So. Not. Surprised.

Enjoying yourself some delicious bottled water? Live in a city whose public drinking water more closely resembles raw sewage than it does actual water? Or better yet, it actually tastes like raw sewage? Perhaps you're one of the fortunate cities whose water only tastes like charcoal filters and sulfur. Out of desperation for real water, you turn to what is advertised as pure "spring water". Assuming that surely you must be drinking something filtered and super clean, you can't really be held responsible when a major bottling corporation, Pepsi, fudged the facts and you're actually drinking tap water.

Before this reaches the level of publicity nightmare, the spokespersons for Coca-Cola (who are doing the same thing) and Pepsi have decided to spin it thusly, "If this helps clarify the fact that the water originates from public sources, then it’s a reasonable thing to do,” said Michelle Naughton, a Pepsi-Cola North America spokeswoman. Public sources? Oh, you mean the "spring" you were pulling from wasn't an actual spring but more like the "city reservoir"? Because Aquafina's website (totally not pointless, by the way) says it came from a spring. Well, I totally understand. I mean, the last time I visited our city reservoir and saw the hundred yards of concrete, a huge tank and pipes going every which way, I immediately shouted, "Golly gee whiz! This is just like a natural spring!" So to be fair, I can see how Pepsi and Coca-Cola got confused. Being the epitome of wholesome beverage makers that they are, I guess I can allow this one, tiny infraction without much hullabaloo. They wouldn't lie on purpose!

8 Things

I was going to blog about my family reunion this weekend but after two unsuccessful (read: boring) attempts, I will instead take Eric's challenge.

* We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
* Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
* People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
* Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.


1. I was in boy scouts from age 7 until 10. Each year, we would hold the annual Soap Box Derby, where we received little kits from which we made our racing cars. Included was a hunk of wood cut to resemble the body of a derby car, four nails, and plastic wheels that would be attached by putting the nails through the center and tapping them into cut grooves on the bottom of the car. The decoration of your derby car was up to you (and your parent), as was the weighing of the body and lubrication of the wheels (also with your parent). The cars weren't allowed to go above a certain weight, as the "track" was simply a long board with ruts in it, curving up to come almost perpendicular with the ceiling. The cars were set at the top, two at a time, and one bar released their unbridled fury.

Dad and I painted the car black and decorated it with red and blue lettering. He drilled holes in the back end into which we placed little weights and sealed them with glue. We carefully used sandpaper to hone any imperfections out of the wheels and lubricated the nail "axles" with graphite. This was a city-wide event, so it took a long time and each grade (1-5) raced its peers. I entered the race with the same ennui I entered the past years' races. Knowing I wouldn't win, I just sat by and accepted the inevitable. Using a bracket winning system, all 32 of us started on the left and would either progress towards glory or be thrown to the vultures. I could see them forming a lazy circle of death right above my head. The first round went off without a hitch. The second round came and I did it again. By the third round I was in total disbelief, so I just assumed my defeat would come at any moment. Somehow, I was in the fourth round and it was down to four of us, one being the reigning division champion, Jimmy St. Clair. My car was doing really well. I was smoking the other cars. I wanted to win really bad; some might call my lust for the trophy "feral". I knew I would win. I knew it would come down to me and Jimmy. The final round. A hush grew over the audience. A new challenger was going to take on Jimmy! In what was truly a Hollywood version of the final race, our two cars would exchange first position, his then mine, his then mine, his then... MINE!! I WON!! I got a trophy on which to mount my winning car. It had a marble base, a brass plaque with my name and "4th Grade Soap Box Derby Champion" engraved upon it.

2. I was 6 when my family went on a Sunday hike. We weren't too far from civilization but far enough that the nature was spectacular. Not long into our hike, I spotted orange berries and decided it would be awesome to find out what they tasted like. Mom heard me saying, "Try them, Chris! They're really good!" and ran over, asking what exactly was so good. I opened my little hand and showed her the brightly colored berries. Time froze and I still remember the look on her face. I could tell that I had done something wrong, and something that needed to be taken care of NOW. Calmly explaining to me that bright berries are poisonous, mom and dad rushed us into the car and sped to the nearest Safeway. Screeching into the parking lot, mom ran inside and bought ipecack (sp?). It was intended to make me throw up, but for whatever reason, it didn't work. I stood outside the car, waiting to vomit, with precious time slipping by. Realizing that I probably wouldn't puke from the ipecack, dad shoved his finger down my throat and pulled it out, followed immediately by a load of bile-covered berries.

3. Even though I wasn't attending church, I still thought I would go to hell for being gay around the age of 15. I put myself in therapy, thinking that with a little emotional beat-down, I could be cured of my "gayness". Instead, I found out through my Christian therapist how backwards and evil the intentions of the Christian mind is towards gay people. It probably didn't help that I kept gay friends, but I somehow knew that the whole "cure your gayness through therapy" thing was a farce. The emotional turmoil I put myself through led to a lot of disconnection from reality through drugs. The pain continued for years until I somehow found the courage within myself to tell my parents I was fine and they were the ones with the problem. Today, I have a great relationship with the 'rents, they love Robin and we go over every week for dinner. Good things come from being true to yourself.

4. I used to chew my big toenails for years until they became ingrown. On the same day I got corrective surgery for them, I got a booster MMR shot and Tetanus shot. So, I went home with two busted toes, a really sore arm from the Tetanus shot, and I was violently ill because of the MMR shot. Good times.

5. My family owns a boat and every year we would take two weeks during the summer to go camping/skiing. We usually went to Cottage Grove Lake, a small and warm lake south of Cottage Grove. One year when I was 13, I wanted to learn how to ski on a single ski, graduating from the double skis. One ski requires a completely different technique but most of all, it requires the boat to go much faster to pull you out of the water. My brother took to it easily, rising out of the water, setting his back foot and zipping across the wake. I thought, being that Chris is two years younger than I, that my first attempt would be successful. It wasn't. Neither was the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, or seventh. I was enraged. I began slamming the water with my hands, screaming, "WHY DOES GOD HATE ME?! WHY WON'T HE LET ME SKI?!?!?!" Dad tried his best to calm my fury, but it didn't work. I was a complete wreck. I cried, I yelled, but mostly I wouldn't give up. Exhaustion finally consumed me and I had to call it a day. The next afternoon, I wanted to try again. Remembering everything dad told me, I bobbed in the water, expecting to biff it really soon. I didn't. In fact, I got up on my first try and while my first run was short-lived, I did it! So, if at first you don't succeed, curse god and smack some water.

6. After my Senior year in high school, five of my closest friends went to the Dave Matthews Band concert in the Gorge. We reserved a campsite weeks before and because we arrived a bit late, we decided not to check into our campsite and instead go right to the concert. The concert was incredible. It was, without a doubt, the best concert I had ever been to. After the show, we piled in the Explorer and drove to the entrance of the campground. Two cops were at the entrance, turning away every car. I was driving, rolled down my window and explained that we had a reservation, paid for, and showed him our receipt. He said, "It's full. You have to move on." I argued, complaining that there was no place to go, we had a reservation, so what could were we supposed to do? He said, in the most indignant tone, "That's not my problem. Now MOVE IT." Most of my friends were drunk or getting there and I was too pissed to think straight. We headed for a gas station to use a phone book and call local hotels. Not surprisingly, everything in a 50-mile radius was booked. We had nowhere to go. We were tired (it was midnight) and just pulled over to examine our options. All I wanted was to hang out and get drunk. But no, that wasn't going to happen. During our conversation, I grew more and more upset at the situation. Finally, I said, "Just get into the car. We have to drive home." Knowing I was right, my friends complied and I drove 8 1/2 hours back to Eugene.

7. In April 2005, I attended a friend's big 35th birthday party down near Roseburg. Tons of people came and celebrated. On Saturday, we went for a long hike to the top of a butte. The area was crawling with poison oak, so I was on my guard. Even so, the weekend ended with me developing a rash on my left calf. I was doing a good job of leaving it alone, but one day I wore pants and they touched my infection quite a bit. The next two days saw the infection worsening, growing red and oozing yellow goop. The day after, the color changed from dark red to purple and my mom urged me to see a doctor right away. I went to the Student Health Center and saw Dr. McMaster, who informed me that not only was this far beyond a normal poison oak infection, it had become "compartmentalized", which is a fancy way of saying that if I had come to him 24-48 hours later, they would have had to amputate my leg. Yeah. He sent me away but not before giving me a huge 1 gram shot of antibiotics, a prescription for steroids, more antibiotics and Vicodin (for the excruciating pain). I went back the next two days and got another shot and saw him four times after that. Cost be damned, I wanted my leg!! Thinking this was going to cost and arm and a leg (HA! GET IT?! HA!), I shuddered when I opened the bill. The total, for all six visits, four prescriptions and shots, was $210. Yay for being a student!

8. I used to hate IPAs. In fact, I thought that the bitterness was just something crazy people enjoyed because their taste buds developed poorly. It was always, "Yeah, well good luck with that" when somebody was drinking one. This past spring, several friends and me attended the KLCC Brewfest. I thought I would try at least one of the IPAs. You know, for posterity or some shit. Then it hit me: bitterness is a flavor in IPAs. It's not an obstacle keeping people out, it's a delicious invitation to guzzle more and more! To drink it every day! To take baths in it! Oh my, I was hooked. I drank literally every IPA at the brewfest. Like a deranged monkey, I hobbled from one stand to another, intent on guzzling down every last IPA in sight. I succeeded. I might also add that as a Professional Drunk, I didn't have a hangover the next day. I did, however, develop a fever. The only prescription was more IPA.

So, now I'm supposed to tag people for this. Okay, fine. Some of these people have already been tagged because the group I roll with is super exclusive and shit:

Sara, Evan, Scott, Robin, Chris, Your mom, My mom, Jesus

(PLUG: be sure to click on the last three! I'm funny!)

Rockstar!!

This is Sam Harris, and he's my new favorite rockstar. One of Richard Dawkins' contemporaries, he more clearly articulates the philosophical issues I have with "believers" who take seriously the belief in a Christian or Muslim (or whatever) god. What I particularly enjoy is how he explains that spirituality is not mutually exclusive from atheism. Atheism has been given a horrible rap in popular society and the media. Though I consider myself an atheist, I can immediately feel the consequences of using that word to describe myself. Namely, consequences that place me in a sect of society that even more tolerant believers find abominable. Whatever you are, you certainly don't want to be an atheist. I can think of many family members and friends who are so far from with me on this point that it's not even worth bringing up to them.

How do you explain to someone that a more amorphous spirituality doesn't lead one to be corrupt and holds just as much moral responsibility as any dogmatic religion? I know I've said it before, but because we've been raised in a society that largely suffers from the delusion that morals/ethics came from religion doesn't mean we should continue to pay into that delusion. I would encourage all who read my blog to take some time and read this conversation between Sam Harris and Rick Warren. Sam Harris is extremely patient, eloquent and intelligent. He is, in effect, the ultimate antithesis to everything popular society portrays atheists to be. He articulates everything I want to say to my believer friends without coming across as arrogant or demeaning.

Wine Culture

A couple of weeks ago, Robin and I received an email from Benton-Lane, our favorite and most beloved winery. It was an invitation to wine club members for a special dinner that would debut their newest wine, the First Class 2005 Pinot Noir. We called and reserved immediately. Over the past year, we have had the sincere pleasure of becoming friends with Benton-Lane's owners, Steve and Carol Girard. They are, without a doubt, two of the friendliest and most down to earth business owners I have ever known. Their graciousness is topped only by their love for their craft and might I say, they truly are masters.

After much socializing, appetizers of goose liver paté, salmon and olive tempenade (all on separate crackers, of course) some Pinot Blanc and Pinot Rosé, and a quick tour, it was time for dinner. Our Pinot glasses were full and awaiting our return. Carol and her team had been hard at work preparing an incredible main course: cesar salad, pork tenderloin with a cherry sauce reduction and rosemary Yukon Gold potatoes. The dinner looked great, but my attention was on the wine.

I eagerly swirled the glass, releasing the fragrant aroma. With my eyes closed, I put my nose into the glass and smelled what I can honestly say is one of the best Pinot Noirs I have ever encountered. There was a delicate suppleness to it, a perfect balance of fruit and other notes of vanilla and nutmeg that made my mouth water. I wasn't about to rush the experience, so I just smelled it again and again. When I finally took a sip, the same silkiness flowed onto my palate, and the flavors perfectly complimented each other. Rather than any one flavor assaulting my senses, they all played off each other, one surfacing and then another. As I swirled the wine in my mouth, the flavors only became more distinct, and I realized the true complexity that can come from a well made Pinot Noir.

If you would have asked me three years ago which varietal was my favorite, I wouldn't have been able to tell you with any certainty. Now, however, I am certain that the Pinot grape is unmatched in complexity and beauty. It takes a master wine maker to craft a delicious Pinot Noir or Pinot Gris. To drink such a wine is to understand the time, love and attention one must put into their wine. It is a grape that only grows in tiny corners of the world and even then it is arguably the most difficult to grow.

Last night was a beautiful sight to behold. We all ate and drank, conversations were warm and inviting, and the other members were as excited as we were to get the first tastes of Benton-Lane's crown jewel. Robin and two other friends wanted to go home before I was ready. Luckily, Eric and Chandra wanted to stay as well. As Carol and her staff finished putting things away, Steve joined the three of us and had a bottle of their '05 Estate Pinot Noir in his hand. Carol came over and we all sat and drank wine, talked about the industry, California, Oregon, Pinot, friends and family. It was, undoubtedly, the best time I ever had at a winery. An evening of good friends, food and wine played over and over as we drove away.

This morning, I'm definitely feeling the amount of wine ingested last night. Even so, I remember last night fondly and became very focused on how I felt during those hours. To be here, now, at this place and time, to know the people I do, to love my friends, to celebrate with others and to meet new people reminds me how special life is. Don't wait for heaven, enjoy what is here now. Remember the gift that is friendship. Breathe deeply. Live your joy. Oh, and drink good wine!

I WAS Addicted to Heroin...

But thankfully I'm taking the new Anti-Addiction pill! Oh yes, major pharmaceutical companies are feverishly working on a new anti-addiction pill after some recent scientific discoveries made regarding addictive people's brains. According to the article, "...they [scientists] tend to agree on what they see, although not necessarily on how to fix it: addiction — whether to alcohol, to drugs or even to behaviors like gambling — appears to be a complicated disorder affecting brain processes responsible for motivation, decision making, pleasure seeking, inhibitory control and the way we learn and consolidate information and experiences". And that's all the pharmacology industry needs. Long regarded as a sort of "holy grail" in medical research, the long sought after addiction "center" (as it were) can now be seen. Oh! Did you just hear that? It was a VP at GlaxoSmithKline creaming their jeans.

So check it. I don't have a problem with the idea of people using medication to kick their addiction. Whether through support programs, family or good 'ol Methadone, using an aid in kicking your habit can be a real help. I remember the bevy of chemical substances that I quit, the hardest (by faaaaar) being cigarettes. I was up to a pack a day, would smoke after every meal, during every break and of course lots after work. I had friends who tried the gum, the patch and whatever else to no avail and that's when it hit me: kicking you addiction in the ass cannot be accomplished by relying on something else to do all the hard work. Let me just say that any good drug counselor will tell someone this. It takes a lot of dedication to sobriety in order for one to really give up their addiction. For gamblers, that probably means not going into casinos or playing other games involving money. For smokers, it means breaking the Pavlovian response to smoke during breaks and after meals. For heroin addicts, it means, well basically it means finding a padded cell for some light-hearted detox. My point is, it's complicated, it's extremely difficult and I myself used a patch as an aid, not as a crutch.

Sure sure sure, we've all heard that before. Got it - aid not crutch. That's a hard line to walk, however. Convincing oneself that they have to take responsibility for their actions and not rely on a pill or patch or vibrator (wait, what?) isn't something the companies marketing their products want you to hear. Enter the anti-addiction pill. I can just see the advertisements now:

"Has shoving needles into your collapsed veins become passé? Do you find yourself running with a crowd that would suck out your blood if they thought they could get high? It's time you heard about the new the anti-addiction pill! With just two Antiadict pills a day, you'll never have to experience those terrible waking nightmares again! Just take one pill for breakfast, another at dinner and before you know it, you'll remember what life was like before you sucked dick for smack! Side effects may include dry mouth, dizziness, stomach cramps, headaches, ear infections and addiction to Antiadict."

The way this will be marketed, just as the patch, the pill and everything else pharmaceutical companies market, will be presented as the answer to your problem. Instead of hearing things like "along with other treatment", we will probably hear "BAM!! You'll be sober before you KNOW it!!" Oh wait, perhaps I'm being too harsh. After all, it's not a pharmaceutical company's job to doll out every bit of advice for what it takes to kick addiction. We cannot hold them responsible for giving a well-rounded message while also trying to sell their product, right? Air time = money, after all.

Yeah, that's bullshit. If they want to take on the responsibility of altering people's brain chemistry, they should also be held accountable for presenting all the information. Pharmaceutical companies have heaps of research on their side, I'm sure lots of which (like the article states), shows the complicated nature to addiction, one that relies on chemical processes but also learned behavior. How can they cram it into a 30-second commercial? Bottom line: their marketing campaigns won't be successful unless people think they're getting something that, by itself, will cure them. Who the hell wants hard work? Dedication? Yeah whatever, that stuff's for losers.

Look, I know medications really help people. Hell, there are people who would downright cease to function if it weren't for their meds. To each their own. But it just really gets to me how the Pharmies are going to sink their nasty fingers into a personal and social issue that has no simple solution. They're going to profit off of people's misplaced trust in their falsely-marketed product. I'm not surprised, I'm just pissed. (Wait. Patrick's pissed about something? Gosh, it must be opposite day.)

Springfield, VERMONT?!?!

Springfield, Vermont was named the "official" Springfield of The Simpsons. They're getting all the fanfare, attention and other praise that should have been laid upon the true Springfield, the one in our beautiful Oregon. And let me tell you why.

One article I read stated, "with a town of only 9,300 we feel the closeness of community as does the community on the Simpsons", basically referencing the fact that everyone knows everyone on the show and in their stupid town. First of all, Springfield in the show is NOT small. It's huge and trashy, replete with a nuclear power plant. The fact that the show has to use the same, what, 50 characters has nothing to do with the size of the town, it has to do with the fact that a show can't have 9,300 characters. GAH!

There's nothing other than a mill in Springfield, Vermont that indicates any level of industry. Even then, the mill is small and doesn't spew any toxic fumes that I can tell. In fact, if you google image the town, all you get are these Old Tyme buildings made with brick and attention to detail. There's no neon or malls, no freeways or news stations. For god's sake, it's a quaint little town that while I'm sure is cute and charming, holds NONE of the required features to convince me that it's The Simpson's Springfield!!!!

Let us now turn our attention to what is surely a more appropriate Springfield than the random assortment of buildings they call a "town" in Vermont. That is of course, the Springfield of Oregon. Where to begin? Let's start with the Gateway Mall, perhaps the tackiest mall ever conceived. Built in the late 80's/early 90's, the mall is a testament to its era; hastily and cheaply built, and designed without regard to the fact that time passes, indicated by a facade forever cemented in its decade. To see the mall from the I-5 is actually to gaze upon its back end; a long wall of cinder blocks painted off-white with moldy stains running down from the roof. I actually prefer the back to the front. At least in the back you don't have to deal with two enormous neon arches that flank the Gateway Mall sign. The arches are painful wrecks of teal, pink and lavender neon twisted together like bastard conjoined twins. The Gateway Mall sign itself is a continuation of this brilliant design scheme, with the text and lavender color something you would more readily see on a Hypercolor t-shirt and its matching pair of Hammer Pants. The outside anchor stores are equally obscure. You see, there was already a huge mall in Eugene (Valley River) that had all the nicest stores that would dare think of coming into the local economy. Therefore, the eventual closure of all the original stores in Gateway came as no surprise. The one remaining anchor store, Sears, was eventually joined by Target, Ross and (hold onto your hats!) Kohl's. To go inside is to witness the true beauty of interior architecture. Lest you worry that the neon would remain only on the outside, you'll be happy to know that not only does it follow you inside, but joins its friends Shiny Brass and Sparkling White Christmas Lights. You know, for class. Walking down the corridor you'll pass all manner of kiosks, the most popular being "Sunglasses 4 U" and "Candy 4 Less". The actual stores are none you've ever heard of because they are independently owned and thought Gateway would be an ideal setup. Let's see, there's Magic Castle of Swords! Need an Elven Dagger or Klingon Batleth? Perhaps your style is more in the Crafters Alley vein? No? Well I'm sure Parable Christian Store must have something for you. Still not convinced? Alright look, if Quick Test Opinion Center can't satisfy you, I don't know what can. If it weren't for the huge megaplex theater built there, the traffic flow would have slowed to a drip long ago. Oh wait, a new megaplex was just built at Valley River. Well, good luck with everything Gateway.

Now to the Weyerhauser factory, conveniently located just a quick jaunt down the I-105. You can see the plume of white smoke for miles, but when you get up close, you witness the glory and grandeur of a Northwest paper mill. The main spew-tower is joined by lots of others and all of them are in full swing during business hours. I guess that Weyerhauser thought green would be a wonderful color to paint the tower. Nestled in a lush and beautiful Willamette Valley, they thought correctly. However, it would have been a beautiful color if the green they chose wasn't somewhere between olive and mint. The color is offensive enough, but as you drive closer, your nostrils are assaulted by a nasty melange of sulfur and paper pulp. There's no way around it, as the only quick way into the Cascade range from Eugene is through Springfield. During the night hours, the light atop the tower shines as a glistening beacon of the deforestation industry.

Finally, let us turn back around, head south a bit and take a stroll along Main Street. With the new addition of the Wildish Community Theater, one must say that Springfield is a town on the grow. Unfortunately, the theater is surrounded by three or four strip clubs, a dilapidated second hand store, a KFC and City Hall (trust me, another architectural marvel). Though the city has gone to great lengths to promote itself as a "true American family destination", the downtown area should more rightly be catered to the folks seeking a "true American crack family destination". An utter failure in the competition between Springfield and Eugene, the commerce of downtown Springfield reminds one of better times when it was actually safe to be outside at night. Try as they might to refurbish and renew, downtown Springfield is barely held together by the broken dreams of strippers and their community theater.

In conclusion, allow me to say that although I hold a special disregard for Springfield, Eugene is not without its issues. Believe me, that could be an entire two blog postings. However, this post is not about Eugene. It is about the perfection of Springfield as the TRUE home of The Simpsons. To the voters on the east coast who voted based on location rather than authenticity, I say BOLLOCKS!

I'm No Expert, But...

I'm pretty sure a hot dog eating contest doesn't qualify one to garner any "greatest moments in sports" awards.

But that's not what a commentator at ESPNHD thinks, oh no.

Maybe you know, maybe you don't, but Takeru Kobayashi is the reigning world champion of hot dog eating contests. And if your stomach churns as much as mine does when you hear that, you're good people. Correction: he was the reigning world champion.

Looks like this 4th of July won't be fondly remembered by poor Kobayashi. He came in a distant second to Joey Chestnut of San Jose, eating a paltry 63 hotdogs in 12 minutes compared to Chestnut's 66. You know what they say: "second place is the first loser".

If you watch the video on YouTube, you may notice something interesting about the whole shebang. Oh, that is aside from Kobayashi blowing chunks. Because he does. Into his hands. And tries to cover it up by swallowing his own half-digested hot dog vomit. What is stupefying, aside from the fact that this actually gets attention, is the announcer's voices. I'm just guessing, but only a few possible things could be going on to get them so hyper-excited:

1) They are new to the network and have to "put in their time" at the 'ol ESPN. Hot dog eating contest, here I come!
2) Before taping, they dared each other to act like they were commentating on an actual sporting event, say, football or basketball.
3) Their drinks were spiked with strange, delicious spices called meth, cocaine and meth.

My theory is that a little of all three is involved, but mostly numbers 2 and 3. The cadence and feverish pitch of their voices suggests (if you were hearing it without seeing it), that the contestants were climbing individual 100-foot trees, leaping from the top of one to the base of another ("60, 61, Chestnut has PASSED Kobayashi!!!"). They use words like "unbelievable" and "incredible". At one point, one of the commentators says, "Come on now, Chestnut. The fans want 'ya. Kobayashi is bringin' it today."

But my personal, all time favorite quote ever in the history of sports commentating comes from one of the hairpieces when he exclaims:

"...39 seconds remain. This would be the greatest moment in the history of American sports if Chestnut can bring The Belt home to Coney Island; it's been gone for 9 years."

Greatest moment in the history of American sports, huh? Must've been the meth talking. You can just see the look on the face of the other commentator, somewhere between "What a fucking nutjob" and "Jeez I could really go for some more of that meth". I consider myself nowhere near a connoisseur of the sporting world, but even I can think of moments in American sports that were far greater than this puke fest. Like the time gymnast Keri Strug stuck a solid landing on her second attempt after her first vault caused a hairline fracture in her leg. It won the American ladies gymnastics team an olympic gold medal, people.

Oh, and "The Belt"? What belt? They win a stupid belt for this thing? They win anything for this thing? I probably shouldn't be surprised, but I don't think a belt is such a great symbol of winning a hot dog eating contest. WWF wrestlers win belts, not Chestnut and his gullet. But wait, I can totally see why they give a belt at these things. It's so the winner can hold in their belly that would otherwise expand and explode all over the audience. Hopefully they give belts to every other contestant as well. But of course only the gold, diamond-encrusted one goes to the winner. And though others may think me crazy for saying it, all the hot dog eating champion belts in the world can't by you, Joey Chestnut of San Jose, the one thing you so desperately need: dignity.

Addition: In the high-profile sport of hot dog eating contests, they actually have a word that consisely relays the verb "to blow chunks" without such unnecessarily gruesome phraseology. If you really think about it, hot dog eating contests are a sport of nuance and grace. Being that this is a legitimate sport, one of the MOST legitimate, a sporting term has therefore been employed. If you didn't catch it in the video, or if you're smart and didn't even watch the video, the word is "reversal". As in, "Woah Chuck, that reversal is gonna cost Kobayashi a point". Yeah. Reversal.