now, f*ck those dudes.


7:20pm
B-Trip: Home

Ripped right through today's crossword puzzle as the chili I've been eating nonstop since yesterday ripped through me.

SuperBowel Sunday

1:00am
B-Trip: Home

Poor B-trip....You thought you were done for the day, but I ain't through with you by damn sight. I'm gonna get Medieval on your ass.

That's why I'm dressed as a reenactor. A 'viceroy', if you must know. One with a proclivity for the hammered dulcimer.

So sit back and enjoy this Baroque minuet. In the key of D.

1:40pm
B-Trip: Home

Reading a Good vs. Evil article on the SuperBowl. It seems the Colts became evil when their owners absconded from Baltimore in '83, swiping the team's name and uniforms despite promises that they would start anew in Indy. The Bears, on the other hand, are good because they were founded by the same guy who invented the league and have called legendary Soldier Field home for a generation.

The author goes into tedious detail in his attempt to establish the stakes in today's showdown, but I'm not buying it. To me, he seems like a disgruntled fan who grew up in Baltimore and harbors resentment against the Colts for leaving town when he was a boy. I would too, but I'd also have the common decency to mention that fact amidst my diatribe.

Artificially-inflating both sides just doesn't sit right. Particularly when you're concealing your own personal motivations. (See also: the War on Terror.)

For example, I should mention that, for personal reasons, I took exception to this paragraph:

By and large, the symbolic contest between good and evil rarely enters into the discussion of recent championships: The San Antonio Spurs, the Arizona Diamondbacks, the New Jersey Devils, the Florida Marlins, the Dallas Stars, the St. Louis Rams, the Carolina Hurricanes and even the Denver Broncos do not actually stand for anything. Bereft of mythology, supported by interchangeably bland fan bases, these teams stand for nothing.

It was affronted to see one of my favorite teams (the Rams) listed in this group, and also to learn that I'm an 'interchangeably bland fan'. Indeed, I challenge you to find anyone who can rival my particular brand of blandess!

But upon further review (ahhh, the joys of Taking D.....if for nothing more than the processing time it provides), this argument is simply wrong. Since he's talking about recent championships, he must mean the 1999 SuperBowl victors boasting "The Greatest Show on Turf". Upon hearing that term today, any marginal football fan would know it refers to the Rams of yesteryear. That alone leads me to believe the Rams stood for something. Sure that something may simply have been 'a revolutionary and precise offensive attack', but I doubt even Magic's Lakers or Gretzky's Oilers stood for 'Peace in the Middle East' or other similarly grandiose or noble concepts.

Further, his argument isn't even unique. Since I currently reside in the city from whence the Rams came, I assure you there are plenty of people here who harbor the exact same animosity toward them that this guy does about the Colts.

Oh, in case you were wondering....I thought the article sucked.

10:28pm
B-Trip: Home

Sitting here digesting the SuperBowl as my already-digested breakfast bids farewell. Clearly, the pageantry and excitement of the Big Game really kicks my parasympathetic nervous system into overdrive.

I realize this will come as a life-altering revelation, but here goes: I did not feel strongly one way or the other about these two teams. No hatred, nor unwavering affection. They both seem fine.

Devin Hester's kickoff return for a TD was thrilling (particularly since I spend my NFL seasons following the special teams-challenged Rams), but the rest of the game seemed to follow a predictable script with those allegedly evil Colts coming out on top. (Somehow I don't see a book like this being written about them.)

Only two commercials caught my interest:

1) Snickers

-Starts off hilarious with the kiss, but the chest hair-pulling didn't quite do it for me. Seems like there were a million better ways to go for something 'manly'. You start with the chest hair, but you gotta build on it.

The YouTube post claims you can vote for alternate endings at www.snickerssatisfies.com, but I was unable to find that portion of the site. My futile search left me...hmmm, how should I put it? Oh, yes....unsatisfied.

(I did, however, come across a series of Blaxploitation shorts about Instant Def, an eclectic hiphop crew determined to 'keep it real'. They get magical powers after a tragic accident at the Snickers factory.)

2) "The Late Show - SuperBowl of Love"

-Serendipitous, well-executed, & funny.

But my enduring memories of this SuperBowl will surely involve the bizarre spectacle of seeing two rock legends perform in the rain.

At first I had no sense of how hard it was raining. But a close-up of Billy Joel's fingers caused me to marvel over the sparkly piano keys. Did Elton John loan him the Baby Grand? I soon realized those sparkles were raindrops and spent the rest of the national anthem ruminating over how strange it was to see a piano out in the rain.

The monsoon, however, waited for the headliner. Prince has been rocking the house for thirty-plus years, and has apparently been sleeping in Dick Clark's patented self-preservation chamber. The guy does not age! But best of all, despite his mythical status he's still a gamer, seemingly at his bad ass best in the purple - err, I mean pouring rain. But I suspect it's no big thang to the Artist Currently Known As. He was born to perform...and lives in Minnesota, for Heaven's sake. He'd suit up in thundersnow.

I enjoyed the sheet thing and was on the edge of my seat expecting one of Prince's two high-heeled dancers to slip in a puddle and be sacked for a loss. But they managed to stay on their feet despite furious wiggling and jiggling and therefore deserve, if not mad props, then certainly some that are at the very least, borderline distraught.

Bush Dump

9:30am
B-Trip: Home

The Bush Administration, as the past several years have shown, likes to get sneaky with the media. My favorite instance was in June '04. "Fahrenheit 9/11" spent the weekend breaking box office records. In the days leading up to the film's release, as it became clear audiences intended to flock to this movie, you may recall that Cheney wrestled some of the headlines away by telling Senator Patrick Leahy to "Go Fuck Yourself". But the weekend wore on and even that sideshow couldn't keep the entire country from buzzing about Michael Moore's film. The Bush squad needed something big. Even bigger than the F-Word.

I'll never forget NPR's top story when my alarm went off Monday morning:

"The U.S. transfers sovereignty to the Iraqis.....TWO DAYS EARLY!!"

That's right. 'Sovereignty' was supposed to be transferred - an arbitrary step made out to be a big deal at the time - on June 30. But apparently things were going so well we decided to give the Iraqis their country back early. It enables us to "seize the initiative" over the insurgents, Tony Blair said at the time. As I sit here Taking D, it appears we may not have held on tightly enough to that initiative because insurgents clearly seized it back at some point. Forget body armor, our troops need some of those sticky Jerry Rice gloves.

Could this be the root of our current problems? Maybe the Iraqis weren't ready! We gave their country back too early!! They needed those two days to finish filing!

Anyway, it seemed obvious to me (though I've never seen it reported) that the preemptive sovereignty swap had double-upside for the Bush Administration: a) It gave the impression of progress in Iraq, while b) forcing the 24-hour news networks to spend less time digesting Fahrenheit 9/11's success. After all, they were now behind the 8-ball needing to explain this 'historic' step to the masses.

Another stratagem in the Bush Team's media manipulation mandate demands that any official 'Bad News' gets dumped on Friday night. That way, no one's around to answer questions about it for a few days and hopefully it will end up being ignored. If not, on Monday you can give the impression that you worked on the problem all weekend and now have things under control.

This technique has been obvious to anyone paying attention and has apparently even come up in testimony during the Scooter Libby trial. It's pretty savvy, but a weekly downer every Saturday morning for those of us who still bother reading the newspaper.

Today's headline: U.S. Spy Chiefs Say Outlook In Iraq is Grim.

Behold the charming first line: "Iraq is unraveling at an accelerating rate, and even if U.S. and Iraqi forces slow the spreading violence, the country's fragile government is unlikely to deliver stability to its people during the next year."

Makes the old 'surge' seem kinda pointless, doesn't it?

Anyway, six years of these Saturday morning headlines have become rather depressing. It's never anything like: "North Korea: No Threat Whatsoever" or "Bush Articulater, President Learns Fifteen New Words" or even "Condi...Ticklish!".

Instead, it's always some dickover they hope to slide past you.

The Bush News Dump....starting off your weekend with dismay, since 2001!


3:39pm
B-Trip: Home

Reading an article in the Business section about the selling of 'virtual' items on eBay. It appears eBay will be banning this practice as it relates to communal online games like World of Warcraft. Essentially people auction off codes that will give your character in the game a better shield, titanium abs, etc.

I don't know anything about the game, but obviously if you're willing to part with some cash you can save the time it would take to 'earn' the reward legitimately. I imagine you start out the game looking like Napoleon Dynamite but quickly come into contact with people who've been playing for years and now resemble some all-powerful hybrid of Godzilla and Boba Fett. If you end up having to battle this person, a map to the Sarlacc Pit might be worth fifty bucks...know what I'm sayin'? No? Oh, well...

Maybe there's something to this....has anyone tried selling 'confidence' online? What about 'sense of rhythm'? Surely 'the ability to slam dunk' would be a huge hit.

Who am I kidding? You can't get rich selling nothing. Not unless you're Halliburton. I should stick to the tried & true.

Anyone want a penile enhancer?

Groundhog D

9:00am
B-Trip: Home

Reading about Climate Change and SF Mayor Gavin Newsom's affair.

If I wake up tomorrow and find this day repeating itself over and over again for all eternity, I promise I'll try harder to make this particular D more riveting.


10:25pm
B-Trip: Home

To my knowledge, Elle & I are the only people who watch a program entitled 'What About Brian?'. I think it's on ABC.

It's a flawed show, full of melodrama and disappointing plot twists. The casting is ok, but not perfect. In short, the show is a weekly effort in unrealized potential. It's a J.J. Abrams show, and though the runt of his litter, Elle ensures I never miss it. And I admit...like the Iraq war, at this point I'm in so deep I might as well keep going. That said, I am man enough to admit that getting involved in this program was a mistake. One that I would not repeat. I don't care how bad a man Saddam Hussein was. But I digress...

The show, a relationship drama about 30-somethings in LA with a penchant for poor decision-making, has a catchy theme song entitled "Calling All Friends". A band called Low Stars is responsible for the ditty and have made it available for your listening pleasure on their MySpace page. Who knows? Maybe if you become their 'friend', they'll call you. (The portion on "What About Brian" picks up at the 1:19 mark.)

To hook the viewer, the opening credits (and theme song) typically don't kick in until at least 10 minutes into the show. Sadly, delaying them this long often makes the opening credits seem a spoof of itself. Many times after a big 'moment' at any point during the show, Elle or I will sing out "Calling All Friends!" since we've become so conditioned by the song's mid-story placement.

Anyway, I'm sitting here trying to get the song out of my mind. Not having much success. It's a wussy song along the same lines as the 'Friends' theme, but it grows on you, eventually lodging into your temporal lobe like one of Khan's earworms.

The tricky thing about theme songs, I gather, is that they have to be pretty solid to hold up to the repetition each week. For every 'Cheers' theme, there's a hundred "Calling All Friends"es. Maybe that's why 'Lost' opts simply for a sound effect. The stakes are that high. I'm not sure why, but it does not appear you can swap out a bad theme song midway through a show's run. You gotta get it right from the get go. If not, you could be stuck with the same stinker season after season.

Here's what I'm wrestling with:

"Calling All Friends"
by Low Stars (Theme songs from 'What About Brian?')

I'm calling all friends, people I met on the way down
I'm calling all friends, people I don't even know.
Calling on high, I wanna believe there's a way now.
I'm too tired to pretend
I don't want to be alone, I'm calling all friends.

The guy's obviously lonely. What do you do when you're lonely? You call a friend. But that's not enough for this guy. He calls all of his friends. Every single one. And this degenerate doesn't stop there. He starts calling people he doesn't even know. I can't imagine that goes over well.

This is one annoying bastard. I'd be willing to surmise the root cause of his loneliness stems from his all out assault on the decent people of the world's AnyTime minutes. Nobody wants a friend like that. Imagine being one of the suckers in his Five.

No thanks.

Feb-BREW-ary

At the start of any new month, it behooves the soul to take a look back: What did I accomplish? What areas of my life could I improve upon? How many D's did I take?

The soul's nosy like that.

While I continue to search for answers to the first two questions, I got the last one all squared away:

91.

Wow...could that be? 91 D's??!! Sure seems like a lot. I mean, if each of my D's drove in a run I would have damn near cracked the Top 50 RBI Leaders in 2006. (Sadly, Orioles catcher Ramon Hernandez and I remain on the bubble.)

I suppose if you're on a 3-per-day clip, such clutch-hitting numbers stand to reason. But still...

(For the record, I realize I've not yet posted all 91 D's just yet. I'll get there. It's just a little difficult getting motivated to sit down at the old laptop and conjure up the specifics of that D you took three weeks ago.)

But that's why it's important to always take copious notes! I'll regurgitate soon.


8:10am
B-Trip: Home

You ever sit on the toilet, pondering just what could possibly be unique enough about this particular b.m. to share it with the world?

You sit there thinking: "It's just an everyday Morning D. What could possibly warrant reporting?"

Anxious and stressed, you may not notice when Divine Intervention comes your way. As per usual, it occurs in mundane fashion. This morning, it was the parting of my neighbors.

Donna & Ken are a charming couple in their 50's and lovely neighbors. Ken is a grizzled New Yorker, while Donna is an active Texan with blond hair and an adorable drawl. She always seems to be heading off to tennis, mountain biking, or any number of physical activities. It wouldn't surprise me if she still gets carded.

Anyway, I hear her say goodbye, presumably with a Jai-Alai basket slung over her shoulder. Seconds later, the door swings open and Ken shouts after her:

"Honey, have you seen my manbag?"

From what I could gather, he said it with a straight face. Such ability is I gift I do not possess. Certainly, they both heard my laughter blurt through the bathroom window.

The classic Seinfeld episode came to mind, so I did some research on this manbag phenomenon. It's not pretty. First, consider their witty slogan: 'If it's not a Manbag, it's a purse!'

I got news for ya...It's still a purse.

Manbag (actually Man-n-Bag, due to some surly ManBag rights holder, I'm sure) comes in three fashionable styles: Axible, DayTrek, and Messenger. Each of which is as Sold Out as it is ridiculous. Guess you'll have to hit the black market for that perfect Valentine's Day Manbag.

I realize we all have a lot to carry around, but I'm quite certain that real men don't carry 'manbags'. Nor 'murses'.

They haul gunny-sacs.


3:50pm
B-Trip: Home

Another Working Man's D. All at once. In & out. The quintessential weekday afternoon maneuver.

That is, for someone like me on a constant search for his next dollar.

When gainfully employed, of course, I like my workday D's more casual.

Because there's only thing better than Taking D...

Getting paid to Take D.


11:05pm
B-Trip: Home

Another quickie. A Drive-Thru D.

But I still hung around for a few moments to get my Scooter fix.

'Scooter'

8:30am
B-Trip: Home

One of those mornings where I try to hold off the day as long as possible. Not ready to start prioritizing the to-do list in my brainium. Not interested just yet in getting worked up over the news.

So I started the crossword puzzle in front of me.

"Actress Davis: _ E _ _ _" I scribbled in 'Bette', throwing caution to the wind.

But now I realize it can't be Bette.

Dicked.


11:20am
B-Trip: Home

In much the same way it's difficult to imagine a person wearing a Bluetooth looking like anything other than a tool, it's impossible to think of someone named "Scooter" being anything but a complete douchebag. Or a Muppet. But that's it.

No Scooter should not be allowed to rise to positions of power. The career achievement ladder for Scooters should not extend beyond "AA shortstop". Why? Because they're bound to screw everything up. If they instilled confidence and poise, someone wouldn't have started calling them Scooter so many years ago.

Of course, if you're a malevolent cyborg hellbent on global annihilation then it probably helps to have a Scooter around. After all, there are a few things Scooter's excel at: Starbucks runs, scapegoating, getting the fantasy league set up....They live for that!

I. Lewis Libby, who ostensibly answered to his pejorative moniker after tiring of people pointing out that his initials spelled ILL ("Yo, dog....you illin'? Daaaaah!), is going to jail. He'll stay there until the last day of Bush's term, when a presidential pardon will enable him to take his rightful place as a lapdog in the private sector. That's pretty much it.

And yet I will continue to follow his trial....

3:33pm
B-Trip: Home

...Like now.

I'm currently reading about Judith Miller's testimony. I recall an anecdote from Maureen Dowd, Miller's co-worker at the NY Times, years ago that told me everything I needed to know about Judith Miller:

<< Once when I was covering the first Bush White House, I was in The Times' seat in the crowded White House press room, listening to an administration official's background briefing. Judy had moved on from her tempestuous tenure as a Washington editor to be a reporter based in New York, but she showed up at this national security affairs briefing.

At first she leaned against the wall near where I was sitting, but I noticed that she seemed agitated about something. Midway through the briefing, she came over and whispered to me, "I think I should be sitting in the Times seat."

It was such an outrageous move, I could only laugh. I got up and stood in the back of the room, while Judy claimed what she felt was her rightful power perch.>>

Judith Miller would dick me immensely. She needs to relax. You wonder if she's ever Taken D.


10:25pm
B-Trip: Home

Aha! It's GEENA DAVIS!!

I went back to the crossword puzzle and NAILED IT! "Love Triangle", "Gooiest", "Dem"....I got 'em all.

You can't stump me, Donna S. Levin!

Until tomorrow. From Wednesday on, they get too hard.