Our Day At ABIA

So the other day, let's say two weeks ago, we were forced to stay at the Austin Bergstrom International Airport for roughly 10 hours. Let's not get into why exactly we had to stay there for 10 hours, but let's just say there was a confluence of events involving, among other things, lack of transportation, a misunderstanding about Southwest's stand-by rules, Columbus Day, and bad weather in Houston. In other words, it was a huge clusterfuck of events, most of which were my own damn fault.

Anyway, I had about 10 hours to kill, so, naturally, it's important that I write about it. And it's more important that you know about it.

10:00 AM. About 8 hours before scheduled takeoff. Even though I'm ridiculously early, I figure within the really cool innards of ABIA, I can waste several hours wandering from kiosk to kiosk and bar to bar. No big deal right? WRONG. As it turns out, passengers are not allowed to check bags more than 5 hours before the scheduled takeoff. The lady at the counter literally says, "Why are you here so early?" The rule was enacted after 9/11 and I have to assume this is the first time it has ever been invoked. I mean, what kind of moron shows up to a flight more than 5 hours early?

*This guy!*

Great. So instead of squatting at Earl Campbell's overpriced bar for the next half-day (more on that later), I have to spend half of that time sitting at one of those stupid non-beer-serving coffee bars. As I'm walking away from the check-in counter, the lady mentions, "call one of your friends and tell them to come pick you up!" Well, dammit, it's Monday and every one of my friends has a job! Not one unemployed loser or grad school flake to be had amongst them. So I've got a coffee cup with free refills (I'm taking this motherfucking coffee bar to the CLEANERS!), and a slew of podcasts to listen to for the next few hours. If my iPod runs out of juice, I am screwed.

12:00 PM. 6 hours before scheduled takeoff. I've been sitting at a coffee bar for two hours and it's still another hour before I can even check my bag, thereby allowing me through security to pay for overpriced Amy's Ice Cream (worth it!). I've considered seriously about just leaving my bag in some dark corner and heading through security to grab some Salt Lick BBQ or something. I know that violates all sorts of FAA regulations, but hey, they don't ask that, "Have you always been in contact with your bags?" question anymore. I always loved that question, I always wanted to say, "yeah, actually I left my bags with that guy in the turban over there while I took a piss. Is that cool?" But of course I never did, because I'm a big fraidy cat.

1:00 PM. 5 hours before scheduled takeoff. The lady at the check-in counter looks at me like, "oh my god, seriously?" I check my bag.

1:30 PM. 4 1/2 hours before scheduled takeoff. Ahh, through security. Time to wander.

I start calling everyone I know, even though they're all working. And even though I'm burning through my Anytime Minutes like crazy. I'll probably be charged $600 for my day at the airport. Good thing I shrewdly bought evening tickets, thereby saving me money!

2:00 PM. 4 hours before takeoff. So as I'm talking on the phone to whomever is willing to shirk their work for a while I walk up and down the ABIA terminal, which only takes about 7 minutes end-to-end. After about four trips up and down the terminal I wonder if people are wondering what it wrong with that wayward weirdo. Is he so engrossed in his conversation about the baseball playoffs that he missed his flight? Why is he coming back for the sixth time?

2:30 PM. 3 1/2 hours before scheduled takeoff. I decide to grab some lunch and drink some beer at Earl Campbell's little BBQ place. $9 BBQ tacos and $8 pints of Sam Adams? Sold!

3:00 PM. 3 hours before scheduled takeoff. Here's a fun fact: I hate people!

You see, I'm sitting at the bar nursing my second Sam Adams, trying to drink it slowly since it's so damned expensive. And there's this incredibly friendly guy sitting next to me. A little undergraduate-douchiness, but friendly more or less. And he keeps trying to engage me about whatever's happening on the TV screen, which is just tuned to ESPN2. So he's trying to talk to me about sports or whatever and I just wish he would shut the hell up. And I love sports! I'm thinking, "I wish this guy would shut up so I could hear what Trent Dilfer has to say about Jamarcus Russell." Trent Dilfer! I'm clearly not in the mood for talking.

I chug the rest of my $8 Sam Adams and get walking again.

4:00 PM. 2 hours before scheduled takeoff. When I have time to kill, I eat. I hate not eating when I could be eating. So I head over to Amy's Ice Cream.

Dear ABIA, under no circumstances are you to put Salt Lick BBQ next to Amy's Ice Cream. It's incredibly disorienting. One of the last things I want to smell before I enjoy my Mexican Vanilla with Heath Bar crush'ns is barbecue sauce. Makes me a bit sick.

5:00 PM. 1 hour before scheduled takeoff. At least now I'm in the "plausibly early" range. Not "terrorist early" range.

6:00 PM. Time for scheduled takeoff. That's funny, we're supposed to be taking off right now, but I'm waiting at the gate, clearly not on the plane. Actually the plane isn't here yet. YOU CAN'T FOOL ME AIRLINE! WE'RE NOT TAKING OFF RIGHT NOW!

6:30 PM. 30 minutes after scheduled takeoff. Here's the thing. The time you spend waiting in an airport is inversely proportional to how much you care about your own safety. And if you're sitting on the plane on the runway and not taking off, you're thinking, "I don't give a damn about de-icing the plane! I don't care if this plane crashes into the ground, just get me OUT OF HERE!"

7:00 PM. And sure enough, it did. I got out of there, back to Denver, where it was 40 degrees colder. Finally.

I'd Love To Babe, but I've Got a Fantasy Football Draft

Girl, you lookin' fine tonight. You know what I'd like to do? I'd like to take you out for a night on the town. We'd go to the finest restaurants. We'd go to the classiest clubs. Then we'd rent a fancy hotel room and let it all hang out. But I can't.

I have a fantasy football draft.

Mmmmmm, girl. You know I love it when you put that little black dress on. I swear, that thing's like Superman's kryptonite. I can barely control myself around you. Your hair, your lips. What say you and me get together, after my 16 round serpentine style fantasy football draft this weekend? I have the fourth overall pick and I want to make it special.

Yes, it's Saturday night. And you know what Saturday night's all about. A nice dinner, some dancing. Maybe we could stop by that little cappuccino cafe that you love so very much. I hope you don't mind me bringing along this fantasy football magazine with a picture of Adrian Peterson on the cover. Yes, ma'am I expect big things from "All-day" Adrian.

And speaking of "all-day" what do you say I make you a nice breakfast tomorrow? We can have wild salmon and toast each other with mimosas, followed by four hours of solid fantasy football strategy. Who do you think I should take in the second round, Pierre Thomas or Terrell Owens. Mmmmm, girl, you know what I like...

Let's cut the foreplay and get right into it. When I look into your eyes I'm lost. I could just stare into your beautiful green eyes for hours on end. And while I'm staring, I could participate in an ESPN.com mock fantasy draft. You see, I need practice for my real draft. Awwwww, baby....

But you know what I don't need practice in? That's right, baby. I need absolutely no practice in pleasuring my woman. So long as "pleasuring" means extolling the very fine virtues of having four wide receivers and playing matchups against the defense. In such an instance, I could pleasure you all day and all night.

What say we go over to your place? You see, my place lacks the charm of your wonderful abode. and I want to you be comfortable in your own bed. And your internet connection is very reliable. That's important when I'm participating in my fantasy football draft.

We could stay together all weekend, babe. That's right. Just you and me, all weekend. There will be no ceasing of our enjoyment of each other. I'll bring roses, wine, fine cheeses, and of course, your favorite: sweet, dark chocolate. We'll treat each other like royalty. And then I'll start my auction draft. I plan on bidding $45 on DeAngelo Williams. You dig, baby? Mmmmm, that's what I like to hear.

I'd love to take you out to a fine movie, but I spent the last of my paycheck on the entrance fees to the seven fantasy leagues that I'm in. But baby, if I can win a few then we'll celebrate with nothing but the finest food in the entire town.

Baby, I know we can stay together forever like this. You and me, love knows no bounds. I'll stay by your side and love you up now and forever. Which reminds me: whom should I make my keeper player? You know, the one special player that will be by my side from year to year. Just like us, baby. Just like us.

Who Says We're a Divided Country?

dearOne thing we all agree on: the Cleveland Indians suck at trading.



It's a bit unusual of us to go two posts in a row displaying statistically shoddy Internets polls, but at 87% to 13%, that's like Obama-in-Jasper, TX bad.

For the second straight year, the Indians traded away their best player, and reigning Cy Young winner because A) they suck, and B) they knew they couldn't pay them once they became free agents. We are THIS close to renouncing baseball it's pathetic.

What makes this especially bullshitty is that the Indians once again received no elite prospects. They basically just traded filet mignon for grade B beef. You know what grade B beef is good for??? MEATLOAF AND CARNE GUISADA THAT'S WHAT!!!!!

We've seen this Indians franchise torn down and rebuilt so many times in the past 10 years we can't even keep track. At least the Cavs have been on the same, disappointingly disappointing trajectory. At least the Browns suck every damn year! There's absolutely no expectations for the Browns. It's nice. But with the Indians, they go and build themselves up, set their sights on the playoffs and then BLAMMO!!! They suck indefensibly and it's time to blow the whole fucking thing up and start the whole fucking thing over.

WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY, TRAVIS HAFNER, HIGHEST PAID PLAYER ON THE INDIANS? YOUR BACK HURTS?? Well mine does too! Get out there, take some HGH and hit us a few dingers! You're the one player that we decided to throw large sums of money at and now we can't pay our actually good players!

Ugh. When does football season start? Ugh. Scratch that, when does basketball season start?

MP3 of the Week: "America's Most Trusted Newscaster" Edition

And now to the poll results.


OK so it's an online poll and only 9409 people responded.

Still, I think this says as much about the major three newscasters than it does about Jon Stewart. Or maybe it tells us something about where the Internets Generation gets their news. Or maybe it tells us that Iowa just loves Katie Couric (hilariously, Couric got 0% in Alaska. Wonder why that could be?).

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Up until a few weeks ago Fanfarlo was offering their new album Resevoir for $1. Easily the best album deal of the year. You can still get it for $5.99 from iTunes (the download is not on Amazon yet). But that is a 600% price hike.

It's an extremely "nice" album. And we really mean that in a good way. It's just accessable enough to make it enjoyable on a first listen, yet just adventurous enough to keep you around for several more listens.

Fanfarlo - "The Walls Are Coming Down"

The Fatal Flaw of Democracy?

Look, we love Democracy and all, but under the Democratic system we are about to willingly fuck ourselves over for the next 20 years. Why are we about to fuck ourselves over? Old people.

In 2003, George W. Bush signed into law the Medicare Prescription Drug Improvement and Modernization Act (MMA) which contained Medicare Part D. It was a heated process involving numerous close votes, working through 4 A.M. in the morning, and a lot of arm twisting. Without boring you with the details, the main players were Dick Cheney, Tom DeLay who twisted many arms to get the bill to pass, Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert, who introduced the bill. This was the costliest expansion of Medicare since its inception. And the party of fiscal responsibility just drenched the U.S. government in debt with the Baby Boomers about to start taking advantage of free prescription drugs provided courtesy of the US government.

Why did the party of fiscal responsibility, smaller government, and lower taxes decide to pass the largest fiscal expansion since Medicare's inception? Old people.

It was 2003. The mid-term was just around the corner and if there's one thing we know about old people it's that they vote. And there's a lot of them. They're about to swallow the entire damn country. And they're about to sink the whole ship.


Flash forward to today: the health care reform brou-ha-ha.

During the campaigns Obama ran, he continually stressed that he would do whatever it took to reduce the costs of entitlements. He appeared to understand the trajectory that the US was on was unsustainable. That meant reforming Social Security, maybe even cutting benefits. More importantly, it meant finding some pricing measures for the medical community. He also claimed that he was both above the petty party bickering and unassailable by any particular special interest group. He repeated that the future of this country was too important to let fall into the hands of special interest. He also spoke at length about how difficult was for the road ahead. In his inauguration speech he intoned that there would be shared sacrifice for the betterment and the well-being of this country, and we were ok with that. In fact, we even felt empowered, like we were the Next Greatest Generation. The Baby Boomers may have gotten all fat and happy, but we were going to be the generation that restores fiscal sense to our markets and our budgets.

(Ed. Note: as we reread the previous paragraph, we realize it's a bit meandering and scattershot. What we are trying to do is paint the portrait of a generation of Americans who were promised shared sacrifice in order to make this country great. And that that is exactly what Obama spoke about and embodied. You probably see where this is going.)

There are two quick, simple, and ultimately critical ways to drive down health care cost inflation and Obama and the Democrats have pretty much squelched both.

1. Taxing Health Care Benefits. Obama hammered McCain over this in the campaign. It's probably part of the reason why he won. But if health care benefits were taxed properly we'd have an incentive not to go see the doctor. Or to stay healthy. Obviously we want people to be able to see a doctor if they're sick, but it would incentivize wellness in a real and tangible way. It would mostly affect those with golden goose health plans. And these people are A) rich, or B) part of a labor union. We all know that Obama and the Democrats are ok with squeezing the rich, but they wouldn't dare cross the UAW, who have managed to negotiate extremely posh health care packages, if not better wages.

2. Cutting Medicare Benefits. There's simply no way around it: America is going to go bankrupt once the Baby Boomers start cashing in on all their years of bitching about their kids and getting botox. But just like Republicans in the early 2000's, there is no chance the Democrats are going to alienate the largest swath of reliable voters this country has.

And this appears to the fatal flaw of Democracy: you want to win elections. It incentivizes staying in power, rather than making the country better long-term. We're not sure what else there is to correct this. And it's probably not such a problem in countries that don't have a population so disproportionally represented. But as it stands, our elected officials have taken off the table the two measures which could eventually make the country fiscally solvent. And if that means driving the country off a cliff financially in order to stay in power, then so be it.

The health care reform act as it's currently being constructed is doing nothing to lower costs. Without proper incentives to drive down health care costs, it doesn't really matter what form the bill takes: mandates, universal coverage, public plan, no public plan. That's all moot, really.

In order to make this country financially solvent, a generation of politicians is going to have to get elected and say, "Old People, Labor Unions: thanks for your vote. Now you're going to have to give up some of the goodies you've been promised by prior politicians and share the sacrifice with all of us." Frankly, we thought that politician was Barack Obama. Now we're not so sure.

DMS Fatherly Advice: Eating Out

We know a few things, in particular about fatherhood. In fact, we don't want to give away any Oscar spoilers, but we think we're in line for a World's Greatest Dad lifetime achievement award.

So today, and in the future, we'll be dishing out the fatherly advice for those wayward or future paterfamilias.

Today's edition: Eating Out.

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Don't do it. Just don't. Please for the love of God do NOT go out to dinner with children. They don't belong in public, much less a nice setting like a fancy schmancy restraint.

You're better off doing anything besides going to a restaurant with small children. Order a pizza. Get Chinese takeout. Make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. Anything!

However, we realize that sometimes it's unavoidable. Friends without kids come in to town and you're terrified to tell them that you're terrified to go out to eat with your own little urchins. And then it promptly turns into a huge disaster that will convince your childless friends to get vasectomies and hysterectomies (just to be safe).

So while our best advice is "don't fucking do it" (hmmm... that sounds familiar), we'll try to minimize the damage with our normally outstanding parental advice.

Pick a proper restraunt. Don't go to some sushi bar or anything. The people that go to nice places like sushi bar don't want kids screaming, "THERE ARE NO CHICKEN NUGGETS!!!!!!!!" It's not fair to them. It's not fair to the kids.

However, you don't want to go to Chucky Cheese or anything, because that place is at once both a nightmare and a petri dish or horrible childhood diseases. I'm pretty sure if the CDC would take a swab of the bottom of that ball pit, they'd find some rare strain of ebola.

Pick an in-between place. A place where the food sucks just enough for the kids to enjoy, and is just annoying enough for you to hate: Red Robin? Perfect.

Sit outside. I don't care what the temperature is. I don't care if it's raining. Sit outside. It's better for everyone involved. I don't even care if they have outside seating. Drag a damn table out the back door and sit in the back alley if you have to.

Bring "supplies." Bring whatever it takes to shut your kids up while waiting for a table: strawberries, crackers, vodka. Whatever it takes.

Order your food the first time you see your waiter. It doesn't matter if you like what you're getting. Just spit out the first thing you read on the menu. Sure, your waiter might look puzzled when you order steamed rice for dinner, but don't let that waiter get away. At this point, it's all about speed.

Ketchup. Kids love ketchup. Doesn't matter what it's on. Get a bottle of ketchup. You could even use straight up ketchup if you forgot your supplies. Just squirt some ketchup on a plate and your kids will go fucking nuts. True, you might be sickened to the point where you won't even enjoy your meal of steamed rice, but at least the kids will be too busy shoveling ketchup into their faces to make you want to crawl under the table and die.

Get the check right away. Before you're done eating you need to get that check because as soon as the kids are done, that's when the Meltdown begins. As soon as they finish (them, not you!) it's time to leave. So you better have that ketchup and rice paid for. What? You're paying with credit card! Oh no you're not!

Cash. Pay with cash and have enough monitary variability to be able to just throw the money at your waiter and yell, "Keep the change!" as you and your children leave the resturaunt screaming.

Leave a huge fucking tip. I really pity the poor employees who have to clean up after the Supercomputer household is done. It looks like we got our food, stood up, held a plate of food in each hand, and just twirled around until we got dizzy. They deserve huge cash to clean up your shit.

So you walk out with your head held low and a bunch of kidless resturaunt goes whispering to themselves, "how embarrassing!" and "I'm soooo glad they're gone! I can't believe they brought their kids!" But hopefully, with a few of the tips we've provided, you won't purposefully drive into a river on the way home.

Real Time Movie Reviews: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

(Most movie reviewers like to wait until they've watched the entire movie before they submit a final review. Not us, we like to get liquored up, pop in the DVD, and let 'er rip in semi-real time. So take that, Peter Travers!!

Tonight we review, The Curious Case of Benj-)

HOLY CRAP! KILL ME NOW!! THIS MOVIE IS SO FUCKING LONG I WANT TO DIE!!!!! What the hell was that bit about the clock at the beginning??? Yeah, we get it! Brad Pitt is living backwards. Brilliant. We got it. We still have two and a half hours to go???!!! Holy hell!!!!

It's like the editors of this movie decided, "you know what? Fuck it. I'm tired. Everything it perfect. Let's just go with the damn raw shooting footage!" Thanks a fucking lot for that bit about the guy getting struck by lightning. NO POSSIBLE WAY WE COULD HAVE LEFT THAT OUT OF YOUR INCREDIBLY LONG BORING MOVIE?!!

Let us get this straight: we watch and LOVE P.T. Anderson movies. We thought There Will Be Blood was the best movie of that year. We watch Magnolia at least once a month. But hell if I'm ever sitting through this piece of crap again.

What?? It's an hour into the movie and Brad Pitt's still 80 fucking years old??!! Please. Kill. Me. Is this what old age is like? Is that the idea? OK, we get it. We don't need another hour and a half to teach us that lesson.

Please God, not another scene with the unintelligible dying lady. No. Not another one. They add absolutely nothing to the film. Please tell me she dies real soon and we don't have to hear from her again.

Oh, you're throwing Hurricane Katrina in there? Pretty fucking topical, Mr. Director! Is this the same directorial expertise that enabled you to bring life to Video Hits: Paula Abdul? You maggot. I'm sure that's what F. Scott Fitzgerald was thinking when he wrote this awful experience.

How in the hell did this get nominated for Best Picture? Oh that's right, because it's so long it makes you want to die. Pretty clever, stupid piece of crap movie.

This movie is so inept. It has almost three hours to work with and explores absolutely nothing of worth. There's nothing poignant about life or aging or love or anything except for the fact that I'M THREE HOURS CLOSER TO MY MORTAL MOMENT THANKS TO THIS PIECE OF CRAP!!!! I never want to see this movie again. I never want to think about this movie again.

What? There's still an hour to go before this piece of shit is over? Oh man. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to sleep on my keybrfghl;',,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,