The wedding was a blast, and I hope you guys have fun in Aruba!

A’ight, so I gotta hit the gym, then I got an apointment, then I head out to Jersey, where I’m going to try to find a girl with a sweat suit and enormous hair to be my wedding date. It wouldn’t be my first Jersey girl. I dated one a couple of years ago. Favorite memory? Walking into a coffee shop, then hearing her bellow, “Yo, you’se guys is outta coffee ova heya!” to which I responed, “What are you, Rocky?” She also wore sweat suits. Seriously. It was awesome. Anyways, I am gonna try to post a bit of stuff this afternoon from my hotel. I’m hoping to have an interview with a member of the local roller derby league up this afternoon, so check back then. Their championship game is on Sunday, and should be worth checking out.

I am grumpy today. Super Grumpy. Grump up the Volume type grumpy. I want to do the Grumpty Grump type grumpy. To try to ward off the grumps, I headed to John’s Roast Pork, where I went once before and had the sandwich the place is named after. Word on the street is they have a pretty damn good cheesteak, and this felt like a cheesesteak eatin’ day. (The Mac Dad’ll make you grump, grump. Just thought of that one. Sorry.) Well, I got one and it was, well, OK. The bread was great, the thing was gooey, but I dunno. Maybe my heart wasn’t in it, maybe trying to locate my oomph in a cheesesteak was a bit too tall of an order. But I just felt like it didn’t have that extra intangible that I find at Jim’s. (Forrest Grump.) Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be back at John’s in the near future. But I’ll be returning to the roast pork, which is easily of the best sandwiches I’ve ever had in the city.
Related: Pic courtesy of hollyeats, a great food website that loves this place.

Heading to the Jersey Shore this weekend for the wedding of Brian and Meghan. You may remember them. They were the couple that got engaged at quizzo last year, in one of the more creative proposals I’ve ever seen. Of course, I’ve only seen two proposals. One was when I was at a 30th birthday dinner at Astral Plane with the girl I was dating at the time. The guy next to me dropped to a knee and proposed to his girl. (They were European. The girl was smoking hot, and the guy looked like a dweeb. What’s the deal with hot European girls liking dweebs? They always do.) She started crying and everything, and me and my date, who were destined to break up like a week later, just sat there and felt weird. Ah, good times. Good times.

So I was flexing my masculinity in the comments section, blasting EE for suggesting that ballet dancers are great athletes. Then I came across this report. Oh. Uh, there are some, uh, glaring inconsistencies in that report. Whatever. Ballet would be a lot cooler if they had 260 pound linebackers hitting them from the blind side. Then I would totally watch.

A recent article written by Gene Wojciechowski proclaimed Tiger Woods as the greatest athlete ever, and caused a heated debate between two good friends of mine and I at the Bards last night. Because while I wold consider Woods one of the greatest competitors of all time, to call him the greatest athlete of all time is fallacy. There is simply no way a golfer is an athlete. The one guy claimed that a golfer can be an athlete, since he uses bodily exertion to compete, and that the only difference between him and a basketball player is that a basketball player burns more calories. The other guy, who was on my side in this argument, said, “Does Minnesota Fats count as one of the greatest athletes of all time? I mean, he used his body to compete, and he crushed the competition.” Of course he’s not, and neither is Tiger Woods My friend who was supporting the Tiger Woods argument, then said, “What defines an athlete?” That’s a tough question. The best I could do was, “Someone who goes faster, stronger, and higher, or at least two of the three.” So what do you guys think? What is an athlete, and can a golfer be one? Also, be sure to vote in the new poll on the right. (I hate to say it, but I think Jordan is the greatest athlete of all time.)

Apparently everybody is having a pretty good time at the expense of the Crocodile Hunter. According to D-Mac, his name made for good fodder at New Deck Quizzo last night. (New Deck: The only acceptable quizzo). And I got an an email from Obit master Andy Nolan with the following headline: Great Barrier Grief! The email continued thusly: Australian naturalist Steve Irwin was killed by a stingray barb through the heart while filming a new documentary on Monday. The documentary is tentatively titled “The Barb Thruheart Show”. Irwin is to be buried in a croc pot… six feet down under. Brilliant.

Not to be a party pooper but I think, amist the laughter, we should also honor the Croc Hunter. (Oh no, am I turning into a voice of compassion and reason? Nooooooo.) I loved a quote I heard yesterday: “He made people love the ugly animals too.” I got a little choked up at that. I’m a sucker for animals, even ugly ones (you should see my sister’s dog), and I appreciated what a conservationist and showman Steve Irwin was. So here’s to you, Steve, and to a life that appeared to be full of adventure, compassion, and enthusiasm. May we all be so lucky.
Related: Obit Master Andy Nolan.