Trip Report: Barbados

So, I’ve been to Barbados. Done and done. No need to return. Just check it off the list.

Of course, just because I’ve been to a place and have no desire to return doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. What’s not to like? Gorgeous beaches, crystal blue water, tasty food and lots and lots of rum. So what’s the problem?

It just didn’t “wow” me.

Barbados, despite the aforementioned qualities, is entirely “blah.” Perhaps it has something to do with the British, who although they gave the island back to the locals in the 1960s, have a very overwhelming influence. You see, it’s not that the places are boring, or that there’s nothing fun to do, it’s just that everything seems to be a bit run-down, a bit understated, and really, quite a bit bland.

Now, I’m certainly not one to expect, or even want, the palatial grounds and massive structures that one would find in Cancun. I am definitely the type that prefers a local flair over massive concrete hotels. But there’s local flair and then there’s Barbados. Barbados’s local flair is pretty much made up of shacks and depressed locals with a smattering of overweight sunburned Brits milling about.

Apparently, we were staying in one of the nicer hotels on the island. An old British colonial house, the Colony Club did make you feel like a character in a Graham Greene novel, sipping a pink gin in the oppressive heat and at any time a British gent in a white suit and hat will come over and talk to you about the war or your upcoming passage on the next ship coming in to port. It also made you feel like you were not supposed to be there. Or that you were there, but no one was happy about it. The people working there were as bland as the rest of the island. No smiles. No hellos. No eye contact. Asking the bartender for a drink was like asking Colby to help you move. Let’s just call it “un-enthusiastic.” It was a perfect centerpiece to an island that could also be described in the very same way.

We worked closely with a pro surfer named Brian Talma, a very cool and very outspoken Barbadian (or Bajan – pronounced “Bay Jan”) who is almost an unofficial spokesman for the island. We spoke about how tired he was of constantly being called upon to promote the place. It became apparent that he was one of the few people there with a bit of personality and was in high demand. Thank goodness for him, he helped make a great show.

Aside from the under-whelmingness of it all, the place did have some good drinks. They like their rum and I quickly developed an appreciation for the aged versions. You can see why “premium” rums are popping up a lot in the US. It sounds cheesy, but try the Tommy Bahama aged rum if you see it in a bar. It might be labeled under the clothing purveyor for old men on vacation, but the rum is made by Sir David Seale at his Four Square Distillery, perhaps the finest on the island. They know how to make rum and this one is pretty tasty.

All in all, I wouldn’t tell anyone to avoid Barbados, I’d just tell them to explore other Caribbean locations that may be a bit more enthusiastic.

That Is Nuts...

Yes, I thought that “cold-activated bottles” were the lowest of the low. I really did think that the human race had hit absolute rock-bottom. I thought that a bottle changing colors to tell you it’s cold was the most idiotic and lazy thing I had ever seen. I truly believed that this product was not just a sign of our society’s ability to be incredibly retarded, but the ultimate contributing factor. (in case you missed that rant, you can find it here: http://kneedeepinawesome.blogspot.com/2007/09/i-hate-coors-more-now-than-ever-before.html )

But I was wrong.

It’s gotten worse.

No, I’m not talking about “cold-activated cans,” which is just another layer upon the same retarded cake, oh no, this is a whole different dish all together.

They are called “Truck Nutz.” Actually, they have several names, and that fact itself is horribly frustrating because it means there is more than one company making them and that means, in turn, there are A LOT of people buying them.

If you are not familiar, this is the item in question:




























And this, is how it’s applied:




















And this is what I look like when I see these things on a car:














For the record, that’s my “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” look.

Now, just for the sake of being a fair-minded individual, I will do what my mother would tell me to do: “Before you judge them, walk a mile in their shoes.”

Okay mom, here goes:

I’m slipping on a pair of Nike “Andre Agassi’s” from 1990. You know, the ones with the neon orange. (No, I’m not stepping back in time, I’m wearing what I assume a fucking assclown like this would wear today in 2008.) Now, I’m putting on my Oakley Blades and I’m climbing in to my truck. But before I do, I stop suddenly. Something’s missing from this truck. Does it have lots of extra chrome? Sure. Is jacked up on big tires? Of course. Does it have a sticker of Calvin peeing on something? Hell yeah! Then what’s missing? This is the perfect machine…Wait, I know! This truck needs a giant chrome-plated scrotum hanging from it! Of course! How could I have been so stupid to think that this truck was complete without a pair of balls swinging from the hitch?! I mean, really, how are people going to respect me if my truck doesn’t have prosthetic reproductive organs?! What would my friends say: “Dude, nice truck, but without a pair o’ fake balls, that thing’s nuthin more than a supped-up Cabriolet.” And if that happened, I’d run home, embarrassed beyond belief. So, instead of facing such ridicule, I’m going out immediately and finding the right testicles for my truck. I don’t care what they cost and I don’t care how much of my kids’ vocational school funds that I have to rip through to get em. It is an adornment such as these that will solidify my place not only in the hierarchy of ass-kickin’ truck owners, but also in the hierarchy of people who appreciate art in the tri-county area. Because that is what this is, not just a statement saying “My truck’s got balls, and thusly, so do I” – this also says “I support artists in my community, but not in the faggy way.” My two ex-wives are going to see me drive by and I bet you a pretty penny that it won’t be ten minutes later that they’re knocking on my door with a six pack of cold-activated cans just dying to jump my bones. Because folks, I’m just a man with a truck on most days, but today, I’m a man with a truck with a dangling scrotum, and nothing in the world screams “high class” like that. Not even my tattoo of my old 4-wheeler that my cousin took after I accidentally set his shed on fire. No way, this screams “high class” like my uncle Donnie’s 1994 Buick Regal. Today, I feel smart. Today, I feel like a man. Today, I’ve added a pair of balls to my truck and today, I’m no longer afraid of living life with an IQ of 87. I’m no longer going to worry about impregnating Crystal, I’m just gonna do her. I’m no longer going to listen to people say that instead of buying another pitbull I should try feeding some of my 9 kids. Not today folks because today, MY TRUCK HAS NUTS!


Hmmm, you know what? I feel better. I feel like I understand these people now. I guess I was wrong when I instantly considered a person driving a car with the Truck Nutz attached as being the victim of an assault to the head with a tire iron. I suppose that clear-thinking, hard-working, focused and intelligent people can also have the desire to put a pair of testicles on to their car, too. Next time I see this, I'm not going to fear for the fact that I may one day have to be served fast food from this person and instead I'm going to assume that this person probably has a position of very high importance in life, and most likely spends his free time attempting to solve the energy crisis and has a set of papers on string theory currently being published.

Wow, I’m really sorry, folks. I'm changing my attitude. Now, I’m just excited to see a “girl” truck with fallopian tubes and ovaries. And I’m really excited to drive through Capitol Hill and see a transvestite truck with everything dangling off the back...

Ahhh, all is right with the world...

Monty and Owen...Friends?

Monty and Owen have a very special relationship. One that this video can explain much better than I ever could:

AIDS Awareness

My office has several people doing some event to raise money for AIDS awareness, so I'm just wondering, in 2008, how many people are having this conversation:

Dude: Hey buddy, what's the ribbon for?

Buddy: This one, on my lapel?

Dude: Yeah.

Buddy: AIDS awareness.

(Dude stares at him blankley)

Buddy: You know, AIDS?

Dude: Yeah, not really familiar. Is that a bad type of thing?

Buddy: Are you being serious?

Dude: Bro, I'm just asking a question.

Buddy: You're not familiar with the blood disease known as AIDS?

Dude: Not so much. Sounds tough, though.

Buddy: Auto Immune Deficiency Syndrome?

Dude: Take it easy there, Doc. I'm not speakin' your language.

Buddy: You really have no idea what I'm talking about?

Dude: Don't get all mad at me, bro. Sorry you got the AIDS.

Buddy: I don't have AIDS, I'm just wearing the ribbon to promote AIDS awareness.

Dude: Okay. I'm glad I asked you about it then, as I was previously unaware of AIDS.

Buddy: Fortunately, AIDS awareness ribbons such as these help spread the word.

Dude: People really should know about this AIDS thing. Has it been around long?

Buddy: 30 years or so.

Dude: Man, we better get the word out before it spreads. Can I have a ribbon?

The Bigger Dance - A Rant...

For those who are not familiar, a local sports radio station does a tournament similar to NCAA basketball's Big Dance. Instead of colleges, though, it's hot chicks and instead of playing games, they take votes for 3 minutes from callers. Who ever gets the most votes in the timeframe wins that match. The winner is supposedly the hottest woman in the world. Unfortunately, what's good looking is subjective and people who vote are retards.


That being said, this year I wasn't even going to bother.


Every year I'm frustrated by the pure idiocy of man, and this year I thought I'd save myself the embarassment of coming in last in my pool and not even play. But then, two days before the deadline, the pool invite arrived and mostly out of nostalgia (I've played with the same group for years and years) and the dream of maybe getting them all right and going to any sporting event in the world (first prize, and I still don't know what I'd pick, but unfortunately it's not a problem I'll face), I went ahead and entered my picks. I didn't check them until today and realized that I'm not the worst in my pool, but about half way down the list. Not bad. Still, it's results like the following that make me want to line up every person responsible and give them all a flying, two-footed kick to the head:


Jennifer Aniston over Evangeline Lilly -



Is it 1996? Am I drunk on my couch with a bunch of AGDs on a Thursday night watching "Must See TV?" Who the hell is out there voting for Jennifer Aniston? Is she still alive?!? Not only is Lilly hotter and younger, she's relevant! I realize that neither is really THAT much hotter than the other, but when looks are equal, having the biggest show on television has to count for something especially when the other person hasn't been in the public eye since a crap movie with the king of douches, Vince Vaughn! Lilly's everywhere! TV, Magazines, Late Night Phone sex commercials! I understand that she's Canadian, but c'mon!



Kiera Knightly over Heidi Klum -



First of all, voters, do yourself a favor right now. Are you listening you friggen assclowns? Go to Google Images and type in "Heidi Klum" and take a look at about 5000 pictures of what truly is one of the world's most beautiful women. Then do the same thing for Kiera Knightley and look at 5000 pictures of a slightly better than decent woman with an underbite and the body of an 11 year old boy. The funny thing is, the listeners of KJR voted man-voice to a 6 point win! It wasn't even close! Tall, gorgeous, nearly perfect german supermodel loses to short, manly, british chick with bad teeth...wow.


Halle Berry over Adriana Lima -



Last year, one of my matches that convinced that I would never play again was Eva Longoria's win over Adriana Lima. I'll get to Eva in a second, but for now, let's focus on Adriana. Victoria Secret lingerie supermodel. Gorgeous. Brazillian. 26 years old. And Halle? 42 years old, crazy as batsh** and WAY past her prime. Halle's votes, I assume come from idiots who have "Swordfish" on DVD and have never seen the movie, just her topless scene. Okay, jackholes, Lima is not only better looking, she 16 years younger, has a better body and can't speak much english so you don't have to sit through listening to her moronic blowhardy bs all the time. HOW DOES LIMA LOSE!?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!


And finally...Eva Longoria over Stacy Kiebler -



I'm no wrestling fan. I admit that prior to last year's competition I had only passing knowledge of who Stacy Kiebler was. But I am a fan of smoking hot chicks. There is one of them in this matchup. And then, there's an old wrinkled nasty hag who is not only the star of the world's most annoying show, but is of course is married to the world's most boring person who of course plays for the world's most boring basketball team. I'll let you decide who's who. Can anyone honestly tell me that if you were walking down the street and Keibler passed you that you wouldn't look twice? I won't ask the question of Longoria because if you want to see overly made up and just above average 30somethings with a massive sense of entitlement, go to Nordstrom, you'll see 40 of them in about 10 minutes, all of which are as good-looking or moreso than Longoria. What the H are people thinking? And that's not even covering the fact that this is a competition ON SPORTS RADIO! This is a fanbase made up of fat, middle-aged men who I would guess watch more wrestling than they do Desperate Housewives! For that fact alone I'd say that Keibler should win this matchup, and that's not even considering the obvious fact that she's infinitely better looking that Longoria!


Okay, that's it, I'm holding back my rant on Jessica Biel and the slightly weird fascination some men have with her very manly body and the fact that they are so fascinated by it they seem to ignore her very odd and somewhat scary face. I'm just going to wrap it all up now. I guess it shouldn't be a surprise to me that the Husky Flagship station has a bunch of barely functional jackholes who somehow were able to pick up a phone a punch seven numbers.


Rant over.

The Worst Show On Network TV

Okay, it's not THE worst show. There are plenty of shows that are worse. Namely, anything starring Jeff Foxworthy or people karaoke-ing.

But last night, as I sat down to watch the season premiere of Hells Kitchen, I thought to myself: The last two seasons of this show were utterly horrible, why am I doing this again?

My answer?

I have no idea.

Here's a list of pros and cons:

Pro: Cooking. I like food and like to cook, and I like watching other people do it.

Con: Bad cooking. They are fucking terrible.

Pro: People performing in stressful situations.

Con: The people are ugly, fat, annoying, desperately lacking in social skills or personality.

Pro: Ramsey is an asshole. I like that.

Con: Ramsey is an asshole to ugly, fat annoying people who desperately lack social skills or personality. It's funny to be an asshole to other assholes. It's not funny to be an asshole to retarded people.

So why am I watching it again? Top Chef is in the middle of it's latest season (4 now, I think) and it is a GREAT show for cooking. Sure, the host is comatose and rather painfully ignorant, but at least the chefs are real chefs, they aren't horrible to look at and most importantly, they cook very, very, very well. Shouldn't that be enough to satisfy me? Hell, the Food Network is always available and has several very noteworthy shows scattered in amongst several nightmares (Barefoot Contessa, SemiHomemade, 30 minute meals, Tasty Travels, and Paula Deen each make we want to die a thousand torturous deaths rather than have to watch them). Even the great MojoHD has an OUTSTANDING show called After Hours with Daniel starring superchef Daniel Boloud, a guy that you not only would jump off an overpass in to traffic just to eat his food, but you also kind of want to hug at the same time.

So why, why, why am I watching Hell's Kitchen!?!

Chef Ramsey actually vomits in the first episode!

Now, as a tv guy, I know the score. The "magic" of reality television is nothing foreign to me. I know what they're trying to do. They are playing to Chef Ramsey's talents, which, apparently, is to yell at people. But why are they casting it soooooo poorly?

The whole premise is that Chef Ramsey will pick his way through these bumbling idiots and one will become the Executive Chef at his new restaurant. Now, I certainly don't claim to be a restauranteur of any sort, but if I'm to assume that these chefs are actually as horrible as they are portrayed, then naming any of these people even as "hostess" is a risky and probably epically stupid proposition.

The show doesn't have to be about the food, it doesn't have to be about cooking, it can be as it is; trying to find a chef who can perform under extreme pressure and scrutiny, but why can't it be done with a cast that is not so completely hard to look at and even harder to relate to!?

I might assume that the chef has a problem insulting good-looking people, had I not watched the previous three seasons and seen a couple of them come through. Still, the great majority are not what you'd call "tv-friendly" but instead are what a fellow casting director once categorized as "rather unfortunate looking."

So here I sit, berating myself for watching what could be decently bad television and what is instead, monumentally bad television and I guess it's for that reason that I will continue to watch.

If you're in the mood for being annoyed by your television, tune in and check it out. Actually, I take that back. Don't watch it. Tell your friends not to watch it. If the show's ratings tumble, perhaps then it will be cancelled and my tv can go back to saving incredibly unstable and "unfortunate looking" people for daytime television where they belong.

Not So SuperBowl Sunday

I’ve spent the last week pondering a single question…not whether the Giants could pull the upset over the Patriots…not which commercial would forever lock itself in as the biggest waste of 2.5 million bucks…not how great the picture would look on my new tv…no, I’ve spent the past week – and really the past several years – trying to figure out why the hell they play the game on Sunday.

Seriously, what gives?

It’s the biggest of big games. People who aren’t even remotely interested in football tune in for the spectacle, the halftime show or the commercials. Americans almost feel it is their duty to at the very least get together with some friends and watch the game. It’s an event that is built for socializing, beers and greasy appetizers and how much better would the whole thing be if they just moved it to SATURDAY?

Is it their some sort of weird allegiance to Sunday because that’s when the regular season games are played?

I mean really, the NFL regular season as a whole is kind of ruined due to the Sunday games and the inevitable Monday mornings that follow, so why not make up for 18 weeks of injustice by moving the biggest game of the year to a day more suited for having a good time?!

They play playoff games on Saturday, and for every fan who has had their team in a Saturday playoff game, they’ll tell you…it’s WAY more fun than a Sunday game. Yes, you can drink that much more, but also, when you get that deep-seeded feeling of gloom knowing that tomorrow you have to return to work, you realize, “Shit, it’s Saturday!” and the game gets that much more fun. And don’t forget, it’s better for the economy too. Beer sales for a Superbowl Saturday would double the amount on a Superbowl Sunday. Not to mention all money that is made due to the poor decisions of drunk football fans - more late night pizza orders, more cab rides, more stripper tips, etc.

So NFL, it’s time to step up. Nothing is holding you back. The only thing you’ll contend with on a Saturday is college basketball and that’s not really important until March. So for the fans of football, the fans of commercials, the fans of overblown pre-game, mid-game and post-game hype, for the fans of half time shows and cheesy graphic packages, FOR AMERICA, do what’s right and move the Superbowl to Saturday!

Either that, or lobby congress to pass a bill that makes Superbowl Monday a national holiday – whichever you find easier.