Holy crap, dude. Conan just told me that Kobayashi's hot dog eating record was broken over the weekend. Where the hell is Darren Rovell? Here he is, and it doesn't seem like he's even covering the news. When America's - nay, the world's - foremost competitive eating reporter doesn't have the story, America - nay, the world - has got a problem.

(It used to be professional jealousy, friends. Now it's just unadulterated snobbery. I've got an unreturned email from last summer. I should totally return it.)

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A special thanks to Flax for saving last week's blog with a comment; I was headed to a commentless abyss which, to be honest, really frustrates your awesomely humble narrator.

Reasons for decreases in traffic, for the second time in three months:
- Not enough urinal stories
- Posts are too long
- I don't talk to my friends anymore
- Nobody likes baseball
- I no longer have an enemy (there's no doubt that the R/DS clearly brought RHH to its peak)

So, you see, I'm thinking that I might address issue five - no enemy. I've got a developing enemy. I wrote about him recently - the "self-depreciating" guy. He's also my carpoolmate, which was tolerable for a time (when there was a third), but is becoming less so.

Reasons for this (though, to be certain, no WIDiRVoFOW, which would be renamed WIDisCaVoW - a bit of research into last May would reveal, perhaps, what this means) include the following:
- Tardiness
- Poor taste
- Bad storyteller
- Brags about drunkenness
- I mean, really poor taste
- Doesn't realize that he has poor taste
- A general lack of respect for others' time
- A general lack of respect for others, in general
- First-class bulshitter, which is a bad thing, in this case (that is, he doesn't 'bullshit' in the 'make friendly, engaging small talk' way, but, rather, he makes shit up)
- Says the word "like" way, way, way too much

So, yeah, I guess that having an actual enemy might spice things up. If I start dwelling on how much I dislike him, as I did with the R/DS, we might get really good stuff. But, of course, that was also borne of constant, constant exposure. This exposure is far less constant. So, we'll see.

I'm hoping there's interest in a WIDisCaVoW, and perhaps I'll have one next time.

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For the first time as a grownup, I realized on Sunday that I'm no longer building towards anything. Or, rather, there's no seasonal cycle to my job (and, therefore, kind of, my life) anymore. This was a big part of my life, previously, of course.

Grind, grind, grind, all-star break, grind, grind, rest, work a bit, work just a little bit, work just a little bit, work like hell, work like hell. Repeat.

It'll be interesting how I deal with it, say, six months from now. I've been here eight-plus months now, which is a fair amount of time (though not that long, of course), and I've just hit this realization. So, when it's still the same thing, say, six months from now, will I be fringe-depressed?

I'm not sure. I do know I'm going to see my former team play on Wednesday. I might get there late. I'll definitely have a beer. Or three.

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There's some seriously awesome shit coming up this month. I noticed it on my Outlook calendar at work. The Outlook calendar is good for something.

This weekend: Nothing
Next weekend: The Boy, in the Ring Fingernail
The following weekend: Harper, at The Lake
The following weekend: Gurs!

To the extreme.

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I've not talked to my friends lately, though I broke a streak by talking to Gurs last Wednesday and, again, tonight.

The reason I've not talked to friends? Because my life is pretty boring right now.

Work, cook, work, cook, work, cook, drink on Wednesday, work, cook, work, drink on Friday, kill time Saturday, potentially drink Saturday, clean Sunday. Even my grocery list is the same every week.

However, I've mixed it up a bit. I bought kiwis on Saturday, and cottage cheese on Sunday. Whimsical!

I've not talked to Nemo since his visit...three weeks ago. I think the HLM post creeped him out. It creeped me out, after all.

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The best part of "killing time Saturday" and "cleaning Sunday" is, of course, the Chicago Cubs on WGN.

I've determined that I like Len Kaspar. I actually like Len Kaspar. He's too stats-y, but he's a bit funny, and sometimes his overly-specific stats are interesting. And he likes the rock and roll. They're, in some twisted way, preferable to the Chip and Steve crew we had in 2003; Steve was insufferable at the end. The broadcast crew of a major league team is a sales crew...Len and Bob are too soft on guys at times, but I'd prefer that to Chip and Steve's overly critical bent.

I can't honestly remember Harry's crews, though I always liked Harry and Steve. I can't remember how, say, DeWayne Staats or Thom Brennaman or others fit in; I was pretty young then.

Let's be honest, though: This was a great, great, great weekend to be a Cubs fan.

How often do you see your crazy pitcher lose it? How often do you see your crazy pitcher's non-personal catcher get a busted lip because your crazy pitcher lost it?

One of the best parts of baseball is the foreign-born players trying to elucidate their feelings. Find a transcript of Zambrano's press conference after he obliterated Barrett: "It was my fault. I'm a man and he's a man and you don't talk to a man like that. And I'm a man. And he's a man." (I kid because I love. But he didn't make sense.)

And then, the totally-expected blow-up from Coach Lou was fantastic. Totally expected, and he acknowledged as much, but he did a pretty good job of it. All told, a Sunday well spent.

The better thing about baseball is that, after about two miserable weeks of play, two straight wins have us talking about baseball in October. Or, rather, has Ron Santo talking about baseball in October. You never know... The NL Central is pretty bad... They've got a chance to make up serious ground on the first-place Brew Crew... The bullpen has gotta come around... It's the first damn week of June, for Chrissakes.

Baseball's awesome.

Cubs related: A New York Times article on Kerry Wood. Buzz Bissinger, of Friday Night Lights fame. Worth your time if you're a Cubs fan. It's pretty detached - blames everyone for his injuries, and provides the portrait of a man, Kerry, kind of beaten, but not quite beaten. (Though, we know, he's most certainly beaten.

Buzz Bissinger also wrote the Three Nights In August book about Tony LaRussa a few years ago. E.M. Swift this week wrote a fantastic Sports Illustrated article about LaRussa and his struggles - pitcher's dead, team stinks, driving drunk - thus far this year. The conclusion: Tony LaRussa is now a Baseball Man.

It's awesome because, back in the days when I was in the White Sox TV booth, we'd always giggle when Hawk Harrelson used the term "good baseball man." Because it's a funny term. I'm not a "good baseball man" because I can calculate on-base percentage.

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Elisha Cuthbert's on Conan now. She says "like" even more than my new enemy. She's far less hot today than she was two days ago.

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I meant to write a few weeks ago about a realization related to The Hold Steady and, more specifically, Separation Sunday.

I've long determined that my favorite song on Separation Sunday is "Stevie Nix," which has the fantastic, fantastic coda (though, of course, a song by The Hold Steady is often just one long coda, or rather, is typified by a complete lack of, say, verses and choruses):

She got screwed up by religion, she got screwed by soccer players
She got high for the last time in the camps down by the banks of the Mississippi River
Lord, to be seventeen forever.

Etc.

Anyway, "Stevie Nix" was played, and played fantastically on Wednesday, May 16, when I saw America's greatest active band perform. As my favorite song on one of my favorite records, and, as someone who generally picks up and sings along to lyrics, you'd think I'd know that my favorite song was being played from the opening lyrics. But I didn't. I had to write down a clue - "Drinking gin from a jam jar," and, in fact, didn't even know that it was "Stevie Nix" until the "screwed up by religion" part.

So, even though it's my favorite song, potentially, on the record, I don't know the words. Or, rather, I know the words, but I don't know which words go with which song.

This is why I love Separation Sunday: One long, beautiful epic poem. I think it's my second-favorite record ever.

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I think this post had a few fun spots, but was mostly fairly boring. Again. I mean, you wouldn't believe how much this kid uses the word "like." Shit.