I went to the Winter Hawks hockey game last night (we won) and as I was going about my business in the restroom after the game, an interesting thing happened.

Let me set the scene: There are five urinals in a row. There are people using the ones on each end. I decide to use the one in the middle, leaving an empty urinal between myself and each of the other two folks there.

Okay, so a fourth guy comes in and chooses the urinal to my left. Now there are (from left to right) two guys, me, an empty urinal, and another guy. Here’s where the interesting thing happens.

The guy to my immediate left (we’ll call him “Bob”) starts talking to the guy to the far left (we’ll call him “Jim”). It went something like this…

Bob: Some game, wasn’t it? Jim: Yup. Glad we won. Bob (gesturing at the Jim’s beer cup sitting on top of Jim’s urinal): You piss in that cup yet? Jim: Nope. Bob: Good.

Now, Bob is doing his business with his wang in his left hand. He proceeds to cross over with his right hand, grab Jim’s beer, and drink it, while he’s peeing.

This prompted me to feel as though there are a few unwritten rules of bathroom etiquette (and general sanitary conduct) that probably need to be written down for the people in the cheap seats. I can’t claim this list to be comprehensive, but here are some of the major ones:

1. Don’t talk to other people in the bathroom unless it’s an emergency, like if you’ve caught yourself on fire.
2. Don’t bring food or drink in the bathroom. The reason it smells like piss is that there are little piss particles floating around in the air.
3. If you absolutely must bring food and/or drink into the bathroom, by all means, feel free to leave them on the counter. Don’t set it on top of the urinal unless you’re trying to play a dirty prank on the owner of the food/drink.
4. Wash your hands after going to the bathroom. This sounds fairly obvious, doesn’t it? You’d be surprised. I think the “best” reason I’ve heard someone use for not washing their hands was: “If you keep your dick clean, you don’t have to wash your hands.” As if I trust the cleanliness level of someone else’s dick. I think not.
5. If you wipe and somehow miss the toilet when you try to throw the TP in, clean up after yourself. Maybe that’ll teach you to aim a little better. (Don’t forget to wash your hands!!!)
6. Flush. Please, by all that is holy, especially after a particularly foul crap, flush the sonofabitch down. As entertaining as you find it, please believe you’ll be eating that turd if I find you leaving it there and I’m the next to use the toilet.
7. Aim. For the male population, this does require the use of your hand. Maybe both hands. Playing a handheld video game, reading a newspaper, or doing something else that might require you to remove your hand from the aiming position is not an option. I don’t care how “under control” you might think you have things.
8. Don’t touch other people. Even if you’ve washed your hands. If you just took a leak and then stick your hand out to me to shake it, you’re gonna be left hanging. This sort of goes hand in hand with the “no talking” rule. Wait until you’re outside the hallowed hall.
9. Try to minimize the noise level. Sure, sometimes that little extra “grunt” is needed to push the big guy out, but a constant, low-level moaning or other such unnecessary sound is, well, unnecessary. I don’t want to be involved with your business any more than you want to be involved with mine.

I think that pretty much covers it. I’m sure there are others, and I may have to revise this post and add to the list, but for the most part, them’s the rules.

Cirque du Soleil is bringing their Dralion show to Portland and I’ve got my tickets! Come June 14, I’ll be sitting right up front (three rows back from center stage) taking in some of the most wonderful entertainment I’ve ever encountered.

I’ve seen the Mystere show at the Treasure Island, Las Vegas like three times now and it just gets better every time. I’ve also seen the Saltimbanco show, last time it was in Portland. I’m totally excited to see this latest arrival. When the big top goes up, I’ll probably be chomping at the bit.

So I’ll admit that I got the Barry Manilow greatest hits compilation, Ultimate Manilow. I bring that to light right here at the beginning because it implies immediately what you think it does - that I do, in fact, enjoy listening to Barry Manilow.

So do you. Admit it. The guy is, like, a total pop music icon. He’s like Burt Bacharach - the guy has written songs you probably didn’t even know were his. I learned a new one yesterday - Barry Manilow wrote the theme to American Bandstand. I didn’t even know there were words to that song, other than just “Bandstaaaaand.”

A friend of mine at work gave me the pish-tosh when I showed him the album. He was all, “I bet you listen to John Denver, too.”

Hell, yes, I listen to John Denver. I have some very positive childhood memories associated with that guy. So do you. Who hasn’t wanted a bed that was nine feet high and six feet wide? Saying John Denver sucks is like saying “I hate America and all it stands for.” You just can’t do it.

Moving on.

Buffy last night, as an episode, kinda sucked. Hang on before you bitch-slap me for that. Lots happened - we get some closure on the whole “Riley” issue, we get to see Buffy deal with the Spike affair, we see Xander and Anya come closer together, we witness the rebirth of the Buffy/Dawn sisterhood. As a series of events, it was great. I’ve been waiting for resolution on some of those issues. But as an episode… Suck City. It felt like a bunch of random events strung together like a cheap pearl necklace.

The Self-Made Critic has written a great review of the Britney Spears movie, Crossroads. Yeah, it’s making money, but it sounds about as lame as we all thought it was going to be. The review isn’t on his web site yet (I got it via the mailing list), but keep checking for it. It’s great. (I love the Self-Made Critic. He’s the first critic I’ve found that I almost always agree with.)

Finally, I got my copy of Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. It’s a 2-DVD set with loads of extras. I can hardly wait. I think I’m going to watch it at work today. That movie rocks.

So I joined this sort of ad-trading network to maybe get some traffic in here. It seemed like a keen thing. It’s called BlogSnob. Basically, you just put a little Javascript dealie in your page (mine’s in the column on the right) and you get a random text link to someone else’s blog. In return, your blog will get advertised on other peoples’ sites.

Hey, I figure it can’t hurt. If anything, it’s something fun and different.

I’m sure others have experienced it, but it’s always an event: The birthday “party” for a child.

I use quotes around “party” because it’s really not a party so much as a “gathering,” especially when the child is under, say, 15. In this case, I got the opportunity to hit the happenin’ scene of the four-year-old birthday.

Now, let me be clear: The four-year-old in question (my girlfriend’s niece) is actually quite cool (except for the fact that every time I see her she runs up and tags me in the nuts). She’s a lot of fun to play with and when she visits I chase her around the apartment with a blanket over my head. (We like to call this “The Blanket Monster.”)

However, much as I like the kid and my girlfriend Jenn’s family, I’ve never been one for large gatherings, especially large gatherings of people I don’t know where the primary function is a “potluck.” That’s exactly what we had this weekend.

Whoever came up with the idea of “potluck” was either a genius or a damn idiot. I don’t even think I have to elaborate on that - if you’ve been to a potluck, you know what I’m talking about; if you haven’t, there’s no way I can possibly describe to you the interesting assortment of dishes that always seem to appear at these things.

Anyway, the “party” this weekend consisted of me eating sort of a potato-cheese concotion and some garlic bread (I’ve never been much for meatloaf, Vienna sausages, or salmon sandwiches in pita bread), watching the kid open gifts, and listening to people I don’t know talk about other people I don’t know in a way that makes me think that I should know what they’re talking about even if I don’t.

It was not quite as entertaining as the wedding reception I once went to that had the clown making balloon animals and the room full of handicapped kids doing the hokey-pokey. Maybe I’ll have to write about that sometime, though I’ll probably go to Hell for it.

FYI, that potato-cheese concotion stayed with me all the way through the hockey game I went to that night. Yowza.

And Jenn’s dad didn’t even wear his Shriner’s fez. What the hell kind of fun is it without the fez?