Soccer and pictures of women with short hair. Still interested?

One of the things they taught me in Blog Writing 101 is to grab attention with a headline. If there's anything that I know about America, which is quite a bit actually, it's that Americans love soccer.

Seriously.

What not to love?

You get to run around for like an hour and a half, kick a ball, eat some orange slices at halftime (because that's what gives you energy), drink some pop or soda or Coke or whatever it's called wherever you live, and then fall down and roll on the ground when someone touches you. I know, I used to play the game. No. Not professionally. The only thing that stopped me from getting drafted? Not playing in college. The only thing that stopped me from not playing in college? Not playing in high school. The only thing that stopped me from playing in high school? Being short, fat, and not having much talent. Other than that, I was the next Pele. He played kickball soccer right?

The older that I get, however, the more I appreciate the sport. I actually went to a(n exhibition) match at LP Field earlier this year. And, yes, I actually paid 60 of my own hard-earned USA

Fun Bucks to go to the match. The US men's team was playing some other country that had really good Mexican food. What? Don't all countries in Central and South America eat Mexican

food? What?! C'mon... Tell me how that was insulting. I dare you. Panama? Paraguay? Paris? Is Paris a country? It was one of them there places.

For as little as I know about men's soccer, I know even less about women's soccer. I can literally sum up what I know about women's soccer in two pieces of information. The first is, obviously, the cinematic tour de force Bend it like Beckham. Shut up. It's good. Shut up, again. I own it on DVD. Also, there was this one time where this chick scored a goal, took her jersey off and ran around the field and had her jubblies all a flubblin' and Queen started to play. Here's proof:

You know, if more soccer games were like that, I'd probably watch more of them. You would, too. Don't lie.

Apparently this happened at something called the World Cup. From what I understand this is a very big deal in the kickball soccer world. Like the Olympics and like that time I went on a date, it happens about every 4 years and everyone acts like they care. Quick, without cheating, when was the last time you watched a women's soccer game? That's what I thought.

And that brings us to the present. As I type, the US women's soccer team is up on everybody's favorite underdogs, the North Koreans 2-nil. "Nil" means zero. Maybe in that crazy Parisian language. I don't like being a translator. Since it's shaping up to be a rather slow afternoon at work and I have ESPN in my office, I've got the game on. I'm also (*plug) listening to David Comes to Life by Fucked Up. Sometimes my job is pretty sweet. The only thing that I can think of, however, is how much the North Korean women all look like North Korean men:

Good luck sorting 'em out.

So that got me to thinking: "Why do all the North Korean soccer playing women have short hair?" Does Kim Jong Il hate ponytails and freedom? The answer, as it turns out, is YES. To both. North Koreans of both sexes [hey! that's a palindrome!] are encouraged to cut their hair short "in accordance to the socialist lifestyle." I can't make this shit up. Actually, I probably could. But this time I'm not.

I'm in my office, wearing my freedom shoes, drinking my freedom water, and typing on my freedom MacBook, and all I can think about is these women with short hair. Some people call that a fetish. I call it normal. I mean, it's like if someone tells you not to think about your parents having sex, what's the first thing you're gonna think of? If you said anything else other than "my parents having sex", you're a lying commie bastard. Also, if your parents are dead and you were thinking that, that makes you either disgusting or a big BIG BIG fan of zombie love.

And this all started out with soccer.

Party in the Penitentiary

I was walking downtown last night on the way to McFadden's for the rather sparsely attended Trivia Night and came across a movie set. Yup... Right there on Second Ave N. If they are filming Coal Miner's Daughter 2: The Diamond Years, I'm gonna be pretty stoked. Tommy Lee Jones hangin' out in my fair city? Hell, yeah! That's probably not the case, though, and I'm imagining it's another film about someone trying to 'make it' in this fair city... Or, you know, something like that. I can see the montage in the third act already: Del Amitri's "Roll to Me" playing in the background with a starlet running amok among town and purchasing just the perfect pair of boots on Lower Broad for her gig at Exit/In later that week.

Damnit... Now I've got that song in my head.

Anyway, I cut through the shooting location - it is a public thoroughfare afterall - and for the minor inconvenience caused by me having to wait 4 minutes while production assistant Blondie McBlonderson held me up, I definitely swiped a few items from the craft services table. I'm easily tempted by food. I couldn't help but think that this film is probably another Miley Cyrus vehicle for milking the cash cow while one can. Let's face it: the broad can't sing. As awesome as "Party in the U.S.A." is, it's auto-tuned to hell and back and the vocals are still in about 152 different keys.

As I completed my stroll down 2nd, I wondered what kind of life Miley Cyrus must have. How many horsies she owns. How many cheeseburgers she can buy for dinner. How no one is going to give her dirty looks for walking downtown with a handful of stolen cheese from the set of a major motion picture. I quickly forgot about her, however, as I am distracted by bright and shiny objects and I had to get to my 1/2th job of reading trivia.

I awoke this morning and in a much better mood than last night [yesterday's attitude largely stemming from the news that I will be working Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Day and New Year's Eve] and decided to go for a run. And, wouldn't you know it, the first song on my running mix is "Party in the U.S.A." 'Cause if there's anything that gets me pumped, it's the voice of a 16 year old singing.

Don't judge.

There has, strangely enough, been a party-like atmosphere at work. Several folks are dressed up. I'm wearing a sweater. I know I'm quite the enthusiastic one.

AND... Guess who appeared on my Google News Feed today.... That's right: Miley Cyrus.

So the story goes like this:

53-year old Mark McLeod of Savanah, GA, was arrested for stalking Miley this past summer on the set of her new movie This Film is Gonna Suck Real Bad. He claims that he had given her several diamond rings and that she had been sending him "secret messages" through the television. All of a sudden my obsession with Keira Knightley seems a little more healthy.

But you gotta give this guy credit... He's in love with a girl and wants the world to know it. I don't think this guy is that crazy when you think about it. Dudes buy chicks crazy shit all the time. Diamond rings, meals at fancy restaurants, muffin pans, etc... Chicks send dudes crazy messages all the time. I got dumped by text message once and that was crazy as hell. I totally see this guy's point... Just not with Miley Cyrus. C'mon, Mark, you know that train has to reach the end of the line soon.

And let this be a warning to all you stalkers out there: don't be 37 years older than your target. Apparently that was the crime. Everything else about this case seemed pretty normal.