Chicks were not hot like 10 years ago

In a bar that no longer exists on a corner that still does, Nate and I walked to Panini's South on 10th Avenue and High Street for cheap brand-unknown draft beers on weeknights shortly after the sun went down. We took advantage of our college summer nights. Our jobs required us to be present at 8:30 a.m. but not awake until noon.

We had no qualms with Panini's despite the beer being the only thing warmer than the temperature as the hole in the wall had no air conditioner and left its non-existent windows open. Panini's sandwiches would require some microwaved love to match the warmth of the yellow non-frothy in those 32-ounce plastic cups.

I sat at the bar and Nate walked to the bathroom located on the northwest corner of the establishment. My kidneys are bigger. "Lady Marmalade" played for the first time that night.

Lil' Kim's rap neared its conclusion as I thought, "Wow, they never play this part on the radio." I picked up on that third-beer buzz and felt my shoulders become a little less tight. I turned to the right and looked over toward the ladies room. People watching is a polite way to say creepy.

Not one to "like" or friend request "Lines" or "Crowds," Nate darted his way to the front of the que. Meeting resistance with a shove, a student in a light blue polo connected with a right hook on Nate's face as the song hit its and Christina Aguilera's high at the 2:38 mark of the video.

"Too many people to go over there," I thought, "anyway, I'm 0-1-1 career in fights."

The situation resolved itself as so many others did with a brief scrum, a few "Yeah, I'm all rights" and a closing acknowledgment that no more fights would occur that evening.

We walked home a few hours later and turned on MTV.

The shit we had to watch in the summer of 2001 makes me ever so grateful for the women's movement. There were not a lot of good looking women 10 years ago.

Music videos prove my point. I present the following three.



Take a look at Dream's collective body types before delving into my breakdown of the video. This look passed for hot in the winter of 2001. I wanted these girls under my Christmas tree on Dec. 25, 2000.

What is with the short-haired blond girl? We may never know although any of us are free to ask her. She's working at the Applebee's next to University Village (or the one right down the street from your house) and if you have a sleeveless T-shirt with a tattoo circa 2002 she'd probably give you two-for-one appetizers even AFTER Happy Hour.

I feel a bond with the lyric "[you] only want him just because he's there." Roughly 92 girls I've hooked up with have experienced this same desire or lack thereof.

Also, Dream girls, for real, what's with only one girl singing the entire song? Are the other vocals that bad? Ah yes, they are in Dream, after all.

Back before girls started dropping me for suburban, Affliction T-shirt wearing bartenders in strip malls, I believed in love and all that fun stuff. Now I see the fallacy in the message of this song.

Girls, he may love you but he does not love her not. Guys do not become monogamists until they give up on finding someone better.

We find someone better in the next video.



I've been to a lot of parties. That line just sounds like something that would be scribbled across a retro T-shirt with some 1950's-looking clip art attached to it. I've been to a lot of parties.

I've never been to a party with "'bout five, six strippers trying to work for a buck." Unless that Buck was an Ohio State football player. Go Buuuuucks said in a hick accent.

We learn in this video that you don't need to have a job now to have lots of magnets on your refrigerator.

EMO ALERT: I love Califone's "Funeral Singers" song. I can play with magnets all night long, motherfuckers. I have done so 13 times already this year. I like the ones with words. Or letters. And why is it, why is it that there are lowercase letters but not lowercase numbers?

"all my friends are half-gone birds/ are magnets all my friends are words/"

The above lyric explains why I text the same three people every night in an attempt to "grab a few beers question mark."

I will invariably end up marrying the girl in this Califone video or one just like her but as for now, she's playing trivia at Bodega and I hate that place as my jeans are not tight enough and I cannot wear a Fedora and a beard and feel good about myself.

SIDE NOTE: When L. James announced his decision to sign with the Miami Heat, I made the exact same face as the guy does at the 1:11 point in the City High video.

Right after James broke our hearts, the following song played on the 30,000 speakers surrounding Cleveland.



If a girl has ever been attracted to a large man-beast with dreadlocks, I have no chance with that female. This is a problem for me as I plan on ending up with some bartending chick who has a dog and probably is into black dudes with dreadlocks. This explains why I'll be single for the next 53 years God willing.

I hate dogs but am attracted to girls who own dogs and play well with dogs. The blond who pleads the first verse fits this mold. Her lips. Wow. Sheeeeeeeeeeit.

The lower lip bite 30 seconds into the video has been watched in this dark bedroom on more than one instance.

Cannot help but notice every member of All Saints looks exactly the same and one of them is even black!

One must take issue when one All Saint exclaimed that "You got my conscience asking questions that I can't find. I'm not crazy."

Yes, yes you are crazy because that line doesn't make any sense.

... ... ... ...

I grew up watching MTV. I still watch videos on YouTube with far too much frequency.

Tomorrow night when I walk home from the bar, I'll likely watch some more.

They won't be from 10 years ago though. Women keep getting hotter.

The beers, though, they've gotten colder.

Soap, people want no part of dirty bathtub

I'm a polished kid guy.

I know the colors of my bathtub have no business resembling the same colors as a Wyoming Cowboys football jersey.

We're all about the exposed brick and hardwood floors in the German Village but one's shower should never look like a mashup of those two hues.

The shower at my place, the one where three bachelors who eat nothing but fast food live and sometimes sleep, needed a cleaning after seven months of about 2-point-5 to four showers per day.

Soaps from around the world sweated at the thought of being called into duty. We feared the spray that comes out of those plastic things like Windex bottles would stop flight midway to surface and attempt to scurry back into the bottle.

"Move, bitch, get out the way," said the dreadlocked cleaning particle on the way back to the comforts of his old home.

Mr. Clean, well that bastard, he tried Rogaine. He wanted no part. Plus I don't even know if you'd use Mr. Clean on a bathtub or even if there's a product called Mr. Clean. I just know he endorses some product but have never seen him in real life. Where does he live? We can assume his bathroom is clean. This we can do safely.


Juggling the duty and dealing with the distraction of how small my hands looked in a pair of yellow rubber gloves, I thought of things like how the weather needs to improve because I've seriously made the comment that "this weather isn't too bad because Thanksgiving is only two weeks away" to varying degrees of laughter like 22 times in the past five days and I'm running out of "bad weather in May" material. I thought about how I've been robbed in never having a friend with the last name Campbell because I'd just call him "Soup" like every single day but that'd only be on the days that I actually saw him in person because then the rest I'd just call him Soup via text messages because I only use like 47 anytime-minutes a month on my cell phone and I haven't had a land-line since 2002 when I lived at 64 E. 12th Ave.

Brighter minds always have pondered better questions. Monday night I went downstairs as we prepared to head out for Elyse's 21st birthday party. My roommate was watching a History Channel special on the history of the United States. They were discussing electricity and the roommate said, "That's got to be the best invention of all-time, right?"

I said, "well, there's soap." I only said this because I remember a similar discussion during the movie Donnie Darko and didn't have a real answer because that would make my head hurt and I didn't have time for that because I always prefer the activities which make my head hurt 12 hours later. I'm a procrastinator in all senses.

My mom, the one who knows me best, probably spends hours awake at night wondering how much better my life would be if I ever put any effort into using this brain for good. She actually probably wishes I made other people's lives better because she's just good that way and goes to church two or three times a week. When I told her Merle and Paul were going to be painting Paul's porch one Saturday afternoon and said "I just wasn't feeling the job" she immediately shot back that I should, "at least grab lunch for them!" The woman who's done more for me than anyone else constantly wonders why I'm not doing more for other people and holy shit this is going to make me depressed and good thing she doesn't know the best I've probably done for someone recently is contribute to a soft-core porn-esque blog on a near daily basis during 2009.

My dad? He's cool.

Our favorite player on the Cleveland Indians like 10 years ago was little-used utility player Enrique Wilson. We just liked saying "En-reeeeeeee-k WILL-sin" in a real Spanish accent and would say Ennnnnnnreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkk WILLsin like a dozen times an inning and there's nine innings in baseball so do the math, you no-good motherhubbard. 108.

I'd be up in my room reading old Sports Illustrateds or whatever (Homework? Ha. That's what Nate was for. In terms of cheating off someone else's homework, no one abused the relationship more than me but Nate did end up marrying my sister.) and my dad would ring the doorbell unbeknownst to me and answer the door.

"Dave, there's someone at the door for you."

I'd walk over to the top of the steps and my dad would bellow out:

"It's Enreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekk HhhhhhhhhhhhhhaWILLsin."


I fell for that at least seven times between 1997 and 2000.

Shown only a photo of what our shower looked like, those two years listed above also would be two of the four choices in a multiple-answer question regarding the last time we cleaned our bathroom.

If an elbow produced actual grease during that thing we call hard work, the component would have been an improvement to the scum I scrubed away. Breathing in the type of toxins you usually have to pay for, I spent 75 minutes cleaning.

Congrats on a job ... done. - J. Peterman

Without any beer in fridge, I had to answer what it is that beer drinkers drink when they're not drinking beer. Sure as shit wasn't going to be O'Doul's. I have two rules when it comes to beer A the beer is not allowed to include two apostrophes in its name and B the beer must include alcohol.

Not feeling tap water, I instead had two ... seven popsicles and wondered about the type of stuff Mr. Clean would do when he'd finish an arduous task.

Doing hard work actually is rewarding. LESSON.

When I clean my bathroom again right around my birthday (Dec. 13), I know what my birthday wish will be. It'd be cool to sit down and have a beer with Mr. Clean.

We'd probably have a lot in common. Given his bald head, he's probably a polished guy too.