Monday Night Chronicles

I'm doing something I almost never do: I'm watching Monday Night Football in real time. I'm doing that because it's the Colts vs. the Bengals, and they are my two favorite teams. Happily, the Colts have stepped out to a 10-3 lead, but there's still a lot of time left to play. That said, watching in real time (rather than DVR-delayed) shows me just how annoying the eleventy-seven commercials an hour on MNF are. (Blast! Former Wahoo Terrence Wilkins just muffed a punt to give the Bengals excellent field position after a 3 and out.)

Luckily for me, I have the Chronicles to take up that commercial time. Keeping with the holiday spirit theme we established last time out, I'm going to share a video that Lawton sent to me. It's the Scrubs cast doing voice-overs of A Charlie Brown Christmas, and it's good times. Enjoy. (And now the Bengals have tied it up. Dammit, Terrence!)

We Got Spirit, Yes We Do

I like Commercialmas as much as the next guy. At least, provided that the next guy is another guy who kind of likes the season but isn't crazy-gung-ho about it and definitely doesn't think carols and such should be heard until December. Once December rolls around, I'm fine with it, but my desire to never decorate (much less to put up temporary decorations that will require effort to take down in the near future) is often misconstrued as a general bah-humbugness. The midnight, December 1st (an not a minute earlier) was a rule that a college roomie and I imposed on an overly (from our perspective) enthusiastic third roomie back in the day, and it has always stuck with me. For that reason, unlike Jen, I don't load Christmas tunes on the AbsPod. But I digress.

Just to show you that I'm not really all Scrooged up, I will share something with you. The other night, the Girl came over having heard a song that was "just so ridiculously cute" that she wanted to hear it more and more. In fact, she was a little irked that she didn't grow up hearing that song all the time. A little Googling found it for me, and I have to admit that 1) I had also never heard it before and 2) on the cute scale, it registers somewhere around ridiculous. So for your listening (and perhaps list-making) and spirit-imbuing pleasure, I give you this song (despite the possible lack of research by the singer)

Merry Christmas. I wish peace, mirth, joy, and (tame, pleasant) hippos for all.

Ticker Translation

The other night, the Girl and I were hanging out and watching some college hoops, when she asked me, all out of the blue like, "What's mnf?"

"Mnf?" I asked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Yes, mnf. What is it?"

I was confused. She's quite good with words, and she's generally pretty good at using them. Plus, her diction is such that it wasn't likely a problem with her enunciation. After some probing and clever cross-examination, I found out that this "mnf" was something she had seen on TV. Thanks to the powers of the DVR (which, even though the Comcast version is a piss-poor imitation of the goodness that is a Tivo, did come in handy), I was able to see what she was talking about. The ticker on the bottom of the screen, where ESPN2 shows scores and such had a score category labeled "MNF."

"That's Monday Night Football, baby."

"It is? Why don't they just call it 'NFL?' Isn't it kind of obvious that it's the Monday Night kind?"

I think it has something to do with branding, or name recognition, or some damned fool marketing concept that sounds good on paper. But, to paraphrase Kenny Mayne, concepts aren't played out on paper; they're played on TV sets. And that one is a head-scratcher.

Another Straw on the Haystack

It was very odd to me when I received a request for my blog last week. First, someone was admitting out loud that he or she reads it, damn the aspersions that fact may cast on his or her character. Second, the request was specifically for "non-sports" content. Granted, my blog is not a sports blog. However, I do love the sports. And the college basketball. (Yes, I know it's a sport, but I feel it deserves its own mention.)

Still, never let it be said that the reader's voice goes unheard or unheeded. This is not at all a sports post. Instead, it is another small pebble in the mountain of evidence that I am an idiot.

I thought I managed my morning pretty well today. I got out of bed, showered, dressed, grabbed my computer, iPod, breakfast, and soda, and hit the road. I made it in in plenty of time for my morning meeting, did my part, and headed back to my desk. All good, right?

The only thing is that on the way back to my desk, another meeting attendant discreetly told me that there was a sticker on my pants. So I looked. No, on the other side, the informant told me. Sure enough, there was a sticker indicating the size of the trousers, which is helpful when there are many of them on a shelf, but not so helpful post-purchase. That is, it's not helpful unless one is looking for evidence that the wearer is somewhat clueless. Sigh.

The worst part is that I couldn't be completely certain whether I had worn these pants before. I'm hoping I hadn't.

College is So Two Days Ago

Seriously. I'm over this college thing. I'm done with it. Finished. Finit. QED.

Oh, wait. That last one doesn't fit. Still, I just couldn't help but inform you all that I'm done with college. I know many of you out there are saying, "Abs, you're an idiot. You graduated from college 10 years ago! If it's taking you this long to figure it out, you probably didn't deserve a degree in the first place." And those of you who didn't know that I graduated 10 years ago are getting with the whole "Abs is an idiot" thing. And I may be an idiot, but this pronouncement isn't really more evidence of it.

See, way back during my final Spring semester in high school, I was confronted with a Decision. Where would I go to college? It was a daunting call, as I didn't have any particular place that I had dreamed of going, I didn't have my heart set on any place, and I just wasn't sure what to do. The fact that more than one place was willing to allow me to sully their reputation was a Good Thing, but that I had to choose between them was not. I've mentioned before that I struggle with hard decisions, but this one came up before I had developed my oh-so-effective system of asking a lot of uninvolved people what they would do and lamenting my predicament. Instead, back then, my system was far simpler: I avoided the topic entirely. I didn't claim this was an effective system; it was just simpler. Really, it was easier, too. It involves a lot less effort than asking people what they think. And lamenting. Lamenting is a bitch! The Decision could wait, I thought. All of these colleges had deadlines for notification, and I didn't have to sweat it until then. If I happened to miss a deadline, well, I guess my system had effectively eliminated one alternative. So I was cruising along with my If You Don't Think About It, It Will Go Away method of decision-making and generally enjoying my senior year of high school.

This system wasn't all Goodness for everyone, though. Mama Abs didn't like it at all. This Decision gave her a tremendous amount of stress for some reason. It was very important to her that I pick a college. It didn't matter which one I picked. She didn't care if I picked the one in Ohio or the one in Illinois or the one in Virginia (recognizing the the ones in Indiana were right out). She just wanted me to Pick Something Already! I have no idea why the Decision stressed her out, but it did. She did a very good job of hiding that stress from me. For about 13.5 minutes. Then, she began to ask me where I was going to go to school. I would always truthfully answer, "I don't know," after appearing to ponder the question for about 10 seconds. I wasn't doing any pondering, though. So complete was my dedication to the IYDTAIIWGA method that my mind just filled with a mild buzzing whenever I even thought about thinking about the Decision. I figured each time I answered that way we were done with that topic, that my mom wouldn't ask me again for a while. And that was true, but only because I typically left the house or holed up in my room for a while immediately after she asked me. But she would ask the next time she laid eyes on me. This was her subtle way of suggesting to me that she thought it was High Time I Made Up My Mind. My IYDTAIIWGA method was too complete for her subtle prodding to sink in, though. I thought she couldn't possibly care, as it was my Decision, my education, my ... buuuuuuuzzzzzzzzzz.

Finally, the stress became too much for Mama Abs, and after asking me on a Thursday night where I was going to school and getting the standard response, she told me that I was not going on my scheduled weekend trip unless I made a Decision. Can you believe that shit?! I was outraged! I was shocked! I was in denial! I was leaving in just one day, and she couldn't just go cancelling my plans! I was going to bitch, I was going to yell, I was going ... to the University of Virginia.

And it was over. Decision Made. I don't know that I like the way it came to be, but it did. And I went there, and I had an Experience, and I got a Degree, and things were Generally Good.

So why am I just now done with college, which I am just remembering was the question you asked me in the first place? (OK, fine. You didn't ask me that question. But you would have if I had given you that piece of the dialogue. Work with me here.) Because the University of Virginia has been the Place that Keeps on Taking for the last ten years. And today, it is done taking. I have finally finished paying for it. My student loans are over, and that is, without question, a Good Thing.

For now, I'm just basking in the glow of being done with college. I should probably decide what to do with the money each month now that I'm not giving to the school or the government. And I suppose I could ... buuuuuuuzzzzzzzzzz.

How To Start a Season (Cont'd)

I know it's not historically common for me to blather about basketball games, but I can't help myself right now. Those college hoops just keep on coming, more recently courtesy of my beloved Hoosiers. Last night they beat the Lafayette Leopards by a score that wasn't really indicative of how close the game was. Watching the Hoosiers play a real game in superb and stunning HD made for the head-to-toe happiness. The Girl and I watched it, and she must have been pretty happy about it, too, given that she stopped softly calling, "Ask me about my weinerrr..." for the duration of the game. Plus, she mentioned about 214 times that she was excited about getting to watch our boys play again. I was glad that the Hoosiers managed to win, and I wish it would have been less touch and go for the majority of the game. Still there were lots of things to think...

The Good

• Earl Calloway is really fast. The Jack-be-nimble point guard repeatedly knifed into the lane to easily score against the Leopards. At one point, he scored 5 buckets in a row (or maybe 5 of 6). As the cherry on top, he pulled up and drilled several pull-up jumpers, which Lawton and I have been preaching for years are the single biggest lost art in hoops.
• The Hoosiers don't have to have a big game from DJ White to win. At least not against Lafayette. DJ's fouls per minute stat was absurdly high last night, and he only scored four points, and those were after the game was decided.
• Rod Wilmont can still score, reminding us that he was a 30+ ppg scorer in high school. He lit it up from beyond the arc, dropping 6 of 11 3's. He's also still the best energy guy they have.
• Kelvin Sampson started off with a win. Don't ask me why I care about this. Maybe it's because if he didn't, people would be talking about how no other IU coach has ever lost his debut game or something equally trivial and irrelevant. Regardless, it's good to start off on the right foot.
• This squad can fill it up. Sampson's teams aren't known for high-octane offense. They're known for slug-it-out 62-56 types of games that feature a lot of long possessions full of D. I'm fine with that sort of play, but it's fun to put up the points once in a while.

The Bad

• The Hoosiers had to win without DJ. It's a good thing that we listed that they can do it without him in the Good part because they didn't have a choice. He needs to keep his ass on the floor for more than 5 minutes a game.
• Aside from DJ, the Hoosiers don't have anyone who can defend the post. Or rebound very well on the inside. Or score down there. Ben Allen has some skills, and you can't let him have a stand-still 3, but he's the smallest 6-11 guy I've ever seen play at this point. Really, we're just assuming that DJ can do it, since he was a near non-factor last night. But he could defend and rebound and score two seasons ago, so we'll give him the benefit of the doubt. It's only one game, but I'll be interested to see how this situation develops for the rest of the season.

The Annoying

• The refs are calling absurd numbers of fouls this year. I've watched two full games so far. The one I saw on Sunday in Hooville, and the one on TV last night. One game featured 51 foul calls, and one had 52. That's ridiculous, especially when about 20% of them are ticky-tack crap that didn't give anyone an advantage. Plus those Shane Battier-style flops. Yuck. (Had they been going the Hoosiers' way, I would applaud the Dane Fife-style craftiness. But let's not talk about my hypocrisy.) I sure hope they settle down with those foul calls. It bugs.
• Duke Vitale did the game. I've mentioned before that Dookie V. is a pain in the ass, and he sure didn't change before last night. There was a 12-minute stretch (that's game time, not real time) in the first half where they didn't talk about the game AT ALL. Happily and surprisingly, Vitale wasn't talking about Duke, but damn. He talked about Sampson's recruiting violations at Oklahoma. He talked about the scandal around uber-recruit Eric Gordon. He talked about Bob Knight (but not about Knight push-/slap-/clubbing one of his players in last night's game because that hadn't happened yet, thankfully -- incidentally, I think it's non-news, and I'm not going to talk about it). But he wouldn't TALK ABOUT THE GAME. If he weren't deaf in one ear (as he constantly claims), he would have heard me yelling at my Big-Ass HDTV to do just that. There were all sorts of newcomers checking in and out of the game that they didn't even waste one word on. It was awful. Luckily, I'm a good guesser, and I was able to figure out who they were. Thankfully, someone else will be doing tonight's game.

All in all, the Good outweighs the Bad and the Annoying (because they are Dumb -- oh sorry, got carried away with a bastardized Spaceballs line). And Hoops are here to stay for a while! Good times indeed.

How to Start a Season

I've been all sorts of stoked for the start of college hoops, and today it's even more pronounced than before. A buddy surprised me yesterday by saying that he had an extra ticket to the Wahoos' first basketball game of the season, which happened to be the opening of their sparkling new arena. He asked me if I wanted to go. Did I want to go?! Does the pope shit in the woods? Damn skippy.

So we took the 2-hour drive down to Charlottesville and went to the game. First, let me say the new arena is awesome. It's just an excellent basketball venue, and it has all this state of the art audio visual equipment, too. It's an absolute gem. Sure, it cost more than $130 million, but ... I like it.

Not surprisingly, the excitement was palpable as they readied to start the game. There were fireworks and lasers and flames and general craziness. There was an animated Cav Man video (a cheesy thing they do where an animated mascot does battle with the opposing teams mascot - it's incredibly campy, but it's hard not to like it) that led to the "real" mascot rappelling down from the roof. Then, they had Michael Buffer, who might very well be a caricature of himself at this point, announce the starting lineups. I was thinking that I had waited 7 months for some college hoops so it would be fine with me if they could dispense with all this buildup business and get down to some game action. They finally did so, and what a game it was!

The Hoos started out shooting well but quickly cooled, and Arizona started to run away with the game, leading by 19 at one point in the first half. I was thinking that I could handle such a blowout, as Arizona is damned good, and I would at least have had the chance to see the opening game in the new arena. But those crazy Wahoos came out on fire in the second half, and they came back to secure an improbable 93-90 win.

Now that's the way to start a college basketball season. I'm just hoping to get a win out of my beloved Hoosiers in their opening game tonight. Either way, hail, hail, hoops is here!

The Friday Five: PSA

I felt the need to write something, but I couldn't decide what. So I'm blatantly stealing a meme from Jen, who's back with a vengeance after her wedding (for which we all heartily congratulate her, I feel sure.

1. What’s your biggest pet peeve?
   
   Wow. I'm starting off in trouble already. It might be when people ask me to come up with superlatives. I'm no good at it. I still haven't come up with a list of things to choose the happiest moment of my life from, and the prospects don't look good. Question involving my favorite or the best don't sit well with me. You could argue that I put it to myself, since I'm the one who, just two paragraphs ago, decided to steal this meme, but ... I don't want to hear it. This question is making me less than comfortable. So let's just move along.
   


2. What fashion faux-pas do you see frequently that makes you want to sign the victims/perpetrators up for “What Not To Wear”?
   
   First of all, let me just say that I'm embarrassed that I know what "What Not To Wear" means. For those of you who don't know, it's a show on TLC wherein two somewhat snarky but fashion-savvy hosts throw poorly dressed people's clothes away and make them shop for shiny new clothes. Or something. It hurts my brain to think about how it works. Those of you who are already primed to tell me that I should begin looking for my pride or possibly my testicles or maybe even both because they're likely in the same place should know that it's not my fault. I'm sure some of you hang out with women sometimes, and I'm just as sure that you are occasionally subjected to TV you would never choose as a result. Such is the case here. Sometimes, I visit the Girl, and, while I think the remote control is a device that is happiest in a man's hand, I think it's rude to commandeer the TV when I'm visiting. So I have seen this show before.
   
   That said, I don't really have much to say here. I expect I see a lot of fashion faux pas on a somewhat regular basis, and I expect that most of the ones I see are in the mirror. My belt typically matches my shoes, but that's about all I know. Still, there is one thing that makes me groan, and, having been an engineer and worked with other engineers for years, I've seen it more times than I would have otherwise thought possible: the short sleeve dress shirt with a tie. Add a blazer or a suit to make it even worse. (As Dave Barry would say, I am not making this up. People do it.) I don't know who thinks this look is a good idea, and I'm not confident that it's legal to claim that there is such a thing as a "short sleeve dress shirt." I think "short sleeve" tends to trump "dress." Really, is there someone who thinks this combination looks good? I can't imagine it.
   


3. What hideously inappropriate act or comment have you recently witnessed?
   
   You mean other than half of the things Michael Scott says on The Office? These aren't easy questions here. I'll come back to this. Oh, who am I kidding? No I won't. Move along. There's nothing to see here.
   


4. What’s more important - table manners or driving etiquette? (Not driving safety, just etiquette - like waving when someone lets you merge in front of them or not honking at 5:00 AM when driving through a neighborhood.)
   
   Table manners seems like the obvious choice here. I mean, it can be very gross (as Jen pointed out in her answer to this one) when people don't have table manners, and it drives me crazy when people chew with their mouths open. I just don't get how those people can stand to hear themselves chew like that. Maybe they grew up eating in very loud places. Considering that aversion, table manners seems like the better answer here.
   
   However, not to go all John Stuart Mill on you, I think that driving etiquette would provide more overall happiness (or utility, if you like Mr. Mill) by affecting more people. One doesn't typically eat with a lot of people every day, but he likely shares the road with lots of them. Living in an area with a shitpot (it's a technical term) of traffic, I really think we could use some of that driving etiquette. And it really burns my bacon when I let someone in in front of me and that person doesn't wave. It almost always elicits a, "That's it! Don't even wave, asshole!!" Road rage isn't good, and waving goes a long way toward calming the people who would definitely shoot you if they only had guns. If that's the case, then you should always remember to wave when you cut off an NBA player.
   
   I don't know if this really fits under driving etiquette, but I'm wondering whether exotic sports cars should be legal in areas with heavy traffic. On one hand, it's kind of sad to see one of those cars unable to fulfill it's purpose in the world, crawling along in a bad case of bumper-to-bumper, reminding those driving normal cars how much more money some people have. But there's another hand to that coin. On the days when I commute way out to my customer's site, I have to fight Beltway traffic on the way home. For some reason I can't explain (possibly involving fluid dynamics and fashion faux pas and other things I don't understand), the next-to-leftmost lane typically is the best lane to be in for stretches, and I find myself passing cars that sit in the leftmost lane expecting to go faster than everyone else because it is, after all, the "fast lane." Not long ago I took a picture of a car I passed, which I have posted below for your enjoyment. It gave me no small amount of traffic-time pleasure to take that picture with my phone as I passed. I did resist hanging out the window and yelling, "WHAT GEAR ARE YOU IN?" as I passed. I would have definitely waved afterward, though.
   
   
   
   


5. If you were producing a PSA for a local TV station, what would the topic be and which celebrity would fulfill their community service sentence by starring in it?
   
   There's no question about it that I would have Steven Jackson of the Indiana Pacers singing and dancing, Chicago-style, warning kids of the dangers of jazz, liquor, strippers, and guns. Or at least the last 3.

It's That Time Again...

Time to watch Don Knotts videos?

No, it's time for the sounds of sneakers squeaking on hardwood, of leather bouncing, of the groans of those forced to watch early-season zone defenses. In other words, it's time for COLLEGE BASKETBALL SEASON!!!!

Yes, I'm reasonably excited about it. Maybe it's because the Wahoos are not faring so well on the gridiron this year. Maybe it's because college hoops have been part of my life since I was a wee lad. Maybe it's because this means that there will be sporting events on pretty much every night!

Regardless of why I'm excited, I am. As a result of that excitement, I started looking at the ESPN Full Court schedule to see when they'd be showing my Hoosiers. To my delight, the answer is rather frequently. (Also somewhat frequently are the Hoosier games on ESPNU, a channel which approximately 14 people receive, which annoyed the ass out of me. But I'm not here to talk about how ESPN has become a company I hate for their practices in bilking the people who love sports for more and more money all the time by moving content people already watch from the channels everyone gets to channels they (ESPN) creates out of nowhere just to drive up demand and increase their revenue by claiming they have yet another channel with high-demand content that the cable companies almost have to buy from them. Case in point: no one carried ESPN2HD - probably because they hadn't even filled ESPNHD with HD content, so why bother with a second HD channel? - so ESPN decided to put the entire World Cup '06 on that channel. They're dicks. They are working hard at becoming the Best Buy of the TV world. But I digress.) Man, I wanted to get that Full Court goodness set up for my house since the coverage is supposed to start this Friday. However, given my past difficulties in getting Comcast to sell me the Full Court package, I figured there was no way they'd have it available at the beginning of the season.

For some reason, I browsed through my guide and saw that this Friday's games all showed up on the channels where the ESPN Pay Programming happens. "That's awesome!" I thought. "Surely, they wouldn't put that up there to taunt people who want to buy it. That must mean I can get that stuff!" Laughing about how I shouldn't be calling anyone Shirley, I called up my neighborhood Comcast office and had the following exchange:

Me: I'd like to buy the ESPN Full Court college basketball package.
Comcast guy: Basketball ... let's see here. You want the NBA Season Pass?
Me: [Incredulously, feeling major deja vu, not pointing out that it's the NBA League Pass] Umm, no. I was hoping for the college basketball package. ESPN Full Court.
Comcast guy: Oh. We don't have that available.
Me: [thinking, "Am I Sisyphus here?"] Well, the only reason that I called is that I looked in the guide on my cable box, and the games schedule for Friday night show up on those 700 - 706 channels where they're shown every year.
Comcast guy: Yeah, but maybe that was only in some areas ...
Me: Maybe ... But it showed up on my cable box in my living room.
Comcast guy: [Clearly not expecting that] Oh, well, the only basketball package I have in the system is the NBA one. Maybe the marketing guys haven't put it in there yet.
Me: I could see that, but I'm surprised that's the case. I mean, I'm surprised that I can't pay to watch something that actually shows up in the guide.
Comcast guy: Right. I'm just not sure what's going on. Maybe it's the sort of thing where it will be in the system before Friday but it's just not yet.
Me: [Thinking that this guy clearly didn't talk to me last year] I guessss ...
Comcast guy: Well, what I can do is take down your number, go talk to my marketing guys to see if they know anything about it, and give you a call back when I know something.
Me: So ... You're going to check things and ... then what happens?
Comcast guy: I'll call you back at your number after I talk to them.
Me: Oh, OK. When should I expect to hear back from you? [Thinking in terms of days]
Comcast guy: In about 10 minutes or so.
Me: [Surprised] Oh. OK. Great. I appreciate your help.

Well, it's already been a good hour, and I haven't heard from the Comcast guy. Whey they suck soooooo badly at this, I have no idea, but I expect I'll be calling them a few more times to get it right. Not Comcastic at all. Or maybe it is. Sigh.

Nonetheless, be happy. College hoops is nigh!

Chuckleicious

I'm coming to appreciate Deadspin more and more. They make me chuckle pretty much daily. Even their FAQ got me (#3). Throw in the fact that they're talking about sports, and what's not to love? This post's parenthetical in the penultimate paragraph (sorry for the alliteration) is the latest one to make me laugh out loud.

Leading Indicator

This past weekend I went to see my beloved Wahoos engage in gridiron battle with the Wolfpack of NC State. I was a bit trepidacious about the game, as the Wahoos have been bad this year, needing a missed extra point in OT to beat Wyoming and losing at home to Western Michigan, to name a couple of missteps. (I can't even go into giving away the game against the hated Terps.) On top of the general not-goodness of the Wahoo team, NC State had managed victories against once-mighty Florida State and never-shitty Boston College. None of those factors made me confident that UVA could pull out a victory, even though NC State's overall record wasn't that great. In retrospect, I should have been overtaken by a serene calm and supreme confidence once I got to my seat.


My seat happens to be near the visitors' section in the stadium, meaning that their cheerleaders are in front of me. Once I saw that crew, I should have known we were going to win. "How could you know from seeing the cheerleaders?" you might be asking. And it's a good question. Really, it's not the cheerleaders that should have foretold the downfall of the Wolfpack, but the mascot. Seriously, how can you possibly expect your team to win a tackle football game with the mascot pictured below on your sidelines? Shouldn't you just expect to lose that game?




Final score: Wahoos 14, Pearl and Dress-Wearing Girly "Wolfpack" 7

Question for the Day

I was listening to an appropriately geeky podcast on the way to work this morning, and the hosts were talking about a certain Russian website that sells very cheap MP3's. I'm not going to link to it or anything, but there are rumors that this particular website's existence is throwing up a significant roadblock to Russia's inclusion in the World Trade Organization. But that's really beside the point. What is the point is that one of the hosts was taking a look at the site in question and said, "They're featuring a fairly prominent picture of Meatloaf right now."

And I couldn't help but wonder: is it really possible to feature any type of picture of Meatloaf other than a prominent one?

Brain Power

No joking here, the brain is an incredible piece of equipment. Or organ. Whatever, it's a damned impressive thing, what with the way it recruits cells to do things that were broken via a stroke or traumatic brain injury or disease, or just the way it manages to keep us breathing and circulating blood all the time. Dilbert creator Scott Adams has his own example of just how impressive the brain can be. Check it out.

At the end, he asks people to comment with the happiest moments of their lives, which is very nice in a warm fuzzy sort of way. Interestingly, I have no idea what the happiest moment of my life is. That's not because my life is lacking in happiness. Far from it. It's just that I find I'm not good at picking out superlatives. It's hard to pick one "best" out of thousands of happy moments. Heck, I have a hard time calling to mind the moments that would even make the final cut. It's like my brain is giving me a busy signal when I try. But I'm thinking there are worse things one can spend his brain power on. So I'm going to think about that some this weekend. You have a good weekend, too.

An Unexpected Gem

For those of you who don't know it, Matt Leinart's wife gave birth to a baby this week. I'm sure they're thrilled to receive my congratulations, along with the many gifts I thought of sending them since it's really the thought that counts. That's all just great.

But what's really good is the marvelous line at the bottom of this post:

Interestingly enough, within three seconds of Cole Leinart's birth, he was
sacked.

Simply marvelous!

Reading Theories

For those of you who don't already know it, I have long been a fan of theories that are mostly outrageous but still just plausible enough to make you, in the words of C & C Music Factory, "go hmm." Some of my favorites to posit involve celebrities and their dealings with a certain indefatigable Prince of Darkness. For instance, during an otherwise happy weekend in the summer of '99, in the sleepy (OK, "sleepy" might not be right ... how about "drunk?") Delaware town of Dewey Beach, a sad event coupled with many beers prompted me to decide that such a deal had been made. However, the deal was not between John-John and Lucifer, but between Satan and the victim's uncle. Really, that's the only thing I can think of that allowed him to survive the Kennedy Curse that so many relatives fell victim to. Plus, he managed to escape a plane crash himself, not to mention that curious bridge thingy. A deal with the devil would sort of fit the bill, no?

But that's not the point right now. The point I want to make is that if you haven't been checking out We Are The Postmen, you ought to. At least, you should if you like sports and often humorous writing. Not only do they often make me laugh, but they also have the good sense to know that college hoops is the ultimate in Sports Goodness. Plus, they're not afraid of a good deal-with-the-devil theory, either. (Incidentally, I LOVE that theory.) It's nice to know that there are clever people out there who can piece together random bits of information to come up with smart conclusions. On top of all that, at least two of them know who one ought to be rooting for come college hoops time.

So give them some love and enjoy.

No More Fun of Any Kind!

I've thought for a while that our young country is too litigious. People are all the time suing companies to compensate for the fact that they (the people) are clumsy (woman spills scalding coffee on lap, sues McDonalds) or short-sighted (people smoke lots of cigarettes because they like them, get cancer, sue Big Tobacco). But that's not the end of it. All those lawsuits make people overly afraid of being sued and they end up making ridiculous policy decisions as a result. Most of them make me shake my head in sadness. Some of them make me laugh out loud.

For example, apparently some descendant of Dean Wormer ("No more fun of any kind!") is in charge of a school in Massachusetts, which has decided to ban the game of Tag, in fear that kids might get hurt while playing and hold the school liable. (I'm assuming the kids' parents and their lawyers would be the ones trying to hold the school liable, not the kids, but you never know these days.) It's not just tag, though. Apparently the school has banned "any other unsupervised game."

I can see it now... You kids over there! Step away from the Connect Four! You're not being supervised!

Seriously, tag! Now I haven't played tag in a long time, but from what I can recall, the most dangerous thing it involves is ... running. Sure, in the case of certain world-class types, running can lead to steroid use, but I think that's a risk I'd be willing to take.

I don't really even know what else to say, but I hope someone sues that school when their kids all get fat because they weren't allowed to do anything resembling exercise during recess. That would be some serious karma.

Templatey Stuff

Things are changing here at The Chronicles. Blogger has this new beta action going on, and I decided to try it out. As a result, we have a shiny new template and some other new features that we haven't messed with much yet. But I thought I'd tell you why things seemed a little different here.

Rock Bands and Cauliflower

Buddy and non-somnolent reader FJ sent me this link last week, and I've only now managed to finish reading it. It's an almost absurdly detailed concert rider, or list of requirements and demands, for Iggy Pop and the Stooges when they come to play at the reader's venue. It was written by one of the band's roadies in a manner that seems to be best described as interrupted asides. (Naturally, I identified with the writing style.) That it took so long for me to read the whole thing is probably indicative that it's too long, but it did make me laugh out loud several times. In fact, I love it if for nothing more than what he writes at the bottom of this page:

Cauliflower /broccoli, cut into individual florets and thrown immediately into the garbage. I fucking hate that.

That line was worth reading the whole thing to me. I don't particularly care for that broccoli crap or its albino cousin, either.

Man Nearly Killed, Bridge Unharmed

If I were Dave Barry, I would probably be claiming that this was sent to me "by an alert reader." However, I am not Dave Barry, so I will tell you that this item was sent to me by my big bro (though he is frequently an alert reader, too). Apparently, this dude was in the middle of a drawbridge, enjoying the view when it went up in the air. That's a little scary, I reckon. Making the story just a little bit more odd is that the guy in this article, the dangler, is my big bro's fraternity brother, as well as a guy who once slept on the couch in my apartment when I was in college.

My favorite part is this: "There was no structural damage done to the bridge." I'm certainly glad to hear it. Two sentences later: "Heitner walked away from the incident without any injuries." Thanks for making sure we knew about the bridge first. I was concerned.

The message here is quite clear: next time you get to wondering what happened to so-and-so from college, take a look at your local drawbridge. He may be up there.

Quote of the Day

I was listening to Jimmy Pardo's Never Not Funny (Episode 24) podcast earlier, and one of the guys was talking about his travels to Brazil. They got to talking about how they liked the Brazilian barbeque/ steakhouse thing. One guy said, "I do love their barbecue ... the sword ... meat on swords." As I puzzled over what the hell they were talking about it, another guy said, "Noooo. 'Cause I want a steak, not a fuckin' meat puzzle." I had to pause so I could laugh. Good times.

The Trip That Wasn't

I have to add what, I think, is the second in a series of three stories about my attempts to travel this summer (the last part is told here, here, and here).  

My buddy Bino is getting married later this month, and he and his Best Man/brother scheduled the requisite bachelor party.  In Reno.  Why Reno, you ask?  I sure did.  It turns out that the Best Man has a house there.  They said that no one would have to pay for a hotel if everyone crashed at his place.  Unfortunately, my engineering background kicked in, and I had to wonder about that not paying for a hotel thing.  See, about 80% or more of those invited to the bachelor party live in the Washington, DC, area or the Pittsburgh, PA, area.  I looked it up, and those two places are not close to Reno, NV, meaning that those 80+% of invitees would have to buy plane tickets (or go on very long road trips) to make the party, and those plane tickets would likely cost more than hotel rooms closer to home.  That said, I get that sometimes people want to do the bachelor party thing away from home.  So, even though I didn’t have the absolute best and most positive frame of mind about the trip, I knew I’d have fun once I got there, and I signed up to attend.

Getting to Reno from the Washington, DC, area is not all that simple.  I couldn’t find any direct flights from any of the three airports that serve the metro area.  So I had to connect somewhere.  By the time I bought my ticket (which was admittedly after a lot of procrastination, but still more than three weeks away from the travel date), I had to pay a lot of money for a flight that got me in late on Thursday and left at the ass crack of dawn on Sunday.  Even though I didn’t have a great attitude toward the trip, I knew I’d have fun once I got there, and I just sighed and bought the ticket.  

In between buying the ticket and going on the actual trip, I went to San Francisco for a week.  I’ve already detailed some of the pain and suffering that particular trip inflicted, and I’d be dishonest if I wasn’t wary of trying to fly somewhere after that experience.  Still, I figured that this trip had to go more smoothly.  As many, many people have oh-so-helpfully suggested upon hearing about my trip to San Fran, ATL is often a veritable quagmire in the middle of a trip, and this trip did not involve me going anywhere near there.  So I was already better off.  On top of that, my flight was out of National, and things generally run pretty smoothly for me out of there.  Plus, I was connecting through Phoenix, and I don’t even think they have weather there.  Besides, karma owed me after the BWI – OAK debacle.  Right?  Maybe.  Even with all of those things on my side, I didn’t quite have the attitude I’d want to have about the trip ahead of time.  Still, we were going to play golf, and I like that.  I was counting on having fun once I got there.

A couple of days before the trip was to commence, the Best Man sent out an itinerary, which seemed to me to be long on nice/steak dinners and short on golf.  Don’t get me wrong, I like to eat.  That much is obvious to anyone who looks at me.  However, my taste buds just aren’t all that good, really, and I don’t get excited about fancy dinners.  I like good food better than bad, but I don’t seem to appreciate or enjoy it as much as so many people I know do. And since my taste buds aren’t all that good, I generally figure that the fancy dinners are wasting money that could be better spent on golf or gadgets or something of the sort.  Besides, despite the fact that I hail from the Midwest, I don’t particularly like steak.  Yes, I know that makes me weird, dumb, and possibly un-American, but there’s nothing I can do about it.  I don’t hate it or anything, but I pretty much never order it.    So that itinerary didn’t get me excited.  But there was going to be some golf, and we’d do the whole hanging with the guys, drinking, and making fun of yo’ mama sort of thing.  I might not have had a very good attitude about the trip, but I figured I’d have fun once I got there.

On the day of departure, I got my work wrapped up in plenty of time, packed my clothes and golf clubs, and got to the airport right on schedule (which is about 1.25 hours before departure time for me).  There was a bit of a crowd standing around the check-in counter, but I breezed up to the self-service kiosk and checked in.  After a few minutes of waiting, the agent called me up to check my bags.  Before he did that bag-checking thing, though, he told me, “Your flight is delayed.  Right now it’s supposed to get into Phoenix at 7:12.  Your outbound flight is supposed to leave Phoenix at 7:40…  So you should be fine the way things are right now.”  And then he started to go on about the business of putting claim checks on my bags.  

I pondered this development.  I knew the flight was delayed.  It said so right on the video screens that are not 10 feet from the line I was in.  The agent seemed a bit hesitant with his last sentence.  Something seemed not right to me.  I mean, have you ever had a flight get delayed and then have it actually depart at the first time they give you?  Me neither.  Besides, the day in ATL was weighing heavily on me, and who knew what those terrorists had planned for the next day?  So I asked, “Let’s just go waaaaaaaaay out on a limb and assume that the flight is going to be delayed a little more.  Then what happens?”

The ticket agent must have been waiting for this, as he offered to check for other flights for me.  Had he anticipated it, I suppose he could have skipped the dancing part there, but I suppose it was nice of him to tacitly suggest that I ask.  After some keyboard-tapping and head-shaking, he told me they had no other flights to Reno that day.  “Would you like me to check with the other airlines?” he asked.  

“Damn skippy!” I thought, but I only said, “Thank you.  If you think it’s a good idea, that would be nice.”  He checked with those airlines for 5 or 10 minutes so that he could report that there were no seats available on any flight into Reno that day.  Part of me was astounded.  I thought that we have this huge air travel industry, with lots of companies flying planes all over the country.  You can’t swing a mildly wounded hedgehog without hitting a plane, and there are ZERO ways to get me into Reno tonight??!!  But it was only a part of me thinking that.  The majority of me was completely unsurprised by the revelation that there was no other way to get there that night.  I kind of expected it from the moment I saw that my flight was delayed.  Maybe I should have had a better attitude, but I didn’t.  So we both shrugged our shoulders and pretended like the last 10 – 15 minutes never happened, and I headed toward my gate fully expecting that there was no way I was getting into Reno that night.  It bummed me out, too, as the golfing – the one part of the trip that I was stoked for – would be taking place the next morning, meaning that I would probably miss it.  So I might have had a bad attitude toward the trip, but I was hoping to have fun once I got there.

I breezed through security and sat down with a book to while away some time at my gate.  About 10 minutes before my flight was originally scheduled to leave, the airline folks made an announcement that there was a weather delay that held up the inbound flight, and they would turn it around just as fast as they could once it got there.  They didn’t say where the weather delay was, but I assumed it was in Atlanta.  Not long after that the plane landed, and the airline people announced that they would clean the plane and board us just as soon as possible.  It looked like they might depart on time.  I mean, at the announced, delayed time; not the actual, originally scheduled time.  Whatever.  It looked like they might depart on time for me to catch my flight from Phoenix to Reno.  So I was feeling cautiously optimistic.

That optimism slowly drained as the announced, delayed departure time crept closer.  A new announcement told me that there was a “maintenance issue with the aircraft,” and they were waiting for “maintenance personnel to clear it.”  That didn’t sound good, but no one wants to fly on a plane with known maintenance issues.  The departure time scooted by, and I got up to wait in what I figured was a soon-to-be long line to talk to the gate agent.  I wasn’t sure what to do, but I was not excited about arriving in Reno at some undisclosed time the next day.  I would miss the golf, and I might not be able to get there until late, meaning that I would have barely 36 hours there before having to get up ridiculously early to catch that ass crack of dawn flight home.  About the time I got up to get in line, the friendly airline people made an announcement  to explain the maintenance issue that had been holding us up:  one of the engines had been hit by lightning on the way in.  At that point, almost everyone in the gate area streamed into line to talk to the gate agent.  My prescience never seemed so … prescient, and I tried not to get hurt patting myself on the back for getting in line earlier.  All those people were in line behind me.  Some of them were apparently Very Important, though, as they couldn’t be bothered to wait in line, walking up to the front and telling the gate agent that they “just wanted to be rebooked on another flight.”  These Very Important people were not at all happy when my favorite gate agent ever told them that the rest of the people in line were probably wondering the same thing, and he would be happy to help them if they would just wait their turn in line.  I refrained from giving them a Nelson Muntz-ian “HA-ha,” along with an Abs-ian finger as they angrily walked away muttering, “I’ll just call the VIP reservations line, then.”  Good idea.  If you have a VIP number, why the hell would you get in line to wait?!  Ass clowns.

When it was my turn with the gate agent, he did some keyboard-tapping before telling me that there were no other flights to Reno that I could go on that night.  I felt a little déjà vu here, but thanked him for checking.  He told me that I could either spend the night in Phoenix or spend it in DC.  It was up to me, but it would probably be better to go to Phoenix.  I didn’t get into whom it was better for or pointing out that I had been through this before, and there was no chance I was going to give any terrorists another chance to force me to spend a day of vacation in an airport.  Instead, I said, “Here’s the thing.  If I can’t get there by tomorrow morning, it’s kind of not worth going.”  As if they’d give me a refund or even credit toward a future flight or something.  Yeah, right.  I fully expected him to laugh demonically and say, “That’s TOO BAD!  You WILL go to Reno, OR YOU WILL LOSE YOUR MONEY!!  THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!! THERE ARE FEWER AIRLINES THAN EVER AND MORE PEOPLE TRAVELING THAN EVER AND YOU HAVE LITTLE TO NO RECOURSE!!!! BWOOO-HA-HA!”

Instead, without batting an eye, my favorite gate agent ever said, “We can give you a refund.”  

That’s right.  He offered me a refund for my airfare.  And I didn’t even have to get mad or beg for it.  I snapped up the offer before he had a chance to rethink it.  It took a while to get it in the system, due to the fact that my ticket was through US Airways, but the flight was on America West, who had just merged with/bought US Airways, and the integration of their systems wasn’t really complete yet.  It took two gate agents with two computers and a phone to process my refund, but I did not once even start to make light bulb-related jokes.  As it turned out, they really only got it into the system for processing, meaning that I wouldn’t have my money back for a while, and I only had a vague, non-official looking piece of paper as proof that I should get a refund at all.  However, I wasn’t going to fight that battle at this point, and I started to head home.  

I remembered just in time to ask for my bags back, and they managed to produce them in only 15 – 20 minutes.  I grabbed them and headed home, feeling as if someone had just given me an extra weekend.

I felt bad for missing Bino’s bachelor party, but he was stuck drinking beers in the Denver airport when I called to tell him that I wouldn’t make it.  Apparently, the weather (probably in Atlanta) was delaying his flight as well.  So he was very understanding.  As it turns out, I got to play a couple of rounds of golf that weekend, and none of the people attending the bachelor party had to spend the whole weekend sitting in airports.  I even got my refund for the plane ticket about a month later without having to call and bitch at people.  Everybody wins.  

Maybe, this summer, the best trip for me was one I didn’t take.

Strange Brains Indeed

Back in the day, Lawton and I used to sit around and babble back and forth, usually while tossing a ball around the house, sometimes for hours on end, and come up with strange ideas to entertain ourselves. We were absolutely babbling, but we loved it. I don’t think anyone else thought we were especially funny or entertaining, but we usually made ourselves laugh quite a bit. These days, we live about 4 hours away from each other, seriously diminishing our face-to-face riff time. While we can’t throw the ball around very often from that distance, we do get going every once in a while on IM. We recently had just that type of exchange. I recognize that this may fall under the category of things that only amuse me, but I’ve gone ahead and included the exchange for your reading pleasure. If you are a movie producer who likes the idea, have at it. Just give us our props when you do.

If you think you’re likely to be offended by this post, by all means stop reading. If you read it and end up offended by it … I don’t know what to tell you. Bummer. You should know that we are almost never serious, though, except for the part about not liking Notre Dame.

If you’re disturbed by it, then you’re probably normal or something.

[The screen names have been changed, and some of the more glaring typos have been fixed. The times next to each line are a running clock from the beginning of our IM chat. Other than that, this is our actual conversation in all its raw, unvarnished, and somewhat offensive glory (or ignominy – I can’t really decide).]

Session Start (abs:lawton): [00:00]
[00:00 – 00:22] [Warm up period, edited for time.]
[00:23] abs: btw, i was able to get the pti podcast from yesterday. it was available around 9 last night. but not at 8.
[00:24] lawton: hmm... that's better. same day service is the key for next day listening.
[00:24] abs: yes. i think so. it does makes sense that they didn't have podcasts for the shows that never happened on thursday and friday last week.
[00:25] lawton: yes. i wonder why all i heard about is a two day lag. that would be worthless.
[00:26] abs: indeed it would. i was quite happy to get it last night. it did make the drive a little better this morning.
[00:27] lawton: wilbon gets pretty fired up about notre dame, doesn't he? he wouldn't move off it.
[00:28] abs: no, he wouldn't. he was pissed.
[00:28] lawton: i think it's a chicago thing. you're either for Michigan or ND. Fetus was a ND lover and had the whole spin on the Michigan fight song:
[00:28] abs: ohio state has lots of those michigan fight song take-offs.
[00:28] lawton: Hail to the mother fuckers! Hail to those cheap cocksuckers! Hail, hail to Michigan... the assholes of the world!
[00:28] abs: nice.
[00:29] lawton: he would sing that shit all the time. it drove me nuts, but every time i hear the fight song...that's what comes to mind.
[00:29] abs: i haven't liked ND since high school. but i don't care enough to hate them.
[00:29] lawton: i've got no real beef with them. they had no justification for firing Willingham, but i see no other reason to hate.
[00:30] abs: agreed. i just don't like them. probably because catholics everywhere root for them for no apparent reason.
[00:31] lawton: i suppose i can buy that. transference of general irritation of a populace to an object that can be actively monitored and disliked. i shall dislike them too. now, if we had enough lions...
[00:32] abs: yes. never enough lions when you need them. you always hear about them taking on christians, but you never actually see it.
[00:33] lawton: if the cliché involved jews, then you'd see al qaeda and hezbollah getting away from suicide bombers and rocket attacks, and going more towards strategic lion releases.
[00:34] abs: probably true.
[00:35] lawton: but with christians, it can't get to that level... more generalized seething, but not massive enough for satisfaction. they merit plane attacks, nuclear (or nukular), and biological attacks.
[00:37] lawton: i like the concept of a strategic lion release. instead of some fool driving around in an explosive-laden truck, instead you see them in a taxi, with a lion in the back seat. much more comical. especially at the point of release. the lion will either run out angry or yawn and lay down for a nap.
[00:38] abs: it would make for a good video. pretty funny. sometimes there would be terror, sometimes the terrorist would get mauled, and sometimes the lion would just sit there.
[00:39] abs: homeland security would come in with agents wielding whips and chairs.
[00:39] lawton: ha!
[00:39] abs: and then there would be an investigative back story showing how the lions were smuggled in.
[00:40] abs: maybe shady-looking people with ridiculously huge jackets draped over lion cages.
[00:40] abs: i mean like parachute-sized jackets.
[00:41] lawton: yeah, or sedated lions wearing ridiculously shabby camel or donkey suits.
[00:41] abs: that would be good, too. probably both. the evolution of lion smuggling. obviously, the parachute jackets wouldn't work, and those guys would get arrested.
[00:42] abs: you could see them being interrogated, first denying all knowledge, then denying that it's a lion, then finally breaking and admitting it.
[00:43] abs: the interrogators would be at a complete loss to explain the lions, but it would spur homeland security to get $4.3 billion to create the secret lion tamer program that trains the lion tamers who show up to battle the lions when they're released.
[00:43] abs: total documentary style. start with the release. then work backward.
[00:45] lawton: the successful capture and interrogation does one more thing that saves the Bush administration... and just in time for the mid-term elections. if one lion were to be released into a catholic church during mass... you've got a WMD.
[00:46] abs: nice. the administration would do a black bag op to threaten to release a lion in the vatican if certain officials aren't elected.
[00:49] lawton: i'm not sure the vatican could defend. the swiss guard may have fancy pants and swords, but a lion would chew that ass right up. all the officials are old dudes who could never outrun a lion. if you could get it over the wall... it's all over. I'm picturing a lion wearing a parachute and being catapulted over the wall. He would definitely feel like chewing some ass if he were catapulted over a wall.
[00:49] abs: lmao! that's excellent!
[00:51] lawton: the only problem i foresee is entanglement in the chute. you'd hate to send over such a potent weapon only to have it capture itself. unless it had detachable shrouds, it would need some other type of descent method. A couple hundred helium balloons or such.
[00:52] abs: i was thinking one of those stunt landing pads. you somehow attach it under the lion and then inflate it right after launching the whole thing from the catapult.
[00:53] abs: in typical terrorist style, you would use your cell phone as a remote to activate it.
[00:53] lawton: that's it! like the mars pathfinder. plus it would then roll when it hits the ground to really agitate the lion.
[00:54] abs: exactly.
[00:55] abs: they'd try to do a simultaneous lion launch to increase the efficacy of the attack, but some calls wouldn't go through, meaning that there would be some lion loss.
[00:56] abs: and the commentators would all talk about how effective the attack could have been if it had all work, leaving people at home shaking their heads and thinking, "those bumbling terrorists!"
[00:57] lawton: yes... it just wouldn't do if it were one lion. they certainly are all about scaling up. some would be apprehended building catapults outside the vatican walls, sending everyone into high alert. so now you've got lions in large coats and a terrorist trying to conceal a catapult inside something like a bucket truck.
[00:59] abs: yes. so maybe they are able to launch 20% of the overall planned lion launch.
[01:00] abs: btw, did you notice how we are both tasteful enough to avoid talking about the cat-apult pun?
[01:00] abs: i'm proud of us.
[01:00] lawton: yes, very tempting. but such low hanging fruit. i irritated myself for going for WMD.
[01:01] abs: hmm. i wish someone other than us had come up with this idea. someone who would have the good sense to make it into a mockumentary.
[01:02] lawton: the ideal choice is matt stone and trey parker, but it would have to be goofily animated. it would detract from the overall beauty. maybe a kevin smith could pull it off.
[01:02] abs: maybe. i think it would have to be animated. because you can't go hurting lions.
[01:03] abs: people will get mad, although probably not the notre dame fans.
[01:03] lawton: yes, bastards. animated and mockumentary do go well together, but not in the south park style. it needs to be more crisp.
[01:04] abs: i agree. the south park style wouldn't work. it would definitely be cooler as a live action thing, but i just don't see how it would work.
[01:05] lawton: pixar/disney would never touch it, but that style could work. it would show a darker side of cgi.
[01:05] abs: i like that idea. sigh.
[01:06] abs: you do realize that we got here by talking about ND, right?
[01:06] lawton: yes. i also realize this is what makes us writers, but never producers.
[01:06] abs: true. someone could figure out how to make it work.
[01:07] abs: why isn't someone paying us for this idea?
[01:08] lawton: we need representation. think about the clearinghouse of profitable ideas we have intellectual property of: the midget periscope, the cock sock, the lion/vatican mockumentary, etc.
[01:08] abs: it's true. we're sitting on a gold mine if we can get hooked up with the right actualization specialist.
[01:08] abs: and i had forgotten about the cock sock.
[01:09] abs: marvelous.
[01:09] lawton: we would want to farm that out to a shell company... that would detract from our desired audience.
[01:09] lawton: brb
[01:09] abs: k
[01:25] lawton: back now
[01:25] abs: cool. me too.
[01:25] lawton: though, i'm thinking about grabbing some eats
[01:25] abs: yes. good idea. i just ate.
[01:25] lawton: will be back later
[01:25] abs: cool. e.
[01:25] lawton: e
Session Close (lawton): [01:25]

No lions or people were harmed in the making of this chat session or blog post.

MY Space

I’ve mentioned before that my apartment has some noise issues. I even received a warning about it … just after I moved in. But I reckon I’ve mostly adjusted to those things, as I’ve signed a lease to stay for another year. I still don’t like the noise problems at all, but I deal with it. My apartment’s not all bad, though. I generally like it. The layout is good, and there’s not enough living or storage space for me to go into a real crap-accumulation cycle like I did at the spacious rented house I lived in for 6 years, resulting in some serious frustration on my part when moving out and maybe even some back strains for the garbage men. One of my favorite things about the place is that I have a reserved parking spot in the garage. I really like the idea of not having to scrape windows or brush snow off the car or deal with rain on the way out. It’s nice. Now, it’s not perfect. The garage is under the building, and it’s huge, but there are no doors on it. The lack of doors is kind of nice when you’re trying to get in and out, as you don’t have to wait for security doors to go up and down, there’s no chance that you’ll be trapped in or locked out when the opener breaks, etc. However, the lack of doors also means things can come in. Like birds. There are about a dozen or so birds that have flown in and made nests in the false ceiling of the garage. Yes. It has a false ceiling. Why, you ask? I don’t know. Maybe it’s so they can make it look nicer and not show wires or pipes running along a bare concrete ceiling. Maybe it’s so they can nicely flush-mount the sprinkler heads rather than have them sitting in the open air. Maybe it’s to give the birds a place to make nests.

Naturally, those birds don’t make nests just anywhere. They make them within 30 feet of my car. On nest is only one spot away from my parking space. As a result, while having a garage spot does spare me abuse from the elements as I approach my car, it does not in any way protect my car from getting nailed with prodigious amounts of bird shit. In fact, I am often astounded by the amount of bird shit on my car. The Girl thinks they’ve heard me talking about how unwelcome they are and are just sort of flipping me the bird, so to speak. The nest nearest my car even had babies in it for a while, which might be cute if it were outside my living room window, but it nothing of the sort when it increases the amount of droppings on my vehicle. So it’s a dirty, shit-splattered parking space. But it’s my dirty, shit-splattered parking space. It’s comfy, and it’s convenient.

The other night I came home from softball feeling triumphant but exhausted after two big wins for the team. I was a bit sore after arriving at the field too late to adequately warm up or stretch (a bigger no-no for me as I seem to continue to get older and less limber all the time), and I was very much looking forward to a nice shower. As I pulled into my garage and prepared to back into my parking space, I noticed a problem: there was a silver Toyota Camry parked there. I said something not very nice and got out to take a closer look. That closer looked confirmed that there was indeed another car parked in my parking space. (I know it seems like an unnecessary step, but I was hoping it was a mirage.) At that hour all four of my complex’s visitor spots were full, and I had to park on the street about a block and a half away. As you might imagine the uphill walk to my apartment gave me just enough time to get really steamed, and I called to have that Camry towed. I considered just letting it go. I mean, once the car was towed out, I wasn’t going to walk the block and half back to my car so I could move it to my space. So what really would be the point in towing the car? I decided that was crap. The point is that the parking space clearly says “RESERVED,” and I was cranky. So I towed the ass out of that car, and I later took no small amount of satisfaction in watching the process. I even took some pics to commemorate the occasion. Here is a picture of my parking space, restored to its natural, non-stolen state:



Notice the (partially cut-off but still legible) “RESERVED” at the bottom, there. It might as well say, “STAY THE HELL OUT!” But wait, what’s that white rectangle in there?



I couldn’t help myself. I left a note. Was that mean? Vindictive? Asshole-ish? Perhaps it was. But you could argue that it was nice to tell the driver that his car hadn’t been stolen. Besides, you should be proud of me. I resisted adding “Have a nice day.”

Shotgun!

Last week, I went to lunch with a few co-workers.  As this was on one of the days that I actually venture into the office, we all headed toward the cars together.  Getting in the elevator, one ambitious girl casually called, “Shotgun.”  I was, of course, extremely put off by this act.  I looked at her, shook my head in disappointment, and said, “You can’t call that yet.”  She thought that was a bunch of crap, but I went on to explain that you definitely can’t call Shotgun while you’re in the elevator.  You have to be outside.  In fact, I would argue that you have to be in sight of the car to make the call.  Some people just think it’s being outside that matters, but I think reasonable people agree that calling Shotgun while in the elevator is a no-no.  Don’t you agree?

Maybe you don’t.  I’ve been party to a Shotgun discrepancy or two over the years, and I have always stuck to my guns (if you’ll pardon the pun) on the rules.  To make a blatant, gender-based generalization, it’s usually girls who try to call Shotgun indoors.  Sometimes, they even try to argue about the rules.  While I have clearly been in the right about this, the tricky part is that one could argue that Shotgun is played under different rules depending on the community, much like college basketball usually tries to enforce the game’s fundamental rules and concepts while the NBA generally spits on them.  And it’s always been hard to argue against that concept.

But no more!  The Internet has finally made itself useful and posted The Official Shotgun Rules.  Read them.  Know them.  Live them.  I feel vindicated in my struggles against those who would insidiously call Shotgun while still indoors. I also thank this site for clearing up the outside vs. line of sight requirement for a call, and I hope everyone who rides in a car with me will familiarize themselves with the rules beforehand.

Happy road tripping!  Don’t be a gaper.  

Air Travel Fun: Part 3

This is the third and final installment in our air travel story. It needs some serious editing, but we'll do that later.

Sadly, there’s nothing you can do at this point to get to the airport any earlier. The shuttle runs every half hour, and it’s about 7:15 when that lightning bolt of a realization hits you. So you get on your shuttle and take the short ride to the airport, irritably listening to some woman in the back seat from New York blatantly make up things about the day’s news that weren’t reported anywhere other than in her head. It does not make the ride better.

At the airport, you get in line for the ticket counter, while the Girl tries to check you in at the self-service kiosk. While waiting, you notice lots of signs telling you to make sure you put liquids and gels in your checked bags because they aren’t allowed past the security checkpoint. Those signs don’t really apply to you, though, as you didn’t have your checked bags to put things in. The airline likes to keep those when you’re stranded overnight. The Girl comes back to join you in line because, while the kiosk told her that you were successfully checked in, it didn’t actually give you boarding passes. When you get to the counter, you ask, “Is there any way we’re going to make that 9:00 flight?” It’s about 7:50 AM at this point. The nice but stressed woman behind the counter grimaces and says, “The security lines are pretty long. But you might make it.” You ask when the next flight to the Bay are is, only to find out that there is one to SFO (rather than OAK) at 2:00 PM, but then nothing until 6:45 PM. You try to get her to go ahead and rebook you, but she won’t do it. You tell the Girl as you trudge off to find the end of the security line that you would much rather take that 2:00 flight than have to wait until 6 or 7 that night. The weather forecast said thunderstorms are possible today, and they’re likely to come in the afternoon/evening if they come at all. It’s out of your hands, though, and you just start hoping that you’ll make your 9:00 AM flight.

The security line is something to behold. It starts near the ticket counters and wraps all the way around the terminal. You are positively astounded by it, and you can imagine missing every flight that day waiting in line, then having to repeat the hotel process tonight. It does seem like the line is moving pretty steadily, though. You never get to a point where you’re just standing around, and that kind of surprises you. As you approach a door to the terminal, the line throws you its first curve. It takes a left turn outside the terminal, does a long, flattened horseshoe kind of thing and returns inside the terminal. You wonder how many doors are between you and the security checkpoint. You optimistically bet the Girl that you will get through security at 9:10. She says not until 10:00. She points out that, even if you did make it by 9:10, your flight would be gone. You argue that, with these long lines, the airlines almost have to delay flights, as they are flying fewer flights this summer, with most of them filled near capacity, and there just isn’t anyplace to put displaced travelers. So it would be in their best interest not to leave people behind.

The security line goes outside another door, doing its flattened horseshoe thing again. These trips outside are just a knee to the groin in addition to a punch in the face. It’s not cool in Atlanta in August, and you’re schvitzing a good amount by the time you get back inside. You also start to think that your carry-on computer bag wasn’t really packed with this particular situation in mind, and it’s getting pretty heavy. Because the line is moving pretty quickly, it has a bit of a slinky quality about it, and there are many small breaks in the line. Along the way, about three people approach you looking around a bit, obviously thinking the little break in the line behind you is the end. You pityingly tell them that the line is a bit farther back, pointing out the people behind you, knowing that these would-be travelers are going to be pretty bummed by the time they work their way all the way to the back of the line. This security line, after going outside twice, wraps in snakelike fashion through all the baggage claims, around a corner near the MARTA entrance, then forks into at least 5 different lines that go through the middle of a mall area, then through a maze of stretchy extenda-barricade lines to finally dump people out at the security checkpoint. At the corner near the MARTA entrance (at least you think that’s what it is), the slinky effect of the line messes up some people in front of you. Instead of making a hard right turn, about 10 -15 people continue straight through the door to the MARTA. You can’t help but wonder how those people will get back in line as you spring back toward the next part of the slinky.

At this point, some airport employees are toting around big trash cans and advising people to make sure they get rid of all their liquids, gels, etc. The Girl bites the bullet and dumps half of her toiletries bag, discarding things like perfume, nail polish, hair gel, hair straightener gel, toothpaste, makeup, deodorant, and a bunch of other stuff. You reckon she tosses somewhere between $50 and $100 worth of stuff. It’s a total bummer, too, as she didn’t really have the option of putting it in her checked bags, as she didn’t have it during the overnight flight delay. Understandably, tossing all those things does not make her happy. The woman behind you tries to get the Girl to give her the deodorant. Very strange. You don’t know what to make of that at all. You can’t help but identify with Dante from Clerks, thinking repeatedly, “I’m not even supposed to be here today!” Some airport guy comes by and officiously peers into the Girl’s half-empty toiletries bag and tells her, “Yeah, that’s all going to have to go.” Foolish man. She’s dealt with a lot in the last few minutes, and she already got rid of the bad stuff, and she doesn’t want any shit from some random guy right now. “Really?!” she asks. “You think I need to throw my toothbrush away?!” The implication was that the toothbrush was about the only thing left in there and, if it had to be disposed of, it was likely to be deposited at an uncomfortable angle in one of his bodily orifices. “No. That’s OK,” he replies meekly and disappears to pester some other would-be travelers.

That ordeal over with, you ooze through a central hall with restaurants, shops, and a post office. You think that maybe you could have shipped the Girl’s contraband home. You decide it’s best not to mention that idea, on account of her still having that toothbrush. After getting through this hall, you go into the extenda-barricade maze and start cruising through as the people in the other parts of the maze watch enviously. More security inspection lines have apparently been opened, and you go through quickly, as one TSA employee softly tells the others, “Get ‘em through, get ‘em through.” You think that’s a surprising attitude given the state of things, but you decide that you don’t really care.

You make it through security and into your terminal at 9:25, which isn’t really all that bad, considering that you think the Line you went through was literally a mile long. You don’t even bother going to your gate at the terminal, noticing that your flight is no longer on the departures list. Skipping the gate put you in front of about 10 other people who were around you in the Line, and you’re kind of happy about getting through more quickly. After waiting on hold on a little phone for about 15 minutes, you talk to Pat, who is going to help you get to your final destination. You are none too pleased to find out that, while you were in the Line, the 2:00 flight to SFO was booked solid, meaning the next flight out of ATL to the Bay Area that you can have a seat on is at 6:45 PM. You tell Pat that you are a bit frustrated by what you have gone through so far. She says that the security threat popped up unexpectedly. You agree that they have no control over that, but you would have thought that flights would be delayed to accommodate people trying to get through long security lines. Pat puts you on hold. The Girl, with visions of trashed toiletries in her mind, cannot believe how nice and polite you are being to Pat. You agree that you’re pretty steamed, but you are trying extra hard to be nice because you think it’s unlikely that Pat is to blame for all of your woes, and you don’t like to rail at the wrong people. Pat comes back on and tells you that she has putyou in first class on your flight that evening, which makes you a bit happier about the situation. She then tells you that she can’t print out your boarding passes until 6 hours before your flight, though. So you’ll have to come back to get those.

That last statement kind of hammers home just how long you have to wait in the airport. You ask for and receive from an obliging Pat two meal vouchers worth a glorious $7 each. You walk away slowly, not quite sure what to do with your day. You spend the next 4,763 hours reading a book, playing travel Scrabble, calling your travel expert consultant buddy to see if ATL has free Internet access (they don’t), eating lunch at Chili’s Too, discussing whether you would be magnanimous enough to give up your first class seat for any Marines at this point (you decide you might do it grudgingly, but you wouldn’t be happy about it, which probably means it’s not really magnanimous, but it would play out much like the time you were on a redeye back East from Seattle and some old woman was the last person on the plane and ended up sitting in front of you and the flight attendants told her there were no pillows left and you gave her yours but couldn’t stand to listen to her say thank you for the kind gesture and you were unhappy about it and stewed about it for the whole unsleeping flight but you knew you couldn’t have slept anyway if you kept the damned pillow while that woman didn’t have one and it irked you that you couldn’t just pretend to be asleep and not hear like everyone else seemed able to and it continues to irk you to this day), and generally wondering who is going to give you back the day of vacation you are spending in the airport. Sure, you could leave and do something in Atlanta, but you doubt your ability to get back through security before your flight, even if it did only take about 1:30 the first time. Besides, the way things are going, you don’t want to tempt fate, thinking that you might get crushed by a falling elephang driving a Pinto or something equally ridiculous. What makes all this waiting that much more interminable is that a woman makes an announcement every 5 minutes that liquids and gels aren’t allowed beyond the security check points or on the planes. This announcement bothers you immensely for three reasons. First, the frequency of it seems a bit over the top to you. Is it really necessary to play it every 5 minutes? (It might have been every 10 – 15 minutes, but the objection still stands.) Second, you can’t help but think that you are already past the checkpoint, and you had to dump all of those items before you got there, making the announcement pointless, and couldn’t they think to play it where the only people who heard it would be those who might be able to make use of the information? Sure, they’re talking about not taking things on planes, too, but couldn’t they just have the gate agents tell boarders that before they get on the planes? Why do they have to try to annoy you with noise pollution? Third, the woman making the announcement emphasizes the syllables in a VERY annoying manner: “Your attention please. Due to heightened security, all liquids and gels are not allowed beyond the security checkpoints and on planes. This includes beverages, TOOTHpaste, PERfume, SHAMpoo, and other similar items.” [I know that phrasing is weird, but it's what she says.] At one point she stumbled over the words, and you are astounded to think that it isn’t a recording, that she opted to say it that way every time on purpose, probably just to irk you. It’s a good thing that firearms aren’t allowed, because you think from time to time that you understand the motivation behind going postal.

Finally, finally, your flight boarding time comes around, and you settle into your comfy first class seat and kind of smile at the Girl as you push back on time. Neither of you really get into it, though, as you know about a billion things could go wrong before you get there. As if on cue, the pilot announces that the weather has caused a hold on takeoffs, and we’ll just have to wait for a while. You look out the window to see that, sure enough, those thunderstorms you were hoping to avoid by getting on that 2:00 flight have hunkered down over the airport. You sigh, thinking about all the hours that the woman at the ticket counter had stolen from you what seemed like so long ago, and you pick up your book.

After about 2 hours of sitting on the runway (the whole duration of which you were thankful that there weren’t any Marines on your flight) you finally take off and you can’t help but applaud softly. The flight goes pretty smoothly, and you land at OAK. The Girl smiles and whispers that we made it. You point out that you’re not at the gate yet. Once again, on cue, the plane comes to a stop, and the pilot tells you that there’s “some congestion at the gate,” and you’ll have to wait for a short while to get there. After only 15 minutes, you get to the gate and deplane, and you consider kissing the ground of the airport. You don’t, though, because it’s (the ground, but maybe the airport, too) probably pretty dirty.

As you head toward baggage claim, where the Girl’s dad and step mom are waiting to drive you to San Fran, she (the Girl) wonders aloud if your bags will be there. She has shockingly bad luck with her luggage. It gets temporarily lost on trips around 50% of the time she travels by air. You point out that your bags probably made the 9:00 flight. Sure enough, you go into the baggage office and they are waiting for you.

You head out of the airport, chuckling at the fact that the Girl’s dad has just described OAK as “the Greyhound Bus terminal of airports.” As you finally relax into the car, you try to start enjoying your vacation. You also try not to think that you have to fly through ATL on the way back.