Eric Bennett May Not Think It's Funny, But I do

I hate practical jokes, but love pranks. So needless to say I was very impressed with the mischievous Elis at the annual Yale v. Harvard football game. Absolutely gutted! I thought, until I read about Cal Tech at the 1961 Rose Bowl. Wait a minute, you say. Didn't Washington and Minnesota played in the ’61 Rose Bowl? Sure enough, which makes Cal Tech's triumph one for the ages.

Boochie, this site will get you all crunk!

Do you sometimes smile weakly and nodded your head when your hip-hop friends are seemingly speaking another language? Ever get lost watching episodes of "The Wire"? I'm feeling you, gusgus. Be a fuck nut no more with the help of Urbandictionary.com. Updated by authentic youths, it will give you the 411 on today's slang. Learn the difference between a cousin and a nephew. Never give the low down when you should be down low. And don't forget to try the random word generator for 25/8 fun! In no time, all the jardels will think you're a real linguistic Tad Allen -- damn skippy!

White Man's Overbite

Me: 39, obviously not in the right bar. Her: 25, obviously not caring her date feels he is obviously not in the right bar. We share the dance floor with girls who think Halloween is a chance to dress like a slut and a guy get up like Ralph Cramden ready to hit the links. Then the Crown Royal starts to settle in. Bass guitar must be obeyed. Blinking lights blessedly hide half of my awkward gyrations. And she's digging me. She laughs. She touches. She dances away, then dances back. We didn't dress up for the holiday; Halloween is not big in her country, yes? Okay-la. But as the sweat makes my button-up shirt stick to my back and my legs beg for another drink, I stay on the dance floor, untroubled by my gracelessness. It's then I realize I am indeed in costume.

I am Bullworth.

2Much

Yoga
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

On a recent visit to Cali, I snapped this photo of my friend Antoine's license plate. And, yes, all you Iowa bloggers, he's still riding large in the Towne Car.

"I own a cat!" "Me, too!"

"I own a cat!" "Me, too!"
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

My divorce buddy Paul and I went to a single's mixer last night. It was one of those 25 3-minute, round-robin date deals. Being an opinionated, reckless loudmouth with my friends, you'd think I wouldn't have trouble striking it up with women, but I do, which just goes to show you my brash personality is just a shield for the tender-hearted manchild that I am. Either that, or I'm gutless. Or quite possibly both.

The event was at a martini bar in Grosse Pointe, an enclave of high-level auto executives, old money and Motown stars, what passes for swank in these parts. Robusto's was something out of Cigar Aficionado -- private humidors sunk into the walls, $7 dollar Bombay's and tonics, blonde dolls with serving trays. I told people at work it'd either be fun or funny, and while I believed deep down the night would end up being fodder for the John Woodward recreational outrage machine, I had a swell time.

It was hard not to like most everyone there. Perhaps it was because we were like bald men or Red Sox fans or Zany Brainy shareholders, part of a fraternity held together by a common, low-grade misery. I met the usual brand of auto people, advertising types and sales reps, but also a medical photographer (one of the few jobs that's actually as grim as you'd imagine), a burlesque singer (love those fishnets) and an electrician. Hobbies included: shopping, science fiction movies, fishing, interior decorating, reading (Tolstoy to Rand to Cook) and, my favorite, "not much, just hanging out, I guess." Shine on, rock star.

After each "date," you had a scorecard and checked a person either up or down; if you and someone both voted for each other, you'd be emailed on how to contact them. My score: I voted for two girls out of 24; one of my selections voted for me; another 6 women voted for me but not I for them. Divorce buddy Paul: ten yesses out of 24 (the man slut); four of his selections voted for him; another 8 women voted for him but he did not. One other woman, who arrived late and missed our three minutes together, struck up a conversation with me after the show. After a minute or so, she asked me if I wanted her business card. I managed a "that would be great" instead of the "oh, fuck yeah!" I could have sworn was going to come out of my mouth. She looked at me like I was a hunk of meat the entire time we talked. It was great.

Internet Antics

HweenDogButt
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

On his blog, my friend Antoine asked what people looked for when using the Google Image search. Now you know.

It's good to be home.

Can't wait to sleep in my own bed. I will be posting photos and freeze frames the next few days. Go Lions!

What fun!!

LONDON -- So far I've lost a dental crown, taken my father into two gay pubs, got ripped off for $180, and have slept vey little. Not the funniest outing. Can't wait to get home; my luck followed me across the pond.

Jack's going back.

dad2
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

On September 3rd, my brother and I will be taking Pvt. Jack Woodward, U.S. Army Air Corp. (retired), back to England. He hasn't been there since 1945. It'll be his second time on an airplane; the first was when he flew on a Flying Fortress on a training mission over the White Cliffs of Dover. We're going to drink and drink and drink.

My blog is ugly

I've been blogging for like half a day and I already have low self-esteem regarding my site. Where are the zany photos and the ironic links? I am lame.

Back at it. Procrastinating, that is.

After a 15 month layoff -- for all the usual tragic bullshit indignities that are heaped upon decent men whose only crime is the audicity of closing in on forty -- I'm writing again, which means, naturally, I'm looking for new ways to fuckaround; hence, this. No wonder so many writers were alcoholics before the Internet was invented.