Free Apps

Big fan of the movie Beautiful Girls. It's definitely in my Top 20.

Mid-movie, a group of high school buddies – played by the likes of Matt Dillon, Timothy Hudson, and Michael Rappaport -- reconvene at the Johnson Inn, a local watering hole which has been re-opened by an old classmate, Stinky Womack. In the scene Stinky, a newly minted proprietor, offers the group “free apps” in appreciation for their friendship and business. Only the gang doesn’t realize that “apps” is restaurant lingo for appetizers; they stare back at Stinky in a state of confusion.

I’ve been thinking about that scene a lot lately but in a different context. That’s because I recently bought a phone with a lot of free apps (even an app store where they churn out technological calamari), but similar to the gang from Beautiful Girls, after having the apps at my disposal, I’m left scratching my head.

The reality is this: you don’t go to the Johnson Inn for mini-burgers or potato skins. You go to the Johnson Inn for bourbon and Bud Heavies.

Similarly, when you go to the Apple Store for a new phone, the primary consideration shouldn’t be Shazaam (i.e. salmon tartare). It should be: “does this phone actually make/receive calls.”

And to that end, unfortunately, the answer is a definitive: “sometimes.”

I know this. I have an iPhone, and I drop calls all the time.

If the iPhone were a runner it would be a legless Kenyan. Only as consumers, we don’t know the Kenyan/iPhone is legless because he’s sitting at a table. We only see the majestic torso of his gazelle-like frame, his pearly whites, and his fourteen-inch totem-pole of a neck which is harpooned to a millennium-old head. He looks like he came out of the womb running a 4:00 minute-mile.

Only he can’t get off the starting line. He’s legless.

That’s me and my iPhone. From afar, it looks like a marvel of technology while I play the part of trend-setting maven. In reality, I’m a modern day Tweety Bird who’s left to mumble: “iTawt iBought aPhone Dat Worked.”

Not an ideal scenario. Especially when considering the beloved two-year contract which accompanied my functions-when-it-feels-like-it Graham Bell device (originally invented in 1876).

What’s more, I know that my willingness to follow the Jobs’ pied piper -- my ineptitude – is simultaneously making the old guard smile. When my generation pays $200 for a substandard device whose functionality could have been pilfered at a flea market for the same price as a lightly worn pair of socks, the golden guys and girls laughingly say: “You fool! You paid more for less (again)!”

And they’re mostly right. Like an everyday cold that you can't see coming, I got iFever. Only this time, OTC medication is inconveniently out-of-stock.

It happens. The platform for progress knocks on your door with a titanium briefcase and a marketing spin that foreshadows a new-world order. The next thing you know you’re waiting in a three-hour line on Michigan Ave.

Waiting for free apps.

It’s the innovation equation (inverted though it might read): a sea of hooplah + an ultra sleek design + a lot fine print = varying degrees of subjective advancement. Often times you don’t know what you’ve got until after the fact.

“What I know now” is everyday speak amongst first adopters.

But don't think for a second our song is about to change: we will adopt (and adopt and adopt). We are the spin generation. We are addicted to the glitz and the glitter. Give us a two-year overpriced contract; we’ll sign that too.

In election years we partition off the red states and the blue states. But every year – the odd ones and even ones and the leap years too -- all fifty states are packed with suckers. There are suckers on every paved and pot-holed road.

And I am one of them. I won't even try to deny it. I anted and signed the contract before testing out the scale. Without even sensing that my parcel's weight would read: "equivalent to slightly worn socks."

Yes, I waited in a 3-hour line, and then I overpaid.

For free apps.

The Fields Fields Personality Test

I am all for personality tests. Really I am.

Know thy self: it is rule #1 in the "Kicking Ass on Earth" playbook (followed closely by: know the person sleeping next to you).

The better we understand our innate needs and tendencies, the better our chances for survival and success on the planet. In that sense, personality tests are kin to Darwin -- “know thy self” being only a few generations removed from: “eat the little guy.”

Granted, most personality tests don’t offer V.I.P. access to the id or epic revelations. A sociologist hypothesizing that extroverts are likely to be salesmen and analytical types are likely to be analysts is not the same, in my estimation, as solving pi.

But as has been proven time and time again, fame and fortune are not measured by degree of difficulty. 99 times out of 100, success is about execution, not innovation.

In this realm, you've got to hand it to Myers and Briggs, the culprits behind society's most recognized personality test – the one with those 16 catchy acronyms, like ENFP or ITSJ, which brand each of us with an indelible, personality stamp.

While you won’t find a nutcracker for pi in the Myers-Briggs questionnaire, there are numerous (personal) insights to be gleaned. They took Watson and Crick’s code and gave it context; they made DNA decipherable for the masses.

Unfortunately, Myers and Briggs only took us to the brink. They nabbed a little honey, but they didn’t bring home the bacon.

Today, we will take their effort -- their beginning – and carry it the rest of the way.

We will seal the deal.

A real personality test, at its core, should focus on context. From a speck of dust, comes a universe of insight. From total randomness, all-encompassing understanding and lucidity.

From a partridge, a pear tree.

Furthermore, a gold-standard personality test should be able to take any piece of information and draw a line straight to the end -- in either direction. I eat a bear claw, therefore I am/was/will be.

With these thoughts in mind, the researchers at Fields Fields Inc. have spent the last thirty-one years running sociological experiments. They mined the cerebrum, found predictability amidst chaos, and talked to old men at the deli.

Now, the dawn hour has arrived.

Below you will find four, seemingly disparate questions, which when asked together, reveal everything there is to know about every man, woman, and child.

Inclusiveness, as we knew it, has been redefined.

The researchers at Fields Fields Inc. would also like to point out that 99.9% of history's “people that matter” fall under the classification “WITC.” Don't be alarmed if that categorization is not applicable to you. It is very likely you know a WITC, and therefore might trickle into relevance through association.

(W)alker or (L)ooper
You just pulled into the parking lot of a crowded mall. There are plenty of spots in the back. Do you nab the first parking spot you come to and walk from there. Or do you take a loop around the lot, crossing your fingers that a vacant spot will appear closer to your store.

(I)nfomercial or (D)epartment Store
Would a visitor find a Flowbee, Salad Shooter, Chia Pet, or Ginsu Knives in your home? Do you look at Chuck Norris' rock-hard abs and boyish good looks and think, "I need me a Total Gym." Or, alternatively, do you prefer seeing an item before you buy it. Do you like the shopping experience, regardless of what ultimately ends up in your shopping bag.

(J)agermeister or (T)equila
A brilliant, young scholar is pushing a ground-breaking theorem: if you love Jagermeister, you hate tequila (and vice versa). Apparently, this scholar’s name is circulating amongst the higher-ups in Stockholm for Nobel consideration; Fields Fields Inc. considers this a mandatory question in any personality test.

(C)attle Call or (S)eat Assignment
Do you drool appreciatively when Southwest turns around a plane in 15 minutes? Do you take sadistic pleasure watching the passengers tense up before the cattle call? Or, do you avoid Southwest at all costs, preferring airlines which offer a seat assignment at time of purchase, even if your seat is 41Q.

Breaking Down the Fields Fields Assessment (i.e. getting to know the real you):

WIJC: You are inquisitive and willing to go the extra mile. Your favorite thing in the world is split pea soup. You have a long-standing crush on Gwyneth Paltrow, tainted only slightly when she named her daughter after a fruit. Soft porn doubles as a laxative, and dentists give you the willies. Your Sioux name means, “Cuddles with Bison.” Professions which suit you include: professor of astronomy, water commissioner, and packager of plantains. In a former “life” you were an Alpine cow bell.

WIJS: You are dedicated to your work and make people feel at ease. As a child you had recurring nightmares about Snuffalufagus. You secretly want to quit your job and become a tailor in the Pacific Rim. Your love blueberries but loathe raspberries. The color green works for you; wear it more. You once had a threesome and believe in the hype. Professions which suit you include: lingerie designer, architect, and latex salesman. In a former life you were a sockeye salmon.

WITC: You are spontaneous and a self-starter but perpetually tardy. You refuse to make plans on Sunday. A woman once told you, "you're a writer, describe what you would do to me." Your favorite three-letter acronym is "OTB." Your first son will be named either Bjorn or Seattle Slew. You like it when the music goes boom boom boom. The words "Bud" and "Heavy" are like old friends in the night. Professions which suit you include: cart donkey, fax technician, and U.S. Ambassador to Argentina. In a former life you were the King of Botswana.

WITS: You are outgoing and live on the edge. You start each day by listening to Jethro Tull's "Aqualung." If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life it would be Fruity Pebbles. The Viet-Cong fascinates you. Your favorite prime number is 881. You’d like to hit eHarmony founder, Dr. Neil Clark Warren, with a large meringue pie. Professions which suit you include: back-up singer for Winger, steamboat captain, and military attaché. In a former life you were a traveling troubadour named Melchior, originally from the Languedoc.

WDTC: You are passionate to a fault and rarely get discouraged. You have a constant hankering for unagi. Your eighth-grade teacher slapped you with an eraser for singing Tone Loc's "Wild Thing" during sex ed. You are solidly in Siegfried’s camp (to hell with Roy). You plan to swim across Lake Titicaca to raise money for the Human Fund after you retire. Professions which suit you include: motivational speaker, architect, and longshoreman. In a former “life” you were a Denver omelet.

WDTS: You are gregarious and others follow your lead. At the age of nine you convinced your family to serve Turducken for Thanksgiving dinner. If you were a character on Seinfeld, you would be Kenny Banya. You plan to sing Queen’s “We Are the Champions” on bended knee when you propose to your girlfriend/life partner. You long to drive on the left side of the road. Professions which suit you include: observation deck greeter, Papa John’s franchisee, and Flamenco dancer. In a former “life” you were Julius Caesar’s every day soup bowl.

WDJC: You are shy and prefer one-on-one interactions. You are a leading expert on the Jupiter moon of Io. Your favorite song is “All That She Wants” by Ace of Base. Every morning you set your alarm clock for 7:41 A.M. and then snooze for exactly thirteen minutes. You plan to try hallucinogenic mushrooms on your 40th Birthday. You think Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. Professions which suit you include: botanist, jigsaw puzzle manufacturer, and writer. In a former life you were a Gaelic theologian named Balfour who lived on the Isle of Man.

WDJS: You are wise beyond your years but have trouble staying focused. Quartz makes you weak in the knees. You occasionally murmur the word “Fidelio” in your sleep and then meow three times. The left drawer of your desk at work contains a year’s supply of Flintstone Vitamins. You once drank six cream sodas to win a bet. You side with Tom Waits in believing, "a little rain never hurt no one." Professions which suit you include marine biologist, shoe repairman, and importer/exporter. In a former life you were Orville Redenbacher’s favorite cat: Winnie.

LITC: You are resourceful and reliable. You crave deer meat at odd hours of the night. Your favorite color is blue, and your favorite shade of blue is Periwinkle. If you could have dinner with any person alive it would be Boutros Boutros-Ghali. You long to swim the English Channel. If you were a Seinfeld character you would be Jacopo “J” Peterman. Professions which suit you include: plumber, magazine editor, and taxidermist. In a former “life” you were an Organ Pipe Cactus.

LITS: You are extremely organized and like structure in everything you do. You prefer staying at home to going out. You excel in science and math and will someday attempt to measure "ludicrous speed." Unbeknownst to you, you were adopted, and Diane Sawyer is your actual mother. You have seen The American President on TNT (We Know Drama) twenty-eight times. Barry Manilow's crooning is an aphrodisiac. Professions which suit you include: jockey, actuary, and Raelian. In a former “life” you were a quotation mark (the left one) on the seventeenth page of an original draft of Dante’s Inferno.

LIJC: You are creative and extroverted. You have a recurring dream in which you are reincarnated as a water buffalo. You know all the words to the Flashdance soundtrack. You are afraid of heights but love roller coasters. If you were a fruit, you'd be a mandarin orange. On your 20th birthday you had sex on top of the world’s largest catsup bottle – a 170 ft. edifice in Collinsville, IL. Professions which suit you include: public relations, meteorology, and host of Jeopardy. In a former life you were the 17th Century Dutch cartographer, Willem Janszoon Blaeu.

LIJS: You are thoughtful and unwavering in your resolve. You turn your cell phone off before going into movies. You think Brian Williams' orange skin is inexplicably erotic. You love marshmallows but hate Smores. You were a proponent of micro-lending in Africa before it was all the rage. Every year you dress up as Tron for Halloween. If you were a finger, you’d be a left thumb. Professions which suit you include: entrepreneur, philanthropist, and alpaca farmer. In a former life you were one of Paul Gauguin’s Tahitian lovers; your name was Mairenui (meaning “large fern”).

LDTC: You are virtuous and have a strong sense of faith. You once rode a mechanical bull for 243 seconds at a church picnic (standing record for Nevada Baptists). You drink vodka with pickle juice. You despise the Dallas Cowboys. If you have a son with Kate Hudson, you will not name him Hudsucker. Your favorite Christmas song is Carol of the Bells. Professions which suit you include: teacher at a vocational school, bagger at Piggly Wiggly, and air traffic controller. In a former “life” you were Donatello, the least violent teenage mutant ninja turtle.

LDTS: You lead by example and thrive on responsibility. You read The Fifth Discipline aloud in bed every night. When you drive alone you belt out the Backstreet Boys. You often wonder if Craig “Ironhead” Heyword still gets zestfully clean. Your favorite dream involves Rush Limbaugh and a nail gun. Professions which suit you include: manager at The Buckle, geologist, and swashbuckler. In a former life you were a thespian, acclaimed for your portrayal of Sir Percy Blakeney in The Scarlet Pimpernel.

LDJC: You are highly competitive and often impatient. Gordon Gekko is your idol. Your astrology reading says that you will experience good luck if you bathe in a public fountain on the first Thursday following the next crescent moon. You have a regular hankering for Kung Pao Chicken. On your 19th birthday you were arrested for killing your neighbor’s pet armadillo with a potato gun. Professions which suit you include: corporate titan, brew master, and proctologist. In a former life you were the Sheriff of Nottingham.

LDJS: You are adventurous and cool under pressure. You once ate twelve Eskimo Pies in 30 minutes. Debbie Gibson was your first teenage crush. Your favorite quote is "boom goes the dynamite." You have a sexual fantasy which involves a Viking hat and linguini. The Slavic languages come easily to you. As long as you’re alive, disco is not dead. Professions which suit you include: gumshoe, oceanographer, and linguist. In a former life you were a peacock; the magnificence of your feathers inspired H. Boone Porter to start Porter Paints.

Where Were You?

On November 4th, 2008. When white turned black, and red turned blue. When all colors were rendered equal and universal.

Where were you?

Were you marching back through time, by way of Selma and Birmingham, measuring our nation's stride? Were you leaping forward, sizing up today's canyon, envisioning a bridge to tomorrow? Were you disappointed, anxious and fearful, wondering if the world's new CEO will be overmatched?

Regardless of your perspective. Regardless of your party. Remember your perch.

November 4, 2008 will be etched in bold forever.

As for me, I watched the returns with a handful of friends, bubbly waiting on ice. When the polls in California closed, the wait was over. At 10:00 P.M. Central, our party commenced.

For many left-leaning Americans the last eight years have been a seemingly unending climb -- two parts Everest, two parts disbelief -- the summit never visible, always farther up the beanstalk, a distant rumor in the clouds.

But even rumors bear fruit. So it was on a balmy, November Chicago night -- an aberration in itself -- that Barack Obama became the 43rd President of the United States.

Our champagne flutes, they did overflow.

Then, after the last drop of blissful bubbly was consumed, we hailed the first cab streaking south. Our destination: Grant Park.

Security was tight and most of the spectators heading to the Park would be taking in the festivities via Jumbotrons or a Hubble telescope. Luckily, two incredibly gracious friends helped to ensure that my friend Gina and I would be participating inside the ropes (thank you Daisy and Amy!).

Grant Park was red bull on cocaine with a little "Sugar in the Raw" to boot: the pulse of the crowd never dipped below 150 BPMs.

Moments after our arrival (per always, we were running late) the Obama legions rose and roared; the 44th President was before us.

History's arc altered forever.

Not that we were close to the President elect. Not that it mattered.

When you are part of a transcendental moment, it doesn’t matter whether you are in the first row or the last. Whether you are in Debuke or Delhi.

You just want to be a part of the text.

On Tuesday night, our storyline was that of a congregation. A mass of jubilation, with every creed, race, and age represented. The likes of which I'll never see again.

Amazingly, it was only four years ago that I hosted a fundraiser with a group of friends for Barack at Brehon's Pub. That was a week before the Democratic Senatorial Primary.

On election night 2008, there were 200,000 supporters at the pub. A lot can happen in four years.

Which should serve as a reminder that -- in every aspect of life -- scales do tip, seas do part, and hope springs eternal.

And if Match.com ever gets its act together and produces a partner for this OldTownFunGuy, thirty years hence, I’ll be able to tell my children that I was there.

There with the masses, as we took over Michigan Ave. There with everlasting friends, wading through a sea of Obama blue. There as Barack Hussein Obama reminded us of that fundamental truth: “that out of many, we are one.”

I was there.

"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer."

Notes from the 25th Breeders' Cup at Santa Anita

9:15 A.M.: Feeling a little groggy as I pull back the blanket....make that sleeping bag.....from the inflatable mattress that is my nightly resting place at the Palacio de Burns.

Dan and I were going to take it easy last night and rest up for Santa Anita today. Instead we drank wine all night with two 40 year-olds that we met at a sushi bar in Manhattan Beach, one of which used to be on Days of Our Lives and dated Weird Al.

Sounds about right.

9:25 A.M.: Just stepped outside. 75 degrees. Not a cloud in the sky. This day is approximately infinity^2 nicer than last year’s Breeders' Cup, which was run in a monsoon at Monmouth Park in New Jersey.

Hopefully, the night & day comparison to last year will serve as a reminder that holding any meaningful sporting event in New Jersey is about as smart as betting on Lindsay Lohan's sobriety.

10:05 A.M.: I have a Jamba Juice in one hand, a Peet’s coffee in the other, and an 8-gallon jug of water at my feet.....and we’re off to Santa Anita (me, Dan, and his buddy Taka). It’s looking like a food optional morning as we’re determined to find the tangent line to the pari-mutuel window.

Buckle in.

10:40 A.M.: Unfortunately, we’re going to miss the first two Breeder’s Cup races due to the early start time and the time required to trek out to Santa Anita (first post was at 10:10 AM). I'd better call Pops, who is at the OTB back home, and have him make a bet or two for me. I’ve got a long-shot I like in the 2nd race.

10:55 A.M.: Still in the car, but my phone is ringing and it’s dad (a call immediately following a race is always a good sign). YEESSSSSSSSS is the answer. My horse, Desert Code, won the Turf Sprint at 36-1. Had him to win and show. The ideal start to a day with a ton of betting potential.

Anecdotally, my internal voice is thinking: “carrrrrne asada.”

11:10 A.M.: We’re walking through the parking lot at Santa Anita and immediately to our right is the ESPN/ABC TV crew of Randy Moss and Gary Stevens who have set up shop in the first turn. And oddly, there’s no barrier -- or security -- in between us and them. I could easily walk onto their makeshift set and live-air. Potentially worth it to say "muchas gracias" to the connections of Desert Code for getting my day off to a kick-ass start, but I abstain so that we’re actually allowed onto the grounds.

Next time.

11:30 A.M.: Santa Anita is a sparkling back drop for the proceedings. Not a cloud in the sky, mountains in the background, gorgeous women everywhere, and a Dos Equis stand quickly approaching (where the beer flows like wine).

Q: Why do I live in Chicago? A: I'm a moron.

11:55 A.M.: The first race we actually see is the dirt mile. I make $25 worth of wagers. I lose $25. You know what that means: it’s time for a cold one, preferably a Bud Heavy.

12:30 P.M.: Two important developments. First, the European sensation, Goldikova, just made a redonkulous acceleration, busting threw a tiny hole, and then going on to steamroll the field in the Turf Mile -- producing our first winning wager on site. One of the most impressive moves I’ve ever seen.

Second, I have found my teller for the day: a smoking brunette with a mile-wide smile. Admittedly, she’s not working at the most desirable window at the track – hers is down below the grandstand - but a geographic inconvenience is not about to prevent me from making every single wager with her from this point forward.

1:40 P.M.: The two Juvenile races have passed uneventfully. I had nada in the race on dirt. Won a little on Westphalia, who came in second, in the Juvenile Turf.

Of more relevance, I would swear I’m getting some vibe from my teller. My ad hoc flirtations, in between my $1 trifecta wheels, have garnered multiple smiles. Be on the lookout for a phone booth: I might need a red cape before this day is over.

1:45 P.M.: Having a classic flashback to last night. Dan and I were sitting at the sushi bar when I overheard the guy next to me say to his date (in a sincere tone), “we’ve all dated models; we’ve all moved on.” An unforgettable moment which produced three immediate follow-on thoughts: 1) that happens only in L.A. and 2) that guy’s picture needs to be inserted in the dictionary next to the word “impossible” and 3) I’m definitely using that line again, if only to elicit a knee-jerk reaction from someone & retell the story.

1:55 P.M.: Our posse is expanding. Two of my boys just got to the track: Sando and Derek. And two of Dan’s friends, Katie and Soley, have arrived as well. This correlates to more money for group bets and more beeeeers all around.

Only upside here.

2:20 P.M.: I just gave Dan permission to pour a beer over my head if I don’t ask the brunette teller for her number by day’s end; he’s even sensing the reciprocal vibe.

Frankly, I’ve got no qualms with the beer-over-head scenario: things are going too well with her not to give it a go. Either that or my day-long bit of strategery -- dousing beers sans food -- is starting to make me hallucinate.

Either way, positive thoughts abound.

2:30 P.M.: Check out the move that Midnight Lute made last year to win the Sprint. Now watch him do it again this year. This is definitely one of the best sprinters of all time. A big-time privilege to see this colt run.

2:35 P.M.: Picking up a girl who is working at the track is a borderline impossible feat. That being said, things could not be going any better with my teller. I’m getting numerous smiles even when I’m not at the betting window (i.e. when I’m hanging out in the stalker’s zone, studying the form).

Correlated thought: how do you say “ludicrous speed” in Spanish?

2:45 P.M.: Only two races left. Time to get serious. Luckily, they both have tremendous betting potential. I like Winchester in the Turf, who at 15-1 is going to be the key player in our trifecta wheels. Love the fact that Winchester’s owners are throwing him in the deep end of the pool for $3M with older horses (Winchester is a three year-old); that shows some serious cojones.

Plus, I saw Winchester romp the field in the Secretariat at Arlington; he might just be good enough to pull this off. Besides, I told Dan I was going to put us in a position to win thousands of dollars today; Winchester gives us that chance.

I will play $6 across the board on Conduit as well, just in case Winchester doesn’t fire. A much shorter price, but a worthwhile hedge as I think Conduit will be in the money.

2:55 P.M.: Winchester didn’t have it today, but Conduit rolled right by ‘em in the stretch, so we actually made a little dough on the race. We have approx. $85 to play with for the Classic.

On a side note, my buzz is reaching the fantastical zone.

3:15 P.M.: A woman from ABC’s The Bachelorette just walked up and give me her card, hoping I would consider coming on the show. I thanked her for the compliment but told her I’m not made out for reality TV, unless it’s on the yet-to-be-created: “Who Wants to be a Horse Racing Handicapper?”

Nonetheless, at this point my confidence is approaching stratospheric heights, and my new Ryder Cup golf shirt, which I’m wearing at the track, might have to be retired after today and placed in the vault: “moniest one-day shirt ever.”

3:30 P.M.: Regardless of the outcome in the Classic I need to send Jess Jackson, Curlin’s majority owner, a Christmas Card. Jackson, who is Jackson of Kendall-Jackson Wines, could have retired Curlin at the end of ‘07. Most owners would have done that very thing. Instead, for love of the sport, he brought him back to run again this year – a decision which would have cost him upwards of $35M (at stud) if something had happened to his superstar.

But Curlin came through ’08 injury free, and this year horse racing fans have watched in admiration as Curlin annihilated fields at Belmont, Saratoga, Churchill Downs, and in Dubai. Curlin is now North America’s all-time leader in money earnings, and we are about to watch his final race.

Thank you Jess Jackson. Our sport needs more of you.

3:35 P.M.: I consulted with the crew. No more shenanighans, no more ballyhoo – it’s all or nothing. Our remaining $85 is taking aim at a big payout.

Here’s our strategery: we’re going to play Raven’s Pass, Henrythenavigator, and Curlin on top in a trifecta, with those same three horses and Tiago to be second and third ($54). I’m also going to play $10 across the board on Raven’s Pass, who at 15-1 is absurdly underbet in my opinion. ESPECIALLY when considering the way the Euros have faired thus far on the Pro-Ride (artificial) surface at Santa Anita.

Cross your fingers.

3:44 P.M.: The horses are approaching the gate and it occurs to be me that I have exactly zero wagers with Tiago to win. Not ideal, but what are you gonna do.

3:46 P.M.: It’s 88 degrees at post-time and 53,000 fans have come to their feet to watch twelve of the best horses in the world take aim at the Breeder’s Cup Classic. It is an awesome sight. Ultra glad to be here, taking it in with my boys.

3:49 P.M.: What a race. One of the most exciting I've ever seen in person. Curlin made a HUGE move on the turn, but the Euros ran him down in the stretch. More specifically, OUR Euros ran him down, with Raven’s Pass winning and Henrythenavigator coming in second. There’s a photo for show between Curlin and Tiago, which means...HOLY SHITBALLS....we have the trifecta, REGARDLESS of who is 3rd.

3:50 P.M.: I tell the boys we have the trifecta. They are rejoicing but have no idea what we’ve just done. I turn to Dan and say as wryly as possible: “this is gonna pay a lot.”

3:52 P.M.: Tiago is 3rd. Which means -- stealing a line from my dad -- this payout is not only big, it's “gonna be a whopper.”

3:54 P.M.: The $1 trifecta pays $2400, and we have a $3 tri: $7200!!!!! Plus, we have Raven’s Pass across the board, which will pay another $400 or so.

We going to Sizzler....we going to Sizzler.

3:56 P.M.: E-U-P-H-O-R-I-A.

3:58 P.M.: More beeeeeeeeers over here.

4:02 P.M.: Euphoria has subsided. We've moved onto: J-U-B-I-L-A-T-I-O-N.

4:04 P.M.: It has been said before. I'll say it again: this is the Sport of Kings.

4:10 P.M.: The day's only downside, our payout is so large I have to report to the IRS window. If I want to cash-in the trifecta today, they are going to take 30% out in taxes (from the $7200, not the $400 on Raven’s Pass). Handing out thousand dollar allotments to my boys is a must (we are splitting the winnings 5 ways), so I take the hit from Uncle Sam, and leave the window with 55 crisp hundred dollar bills.

4:12 P.M.: Not only do I leave the window with a wad o’ dough, but my teller has just given me her number on my IRS form. And incredibly, hers is an 812 area code: THE SAME AS THE KNOBS.

Turns out, she’s originally from Evansville and just out here working for the weekend. Unfathomable.

4:20 P.M.: Derek brought a 40-inch lens to the proceedings, and he’s now taking pics of Arrrrrnold, the Guvinator, who is congratulating the connections of Raven’s Pass and encouraging attendees to come back next year, when the BC returns to Santa Anita (i.e. throwing salt in the wounds of Churchill Downs which couldn’t agree to terms with the Breeder’s Cup for ’09). Somehow, we’re only 30 or 40 feet from the podium.

This is an all-around epic day.

4:25 P.M.: We gather for a group shot by SeaBiscuit (atop). Defying gravity seems well within our reach at this point.

4:30 P.M.: We exit the gates of Santa Anita on a man-made high that comes from joint jubilation. The kind that can only be experienced when shared.

4:35 P.M.: Final thought for the day as we pile into the Acura and lay claim to the Roman Empire:

“Roads? Where we’re going we don’t need roads.”

The Monthly Stew: Bear Market Edition

20) Main Street vs. Wall Street
If I hear one more TV commentator or politician reference how the current financial crisis is now affecting Main Street, I'm gonna lose it. Anytime the stock market loses 40% of its value, it affects everyone. And Average Joe always stands to lose the most.

I'm waiting for the never-to-arrive day when a politician stands out in front of their own home modeling a foreclosure sign. I’d pay big bucks to see a politician host a press conference detailing the plight on Their Street. Big bucks.

19 The World Financial Summit
These are rough times. But never – and I’m talking never ever -- has there been a comparable coordinated effort across nation states to mend the world's systematic ills. And on November 15th the G20 (the world’s most industrious 20 countries) will meet in Washington to pump up the volume of unison some more.

If you ask me, interdependence – the old “one for all” adage – is a darn good thing when you’re sitting in a row boat with a sizable leak. If the world is flat, and we’re going to sink or swim together, doesn’t that have to be a good thing?

18) The Financial Services Modernization Act of 1999
In 1933 Senator Carter Glass and Rep. Henry Steagall worked with President Roosevelt and got Congress to pass the Glass-Steagall Act, which separated investment institutions from commercial (savings and loan, mortgage) banks. But in 1999 Citibank spent over $150M lobbying Congress to repeal the law so that they might be allowed to merge with Traveler’s Insurance.

Citi’s efforts were successful and in 1999 Congress created the Modernization Act, paving the way for investment and commercial bank mergers, which ultimately lead to the new institutions pushing subprime mortgages and other insurance and derivatives products, like credit default swaps, because these high-yielding instruments became "investments" instead of old-fashioned, financial or mortgage products.

17) Paulson’s Testimony to the Senate Banking Committee in 2000
On the heels of the Financial Services Modernization Act, Hank Paulson, who in 2000 was the CEO of investment bank Goldman Sachs, lobbied Congress to allow investment houses to increase their leverage using risk-based models, instead of cash-on-hand.

[W]e and other global firms have, for many years, urged the SEC to reform its net capital rule to allow for more efficient use of capital. This is the single most important factor in driving significant parts of our business offshore, so that our firms can remain competitive with our foreign competitors risk-based capital standards must become the norm. The SEC has made it clear that risk-based capital rules can be implemented only when the Commission is confident that firms employing value-at-risk models have robust credit and risk management policies in place.

In 2004 the government changed the risk-based capital rule, allowing investment firms like Goldman to decrease their required cash-on-hand to pay for debts and exposures. A decision which is unanimously considered to have aided the current meltdown.

16) Government Sachs
Paulson’s testimony before Congress didn’t hurt his professional career. In 2006, Paulson succeeded Paul Snow as U.S. Treasury Secretary. A position which, allowed him to bring in numerous Goldman all-stars to the Treasury department, thus earning the Treasury department the nickname: Government Sachs.

15) 35 year-old Neel Kashkari
Speaking of Paulson’s posse, don’t forget this name. Kashkari is Paulson’s protégé, and the man who has been tapped to lead the distribution of the $700 billion authorized by Congress.

Not an insubstantial piggy bank for a 35 year-old to play with.

14) 8.625 Cents on the dollar
That’s how much bonds issued by the now-bankrupt Lehman Brother were worth in last Friday’s auction. That’s right: one of the most established investment banks in the world had outstanding debt obligations more than ten times greater than assets. As to how that could happen, see #17 & 18.

13) Volatility
500 point intra-day point swings have been the norm recently on Wall St. In fact, the Chicago Board Option Exchange Volatility Index (.VIX) measured the last two weeks as the most volatile two-week period in history. Granted, that doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot if you’re investing for the long haul, but it equates to a near term gold rush for traders.

In other words, if you know someone who trades options or futures on the floor of an exchange, mandate that they host Christmas this year. And tell them that you are expecting an oversized turducken. It’s the least they can do.

12) Dividends
Dividends are currently to stock owners as Santa Claus is to children: not to be discounted or messed with under any circumstance. And in my opinion, rightly so.

The Dow is now flat over the last decade, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t make money on stocks, even if your portfolio performed alongside the Dow. Lots of (relatively) conservative stocks pay dividends of 3 – 5% annually, which if reinvested on a quarterly basis or annual basis, is just like earning compounded interest, regardless of the performance of the stock itself.

Duke Energy and Baxter Healthcare are two company’s which pay a dividend and should be well positioned to weather a recession. Baxter happens to be sitting on $28B in cash, never a bad thing when the economy is in flux.

11) “Buy American. I am”
The man who wisely warned that derivative-based financial products were potential “weapons of mass destruction”....the same man who cautioned, “beware of geeks bearing formulas".....the Oracle of Omaha, Warren Buffet, is now advising investors to do something counterintuitive: buy American stocks.

Buffet's recent OpEd detailing his bullish perspective is here.

10) The Grape of the Month: Vodka
In times like this, an adult beverage with a measly 12 or 13% alcohol content (a typical percentage for wine) doesn't cut it. When you’re watching Wall St. crumble and the Dow sell off 1000 points in a day, something stronger is required. I prefer vodka.

Svedka, Skyy, Ketel One, and P.I.N.K. (the most awfulest naming decision in the history of spirits) all make my list of winners.

9) Domestic Auto Sales Reach 25-Year Low
How bad is the climate for auto-makers? New sales in September were a mere 9.3 million, the lowest level in twenty-five years. Related note of buggery: the number of drivers has not decreased over that interval.

Worse, the most recent Consumer Confidence Report notes that only 1.5% of Americans plan to buy a new car in the next six months – an all-time low for the survey.

Times are tough in Michigan. Muy mal indeed.

8) Kerkorian sells 7.3 million shares of Ford
Billionaire investor “Captain” Kirk Kerkorian, who amassed a 6% ownership stake in Ford, partly with hopes of facilitating a merger with Nissan, sold over seven million shares of Ford last week at a loss (on paper) of over $700M. The fact that he sold those shares with Ford trading at an ungenerous $2 per share is indicative of something.

Muy mal comes to mind again.

7) WWHD?
In the first two decades of the 20th century entrepreneurs, especially in the automotive industry, often mused: what would Henry (Ford) do? A century later, the combined market cap of Ford & GM is estimated to be 1/10 of Toyota, and bankruptcy talks are beginning to swirl for the automotive giant.

If I were a manager at Ford, I'd wonder WWHD. And then I'd pray.

6) Where is da paper?
This is arguably the tightest commercial lending market since the 1930s. Banks are not lending amongst each other, and they are certainly not lending to consumers.

A likely next step for the Fed? To guarantee intra-bank lending amongst commercial banks (in the case of default) with hopes of opening up the credit markets. A crucial step towards recovery.

5) The Bear Market Quote of the Month
Senator Jon Tester of Montana: “I am dirt farmer. Why do we have one week to determine that $700 billion has to be appropriated of this country’s financial system goes down the pipe.”

4) The Next Treasury Secretary of the United States...
Forget the VP candidates. Is anyone else more than a little curious as to who will replace Paulson? And wouldn’t you feel a little better if the candidates were throwing out names?

Doing so would allow economists and former Secretary’s to scrutinize the prospects, and it would also force the would-be heirs to detail some of their plans in advance of being selected. Truly, I see no downside here.

Instead, we will wait in suspense for an appointee post-election. Unfortunate, all the way around.

3) “Fear Castrates Soft Commodity Market”
How about the recent nose-dive in the price of oil?!?!? Prices per barrel were in the $140 range this summer, but as demand decreases and fears of a slowing global economy are factored in, the price of crude has fallen precipitously, as have the stock prices of most producers and suppliers.

Paying $3 for a gallon of gas as opposed to $4 can do a lot for the psyche. Even if your next move is looking at your $401K balance and deciding once and for all, that it’s time to sell the car.

2) Regional Banks
This is the subset of the economy that interests me the most. Most regional banks are/were sizable players in the mortgage business but not involved with risky derivatives like credit default swaps. Inasmuch, some regional banks have strong balance sheets, while others are in terrible shape.

My question: over the next decade, will we become a nation of giant banks, whose hands will be locked with the goverment? Or will regional banks see a resurgence due to their knowledge of local markets and brand loyalty with customers?

Regardless, I think more regional banks stand to be acquired -- some of which will offer a handsome return to shareholders in relation to their current stock price.

1) Watch the Dollar
When economic times are tough, international corporations and foreign governments seek haven in the U.S. dollar. And guess what, as bad as things are domestically, they're doing it again: the dollar is strengthening, particularly in relation to the Euro.

If the day ever comes when that reality changes, and the Nikkei or the Yen (for example) become the most trusted currency in the world, that will be a very telling day indeed.

Gordon Gekko Goes to Washington

In the 1987 Academy Award winning film, Wall Street, Gordon Gekko (Michael Douglass) tells the shareholders of Teldar Paper that, “Greed, for lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right, greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. And greed, you mark my words, will not only save Teldar Paper, but that other malfunctioning corporation called the USA.”

In the midst of an unfathomable collapse in our banking system, on the heels of the worst week in history of the Dow Jones Industrial Average, at a time when you’re more likely to find stilettos in a nunnery than a commercial loan...let’s revisit the words of Mr. Gekko and agree that greed, when unchecked, is bad.

Very bad indeed.

For the record, I’m not against corporations. Quite the contrary. Corporations hire people, and they pay huge chunks of change in payroll taxes. And in my book, offering someone a job is one of the most influential and essential things you can do for a person.

A good job -- purposeful employment -- can resurrect a life.

That point notwithstanding, let’s not sugar coat the debacle on Wall Street. It was driven by greed. And now, the taxpayers, you and me, will dish out a few dimes of life support (about seven trillion of them) to prop up Wall Streets voracious misfires.

Let the good dimes roll.

As part of the $700 billion initial bailout (I say initial because there’s more to come, in one form or another), Treasury Secretary Paulson infused $250 billion into eight of the largest banks in the world in exchange for debt and preferred shares of equity. Eight banks, which now envelope the stalwart investment players on Wall Street – are now controlled, in part, by the U.S. Government.

Don’t confuse the act with socialism. With one or two exceptions, these titans of Wall Street had no choice. That had to have the cash. Why? The investment houses of Wall St. made $60 trillion of uncollateralized sidebets on credit default swap (CDS) derivative contracts. And in the end, they couldn’t make good on their debts.

For frame of reference, there are approximately $1 trillion in outstanding sub-prime mortgage loans. Said another way: 1/60th of the outstanding obligations on credit-default swaps.

These swaps are labeled as insurance contracts, and technically they are, providing downside risk protection against potential defaults on bonds – whether the bonds are tied to large blocks of mortgages, credit cards, corporations, or municipalities. In reality, these CDS contracts have evolved into mammoth bets as to how bonds will perform. Bets that due to their labeling –- over the counter insurance products as opposed to regulated financial instruments -- require no collateral.

In other words, investment banks were able to sell and take on billions and billions in exposure, without needing to park $1 of collateral in a bank.

Worse, these CDS contracts are so complex, so leveraged, so chopped up in terms of who owns what, it makes accurate accounting of the contracts about as easy to measure as a gamma ray from Orion’s belt.

Berkshire Hathaway Chairman and famed investor, Warren Buffet, warned of the danger of these complex derivative contracts in the late 1990s, calling them “weapons of financial mass destruction.” Buffet even sold one of his portfolio companies, American Re, which was a large underwriter of derivates after assuming losses exceeding $470 million. Buffet didn’t sell because of the losses; he sold because “I couldn’t even figure out what we owned.”

If only others had followed suit.

But really, if you were a manager at a mutual or hedge fund, why would you listen to Buffet? You are paid a 2% management fee + 20% of the profits of the fund. In other words, if your fund loses money or performs at a mediocre rate, you get paid well. If it performs well in the short run, you get paid incredibly well.

And initially these swaps proved very profitable. Profitable for fund managers and profitable for brokers of the contracts, who more times than not sold a portion or all of the swaps downstream to other investors at a profit (see former reference to accounting nightmares via Orion’s Belt).

As an investment manager or broker, what’s not to like? It's the power of now invoked to the nth degree: cash in while you can. If the bonds tied to the swaps start defaulting and/or your fund goes belly up later, you will already have enough cash stockpiled from your 2 + 20% days for a lifetime (or three) in the Cayman’s.

Parody, between the retail investor and investment managers and executives, has never been part of the game. Never more noticeable than now.

It’s the foremost Gekkoian principle: greed always looks out for number one.

Looking back at the sum of the parts amidst the current meltdown -- the lack of regulation, the focus of near-term earnings to appease Wall Street, the exorbitant bonuses for executive and fund managers -- it seems eerily plausible that the investment banks on Wall Street would bet the house (literally), wanting more.

But you can only double down on black so many times. Eventually, the roulette wheel will read red.

And it did.

Bear Sterns was the first investment bank to buckle, now a part of JP Morgan. Merrill Lynch: acquired by Bank of America. Morgan Stanley, forced to take in $9B from Mitsubishi Bank. Goldman Sachs nabbed $5B from Warren Buffet, and like Morgan Stanley, became a depository bank. And then there’s Lehman Brothers.

Lehman had outstanding debts and derivate exposure so enormous, the market brought no suitors. They couldn’t raise capital; their market value, in the end, was zero. One of the most recognized names on Wall Street forced to close up shop – last week an auction on their outstanding bonds yielded owners less than ten cents on the dollar.

I also watched in disgust last week as Martin Sullivan testified before Congress. Sullivan, the former CEO of the world’s largest insurer, AIG, convinced the Board of AIG to change their company’s administrative guidelines and approve $40 million in bonuses for top executives in 2007. $40M in bonuses in a quarter when AIG posted $5 billion in losses. The same company which has since taken in $120 billion of taxpayer money.

AIG: today’s poster child, “your taxpayer dollars at work.”

In the same breath I want to laud the man who followed in Sullivan’s footsteps, Robert Willumstad, who held the top job at AIG for a mere three months before the government stepped in. When Uncle Sam bailed out AIG, they removed Willumstad from the helm.

Willumstad was due $22M in severance when he was ousted. He turned down the cash, referencing the fact that he was not given the chance to execute his turnout around plan. Willumstad said he was undeserving of the severance, especially considering AIG’s financial plight.

If only we could duplicate Willumstad. We need (thousands) more like him around Wall Street. I won’t hold my breath.

Instead, I will fasten my seatbelt and hope that, in the end, when we emerge from this recession, we end up with a better, more stable, financial system. The system is the key, needing appropriate checks and balances.

Greed will always try to one-up it.

When the dust settles, and that could be years from now, I do think our financial system will have improved immeasurably. Unfortunately, millions of people will have lost sizable portions of their pension and retirement savings in the process.

If I were in that boat, I would probably be irate.

Thankfully, I'm at the opposite end, with little-to-no money tied up in the market. Not that my days are disassociated with this debacle: my generation will pay for the current day’s gluttony, not in one form or another, but at every imaginable turn.

Americans loves a good ride, whether a .com coaster or a bungee-like mortgage boom. In the end, it’s uncanny how often history rises from the ages and whispers, “yea masses of short-term memory, greed has bested you again.”

History, that subtle voice in the distance, has always been the greatest light onto tomorrow. Some lessons we are forced to learn over, and over, and over again.

Revisit the Congressional floor in 1874 as Robert Brown Elliot, a black congressman from South Carolina remarks on the fall of the Confederacy: “The progress of events has swept away that pseudo-government which rested on greed, pride, and tyranny.”

130 odd years later, another reconstruction is upon us: our nation's pseudo-financial system is about to have its stomach stapled. History changing Hamilton’s America forever.

When the surgery is over, let’s just hope the system which provoked our insatiable, former self...is unrecognizable.

Notes from the 37th Ryder Cup at Valhalla

Some of you know the ins and outs of the Ryder Cup. Others not so much. This entry is intended to offer a quick overview, followed by my own personal observations, having been on the course with my family at Valhalla, just outside of Louisville, for the deciding, singles matches on Sunday.

The Ryder began in earnest in 1927, when a team of golfers representing America, played against a similar one representing Britain in Surrey, UK. Since the inaugural competition, the Cup has been renewed biennially, the host site alternating with each competition (i.e. The U.S. hosts one year, two years later it moves across the pond).

Early matches between the two sides were fairly even, but after the Second World War, the U.S. began a long run of dominance, which led to a decision in 1979 to extend the British & Irish team to include continental Europe in the biennial event. As a result of this change the matches became more competitive and its popularity has soared.

The competition is unique in that unlike a traditional PGA Tour event, the Ryder Cup features only match play – a hole-by-hole format in which each team or player has a chance to win each hole, and ultimately the match. It’s the no limit hold ‘em of golf.

And if playing no limit hold ‘em takes skill, guts, and patience on a normal day, magnify that times 1,000 for The Ryder Cup: the World Series of Poker has nothing on the Ryder Cup. As John Feinstein writes in his best-selling book about life on Tour, the Ryder Cup is the one time on Tour when players just try: “not to throw up all over themselves.”

As for the actual proceedings, on Friday and Saturday two American players are paired up against two European players in various formats. When partners win enough holes, they win the match, earning a point for their team. If the two competing tandems win the same number of holes, the match is a push, and each team earns ½ point. There are 16 partner matches over the course of Friday and Saturday, before a day of concluding singles matches on Sunday.

Collectively, there’s more blood, sweat, and tears on Ryder Cup Sunday than the rest of the golf year combined. One American and one European in each match. Every match counts. And if a player loses, the memory is going to stick around awhile.

On the PGA Tour, there’s always next week to make amends. When you choke on Sunday of the Ryder Cup, redemption is at least 730 days away.

Adding to the suspense and pressure, the team captains don’t submit their Sunday lineups until approx. 10 pm on Saturday night, determining who plays who. Last weekend European Captain Nick Faldo chose Sergio Garcia to be his first player out on Sunday. Meanwhile American Captain Paul Azinger wrote-in the brash, uber-talented youngster Anthony Kim’s name in the #1 slot. The two of them this becoming the first match of the day.

Some captains like to send out their best players first, trying to win matches early on and keep the scoreboard in their favor. Other captains prefer to save their big guns are yet to come. As a general rule, the visiting team tends to send out better players early, hoping to quiet the crowd and keep the home team from establishing momentum (note: Nick Faldo did not adhere to that stratagem).

More than any other golf event, the crowd plays a huge part in the Ryder Cup. The aura on the course feels more like a collegiate football rival, with fans on both sides of the Atlantic adorning territorial pride, than a Sunday stroll as man hits little white ball. High-Fives and fist pumps maybe in short supply on Tour, but throughout the Ryder Cup every form of emotion and celebration – from crowd surfing to tears -- should be expected from fans and players alike.

Still doubting the hype? Note this quote from American player Boo Weekley (and I’ll give you one guess as to which side of the Mason-Dixon Line Boo heralds from):

"The adrenaline (from playing in the Cup)... I feel like a dog that somebody done stuck a needle to and it juiced me up like I've been running around a Greyhound track chasing one of them bunnies...yeah, it's amazing."

Unfortunately, in recent years American fans have been forced to stockpile their adrenaline (like a mother guarding peanut butter in a blizzard). Coming into Valhalla, the Europeans had won the last three competitions in decisive form, trouncing American teams lead by Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson in the last two Cups by record setting margins (18 ½ points to 9 ½ points each time).

And this American team was without Tiger Woods, who is still recovering from knee surgery. In short, the Americans were decided underdogs at Valhalla. Even on their home soil.

A final thought on the magnitude of the event: Kentucky native Kenny Perry scheduled his entire season around trying to earn enough points to become part of the Ryder Cup team. In the process he forfeited the opportunity to play in the U.S. Open and the British Open because he wanted to focus on the Cup.

Perry is having his best year on Tour by far, having won three different tournaments. Yet he skipped the U.S. and British Opens in the year he was most likely to win those tournaments, in hopes that he MIGHT get to play in the Ryder Cup.

On Sunday, Kenny Perry was one of twelve American golfers in Paul Azinger’s lineup. He would defeat Europe’s Henrik Stenson, the 7th ranked player in the World, giving the American team a key match en route to victory.

Rest assured, Kenny Perry doesn't regret the tournaments he didn’t play in this year. Not one iota. For him, and for the other Americans at Valhalla, this was a once in a lifetime experience.

Here are my other impressions from the Valhalla grounds.

10) The Ryder Cup is “Big-Time” in Europe.
American pride and enthusiasm were on display (everywhere) at Valhalla. Captain Paul Azinger asked the American crowd to wear red on Sunday, which conveniently doubles as the home color for the University of Louisville Cardinals, and the American fans went rojo loco. But it was hardly a one-sided affair: there were a ton of Euros roaming the grounds.

You need look no farther than the first tee to find an armada of flag-waving Europeans yelling “Ole!” every five seconds. Guessing they arrived not long after sun-up to snag those seats (play began at noon).

Behind the World Cup and all things soccer, the Ryder Cup is one of the biggest sporting events in Europe. Not sure it would crack our Top Ten. I’m a little jealous.

9) Zinger’s “Concept”
I’m looking forward to a world that is less conceptualized. I think I’m screwed.

Leading up to the Cup, Captain Paul Azinger was incessantly talking about how the Americans have been working on a gameplan and “concept” over the last two years. Granted, I think the captain’s approach to pairings on Friday and Saturday is important, as is his lineup on Sunday. I also think the captain sets the tone for the week and can help steady the rookies’ nerves. But a concept….really? Is sending out Anthony Kim first really in the same league as say, fractal geometry?

To be sure, Zinger did a great job, but let's not get his leadership at Valhalla confused with the Marshall Plan.

8) Kentucky Fried Nick
In the same breath as I refuse to anoint Zinger as a Golden God for shepherding the Americans to victory, I will also refuse to crucify Captain Nick Faldo for his role in the European defeat. But I am not the British media, and they, on the other hand, are ready to turn Nick into a baked and battered, November helping of turducken.

Faldo, owning to his credit the most Ryder Cup points of any player in history, now adorns such labels as “Captain Calamity” and “Faldo Folly.” The Times of London said this: “Faldo's thin skin, the need to have his sports shrink by his side even out on the course and his grating sense of humour, had confirmed what we knew all along, which is that he is no natural leader. But what we had not expected was that a man who had dedicated himself so much to this job would make such a colossal mistake."

In review: you win more matches than any player in history, and then you get hung out to dry because your team plays lousy. Tough one Nick. Muy tough.

7) The 13th Man
In football the crowd is often referred to as the twelfth man, implying that the eleven players on the field have an extra player with the crowd’s support. At Valhalla, the crowd was described as “the 13th man,” the decibel levels rising to galactic levels throughout the day in support of the twelve American players on the course.

As evidence, I was sitting behind the 6th green watching play come through when Boo Weekley holed out for eagle on the 7th green, which means I was approximately 800 meters away. The roar was so loud, you could have heard it five miles down the road. It rose out of nothing and then echoed throughout the course for a sold twenty seconds.

It was enough to make a grown man teary-eyed in appreciation.

6) “Boo-S-A. Boo-S-A.”
Speaking of Boo, A lot of good chants emerged from Valhalla last weekend. But none topped the now hallmark, “Boo-S-A” which bellowed from the crowd every time Weekley gave us reason to cheer, which was often.

A self-described good ole boy who would rather be hunting and fishing, Boo started play on Sunday with a Happy Gilmore “ride the pony” tutorial for the fans. But his play was anything but light-hearted; Boo scorched the front-nine in a lights-out 29 (six under par) on Sunday en route to an easy victory over Oliver Wilson.

Boo won over the hearts of thousands of Americans last weekend. He had me at howdy.

5) Boo vs. an Orangutan
And if chance you’re still running low on Boo octane, check out this true story that Boo offered up in a recent interview:

One Friday night when I was 16, a bunch of us went to the county fair. A truck pulled in there, sort of away from the midway, and we watched a guy get out and put together a big cage he had in the bed of the truck. After he got the cage together, he put up a little table. Then he went to the cab of the truck and brings out an orangutan. He starts yelling: "Five to win fifty! Who can beat the orangutan? Pay $5 to try and get $50 if you can whip him!"

We'd never seen anything like that before. We decided that one of us had to try, and I drew the short straw. Five of us put up a buck each, and I gave the guy with the truck $5. Before helping me into the boxing gloves and headgear, he made me sign a waiver. Looking back, that was a bad sign.

I got in the ring. The orangutan didn't look like much. He came up about to my chest, though his arms were as long as he was tall. When the match started, he didn't lift his arms. He kept them down at his side and used them to pivot and follow me as I circled him like Muhammad Ali. I just didn't see how I could miss. My strategy was to fake with my right hand, and when the orangutan tried to block the punch, I'd throw my left.

My buddies were going wild. "Get him, Boo! Kick his butt!" They really wanted that $50. I moved in close and faked with my right, and that's the last thing I remember. I woke up bleeding in the back of a friend's pickup. The orangutan had knocked me cold with one punch, which I didn't even see coming.

My friends thought it was hilarious. They said I had a glass jaw and called me "Glassy" the rest of the night.

After I came to, we watched this orangutan knock out guy after guy. Not one guy could lay a glove on him. He had reflexes like a cat, & later I learned an orangutan can tear a guy's arm off.

I've always half-denied this story--even though I was a kid and it happened almost 20years ago, I can see the animal-rights people protesting. I don't think orangutan fighting goes on anymore, which is a good thing. It probably wasn't fair for the orangutan, and it sure as heck wasn't good for me. The only winner was the guy driving the truck.

Seriously folks, you can’t make this stuff up.

4) $11 Well Spent
There’s so much action on the course, a spectator can’t possibly stay abreast of it all. Some serious strategery is required when you’re jostling amidst 40,000 other fans, trying to ensure you’re in decent position to see some of your favorite players.

Thankfully, the folks from the PGA hosting the Cup had the foresight to sell $11 radios on site, allowing spectators to listen to both the BBC and NBC coverage while roaming the course. Especially rewarding because you would hear a roar on the other side of the course and know what it was for.

A simple, inexpensive offering that enhanced my experience ten-fold. Surely there are more of these to be had in this world.

3) "The Fat Lady is Starting to Gargle"
The competition started to look pretty rosy for the Americans about the time that Kenny Perry clinched his match on Sunday afternoon, prompting one of the BBC reporters to foreshadow the European’s demise, “it might not be over yet, but the fat lady is certainly starting to gargle.”

Classic.

2) The Kentucky Boys
There were twelve American players on the Ryder Cup team. The best twelve Americans in golf, except for Tiger Woods.

Two members of that dynamic dozen got to play in their home state, in front of their home fans, on an American team that won for the first time in nine years.

Kenny Perry called it the most meaningful moment of his career, maybe his life. J.B. Holmes, another Kentucky native, won the deciding match with back-to-back birdies on #16 and #17.

If this reality hasn’t sunk in yet, let the osmosis begin: if you grew up anywhere near the Knobs, good things will happen to you.

There’s gold in them dere hills.

1) Exceeding Expectations
The whammies. The unforgettable moments in your life. They come in two forms.

First are the unexpecteds. Experiences that come at you from out of the blue. Moments that you could never anticipate, but that nonetheless stay with you forever.

On the other end of the equation are the knowns. The days you circle on the calendar months in advance. But sometimes the knowns disappoint; reality doesn’t live up to the hype.

But sometimes they do deliver. And occasionally, ever-so-rarely, you circle a day on the calendar and it still exceeds your predisposed, grandiose expectations.

Last Sunday at Valhalla, with my entire family by my side, was one of those days. I will remember it....vividly....forever.

Internet Porn Truths No. 1, 2, & 3

These pages have been stagnant this summer.

Other priorities -- twelve hour work days + weekend weddings + fulfilling my monthly quota of vodka lemonades at Fireplace Inn -- have kept me from the keyboard.

Nonetheless, excuses are for wankers. I've been negligent. I'm accountable. Which is why today I'm throwing caution to the wind. I'm coming over the top.

But before we get to the topic at hand, which has you either panting in anticipation or terrified I've gone over the edge, I want to make an admission: I've probably gone over the edge.

An entry like this is begging -- screaming -- for editorial oversight. Truly, some "insights" are best kept to yourself. And there's a decent chance (approximately 99.9%) today's topic belongs in the "not-meant-to-share" category.

But I don't have an editor. And this is just one of those days.

It today could be summed up by a hand of blackjack, I would have a two and a three and the dealer would be showing an ace.

And by God, I'm doubling down.

Besides, as a general rule, I think people can stomach quite a bit. More than we are inclined to give them credit for.

Or, on the other hand, maybe this entry is out of my control. Maybe an all-powerful being (we'll call him/her "destiny") rang my number and said, "on Sept. 18th you will wax about internet porn." And in turn, maybe the New Yorker's Editor will come to realize they've been needing someone who "gets" mature audiences AND southern Indiana. Who knows, maybe the New Yorker will peg me -- an anorexic, one-winged flea on the literary landscape -- as their newest man on the beat.

Maybe.

Regardless, this entry is marching forward. But mom & dad, if you're reading, please note the big yellow sign ahead which reads, "Proceed with Caution."

And with that said, vamanos.

Internet Porn Truth #1: if a man says he doesn't watch internet porn he's either a) lying through his teeth b) ignorant to the Smithsonian-like volume of high-grade, free internet porn that's available c) currently trying like hell to quit internet porn because he senses he's on the verge of never leaving the house again or d) the statistical outlier who never got into porn and thereby lives under the delusion that he doesn't like it.

FYI, category "d" is applicable to 1 in every 10,000 households.

Internet Porn Truth #2: that ultra seedy, windowless "Adult Film" store on the corner is going out of business. Soon.

Men are dumb (see Bush, George W.). Men are liars (see Clinton, William J.). Men are ambulance chasing sleazeballs (see Edwards, John). Men are hypocritical morons (see Limbaugh, Rush). Men are capable of every imaginable behavior worthy of a comparison to a three-inch layer of pond scum. But first and foremost, trumping all other attributes, men are lazy.

Ultra lazy.

And when given a choice between: 1) staying at home and watching free internet porn or 2) being "that guy" who enters the ultra seedy porn store, rest assured, the home DSL connection will win out e-v-e-r-y time. Take it to the bank.

Internet Porn Truth #3: The Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon have found their match.

Tens of thousands of woman are showing their baren goods, natural or otherwise, online every day. More with each passing hour. And amazingly, I don't know any of them.

Moreover, none of my battalion mates -- manning the front lines of internet porn -- have ever reported a known sighting either. Not once have I answered the bat phone as a friend pronounced: "guess who I saw naked online."

I could find Nemo in fewer moves than it would take me to find someone who knows Sky Lopez. Sky and her cohorts are a mathematical anomaly (pi comparisons come to mind). Maybe they never leave the "production" studios, and therefore rarely consort with common folk. Or alternatively, maybe it means that every super tramp on the planet really does live in Vegas (and just like that, I nail you with today's "Deep Thought").

Admittedly, the lords of the manor aren't going to name a theorem in our honor if we solve these highly metaphysical musings. Nonetheless, questions like this represent the fabric of our less-reputable-by-the-day cosmos, and they are worthy of our attention.

So get back to me with answers people. Justice (i.e. the unmasking online Go-Go dancers) must be served.

I'm sure Kevin Bacon would agree.

The Monthly Stew

20) Stay Thirsty My Friends
Seriously, how did the marketing folks at Dos Equis create this guy? Was there enough (any?) oxygen in that think tank? I can’t decide whether it’s a brilliant play or absurdity run amuck.

Personally, I don’t always drink beer, but when I do, I normally drink Budweiser. Still, to Dos Equis absolute credit, I know when one of their commercials is on.

And I’ll bet all my lunch money that you do too.

19) Keep the Change
Speaking of commercials, how did Bank of America's misleading “keep the change” ads avoid my wrath until now?!?!?

I initially assumed Bank of America was going to round-off purchases for their cardholders – allowing their clients to actually keep some change. That seemed plausible based on the ads, but alas no, B of A is merely moving “the change” from the cardholder's checking account to their savings account when they make a purchase (i.e. taking money out of the account where they intended to keep it).

This is hands down one of the wurstest marketing ideas I’ve come across in a long time. Maybe since New Coke. And that was a very bleak day indeed.

18) Josie’s on a Vacation Far Away
In these pages last year, I said that Journey’s "Don’t Stop Believing" had become the unofficial bar anthem of the nation. Mind you, that was months before The Sopranos used it in the closing credits of their final episode.

Now, another summer of bar-going is open us, and it’s time for Journey to relinquish the reigns. My choice as the heir apparent? "Your Love" by the Outfield.

Don't be afraid of belting out this epic 80s tune at the bar. Me, OldTownFunGirl, and everyone else in the Shire will join you.

GREAT. SONG.

17) So You Think You Can (Lap) Dance?
A few absolutes emerged from a recent bachelor party.

First: Las Vegas has nothing on Kokomo, IN. Second: Cinemax needs to realize they’re sitting on a Reality TV blockbuster; they should be hosting an elimination-based audition show for girls in search of a pole job.

I'm not a prognosticator of ratings, but I’m pretty sure Cinemax already has 1) a captive audience 2) plenty of “sets” and 3) access to all of Sharon Tweed’s cousins and nieces as potential contestants.

Is this a no-brainer or what?

16) Oingo Boingo
I don't have anything to say about this 80's flash in the pan. I just wanted to write "Oingo Boingo" and get it stuck in your head.

15) Small Town Alert: Frankenmuth, Michigan
Located 40 miles north of Flint and marketing itself as “Michigan’s Little Bavaria,” Frankenmuth boasts of hosting over 3 million visitors a year. But rumor has it the can't miss in Frankenmuth is Zehnder’s Famous Chicken Dinners. And with a sign like this, who needs LEDs.

14) I've Got a Man Crush
On an 80 year-old oil tycoon. Yes, you read that right. But really, can you blame me? How can anyone not be enthralled by the magnetic pull and full-throttle candor of T. Boone Pickens.

And now, this oilman turned environmentalist wants to build the largest wind-powered corridor in the world.

He's a man with a plan.

I caught the tail end of Pickens testimony before Congress last week on C-Span, in which he signed off by saying, "I am first an American, and second an oil man."

I said it once, and I'll say it again: "man crush."

13) “Roads? Where we’re going we don’t need roads.”
We only need the Air McFly.

12) The World Is Getting Happier
But apparently the baby boomers are miserable. Not good. Their depression and ills will be on my tab for decades to come.

11) “An Historic”
“An historic” is experiencing a meteoric ascent. Every time I look up some cart donkey on CNN is ordaining some immensely unhistoric event as “an historic occasion.”

Apparently, there’s a legitimate phonetic argument to be made for both "a" and "an" -- but I will guarantee you that’s not causing the rise in popularity. Rather, I feel ultra sure this is the work of Bullshit Fads 101.

But also know this: if anyone is seeking safe haven, in the Knobs, we’re sticking with “a.”

10) Grape of the Month: Sauvignon Blanc
Anyone who has crossed my path in the last few years knows that I am uber dedicated to the SBs from New Zealand. In fact, in my opinion, they are currently THE BEST bang for buck wines on the planet. Known to be full of citrus flavors, in particular grapefruit, Sauvignon Blanc is a great choice for any summer night on the deck. Especially good with sushi.

Francis "Mahi" ($17), Wairau River ($17), and Tohu ($14) are world-class examples.

9) An Irishman in Wrigleyville
Remember this day: 7/25/2008. It marked the MLB debut of former Notre Dame wideout, Jeff Samardzija, and his 98 mph fastball at Wrigley Field. Since then the Cubs are 6 – 2, including a 4-game sweep of their rival Brewers.

The faithful in Cubdom have been lacking luck for 100 years; maybe a man with a direct connection to Touchdown Jesus will be the difference.

8) 1 Gigabyte = 1024 MB?
Wouldn’t have been my first guess, but apparently that’s the case.

7) I am 3G
I did it. I punted good-for-nothing Sprint and my 4 lb. cell phone with an antenna, and I became a customer of AT&T. Or more aptly, I became a customer of Apple.

I paid the $200 cancellation fee, I waited in line for hours, and I gots me an iPhone. And you know what: it feels damn good.

It feels good to be ahead of the curb, good to be online 24 hrs a day, good to have sidewalk vixens staring at my new gadget.

Truthfully, I even enjoyed waiting in line.

6) JPMs
You’ve heard of RPMs, but what about JPMs? JPMs, as in, “Jesus Per Minute.” Apparently it’s a common reference amongst Christian radio stations.

My gut says that cranking up the JPMs is probably warranted throughout the day, not just drive time.

5) Words of Wisdom w/It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Frank: "I'm serious this time. She had a botched neck lift. She's as dead as disco. Who wants champagne?"

4) 2008 is to 2005
As Skate is to Chilean Sea Bass.

3) Bull Durham
I’m now prepared to put this movie, alongside The Empire Strikes Back and Love Actually, in my all-time top three. And Eddy Calvin “Nuke” LaLoosh ranks alongside Fast Eddie Felsen as my favorite cinematic sports characters.

Joe Reardon: He (LaLoosh) walked 18.
Larry: New league record!
Joe Reardon: Struck out 18.
Larry: Another new league record! In addition he hit the sportswriter, the public address announcer, the bull mascot twice...
[Joe laughs]
Larry: Also new league records! But, Joe, this guy's got some serious shit.

2) Le Souk Sundays
If there’s a better Sunday night on the planet than Le Souk in New York, I can’t imagine where it would be. When I walked in last Sunday it was already residing atop a mental pedestal. And then, once I got there, the music, and the vibe, and the crowd....overdelivered.

If I ever summon the strength to move to NYC, this place is gonna wreak havoc on my Mondays. Serious havoc.

1) Thin Crust Pizza
My trip to NYC verified it. I'm back where I belong.

Deep dish is taking a back seat for the foreseeable future. From this point on I want oversized, eat-three-slices-and-you're-stuffed, pepperoni or just plain cheese, thin crust pizza.

Even better if it's being sold from some makeshift stand on wheels, blocks from the nearest oven.

The Monthly Stew: Powered By T. Smith

For the first time in Chowder history, we have a guest blogger. Fitting that his topic of choice = Knobs. Yes, at the helm today we have none other than Kona's finest, Todd "Soy T-Chi" Smith. Join me in welcoming him.

And the next time you hear "Feels Like the First Time" or "Hysteria" think about a double billing that could only happen in one place (where the green, green grass grows).

Utopia. Knobs.

"Hello."
"What up."
"Hey do your parents have a gravel drive way?"
"You betcha."

I knew from that moment that the worm hole I just entered, affectionately called the Knobs by some, was going to be something off the beaten path.

I am here today to try to put into words the experiences I had from this beautiful place in Southern Indiana last summer. To keep it in tune with the writer’s format, I have put my thoughts into the style of the “stew”. Let’s see what’s been cooking but first how about some background…

Wikipedia Floyd Knobs and this is what you get:

The town was named after Colonel Davis Floyd. James Moore built a gristmill here in 1815. The word "knobs" comes from the local terrain. As one approaches Floyds Knobs from the southeast, The Knobstone or Siltstone Escarpment rises 400-500 feet above the Ohio River floodplain along the northwestern edge of New Albany, Indiana. The eroded hills along the edge of this plateau, called knobs, are the eastern edge of the Norman Upland geologic area of Indiana.

Geography: Floyds Knobs is located 38°19′28″N, 85°52′25″W, four miles northwest of the Ohio River and downtown New Albany.

The basis for my visits were to train and race for the Ironman Louisville triathlon in late August 2007. Here's my takeaway.

15. Hair Band Look Alike Contests
Hair band imitators are common in most metropolitan areas in this country. Ones that don’t play instruments and get judged for looking like Jani Lane of Warrant or Kip Winger (She’s only 17!) are an echelon above the rest. Welcome to the Knobs.

14. Weather The Knobs could equal the equator line for some. I remember reading my temperature gauge just outside Utopia. It read 102 F. The next time I see triple digits with 90% plus humidity, I hope it’s in Hades.

13. The Hospitality
On my first training ride, I came across a small town (LaGrange I believe) on my route. The day’s fiesta in LaGrange was the annual farmer’s parade which runs directly on the Ironman Louisville bike course. I see a local police officer and ask him the best way around to get back on route. After looking at me top to bottom he is fully aware that I am not from the area and replies “Boy, you would fit right in. Go ahead and join them.” So I did. I rode next to the Shiners and some girl in a mini tractor. I waved to everybody in the crowd while little kids showered me with candy. I left town with an extra spring in my step.

12. Smoking
The Knob’s sister city must be somewhere in France. The health regulations sweeping this country have flown right over the radar. Everyone smokes down there and I mean everyone. I put my hands to my face when I saw this third trimester pregnant woman walking through my hotel lobby with a fag hanging from her lips.

11. Entertainment
What other city would have the capacity and fan base depth to host Def Leppard and Foreigner on the same night?! The best part was that they were playing at separate venues.

10. The Mighty Ohio
Many people asked why the hell we were swimming in the Ohio River. When I told them, they told me I should go eat a cheeseburger. I was expecting a dumpster full of KFC leftovers to float to the surface or a human eyeball on race day but I was pleasantly surprised when my vision didn’t come true.

9. More Hospitality
Having the same mother/daughter tag team freshen up my hotel room for 4 days in a row. Mrs. Perkins and Annie, thank you.

8. More Hospitality
Mr. and Mrs. Fields. I could write a short story with these two characters but I’ll try to keep it to a minimum. My first visit was right around British Open time and the moment I walked in the door, I thought I was on the set of SportsCenter. Mrs. Fields could be Chris Berman in a woman’s body. She was dropping more knowledge on me about swing mechanics and about who is playing well than a sports anchor. I mean c’mon, whose mom talks about swing mechanics?!

7. Mr. Fields (Another Gem).
If you ever get lost in the L-ville area, give this man a holler. The morning I woke up he had the full Rand-McNally map lied out on the kitchen table. We had the race course lined up all the way down to which horse ranches I would pass. On a side note, Glen is also a master of the backyard. Utopia does include a gorgeous back deck with (at the time) brand new pea gravel.

6. Memory Lane
Glenn also showed me past pictures of the originator. The man who put the dot in the com. The main thing I remember from the pictures was that Fields peaked in 11th grade. He has maybe put on 2-3 lbs and 3-4 chest hairs since then but to his credit or his demise (however you look at it) he looks identical. I think the chicks digged the chest hair back then. I know Match.com loves them now.

5. Arni’s Pizza
See past blog entries. Enough said.

4. Mullets
I guess it goes along with #15. It looked like Barry Melrose started a polygamist camp in the Knobs. Half the time I couldn’t tell if they were male or female. For those who don’t know Barry.

3. Lynn’s Paradise Café
After further research this breakfast joint has national notoriety and for good reason. A must stop on your Knobs tour. I don’t remember what I had but I do remember thinking “holy *$#@, this is some good *&#@!”

2. Voodoo Mama
I had the distinct pleasure of staying a night in bedroom of Michael Erik Fields. It had the common items of most high school boys and had the same color schemes of most American men. It didn’t take me long to settle into a good night sleep. And then… I woke up in a cold sweat around 7am. I had a very distinct, extremely vivid dream of fornication with a large African-American woman. She was talking dirty to me in some New Orleans voodoo lingo that was foreign to these ears. After the fear subsided from my body and I realized where I was, I had a good laugh to myself knowing that somehow the room/bed/surroundings have played a major role. Perhaps a future blog entry? One can only hope.

1. Dreams
Well, nobody could’ve written a better script for my 140.6 mile trip around the Louisville area last summer. But one moment in particular sticks out in my mind. It was just after that my dream had been realized that my friend Michael and I hugged like school children next to the Louisville Convention Center. A moment of such pure joy that will be hard to duplicate in my lifetime. But then again, maybe the Knobs is Utopia. Maybe it is a place where dreams do come true. They came true for me.

My only question for you is: when are you visiting?

How Floyds Knobs Are You?

The internet. How about it.

With one click I can have pepper jack cheese, jamon, and a month's supply of Totino's brought to my doorstep. Simultaneously, I can be throwing Rick Vaughn heaters at Otter's Facebook Friend, Svetlana, who's living in Romania (50/50 she's a CamGirl). Then, after Svetlana blows me off, I can use Google (Dewey Decimal be damned) to research my next Chowder entry. All this, and I never have to leave the couch.

My gut says this internet thing might have legs.

That being said, as a general rule, the internet's six-degrees-of-kevin-baconness doesn't do that much for me. I like my salt-infested corner of the world and rarely feel the need to branch out via social networking sites (beyond the Svetlanas). But as you know, rules are meant to be broken, especially when they are built on generalizations.

In this realm, a couple months back I was doing research for a Chowder entry and googled "Cincinnati, Indiana" -- wanting to highlight the lesser known Nati in the Monthly Stew. In doing so, I fortuitously stumbled onto the MySpace page of a girl from Cincinnati, Indiana.

It floored me.

That's because the lead-in to this girl's MySpace profile, which was staring at me from the Google search page, read as follows: I scored an 81% on the "How Floyds Knobs Are You" quiz.

Wherever you are -- stop everything -- and join me in thinking:

1) There is a "How Floyds Knobs are You" quiz?!?!?!
2) What are the chances that I would find someone from Cincinnati, INDIANA marketing a quiz about Floyds Knobs (a gazillion-to-one)?
3) Implicitly, this is more proof that the Knobs => utopia.
4) Tatonka (buffalo).

One more time to stave off incredulity, follow the chain of events: Google query ------> finding a girl from Cincinnati, Indiana promoting a quiz about Floyds Knobs ------> taking the quiz and discovering that 1400 other quiz takers had preceeded me ------> flashbacks to meals consumed at Arni's and the Weed ------> flash-forward to the 2048 Olympic Games held in the Knobs.

Again I say: "tatonka."

What was less enjoyable was the following reality: the girl from Cincinnati, IN outscored me on a quiz about my hometown. I scored a 73%.

And trust me, I loathe the Pioneers.

In other words the quiz is inaccurate, subjective, and heretical. But mainly it's brilliant, funny as hell, and stupendous. And yes, I'm more than a little jealous I didn't think of it myself.

Accordingly, here's your chance to find out what you have always longed to know. Go on. DO IT.

See how Floyds Knobs you are.

Then, if you would, report back to me with %'s in the good ole comments section. Based on the results I'll make some predictions in a future entry (ex: non-Knobbers who are destined to become Knobbers by the '09 Harvest Homecoming, etc.).

Perhaps there's even a T-shirt in the making. On the front it could say, "I HEART THE KNOBS," while on the back an individual could promote their percentile: "I scored a ______ on the How Floyds Knobs Are You quiz."

If that business idea doesn't have VC funding written all over it, I don't know what does.

Regardless of my future as a textile baron, I hope you will take the quiz. And I hope you will send it along to others. Let random conversations abound with regards to the mothership.

We, the Knobbers, are proud of our native turf. Proud and also privy to lesser known maxims which are etched in the bedrock -- the limestone -- of the hills in Southern Indiana.

So embrace the following truth and hold it as self-evident.

Knobs do not come on doors.

Editor's Note: If the quiz doesn't load beyond the first page, try back later and/or help me to get the administrator's attention by sending a comment to quizie.com. It hasn't been loading properly for the last few days.

Also, next week we will have a non-Knobber guest blogger (say that five times fast), offering up his own take on the Knobs. Be sure to check back in.

The Monthly Stew: Home Cookin' Edition

20) Arni's
In the almanac of "historic Knobs' landmarks," Arni's might get top billing. Located in the heart of downtown, Arni's has been serving up the best 'za in Floyd County for generations (why bother getting specific with our dates).

Go to Arni's often enough and you're guaranteed to bump into Fuzzy Zoeller and other local celebrities, a term I use loosely. You can't go wrong with any topping at Arni's but the ground-up pepperoni is the bomb.

Whit: I'll meet you at Arni's.

19) Hairmaster Ron
Any "best of" list has to start off with a bang and then take it up another notch, and this Highlander stalwart has been bringing the thunder, with the clippers, for as long as anyone can remember. Stop in and see Ron or Anita and you’ll not only get a great trim, but also catch up on all things Knobs.

Rom = as fine a representative for the Knobs as you'll ever find.

18) Highlander Point
Every town needs a point of congregation, and every congregation deserves a good plot of asphalt. Highlander Point is not only the epicenter of the Knobs, but it’s also the biggest plot of pavement in Eden.

Home to Hairmaster Ron, Papa John’s Tumbleweed, DQ, and Sam’s, Highlander Point is to Knobbers what the intersection of 1st and 1st in New York is to Cosmo Kramer: “the nexus of the universe.”

17) "WannaBes"
In southern Indiana the wannabes include Red Devils, Panthers, Pioneers, and Bull Dogs. Especially Bull Dogs. The wannabes are locals who grew up wishing they could be Floyd Central Highlanders, but they got shafted: their parents didn't pick a lot on the sunny side of the street.

Wannabes: I wish you better luck in the next lifetime.

16) All Hail Caesar
In what was arguably the dumbest decision in the history of Floyd County, in 1993 the county commission rejected a proposal which would allow riverboat gambling in the county. The Commission was worried about an influx of sinning gamblers, but the strategy backfired: Floyd County’s dismissal paved the way for neighboring Harrison County to welcome Caesar’s Casino about 100 feet beyond the Floyd county line.

And now, when I’m home, my antes at Caesar’s promote Harrison County schools, as opposed to the kids in Floyd. Local Government, you gotta love it.

15) Small Town Alert: Corydon, Indiana
Visitors in search of a day trip from mecca (Knobs) will find Indiana's first capitol, Corydon, a mere twelve miles down the road. When I was growing up, Corydon was synonymous with the movies; it was the closest cinema in the heartland. Corydon is also home to two of So. Indiana's finest residents, Fred and Sabrina Haas, who now reside two blocks from the town square.

Another great town in Southern Indiana. A seemingly endless list.

14) The Five Families
The Italian Mafia had the fabled five families. In the Knobs we’re sans Mafia, but we still have the five families. And if your roots are truly Knobs, you are related to, or will be related to, one of the five: Naville, Loftus, Jacobi, Bierman, or Libbs.

13) WNAS -- 88.1 FM
Broadcasting live since May of 1949, WNAS is the oldest student run radio station in the state (think Donna and David working the dials on 90210). The air time at WNAS is shared between Floyd Central and New Albany, and back in the day we only had about 50 CDs to choose from -- Queen & Pearl Jam got a lot of airtime.

It’s mystifying to think that immature, mumbling teenagers are given access to the airwaves. Thankfully, our ratings didn't warrant much attention from the FCC, thus giving me and Port, my senior year co-host, an uncensored mic to win over listeners by the twos and threes.

The air waves will never be the same.

12) The Two Bobs
In high school you hate most teachers, admire a few, and respect even fewer. But at Floyd Central I had to admire Bob Singleton for his good-natured do-nothingness, and I respected Bob Youngblood (Bobby Y to the students) for his dedication to literature and patience with my 7th period clan. Thanks to Youngblood’s AP English Class, I developed a lifelong affinity and dedication to reading.

My gratitude: it overflows.

11) Plum Hill
Looking down on the bright lights, big city of Louisville, Plum Hill offers one of the best views in Middle America. Admittedly, trespassers are strongly discouraged, as the affluent homeowners on the Hill value privacy. And yet, virtually every sixteen year-old with a car and an eye on getting to second base has done battle with the subdivision's security patrolman.

Damn if I didn’t blow it big-time with Wendy Miller back in the day when I had a lay-up atop Plum Hill. Truly, some misfires stay with you forever.

10) The Wine of the Month: Huber's "Knobstone Reserve"
If you want traditional port, go to Portugal. If you want a port aged in oak barrels and sweetened with plums and hints of Knobs, go to Huber’s. In addition to Knobstone Reserve, Huber’s is known for their award-winning sweet and fruit flavored wines, including Blackberry, Strawberry, and Sweet Marcella.

Located in picturesque Starlight, IN -- a mere 15 minutes from Highlander Point -- Huber’s is a worthwhile stopover for anyone passing through the Knobs.

9) Corner Kitchen
You've got to respect a local diner that hosts weekly euchre tourneys in a barely lit, ultra smoky back room. When the typical player in said tourney is a 70 year-old female chimney who tells you to pick up any Jack that's turned over to prevent you from going alone, then you’ve stumbled onto something unique.

Warning: if you don't bring your A game; grandma will laugh your euchre skills right out of the Kitchen.

8) Valley View Golf Club
The number of rounds I’ve played at Valley View is probably a five-digit number. For the better part of a decade growing up, 36 holes a day was more/less a given during the summer. And the bar at Valley View might as well be Cheers; everyone knows your name (and every parcel of your life).

If I ever move back to utopia, my first down payment won’t be for a home, but for a membership at the View.

7) Sammy O’s
Sammy O’s is the Knobs' version of Mo’s Tavern (where the beer flows like wine). No additional description needed.

6) Berry Twist
Some wanna be Knobbers would claim that Polly Freeze is the best local ice cream shop. I'm here to tell you, those hill jacks are wrong. In the land of milk and cream, it's Berry Twist or bust.

Plus, BT was once sponsor to my 4 win, 12 loss little league team. Free cones after the game and the best looking Highlanders working the order window all summer ("I get older, they stay the same age."). The strawberry shakes were off the charts.

I HEART Berry Twist.

5) The Bob Caple Quote of the Month
"Ain't no horse that can't be rode. Ain't no cowboy that can't be throwed."

4) The Georgetown Drive-In
City life affords you a lot of opportunities, but you miss out on some options that are 110% rural. And nothing says rural America like a good double-screen drive-in.

Truthfully, I can’t remember a single movie I saw there, other than Jurassic Park. But then again, most pubescent memories from the movies aren't focused on the Oscars.

3) Harvest Homecoming
This local October festival brings all the rides and elephant ears standard with the fair. And right down the street the Culbertson Mansion used to host as wicked a haunted house as one could ever hope to find. But admittedly, the real action is in the beer garden, where you’re guaranteed to see a few people you genuinely miss, and about a thousand you could live forever without.

It's one of those facts of life: any harvest, or homecoming, is more memorable when drunk Knobbers are in the mix.

2) Churchill Downs
True, Churchill is located in a southern suburb of the Knobs, Louisville. But indirectly Churchill is the reason I’m a Knobber, so it’s going on the list (my dad had to live near a horse racing track). Plus, I love everything about Churchill.

Nothing says home like the Twin Spires and a mint julep on the first weekend in May. Beyond my friends and family, this is what I miss most about Louisville.

1) The Queso at Tumbleweed
If you’re sitting in the #1 slot on this list, you are a pre-approved candidate as the eighth natural wonder of the world. Said another way, I don’t think there’s a better queso dipping sauce on the planet. At the Weed I even get my chimichanga queso style; it’s impossible to get enough of this cheesy delight.

My mouth waters, and waters, and waters.