SWEET HOME CHICAGO

My name is Joe Pendleton, and I'm an awful flyer. That's right, an awful flyer. Any hint of turbulence has me in a cold sweat, has me grabbing the hand of the person next to me, has me thinking I'll never see my wife Brenda and my kids Kurt and Georgia ever again.

I'm pretty much a pussy when it comes to air travel. That being said, I find it virtually impossible to sleep on a plane and have plenty of time to think about lots of shit. Well, flying home from Chicago Sunday night on United Flight 330, I had plenty to think about. You see, the previous 52 hours were a whirlwind in the Windy City. From seeing the Cubs clinch the NL Central in public, to seeing Brian Griese throw a football 67 times in person to seeing a midget dance on a bar while pouring shots into Bachelorettes' mouths, I had plenty to reflect on.

So, despite sleeping approximately 9 of the 52 hours, I just put the I-pod at full blast, ignored the cries of release from the chili-cheese fries sitting in my gut and let my mind wonder about what I just been through. Here's a glimps into my brain - which was operating at half capicity on the flight.

-- Minneapolis might be an awful city: On our trip, about 90% of the people we met on the trip were down from the Twin Cities (including a dame who spent $240 on a pair of jeans). Down, meaning they drove 7 hours or trained it about 12 hours to get there. Seems like nobody flies there. So I start thinking why would you make that trip just for Chicago? Then it dawns on me, when you think of Minneapolis, you think of two things: A big mall and a huge bridge collapse. Ok, maybe the Vikings, maybe the movie Fargo, but that's about it. For those folks, 7 hours is nothing. We met one cat at Soldier Field so bored in Minnesota, that he paid $110 for a football ticket and didn't know the difference between a football and a plate of nachos. When I told him - in the 20 seconds he wasn't talking - I was from New Jersey, he asked if I was a Patriots fan? When he spotted on the out of town scoreboard that the Giants were down 10-6 in the first quarter, he said, "looks like your Giants are gonna go down today." Nice guy, but just wouldn't clam up. The seven hours in the car back to Minny with that cat must be unbearable.

-- People in the Midwest are nice - Too nice. Like our clueless NFL friend, everyone from Chicago to Minnesota is very friendly, and very chatty. Perfect example came when Slim Steve went to get a pretzel at Wrigley Field, only to find the stand he went to were out of them. The woman behind the counter explained that someone had gone to get more, and then she went on a 15-minute diatribe on how they had run out of pretzels in the first place. About 40 seconds into the diatribe, Steve said the pretzel wasn't that important to him and walked away.

-- Chicago is the Bachelorette Party Capital of the World: I challenge you to walk through the streets of Chicago on any Saturday night and not find some dame having her last fling before getting hitched. You could go into a White Castle and there will be about 10 dames in there, one of them wearing a veil and other embarrassing shit. It's unreal. And these parties are dumb. They turn into mini-scavenger hunts. Yes, the bride to be has to collect stuff on her trip. Want to know how wild one party was that we ran into? The dame had to get from a strange man - a sock. Yes, a sock. Boy, those friends of her thought of everything. I mean this dame's fiance probably has about 10 strippers sitting on his grill and she's out collecting socks. WHOA BOY. It's a huge thing in Chicago, though. One place we were at, we must've seen about 4-5 bachelorette parties going on, with most of the attendees wearing their "I need a man" dress. A few bachelorettes did get wild, jumping on a bar to dance while the house midget (that's him in the green shirt) poured shots of something down their throats. Speaking of shots, to get into the spirit of things, yours truly did something called a Jagrbomb with a few brides-to-be.

-- There aren't many ugly dames in Chicago. Either that or the ugly ones stay home: It's pretty nutty, actually. The ratio of hot chicks to ugly ones is wider than the girl-to-guy ratio at James Madison U. Of course, me and the other cats were there to watch baseball and football, not midwest dames in high heels and tight dresses walking around.

-- There's a dog in Chicago that is livng my dream life. We ran into a pooch that lives with an attractive single woman who takes the dog to bars in a gym bag. Think about it. The dog lives with a hot dame, is carried to and from bars in a bag, and has the ability to lick his own nuts. Some guys have all the luck.

-- Cubs fans hate White Sox fans: To me, the relationship between Yankee fans and Mets fans is a practical lovefest compared to the animosity in Chicago. I saw more anti-Sox shirts outside Wrigley than I saw pro-Cubs shirts. It's unreal. If the White Sox ever beat the Cubs in the World Series, I predict there will be a few murders that night. I'm not kidding. It's vicious. Speaking of the Cubs, seeing them clinch in person was quite cool, and a part of me would really love to see them go all the way. However, with the Mets possibly facing them in the first round, I want to see them fail. But if you hang around Cubs fans for a while, you really start to feel sorry for them. Even during the clinching celebration, I got the feeling that some of them already knew that the season, like it always does, will end badly. Speaking of Wrigley, all of you who remember my favorite 7-11 list, well, let's just say I walked into Wrigley with a Double Gulp of Diet Pepsi.

-- I'm a loser: Yes, that's right, a loser. Of the 42 hours I was awake, the fate of the Mets was somewhere in my brain about 40 of them. Even while watching a great Bears-Bucs game in person, I couldn't stop thinking about what was going on in Atlanta, what the Brewers were doing and how the Mets are gonna blow it again. On Friday night in a bar loaded with Chicago women, I spent more time watching the ESPN crawl for a Mets score. Two of the dudes in our group labeled me as gay for this behavior. Maybe they are right, but I think loser is more appropriate.

-- I'm old. Want to be depressed? Go into a bar filled with cats/dames in their 20s and watch them dance to songs from the mid-80s. At first, the concept is pretty cool, but then you realize these kids think of these songs as oldies. At about 4 a.m. on Saturday, Glory Days started blasting over the speakers at my favorite place in Chicago, and all these kids were into it, but I realized most of them weren't even born when Born in the USA came out. I like to think I'm young at heart - my screaming Highway to Hell at 4:30 a.m. that same morning is proof of that - but let's face it, I'm an old fuck, at least in the eyes of the yuppie 2o-somethings at this place. I thought knowing all the words to Rick Astley's never gonna give you up was cool, others didn't. Speaking of this bar, the DJ proved to me something I've know for years. Billy Joel is a ripoff artist. At one point of the night, the DJ played R.E.M.'s "It's the End of the World as We Know It," and then followed it right up with "We Didn't Start the Fire," which I've been saying for years is a ripoff of REM. Of course, about 15 beers in I wasn't praising the DJ for this back-to-back play, I was ripping him for playing the Joel song in the first place. If it wasn't for the 20-year-dames getting into the song, I would've left.

I can't believe it, we've already landed. What a smooth flight, I guess I have nothing else to think

about until . . . I get into the car and listen to the end of the Yankee game on the radio. A few quick thoughts. Quick, I promise.

-- John Steling is a bafoon. He seemed more interested in the line score than the goings on at the Stadium after the final out.

-- Derek Jeter's speech was a joke. Could the cat look any more uncomfortable and scripted making that speech? Real original DJ, praise the fans. It's funny, he kept saying how great Yankee fans were, yet didn't mention that the organization will be squeezing every penny out of those people when the new stadium opens next year. I mean, $850 for a baseball ticket isn't that out of line. Good Riddance Yankee Stadium. Good Riddance Yankees for that matter.

-- Mets are in big trouble. What kills me about the Mets, is if they don't make it this year, people will talk about how they collapsed again. Of course, no one will mention they were 7.5 out when Willie got the ax in June. No one will mention they made a nice run with the shittiest bullpen in baseball (thanks Omar), no one will mention how the Braves laid down to the Phillies yet played the Mets tough this week. Last year was a collapse. Epic. The worst in baseball history. This year, they will be falling short. It's just as painful, but let's not compare it to last year. That being said, with six games left and a 1-game lead, I think they'll make it. Johan will start two of the six games, so if they can win both of them, they just have to split the other four games to go 4-2 over the last six, meaning the Brewers would have to go 5-1 to tie them and 6-0 to beat them out. That being said, if they lose tonight with Johan on the hill, they might be done. Speaking of Willie, he sure seems to be embracing his past life as a Yankee. As someone said today, if he had shown the same fire he did sliding into second base Sunday night when he was leading the Mets, he might still be the manager.

That's enough venting for now. I'll check back whenever the Mets are eliminated/clinch for my thoughts on the Mets.

SUMMERTIME BLUES

Well, after taking the summer off, I'm back and have to say, quite fired up. Little Kurt (kindegarten) and Georgia (3rd grade) are back in school, and I actually have some time to blog again.

I was gonna rant about how awful the Rams are, or gloat in how awful the Yankees are, but, believe it or not, a few lists have my blood boiling, which, I know, is what the lists are supposed to do.

Actually, two lists - which both deal with my favorite decade (the 80s) have my ire at an all-time high. The first was produced by Entertainment Weekly a few weeks ago. It listed the top 25 comedies from the last 25 years. Here's the link:

A few thoughts:

-- How the fuck is Naked Gun No. 24. NO 24????? Are you shitting me. It should at least be in the top 10, and, should be in the top 5. Just seeing OJ get his ass kicked the entire film make it a top 5er.

-- How is Clueless even on the list? Clueless? Gag me with a spoon.

-- Tropic Thunder No. 17 - Enuff said.

-- Beverly Hills Cop is No. 3, National Lampoon's Vacation is No. 2, Ghostbusters is No. 1.
Let's review: Trading Places - which is ten times funnier than Bev. Cop is No. 15. Vacation, which I admit belongs on the list (but not at No. 2), is funny, but Fletch could be Chevy's funnies film from that era.

Ghostbusters is the funniest movie from the last 25 years? Are you fucking kidding me? Funny? Yes. No. 1? no way.

Before it get to the most glaring omission, I present some films that should also be on the list.

One Crazy Summer: John Cusack, Bobcat, Demi Moore, and Neidermayer all in the same film. Classic.

Better Off Dead: Another Cusack classic.

Revenge of the Nerds: Are you telling me Napoleon Dynamite is funnier that this?

Team America: World Police: It's exclusion is what nearly caused me to have a stroke. It is unquestionably the funniest movie over the last 25 years, and possibly ever made. Watch it and try not to piss your pants. I dare you.
Marianettes shitting on each other during sex isn't funny?
Puppets vomiting after getting loaded?
That's not funny?
Maybe the impending death of Kim Jong Ill will raise awareness of this classic. Until then, I will no longer recognize EW as a publication.

The other list was on VH-1, which ranked the top 100 songs of the 1980s.

Here are the top 3
3. Hungry Like the Wolf - Duran, Duran
2. Pour Some Sugar on Me - Def Leppard
1. Livin' on a Prayer - Barack Jovi

I must say, if I was making this list, only No. 3 would make the list and would probably be somewhere in the 20s.

No. 2 is, in my opinion, a piece of shit. First of all, it's Def Leppard - which actually produced some decent rock in the early 80s - selling out with a total pop piece of shit. Second of all, they ripped off the title from the Archie's Sugar, Sugar, which by the way, is 10 times better. The list and song reminded me off a joke Mrs. Lad once told me. "What has 9 arms and sucks." Answer: Def Leppard.

As for No. 1: I must say I like this tune, but because it reminds me of a time at TSC when the Meister Brau flowed and the women were looser than Paris Hilton on crack.

My problems with the song are this: It's a poor man's (I know, he's not poor, just ask Obama) attempt at a Springsteen ripoff. You know, cat down on his luck, union on strike, but he loves his women and his guitar. Classic Bruce. The former Sayreville Bomber/St. Joe's Falcon tried again a few years later with "Born to Be My Baby." It's the same song.

Second, it's not even the best song on the album Slippery When Wet. That, or course, is Social Disease. Anyway, good song, but top song of the 80s, no way.

Here's my top 3:
3. Come on Eileen -Dexy's Midnight Runners
2. Der Kommisar - After the Fire
1. She's a Beauty - The Tubes

Speaking of lists, with Labor Day over, I will present in about a week my list of the 5 best and worst days of the summer of 2008. This list is the brainchild of Mrs. Slim Steve, who was there for one of the worst days, when we had to pack up the beach house and come back to reality.

Other big news: In the next month or so, I will be launching a new web site. I bought one of those web site for dummies book and am fired up to do it. only problem is, I'm not sure what the content will be.

Right now, the candidates are:
Guys Named Keith - will list and explore famous and not so famous dudes named keith
The Beer Count - Will chronicle all of my drinking events
The Worst Mets - Will explore every awful player in Met history (there's a bunch)
Halt Fraser - Will explore why Brendan Fraser is actually a celebrity and examine ways to make it stop.
THE TSC - I will possibly chronicle my college years in a book form. Maybe a new chapter or so every month. Could be the groundwork for a major hollywood film.

If you have any thoughts or views on this, feel free to weigh in.

Well, that's all for now. Big Chicago trip coming up next week.

Get ready for the summer list and expect weekly blog entries starting in late Sept.

Well, it's official, we are now the laziest country on the planet, and we have our friends at Verizon to thank for it.

Yesterday, I took the two Pendleton kids to see Wall-E, and of course, before the film started, we were bombarded with commercial after commercial.

Most were of the annoying Coke and Pepsi variety, but then one popped on for a new gagdet from Verizon that basciallly can identify any song playing and immediately download it for you. For example, you're walking down the street and some dude in a car is playing a song you like, but have never heard before. All you need to do is stick out the little device, which will tell you the name of the song, and then will download it from Verizon.com ASAP. I agree it's pretty cool, but I mean how fucking lazy are we getting? Usually in that situation you may actually have a conversation with another human and find out the title of the song, or may have to go home and try to find it online. You know, actually make some sort of effort. Pretty soon, we will just have to think about taking a crap and it will done for us. (Now, that would be cool).

What's ironic - and usually this word is used incorrectly, but in this case I think it's actually irony - is that Wall-E is (spoiler alert) all about the human race becoming so lazy and so computer-reliant everyone becomes extremely fat and lazy to the point that they can no longer walk. Hmmmm.

Since I've used the "spoiler alert" phrase up there, I'm actually disgusted in myself that I did. It's one of many new catch phrases that make me sick. The others: Walk-off home run; "no worries," are just a few more.

Speaking of vomit-inducing thoughts, how about those Mets? They really, really, really blow. Joe Reyes' head is up his arse, D. Wright hasn't had a big hit all season and Johan Santana, well, let's just say if he could pitch as well as he sells out his teammates, he'd be in line for 20 wins. Last night's 7-1 loss to the Cards was the last time (I know I've said this before, but I really mean it this time) that I will go out of my way to watch them when I don't have to (ie. work). If they don't give a shit, why should I?

Not much else to report right now. Possible Six Flags trip with the kids next week, and hopefully my first ride on Kinga Ka. Of course, if I lose my hat on the ride, I'll let it go, instead of losing my lid.

One final thing, here are two great, yet different Web-sites to check out.

straightcashhomey.net/

fatalfarm.com

The first one is self-explanatory, the second one is pretty whacky, but check out the TV themes, especially the Happy Days one and the Ducktales one.

Happy July 4th. Celebrate your freedom by eating and drinking to the point of puking.

GONNA CRY NOW

Well, I'll admit it's been way too long since my last post. A lot has happened that I should be weighing in on.

The deaths of Harvey Korman, Charlie Jones and of course, the biggest TV star in all of the land, Tim Russert, and Willie Randolph's career.

We'll get to that later.

The inspiration for this entry was a trip to Philly on Monday night with three former employees of the Macromedia empire. We went to see the fightin' Phils and the Red Sox battle it out. The game was OK.

Ryan Howard hit two pop flys that landed about 30 rows back. Bartolo Colon - who makes me look as skinny as a heroin addict - hurt himself swinging a bat, and J.D. Drew - a man who one of my pals described as "not giving a shit about anything," was booed everytime up.

However, the highlight of the game was sitting next to and doing schtick with former Celtic great Chris Ford. Cool guy. Wouldn't let me buy him a beer and was up for plenty of schtick. Not many people know this, but I was a huge Celtics fan in high school. Of course, once I got a bit smarter, I realized the NBA was a complete bore and was tuned out. We did make one mistake when we sat down, as we first thought Ford was Red Sox great Jerry Remy (r.), but he quickly corrected us.

As for postgame schtick, we had a couple of tastes in the parking lot (about 30 less than I had the last time I was in the Comcast/FU Center parking lot) and then we headed into South Philly for the Pat's/Geno's cheesesteak run. Unable to decide which one I wanted, I had one from each place. I didn't want to offend my Philly friend on the way home, but I started thinking about how overrated the whole Philly cheesesteak thing is. I mean, it's cheese and steak. How hard is that? I banged out a Steakum sandwhich in my kitchen a few weeks ago that was just as good. I mean, I guess besides a broken bell, they have nothing else to hang their hat on, so we'll give it to them.

Anyway, with my arteries at Russert levels, we headed to the Philly museum of art and ran up the stairs that Sly Stallone did 32 years ago. This time, I did say that getting up those steps was overrated, as I was able to make it with about 7 beers and two cheesesteaks in my belly, but my friend reminded me that in the movie Rocky had already run about 20 miles before getting up there. I don't think I've run 20 miles in my life.

Of course, the capper of the night was listening the last win of Willie Randolph's Met career. I went home, went to sleep, got up around noon and found out the cat was history. I won't get into my full feelings on the Mets right now, but for all you Met fans out there, know this. For as long as you live, Jeff Wilpon will be running the Mets. Good luck.

A few other notes:

Russert coverage way overblown. I'm sure he was a good guy, and like he was supposed to do, asked the tough questions on Meet the Press. But honestly, who watches Meet the Press? I think the NHL got better ratings on NBC. I mean, if Mike Emerick checks out, will there be front page tributes and columns and hour-long TV features on him? While there should be, there won't be. And I'm sure more people watched Charlie Jones on NBC over the years than Russert, too. What's gonna happen when Wally Cronkite signs off for the last time?

As for Harvey Korman, I was pissed that nobody pointed out he was the voice of the great gazoo on the Flintstones. Dum Dums.

There's plenty of more to report, but I gotta go. School's out in a few days and all free time is out with it. Of course, that means more time for me and my kids, which I have to admit, is not a bad deal.

BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS

Before I get started, not sure if any of you saw this, but this dude basically got a custom coffin made for himself which looks like a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. How hard core is that.

Here is the link to the story?

On to less important things:

Well, I've often wondered why most people in this country are overweight/out of shape/at risk for serious heart disease/fat as shit. Well, the answer is Dunkin' Donuts.

Last Saturday, in conjunction with a local charity, I stood in front of one of Pendletonville's 2 DDs collecting money for mentally handicapped kids.

Over the course of 4 hours, I collected tons of cash, and that's because the joint was extremely busy. As a matter of fact, between 10:40 a.m. and 11:40 a.m. I counted (I was bored) 105 people going in and coming out with some sort of product. 105 people in 1 hour. And it wasn't just coffee, it was donuts, muffins, drinks with about of pound of whip cream on it. Pretty much anything with oodles and oodles of sugar were being purchased.

One dude, who I must say is double my weight - and that's a lot - came out with 3 of those "Boxes of Joe" and 8 - that's right I said 8 - dozen donuts.

The highlight/lowlight was a woman who came out with two little kids (I would say about ages 8 and 5 and each on their way to about 120 pounds) and while she banged down a huge coffee, each kid scarfed down about 6-7 Munchins each. I nearly said something, but I kept my mouth shut, took the cash.

The highlight of the morning, however, was seeing the meal put together by some dude who obviously had consumed several tastes the night before. I mean , I've done the morning snickers bar with a Dr. Pepper to cure the hangover, but this took the cake.

While I stood outside the DD, this cat, looking like shit, wandered over and sat on a wooden flower bed in the parking lot and proceeded to pull out of a bag a sleeve of Saltines and the canned cheeze. Not cheez whiz, the other stuff in which you tilt the nozzle like a can of whip cream. Well, he pretty much bangs down the whole sleeve of crackers and cheese in no time. Next up, a Giant Hershey bar, which was gone in seconds. Then, of course, it was time for a large coffee and a smoke. Suddenly, the huge bowl of Cap'N Crunch I had that morning was looking healthy.

I told myself I should either become a cardiologist and open my own DD.

On other notes:

- The Ranger season came to a painful end (what else is new) today, so now I can focus 100% on the Mets, which, I'm sure will be another lesson in frustration, heartbreak and anger.

-- Hey Joker, I enjoyed your stadium photos. Nice job. Nice trip. I nearly got mugged outside Tiger Stadium back in the day by some hut-less character outside the local White Castle. Good times, good times. I was surprised, however, to see that a certain scribe still has the guts to show his face on a certain Big 10 campus.

I have plenty of other schtick to do - including a trip to the Jersey shore with the Pendleton kids last week - but can't concentrate right now because this Stars-Sharks game is still going. Right now, they just finished the third OT. Anyone who says hockey is boring, by the way, is an arse hole.

I promise I'll be back at the end of the week with more hijinks.

DORM DAZE 2

Well, I've done it fans of FNC. I've found a way to show all of you my drunken pictures from college. Please, whatever you do, don't post them anywhere else, as they are quite embarrassing, but I figure my loyal fans deserve to see them. Check them out here. They are awesome.

After looking at the photos, keep reading below for my comments on each shot.












Congrats, you've just been Rickrolled. Yes, it's the new Internet phenomenom where people are tricking other people, into watching Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up Video." It's pretty sick, but apparently, that's what young kids these days are up to. Another part of Rickrolling is gathering a bunch of people in a public place and playing the song as loud as possible. There's also a Met connection, since some Rickrollers duped the Mets into having the song as one of their nominees for their 8th inning song.

The video, by the way, is tremendous. Astley's dancing is lame, his lip-synching is awesome, and the bartender dude is likely on crack, especially when he jumps into the chain-link fence.

DORM DAZE

I have an ethics question for fans of FNC.

Is it ethical to post incriminating photos taken long before the Internet age on the Internet?

Interesting question, huh.

The reason I ask is because it recently came to my attention that the college alma mater of myself has an alumni page where members can post photos. The idea is for alum to post current photos of themselves and their kids and stuff like that. Well, one of my classmates has posted photos from back in the day. Several feature a drunken Joe Pendleton doing the following

1. licking his girlfriend's face while holding a can of Old Mildew.

2. Smooching some other dame on the cheek

3. Arm around some other dame while obviously not sober

4. Doing a drunken version of the Unicorn song (there are two of those).

Now, had these pix been taken within the last few years, I would have no problem with them hitting the world wide web, since I would've been well aware of the fact that these photos could hit a large audience in a short time. But at the time they were taken I figured only a few friends would see them. I've lodged a complaint with the poster, but he tells me those shots are innocent compared to the other ones he has of me, so I will just pipe down. Now before all you fans go scrambling to the web site, you need to be a graduate to get on there. So if you want to see them, stop by FNC World Headquarters some day and I will show you.

Speaking of college, on my last post JG said how much she loved the Hooters' Nervous Night album. It got me thinking about other albums that influenced my four years in college. So, without further ado, here's the list of my top 10 albums that got me through college. Please remember it was 1994-1988, and, as the photos will attest, I was young, drunk and stupid.

Now, these are not my favorite albums from the years 1984-1988, just the most influential from that time. Actually, my favorite album from that era - The Cult's Electric, did not come to my attention until 1989.

Without further ado, Here we go.

10. Genesis, Genesis OK, let's start with this statement. I hate Phil Collins. Hate Genesis. Did I mention I hate Genesis. However, there was something about this album I liked, and it's probably because one night me and some co-ed got very friendly in my dorm room while this album played quite loudly. My roomie had a nice stereo system and this CD. Everytime I hear any tunes from this album, it brings me back to that evening. Nothing like getting busy to "Illegal Alien." I got my first hickey that night, and of course, didn't realize it until the next day, when, while sitting in class, some dude behind me kept starting at me. When I took a stop in the can after class I spotted - for the first time - the golf-ball shaped red thing on my neck. Note: This photo not on web site - yet.

9. License to Ill, Beastie Boys: This album was the shit in the mid-80s, and my junior year, it was pretty much played once a day in my dorm room. "Girls" is one of my favorite tunes at the time. I didn't get any broads to this one, maybe the offensive lyrics had something to do with it.

8. Centerfield, John Fogerty: I got this free from the radio station - since they didn't play mainstream stuff, and it's actually a collector's item, since one of the songs - Vanz Cant Dance - had the name changed after the album's initial release. I still have a vinyl copy with the original, and not the changed tune. Of course the title track could get any baseball fan fired up.

7. 5150, Van Halen: My roomate, who's nickmane is Jimmy Jam, was a HUGE, HUGE Van Halen fan. I liked them, but not like he did. Anyway, he played this album every second he could. Perhaps my biggest memory of this album is in the summer of 1986 me and James Jam cut our own version of "Why Can't This Be Love," in one of those Boardwalk recording studios in Wildwood. I still have the tape. That will never see the alumni Web site.

6. Eat 'Em and Smith, David Lee Roth: Jim Jam's and his other partner in VH crime, Johnny Ace, were also DLRoth fans. So much that Mr. Ace spent 6 hours on Halloween 1986 making up his face to look just like the cover. That same October, on the same day Lenny Dykstra homered in Game 3 of the NLCS, me, Ace, Jam and others trekked to the Spectrum in Philly to see Diamond Dave in concert. Cinderella as the opening act. Great job.

5. Vital Signs, Survivor: Let's just say Old Joe was a pretty sentimental - and desperate cat - back in the day, pretty much falling in love with any dame that showed any interest in him. If I had a dollar for everytime I - in an inebriated state - sang "The Search is Over" to a dame, I'd have about 10 more bucks to my name. Of course, "High on You" and "Can't Hold Back" were party staples back in the day.

4. Raisin' Hell, Run DMC: If Jim Jam's stereo wasn't blasting the Beasties, it was kicking out this one. "You Be Illin" and "Walk This Way," must've been played about 300 times in the fall of 1986. Let the record state, however, that I never wore laceless adidas or a Kango hat.

3. Born in the USA, Bruce Springsteen: Every person in every dorm in every college in America had this casette in the fall of 1984 and with the Boss churing out single after single until about 1985, this one never got old. My fondest college memory of this album is getting loaded and lip-synching the end of "I'm Goin Down," where Bruce does all this "hey, a baba hey mow mow," shctick. I knew every word to every song of this album.

2. Nervous Night, Hooters: Since this band was from Philly, they were huge in South Jersey. My biggest regret is about a week before this album came out, they played the college rec center, but I blew it off. When I bought the cassette the next week, I was ticked that I missed it. I did see them with Squeeze at the Garden State Arts Center the summer of 1985, but was drunk and on the lawn, so I don't recall much except yelling, "They Were the Isrealites" at the top of my lungs. It was also on a constant loop in my brother's blue 1972 Nova, which made trips to the Jersey shore almost every weeekend. Love this album. And no, No. 1 .....

1. Slippery When Wet, Bon Jovi: While the boys from Sayreville are not my favorite cup of tea, I do owe them plenty. You see, college dames loved, LOVED, this album and they loved JBJ. So this scenario played out often: Dame is partying, dame gets fired up over "You Give Love a Bad Name," and "Livin on a Prayer," dame is longing for Bon Jovi, dame realized Bon Jovi not stopping by party, dame realizes J. Pendleton and others at party are her best shot for a good time. You throw in the Jersey factor and this album was worth its weight in gold. Ironically, Social Disease is my favorite tune off this album.

Well, there you have it.

One final note on college, the web site photos has got me thinking about writing my college memoirs. I may start and run the forward on this site to see if I should continue.

A few other notes:

This is gonna be a long year for the Mets unless they get a lights out pitcher in the pen.

Rangers-Devs will go 7. Still have no clue who will win.

I'm getting very soft. On Friday and Saturday, I had a few tastes, and about an hour after the drinking stopped, I was ready for bed. Very soft.

That's it for now. Let's Go Rangers

IT'S IN THE A-HOLE

Well, I'm back from the weekend of golf. It was great. Thanks to mother nature, we only got in 34 holes. Due to cold temps, our first tee time was pushed back about two hours. And then our second tee time was pushed back 2 hours as well, so we played 16 in the morning and 18 in the afternoon. Believe me, it was enough. High winds, cool temps and shitty golf are not a good mix for wanting to keep playing. The weekend also included me nearly getting in my first bar fight - twice, but good timing and me actually thinking straight avoided that happening.

Anyway, instead of rehashing every bad shot, and every awful decision by me - both on and off the course - we are going to play a little game from the weekend, called, name the A-hole.

Yes, I will give you a few candidates from the people we ran into this weekend, and you, the readers of FNC will get to voice your opinion on who was the biggest A-hole we ran into.


THE STARTER: This is the dude who sort of runs the on-course stuff at the first course. Well, me and my brother Torry aren't at the course for 3 minutes and he quickly confiscates our beverage bag, telling us they are not allowed on the course. OK, if it's July 15, and there are 100s of people on the course, you don't want everyone bringing their own stuff out there. But we were literally the only two dudes on the course. Anyway, let's just say the only tip the dude got was to go home and have intercourse with himself. It gets worse. On about the 8th hole, I get a call from our third dude who's coming up and I warn him about bringing a bag near the starter. He's OK with that, but he gets snagged when the starter catches him loading beers into his golf bag in the parking lot and confiscates his bag. It gets even more worse. As we are back in the parking lot getting ready to head to our second T-time, we ask the dude if he can call the second place (which is all run by the same chain, so he works for them, too) and tell them we are a few minutes late, but are on our way. He says he can't. He then comes down to the parking lot and catches us putting tastes and ice into our golf bags. He gives us a dirty look and leaves. Of course, when we get to the second course, they say they didn't get a call about being on time for our tee-time, but did get a call about us being trouble makers and they will be keeping an eye on us. So therefore, tastes on the second course had to be had very secretly. Thanks starter dude, your a-hole candidate No. 1



2. THE WAITRESS: After our second round on Saturday, we were very tired, cold and hungry, so headed to a local restaurant, which, I believe is named after that Philly band that did "All You Zombies" and "And We Danced." Anyway, as we are walking into the joint we see one pretty hot waitress smack another hot waitress right in the arse. NICE. It then turns out she's our waitress, and when she comes to get our drink order, she pretty much says, "did you see me do that? She's my girlfriend." Ok, so in seconds she's established she's very dirty and likes to brag about her dirtiness. After taking our drink order, she walks to the bar and then slaps a male employee of the joint on his backside. Now we are confused, but encouraged. So then she comes back to take our food order and now she is really selling the name of the establishment, if you know what I mean. I believe Austin Powers called them "maching gun jumblees." Anyway, after practically falling all over us while taking our orders, one of the members of our group says to her, "hey, you smacked that girl's butt, you smacked that guy's butt, can you now smack his (pointing to me) butt." She, in a complete 180-degree turn attitude-wise, says "because I don't know him." And from that point on, she is a total beeyatch. Never really acknowledges us, never chats with us. Just sort of leaves us alone until it's settling up time. Basically, we called her bluff, and she folded like cheap house of cards, cheap being the most applicable term. That's candidate No. 2



NO. 3: THE BRIDESMAID: So Saturday night we are in the bar at our hotel hanging out, revitalized from our trip to the hottub and the outdoor heated pool. There's nobody there except for these four dames - mids 20's - sitting there having a drink. As it turns out, one dame is getting married in a few weeks, so this is her bachlorette party. Looking to start some schtick, I wander over to their group and say "so who's getting married?" And they point to the dame who is. Without anything original to say, I give her the "big mistake," line. In seconds, they are all over me, ripping me for saying something so insensitive, and questioning if I'm married and how could i say that and blah, blah, blah. After trying to explain it was just a joke, I ask the one dame who is really hammering me if she's married and she's say no. So I then start ripping her for ripping me, since she has no experience on whether or not marriage is a mistake or not. I wander out of the joint, saying "doesn't anyone have a sense of humor around here."\



NO. 4: JOE PENDLETON: Yes, I'm nominating myself for the hell I put my brothers through Friday night. It seems when I have a few cocktails, I start acting like an a-hole. Not on purpose, rather just out of stupidy. So anyway, we get to our hotel room and I get under the covers and put my I-Pod in. You see, my brother snores quite loudly, so I figured the I-pod would help that. Of course, I'm now loaded and want to carry on a drunken rehash of the evening. So I remove the earpiece from the I-pod, ask my brother a question, and then before he can answer, I put the earpiece back in. So he's answering, but not getting a response from me, since I can't hear him. So then, I take the earpiece out, say, what did you say, and put the earpiece back in. Again, I wasn't trying to be an asre, I was just loaded. As for my other brother, let's just say I made insentive comments about his lady friend in front of him - and her. Before you vote, just know this went on for about 2o minutes. I final piece of evidence, on my way to my brother's joint, I spilled a XL iced coffee all over my car and still haven't cleaned it up.



OK, there you have it. I know all of you will vote from me, just to bust my onions, but please, be fair. The four potential a-holes on the list deserve that.



A few other notes: I started growing a goatee this week. not sure why. Mrs. Pendleton is gonna give it a few day's growth before making her decision on whether I should keep it or not. I don't feel strongly either way.

Back to candidate No. 2. I have to apologize to Slim Steve and Bill K. A few years ago, while on a trip to Penn State, we argued about the quality of the food at that establishment. I said it was good, they said it was awful. Well, it turns out, they are right, sort of. You see, my experience in eating Hooters food came from my many trips to the Hooters in FLorida and the one in the Inner Harbor in Baltimore at a time when there were not many around. But since that chain has expanded to the middle of nowhere in Pa. and NJ, it's clear the quality of food has sunk, too.

Well, it didn't take too long for the Met season to hit the crapper, now did it. That's OK, right now the only team I'm focused on is the good team that plays at MSG. Speaking of the Mets, how fat and old did Keith Hernandez get over the winter?

Today marks the 1-month anniversary of my father's passing. I can't believe it's only been a month. It seems like he has been gone years, and let me tell you, it's not getting any easier.

Well, that's it for now. THanks for reading and voting. By the way, once the voting is completed, I will reveal my pick.



Dictionary word of the week



ASS: (n) 1. a horselike beast of burden; a donkey; 2. a stupid person, a fool

54 HOLES AND NOTHING'S ON

Yes, believe it or not, a second post within a week's time. Hard to believe. Well, I'm wound up over a few things, and with Mrs. Pendleton hogging the TV to watch Top Chef, I have some time. So here goes.

I think I'd be pretty pissed off right now if I was former Conn. Governor John Rowand. Think about it, he had to resign his gig because he had some state workers put in a hot tub. A hot tub. Sure, it's a resignable offense, but when you consider what's going on in two nearby states, it's nothing.

First you have Jim McGreevey, who not only gave his gay lover a state job, he made him the head of homeland security for the state. Hot tub, smot tub. And then it comes out this week, that old Jimmy M was having threesomes with his wife and another dude, but it never crossed his wife's mind that he was gay. So here he is, pretty much getting it on with another guy in front of her and she think he's doing her a favor.

Then you have Mr. Spitzer. This cat is "hooking" up with high-end prostitutes while at the same time putting prostitution rings out of business. What a card. And he knows how to pick him, judging from "Kristen's" girls gone wild performance.

And then there's this david Patterson guy. He not only cheats on his cheating wife several times, he has the balls to tell the whole world about it so he doesn't get the boot. So let's review.

One guy quits because he's gay and his gay lover is in charge of protecting everyone in the state.

Another quits because he's sleeping with hot and wild 22 year olds

another cheats on his wife "several times" and keeps his job

Rowland has to resign over a hot tub. Doesn't seem fair.

A few other things:

Can people stop watching American Idol? PLEASE. I don't care if it's on TV, I'm just getting tired of reading about it in newspapers, hearing about it on the radio. Reading about it on the web. I can't take it anymore. Plus, with the record industry in the shitter, is a record contract really a big deal anymore? Sure, Underwood is doing well, but that's because she banging, not because she can sing. Anyone here from Taylor Hicks lately?

I loved Jersey Girl's rundown of her workout playlist. Well, I might have you topped, JG, while working out today (yes, I said working out), the Royal Guardsmen's Snoopy and the Red Baron came through the tiny headphones of my I-Pod. I was so fired up, I nearly fell off the eliptical machine.

Congrats to the staff of the AA News for their series on academics and athletics at Michigan. What the whole series has proven to me is the UM is just like any other football factory in the country, and not some esteemed institution that has a great balance of fine athletics and academics. I now realize why a second nickname for the team is Big Blue: Most of the students and players can't spell Wolverines.

A new feature to FNC. In each new post, I will take a word out of the dictionary along with its definition. I do this for two reasons: There's a dictionary gathering dust on my desk and figure it would be good for a few laughs.

Today's word is SCANSION (n.) analysis of metrical verse.


Not really sure what the meaning means.

Finally, if you are wondering what the title of my post means, well, it's a reference to what I'm going to attempt next weekend. My brother, Roman, lives near a resort which features five golf courses and a new hotel, which is running a deal the next few weekends. For $100, you get a night's stay in the hotel and unlimited golf (including cart) for a day. Therefore, next Saturday, Roman and I have a tee-time for 7 a.m. at one course, 12 noon at a second course and 5 p.m. at a third course. The goal is 54 holes in one day, but fatigue and lack of daylight could cost us. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Top Chef over, now I can watch TV again.

HELLO, GOODBYE

Friends, romans, countrymen, schills: I'm back from hiatus and well . . . I'll start where I should start.

A huge thank you to all fans of FNC and friends of Joe Pendleton for their overwhelming support last week following the death of my father. As I type it in, I still can't believe it happened, and while I won't say I'm in a state of denial, I can clearly say it hasn't sunk in yet.

He was a great dad, a great man, and hopefully I can live up to his reputation. Words cannot express the love, support, and compassion I felt from each and every one of you and it's something I will never forget. They say at times like these, you find out who your real friends are, and I certainly found that out in the last few weeks. Thanks again.

A few weird - beyond the obvious - things from last week. The day my dad's obit ran in the Ledger, the voice of NJ ran a huge story dealing with the lack of funding going to pancreatic cancer research. And then, the night before the funeral, I see on the news that Patrick Swayze has pancreatic cancer. Unreal.

This form of cancer is a real bastard and must be stopped. I know the Joker has done a fine job of raising awareness and money for the PANCAN network, and I will be doing the same. A charity golf outing is in the very, very early planning stages. Stayed tuned.

Now to some other stuff:

-- I took the Pendleton kids to see Horton Hears a Who today, and was in shock, when 85 minutes into the film, I hadn't heard one shitty 80s' tune sung by the computer generated characters. Of course, that all changed when the final sequence of the film featured the whole cast singing REO Speedwagon's "I can't fight this feeling anymore." While I'm a fan of the song and used to sing it about some dame in college I was in love with, but she thought I was "just a friend," it had nothing to do with the plot of film, leaving me quite irritated afterward.

-- Speaking of being irritated, the news of Ike Bruce's departure from the Rams and quick arrival on the 49er roster also has me quite pissed. Follow that up with hiring of a former Rutgers coach as quarterback's coach and I nearly, nearly thought about changing NFL allegiances. As quickly as the Rams went from NFL non-entity to league powerhouse, they have gone back to non-entity status. Maybe a family member of this new coach can become an "Embraceable Ewe," to lift the spirits in St. Louis.

-- The hightlight of the Oscars was when a certainy "actor" was introduced only as Dwayne Johnson. Give me a fucking break.

-- I'm very worried about the Mets. I think Mr. Delgado needs to start hanging around with a certain trainer/congressional witness or we are in big trouble. It's very possible The Sandman could be playing first base in Queens before the end of the year.

-- Not sure what has pissed me off more the last few weeks - this bullshit about Billy Joel playing the last concert at Shea or this Billy Crystal Yankee farce. Speaking of Crystal, I love all these a-holes saying his playing in an exhibition game has ruined the Yankee mystique. I guess numerous admitted HGH/steroid users from their championship teams, a manager who doesn't think guys should play hard in the spring, and ownership giving A-Rod everything he wanted despite his opt-out bullshit didn't hurt the mystique, but Crystal did. Give me a break.

-- Hard to believe that a dame from Belmar is a whore. Shocking.

-- I have no interest in the NCAA Tourney. This could, could be the year I don't fill out a bracket and then sit back and see if I have any interest in the Big Dance at all. The problem is, there are no bad guys. At least with Florida, you had somebody to root against. This year, nothing. Maybe the NCAA should put Bobby Gonzalez in to raise the hatred factor.

Well, that's it for now. The 2007 year in review is still being worked on. The beer count, which was at 0 before Big Blue won the Super Bowl and at 10 after it, has skyrocketed with the events of the last two weeks.

Happy St. Patrick's Day and Easter to all.

Thanks again.

I promise I'll blog before Memorial Day.

WHAT A GREAT 2008

This blogger has an amazing feature, the ability to look into the future and then blog about it. OK, anyway, instead of predicting what will happen in 2008, let's pretend this is being posted on Dec. 31, 2008 looking back at the year. You get the point.

Dec. 31, 2007 into Jan. 1, 2008 - In a bizarre start to the year, Dick Clark, without any writers to help him, forgets how to count down from 10 to 1, confusing the thousands in Times Square and Ryan Seacrest, who, without writers' help, doesn't know what year it is.

Jan. 3 - The Tonight Show with Jay Leno is cancelled after Leno, also with no writers, tries to do an entire hour-long show of dopey headlines and recycled Michael Jackson jokes. The strike is settled the next day, Leno returns, and then viewers of the Tonight Show go on strike until Leno is booted permanently.

Jan. 5 - Greg Schiano leads Rutgers to a close win in the International Bowl, but after the game he his pressed about rumors he in considering leaving RU to take the St. Louis Rams job. Schiano stays at RU, but only after the school announces plans for a $300 million, 150,000-seat stadium with a retractable roof.

Jan. 6 - Roger Clemens, trying to explain steroid accusations on 60 Minutes, lets it slip that he and Andy Pettitte were more than friends and that Yankee phenom Phil Hughes is actually their child. When asked about this, Pettitte says, "I only did it once."

Feb. 3 - There are mass suicides all over America, as football fans, faced with the dilema of seeing the Pats go 19-0 or the Cowboys winning the Super Bowl, decide to off themselves instead. It's later revealed that Jessica Simpson's halftime show is the reason for the unthinkable death toll. Those that don't take their own lives, actually do it the next day at work when some dopey co-worker starts talking about his favorite commericals from the game.

March 30 - With the season just days away, Omar Minaya finally breaks down, trading Jose Reyes, David Wright, Carlos Beltran and Mike Pelfrey to the Tigers for Kenny Rogers. Citi Field is burned to the ground the next day.

April 1 - After Appalachian State basketball team beats Florida in the NCAA tournament title game, the dopes on ESPN and every other sports network start clamoring for a playoff system in basketball, not realizing they already have one.

June 5 - The New Jersey Devils capture the Stanley Cup, but the celebration is ruined when ESPN's Barry Melrose is stabbed on a Newark street during the victory parade. The suspect is quickly arrested as the 10 fans who actually care about the Devils are the only ones to attend the parade.

July 27 - Bruce Springsteen opens a three-night stint at Giants Stadium, but when he utters his "Is There Anybody Alive Out There," line to start the show, he's stunned by thousands and thousands of empty seats. It is later determined that many folks forgot they even had tickets to the show since they bought them in December. It's also found out later that thousands of Springsteen nerds were hanging around Gate D, hoping to see a set of tits for the first time in their lives.

Sept. 9 - During his opening game with Bound Brook High, Penn State coach Joe Paterno collapses on the sideline. Greg Schiano, in attendance, jumps out of press box and immediately starts coaching the Nittany Lions, who win on a late field goal. Construction on the new Schiano Dome is immediately halted and is quickly changed into a 400-seat gym to host Rutgers mens and women's basketball games.

Sept. 12 - The New England Patriots' season gets off to a rocky start when it's revealved Tom Brady has impregnated every woman in New England.

Sept 22 - Jamie Lynn Spears gives birth to a bouncing baby boy. The next day, Kevin Federline, Larry Birkhead and Howard K. Stern file for custody of the tot.

Oct. 1 - Barry Bonds' head explodes, yet he is able to survive thanks to the second head that has grown out of his back.

Oct. 9 - Rudy Guiliani's push for president get a major boost when he promises voters that if he's elected president, he will convince David Chase to explain the Soprano's ending once and for all. The millions of Americans who are still obsessed with the show say they will vote for him. He looks like a clear winner.

Oct. 10 - David Chase reveals that the entire Soprano family was wiped out in the ending of the show, causing heartbreak all over the country, and Guiliani to give up his bid to be president.

Oct. 11 - James Gandolfini shows up at a campaign rally for Barak Obama, but nobody remembers who he is anymore. Obama drops out, too.

Nov. 5 - In perhaps the most stunning election result in the history of the world, the Sandman is elected president of the United States thanks to a few write-in votes by fans of his blog. As it turns out, the rest of America, faced with the choice of voting for Hillary Clinton or not voting at all, stays home.

Nov. 11 - Joe Pendleton posts his first blog of 2008.

Nov. 25 - Almost one year to the day he debuted on WABC radio, Don Imus collapses on the air. Help doesn't arrive for nearly three days since no one was listening when this happened.

Dec. 18 - Tom Coughlin is fired after the Giants lose their 10th straight to fall to 2-10. Greg Schiano threatens Penn State he will leave unless they build at 120,000-seat stadium. He's reminded that Beaver Stadium already holds 120,000 and that he is free to leave whenever he wants.

Wow, what a year that was. We'll recap 2007 in a few days.

HISTORIC OCCASION

Yes, your eyes are not deceiving you. This is a new post. The first since Oct. 12 and believe it or not, according to the fine folks who run this site, my 100th post. And it took a trip to NYC and Mrs. Pendleton's run-in with some a-hole on the subway to get the blogging juices flowing again.

First, some notes since my last post.

-- I actually made it from Oct. 10 - Nov. 19 without having 1 beer. But then it got all shot to hell, with an open-bar shindig on the 19th, the holidays, christmas hijinks. Still, the 6-week layoff gave me hope that I can go tasteless from Jan. 2 - March 17*

*-I'm pondering a 3-day ski trip to Utah in Feb with my brother and four cousins, so that won't count. Weak yes. But let's be realistic, especially since the odds of me skiing are not great. Therefore, getting loaded in the lodge might be the only thing I can do. Actually, i do plan on skiing, but haven't done it in about 14 years.

-- This Wii thing is the greatest invention those Japanese geniuses ever came up with. I've gotten more exercise the last two nights playing video games than I have the last two months. It's pretty cool. I bowled a 216 yesterday. I feel good about myself.

-- The 42nd birthday is coming up Sunday. Holy shit am I old.

-- Not much planned for New Year's just yet. Maybe some neighborhood tastes. However, I know exactly where I'll be at 1 p.m. on New Year's Day - on the couch, with a taste, watching the Sabres and Pens drop the puck at Ralph Wilson Stadium. Speaking of the NHL, I went to the NHL store in NYC today, and let me tell you, they have to be kidding me. They had a t-shirt with a Winnipeg Jet logo on it. I was fired up to purchase it, until I saw the price tag of $44 dollars. For a fucking t-shirt. Good move by the folks at the NHL - let's overcharge the miniscule fan base to make a few extra bucks. Screw you.

By the way, speaking 2008, the big 2007 lookback and 2008 lookahead are coming in a few days.

Now, the Mrs. Pendleton story. We - along with every other person on the East Coast, decided to take the kids to the Museum of Natural History in the city today (FU Ben Stiller). Our daughter, Georgia, is a huge dinosaur fan, so she was in heaven.

Anyway, we leave the museum, head to 30 Rock to see the tree, and then head for E train back to Penn Station for a NE Corridor train.

We enter the E subway stop at 5th and 53rd, and it features a huge, huge escalator down to the platform. It also features a stair case between the up and down escalator. Anway, it's about 5:30, and the place is packed, so we load the kids on the down escalator. About 15 seconds in, some women comes walking down the escalator, and pretty much brushes by me on the right hand side, prompting Mrs. Pendleton to say, "you know, there's a staircase if you want to walk." The dame keeps going, and some other dude then brushes by us, goes a few more steps and turns and says to Mrs. P. "The way it works is, the right side is for the walkers and the left is for the escalator riders." Mrs. P responds by saying, well, "If you want to walk, use the stairs," and this guy, being a polite asshole, says, "I'm just telling you how it works, because obviously you don't know subway protocol." The which Mrs. P. responds, "Dude, it's the holiday season, it's crowed on the escaltor, use the stairs." The guy, who was about 25 and could have easiliy used the stairs, turns proceeds to walk down the rest of the way. Of course, he got the bottom about 10 seconds before us, where we all proceeded to wait another 10 minutes for the train.

I really felt like going up to the dude and doing one of the following:
A. Punch him in the nose to show Mrs. P I have her back.
B: Point out to him that the subway isn't the only place in the world with escalators, we know the right side walking schtick - hell, I practically invented it. But if there's a staircase right next to it, protocol is out the fucking window.
C: Thank him for directing some of Mrs. P's ire toward him - and away from me - for a few fleeting moments.

Of course, enjoying the whole confrontation, I did nothing but tell Mrs. P how right she was with the hopes of parlaying that into some post museum action. Results still pending.

Well, that's it. Happy 100th post. Happy New Year. Happy International Bowl.

YOUR OWN WORST ENEMY

My name is Joe Pendleton, and I am an alcoholic. OK, a weekend alcoholic, but an alcoholic nonetheless.

What other conclusion can I draw from last Saturday's trip to Philly to check out Bruce and the boys at the Wachovia Center.

Here's what we'll do. I'll give you a rundown of my day and you can draw your own conclusion. (Some names have been changed to protect the innocent).

1:45: Me and Mrs. Pendleton meet up with the third in our group in Central Jersey and head to Philly armed with a cooler full of tastes and Tastee subs, and believe it or not, low expectations for the show since Slim Steve, who was there the night before, said it was quite dull.

3:00: Roll into the Wachovia Center lot, bang down taste No. 1, and work on taste No. 2 as we head to check out the wristband scene.

3:20: With wristbands and an order to be back in line at 4:20, head back to the Pendleton minivan, where, on our way, we stumble across a young Sqawking VFR lookalike who is wandering around aimlessly and muttering something about leaving his ticket at his hotel.
3:25-:3:45: Have tastes 3-7.

3:46 Ticket dude strolls by with a buddy and asks if he could "buy a beer or two off of us." Now, while I don't have any proof, I like to think I invented this move. Knowing full well nobody is going to charge you for a beer, you ask to buy one, get a freebie and move on. However, ticket dude (he got it back) didn't realize we were the same folks he ran into a just a 1/2-hour ago, so, while giving him and his buddy a free taste, we start doing schtick. They are cool and hang out with us. Not only am I a weekend alchie, I'm also an enabler. So, by the time 4:20 rolls around (the time we have to leave to lineup for a chance to hit the Pit), I'm on taste 11 and these cats are on about 3 or 4.

4:20: Armed with taste No. 12, the five of us head to line up. We line up, and in the meantime, thanks to Jersey Girls suggestion to go on Backstreets.com, I'm able to unload our extra ticket for face value. Thanks JG.

4:40: We realize this wristband thing is gonna take a while, so our third _ who will remain nameless - heads back to the van for more tastes.

4:50: While banging down tastes 13-17, I call work a few times to catch a Texas-OK score (one of the cats was from Texas) and tick off the folks at work. At one point, they ask me how many tastes I've downed, and I tell them 20 or so, which, I thought at the time was an exaggeration, but now I realize how close I was.

5:10: After a false alarm where I had dreams of being in the first row for a Bruce show, we get screwed on the wristband deal, and head back to the van. On the trip back, the third reveals we are now out of beer. OUT OF BEER? Of course, most non weekend alcoholics would've taken the cue right there to stop, but not me. Using a Philly cab driver, we give our two new friends a $20 and orders to bring back more beer. Did you hear me ladies and gentlemen of the jury? A beer run.

5:30: Fearing we've been conned out of $20, the two cats arrive with a 30-pack of Coors Light. After initial complaints about the beer selection, I proceed to down tastes No. 18-24 in the two hours or so (as you can see, I'm slowing down a bit). Of course, the van needing a battery jump due to playing Bruce tunes without the engine running for two hours, may have slowed me down a bit, too.

7:45: With taste No. 25 in hand and No. 26 in my pocket, we start our walk to the show. I think I only had a few sips of 25 and had to dump 26 before entering, but no we are in the show.

8:00: The third brings me a paid-for taste on the floor of the Wachovia Center. We'll call it 26, since I didn't really drink the first 26.

8:20: The show starts, Bruce opens up with Night. It's an early clue that he's not mailing it in like some reported he had the night before. When song No. 4 is Prove it All Night, it's obvious this is gonna be a good one.

9:45: I see Scialfa getting ready to croon, and see this as good chance to unload tastes No. 15-26 from my bladder and get taste N0. 27. On my way up the stairs from the floor, I trip and nearly kill myself. Only my left shoulder saved my noggin from hitting cement. Some dude, also not impressed with Mrs. Springsteen's act, helps me to my feet. Undeterred, I still head for the beer stand. Thankfully, the line for the men's room resembles one you would find at a WNBA game (there is no line) and there's no one on the beer line. After a near stumble down the stairs I almost fell up just minutes ago, I reach the floor, find Mrs. P and the third just in time for Bruce to break into "Incident on 57th Street." Now, I'm really fired up, and since this is the first time he's playing it on tour, I tell everyone around me - most didn't appreciate it - that after this he's gonna let the piano solo roll into Rosalita. Everyone tells me I'm wrong, which turns out to be true.

10:00: With 27 tastes down the hatch, the highlight of the night comes when Bruce pulls an audible and busts into Cadillac Ranch. The joint goes wild.

10:50: After a rockin version of Dancin in the Dark, Bruce breaks into "American Land," which everyone knows is the final tune of the night. About 3 minutes in, me, Mrs. P and the third head for the exit, and see the end of the show right before we head for the door.

11:00: Dilemma time. While I want to bang down a few post-game tastes, Mrs. P and third want to get in the rig (hope it starts) and get out of Philly before we sit in traffic for an hour or two. I figure at this point I've tested Mrs. P's patience, I chug beer No. 28 and hop in the rig.

1:00: We roll back into Casa Pendleton: The ride home is pretty much a blur, the only thing I remeber is rooting against the Phillies on the radio as if they were the Yankees.

8 a.m.: I wake up in the rack alone, with Mrs. P down the hall in our daughter's bed (our kids stayed a grandma's hut).

So there you have it, ladies and genteman of the jury. Now you vote.

One final thing. I never, never, never have tastes Mon-Thurs and Sunday (since I work on Sunday). So most of this activity goes on Fri and Saturday, hence the weekend tag.

By the way, since that show I have not had one beer, and have decided to try and stay dry until Jan. 1

We'll see about that one, since I'm going to two adult b-day parties in the next 3 weeks. When I say adult, I mean adults only, not like porn star parties, though if that were the case, I would certainly stay sober.

Anyway, great Bruce show. Great time.

A few more quickies:

Another shout out to Jersey Girl, and this one really saved me. While chatting with her Saturday morning, I told her how I actually felt bad for Joba in the bug incident. Without any hesitation, she sternly said, "He's a Yankee." You know what, she's right. Thanks for the reality check. Fuck Joba.

As for the Yankees, I'm still debating which team - Mets or Yanks - had a more disappointing season. Afterall, both teams didn't win a division title, both teams were non-factors in October.
From a Mets standpoint, I'm gonna say the Yanks were a bigger disappointment. I mean, it was clear on about Sept. 10 the Mets - even if they had made the playoffs - had no shot of going anywhere. The Yanks, on the other hand, looked like a force heading into the postseason.
Also, the Met loss could actually turn out to be a good thing as Tom Glavine is a goner and I'm sure Omar Minaya will try to overhaul this team in the offseason. The Yanks, on the other hand, will bring back pretty much the same team (A-Rod, Posada, Mariano, Giambi, Mussina, and I think, Torre). It will be more of the same. Plus, none of our announcers cried like blubbering idiots when the team lost (at least on the air, they didn't).

Plus, all Met pain ended with the Phillies getting swept. The Yankee pain will resurface in about 2 weeks, when the Red Sox win their second title in four years.

One more thing on the baseball playoffs. I'm already sick of this Frank TV guy and the show hasn't even started.

A few things Frank:

-- You can't do a Pacino imitation if your 300 pounds. It doesn't work.
-- My daughter can do a Nicholson imitation. It's not hard to do.
-- Your George Bush is great. Who the hell cares.

Cheer up, though Frank, as long as Chip Caray is employed by TBS, there will always be someone more annoying working there.

Well, that's all for now.
Thank you for your time and courtesy.

Let's Go Rangers.

MAN, I HATE BEING WRIGHT

Well,. the Mets are officially done and if you're a regular reader of FNC, you would've know the weekend after the All-Star break, when this little paragraph appeared on a July 16th post:

One final thing, and you heard it here first on July 16 - THE METS WILL NOT MAKE THE PLAYOFFS THIS YEAR. I hope I'm wrong, but I don't think I am.

You see, I knew back then this team had no guts, no starting pitching, a shitty bullpen and a "we're already in the playoffs" attitude. Had I seen Jose Reyes totally playing the second half of the season like a whiny little baby, I probably would've bet some heavy cash on the Met demise.


You see, the main reason for making that prediction was the Mets' habit of taking games off during the season, not showing up. I went over the schedule last night and I picked out 10-11 games where they completely mailed it in - and this was before the awful skid in September.

Here are the games:

Saturday, April 14: I remember this one, because I listened to most of it in a hotel parking lot with localschill waiting to make a "connection." Mets are in the early going, with a 7-3 record, but they take the day off against the Nationals, falling 6-2. Not a huge loss, but starts the trend of having no killer instict.


Wednesday, April 25: Rockies at Mets: After taking first two games against Colorado, Mets fail to show up for afternoon afair, falling behind 10-0 and eventually losing 11-5. Mike Pelfrey gets shelled again, but Mets, once again, display this "we can give away a game attitude," without any repurcussions. Just think. If we win that game, we're playing today instead of the Rockies.


Sunday, May 20: Yankees at Mets. After winning first two games from reeling Yanks, Mets send John Maine to the hill against Tyler Clippard. Instead of relishing chance to bury cross-town rivals, Mets manage just seven hits and two runs. It's the first of many mail ins.


Sunday, June 3: A day after localschill's wedding, the Mets appear to have been partying all night, getting baffled by Arizona's Doug Davis in a 4-1 defeat. It also starts a string where they will lose 8 of their next 9, including three straight at home to the your NL East champion Phillies.


Sunday, July 1: After taking first three games in Philly, the Mets are primed for a four-game sweep that would put the Phillies away for good. Instead, they can't touch Kyle Kendrick, and fall 5-3. It's the first of 8-straight losses to the Phillies.


Monday, July 16: After taking 3 of 4 from Reds to start second half, Mets are baffled by David Wells in San Diego. This game, where they play as if they don't give two shits, is one that prompted me to predict they wouldn't make the playoffs.


Friday, August. 10: Marlins at Mets: Mets score only three runs against the Fish, and Billy Wagner can't hold a lead in the 9th, as Hanley (fuck the Mets up) Ramirez, delivers two-run double. Who would've thought at this point in the season, that within 6 weeks, not only would Jimmy Rollins be a better NL East shortstop than Joe Reyes, Ramirez would be, too. Anyway, Mets lose the next day, too, with Aaron Heilman giving it up. Two days, two bullpen meltdowns. It's the beginning of the end.


Sunday, Aug. 26: This one really pissed me off. Dodgers at Mets. After taking first two from L.A., Mets are primed for another sweep, but David Wells, who was cut by the Padres two weeks ago and hadn't pitched since, completely baffles the Mets on national TV. 3B coach Sandy Alomar kills any shot at big inning by getting Lastings Milledge gunned down at home in first inning when mets have fatman on the ropes. And David Wright, after doubling in two runs in third, gets picked off second with one out and Beltran at plate.


By the way, Reyes is getting killed for Mets collapse, and rightfully so, but to me, David Wright should take plenty of the blame himself. Sure, he hit for average, but he didn't homer in his last 15 games, his throwing error in Florida with Mike Jacobs running cost us a key game, and his not knowing there was a force play Friday night also killed us.


Weds. Sept. 7: Mets at Reds. After getting swept in Philly, Mets take three in Atlanta and roll over dead Reds for first two games. However, in series finale, Mets do not show up, getting three hits off some guy named Tom Shearn. Think they would like to have this one back.


Of course, after this, Mets come home and sweep the Astros, take two of three from the Braves, before the Phils come in for the weekend series that turned the whole season around.


A few more points, before I put the Mets to bed for until April.


1. If they re-sign Tom Glavine, I will never, never, never, never, never spend another penny on anyting to do with the franchise. I will still root for them, but I figure, if they can't waste their money on that piece of garbage, they don't need mine.


2. My days of watching every pitch, checking the score every five minutes - no matter where I am - are over. The last straw was Sunday. While I stayed home to watch Glavine give us Mets fans one last F-U, my daughter Georgia was not only playign field hockey, but scoring her first goal of the season. Never again will the Mets come first. EVER


3. As I stated above, Jose Reyes takes plenty of the blame for this, but to me, he's the poster boy for their cavalier attitude all season. Let's face it, Carlos Delgado was awful. Paul Lo Duca was awful. Tom Glavine, once he got win No. 300, could've cared less about this season. David Wright had a good year, but any time, at any time of him being an MVP candidate was a joke. He can't throw from first to third. He didn't homer for the first month and last 15 days of the season. He's a great player, but ask yourself this, and be honest. Would you rather have him and Reyes or Utley and Rollins? Think about it.


4. I heard a guy call the FAN last night, and he had a great point. He wondered why is losing unacceptable in the Bronx, but not in Queens? Seriously, when Yanks get off the slow start, it's as if the sky is falling. When we do, it's "oh, it's just the Mets." Well, that's crap. To me, it all started after the 2000 World Series. Instead of cleaning house after watching the Yanks celebrate on their field, the Wilpons went out and passed on A-Rod, signed Kevin Appier to a big deal and allowed Timo Perez and Armando Benitez to continue playing for the franchise.

Do you think George Steinbrenner would've allowed any of this too happen? The mets need to put more pressure on these guys to win. Make it known, losing is unacceptable. If that means, canning Willie, or Minaya. So be it.

That's all for now. And I just have three words to say: LET'S GO RANGERS

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE BASEBALL GODS:

Dear Gods:

I know this is very busy time of the year for you, with the playoffs starting next week and the pennant races being decided this week, but I just ask for a few minutes of your time to hear me out.

Now you know I've been a very big supporter of your sport. In addition to spending countless dollars on tickets and merchandise over the years, I've also made your sport my top priority throughout my life.

Whenever I'm out at a party or a restaurant, I slip away whenever I can to catch the score. In 1995, while at my friend's wedding, I snuck out into the parking lot to listen to the last inning of the Braves-Indians Game 6. Last year, after getting a precious ticket to the Penn State-Michigan football game from a friend, I sat in the crowd, walkman in my ear, listening to Steve Trachsel quit on an entire city. You also know, on the rare occassion Mrs. Pendleton actually tries to initiate sex, I will stall her until the game is over. When I scored Springsteen tickets for Oct. 6 in Philly, my first thought turned to a potential conflict with a Met playoff game.

Hell, I even named my kid after one of your stadiums - one of your shittier stadiums, too.

Let's face it, baseball is my life. The Mets are my life, a life, that for the most part has been miserable.

Sure, you gave me some great years from 1984-1989, but really, you only gave me one title. Now, I know most franchises don't get any titles, so I appreciate what you did in 1986, but the way I see it, the Mets won that year by a process of elimination. You guys had it all set up to break our hearts once again, but when push came to shove, you couldn't let the Red Sox, or the Astros win. The Mets won by default.

In 1988, you ripped our hearts out and until you gave us Mike Piazza, you made the Mets irrelevant. 2000? Sure, you let us get to the World Series, but you put us right back in our place by having the Yankees spank us in 5. (Thanks for the Game 1 tease, by the way). And last year, well, last year couldn't have been more heartbreaking. Again, you gave us some nice foreplay in the Endy Chavez catch and a Yankee elimination in the first round, but when all Mets fans were about to shoot our loads, you turned on the light, zipped up your pants and sent us home horny.

All of that, however, is nothing compared to what you are doing to me and all Mets fans this year. If you planned all along for us not to make the playoffs, you should've done it the fair way. You know, a season-ending injury to David Wright in June would've been fine, or having the Phillies run away with the division from Day 1 would've been just. But no, you had to suck us in to thinking we were the team to beat, and now, in the waning days of the season, you are going to break our hearts again.

Now, I know me and all Mets fans aren't completely innocent in this. Not only did we start thinking about a World Series title in May, we also starting talking smack regarding the demise of the Yankees. We all knew better, but we couldn't help oursevles. Well, with four games left in the seasons, you've made your point. We realize our mistake.

I, like all Mets fans, know deep down the Yankees are the greatest franchise in baseball and all of sports. I know the playoffs wouldn't be the same without them. I know, whether it's the Babe Ruth trade, or the Bucky Dent HR or this Joba Chamberlain coming out of nowhere, most of you are Yankee fans. I get it. I really do. I bow to the wild-card winning Yankees.

So, please, I ask you, can you just give our Mets a little break? Could you give Pedro Martinez a litttle something extra tonight? Could you give Billy Mota just one call on the outside corner. Could you let one of Jose Reyes' pop flys fall in? Could you just once, let Carlos Delgado's bat actually hit the ball? Could you give William Wagner a set of nuts, for just one weekend? I mean, do you really want the Phillies or the Rockies in the playoffs? The last time the Phillies made it, they let a team from Canada - CANADA - win the Series. Think about it.

Finally - and this is not a threat, rather a fact of life - I will tell you should the Mets not make the playoffs this year, I'm done with you and your game. Yes, I will always follow the Mets, but the days of going out of my way to watch them or check on a score will be over. The days of blowing off my kids to watch a day game in June against the Diamondbacks will be done. I will listen to music on the radio, I will sleep at night, I will have sex with my wife win or lose. I will, well, get my life back. But I'd much rather have a playoff spot. It's up to you.

Thanks again for listening. And remember, Let's Go Mets.

Sincerely, Joe Pendleton.


P.S.: If you get a chance, see what the NFL gods can do about the Rams.

P.S.S: If the Mets don't make it, do your best to remind everyone that on a July 16 blog entry by me, I said the Mets wouldn't make the playoffs.

SHORT AND LONG OF IT

Well, the first FNC road trip was a big success.

With $1.50 drafts flowing like shitty keg beer at the Shorty Long show in Seaside, the beer count hit about 25 (for the night). Thankfully, honest Joey Belotti had a beach house and sofa for me to crash on and some place called the Steak Exchange was open at 3:30 a.m. dealing out incredible cheese steaks and fried balls of cheez whiz.

A great time was had by the tw of the three Pendleton brothers (Deiter and Marshall).

And let me tell you, Shorty was on fire. A great show, a great time. Sorry, all FNC fans couldn't make it. We'll have another road trip soon.

Not much else to report. I was happy to hear John Sterling blow the call on A-Rod's 500th homer. Not sure where you can hear it, but make every effort too. In the biggest homer of the season, the cat totally shit the bed. What an a-hole.

Anyway, the Pendletons are heading down the Shore next week, so this could be my last post for awhile.

BAR NONE

Ok, here it is, my top 10 favorite bars of all time. Some are gone, some I haven't been to in years, but all were important in my development as a lush, drunk, weekend alcoholic - whatever you pick. Some also played a huge part in my life. So without further ado, here wer go:

10. Sharky's - Venice, Florida
A great outdoor bar on the water gives you a perfect spot to watch the sunset, but its best feature is the frozen drinks. You see, they have a sign up that says you will be cut off after just two frozen drinks because they are so strong. And let me tell you, they are. How much do I love this place? While honeymooning with Mrs. Pendleton, we drove about 2 hours from Clearwater Beach, Fla. to this place just to get there again. Someone told me a few months ago it was closed down, but website says otherwise. If you are ever in the area, go there. Mrs. Pendleton says they have the best ribs ever.

9. Goal Post, Scotch Plains, New Jersey
This is perhaps the most important bar in my life as it's where I met Mrs. Pendleton. It was also one of the first sports bars ever. Before meeting Mrs. P there, I would enjoy the Tuesday night bikini contents. My other famous story from that place is a night my friend The Knocker and I went there. That afternoon we had gotten wrist bands for the Rolling Stones show at Shea Stadium in 1989, with tickets going on sale the next day. Well that night, we went to the GP, with the Knocker driving and me drinking. Well, as we are getting ready to leave, the Knocker meets some dame who is not only totally into him, she also needs a ride home. So within seconds, I went from being the drunk to the driver. So while I'm navigating my way back to Metuchen New Jersey, he's in the backseat of his car, letting his fingers do the walking on the broad. I mean, from my view through the rearview mirror, his entire hand was up her skirt and maybe even further. So not only am I worrying about getting pulled over, I'm also worried about him losing the wristband up there. Well, we made it home OK and got tickets to the show.

8. Leggetts, Manasquan, New Jersey:
Had this list been compiled in 1989, this may have been No. 1 for a few reasons. First, there's nothing like strolling off the beach and walking into a nice air-conditioned joint for a cold taste. Also, for some reason back then, it didn't really attract the usual a-holes you find down the shore, but did attract beautiful babies.

But the No. 1 reason it's on the list is because this joint helped me make the most important decision of my life. In the summer of 1989, my brother and his buddies had a beach house for 4th of July week in Manasquan. Well, I was invited, along with the dame I was seriously dating in college for about three years. How serious? For her college graduation, I gave her a claddagh ring, which was interpreted as a pre-engagment ring. Well, anyway, as the trip to Manasquan neared - a trip I wouldn't be able to pull off without bringing her along - it really hit me that I would have much more fun at Leggetts and Manasquan without her. And it hit me, that I shouldn't be feeling that way about someone who I may be spending the rest of my life with. So, on about July 1, 1989, I pulled the plug on the relationship, and along with Knocker, headed to Manasquan for 2 days of non-stop drinking and dame chasing. Thanks Leggetts for making me see the light.

7. Knight Club, New Brunswick, NJ: Long before Greg Schiano turned RU into a football school, this dive was the best thing the Hub City had to offer. In the summer of 1989 it was my home office on Tuesday nights. The reason? $2 pitchers. My and the aformentioned Knocker would head there, drink a bunch, talk to dames also enjoying the $2 pitchers, do some dancing and after sobering up at Campus Pizza, drive back to our respective Middlesex County towns. I knew it was time to stop going there when one night I met some dame, got her phone number and was getting set to call her. However, since i couldn't really remember what she looked like, I called the Knocker first to see if I should and he politely told me to lose the phone number as fast as I could.

6. Dalina's, Fords, NJ: This was the hangout for me and my cronies at my first real newspaper gig. A perfect mix of dive bar and great bar. It wasn't a place to pick up dames, rather it was just a good drinking bar. It's also the place where I watched Stephane Mattieu score the biggest goal in NY Rangers history (sorry, LS) and it's was holding karyoke nights before there was karyoke. It's now turned into a family diner, but everytime I drive by it, I get a little sentimental. And, it was in this bar that Jim McGreevey gave me a free weiner. (he was the mayor of Woodbridge at the time and he was handing out free hot dogs during a Tommy Morrison fight.)

5. South River Pub, South River, New Jersey. In my young, impressionable years, this was, by far, my favorite bar. It had it all. Cheap drinks, cheap women, great tunes, and perhaps the best bar gimmick ever - 5 days before and after your birthday, all your drinks were a quarter. That promotion helped earn Mrs. Pendleton earn an engagment ring, as on my 26th birthday, she gave me a roll of quarters for a gift and shuttle service too and from the SR Pub, which resulted in me barfing in her parents' ice bucket that night. It was the place to go the night before Turkey Day. It was the place to go every Thursday night. The only downfall was its narrow walkways, so going to take a squirt could take hours.

4. Dresden Room, West Hollywood, Calif. Long before Swingers made this joint famous, this was one of my all-time favorites. It has that old school Hollywood feel, and of course, the world famous Marty & Elayne (right) as the entertainment (they were the couple singing Staying Alive in Swingers). I've only been there about 2-3 times, but everytime I go it's a blast. It's sort of the place to go before going out.

3. Shandygaff, State College, Pa. - Okay, localschill, as much as I like to bust your chops about Penn State football, this place is the only reason I make my annual pilgrimage to the middle of nowhere. Honestly. On a college football saturday you can watch about 20 games, drink tons of beer while John Cash's 'Ring of Fire" blasts over the speaker system. And then, when the sun goes down, it becomes sort of an 70's and 80's dance club (they bang out Dancin' Queen about 3 times a night). Of course, by then, you are dealing with most of the drunken a-hole PSU students, who start requesting hip-hop crap that the DJ plays, but usually by then, I'm ready to call it a night anyway. Still, if this place closes down, it's no more PSU football for me. Well, actually, I'll just find another joint.

2. The Sawmil, Seaside Park, NJ: How much did I love this bar? It has a day named after it. From 1992-1998, me, the Knocker and Gerry B would designate the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend "Sawmill Day." We would leave Central Jersey around 10 a.m. and make a bee-line for this little dive on the Seaside Heights boardwalk to kick off the summer in style. The reason we picked this place? It was the only bar we could find that served Mickey's Big Mouths. Every year, the bartender would dust off the green grenade bottles and get us going. The tradition ended in 1998, when after an entire day of celebrating the Mike Piazza trade, we had to find a way home. We made it, but pledged that the following year, we would have to find a place to stay. Well, the Professor provided that place, but it was about 35 miles North in Belmar, and a free place to stay won out over awful tasting Malt Liquor in green bottles. To me, this place no longer exists. Oh sure, it's still there. But what was once a little corner bar, has turned into a huge place with an adjoining dining room, and - get this - a kid's menu. Adios Sawmill. We had a blast.

By the way, speaking of Seaside, remeber the first annual FNC road trip is this Thursday, Aug. 2 at the Beachcomber for the Shorty Long & The Jersey Horns Show.

1. Hange Uppe, Chicago, Ill. As much as I love the previously mentioned 9 joints, this one is by far, head and shoulders above all of them. I sometimes wonder if the cats that own this joint tapped into my brain when they were creating it. Oldies music, friendly midwestern dames, endless supply of Old Style beer, and a closing time of about 5:30 a.m. A block off Chicago's overrated Rush & Division streets is the greatest bar in America. My dream scenario: It's 3 a.m., I have an ice-cold Old Style longneck in my hand, Carl Douglas' Kung Fu Fighting is playing and I'm leering at some college dames on the dance floor. I roll out of the joint about 5 bells. Get back to my hotel, get about 4 hours of sleep and head to Wrigley for a day in the bleachers. Or in the case of my last trip there, got in the car for the 3 hour drive to Lambeau for Jets-Pats. Anyway, if you are ever in Chicago hit this place on a Friday or Saturday night and they may have to drag you out of there.

Well there it is. Hope to see you all THursday night.