The Monday Roast: Michelle Wie

1. Too good for the LPGA, yet just two career wins? Boom, roasted.

2. The usual criteria for playing in a PGA event is winning. Boom, roasted.

3. Daddy issues. Boom, roasted.

4. Fail. Boom, roasted.

5. "I really don't know why Michelle continues to do this. We have a major this week and, if you can't qualify for a major, I don't see any reason why you should play with the men. --Annika Sorenstam (90 career wins). Boom, roasted.

I Dare You Not to Dance

The Monday Roast: Pull Ups

1. There are 1000 machines at the gym invented to avoid you. Boom, roasted.
2. Unlike a slump buster, no one wants to do you. Boom, roasted.
3. Why would I do pull ups for free when I can pay a trainer $65/hr to tell me to? Boom, roasted.
4. Not everyone aspires to Cirque du Soleil. Boom, roasted.
5. This thing was invented. Boom, roasted.
   

Outside Lands was Experienced and Phoenix the Band is Better than the City. Exponentially.

Just awhile back I was reading an article in the New York Times (be impressed). The premise of said article was that money might not buy you happiness but in some cases it can lead to happiness. You see, according to a study, most people are not fulfilled when spending on material goods. Those who spend on experiences are far happier.

And I could not be happier to be out $150 for Outside Lands 2010.

The WC loyalists will say, “But Adam, you already went to Coachella and wrote about that.” Indeed, I did. But what other forum could I use to convey the faux-hipster movement away from fedoras to canes? Yes, canes, as in: upright assistance. I swear there was an abundance of able-bodied cane enthusiasts at the two-day festival. I have no explanation.

Day one was filled with groups I didn’t really know, fog, cold, and disappointment. I didn’t really know My Morning Jacket or Gogol Bordeaux and each was impressive. Gogol erupted on stage and I couldn’t tell if they were singing in Spanish or eastern European but it didn’t matter. My Morning Jacket was good. Took the stage and put on a rock show that became a bit redundant but entertaining.

The cold and the fog were chilly and wet. Bothersome.

Disappointment came with Wolfmother and The Strokes. Both put on just mediocre shows and I’d venture to request that Strokes front man, Julian Casablancas, never address a crowd again. Great voice. Terrible commentary.

For day one I only knew three songs across five performances. But day two featured Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes, Phoenix, and Kings of Leon. Toss in slight familiarity with Amos Lee and The Temper Trap and I knew day two would be good.

Then MD thought the back pocket of my jeans would be a good place to keep a flask of vodka and I then knew day two would be epic!

Amos Lee was a surprisingly fun singer and was exactly what the sun needed to be coaxed out. The Temper Trap followed with a good show but was really just whetting my desire to hear Edward Sharpe followed by Phoenix. Ultimately, everyone would know that I enjoyed the Phoenix show.

Edward Sharpe's performance consists of ten hippies running around on stage and was nothing short of amazing. Folksy hippie music can’t always get people up to party. Edward Sharpe can.

Allow me to preface my Phoenix performance review with the fact that I really like this band. I haven’t taken them off my iPod Shuffle for some ten months and I frequent Phoenix radio on Pandora. That said, let’s briefly rehash my Coachella thoughts on Phoenix:

Phoenix put on a fair show but left much to the imagination.

They might as well have popped their CD in and danced on stage

So when you’re three-quarters through a two-day concert and you’ve known maybe a dozen songs and then a band plays a 75-minute set you know all the words to and you’re a few flasks-n-pints deep, let me tell you: Phoenix fucking rocks. They played a great set and I haven’t been able to get enough of their song “Rome” since Sunday.

I am told Kings of Leon closed the festival.

So back to the Times article. It was the experience that mattered, not necessarily the music, venue or liquor. And experiences – as we learned from the martyred Chris McCandless – are best when shared. So thanks and great work to:

· MD – photographer extraordinaire, but please do not share

· SC – sorry for the Franzia fiasco, if I could have chosen who to shower, it would not have been you. AJT? Kidding. LC, fo sho.

· LC – someday you’ll hear a song you know

· AJT – when missing JAOLL assume the fetal position and wait

· AM – I wish your favorite song from the weekend had been from the show

· RM – Ed Sharpe > Al Green

· PS – tardy, but good to see you

· CHFOLL – sigh

· Phoenix – I heart you

Then it was over and our crew parted ways; biking, stumbling, or walking home. Monday morning was tough, but we endure and we go back to the proverbial grind so that we can pay for some more experiences.

The Monday Roast: Lacrosse

1.  Do you have a waivy, floppy mullet because you play lacrosse or do you play lacrosse because you have a waivy, floppy mullet?  Boom, roasted.

2.  Try holding your college championship outside of Baltimore (or anywhere west of New England) and see if anyone shows up.  Boom, roasted.

3.  I guess rich, white, country club, suburban parents couldn't get playing time for their kids in a regular sport, so they opted to create a sport just for rich, white, country club suburban kids.  Boom, roasted.

4.  The most famous lacrosse player of all time: Steve Stifler.  Boom, roasted.

5.  The popularity of your sport was buoyed by a rape scandal. Boom, roasted.

The Monday Roast: Midterm Elections

1.  Let's take a break from doing anything proactive in Washington D.C. and talk about what terrible shape the country is in.  Boom, roasted.

2.  I'm qualified to be the Senator of [insert state name here] because I don't like President Obama--good plan.  Boom, roasted.

3.  Can the Republicans move any further right?  Let's have a midterm election and find out.  Boom, roasted.

4.  I'd be more excited to hear what Michael Steele had to say if Sarah Palin still let us use the "r-word."  Boom, roasted.

5.  Nothing like job insecurity to make an incumbent get on TV and tell us jobs are coming back if we're just patient.  Boom, roasted.

A Stranger on the Beach

I was laying on the beach on a Tuesday afternoon during a San Diego summer.  Since Wednesday I had finished the bar exam; moved out of an apartment; and spent a weekend in San Francisco.  Now I was laying on a beach in Cardiff-by-the-Sea and my earthly belongings (of which there are few) were scattered about Eugene and Portland Oregon.  I was a man without a home and a stranger on the beach.

I lay shirtless with my feet in the sand and a fruity sheen of Coppertone glistening on my chest.  My Oregon whiteness was surely glaring among the bleach white hair, leather brown skin, and blue water.  Out in the ocean I watched a mess of blue surf boards and kids of all ages and sizes thrashing about in the water.  Some were catching waves, others were bobbing, others were flying happily into the water off their boards.

Mixed in among the fleet of identical blue surfboards were several adult size wet suits.  I soon realized these kids were members of the Eli Howard Surf School and the adult sized wet suits were their instructors.  The kids laughed in the sun.  Shouts from all over demonstrated unbridled excitement at the success of standing atop the water and coasting down the face of a gently curling wave.  They exuded pure summer.

I smiled as I recalled endless younger days of sports camps and sunscreen.  Growing up in the desert, the notion of spending my days surfing had never occurred to me.  However, here I was, 25 years old, in the middle of a weekday watching kids enjoying the greatest child hood pastime: summer.  Despite the purity of youthful joy all around me, I lay pondering what type of liability release forms the parents of these kids had signed.  I was a stranger on the beach.

I waded out into the water and looked back at the western coast of Southern California.  The water washed over my head.  The ocean has a way of making a man feel very small--rightfully so.  All I can do is keep my head above water and keep swimming; but there are no instructors, I can swim wherever I please.

The Monday Roast: That Pitcher From Sunday's Softball Game

1. Let go of the dream. There were no, and will never be, scouts at the freezing cold and overgrown Presidio field. Boom, roasted.
2. Mix in a salad. Boom, roasted.
3. Talking trash to girls - or anyone for that matter - at a coed beer league is always cool. Oh wait. No, it's not. Boom, roasted.
4. You're not even a has been. You're a never was. (And unlike Gordon Bombay, you will never lead an inner-city hockey team named "The Mighty Ducks" to any championships. Not even if you have Adam Banks). Boom, roasted.
5. Run to first. It'd be good for ya. Boom, roasted.