The Chronicles of Abs

The Whimsy of Giant Chickens

2011-06-30T15:07:00.000-04:00

I haven’t had a lot to say around here for … quite a while, anyway. Or maybe I’ve had plenty to say, but I just haven’t actually said it. Or maybe, I’ve actually said it, but I haven’t ever typed it, and you have thus been deprived of my online brilliance. Regardless, I haven’t contributed much here lately, and I variously missed doing so and been happy not to be doing so. I don’t really know what all that means, but I just had to share a link to this post that you may very well have already seen because it made me laugh in the awesome ways that these internets used to all the time. Enjoy this lesson in the possible guerilla nature of giant steel chickens.

Enjoy, and in the words of commenter edenland, “Bok BOK, motherfucker!”

Schmolite

2010-08-20T13:01:00.001-04:00

I made my way to Subway for lunch today (which was lovely, by the way). As I was heading back to my car and back to the office so I could eat and peruse the internets at the same time, I saw a guy and a girl headed in for some 6-inchers – or possibly foot-longs if they were feeling really crazy, not that we’re going down that dirty-minded road at this point – of their own. They were youngish, probably either high school seniors or in their first couple years of college. I thought, “How nice. They’re doing a Subway lunch date.”

Since the timing was just about right, I held the door open for them as I exited. The girl said, “Thank you…” and I couldn’t help but think how nice it is when people – strangers, even – are spontaneously but simply polite to each other, and I started to smile at the the thought when those ellipses caught up with me. Those ellipses can be a total bitch when it comes to dialogue, and in this case the girl finished her sentence, “… Sir.”

At that point I rabbit-punched her in the back of her big, dumb, blonde, luxuriously hirsute head, slammed the door on her falling body, and said, seething, “Don’t. [kick] Call. [door slam] Me. [stomp] SIR!” At that point, I stormed back to my car, any pleasant thoughts about people being polite disintegrating into mutters of “Polite? I’ll show you polite. I got your polite right here, you trollop!”

As I later reflected on the scene and the carnage that resulted, some questions came to mind:

Was that a proportional response? Does feeling old because of something a teenager said justify assault and battery?
Does politeness often go wrong like this?
Is there anyone who actually likes being called sir or ma’am in this type of situation, especially by nubile, young people, when he or she (anyone being called sir or ma’am, not the young people doing the calling) is repeatedly reminded of advancing age by things no less clichéd than back pain?
Isn’t “hirsute” a great word?

P.S. OK, fine. It’s possible that I didn’t actually hit the girl. Or even say anything mean to her. It’s possible that I just kind of grunted something like “Welcome,” and walked (rather than stormed) back to my car bemusedly. But there was some serious, if very well-hidden, rancor in that grunt.

No Joke

2009-12-14T04:55:00.001-05:00

For some unknown reason, I tend to think that life is very much about laughter. Sure, it’s about tons of other things, but I seem to cherish the funny moments as much as, if not more than, most others. In fact, I seem to grab hold of a very dark sense of humor when many would consider it inappropriate to make jokes. Lawton and I often trade funny and inappropriate comments in the face of sadness. Those who are know things about psychology could probably explain to me that it’s a coping mechanism of some sort, and I’m sure that it is.

Sometimes, though, life isn’t funny, even when I really want it to be. Like now, when I read this message. My friend Shawn had battled cancer for the last 2 years, and, despite being cancer-free at one point, his battle was eventually a losing one, and I just can’t find the funny handle on it. I don’t know what jokes to tell.

Even though I’m a pretty indoorsy guy, I keep thinking of camping. I’ve heard my friends who like to go out and do camping things talk about packing out what you pack in, that you should leave a campsite the way you found it. Shawn, was unwilling to do that, though. He has left this little campsite of ours, but he didn’t leave it the way he found it. He seems to have managed to make it better for all of us who knew him. And that’s no joke.

Happy trails, Shawn. Rest in peace, buddy.

How We Did It: the Ceremony

2009-10-02T14:29:00.001-04:00

A couple of folks had told me after the wedding that they wanted to read our vows or get a copy of a reading or whatever, and I thought, “If only I had some platform I could use to publish information to multiple people at once …”

So I’m going to post the ceremony here on the Chronicles. Besides, if that ceremony isn’t part of the Chronicles of Abs, I don’t really know what is. It’s not exactly what was said, in that I’ve changed some names, and I think the officiant made a couple of last-minute tweaks for better deliverability, but it’s pretty much what we came up with ahead of time. All the talking is from the Roomie Pastor (it’s not just a clever name – he was actually my roommate for the last three years of college) unless otherwise noted.

[Guest Seating. Jazz playing.]

[Music switches to Forrest Gump Theme. Step-mother of the bride is seated, followed by mother of the groom , then step-father and mother of the bride.]

[Music switches to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. Roomie Pastor, groomsmen, and groom enter. Bridesmaids process. Music stops.]

Welcome. I am the Roomie Pastor and I have the privilege of performing this marriage ceremony today. On behalf of Abs and the Girl and their parents welcome and thank you for being here. They are delighted that you are here today to share in their joy during this wonderful moment in their lives.

By your presence, you celebrate with them the love they have discovered in each other and you support their decision to commit themselves to one another for the rest of their lives. Abs and the Girl would like to see this day as an affirmation and celebration of their commitment and not the beginning of it.

Today their relationship changes. All of us know it will grow, and become stronger and better. Indeed this day is a day of hope. A day in which Abs and the Girl demonstrate their commitment, devotion, and mutual respect, as well as their faith and love in themselves and one another.

You who are gathered here as witnesses are called to continue your support and encouragement as they unite in marriage. You are not here to simply hear words uttered in ceremony, or just to witness the first kiss between husband and wife. Your participation in this ceremony is as important as your participation in their lives. So, we ask for your active participation in this ceremony. You should feel free to clap and cheer and laugh when it strikes you.

One more thing. It’s an unusual situation, but some of you may know Abs by the name his mother calls him or a shortened version of it. After 20 years, I can’t bring myself to call him anything else, so I’m going to be calling him Abs during the ceremony. But if you know him as something else, you should remember that I called him that.

We are about to start. Everyone, please stand.

[Pachelbel’s Canon in D plays as the bride processes, escorted by her dad. They walk to the front, dad kisses his daughter on the cheek, shakes Abs’s hand, and takes his seat.]

Please be seated.

We all know marriage is more than two people standing up here repeating vows. There is an art to any creative activity. So too in marriage.

Part of the art of marriage is finding room for the things of the spirit.
So to you two I say continue in your search for the good and the beautiful in this life.
Part of the art of marriage is being flexible.
So in your marriage cultivate flexibility, patience, understanding, and a sense of humor.
Part of the art of marriage is to comfort each other and strive to be each other’s best friend.
Most important, develop the capacity to forgive and heal your differences day by day.
Always remember that your love can prevail. It can be the miracle that invites you to learn, to blossom, to expand your horizons.

From your new marriage relationship can come the nurture and strength you two need to face the world. Only from this moment on you will face the world together in a new way. Today a new family is born and our world will be the better for its birth. For this we all celebrate.

Now, the Girl’s sister-in-law, will do a reading.

[The Girl’s sister-in-law]:

From The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

[Roomie Pastor]: Now the Girl’s step-sister will do a reading.

[The Girl’s step-sister]:

“I Wrote a Good Omelet” by Nikki Giovanni

I wrote a good omelet...and ate a hot poem...

after loving you

Buttoned my car...and drove my coat home...in the rain...

after loving you

I goed on red...and stopped on green...floating

somewhere in between...

being here and being there

after loving you

I rolled my bed...turned down my hair...slightly

confused but...I don't care...

Laid out my teeth...and gargled my gown...then I stood

...and laid me down...

to sleep...

after loving you

[Roomie Pastor]:

This is the part, in a traditional ceremony, where the wizened holy man offers sage words of advice distilled from the ages. Well, I suspect I'm too young and handsome to be wizened, and I'd like to think I'm here today as your friend.

So as your friend, what I offer you is something maybe more valuable: a promise. I am here for you.

So are we all. Look around you. Many have come from far and wide, not just for a great party, which we'll have, but to pledge their support for you, to say not only "yes, I am here for your wedding", but also "yes, I am here for your marriage".

I am your parent, your brother, your sister, your dear friend. I'm here for the both of you. If you need my advice, a different perspective, or just someone to listen. We are all here for you.

And, let me speak for everyone here today, when I say, I love you both.

And now that we have pledged our support to you, it is time for you each to declare your love and promise to each other.

As you share daily life,

do you promise to love, honor, respect, and cherish each other,

to celebrate life's joys together and comfort each other through life's sorrows?

Do you promise to help each other discover and follow your own true path in life,

to try to appreciate your differences as a source of richness,

and above all to do everything within your power to permit each of you to become the people you are yet to be?

[Abs and the Girl]: I do

[Roomie Pastor, repeated by Abs]: I, Abs, choose you, the Girl, to be my wife.

I promise to be a partner to you,

to lean on you when I need strength,

and to hold you when I am strong.

I promise to create with you

a home filled with love and peace,

balance and freedom,

healing tears and laughter,

friendship and compassion.

I will strive to be slow to anger

and quick to forgive.

I will respect you as an equal,

knowing that we do not complete,

but complement each other.

I will love you deeply and truly

for all the days of my life.

[Roomie Pastor, repeated by the Girl]: I, the Girl, choose you, Abs,

to be my husband.

I promise to be a partner to you,

to lean on you when I need strength,

and to hold you when I am strong.

I promise to create with you

a home filled with love and peace,

balance and freedom,

healing tears and laughter,

friendship and compassion.

I will strive to be slow to anger

and quick to forgive.

I will respect you as an equal,

knowing that we do not complete,

but complement each other.

I will love you deeply and truly

for all the days of my life.

Exchange of Rings

May I have the rings please.

Abs, place the ring on her finger and repeat after me:

This ring I give you
as a symbol and pledge
of constant faith
and abiding love.

Do you, the Girl, receive this ring as a token of your pledge to keep and perform these vows?

[The Girl]: I do.

The Girl, place the ring on his finger and repeat after me:

This ring I give you
as a symbol and pledge
of constant faith
and abiding love.

Do you, Abs, receive this ring as a token of your renewed pledge to keep and perform these vows?

[Abs]: I do.

By virtue of the authority committed to me by the law of the state, I now declare that you, Abs and the Girl, are husband and wife.

Abs, you may kiss your bride!

[Smooches. Then faces crowd]

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to present to you for the first time, Mr. & Mrs. Abs.

[Crowd: goes wild]

May your hearts be united in love, and your lives intertwined forever in tenderness and devotion and may you find a home everywhere on earth where you are together.

[Newlyweds literally skip down aisle to “All I Want Is You” by Barry Louis Polisar]

I’m No Boy Scout

2009-09-17T11:26:00.001-04:00

The first time I proposed to a girl was via email.

Shockingly, she said no.

I suppose I should provide a little more detail. This all happened several years ago, when I was youngish, had a much fuller head of hair, and still sported the goatee. I met the girl in question, whom we will call Pomona, on a free trip to the Caymans, courtesy of the Pretty Boy. I know you’re probably thinking that I was a fool to let an island encounter get me carried away and lead to a marriage proposal. OK, there’s a large percentage of you who don’t believe there was an island encounter in the first place, and, sadly, you are quite correct. Many of us on the free trip hung out and partied on and in the white sand and blue, blue water of the Caymans, and it was a magical week. But not quite so magical as to lead to a semi-random hook up for me.

Nonetheless, a number of fun people from that early December trip – most of whom lived in the Philly area – decided to try to have some more good times together by coming to D.C. to ring in the new year with those of us who were clever enough to already live in the D.C. area (i.e. me). Many emails flew around (this was before IM really caught on), and I traded several with Pomona. In one exchange she divulged 3 highly unusual things:

She and her dad had season tickets to Temple basketball games, not because they had any connection to the university at all, but solely because it allowed them to see some college hoops in person.
She happened to know off hand that UNC had lost the night before, but was bummed that she was unable to watch the game.
She liked Bobby Knight. (As a speaker. Mainly, anyway. She was trying to book him as a speaker for some event she was coordinating. I point this out not because that makes her right or smart but it’s such an unusual stance for anyone other than an old school IU fan to have.)

That was quite a lot to take in all at once, and I couldn’t help but be more than a tad shell shocked. I decided to go with some email flirtation, and I concluded my response with this gem:

I have to admit that I am fairly disturbed by many of your comments. A woman who likes college basketball? What? She pays close enough attention to know that UNC lost last night? She likes Bobby Knight?!! It's a crazy thing. I can't really explain how the existence of these things turns my world on its ear. This may sound a little forward . . . I mean, I know I don't know you that well . . . but, um . . . well . . . will you marry me?

Those of you who know about these things will know that my efforts at flirtation are doomed to fail because, as a middle reliever, I’m actually incapable of flirting. And, seriously, that could have possibly been just scary enough to scuttle the whole New Year’s Eve outing. However, my email wasn’t really about marriage. It really just meant, “I’m impressed by you, and I’d really like to date, or at least shag, you, and I’m going to attempt to convey that desire in a possibly creepy and definitely opaque manner that I misconstrued as charming, funny, and flirtatious.” As it turned out, Pomona wasn’t outwardly creeped out (or she at least hid it well), given this response:

I'll have to say no to the marriage proposal today...though, if you present me with a really big ring tomorrow night, I might reconsider.

That was actually somewhat funny and definitely cleverly deflecting of the whole issue. I suppose it could be summed up as, “I’m not particularly interested in shagging you, but I see no reason not to keep my options open for the time being.” Of course, I took it at the time, as was my wont, to mean, “I’d get wit cha if you were rich.” (I believe Kanye had a song about that sort of thing.)

I wrote something back, inevitably about how tough it was on an Abs in those days, and let the whole thing drop.

Right?

Wrong! At least about letting it drop. Yadambetcha I wrote about how tough it was on an Abs in those days. Because it was. However, instead of letting it drop, I opted to respond in a clever, charming, and witty way, even if doing so made me risk going a bit over the top. I decided to buy her that big ring and give it to her the next night.

So, when we met up at the hotel where we were crashing to head out for the New Year’s Eve festivities, Pomona surprised me by immediately asking, “Did you get me a big ring?” I wasn’t expecting her to continue our little joke, especially in front of our whole group of people, and I was more than a little perturbed by her stealing my surprising and charming move’s thunder. Still, there was nothing for it, so I somewhat reluctantly reached into my pocket and handed her a big, red ring pop. I suppose if I were being especially clever, I would have gotten down on a knee or something, but I was too put off of my game. She said, “Thanks,” smiled and we all headed out for the night.

An hour or so later, Pomona had a brief moment to chat, and, as she looked at the big sucker on her finger, I asked her about it: “So you were expecting me to give you a ring pop?”

“Yep.”

“Really?”

“Well, it was the obvious response.”

Sensing my distress at the utter failure of my charm, at being so “obvious,” she opted to be nice: “I liked it though. It was still funny. I would have liked it better if it was a green one, though.”

She was borderline stunned when I reached in my pocket and pulled out a green ring pop. I hadn’t been able to decide between the red or the green, so, big spender that I am, I bought both. “I definitely didn’t expect that,” she told me.

It was dumb luck that I was prepared for that situation, and one might think it was looking good for the Kid right there. What happened next, you wonder? Did Abs shock the world and manage to ring in the New Year with some fireworks? Did he capitalize on this unprecedented show of suavity?

Absolutely not. The details are a bit fuzzy, but at that point, some of our friends came over with shots, I proceeded to get famously drunk, and she went home with one of the guys she had traveled down from Philly with, which was really her plan all along, unbeknownst to me.

So what’s the point of this, you ask? I’m not exactly sure, other than that I was recently thinking about this story and how that second sucker ring made me so prepared. And it just didn’t matter because she just wasn’t particularly interested.

The next time around, I wasn’t nearly as prepared. I only got one ring for the Girl. Lucky for me, she didn’t say she would have preferred a green one; she just said, “Yes.”

So let those boy scouts “be prepared.” Maybe sometimes it’s better to just get it right.

A Sample of Efficiency

2009-08-06T13:40:00.001-04:00

I like to do things efficiently if I can. I have my computer all pimped out so that I can do a million things with my keyboard. Rarely do I have to waste time by reaching all the way over and grabbing the mouse. With my setup, I can knock out a blog post, peruse Facebook, write an email, fire off an IM, or browse through my RSS feeds, all without ever taking my hands off the keyboard. Aren’t you impressed? Well, my desire for efficiency is especially manifested when the things I’m to do require me to leave my seat. (For those of you saying that I’m really just very lazy, zip it! This is my post, and I’m telling you, it’s all about efficiency.) If I have to get up and go somewhere, I like to knock out a couple of things at once. If I have to scan something, I’ll drop a couple of soda cans in the recycle bin. If I need to meet with someone on the other side of the building, I’ll stop by a friend’s office to visit while I’m in the neighborhood. If I need to fill up my water bottle, I’ll go ahead and go to the restroom if I need to.

That last one got me thinking, though. If I were a random person who just happened to see me (or someone like me) head into the restroom with an empty water bottle, what would I think? Would that random person think that I was going to collect a urine sample? In the case of my 1 liter water bottle, an impressively large urine sample? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Press Conference Remix

2009-06-26T11:14:00.001-04:00

Non-somnolent reader FJ sent this to me (via 4 Dudes Write a Blog via Deadspin), and I llllllooooovvvveeee it. There’s a stretch in the middle where it gets a little long, but it’s worth it if you stick around. Just marvelous. Genius, I tell you! I love the Jim Mora stutter effect.

A New Category of Cool

2009-06-03T21:48:00.001-04:00

Since I am one of the least cool, last-to-know types in the world, I don’t know why I’m posting this. I mean, even ABC Nightly News beat me to the punch. But I just can’t help myself. The Spaceball sent me this today, and I had to put it up. I know that you are all cooler and better informed than I am, but I’m posting it anyway. You should totally check this out (assuming you haven’t already).

The product itself doesn’t do it. You have to read the reviews, especially that of B.Govern. It’s genius on a shopping site, I tell you. And I know I’m only adding fuel to the fad fire that this business is, but I totally love it.

It even has its own music video:

I think it’s soooo cool. I’d even say it’s Three Wolf Cool.

Too Late

2009-05-18T14:43:00.001-04:00

Have you ever struggled through something in life and wondered why it was so hard, only to learn that a tool was developed later that would have eased your struggles immeasurably?

Well, I can honestly say that’s happened to me more than once. I mean, if Facebook existed when I was in college, I would obviously have a rampaging sex machine, a Don Juan in Docs, khakis, a flannel, and a baseball cap. There’s no question about it. My lack of success with women in those days wasn’t because I lacked skills in the game of Pitching Woo. It wasn’t because I was a middle reliever. No! The issue is quite clear to me now: it was that I didn’t have a nearly instant, electronic connection to every single woman at my school and every other college in the country!

Today, the Spaceball sent me a link to a similarly world-changing tool. If only I had this tool, mayhap my goatee would still be here today. Of course, that would mean that this blog would never have existed, and that would mean your life would be immeasurably worse than it is today, but it’s still an amazing thought. The tool in question is the Goatee Saver. You can’t just look at the site, either. You must watch the video on the home page. That is restaurant quality video about a world-changing product.

Simply marvelous.

Too Short

2009-05-07T10:47:00.001-04:00

Dear Dad,

When I think about our time together, the freshest memories naturally come first. I think of you in the hospital twice because of debilitating strokes. I think of learning about things like left side neglect, edema, and brain cell recruitment. I think of all of us adjusting to new ways of things. I think of the eventual frustration with being unable to use your left arm, unable to continue working at the job you loved so much. I think of endless trips to Walgreen’s and how, try as we might, we could never seem to provide you with enough blue pens. I think of how you never lost your sense of humor, how, when the Girl and I called to tell you that we were engaged, you inevitably said, “I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

But those are just some of the recent things I think of. And those aren’t the things I want to think about. As I pondered what to say here, we were looking through some of your things from high school, and I found a poem you liked so much that you had handwritten a copy of it. I think it’s very fitting:

When I quit this mortal shore.
And mosey ‘round the earth no more,
Don’t weep, don’t sigh, don’t sob;
I may have struck a better job.

Don’t go and buy a large a large bouquet
For which you’ll find it hard to pay;
Don’t mope around and feel all blue –
I may be better off than you.

Don’t tell folks I was a saint,
Or any old thing that I ain’t.
If you have jam like that to spread,
Please hand it out before I’m dead.

If you have carnations, bless your soul,
Just pin one in my button-hole
While I’m alive and well today.
Don’t wait until I’ve gone away.

With that in mind the older memories seemed to come more readily, in rapid fire succession, and I think of so many things from while you were alive and well.

I think of you, me, and my big bro playing catch in the yard for hours on end.

I think of us all wrestling on the family room floor.

I think of games of Charades and Blind Man’s Bluff.

I think of all 3 of us taking road trip vacations to Civil War battlefields, of the sudden outbursts of unexplained laughter from the one of us who happened to be reading a Dave Barry book.

I think of shelves full of books stacked on books surrounded by books. Of books in paper bags and on tables.

I think of breakfast meetings at Bob Evans.

I think of the 3 Abs men meeting in a random college town to take in a football game that none of us really cared about.

I think of watching countless hours sports on TV, of going to Reds, Pacers, and Colts games.

I think of sitting in the bleachers of various high school football fields the big bro was playing on, as you invariably leaned to me sometime in the third quarter and observed, “Third down. Big play, buddy.”

I think of foolishly leaving a message on your home answering machine, not knowing that you wouldn’t ever think to check it. I think of how, from then on, I knew, if I needed to get you on the phone, I could find you most easily at work, even at odd hours.

I think of an endless curiosity that reveled in books with titles like Why Clocks Go Clockwise. Those books taught me not only why clocks go clockwise (they were developed in the Northern hemisphere and were based on sundials), but also why firemen always have Dalmatians (they worked well with horses).

I think of how creativity was valued in the absence of knowledge. At one of those Bob Evans breakfasts, I read something off of one of the cards at the table and wondered what it was talking about. Big bro said, “Hell, I don’t know,” and was ready to move on. But you stopped him: “Hold on. We’re about to make stuff up.”

I think of how home projects are measured not in the time or effort or even money they require, but in how many new tools and trips to the hardware store we needed to complete them.

I think of digging through a road atlas, following your instructions to find us a state highway that went in the general direction of where we were going, just to “get off the interstate and see the country.”

I think of how an argument might have been your favorite kind of discussion.

I think of an abiding love of Hoosier basketball. One time in college, I received a letter from you that made my roommate marvel. It wasn’t just that you had sent a letter with the check I needed, although that was pretty unusual. It was that the letter was two handwritten pages. The first paragraph talked about the business at hand. The other page and three quarters talked about the prospects of the IU’s impending basketball season.

I think of how, even for the last six years, you always paid attention to how the Wabash football team fared.

I think of the benedictions I have to offer:

May you find a place full of interesting books and time to read them
May the small secrets of universe reveal themselves in interesting ways
May you see the Hoosiers and Little Giants find victory regularly

Finally, I think of the short visits we had since I went to college, be they to have a beer, watch a game, or just hang out. At the end of all those visits, we both seemed to have the same sentiment, expressed in various ways: it was way too short, but I’m really glad we were able to get together.

Maybe we could say that about life in general, Dad: it’s way too short, but I’m so incredibly glad that we were able to be here together.

Love always,
Abs

Stories on a Schedule

2009-04-27T15:24:00.001-04:00

I’m a big fan of stories. I like to hear them. I like to tell them. Heck, most of my favorite posts on this blog have been stories. Anyway, Bike Action Dave pointed me toward The Moth Podcast, which is all about stories. They have lots of people get up and tell stories, and they put them out in podcasts. Somtimes, they’re from writers or other pseudo-famous people. Sometimes they’re from random people who just tell a good story. Sometimes they’re sad. Sometimes they’re happy. Sometimes they’re funny. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. Sometimes it rains.

Anyhoo, if you dig the stories, and you like podcasts, check it out. It comes out once a week, and I typically wish it was more frequent. They generally take about 15 minutes, which is about commute-sized for me.

It Sounds Better Than 'Recipes That Will Clean Your Pipes'

2009-01-05T15:14:00.001-05:00

I was at a bookstore the other night putting an x-mas gift card to good use. The Girl was also attempting to put a gift card of her own to use, and she was looking at cookbooks. She was looking for a particular one, and she enlisted my help. I didn't find the book she was looking for, but I did happen to glance this gem:

I couldn't help but wonder what it was about. Chuckling, I showed it to the Girl, suggesting that it was chock-a-block full of recipes for the high fiber diet. She suggested that we open it to find out, and I absolutely refused, deciding that it would be better to just leave it to my imagination. She opened it anyway and determined that it's from a New Orleans restaurant. We didn't look at the actual recipes, though. So I'm going to just assume that it's a restaurant that caters to the discerning, if irregular, eater.

Best Text Ever

2008-12-10T14:52:00.001-05:00

So what's the best text message you've ever received? I remember being out at a bar with a quasi-random assortment of folks one night when a guy showed one the females hanging with us a text he had just received from a woman he knew (before you ask, this text was not from his wife or girlfriend or anything of the sort). The entirety of the message was, "Sex?" You might laugh and be inclined to answer with an Austin Powers like, "Yes, please." Or even, "Grr, baby! Yeah!" But the thing is you would be right on point. That message wasn't inquiring about whether the guy was currently in the clutch; it was an invitation, and you have to love the casual, if-you're-not-doing-anything-else-how-about-helping-a-girl-out sort of tone. I was impressed and astounded. Unsurprisingly, that guy exited stage left, with a quickness even.

You, being the swave and deboner type that you are, have probably received dozens or even hundreds of those types of texts. (Or should I call them sexts?) I, on the other hand, am not nearly as cool as you, and I have never had such an experience. Realistically, I can't quite fathom it. So it leads me to wonder, in the absence of such cell phone delivered prurience, what the best text I've ever received is. Even though I'm not good at superlatives, I think I have an answer. Last week, I received a message from cancer battler Shawn, and it has to take the cake. It simply said, "NO SIGNS OF CANCER!"

He gives more of the dets in a blog post (I especially like the text from his uncle that he included), but I say goodonya, Shawn! Excellent work and excellent news! That's the kind of news we should all get more often. Maybe we should all start telling each other we're cancer-free, just to remind ourselves of something to be thankful for.

An Unexpected Hosanna

2008-11-24T09:44:00.001-05:00

I stopped to get gas on the way to work this morning, and for some reason, I looked over at another woman who was there. She was walking a little toward me, and asked, "Did you hear what I said?"

I shook my head. She said, "It used to cost me 75 dollars to fill up that car. It just cost me thirty-three seventy-five. God is good!"

It's good to be thankful, I guess.

A Newer Perspective

2008-11-12T10:55:00.000-05:00

The Chronicles started out way back when as a follow-up to an email about me shaving off my goatee. Since then, I've talked about all sorts of random things, and linked to stories I found amusing and generally bumbled my way about. Sometimes I struggle to come up with something to write about.

Now I have a new piece of news that undoubtedly belongs in the Chronicles of Abs. Not long ago, I talked about how I had played a bunch of different roles in weddings, and I had just added Officiant to the list. Well, it looks like I'm going to able to add the role of Groom at some point because the Girl officially agreed this past weekend to add the Wife to her list of sobriquets.

You read it right; I am engaged! Last Friday, as the Girl and I watched the first exhibition game of the IU basketball season (streaming online because it wasn't on actual TV) in our living room, as the band played the William Tell Overture and the cheerleaders streamed all over the court with flags (this sequence is one of the Girl's favorite things in the entire world), I brought out her favorite dessert from the restaurant where we went on our first date, and I asked her to marry me. As you might expect, trumpets heralded, the clouds parted, we were bathed in a shimmering light, the band was muted behind a Hallelujah chorus, laurels and wreaths and nosegays floated through the air. Perhaps all of those things distracted her, because she said yes!

We are excited! And thrilled!! And I am clearly overdosing on exclamation marks! I just had to share that with you, because you are my one and only, most favoritest Internets. Have a marvelous day.

My Kind of PSA

2008-11-07T15:47:00.001-05:00

The Pretty Boy recently pointed me to a PSA that Dave Barry wrote. Despite the fact that I actually wrote one once, I'm not really so big on PSA's. Jenny, eat something. Johnny, go to school. Jeremiah ... why the hell do all these kids' names start with 'J'? It's ridiculous! But I digress. The point is that Dave Barry had a message to send out, and he did it in his inimitable style: by talking about his fear of having things shoved up his butt. I love this kind of PSA. It made me laugh out loud more than once. It had a sweet side to it. And, best of all, it is currently not even the least bit applicable to me. Good times.

Given the subject, it seems a good time to give a shout out to a guy on my softball team. I've been meaning to post this for a long time, but I just haven't managed it. Last December, I got this email from Shawn. Needless to say, it wasn't good news, but I told him I was definitely not betting against him, and his attitude about the whole thing was both inspiring and refreshing. That's been true ever since he was diagnosed, and I'm glad to say that he's still playing softball with us. That in itself is impressive, and his story has been a repeated source of goodness over time. But it's this particular post that I think sums it all up. Sometimes, the Good Guys win.

Have a great weekend!

If at First You Don't Succeed ...

2008-11-04T18:02:00.001-05:00

I think you're supposed to try again. That worked for me. Heading back to the polls around 2:30 or 3:00 seemed to be the ticket. There were no lines visible outside the building (at least not for my section of the alphabet), and I had to wait behind only about 3 people. The whole process only took about 10 minutes this time around.

Given the whole hassle with the lines, I'd be all for a completely mail-enabled kind of voting process, but there are some decent arguments against that I hadn't considered. Either way, I hope you managed to do all the voting you wanted (and were legally allowed to do) in this election with a minimum of pain.

Swing and a Miss

2008-11-04T11:26:00.001-05:00

So I went out this morning to take part in this representative government of ours by voting. The community center in our neighborhood is our polling place, and I figured I'd swing by the store to grab a morning soda then saunter up to a by-then-diminished line and put my vote in before heading to work. However, maybe other people had the same plan as I -- I don't know, I couldn't see if they had sodas -- and the line was stretched around the corner. So I drove right on to my office.

All these lines are kind of frustrating, although I suppose it's an indication of voter interest. But I'll go back armed with the AbsPod and some other things to entertain myself this afternoon, even though I often argue that your vote doesn't count in the presidential election, both from a purely lottery-like mathematical standpoint and because of the electoral college.

Bah. I hope your voting experience is line- and stress-free.

An Old Campaign

2008-10-21T12:53:00.001-04:00

Back in the day, I had a catchphrase, a mantra, a slogan ... whatever you want to call it. I didn't really mean for it to be so prominent, but it just worked out that way. It would always come up in response to someone commenting on me in one way or another. They might tell me I was nice (grr), or mean, or ugly, or funny, or smart, or cute, or fat, or scrum-dilly-umptious, or whatever they opted to call me. My response came out automatically after a while: "I'm just Abs."

I thought it was a simple and effective response. I was just me. That was all I could be. Typically, the commenter would smile at that and go on about his or her business, now secure in the knowledge that whatever else I might appear to be, I was just me. This wasn't some Walt Whitman-esque yawping, mind you; it was just my way of turning aside comments that I didn't otherwise quite know what to do with. Instead of coming up with something relevant and appropriately clever, I would just aver my total yet simple Absness.

After a while people got used to it. Some of them would try to apply the phrase for me, but they would almost never get it quite right. Something was missing. They would either address me as "Just Abs," as in "Hello, Just Abs." Maybe that was because they weren't Abs, and they couldn't possibly be expected to get it right while lacking that certain thing the French call ... "I don't know what." Still, in general that automatic response became part of the fabric of my interaction with a lot of people.

After a while, though, Lawton and the Pretty Boy staged a mini-intervention. "You need a new campaign. That one is not working." I'm confident it was the Pretty Boy who made this statement. Methinks the Pretty Boy is very big on what is and isn't working. Recall that he lobbied for me to shave off the goatee, claiming that it wasn't working. In the face of this particular claim of his, I thought, "First of all, it's not a damned campaign! It's just something I say." I decided to say that out loud, but Lawton, who typically likes nothing more than to wind me up, was prepared for that objection. "No. It's a campaign," he said, almost before I had finished my argument.

I might have argued with them for a little while before giving it up as a lost cause that I didn't particularly care about, especially when there was beer around that was significantly more interesting. As is often their wont, those two guys kept going in some sort of bizarre positive feedback loop, and they talked about it for quite a while.

Over time they came back at me quite often about needing a new "campaign." And their arguments were either effective or I proved highly suggestible or something else, because I eventually stopped saying it. I never stopped really being just Abs, though, even if I stopped pointing the fact out to everyone who needed to be reminded. The truth is that I remain Abs -- and just Abs -- to this day.

Why do I tell you all of this? It's because of a video Lawton sent to me recently. Now that all of the presidential debates are over, mayhap I can add a wrinkle. Even though, as is always the case, the author of this article didn't quite get the gist, I'm willing to say that I'm just Abs, and I approve of this message.

Something We Can All Agree On

2008-10-13T13:41:00.001-04:00

Can we just all go ahead and agree that garbanzo beans are the funniest kind of beans?

Thank you. Have a nice day.

A New Perspective

2008-10-03T10:37:00.001-04:00

I know I've mentioned before that I've been to a number of weddings. Amazingly enough, people keep getting married, they keep inviting me, and I keep going. A lot of people have suggested that everyone I know ought to have been married by now. I would have thought that, too, but it is apparently not the case. I've been to weddings in places ranging from DC to San Pancho, Santa Barbara to Louisville, Chicago to St. Lucia, and several places in between. Ridiculously, I've been to 5 weddings in Roanoke, VA.

After all of that, I often find myself looking for what's new about each wedding I attend. A couple of months ago, I attended an outdoor wedding where the bride and her father rode up to the event in a horse-drawn carriage. Someone suggested that I hadn't seen that before. But I had. That wedding was an easy one to stand out, though. During the whole cake cutting/feeding thing, the bride dropped some of the cake she was supposed to feed the groom (or maybe it was the groom who dropped it -- I'm not sure) right into her cleavage. The groom went right in after it. I definitely hadn't seen that before.

But I digress. The point is that some new wedding things are easy to find while some are harder. This past weekend was incredibly easy. In my time, I've been a groomsman, an usher, a reader, an invited attendee, a Guest (my name wasn't on the invitation), a named guest (my name was on the invitation but I wasn't the primary invitee), a rehearsal dinner emcee, and even a reception crasher. But this past weekend, I served a completely new role. I was the officiant. That's right. I married them. The Girl's brother got married, and he and his fiancee wanted a friend to perform the ceremony. For some reason they asked me. Before you ask, no, I didn't go get ordained on the Internet. I'm not Reverend Abs, as several people kept wanting to call me. I am still just Abs. The Commonwealth of Virginia has a state law that allows pretty much anyone to become a "One Time Civil Celebrant" upon successfully petitioning the court to do so. There are some paperwork hoops to jump through, and you have to post a $500 bond to do it, but it's not all that difficult. I can't quite figure out the $500 bond, other than to think that it's there because we can't have poor people marrying each other willy-nilly. Then where would we be?!

Luckily for me, the bride and groom wrote the ceremony, and all I had to do was read it. Granted, I have to admit that I was disappointed to discover that it didn't start out with "Mawage..." a la the Princess Bride. Aside from that, it was quite nice. I managed to bumble my way through it, and I was lucky enough that most of my bumbling was invisible to the audience. I did screw it up on the very first sentence, and I thought that was an entirely inauspicious beginning. I managed to right the ship after that, and it suffices to say that the bride and groom are officially married and even still speaking to me.

All in all, it was a pretty cool experience, and I'm glad I had the opportunity to do it. There's another wedding coming up later this month. Who knows what will be new about it? Hopefully, I won't have to resort to making it the first "no pants" wedding I've attended.

How Big Is Your Car Hole?

2008-09-16T23:15:00.001-04:00

For a long time now I've enjoyed talking about the size of garages on houses. Granted, some people, like Moe on The Simpsons, don't approve of the word garage, as explained in this exchange:

Moe: Garage? Hey, fellas, the garage. Well, ooh la-di-da, Mr. Frenchman.
Homer: Well, what do you call it?
Moe: A car hole.

Still, la-di-das aside, I think what got me started talking about garage sizes was when I heard someone talking about how their house had a "one and a half car garage."

"A 1.5 car garage?! That's absurd!" I said. "Is that for your extra half car that you have lying around?! Reediculous!"

Had I applied a bit of a filter between brain and mouth, I might have been able to figure out that it kind of makes sense to talk about garages that way. I mean, garages can be useful for holding things other than cars. They're dead useful for storing things like tools, lawn mowers, rakes, boxes full of random A/V cables, fishing gear, and other things that one doesn't use all that often and/or that just don't have a sensible home inside. Anyway, after hearing about a 1.5 car car hole for the first time, I started noticing that the size varied quite a bit.

By way of example, Lawton must have at least a 2.5 car garage, given that it can hold 2 decent sized cars with ample space between them for opening doors and even some room left over for storing some other shit. I've claimed for years that my mom has the biggest no car garage in the world, full to the brim as it is with junk and Emergency Backup Furniture just sitting there hoping that some of the Primary Furniture will break or be otherwise ruined thus leaving an opening for EBF to gain entry to the house.

When the Girl and I moved into the Halfway House, I decided that we have a 1.0 car garage. I suppose there are some shelves at the end of it that make it a tad bigger, but it's not much more than 1.1 at the most. My car is both long and wide, meaning that I have to favor the right side when I get to park in there just so I can open my door enough to get out. I also have to pay attention to how far I pull in there to make sure there's ample room for the door to close. Still, a 1.0 car garage is better than no car hole at all, and I'm generally glad to have it.

As as aside, I should mention that the Girl and I have differing opinions about the garage door and just how important its status is in our daily lives. Whenever we leave together or come in through the garage together, she is always very insistent that she watch the garage door to make sure it closes all the way. She claims that's important for home security, in that it helps make sure no one can enter our garage as the first step in stealing her. Her insistence on watching tends to annoy me, because the garage door is clearly going to close all the way. After all, that IS why we have a garage door opener, and there can't really be a problem with a piece of machinery doing such a simple job that it has done many times in the past. Never mind the fact that there have been a few times when the door allegedly went almost all the way down, only to change its mind and rise up again. That was due to some rakes partially covering the sensor, a situation that I have since remedied. I suppose to give you a complete picture of our differing opinions about the garage door, I should mention that there are times when I will leave via the garage in the morning well after the Girl has gone off to work (having parked across the street to avoid having to move the car out of her way in the morning, thus giving me some extra snooze time in the AM). We have a couple of locks on the front door, and it's much simpler to just hit the close button on the remote than to deal with the multiple locks. A couple of those times, I have received calls from the Girl asking me why in the world the garage door is not even pretending to be closed, and I have had no choice but to sheepishly admit that not only did I not watch the door close, I never even hit the button to tell it to close. So ... we definitely pay different levels of attention to that garage door.

The other night I came home from work after a pretty long day with several work things bouncing around my brain. I parked in the driveway, hopped out, and came in through the front door, only to discover that the Girl was putting in an even longer day at work. So I went back out through the garage and pulled my car into the car hole, still thinking about work. On my way in, I hit the button to close the door, paying its ensuing activity all the attention I typically think it is due, which is to say none. A while later, the Girl finally made it home, and I heard the garage door start to go. I figured she must have also had her mind on work to open the garage door when she knew I was already home and parked in there. No matter, though. I waited for her to come upstairs. And then I heard the door opener start up again. It seemed to be going on for a while. Something was not quite right. So I hopped up and went down to see what was going on. I poked my head out and asked, kind of smiling, "Why you keep runnin' that door up and down?"

"I'm not. I'm just trying to close it. It was wide open when I came home."

"Whaaaaaattt? Oh no."

And I walked around to the back of my car to see the results of my distracted parking. Apparently, I had not made sure to pull all the way inside the garage. Thus, unsurprisingly, the garage door had encountered my rear bumper and absolutely scraped the shit out of it in an attempt to close before deciding that something was wrong and going back up. That sequence repeated itself twice when the girl came home and tried to get the door to close.

The moral of this story? I think there might be several, most of which I'm probably not clever enough to grasp. In fact that may be one of the morals. But the ones that are apparent to me are 1) don't park distracted, 2) don't think about work when you're at home -- or anywhere else outside of work, 3) in the case of car holes size may very well matter, and 4) the Girl may be right about the garage door opener deserving at least a little more attention.

But 5) don't you go telling her I said so.

300 of the Universe

2008-08-14T15:17:00.001-04:00

My TiVo recently received an update that allows me to use it to watch YouTube videos on my TV. That's not really earth-shattering, but it was neat enough to try out. To that end, the Girl recommended that we watch two videos. Specifically, the first was for background. You should watch it now:

I know, I know, that's just a trailer for a not new movie. Granted, it's a pretty cool trailer, but still. That video was just prelude to this one that the Girl's friend did ... Damn! I can't embed it. Sigh. Go and ahead and take a look at it on YouTube. I thought it was pretty cool.

I'll Snarf to That!

2008-08-05T13:52:00.001-04:00

The Girl and I spent some time this past weekend working on a toast she's going to give at a wedding in the near future. The Girl finds just the thought of doing this terrifying. If she could go her whole life without ever having to speak in front of more than about 2 people, she would consider it a life lived smartly and correctly. Alas, there's this toast. So we spent some time talking about ideas of what to say and what not to say (although I think I mostly kept coming up with oh-so-helpful examples of things not to say, but that's not the pint right now). While we were discussing it, I couldn't help but recall the single best line I have ever heard in a wedding toast.

One friend of mine married a girl whose maiden surname was Otis. They actually met in the elevator heading into a charity black tie function. I think we can all agree that this is an excellent way to meet people. It has a sort of James Bond feeling to it, given the black tie thing, and a bit of sweetness, given the charity part. I suppose it's topped by the couple who met when they jointly did an emergency field surgery to save the life of a cancerous orphan who had been injured while rescuing baby harp seals from an oil spill, miraculously putting the orphan into complete remission while making a point to buy carbon credits to offset what they used during the surgery. But I don't reckon there are too, too many of those couples out there. Anyhoo ... where was I?

Oh, yes. The toast. At the wedding of the elevator-to-the-charity-black-tie-event-meeting couple, the best man made a shift in the middle to address the bride (née Otis) and said, "you were the girl in the elevator with the elevator name." There was a bit of laughter. Then there was a huge roar of laughter a few seconds later. The delayed roar could have been a second wave, but it's more likely that it took a lot of people a while to get it, as evidenced by the one girl at our table who asked what was so funny. I loved it. Still do. I think the reason you don't drink until the toaster is done talking is for safety purposes. Had I been drinking at the time, the champagne definitely would have come out of my nose. But it would have been worth it.

Quote of the Weekend

2008-08-04T11:35:00.001-04:00

OK, so it wasn't originally said this weekend, but that was the first time I heard it, and I had to share it. My brother and I were talking about something we considered endless and futile, and he told me something his friend Seth once said: "You know why salmon swim upstream to spawn every year? It's because they're Sisyfish."

My Phone Sees Things...

2008-07-21T13:21:00.001-04:00

... and so can you.

My cell phone has this little camera thingy on it. It takes crappy pictures, but it comes in handy once in a while to take note (well, picture, really) of something that grabs my attention.

For instance, in my office building, I recently came across this:

Part of it's a little hard to read, but I think you can get the idea. When I saw this, I couldn't help wondering how in the hell a door can be out of order. Seriously, does that mean it won't open? If so, the sign's pretty useless, don't you think? I mean that would be pretty obvious when it didn't open (although I suppose such a sign would keep people from calling the management, as the sign would indicate they already knew about it). Or does it mean it won't close? No, that's clearly not the case, as the door is currently closed in the picture. I suppose it could mean that, if you do open the door, it might fall on you and possibly kill you. Or it might be broken such that it will only open into another dimension where you are likely to fall prey to the Dreaded Ass Bite of the Evil Buttmunchosaur, at which point out of order doors will clearly become the least of your concerns. If it were one of these last two things (or something else along those lines), doesn't it seem like a more ominous and official-looking sign would be in order (sorry for the pun -- couldn't help myself). Something like "Beware the Dreaded Ass Bite" would likely keep me the hell away from that door. As it was, I opted to pay no heed all the bad things it did to the proverbial cat and indulged my curiosity by grabbing the handle and opening the door and walking right through and watching it close. A few days later that sign went away, and I have no idea what changed.

I was going to put up some others, but I'll hold off on those for now. We'll call this Part One or something. I hope your Monday is as good as can be hoped ... and devoid of out of order doors. But maybe you should Beware the Dreaded Ass Bite, just in case.

Photo Bombing Fun

2008-07-16T11:37:00.001-04:00

Non-somnolent reader FJ just emailed this photo essay to me, and I had to share it right away. Just marvelous.

Fast and Loose with Definitions

2008-06-23T16:43:00.001-04:00

Driving home from a round of golf yesterday, one of those signs with removable letters on the front caught my attention. I didn't notice the building it was in front of, but I have to assume it was a church. It said:

THE BIBLE HAS A WORD TO DESCRIBE "SAFE" SEX. IT'S CALLED MARRIAGE.

I don't know a whole lot about defining words, and I certainly don't know how the Bible does it, but I'm not sure how exactly the word marriage describes sex -- at least in the context of intercourse -- be it the safe or some other variety. A co-worker of mine (the same one who likes to ride tricycles), upon hearing about the sign said, "That's not describing sex; That's describing abstinence."

Not in My Office You Don't!

2008-06-20T16:45:00.001-04:00

A friend recently emailed this rant of his to me, which I have copied here in its entirety:

I’ve decided today that I have had just about enough of people bringing in their damned babies that are too young to do anything but sit there on one parent’s shoulder, make awkward faces, and shit in the doorway of my office. I’ve had enough of their parents standing there waiting for me to give the appropriate level of praise (“Good job, Chris, you really knocked the bottom right out of your wife the right way this time, huh?”). I’ve had enough of the weird small talk and not knowing what to say (“Wow, Melissa, you must have some Asian in your family tree somewhere, because your daughter doesn’t look anything like your husband”) or whether to touch the thing or tell them it looks like one or the other of them or whether I should know if they’re old enough to be sleeping through the night. I’ve had enough of being introduced to random spouses that I’ve met 5 times already and wasn’t impressed with the first 5 times, or who I wondered how the hell you managed to convince her to stick around with you long enough to procreate – maybe next time I’ll ask them how the conversation about you wanting to hire the smoking hot au pairs went. So please quit wasting my time, take your puke factory home where it belongs, and get back to your office and do your f-ing job.

Thank you. And if I at some point procreate and drag that child into the office, please forward this back to me.

I very much enjoyed that rant, but as a fellow non-procreator at this point in my life, sending it to me was pretty ineffective aside from its obvious entertainment value. But I'm glad I don't work in his office because a) I would share a lot of his feelings about the baby parade, and b) I might be inclined to visit him sometimes if I worked there, and it might be hazardous -- I don't consider myself a germophobe or anything, but his office doorway must be filthy.

Bitter Much?

2008-06-09T11:08:00.001-04:00

The letters have eluded me lately, and I should probably offer an explanation for that, but those letters seem to be eluding me, too. Instead, I'll offer a link to a fake personal that made me chuckle once or twice. Hope you enjoy it.

Not Everyone's Like Me ...

2008-05-22T12:19:00.001-04:00

... and it's a Good Thing.

Just yesterday, as I headed out from the office, I stopped to tell my co-worker, whom we will call Sam, that I would be working from home today. "My couches are supposed to finally be delivered," I explained. Not that he needed an explanation. We work from home sometimes. Still, for some reason I explained. Maybe I was being friendly. Maybe I was just Sharing. Since I had Shared Sam decided to reciprocate.

As background, Sam has a young son, whom we will call Jeffrey. Jeffrey is of that age that I can't possibly remember. You know the kind: parents are likely to still talk about it in a number of months to everyone, even though, speaking for at least myself and probably for all people who have never had kids, if it doesn't translate directly into half years it doesn't mean anything and the rounded half years would suffice. Terms like newborn, one half, one, one and a half, two ... you get the idea, are probably enough.

Anyway, in his Sharing, Sam told me that he was about to pull the trigger on a cool tricycle. I responded thusly: "Oh? For Jeffrey?"

Sam just nodded and proceeded to show me pictures of the trike in question, proving that he is a far better person than I. Had the roles been reversed, I'm sure my left eyebrow would have nearly popped off the top of my head as I lapsed into dark sarcasm. As it was, I pointed out that I had just asked a question that at least had to be considered for status on the all time list of dumb questions. When I pointed it out, he grinned and took the bait: "Nah. I just like trikes. They're pretty fun to ride around once you get on them."

Apt Analogues

2008-04-28T14:47:00.001-04:00

Not too, too long ago, I was chatting with the BHK, and he relayed to me something that Steve Czaban had said. For those of you who don't know, Czaban is a radio sports talk guy. Really, he's just a guy. He likes to talk about sports, women, and HDTV. He's the rare non-techie talking head who actually knows a few things about HD, and I don't mind him talking about it. Sometimes, I even enjoy it. That's not the point right now, though. The point is that Czabe was talking about femme-o-the-day acress Katherine Heigl. And what did Czabe have to say about her? "She's not all that."

I was surprised by that take, but I have to admit that she doesn't trip my trigger in the most impressive way. She's certainly attractive and all, but I can see what he was saying, and I told the BHK so. I followed up by saying that I was kind of surprised that Heigl's Grey's Anatomy co-star (and putative leading actress in that particular show), Ellen Pompeo, wasn't able to parlay the show's success into more roles on the Big Screen. I first remember seeing Pompeo play the flavor in Old School, and I thought she was, apart from needing someone to give her a sammich, fairly hot. However, as the BHK pointed out, she's a skosh old to be the new hotness in Hollywood. I countered by saying that I get that, but she seems to have the bigger role, perhaps the more important role, on Grey's. And the BHK came back by saying, "So she's the Anthony Edwards on ER to Heigl's George Clooney." I don't think it could have possibly been summed up any better.

On Sneezes

2008-04-16T16:35:00.001-04:00

Sneezes are interesting things. I've long found it odd that one can "steal" a sneeze by touching someone in the throes of a long sneeze windup. I don't recommend doing so all that much, of course, as it tends to make the victim of said theft quite angry. In general, I'm inclined to argue about the terminology there, since I think that you're not so much stealing the sneeze as destroying it. It's not like I can steal someone's sneeze then enjoy it for myself. Not that I'd really want to. Really, I'm not quite sure why people get angry about having their sneezes stolen. But they do. OK, I'm not being entirely truthful, I understand why at least one person would be angry. One of my Former Neighbor Chicas always claimed that sneezes were "orgasmic," a description I could never agree with. Still, if I thought of my sneezes that way, I would probably be pretty pissed off if someone came along and stole one.

But Stolen and Orgasmic aren't the only kind of sneezes out there. There are also Multiple Sneezes. Another Former Neighbor Chica couldn't sneeze just once. Nor twice. Nor three times. She generally sneezed at least 4 times, and sometimes upwards of 7. (I suspect this tendency made her roommate, the Orgasmic Sneezer, quite jealous, especially since I can't recall having ever seen/heard the Orgasmic Sneezer actually let one fly. But then again, maybe that was something she was only willing to do in private.) Once, whilst Lawton and I were playing PlayStation hockey, the Multiple Sneezer unleashed one, which Lawton responded to with a "Bless you."

Another sneeze followed, leading to a "Gesundheit" from me.

A third one, met with silence.

A Fourth, causing Lawton to say, "Cut it out."

A fifth. "Gahdam!" says I.

A sixth, resulting in a resounding, "Bitch, please!" from Lawton.

And that was the end of it because we were all laughing. From that day forward, those responses acted as a sort of protocol for handling the Multiple Sneezes, and that particular female always worked hard to stop before getting the dreaded, "Bitch, please!"

That kind of talk wouldn't have been at all appropriate for the most memorable sneeze from my college days. One day in a huge lecture hall (It was a Chemistry class, I think. I can't be sure, though; I had a bunch of classes in that same room.), a dude about six rows down from me brought his hand up to his mouth to restrain an impressively violent sneeze. It was a good thing he did, too. At least it was good for the people in front of him. As he slowly and uncertainly moved his hand away from his face, we could clearly see that his hand was completely covered in Ghostbusters-grade slime. It was disgusting. Naturally, my friends and I sitting there engaged in several minutes of that kind of silent but seemingly endless lecture hall laughter. I don't remember what that guy did with his handful of snot, but I know he didn't have a lot of options. He was smack dab in the middle of the row, and he didn't seem to have a hanky with him. He might have even been wearing shorts leaving him with a much smaller surface area of clothing to wipe it off.

But I didn't really start this post to write about Stolen, Orgasmic, Multiple, or even Voluminous sneezes. The other day I experienced a new kind. Just before lunch, I had filled up a water bottle and was heading back toward my office. As I reached for the door handle, a sneeze sneak attacked me. What to do?! The hand on the door handle was obviously too far away to get back to my face to cover it up. I had a big water bottle in my other hand, and that wasn't going to be much use for containing the sneeze. It would really be uncool to sneeze onto the door handle. A co-worker was right behind me making loosing the thing into the air in general or especially directly behind me a bad option. So I kind of pointed my head down, stopped, and tried to constrain the thing with my mouth. I don't know if you've ever tried this, but I strongly suggest that you don't. There are physics involved, see. I remember in elementary school that everyone liked to talk about how sneezes travel at 100 miles per hour and how your heart stops when you sneeze. I don't know about any of that, but I do know that this particular effort felt like someone had shot me in the gullet with a slingshot. Or maybe as if someone had used my mouth as one of those bomb squad shells to contain an explosion. My throat hurt for a good 30 minutes.

Beware the Bomb in Your Mouth Sneeze.

Spreading the Word

2008-03-14T10:35:00.001-04:00

I've been contending for a long, long time that March Madness is the Most Wonderful Time of the Year, and now I'm hearing the same thing from more and more people. That's not to say that I came up with the idea or that you heard it here first or anything. The point is that it's a natural way for hoops and sports lovers to think about the Big Dance. But if you want some serious evidence that the concept is widely adopted, check this out. Even Google is talking about it that way. I don't really use iGoogle, but I would be all about that gadget if I did. Plus, I know a few people whose companies block all sports Internet sites. I'm thinking this might be a nice way to keep tabs on the tourney from inside one of those Mordac-run shops, because I don't think even they would block Google. Of course, if you treat the first two days of the tournament as religious holidays and take time off every year, it's a non-issue, but that's not practical for everyone, either. Either way, I like more ways to keep tabs on the Tourney, and I hope you are as psyched for the Madness as I am.

Melons of the Past

2008-03-07T10:21:00.001-05:00

Last night, the Girl related this tale of child-to-child instructions that she had overheard. I thought you might like it.

Three kids were somehow talking about what people eat, perhaps recently having figured out that hamburgers and steaks used to be cows. Regardless of the reason they were talking about "gross things like eating animals and stuff." At this point, one kid, whom we will call the Instructor, decided to impart some knowledge: "A long time ago, there were these people ... and they, they ate people!

"They were called cantaloupes."

Public Service Announcement (cont'd)

2008-03-04T17:52:00.001-05:00

Way back when I mentioned that I wasn't exactly fond of Crest Pro Health toothpaste. I hope and trust you have all managed to avoid that stuff since then. Well, I'm back today to point you to this quasi-related post on the Consumerist. Apparently the mouthwash will put brown spots on your teeth. I'm thinking maybe the P&G folks need to rethink this brand, unless they're thinking that ass taste in paste form and brown spot inducers are going to be all the rage in mouth care in the near future.

Madness On Demand ... in HD

2008-02-28T10:02:00.001-05:00

In case my last post didn't clue you in, March Madness is very nearly here. And to make it even better, it looks like CBS is working with cable companies to make HD game highlight packages (along with some other stuff) available on demand for free (yes, free!) during the tournament. That's good work. Now that I'm a DirecTV customer (just so the Girl and I can watch IU games), I've signed up for the Mega March Madness package, but I would have been excited about this if I just had cable. And if I didn't have my TiVo Series3, which won't do video on demand. And if I had a cable company HD box. And if my cable company was one that did a deal with DBS. Still, it's a Good Thing.

Quote of the Night

2008-02-26T12:27:00.001-05:00

"Girl Scout Cookies do kinda taste like March Madness."

- The Girl

For Your Edutainment

2008-02-26T12:26:00.001-05:00

This is really just entertainment, but it's good times, despite the fact that it connotes a "Skynet becomes aware" kind of thing for me. A co-worker sent it: Animator vs. Animation.

This is more of the edutainment variety. I keep doing it, and I can't get past level 10 (I think). My highest traveler IQ? 113.

Circling the Drain

2008-02-25T11:27:00.001-05:00

When I got out of college (many, many years ago, it seems), I moved from Indy to the Washington, DC, area. I had both an apartment and a roommate that lacked clever nicknames (I think dwellings should have names, really. In college, I lived in Echols House, the Cave, Mt. Olympus, and Joe Bob's Chicken Lounge. Since college, I lived in this generally nameless apartment -- sometimes generically called the APT -- the LUVR Lodge, the SNC, the Pointe, and the Halfway House). The roomie eventually received a good nickname, but the apartment never got one. I didn't really fret about it, though, because I thought the apartment lacked something much, much more important: a couch.

As I prepared for my move, my grandmother, who was in her final stages of a slow and ultimately ineffective fight with lung cancer, told me to take whatever furniture I wanted from her by then unoccupied house. And take I did. I came away with end tables, coffee tables, lamps, and perhaps other things I can't remember. I don't think anyone would be confused enough to call those pieces of furniture stylish, attractive, or even not ugly, but they were all well-constructed, and the price was certainly right. However, I did not come away with a couch, and we started off our apartment dwelling days with a futon performing make-shift duty as a davenport. I kept in mind that I needed a real couch, but I also figured I couldn't afford one I might want. I didn't really have much money, and I just didn't think furniture was a good way to spend what little I did have.

A couple of months into our lives in the APT, my roomie decided to purchase a kitchen table off of a bulletin board at work. I went with him to collect it, and the seller asked if we knew anyone who needed a couch. Being the savvy shopper that I was, I told her that I wasn't sure, but I might know someone who needed one. She said she didn't really have room for her divan, but it was a good one, really comfortable, that I should sit on it to try it out. I sat down, and maintained my skeptical, wary consumer posture. At least I attempted to, in that I refused to give voice to the impressive sigh/groan of contentment and relaxation that had welled up from deep within as my butt found a place that it would like to spend considerable time. But I couldn't admit any of this to the seller, lest she try to rake me over the coals.

"I guess it's pretty comfy," I allowed.

She said, "I guess I need to get rid of that chair that goes with it, too."

"I can pass that on [to my 'friend' who might want one, remember?]. How much are you wanting to sell it for?"

She crinkled her brow, and said, "I don't know. Maybe $125?"

"Each?" I asked. I didn't really have $250 to be spending on furniture.

"No. Total," she replied.

Now that seemed like a deal to me. A celestially comfortable couch and a matching chair, both in good condition, for $125?! Still, I couldn't appear to be too eager. I wasn't some rube who just came in with the last turnip truck. (I had driven my brand new Ford Contour.) I told her I'd pass it on. As soon as we left, I told my roomie that I was going to buy them. How's that for savvy?

And so began the Days of Soft Couch and Brown Chair. I believe that most of you who read this blog have at least sat on them, and several of you have even spent the night dozing on Soft Couch. When the Girl and I moved into the Halfway House, many of our helpers talked smack about the dilapidated state of Soft Couch, and I told them all to shut the hell up and lift. They were probably right, though. Soft Couch has been great, and I don't know how it would work out in terms of Ass Hours Per Dollar, but it has to be an awfully high number, given that it has often had anywhere from one to four (and occasionally five) people on it over the last 11 years.

However, Soft Couch has begun it's death march. Not long ago it started making clunking noises on the Girl's end whenever she sat down. We were talking about it the other night, and her brother suggested that we should look underneath because it might be a spring and it might be hurting the floor. Sure enough, it was a spring, and it had torn hell out of the floor. It was a sad moment for me (and not just because we had torn up a spot on the nice wood floors of our rental house). I had to confess that it's time for Soft Couch to go.

So I find myself once again in the position of needing to buy a new couch and not really knowing how to go about it. Should I spend a lot of money on a really nice one, recognizing that I spend tons of time there? Should I buy something cheap, recognizing that I spend tons of time there, and I'm only going to destroy it? How do I figure out who makes quality stuff that won't be uncomfortable in a year? How can I possibly find a couch that will treat me as well as Soft Couch?! Sigh. I probably can't.

All that kvetching aside, I need to move on. But let's not lose sight of the great times Soft Couch has given us all.

Car Conversation

2008-02-18T17:05:00.001-05:00

Overheard during a weekend trip to IN this weekend:

Driver: That guy is going too slow! [Flips on turn signal and moves to the left lane.]

Shotgun rider: Are you gonna race that cop to get around him?

Driver: Is that a cop?!

Shotgun rider: That car up there with all the antennae on its trunk? With the blue and red lights in the back window?! I'm not sure.

Driver: [Moves back into the middle lane.] Shit! I'll stay away from him. I got pulled over last week.

Shotgun rider: I can't see how.

How to Rant

2008-02-07T14:10:00.000-05:00

I just put up a link to a video of a Chris Berman tirade on SaWA, and I think you should watch it. So here's a direct link for your convenience. Have fun.

Timing is Everything

2008-02-05T10:12:00.001-05:00

Wouldn't you know it? Just two days after I ordered a new AbsPod, Apple goes and updates the line, now offering a 32GB version of the iPod Touch. The bitch of it is that my new toy has already shipped. Just administratively, though. It is apparently scheduled to be exported from China within a couple of days. One of the things I didn't like about the 16GB of the touch is that I would have to actively manage my media on there because I have more than 16GB of music. 32GB would mean I probably wouldn't have to do that, or at least I wouldn't have to very much. I suppose I could cancel my order and upgrade, or return it, or something like that. However, I'm not positive that I want to pay another $100. Probably not. Still, it would have been better for me if they had announced this last Tuesday. Very inconsiderate of his Steveness.

What is Sarah Silverman Doing?

2008-02-04T11:50:00.000-05:00

Or should it be whom? The BHK pointed me to this video, and it clued me into two things. First, Jimmy Kimmel and Sarah Silverman are a couple. I had no idea. I bet they laugh a lot, though, and that is good times. The second thing it clued me into was ... well, you'll have to watch the video for that. I couldn't help but laugh out loud when I watched it. That's right, I was actually LOL. Not ROTFLMAO or anything ridiculous like that, but I did LOL. Lesseee, this video is probably NSFW (the sound, not the actual images), so you should probably watch it at home or with headphones.

Luck Runs Out

2008-02-04T10:03:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not talking about the Patriots' almost perfect season here. I wouldn't use the word "luck" in any way when talking about their season. (If I were going to talk about that, the title would probably have been "Cheaters Don't Always Win.") What I am talking about is the AbsPod. Almost a year ago, I wrote a couple of posts about leaving my iPod on an airplane. While it seemed pretty bad at first, I ended up lucky, getting the AbsPod back just one day later, after it had made a nice little round trip jaunt to Grand Rapids, MI.

Well, I wasn't so lucky this weekend. I was talking with the BHK when I arrived home after golf (yes, golf!) Saturday, and I had a few too many things going on as I opened the door to enter the house. As a result, the AbsPod fell right out of my hands. I've dropped the thing several times before, but I typically manage to get a foot under it to cushion the blow or something. Not so much this time. It fell straight down and landed flat on its back on the concrete floor of the garage with a sickening smack. I was bummed about it, but I had other things going on, and I quickly stopped thinking about it.

Sunday morning, I grabbed my standard five things (keys, gym ID card, bottle of water, towel, and AbsPod) and went to the gym, not thinking at all about the stomach-turning smack from the day before. As I started into my work out, I fired up the AbsPod to listen to something, and it did it's normal turning on things, then presented me with a cartoon-ized picture of an iPod with a frowny face, along with this message: "www.apple.com/ipod/support." DOH! I messed with it for a while, but listening to it closely revealed that the hard drive was making lots of clicks and grinding noises, which told me that the hard drive was toast.

I guess I shouldn't be too bummed out about it. I could decide that I've been using it on borrowed time for the last 11 months. I could possibly fix it by cracking it open and digging into the actual iPod molecules and replacing the hard drive, and I probably will. But that's not a for-sure thing. That's just the engineer in me talking. In the more immediate future, I ordered an iPod touch to replace it. The upside of that is that it has no hard drive to ruin.

It's not all bad. For a little anguish and a lot of money, I get a new toy to play with. Still, I hope your weekend was luckier than mine.

SaWA

2008-01-29T17:45:00.000-05:00

If you know me at all, you know I dig the sports. I generally avoid writing a lot about them here, because that's not really what I had in mind for this blog when I started it. OK, in fairness, I didn't really have much in mind for this blog when I started it, other than that it was a way to share information with a few people about the status of my facial hair without spamming them. But that's really beside the point. The point is that this blog isn't really about sports, even though I've mentioned them from time to time.

I do talk and write about sports, though, often via IM with Lawton or on the phone with the BHK or with some random clown dipping in our conversation as we leave a UVA basketball game last Sunday night. With all that talking and writing, a new blog has been born. I've gone and created Statler and Waldorf Arena, a blog where sports are written about. The beauty of it is that you don't just have to endure my drivel about sports there. Lawton is adding his drivel about sports as well. We're, like, co-bloggers and stuff. So far it would seem that I like numbers and Lawton likes pictures. Really, there are too many numbers in there, but we (I suppose that really means me, since I'm the one throwing up all those digits) hope to clean that up over time.

Take a look if you like. If not, I still plan on posting more of the Chronicles here.

Roy!

2008-01-23T10:27:00.000-05:00

Two Saturdays ago, the BHK invited me to make use of his second seat to the Georgetown - UConn game at the Phone Booth in DC, an invitation that I happily accepted.

I should explain that happiness. Sure, I will typically be happy to accept any free ticket to watch college hoops in person, especially when I know both the company and the seats will be good. However, I grew up hating the Hoyas. I'm not sure that I can explain why, other than that they seemed to be the opposite of what I liked in basketball, even at a young age. My perception may not have matched reality, but I thought they can't shoot. No one moves because they don't really run an offense. They play a gahdam zone defense! The Iverson years did nothing but cement my feelings about them, and having Craig Esherick as coach only amplified them. That guy was an awful coach, from my perspective. It was during Esherick's reign that I first accompanied the BHK to the occasional game, and it was perhaps more brutal in person than on TV. On TV, at least I can change the channel. The BHK, a lifelong G-town fan, even discontinued his season tickets for a year as his monetary protest of Escherick. That's how bad he was.

Things started to change once JT3 came along to change things. They still play some zone on D, but I've changed my stance on that over the years. The real key is that their offense is a joy to watch. I've come to root for them, and I generally watch them when it's convenient to do so (i.e. it doesn't conflict with an IU game).

Hmm. Sorry. That explanation got out of control there. The point is that we were watching a very close game, in which I was rooting for the Hoyas. The score was tied as Georgetown got the ball with 39 seconds left. They took a timeout to set things up. They moved the ball around when play resumed, but they couldn't get any open looks. They swung the ball around, nothing. The shot clock was winding down and DaJuan Summers had the ball, saw an open man at the top of the key, and fired it to him. The guy took the ball and launched a 3-pointer. As it went up, I thought we were headed for overtime, because the open guy was Roy Hibbert. Roy Hibbert, the All-Everything center. The 7'-2" All-Everything center. The lumbering, non-athletic, non-explosive, slow of foot, 7'-2"All-Everything center. The buzzer went off, just before the shot hit nothing but the bottom of the net.

The Phone Booth exploded in noise. The crowd went bonkers. It wasn't quite a game-ending buzzer beater, but it was close enough in my book. There's nothing quite like being part of the crowd when the home team hits a huge shot at the end of the game like that. It. Was. Awesome! UConn called a timeout, then came back in and turned the ball over to end the game.

During that last timeout, the Georgetown band started playing Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger." In time with the opening sequence of heavy beats, the crowd appropriately chanted/yelled/sang,

Roy!
Roy, Roy, Roy!
Roy, Roy, Roy!
Roy, Roy, Royyyyyyyyyyy

Just excellent, excellent stuff. Thanks to the BHK for the seat. Here's the video (for as long as it lasts on YouTube).

The Case Against Professional Photography

2008-01-22T23:03:00.001-05:00

I've never really known what to do with those little pictures I get in the mail of people's kids. I look at them, think they're cute, ugly, or hilariously odd. After that, though, the confusion sets in. Should I frame them? Put them on the fridge? What if people saw them in my house? Would they think I was some kind of perv? I can't be having that. But some people think that throwing away pictures of someone else's kid is a sin on par with carrying on more than 2 oz. of liquid at the airport or ripping off mattress tags or something. So what I typically do is put them in a pile for what I consider an appropriate amount of time (which tends to be until I notice them the next time several months later), after which I throw them away. Still, my discomfort with these pictures doesn't really show the general problem with them, especially with group shots. To that end, I give you this link, sent to me by non-somnolent readers FJ (over a week ago) and the Spaceball (just yesterday). (Really, they emailed me the contents, but we know how to use Google here at the Chronicles.) Go ahead and check it out, and beware the photos you commission.

I will just add one more comment, though. The one that really sticks with me, and not in a good way, is the one with the mousy teenage girl flanked by the two mullet-adorned, bare-chested males. I can't decide if that's a strange, fetishist kidnapper situation, or a perhaps stranger family photo. If it's the latter, can you imagine that girl explaining that picture on the wall when her first boyfriend comes over in high school? I can't either.

Waiting to Explode

2008-01-14T09:57:00.001-05:00

This weekend, for some reason, I grabbed a box of Mentos at the grocery store. Finding them in my jacket pocket on the way to work this morning, I ate a couple. They are the fresh maker after all, and fresh couldn't be a bad way to start the work week. However, remembering the video makes me wonder what will happen when I drink the Diet Coke sitting in front of me. So this is a warning to all of you that this may be my last post ever. If you hear a pop in the distance, that might very well be me exploding.

The Season of Not Giving

2008-01-03T15:06:00.000-05:00

My family has operated Christmas based on lists for as long as I can remember. If you wanted gifts, you had to make a list. And having those lists was huge for my brother and me, given that we almost never did any Christmas shopping. We always did Christmas buying, and we always did it on or around the 21st - 23rd of December, as that was when we arrived in Indy from our more coastally located homes. (It's really kind of impressive. We're machines when we do that.) Over the years, though, we've had more and more trouble coming up with lists. Part of it is that we don't think we need much stuff. Part is that I went through a traumatic experience when moving out of a house I lived in for 6 years and ended up throwing away enough stuff to fill a small apartment, and, as a result, I try to be somewhat resistant to stuff accumulation. And part is that these days, for the most part, when we want something, we just buy it.

So this year we kind of suggested that our folks not bother getting us Christmas presents. We weren't really lacking for stuff, and it seemed kind of silly for anyone to buy us things that we didn't really want or need. Due in part to some other circumstances, our folks pretty much agreed. There were a couple of gifts that had already been purchased before we negotiated the cease fire, but we really didn't do much gift giving. And that was fine. Really, it would be nice to just get together and relax and enjoy each other's company until we drove each other nuts and then go home.

Now we didn't intend this cessation of gift giving (which was really motivated by a desire to avoid gift receiving, but you can't have one and not the other) to be a far-reaching thing. In fact, before I departed for Indy, I saw that my company was collecting money to give to a local homeless shelter, and I gave the cash in my wallet one afternoon. It wasn't a big deal or anything, and it's certainly not something I should pat myself on the back about. It was just one of those, "Oh. Here you go," kinds of things. So why am I bringing it up, you ask? Good question.

The reason I'm bringing it up is that I got a call from the receptionist today saying that she had some money for me. I thought that was odd, but I'm not inclined to argue when someone randomly says she wants to give me money, so I went up there to collect it. [Notice how I've avoided all tasteless jokes about how certain females had better have my money at certain times lest they experince unpleasantness. The thought never even crossed my mind. Are you proud or disappointed?] It turns out that something hadn't worked with giving the money to the homeless shelter while I was gone, and they were just returning my donation. I guess that non-gift giving thing extended farther than I expected or intended.

I hope you got everything you wanted for Christmas this year, even if it was nothing.

Hi, I'd Like to Write a Blog Post

2007-12-14T12:55:00.000-05:00

Having just recently polished off lunch, my brain is filled with a topic I have to share, hopefully flushing it from my brain in the process. I had a pita sandwich from a local place that I've been patronizing for well over 10 years now. When I started going there, they only had the one little store, and they were only open from 8 AM - 3 PM on workdays. They've grown over the years, adding a couple of other stores, one of which is even open part of the day on Saturdays now. Anyway, the first location is the one that I go to most of the time because it's closest to the office. It's just a little building with no place to sit down or anything. You pretty much walk in, wait in line, place your order, move around for a little while to get out of everyone else's way that you are constantly in while waiting for your order to be prepared, pick up your order when they call your name, and get the heck out to go eat. That's one way of doing it.

The preferred method of interacting with the place, though, is to call ahead and place your order, which they prepare before you get there. That way, you can just go to the special call-ahead register to quickly pay, pick up, and leave. I used the preferred method today, but the start of that call got me thinking about how it's a bit awkward. Obviously, when they answer, they're not expecting small talk about their health or the weather or anything. They're busy people, and they have a job to do and they don't want to talk to you just now. However, I feel some compulsion to announce my intention to them: "Hi, I'd like to place an order for pick up," is something you might hear me say if you were around me when I called to place an order for pick up.

And maybe that's fine, but it seems silly to me. First of all, of course I want to place an order for pick up. It's not like they deliver. And it's not like I can place an order to dine in. Really, the only option I have is to place an order for pick up. Has ordering pizzas so conditioned me that I'm inflexible in the way I start a food order call? Why can't I just launch into my order? Why do I need the preamble? Do I somehow think they might not be ready to write it down, sort of like the protocol where you ask people if they're ready to write down a phone number when you give it to them over the phone? Do I worry they might not know I'm calling to make an order, that maybe I want to know when they close or whether they sell things other than pita sandwiches or where my socks are or some such nonsense? Am I concerned that they can't process my order without the preamble?

I mean, what would you do if I called you and said, "Hi, I'd like to talk to you on the phone now?" I'd like to think that you would either hang up or say something to the effect of, "Duh." but I guess that reaction would cure me of such things. Sigh. I'll probably keep doing it until they respond with a "Duh."

I'm going to stop writing this post now.

Not Just Me

2007-12-14T12:52:00.000-05:00

In some sort of strange me-too-ism, Fj told me last weekend that he saw the same sign as I did (he was in Mexico for the same wedding I attended), and he also thought it said "No Tire Trash." I'm not quite sure what that says about either of us, but there you have it.

People Send Me Things, Part Dos

2007-11-29T12:09:00.000-05:00

Non-somnolent reader FJ has pointed out to me that Ron Cherry wasn't citing an abstruse and esoteric NFL rule, he was merely providing a case citation for precedent, referring to the case of Kelly v. Lyons, 1986, Justice Dreith presiding. For completeness, FJ even provided a video link, which I happily share with you now.

No Tire Trash

2007-11-26T14:37:00.000-05:00

As I alluded to briefly not long ago, the Girl and I recently traveled to Mexico for a wedding. I know you're wondering where we went and thinking about places like Cancun, Cabo, or ... other places in Mexico that are kind of tropical and/or resort-y. However, we went to San Pancho. Never heard of it? I hadn't either. Upon hearing that we were going there, a friend pointed out to me that San Francisco, Mexico is quite the up-and-comer as far as Mexican destinations go. I had no idea why she was telling me that when we were going to San Pancho, but I didn't correct her, since none of it particularly mattered to me. I have since learned that it's the same place. Apparently, Pancho is a nickname for Francisco, I assume in much the same way that Peggy is a nickname for Margaret, by which I mean "in a stupid way." Apparently, that is just one of many things that I didn't understand about names and words down there. That said, we had quite the good time, the wedding went off without real issues (even though it was really a poser wedding, as the couple had already been married by a JOP in the states a week or so prior), and none of the scorpions or lizards in our villa attacked us.

It was quite the whirlwind tour, though. We left our home at butt-early on a Thursday, making use of three flights and four airports (cursing the chaos and uncertainty in the Mexico City airport along the way) to get to Puerto Vallarta. Those of you who are very observant will have noted by now that Puerto Vallarta was not our final destination. From there, after just barely surviving the onslaught of questions from people about whether we needed a taxi or had some sort of voucher, we took an hour-long cab ride to San Pancho (confusingly -- at the time --following the signs to San Francisco to get there) and exhaustedly trekked down the mountain from our villa to a cocktail party. [Aside: if you can glean from the website for the villa that we rented that it's on the side of a mountain, please explain how. Otherwise, my tip is that you specifically ask that question of the rental agent, lest you be doomed to walking down and, much, much worse, up the side of a mountain to get from and to your temporary domicile. Looking at it again makes me think one should be very wary of the word "hillside," which I didn't see until just now.] Sleeping quickly if not thoroughly, I got up at 5:45 the next morning to take the trip back to Puerto Vallarta for a golf outing. On the way, I noticed a road sign through my morning brain fog that told people not to throw tires out. And then the morning brain was off, lumbering along on that train of thought. Is that how they do it in Mexico? Do they just chuck old tires out on the side of the road? And is the problem so rampant that they have to post signs up along the highway saying "no tire trash?" Or is it just that somehow some damned kids made it into a tradition to throw tires out in that particular place? (Having not been on any other roads, I couldn't really know whether this particular sign was on any others.) Either way, it's definitely not a very eco-friendly practice, and it seems like a very odd sign to have on the side of the highway.

A couple of days later, I saw the same sign while in a cab on the way to the airport to head home. And I couldn't help but marvel at it again. But my morning brain wasn't in full effect at the time, and I had no choice to laugh at my idiocy. See, for some reason I know that the Spanish word for trash is basura. And I know that the Spanish word for no is no. So what I read on that sign through my groggy and confused view of the world was "NO TIRE BASURA," which obviously translated into "NO TIRE TRASH." However, the second time around, I realized that road signs in Mexico are probably written entirely in Spanish, rather than in Spanglish, and certainly not in Spanglish wherein the Spanish part is limited to the 4 Spanish words I know. So what the sign actually said was "NO TIRE BASURA." A little Googling leads me to believe that tire is a form of the verb tirar, which, in the context of basura, means "to throw away." So the sign wasn't telling people "no tire trash;" it was telling people "no littering." Remember that next time you're in Mexico and exceedingly tired while traveling on the highway. It will save you a lot of unnecessary thinking.

Hasta Pasta.

People Send Me Things

2007-11-26T11:15:00.000-05:00

And I have no choice but to share them. I think football rules are myriad and confusing, and I think I know most of them. Throw in the fact that the NFL and college football have several subtle differences in the details and enforcement of those rules, and it's hard to keep track of all of them when watching games. However, this video shows ACC ref Ron Cherry coming up with one I have never heard of before. Just listen to his explanation of the penalty.

Bottom Up!

2007-11-14T10:22:00.000-05:00

I was recently relaxing next to the pool, listening to the pleasant crashing of the Pacific on the beach nearby, and chatting with a couple of friends when -- what? You want to know when the hell I got a pool, how the hell the Pacific can be considered "nearby", and what idiot would allow himself to be counted among my friends? I'll go ahead and ingnore that last slight and say that the pool and Pacific were the result of a trip to Mexico for a wedding last weekend (a topic on which I feel sure I'll have more to write later).

Now, back to what what I was saying. Those of us doing our lounging got around to discussing the ins and outs of co-habitating, and the Girl and I were willing to say that we liked it pretty well. I told everyone I thought the biggest reason that we liked it is that we were enacting advice from a Dave Barry book (I believe it was from Dave Barry's Guide to Marriage and/or Sex) that I read when I was in middle school. Yes, yes. It sounds scandalous, but the advice was that males and females living in the same house should have separate bathrooms. And that's what we do. It's not so much that I'm concerned about the awkwardness I would endure from being in close proximity (not that one ever hears about being in far proximity) to ... girl things. It's not that we would be subjected to dealing with foreign hairs that would end up littering the bathroom. It's not that we would have to constantly fight for all-important real estate in which to store our varied number of items in the shower. And it's not that I'm concerned one of us would endlessly be living out the title seen from that elementary school/ early teen classic, Who Put That Hair in My Toothbrush? Sure, those are all valid and serious concerns, but the biggest issue is toothpaste. As far as my friends and I could work out, there are two types of people in this world: those who squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube up, and those who squeeze the tube somewhere right in the middle of the tube. As it turns out, those two types of people can't stand to deal with each other's method. The Bottom Ups think their way is efficient and neat, if perhaps a tad anal, in that their toothpaste is all at the top of the tube when they're trying to get the last vestiges of paste out, and it makes for a more pleasant squeezing experience. The Middle Squeezers like the feel of finger indentations in their tubes, and they think there's really no difference in how the toothpaste is squeezed.

Naturally, the Middle Squeezers are wrong.

I happen to be a Bottom Up, and it drives me batty when a Middle Squeezer (like the Girl) gets his or her hands on my tube of toothpaste. In fact, when my mom rented out my big brother's room to two girls after he went off to college (true story, but one of them was my cousin, and they paid $0 in rent), I was able to handle the choking fog of hairspray they left in our bathroom after spending hours building up their towers of state fair hair, and I could deal with the fact that I often had to use another bathroom because they spent at least 93% of their waking hours in there (together), and I could handle the fact that when their mountains of state fair hair were subjected to water they deposited remnants all over the bathtub like all the needles from Charlie Brown's Christmas tree (albeit disturbingly long, clingy needles). BUT, I couldn't handle the fact that they squeezed that toothpaste in the middle. I even thought of teaching them a lesson by sliding a lit match under the door to ignite all the hairspray in that enclosed space, thus teaching them a lesson, but that response seemed a bit disproportionate. Instead, I used to fart in their room a lot when they weren't home.

It's not just me, though. One of my friends felt exactly the same way I did, and his wife happened to be a Middle Squeezer. That made me think that maybe this is a gender-based preference, until I remembered telling my mom and Granny about the issues I had with the afore-mentioned girls living in my brother's room. They listened as I ticked off the list of things I didn't like, repeatedly telling me to get over it. But when Granny heard about the Middle Squeezing, she expectorated, "Well, that's just rude! That's ridiculous!" The intensity of her response was something I would normally think should be reserved for Nazis, or at least for people who club baby harp seals.

I don't have the heart to tell the Girl that scientific studies have proven that Bottom Ups are smarter, stronger, and generally better people than Middle Squeezers. So don't you tell her, either.

And if you're a Middle Squeezer, stay the hell away from my toothpaste.

Back to School Shopping

2007-11-07T11:00:00.000-05:00

OK, I realize that the time for back to school shopping is well past, but it's definitely too early for Commercialmas shopping at this point. Work with me here. Given that no fewer than 3 different people have emailed this to me, I just had to share. Of course, since that many people have emailed it, there's a good chance you've already seen it. But I can't help that. It's worth seeing. It's a blog about pictures from a recently discovered JC Penney catalog. From 1977. It's marvelous. Check it out.

I have a couple of things to say:

My aunt had the shag toilet covering in her bathroom when I was a kid (although in a pale blue, nothing so tacky as the displayed green), and even then my engineering tendencies were showing, and I always thought that a) shag carpet belonged on the floor and not on the toilet, but b) even in bathrooms, carpet doesn't belong on the floor because urination and shag carpet go together about as well as peas and ... something that doesn't go with peas ... like urination.
The kid with the Ed Grimley pants and the big belt oddly reminds me of my childhood. I can't recall ever having that big of a belt, but I'm pretty sure I wore some disturbing clothes. Nothing so tasteful as Garanimals. But I never wore any of those red jeans. The strongest memory I have of one of Lawton's college fraternity brothers is that he was wearing red pants when I met him, and I don't think he could blame it on his mom.
I've never seen anyone wearing any kind of jumpsuit on a golf course, except for caddies at the Masters. But I may next year, if I can find one of those things. It's the peak of style.
LOVE the "In case of chest hair emergency..." It's excellent.

Who Put the Goat In There?

2007-10-23T10:00:00.000-04:00

A co-worker sent me this, and I had to say that ... I don't even know what to say about it. It's marvelous.

(If the embedded version isn't working, try this link.)

Time Off For Golf: All Good Things Must End

2007-10-17T23:40:00.000-04:00

And so it came to pass that my little stint of time off between jobs had to come to an end. It was a beautiful run, though. Sure, I got a little sick during my time off, but there's nothing to be done about that. Since I last posted here, when I claimed to have the secret to breaking 90, I played 3 rounds, shooting a 98, a 102, and a 97. Sigh. However, I did play all three rounds at somewhat more difficult courses, and none of them were rounds played with one college buddy. So I may still have the secret.

I did set a goal, though. I claimed that I wanted to make a birdie. And make a birdie I did, the very next time I played. In fact, for good measure, I made another one in my last round of retirement golf. That was good, good stuff. That last round started out sort of well, in that I managed to par the first hole I played. That's only sort of good, because a par on the first hole inexplicably almost always leads to a bad round for me. I tried to put that out of my head, though, and I broke completely new ground when I birdied the second hole. I had definitely never been one under through two holes before. I was at even par through three holes when I bogeyed the third. There was pretty much only one way to go from there for me, though, and I limped through the first nine with a 44. I was pretty happy with it, though. That's pretty good for me on a tough course. However, with the sickness I was fighting off, I just didn't have the energy to play while walking the course, and I pretty much stumbled my way through the back nine with a 53, and there's nothing good to say about that.

But hey, I managed to play 11 rounds during my mini, retirement. I broke 100 all but 2 times, and I broke 90 3 times, when my goal was only to break 90 once. My second goal was to get a birdie, and I managed to get two of them. So I'd say there's something to be said for this goal-making thing. That said, in case anyone is paying attention, my goal during the next couple of months is to become fortuitously, inexplicably, and absurdly rich, at which point I'll go back to playing a lot of golf.

So I've come back out of retirement, and today was a day of orientations and meetings. But it was nice, since it was seeing lots of old friends at my new/old company. I'm not going to be too hasty about things, though. So to ease my way back into things, my second day on the job will be at the company golf tournament.

Now that retirement golf is over, I'll probably go back to writing about the normal random garbage that the 2.3 of you reading this originally got used to. Until then, may your drives be long and straight, and may your putts roll true.

Time Off For Golf: I Have the Secret

2007-10-10T18:49:00.000-04:00

When I set out to play a lot of golf whilst in between jobs, I hoped to break 90 before it was all said and done. And I started out decently well, breaking 100 2 out of my first three rounds while playing some pretty tough courses. Last Thursday, I headed down to Charlottesville to play a round with my college roomie. We played a very short, easy course. Plus, it was only a part 70, whereas the courses I had played before had been pars 71 and 72. I had played it before a few times, but the best I had shot was a 91. Last Thursday, though, despite not being able to drive the ball or do much of anything very well, I managed to shoot an 87. I even left quite a few strokes in the bag. I was pretty happy with that round, though. I wasn't as happy as I was on Sunday, when I played another short course with another college friend and shot another 87. That one wasn't long, but it wasn't quite easy, either, and I was completely ecstatic with that one. I played again with the same college buddy on Monday, on another short course, but I put up a 47 on the front. However, I put together a personal best string of 6 consecutive 4's to finish of the back 9 and ended up with an 89. So that was 3 rounds in a row in the 80's. I rule!

I took Tuesday off from golf due to some other plans, but I got back out today and walked the course I shot a 95 or 96 on last week. After waiting on 4 holes to start out, the slow foursome in front of me finally waved me through, and it was smooth sailing from there on. However, I only managed to put together a 95.

So it would seem that the secret to breaking 90 is 1) play with a college buddy and 2) play a short course. We'll see if we have a chance to test that before I go back to work.

The main goal now is to get a birdie. I haven't had one in a long time, and I'd like to think I'm due. I've had at least 5 birdie putts lip out in my last two round, so maybe I'm getting dialed in.

Time Off For Golf: Round 3, More of the Same

2007-10-03T15:16:00.000-04:00

It was a little foggy and muggy when I teed off this morning, but I figured I could handle it just fine. Besides, I generally prefer overcast skies to sunny ones when I play. I decided to ride rather than walk today, as I figured my legs might actually fall off of my body when I played softball tonight if I walked this morning. I managed to tee off by myself, although only 9 of the holes were going to be familiar during this round. Potomac Ridge has 27 holes, and they kind of send you out on whichever ones they like. The ones I'm most familiar with are the Meadows and the Hollow, and I played those yesterday, but today I was supposed to play the Meadows and the Ridge. I had only ever played that Ridge once before, and I didn't particularly like it. I sure was glad I didn't try to walk it yesterday, though, as it has a lot of up and down that would not have been very agreeable to a walker.

On the 6th hole, I had hammered a drive right down the middle and had about a 150 yard uphill approach left, when the two guys in front of me waved me up. Things were moving pretty slowly, and I didn't think I'd be able to play through anyway, but I went ahead and stepped up to hit my second shot. I promptly chunked it about 30 yeards down the fairway. I guess I couldn't handle the pressure of an audience. I then hit the third shot on and three-putted for a double bogey 6. The guys, whom we'll call Mike and Alan (because those were there names), invited me to play with them for the rest of the round. I think maybe they wanted to be able to watch my bumbling to make themselves feel better. So I finished out with them, and they were very pleasant and helpful, in that they were able to tell me where to aim on some of the trickier Ridge holes. They didn't try to tell me what I did wrong when I screwed up, either. And they had plenty of opportunities.

Despite hitting the first fairway, I really didn't drive the ball very well today, although the numbers say I somehow managed to hit 7 of 14 fairways, which isn't bad for me. Still, I mostly managed to keep the ball on the course. I still couldn't hit my approach shots worth a damn, either, and I really need to get those going if I hope to break 90 before going back to work. But I did chip it a little better today (albeit not well), and my putting might not have been quite as bad as the last two days. The round broke down like so:

Birdies: 0
Pars: 5
Bogeys: 7
Double Bogeys: 3
Triple Bogeys (or worse): 3
Fairways hit: 7
Greens in Regulation: 3
Bunkers hit: 2 (I got up and down for par from one of them)
Putts: 34
Total score: 95

I'll take it, too. A tiny bit better this round was, if only because I had one more bogey or better. I'm headed down to Charlottesville to play with my college roomie. We'll see what happens down there.

Things I'm Sure I Shouldn't Hear

2007-10-02T18:01:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting here watching the pilot episode of the new show, Life (I'm not quite sure what I think of it yet, but I reckon I'll watch at least one more episode), and I happened to catch the tail end of a commercial for Friday Night Lights, which said, "Friday Night Lights: finally on Friday ..." I just don't know what to say about that commercial other than, regardless of whether it should have ever been written, I'm quite sure I shouldn't have ever had to hear it. Ridiculous.

Time Off For Golf: Round 2, Gasp

2007-10-02T15:47:00.000-04:00

I played the blue tees at Potomac Ridge today. It was a bit warmer and a bit more humid today, but it was still pretty nice out. I walked the course today, and even with my super cool bag cart in play, I had forgotten how ... aerobic an activity it can be. Huffing and puffing my way up to my ball on the 15th hole, a course marshall stopped to admire my cart. He told me that he needed to get one of them because they're cool. Completely drenched in sweat as I was I pointed to his normal, powered golf cart and suggested that I needed to get one of THOSE. Despite the effort involved, I got around in just over 3 hours, and that was much faster than the 5 it took me yesterday.

Once again, I was pretty solid off the tee, managing to hit 7 of 14 fairways, and I only lost one tee shot all day. Unfortunately, I still couldn't putt or chip, and my approach shots were, on average ... shitty. The round broke down like this:

Birdies: 0
Pars: 6
Bogeys: 5
Double Bogeys: 4
Triple Bogeys (or worse): 3
Fairways hit: 7
Greens in Regulation: 6
Bunkers hit: 0 (!)
Putts: 34
Total score: 96

While my actual score was better than yesterday, the weird math of handicapping golf courses makes yesterday's round statistically better than this one. But I'll take this round over that one any day.

I was cruising on the second half of the front nine, having parred a par 4, bogeyed a par 3, and parred a par 5 to make a nice 3-hole stretch, when I came to an par three that was 160 yards uphill into the wind. I wanted to stay away from the bunkers and schmutz in front of the green, so I pulled a 5-iron and hit it better than I've ever hit a 5-iron before. It looked great. I kept tracing the line with my eyes, and it was just right of the flag, with a gentle draw. I was thinking that shot was going to be knocked absolutely stiff, and then it came down on an up slope some 20 yards behind the green and one-hopped into the woods. That hole that was looking like a par at the worst turned into a quadruple bogey 7. It's a humbling game. I'll just have to try it again tomorrow.

Time Off For Golf: Round 1, Room for Improvement

2007-10-01T16:53:00.000-04:00

It was a good day to play golf. It was sunny and 75-ish with low humidity. Nice, nice, nice. I headed down to Old Hickory to begin my whirlwind golfing tour. That's a somewhat fancy course, but they always have coupons for cheaper play available via clickit, and it works out being a good deal in my estimation.

I should probably mention that my plan for all this golfing includes attempting to get some exercise by actually walking while I play most of the time. I even used some of my Amex points to get myself a sweet little collapsible cart to push my bag around on. It's made by Clicgear, and it's super cool. (The Girl, who thinks she is funny keeps claiming it looks like one of those jogging baby strollers. Naturally, I think that is far less amusing than she does.) Anyway, I was paired up with three other guys today, and Old Hickory has a lot of distance between some of the holes, and I didn't want to slow them down. So I ended up riding.

I was riding with an older guy named Steve. Steve is apparently a pretty good golfer, but he hasn't played much lately. At least that's what he kept telling me. He also decided that a couple of other guys needed explanations of what they did wrong when they hit a couple of bad shots. I don't know how I avoided his advice, but I don't think I would have received it very well.

Since the course is awfully tough, with sand all over the place and trees on most holes, I usually play from the white tees when I play with my boys, even though it's awfully short from there. Today, I played one set back with everyone else from the golds, and it's definitely a different course from there. Still, my driver, which is absolutely locked in on finding and flying over almost any out of bounds marker on the course, got confused today and managed to hit 9 of the 14 fairways. I even managed to put together a run of 4 pars in a row on the front 9 and shoot 47 on the outward set of holes, but the tougher back nine beat me up, and I shot 54 on them, for a grand total of 101. I couldn't putt or chip worth a damn today. So there's plenty of room for improvement in the next couple of weeks.

The shot of the day for me was absolutely plastering a 350 -360 yard drive on the third hole. It's nice to tee off to a downhill fairway with a tailwind.

Change of Pace/ Fore!

2007-09-30T18:48:00.000-04:00

Things have been shaken up a bit for the Kid lately. See, I'm changing jobs. My old company encouraged me to come back and join them, and I've decided to do so. I've had a good run at my current company, but this was a good opportunity that I just couldn't pass up.

In my thoroughly extensive experience with accepting job offers (this is the third time I've done it), the new company always wants you to start right away. Things are happening. We need you to get in here and hit the ground running. The world is going to explode in 24 hours, and ONLY YOU CAN STOP IT! You know what I'm talking about. And, while you may be Jack Bauer, I am not, and I think the urgency, by and large, is a bunch of hooey. Since I got out of college last century, I haven't been off of work for more than a week in one stretch. OK, maybe about 10 calendar days. Either way, it's not a very long time, and I want a break. So, what with some vacation time at my current job and not starting right away at the new/old company, I'm not going to start until the 17th. I'm VERY excited about that.

People keep asking me what I'm going to do with my time off, and the question is positively pregnant with expectations. Am I going to travel the world? Build an addition on the house? Finally solve the mystery that is Amelia Earhart's disappearance? In a word, no, no, no. (Yes, that's one word. It's just repeated three times.) What I am going to do is relax. I don't want to go on trips or do anything particularly strenuous. I'm staying at home and chilling out.

I do have one thing I want to do with my time, though. I'm going to try to play golf at least every weekday until I start the new gig unless my body can't handle that much golf in such a concentrated dose. Or unless I just decide that I want to stay in bed or something. I broke 90 for the second time ever earlier this year, and I'm hoping that I might manage to do it one more time during the next couple of weeks. I'll keep you posted. Seriously, I will. I've decided that I'm going to write something about all the rounds I play before I start the new job. So if your eyes glaze over and you end up face down and drooling on your keyboard when I start talking about golf, you might want to stay away for a while. Otherwise, I'll be talking at you again soon.

Providing a marvelous segue (Look at that word. Don't you just love to see it in print? I certainly do. It's very cool, as far as words go. "Segue." There it is again! But I digress.) between working and my golf-filled time off, my last "working" day at the current gig was playing a round of golf in an outing that I had set up with the clients. It was marvelous, and we even played at a course that is one that I would almost never pay to play because it is too expensive. We played at Westfields. I had played there once before when I first started playing, and I shot a 75. On the front 9. So you could say that I got my money's worth if you think of it in terms of dollars per stroke. But I loved the course, which is just lovely, if quite challenging. So I was excited to play there again. This time I shot a 95 for all 18 holes. My normally wild driver did a good job of keeping the ball on the course off the tee, and I had three blow up holes that kept me from breaking 90. It was a marvelous Fall day, and ... well ... I'm looking forward to getting back out on the links tomorrow.

Have a great Monday. Hit 'em straight.

P.S. If you'd like to join me for a round in the next couple of weeks, let me know. I'm probably up for it.

Ahoy, maties!

2007-09-19T12:42:00.000-04:00

Arrrrrrrr! In case you didn't know it (and really even if you did know it), today is International Talk Like A Pirate Day. I fully expect you all to toss lots of arrrrrrrrr's in for the rest of the day, along with ... other pirate-like patterns of speech.

P.S. Notice they seem to have written a book about me on that link? Maybe I can sue them...

You Have to Read the Whole Thing

2007-09-04T13:32:00.000-04:00

I just noticed this post over at Consumerist. The thing is that I only saw the first two sentences in the headline in my feed reader:

"Do It Yourself: Annoyed with Toy Companies Trying to Poison Your
Kids?"

I immediately thought it was odd that this site would post a DIY article about how to poison your own kids once and for all, since those toy companies can't quite seem to do anything right.

What's on TV: Mysterious Annoyance

2007-08-31T13:58:00.001-04:00

Now that the Girl and I are co-habitating (for those of you who didn't know, the Girl and I are now co-habitating), I find the differences in day-to-day life are subtle. We still stick to mostly different diets, she still sleeps more than would seem humanly possible whenever she has time, and I still try to play golf as often as I can. There are certain obvious differences, but what stands out to me so far is the TV.

I probably consume a somewhat standard diet of TV shows for a sports fan/geek. I like to watch football and college hoops just about as much as I can. I like 24, Lost, Heroes, The Office, etc. I stay the hell away from reality TV because I think it is the worst thing to happen to television since the first lower corner pop-over ad showed up on one of those damned Turner networks. I have actually seen a few of them, and their formulaic nature is downright disturbing to me. I just don't understand how people can watch more than one of them in a year. It's do some stuff, have a Challenge to win Immunity, someone faces Elimination, Take a Maudlin/Funny Look into Contestant Q's Life Outside the Show, find out Who's Going Home ... when we come back. Rinse and Repeat. Seriously, how anyone can stand to watch those hour-long results shows live is beyond me, given that there's a grand total of about five minutes of actual new information. It seems like a Tivo would allow a motivated person to watch those in no more than 10 minutes.

All of that said, the thing is that we are still in midst of the Sports Doldrums (although college football has officially started now, and not a minute too soon, but the Doldrums don't officially end until the NFL season starts), and none of the shows I like to watch are new. So the Big Ass HDTV is often tuned to things that the Girl wants to watch, as they are new. And the Girl like reality shows, be it American Idol, Big Brother 765, or ... whatever. As things would work out, I've seen a few of these shows. In fact, I don't mind Last Comic Standing too much, because it's about being funny (but I'm still irked that they had a "challenge round" in that show). The show that's on my mind, though, is VH1's the Pick Up Artist.

I've mentioned more than once before that I'm not so smooth when it comes to attempting to get my schwerve on with random chicks of the female persuasion, but this show is supposedly about helping guys who seem hopeless. I have to admit that parts of it are interesting, and they do suggest some useful things. For instance, they pointed out to the guys, that having two guys approach two girls is a near-ideal situation. However, the thing is that, in trying to make the tips they give seem more exclusive or rare, the guy who runs the show (and has a business helping losers pick up chicks) has invented a whole vocabulary with arcane terms like "set," "IOI," "high-value individual," "IOD," blah, blah, blah. It annoys the ass out of me. More than that, though, is that the guy calls himself Mystery and wears top hats with huge goggles wrapped around them. I have no idea why. Nonetheless, the Girl loves that show because she enjoys watching those awkward or anti-social guys try to be smooth. (Of course she loves that; otherwise, she wouldn't be dating me.) And I can't claim to quite hate it, as much as I want to smack that Mystery dude and tell him to stop wearing fuzzy, wide-brimmed hats.

Thankfully, the NFL will come calling next weekend, and good TV shows will be back on the air before the month is out. I definitely can't recommend this show over real TV, but you might get a chuckle out of it before that goodness comes back on.

Have a great holiday weekend.

Super Useful / Cool Orienteering Tip

2007-08-16T09:49:00.000-04:00

I just ran across this tip for using your watch as a compass over on Lifehacker, and I thought it was just neato. I thought it was the sort of thing MacGyver might make use of when he was lost in the woods. But thinking about it made me wonder just how useful the tip was.

First of all, you get into the whole "this tip is opposite if you're in the southern hemisphere" thing. Not really a big deal, since I'm pretty much never in that half of the world, and I kind of expected it, having learned at a strangely young age that clocks only go clockwise because they are built to mimic sundials and were developed in the northern hemisphere. Had they been created south of the equator, they would go counter-clockwise. Or, I guess, they would still go clockwise because saying that a clock goes counter-clockwise in normal operation would be stupid, but clockwise would be the opposite of what it is now. ANYway, ruminations aside, I'm thinking that the hemisphere caveat makes the tip a little more complex, and tips ought to be simple in order to be memorable and, thus, useful.

Even more complex is that you're supposed to subtract an hour if you're in daylight savings time. Originally hailing from Indiana, where they absolutely ignored daylight savings time until a year ago (I always thought that TV stations just moved their schedules up for the warm part of the year), since I moved to the land of changing clocks, I have always had to be told when daylight savings time started and ended because I just never had a good grasp of those dates. Then, last year, They went and changed the dates on me just as I was starting to get an idea of when to expect them. So I'm all sorts of confused, and that doesn't help me make use of this tip.

I'm imagining being lost in the woods somewhere, wondering which way is North, finding a clearing (so I can see the sun ... duh), pulling my watch off and orienting it with the 12 to the left, aligning the hour hand with the sun, and thinking ... lessee, it's March 2nd ... has daylight savings started yet ... dammit! I don't know! How can I find which way is South, so that I can then deduce which way is North?!

And what if I happened to be in the southern hemisphere? Do they even use daylight savings time down there? And, if so, do they do it opposite of when we do? How can I possibly figure all this out?!

Of course, that example is ridiculous, in that there is no way I'd be anywhere near the woods on March 2nd because it's difficult to watch absurd amounts of college hoops from the woods. But let's not focus on that right now.

Still, maybe this whole discussion is moot because my cell phone has become a modern day pocket watch, and my wristwatch has been sitting in the console of my car for 2 years wanting a new battery and a better clasp on its band. (Strangely, it has not managed to procure those things from the console of my car, even though it has had two years to do so. I thought putting it there might make it get out and help itself if I ever ventured near a mall. That was not so smart, though, because how can it possibly get out and help itself when its battery is dead?) Sure, I could go to the car and pull out my watch, then go through the placing, orienting, and kvetching, but if I'm at the car anyway, I might as well just turn it on and look at the nav system. That's why I bought the damned thing. (Fine, I bought it because it's a cool gadget, and I like cool gadgets, but I did think it might be useful if I ever wanted to know which direction was North.)

So while this tip may be neato, I'm thinking it's not particularly useful to me, except for breaking my writer's block. Namaste!

What Did the Birds Do?

2007-07-10T11:09:00.000-04:00

I was in a meeting this morning, and someone mentioned that if we did a certain thing, we could "kill two birds with one stone." Now, I realize this expression is a commonly used one, but for some reason it gave me pause this morning. I just couldn't help but wonder 1) why people are always wanting to kill birds and 2) why it is that stones are so bloody valuable that we need to be sure to get that extra bang for our proverbial buck. Seriously, what did birds in general do? I suppose they could be the type of garage-dwelling birds that are forever shitting on otherwise sheltered cars, but I would think even those birds would be worthy of their own individual Stones of Death.

Feel free to enlighten me. Otherwise, go in peace, and, if you must kill birds, at least give them the dignity of using separate stones for each of them.

My Mama Didn't Raise No Fool

2007-07-05T11:26:00.000-04:00

A co-worker told me this week that she has to have surgery on her pinky this Friday because she broke it when she "tripped" and "fell" while "running." I wasn't buying that for a minute, though. You can't fool me that easily. Oh, sure it's plausible and all. She does run all the time, probably just so she has a ready excuse, but I told her I knew the real story. See, I reckon she's really an international spy who typically executes her missions on weekends. She can't always confine it to the weekends, though, which is why she does "vacations" to Thailand and Mexico and the like for a couple of weeks a year. The way I figure it, this past weekend, her mission went awry, and she got captured. They bad guys were just starting to interrogate her ["You don't know ze answer, fraulein? Vell, let's see vot you know ven I break your fingers ... one at a time ... starting vif zees peenky!" snap] when her partner busted in and rescued her.

Tripped. Fell. Ha! I may have been born yesterday, but I've been up all day today, and I'm not buying that. Still, I don't want to blow her cover. So don't tell anyone, OK?

Mr. Yuk Would Not Approve

2007-06-20T16:29:00.000-04:00

I saw this scene on the top shelf of the fridge in the office when I was in there the other day, and I had to take a picture. You think someone has had some trouble with sodas disappearing?

It does have 23 flavors after all. Still, if it's not a false label, Mr. Yuk would never approve of this material being stored in the fridge next to the water and the ... mildly disgusting-looking container of a milky-colored substance.

... And Carry a Big Shtick

2007-05-29T10:59:00.000-04:00

For some reason or another this tale has been rattling around my brain lately. So I thought I would share it with you. Aren't you lucky?

When the Girl and I went on our first date, we hardly knew each other at all. We had just met randomly and had about 1.3 phone conversations. Such strangers were we that I didn't even know her last name. So I suppose that meant that we shouldn't struggle for things to talk about. We met at a decent-but-not-overly-nice resaurant and sat down to have some dinner. We were both clearly pretty nervous in that "I don't know this person" sort of way. So we concentrated on the menus and exchanged some chitchat about food and such. Once that was out of the way, I thought we were in desperate need of an ice breaker. So I said, "Look, I know I don't know you all that well, but I feel like I really need to ask you a very personal question. I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable, and you don't have to answer if you don't want, but I just have to ask."

"Umm. OK, I guess. That sounds scary. Should I be scared?" she asked.

"I'll leave that up to you to decide, but I feel like I really need to ask," I replied.

"OK."

"What's your last name?"

Now, you may be absolutely rolling your eyes into the middle of next week and groaning. Or you may be smiling and thinking about how disarming and charming that would be. That second reaction is more of what I was shooting for, but I would have taken the first one. I just wanted to calm some nerves. Luckily for me, the Girl leaned more toward the charming response, laughed, and told me the answer. It seemed to work, too, because we seemed to have a much easier time of it after that. That particular exchange might not really have been the key, but this is my story, and that's how I'm calling it.

Recently, the Girl and I attended a vow renewal ceremony for the main particpants of the first post-college wedding I attended, in celebration of their first 10 years of marriage. (That may deserve a story of its own at some point, but not right now. Suffice it to say that you know a relationship has strong underpinnings when, upon receiving a single red rose from the guy in question after one of their first outings together -- not a date, though -- the girl in question said, "You are nauseatingly sweet.") My college roomie, who knows me as well as perhaps anyone on the planet, was also at this ceremony, and it was the first time he and the Girl met each other. While he was chatting her up and getting to know her, it somehow came out that I didn't know her last name when we went on our first date. Upon hearing that, he looked at me and immediately said, "You asked her a very personal question." It was half statement, half question. He was pretty sure of the answer, but he needed to verify it.

So apparently I have a shtick. Are you really surprised?

Public Service Announcement

2007-05-15T09:04:00.000-04:00

Given that my gums are holding their ground about as well as the French hold Paris in wartime, I decided to give Crest Pro Health toothpaste a try based on my dentist's recommendation. The dentist suggested it would fight against any unpleasant sensitivity while still doing a good job battling the nasties that lead to other dental problems. I looked at the stuff's packaging, and it read pretty well. The box stopped just sort of suggesting that it would give me the power to save the world while pleasuring multiple women at the same time. So I bought it in preparation for the day my old tube of normal Crest toothpaste ran out.

Today was that day. So I busted out the tasty-sounding Clean Mint paste and prepared for a heretofore never-experienced session of teeth cleaning. And I have to say that it was most certainly like nothing I had ever experienced before. That toothpaste may very well kick the ass of any tartar-, plaque-, halitosis-, or gingivitis-causing bacteria while whitening my teeth and eliminating all traces of sensitivity. Hell, it might very well just push those gums back to the front lines. I'll never know, though, because of one important piece of information that is suspiciously absent from the box or the website: the stuff tastes like lukewarm ass. Slathered in hot sick. Sandwiched between two pieces of chilled ear wax. So I think I'll be making a run to the store today to buy some of the old toothpaste. I'd rather risk the sensitive teeth (which I really haven't experienced much yet) than have a twice daily lukewarm ass and hot sick on ear wax sandwich.

I just thought you should know. That is all.

Your 2 Cents

2007-05-10T10:41:00.000-04:00

As Steven Wright (or perhaps it was George Carlin) once said, "It's a penny for your thoughts, but you have to put your two cents in. Somebody's making a penny." Well, you may have more trouble living up to your end of the bargain starting Monday, May 14th, as the U.S. Postal Service will be raising the price of stamps by two cents. [Aside: I love this statement from their website: " The new price structure will create a more efficient mail system so that the overall cost of using the mail is as low as possible." What a bunch of twaddle! What the new price structure will do, among other things, is make first class stamps more expensive.]

As far as I'm concerned, they're bitches. Not because the price of stamps is going up. That kind of makes sense. Things get more expensive all the time, and, to be fair, we can send a letter anywhere in the country for very little money. Not that we want to, because, being fair yet again, who the hell sends letters anymore, aside from grandmothers giving their grandchildren $12 birthday checks?

Still, once in a great while, I have to mail something, and a book of stamps typically lasts me more than a year. What I don't like is that the new price structure will require me to buy a strange number of two cent stamps that I will then have to remember to put on mailings. I should totally be able to trade my stamps in for some sort of non-priced first class stamp. Sure I would still have to go to the post office to get them, but at least I wouldn't have to remember to put on two different stamps to get the right total postage. Or, there should be some sort of grace period in which my old 39 cent stamps are still recognized as valid. Hmm. I guess that would mean that the same problem would crop up at the end of the grace period. So the trading in is better.

Really, they should just not print stamps with prices on them. They should all just be first class letter, postcard, etc., and they should be valid until the end of time. Apparently, someone actually came up with this idea and implemented: forever stamps. That doesn't really help me with my old stamps, but yadambetcha that I'm not buying any other types of stamps from now on.

You have a good day. I'm going to count out a bunch of pennies to pay for my new two cent stamps.

Technically Accurate

2007-05-03T10:52:00.000-04:00

Someone at work just sent this to me, and I had to share it. Take a look at Google's directions from NYC to Paris. While you're looking, take a look at look at instructions 23 and 24. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Even you Iron Man types out there might have trouble with this one. However, I have to admit that, if you can follow them, these directions will certainly get you there.

Safety First

2007-05-01T09:44:00.000-04:00

I know I haven't posted here in a very long time, and I have no real excuse. I had intended to write a detailed follow up to talk more about my experience at the Masters, but I never got around to it. It seems a bit late to do so now. However, I know I need to get back on the horse here, and I reckon, if Jen can do it after about 4 years of not posting, I can, too.

In the car on Saturday morning, I had a bit of a blast from the past in hearing "The Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats. I've always felt a strong sense of affection for that song. Maybe it's because of the video, in which the singer is wandering around a countryside that is remindful of feudal England, singing this song with the word "dance" in the title and hinting strongly, if perhaps not quite proving, that he is completely incapable of dancing. On top of that, the song itself doesn't seem particularly danceable. (Yes, I said "danceable." It's early, and I don't want to hear any shit about it.) In general, I'd say the song is deliciously atrocious, like so many 80's songs. Also, the video prominently features a midget. What's not to like?

But I didn't start this post just to laud a delightfully crappy song. Instead, I wanted to draw your attention to its lyrics. I had to look them up because of one particular phrase: "We can dance, we can dance / Everybody look at your hands / We can dance, we can dance / Everybody's taking the chance." Can someone please tell me why we need to look at our hands and what the fuck that has to do with dancing? Also, what chance is everybody taking here? Does this song come from some strange parallel universe where it's extremely dangerous for a person to let his gaze come to rest on his hands?

These are the questions that fill my brain after hearing that song. Have a good Tuesday.

A Cinderella Story ...

2007-04-05T21:36:00.000-04:00

Just like Bill Murray's character in Caddyshack discussed, "It's a Cinderella story ... at Augusta." That's right, I'm at the Masters. No, seriously. See, I even have a tournament badge. Look:

See? The short version is that the Pretty Boy and I know someone whose family has tickets to the Masters every year, and they're not going there, so they let us go. Score!

Anyway, today was the first day that I have ever been to a pro golf tournament, and it was a good one to start out with. It might not be fair to all the other tournaments in the future, but that's not the point right now. The point is that I have a few thoughts to share on it, and I thought I would share them with you.

Doleros
This surprise started when I found out the price that's on that badge: $175. Sure, that's not chump change or anything, but it's really not bad for 4 days of admission to one of the premiere golf tournaments in the world. Plus, our admission came with a parking pass that allowed us to park -- at no additional charge -- right next to the course. That's just crazy, and it's certainly in direct contrast to all of my other professional sports experiences. So it's not expensive to get in and out of there for face value, but there just aren't many tickets. I don't think they've sold any new tickets for more than 20 years.

But that's not all. While we were spectating and walking around the course, we needed sustenance. So we headed to the concession and prepared to drop some serious coin. The price list didn't look right to us, but we might not have seen it correctly as we quickly moved through the line. We gathered the following items:

3 beers (in commemorative Masters plastic cups that we could take home with us)
2 bottles of water (in Masters-branded bottles of water, which we decided not to take home with us)
2 sandwiches in unusual-to-us green wrapping (that we didn't even consider taking home)
1 package of peanut butter & crackers, in standard packaging (please)

The total cost of that feast? $11.50. We were downright gleeful, and those beers were just marvelous. Really, the sandwiches were quite good, too. The Pretty Boy has been to a U.S. Open and a PGA Championship, and he thought we would spend a pretty penny on food and drink at the course each day.

Unfortunately, the stuff in the golf shop wasn't ridiculously cheap, too.

Cool Watching
The weather was beautiful, if a bit cool for early April in Georgia. But that's not what I'm talking about. What I am talking about is that there are roped off areas all over the course (definitely at each green, and in some other places) where patrons can put little chairs down to sit and watch. What's cooler is that one can set down a chair, go wander around the golf course for a while, and come back find his chair sitting, empty, in exactly the same place. No one will bother it! It's amazing to me. Naturally, one has to label his chair, but it's still pretty cool.

Pretty!
I have often pondered on whether watching many sporting events on TV isn't as good as or, in the case of HDTV, better than being there in person. And I have even claimed that seeing the splendor of Augusta National in HD is better than being on a golf course in person. Well, having seen Augusta National in person now, I say that's a bunch of hooey. The course is amazing. Everything is green. Except for the flowers, which are all blooming. It's just ... wow.

180
I'm not talking about an about-face, that's the minimum score I think I'd shoot if I tried to play this course. It's long and everything, but having been out there and seen the angles and difficulty of different shots and the undulations of the greens -- which are things that I've never quite been able to grasp on TV -- I can say for sure that this course would soundly kick my ass.

Stay Away From the Tiger Cage
Everyone knows that Tiger Woods has the biggest galleries on the course, but I didn't know how much bigger they are. We spent a large part of the day walking the course and watching Ernie Els, Fred Couples, and Geoff Ogilvy play. Els and Couples are both incredibly popular, and Ogilvy is one of the better young golfers in the world. All 3 have won major championships. There was a pretty good crowd following them, but as they finished up, we watched Tiger tee off on one par 3. The crush of humanity around his group was ridiculous. We waited at the tee box before he got to the green on the previous hole, and we still didn't have a great angle. Not to mention that the caddies stood right between us and the green anyway. We decided it's just not worth fighting through the people to try to watch the best in the world play. His gallery was at least 3 times as large as any other we saw today.

I hope you all enjoyed a good day of golf, be it playing or watching, today.

Goat Status

2007-04-02T19:58:00.001-04:00

Off.

Free Broadband From Google!

2007-04-01T13:35:00.000-04:00

It looks like Google is ready to pay off on the idea of free WiFi broadband for everyone. Check out their new TiSP program. Check out the details of how it works and the FAQ. A toilet- and sewer-based network is GENIUS!!

Good times, although methinks you should remember the date of this post (and theirs).

Not Lions But ...

2007-03-29T13:33:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time, I gave you a small but perhaps disturbing look into the collective thinking of Abs and Lawton. It was ludicrous, I know, that whole thing with terrorists using lions as weapons and trying to hide them under their coats. Or was it? Lawton sent me this, and I'm wondering if mayhap those crocodiles were just a test run. At least the "woman's shape raised suspicions." I say goodonya to those border guards for being so alert.

My Kind of Town

2007-03-28T14:52:00.000-04:00

I often wonder what's going to be on TV on any given night, or what channel a game I want to watch will be on, or whether The Office is new this week. I usually wonder these things when I'm not in front of my TV. That doesn't really matter all that much, though, as my cable company DVR isn't particularly adept at speedily answering those questions for me. So, as is my wont, I turn to these internets for some good and speedy info. But I have rarely been satisfied with the solutions there. Sites that will show me stuff are all the time requiring me to refresh the page to go to a new day, then a new time, then a new page of channels. Then, to see more than just the title of a show, I have to battle with their weird show info pop-over to get the full dilly. It irks me. I don't want to go through several pages. I want to see the info NOW. I am petulant about this, and I realize that's not a good thing. Still, I am gratified by the new-to-me Beta of Couchville. With it, you can quickly jump to a day on the calendar, or a channel, or the current time. But more impressively, you can move up and down the channel list or forward and backward in time just by dragging the grid in your browser. It's simple, clean, and it's marvelous. I love it.

Besides, how can I not love a place called Couchville? I feel like I live there already.

Question of the Day

2007-03-27T14:20:00.000-04:00

I like to think of myself as pretty decent at coming up with plausible explanations for things that seem silly, even though I still like to think of them as silly. For example, after giving it some thought, I was even able to come up with some explanation for why the drive-through ATM at the bank has braille options.

Still, some things persist in puzzling me.

Today, I was walking back into the building from the parking garage after lunch, and I was struck by a puzzling situation. Near the garage's exit, there were numerous spacious and well-marked handicap spots. That's not the puzzling part. Naturally, I understand that. On the other side of the entrance, there were a whole mess of places reserved for expecting mothers. Still not the puzzling part, in that I kind of understand it, although I'm skeptical of just how many expecting mothers are ... expected ... to be in this particular building at any given time. Still, I can see how reasonable people might want to make it less of an effort for these to-be moms to get to and from their cars and offices.

What puzzled me, though, was that between the expecting mother spots and the garage exit were a number of spots designated for motorcycles. It was pretty much 2 motorcycle parking spots per normal car spot. I can see why it's good to designate spots for motorcycles. You probably don't want them taking up an entire parking space and all, but why the hell do they need to be right next to the building? Wouldn't it be just as good to put them on the other side of the garage? Why should those who ride motorcycles get to park closer to the building than the handicapped or women with buns in their ovens?

Please explain it to me. These are the kinds of questions that keep me up at night.

The Lengths People Will Go

2007-03-20T12:23:00.000-04:00

OK, I know it's been a long time since I've put anything up here, but I've been a bit preoccupied lately. There's this little thing called the NCAA Tournament going on, and it takes up a lot of my time. I had to watch ridiculous amounts of basketball last weekend, and I had to handle the tourney pool Lawton and I run as we led up to it. So that's what I've been doing, and I haven't had much to write about.

Luckily for me, though, other people keep coming up with things worth sharing. For example, my buddy Doc sent me a link to this article showing that people will go to any lengths these days to avoid riding coach.

I just thought you might want to see that.

Beware the Dangers of the Elephant Johnson

2007-03-09T10:49:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not talking about a pachyderm named Johnson. A co-worker sent this to me, and I laughed out loud. While there is some serious stuff going on that this article mentions, what really stood out to me was this:

"One guy I know got a black eye from being hit by an elephant’s
penis."

These are things you just don't hear often enough! It's marvelous. Along the same lines, next time you have the chance to go to the National Zoo, check out the video of their baby elephant being born. Sadly, I couldn't quickly find this video online because it's fascinating, if a little disturbing. The zoo didn't have the great quotes that the linked article did, though. So remember, next time you're in such a situation ...

"When you touch an elephant there it starts to flick backwards and forwards
and it’s so strong it can knock you off your feet. It’s such a strong
movement."

Have a great weekend.

Go Team!

2007-03-02T15:02:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to post about this for a while, but I didn't manage to pull the pictures off of my phone until now. It turns out that I'm not the only one who felt the need to evaluate things and set some goals at the beginning of this year. In fact, I guess it's pretty normal. Two days a week or so, I travel to the offices of a big company to do work there, rather than tooling from home in a virtual kind of way. Early in January, I found the evidence that someone in the big company had done some evaluation and wanted to set some goals. However, as is often the case in a big company, this evaluator couldn't achieve this goal alone. To solicit help, this person posted a nicely printed, laminated sign in all the kitchens. (Really, I only know that it was posted in one kitchen, as I didn't check any of the others, but it would really not make sense to put it the others. So we'll just assume it was put all over the place.) Here's a picture of the sign they posted:

Now, I think we can probably agree that this message conveys a serious, noble, and worthwhile message. Using fewer napkins seems somehow eco-friendly, and it's pretty easy for most people to get behind eco-friendly. However, it's even easier for me to get behind funny, and I enjoyed seeing that there are other people who think funny beats most things, including eco-friendly. This funny person posted a sign in response:

I love it! And I'm glad I snapped some pics, as the second sign was removed quite speedily. The first one remains, though. I still chuckle when I see it, just thinking of the second one.

GO TEAM!

What Dookies Do During a Down Year

2007-02-26T10:41:00.000-05:00

When I lived at the Lodge back in the day, my roomies and I used to talk a lot about the ways that Mini Fridge could be improved to make it more convenient for us to retrieve beer without getting up off of Soft Couch. You can make all the arguments you want that it's ridiculous to improve on the convenience of a refrigerator that sits right next to the couch. We heard it all, and it didn't faze us. If you're making such arguements, you obviously haven't thought of the inconvenience to someone sitting in the Ass Magnet, as Mini Fridge's door opened toward that person, and he had to perform some pretty tricky feats of flexibility to get a beer without leaving his seat. Or maybe you didn't consider the people seated at the opposite end of Soft Couch, as they couldn't possibly reach the fridge. A person sitting in Brown Chair had much the same problem. Besides, this was before we had a Tivo, and we had to do something during commercials. So we discussed how we could make Mini Fridge better.

Some people aren't content with discussion, though. Showing the type of ingenuity and can-do spirit that made this country great (not to mention fat and lazy), this guy from Duke built a solution. You should totally check it out. It's simply marvelous.

And for those of you who don't want to check it, go ahead and watch this video.

Robotic Beer Launching Refrigerator

Luck be the AbsPod

2007-02-13T10:10:00.000-05:00

Here's a follow-up on yesterday's post explaining once again that not only am I an idiot, but allowing myself to be irritated only leads to bad things.

All day yesterday I was wondering what the possibilities were that I would get my iPod back. When I filled out the Lost Item Form at the airport on Sunday night, I asked the woman working there what she thought my chances were of me getting the AbsPod back. She said, "Well, if it's still there and our people find it, they'll send it back. But if someone else found it, it's pretty much gone." That was an impressive non-prediction from her. So I calmly fretted about it for much of the day yesterday, willing myself not to call early and often. Instead, I waited until about 3:30 to call, at which point no one answered. I got a voice mail box indicating that I could leave a message. So I did, but I felt very sure that no one would call me back.

The hours crawled by without a return call, and I tried to decide whether that meant that they didn't find it in Michigan, or whether they just didn't have it back at DCA yet. Surprisingly, I wasn't able to work that out, but I thought about it any way. After 3 hours, I decided they weren't going to call me back at all. Still, I decided that I would not inundate them with phone calls, as that would drove both them and me crazy. So I waited.

I was talking with the Girl around 7:40, and I got another call from a phone number I didn't recognize it. I quickly answered to find that it was the woman from Northwest Baggage Services, and she said, "You know we got your iPod back." What?! HELL NO I DIDN'T! "You can pick it up whenever you like."

So I scooted over there and picked it up without much trouble. Rather than having to replace it, I had to worry for a day, make two trips to the airport, and pay $4 for parking. That's not a bad reclamation fee.

I happily left the airport without even asking if I would be credited with frequent flier miles for the round trip to Grand Rapids.

Good, Bad, and Ugly

2007-02-12T11:57:00.000-05:00

This weekend, the Girl and I jetted off to Indiana. Sure, some people like to get away to someplace warm during a February cold snap, but we went someplace even colder. And I know that some people like to go someplace that might be considered hip, where things are happening. However, we had a very specific goal on this trip: to watch our beloved Hoosiers play in person in the Assembly Hall in Bloomington, IN. And watch we did.

We flew into Indy on Friday (going direct and being sure to avoid Atlanta), and managed to borrow a vehicle from my folks that had neither a flat tire nor a cracked windshield, and we headed down to B-town. We saw some friends, had some meals, went to some bars, and watched the Hoosiers eke out a closer-than-we-hoped-but-very-exciting-all-the-same victory against the Illini. Good times. There was snow, I ate a breaded pork tenderloin, and we tooled around in a pickup truck. It was a very Hoosier weekend as far as I was concerned. It was, without question, Good.

While driving back and forth, we used the AbsPod (which is my shiny, relatively new, black 80GB iPod with video) and an iTrip to listen to the tunes we liked on the truck's radio. On the way back to Indy, the battery in the AbsPod just gave out, which was a bummer, since we had a plane trip coming up, and I might need to use it to watch or listen to something to entertain myself while the Girl slept (she typically falls asleep on planes well before take off). Luckily, we had some time to visit with my folks in Indy before heading to the airport, and I took advantage of that time to give the AbsPod a bit of a charge, asking everyone around to help me remember it before I left. They all obliged, and I remembered the AbsPod when we went off to the airport.

At the airport, I got to experience a couple of the ways in which the TSA hates me. There was only a short line at security, but it seemed to be growing rapidly. While we were waiting, one woman just offered a bit of an "excuse me" and ignored everyone's complaints as she weaved through all the would-be travelers in line and eased through the machines. As we were discussing how rude that was, another woman began lifting the barricade ropes and escorting a man to the front of the line. Noticing annoyed looks, she said, "We have a Clear passenger." You could hear the capital letter. "Oh, well, in that case, of course. Go right ahead." I was irked. On her way back, she stopped to tell me that I should pick up their brocure. Rather than punch her in the kneecap for trying to sell me something while being condescending at the same time, I asked if it cost money and sent her on her way when she said it was about $100/year. Now, I know about this program where people pay to have background checks and do biometric identification to get through security faster, but I think has to be a better way to handle it than making everyone who's already in line move out of the way for the royalty to get through. I almost went all Monty Python and hollered, "Help! Help! I'm being oppressed!"

But I'm sure I wasn't being fair to these people skipping past all of us waiting our turn in line. I was already predisposed to annoyance because I could see that this security line was making everyone go through a Puffer. For those of you who haven't experienced one, the Puffer is the most irritating fake security measure the TSA has come up with yet. I can't get into a rant about that right here, because neither you nor I have the time, but suffice it to say that these devices make me think that a little monkeying with things would be a good idea. It also makes me think that the TSA is trying to make the airways safe by annoying travelers enough so that they will just not fly anywhere. Planes without passengers are inherently safe from terrorists. Even more irritating is that the Puffer, in conjunction with people constantly cutting through the line, had backed things up so much that they opened a second, non-puffer security line just as I got to the front of the more irritating one. However, since my blood pressure is rising just thinking about all of this, let's move on.

Our plane was a regional jet, and we took off only a few minutes late after the ground crew added some ballast to the cargo hold to help balance the plane. I'm all for the plane being balanced, so that slight delay didn't bother me even a little bit. We also landed on time, but we had to sit on the tarmac for 30 minutes because there was another plane in our gate. Pretty much everyone on the plane thought it was ridiculously annoying, but there was nothing we could do about it. I kept myself entertained by alternately reading and laughing at the flight attndant, who repeatedly marched up and down the aisle insisting that anyone who had unbuckled his seat belt put it back on. I'm not making this up. She was very concerned about those seat belts staying on and told several people that they "needed" to put their belts back on. Every time she heard the click of a seat belt, she raised her head and marched down the aisle to find the offender. By the time we got to a gate, I was pretty irritated, and I grabbed my bag, coat, and book and deplaned as quickly as I could, which wasn't very quickly given that the Girl and I were seated in the very last row. Security irritation and sitting on the tarmac for a half hour: Bad.

Still, we'd had a good trip and a good weekend, and our bags came out of the baggage return very quickly. After a short cab ride, I was back at home sort of unpacking. It was at that point that i realized that the AbsPod was nowhere to be found. In my annoyance, I had departed the plane without retrieving my iPod from the seat back pouch I had put it in when I first sat down. I did some googling to figure out what to do, and it wasn't very clear. So I called Northwest reservations who told me he wasn't sure, but he thought I would have to call the ticket counter at the aiport. Unfortunately, they don't have a number one can call (what?!), so I would just have to go there the next day (they were naturally closed at 9 PM on a Sunday). Instead, I drove to the airport. I figured maybe the plane was still there, maybe I could get someone to get it for me, assuming the cleaning crew hadn't found and kept it. After asking around about what to do, I went to Northwest's baggage services office and explained my plight. The very nice and efficient woman there told me that the plane had already left for Grand Rapids. As I filled out a form, she called the Grand Rapids airport and asked someone there to check my seat back pouch -- the plane had just landed here -- for the AbsPod and to send it back to DCA if they found it. She gave me a number to call this afternoon and no predictions on whether I would get the device back. So I trudged back to my car contemplating the Ugly thought that I might have to replace the AbsPod and that I have once again proven that I am, without question, an idiot.

Bad or Worse: You Make the Call

2007-02-05T19:56:00.000-05:00

I've been contemplating two hypothetical situations and the impact they might have on one's day, and I just can't decide which one would move the needle more. So I figured I'd toss it out there so you could make the call.

Situation 1
You're working from home, and you realize as you pour your first soda of the day that you have foolishly allowed your soda supply to be depleted. However, you're doing some work and such, and you don't really feel like making a special trip to the store just for the soda. So you do nothing. As the day goes on, you decide that it's really not appropriate for your first soda of the day to be your only soda of the day, and you decide to rectify the situation.

The exercise room in your complex has a soda machine in it. Granted a 20 oz. bottle of that which you desire costs a whopping $1.25, but such is your yen for that carbonated NutraSweet-y goodness that you are willing to deal with the extra moolah involved. So you bundle up (it's cold out there), grab a dollar bill and a quarter, and trudge to the exercise room, using the few moments of travel time to ponder a) why there isn't a soda machine in your building or perhaps even your apartment and b) just what it says about you that you are going to the exercise room for the specific purpose of buying a soda. Arriving at your destination, you brush those thoughts away like so many gnats flitting around your head (there are some benefits to the cold, you reckon). You feed the greedy machine the paper and metal money and consider a new quandary: there are two buttons with Diet Coke labels; which one to push? This question doesn't slow you down much, and you punch the top Diet Coke button. The machine responds with the normal whirrings and plunks and you bend down to pull out ... a gahdamned Fanta Orange Soda.

You don't drink Fanta Orange soda. You don't want Fanta Orange soda. If you did, you would have pushed its button, which is at the very bottom of the array of buttons, nowhere near the second one from the top that you pushed. Quick! Use the other button! Nope, sorry. You only brought enough money to buy one soda. It looks like you're going without another soda for a while. Now go back out in the cold and walk home. Take that soda with you, though.

Situation 2
It's early in the morning. Just how early, you're not sure, as you are doing what ought to be done early in the morning: sleeping. Suffice it to say, though, that it is nowhere near an hour when any reasonable person would desire to be awake. You might be engaged in a dream. You might be chewing up the REM cycles. You might be caught in the comfy warm bliss of the dreamless. You might be rolling over. You know not because, as mentioned before, you are asleep.

OW! All of a sudden you wake up because you just bit the ass out of your tongue.

Bad or Worse: You make the call. And my sincerest condolences for any poor soul who suffers both fates on the same day.

I Sit Resolved

2007-02-02T14:45:00.000-05:00

Well, what the hell ... I'll go ahead and stand resolved, although that sounds like a lot of work. Besides, it fits better with the year ahead (more on that later).

While I haven't yet written a by-the-numbers (or any other) type of look back at 2006 (but I likely will), I wanted to go ahead and talk about 2007. As I've mentioned before, in general, I'm against making resolutions to start the new year. Maybe it's because everyone does it, and I think I'm unique and counter-cultural and such (says the Kid in his friggin' blog). Maybe it's because it's exhausting to hear people talk about them. Maybe it's because it's harder to fail to live to up to resolutions you don't make. Maybe it's because I think they're for namby-pamby, touchy-feely types who decide they're going to be funnier (they aren't) or happier (it's a 50-50 shot) or smarter (no chance) or better to the environment (possibly). (Remind me to tell you more about that environment one another time.) But maybe, just maybe my real issue here is with the connotation I've attached to the word "resolution." So I've decided to not make any resolutions for 2007.

I can make some goals, though. That would clearly be a very different thing. Goals are good, right? Everyone needs goals. So without more of this nomadic preamble, I present to you Abs's Major Initiatives 2007.

Because, dammit!
This cleverly-named initiative could more clearly be called "Procrastinate Less," But I like cleverly-named things, and "Be Less Annoyingly Snarky and Obtuse" didn't make the cut this year. The truth is that the ability to procrastinate runs strong in my family. My granny had it. (Perhaps that's the real reason that her ashes are still attending Christmas gatherings.) My father has it. My mother has it. My brother has it. And I have it.

In college, a couple of guys in my dorm and I considered ourselves to be the Pillars of the Dorm Procrastination Team. Any one of the three who actually tried to study was absolutely ridiculed by the other two. Twisting the Nike catch phrase of the day, our slogan was "Why Do It?" Amazingly, we all managed to stick around and graduate, but we never stopped mildly reveling in our tendency and ability to put things off. And that's fine, but I'm hoping to do it less this year.

In case you're wondering whether I see the irony in stating my goal to procrastinate less this year at the beginning of the second month of the year, I do. And I think you should shut the hell up about it. First, this isn't your post. More importantly, I said I was going to do it less, not eliminate it entirely.

More than anything, though, I think this goal feeds directly into the second initiative ...

Clean Apartment 2007
My apartment is generally a mess. It's not a crazy mess that you can't walk through or see table tops or get attacked by mutant killer bacteria or anything, but it is generally cluttered and just messy. I honestly like the apartment better when it's clean, but I don't at all like cleaning it. Really, it's just that I put off things like putting away clean clothes, putting books back on the shelves, putting dirty clothes in the laundry nook, taking the trash or recycling out, dealing with my mail, and generally getting rid of the dead bodies. So you see that procrastination plays a big part here. Really, I'm thinking the "Because, dammit!" initiative will mostly take care of this one. That way, I get two goals for the price of one, and that's just good sense.

Neither of these really have much to do with the third and most important initiative ...

Find a Better Hiding Place
No, I don't have a bunch of jam-handed, ankle-biting youngsters around who are better at playing Hide and Seek than I am. This is another obscurely but perhaps cleverly named initiative. The one I'm playing Hide and Seek with is Death. He's "it," though.

The key here is to be healthier. My family tree shows many a wound from heart attacks and strokes and diabetes and loquacity. (At least it would if someone put together my family tree. And if family trees had wounds from the entrants' health and other problems.) Since I'm not likely to do anything about the wordiness, I thought I'd concentrate more on the health problems. At this point, I haven't really suffered from anything worse than some allergies and bad ankles, but I reckon I have to try to get out of the way of those more major issues now rather than when they come knocking on the door because they keep you from finding good hiding places. Having one of those things is akin to hiding in the middle of a brightly lit room. That robe-wearin', scythe-carryin' bitch called Death has no trouble at all finding those types of people. I reckon being healthier helps one find a better hiding place.

If you want a more entertaining explanation of the reasoning behind such an initiative, take a gander at Kevin Smith's blog. I share several of his reasons, and he writes them better. Besides, Silent Bob speaking is a good thing.

How do I plan on being healthier? By the magic plan of eating things I don't love and doing things I'd rather not do. Don't eat pizza or chips and queso quite as often. Eat some damned vegatables. Get off the couch and go to the gym once in a while. Eat better and exercise more. I heard somewhere that it's good for you.

Still, that's a bunch of hand waving. In this particular case, I need to be able to quantify things. So, recognizing that this ought to be a long-haul type of goal, I'm setting the relatively modest aim of weighing 10% less than I do now on December 31, 2007. Really, it's 10% less than when I actively started this initiative, which was two whole days ago, but you get the idea. I don't know if that sounds like a lot to you, but I think it's pretty daggone modest when you look at what some people do.

That's about it. I could have come up with more, but I think that I have quite enough to be going on with this year. Besides, I can do those others next year.

Hineyless Pant-things

2007-01-30T17:25:00.000-05:00

I actually recently had this discussion twice, and neither time really left me satisfied, so I will now present it to you. The topic that has left me so stymied is this: Why do people insist on referring to certain garments as "assless chaps?"

[Aside: yes, this comes up. I have friends (you know who you are) who like to bandy about the term in question somewhat frequently, typically in an effort to disturb those foolish enough to listen to them. I am sometimes one of those fools.]

I know this is the type of question that keeps people awake at nights, and I hope our bringing the subject out into the open will help avoid some of those difficult and annoying tossings and turnings. I wonder about it because I have often (by which I mean about once a year) heard someone use the phrase, and it always ejects me from whatever conversation is actually going on by causing me to think, "Aren't chaps assless by definition?" Seriously, aren't chaps those leather things that cowboys wear to protect their legs from ... something? Aren't they worn over pants? Aren't they like pants with a significant part missing? You don't ever hear about assful chaps. I did some research here, and it looks like I had pretty much the right idea.

Both times this discussion happened, the people I talked with thought that "assless chaps" referred to the chaps MINUS the pants. Naturally, I think it's a misnomer if that's the case. They should be called pantsless chaps. (Or trouserless chaps, for you Brits out there -- not that it seems right that Brits might wear chaps.)

Ultimately, I guess "assless" is funnier than "pantsless." Plus, "assless" is in general a concept that one doesn't hear about a lot. Other possibilities spring to mind, though: chaps without ass, butt-baring chaps, and cornhole cutaways (OK, so that one didn't involve the word "chaps," but it made me chuckle).

I'm just not sure. Next time you see a cowboy, ask him what he calls them.

Back to My Roots

2007-01-11T09:17:00.000-05:00

Why, hello there! I feel like I haven't talked to you in forEVa. Well, forever is a bit of a stretch, but it's been quite a while. Really, I've been suffering from a bit of writer's block for while (probably exacerbated by the fact that calling myself a writer is playing fast and loose with the spirit of the term). Couple that with some object-at-rest type of inertia, and you haven't read a peep out of me. All I have to say about that is this: peep.

All seriousness aside, though, it's tough sometimes to decide what to write about. I don't really want to write about college hoops all the time (although it does occupy a good portion of my brain these days), maybe because I don't want to mess with the Hoosiers' recent run or to think about the Wahoos' struggles of late. And I don't want to get into writing about the AFC Championship-bound Colts, either. So I'm thinking that sports is out.

I also have had trouble following up my X-mas story, given that I am highly amused by the whole thing. So what is an Abs to do in the face of such a conundrum? After much deep brain things going on inside my head, I have decided to get back to my roots. At least my roots as far as the Chronicles are concerned. What are those roots, you ask? Facial hair.

That's right. Lest we forget, my goatee (more specifically, it's removal) is what actually started things here at the Chronicles, and we have managed to write more than a reasonable number of posts about it. Still, why would I try to write about it again? Simple: THE GOAT IS BACK.

That's right, I have re-grown my goatee. After about 1.5 years without it, I have decided that I missed it too much to go on, and I took advantage of the time off of work at X-mas to allow it to take hold. I like seeing the goateed version of myself in the mirror these days. Plus, my chin is warmer. The Girl, on the other hand doesn't really know what to think about it. Having never seen it on me before now, it's a bit of an adjustment. From time to time she will cover my goatal area with her hand "just to make sure [I'm] still in there."

So I face the new year with a warmer and fuzzier face. What else I face it with I will talk about in a future post. For now, enjoy your weekend.

P.S. Go Horse!

P.P.S. Go Hoosiers!

P.P.P.S. Go Hoos!

P.P.P.P.S. In gathering the old posts about the goatee, I went back and applied some of Blogger's nice new labels to the old writings to group them together. Unfortunately, doing so moved them to the top of the site's feed. So, to the two of you who actually use the feed, sorry about that. Sadly, I don't think there's anything for it. Moreover, I expect to be doing more of that in the future. So sorry in advance.

P.P.P.P.P.S. Again, I say: peep.

A Bizarro Rockwell X-mas

2007-01-01T21:50:00.000-05:00

Maybe for you, like for the people who make Hallmark commercials, the idea of Christmas conjures Norman Rockwell-ish images of families cozily gathered around the warm glow of a fire, rosy-faced and gazing at each other fondly with the twinkle of lights on the tree behind them, with Sister carefully opening a present while Brother, Mom, Dad, and Grandma all watch in eager anticipation. Doesn’t that just sound like Christmas to you?

It doesn’t to me. I think more of people doing 85 different things at once, telling off-color jokes and making fun of each other in a way that typically escalates into some enthusiastic expectorations of, “Sheeeeeeiiiiiiitttttt,” or, “Well, now, goddammit…” Don’t get the wrong idea. People aren’t being mean or evil, and it’s not like the kind of stuff you see on Cops: Naughty or Nice. It’s all in good fun, and everyone laughs a lot. We just generally have somewhat skewed senses of humor. For example, my mom gets a kick out of involving Granny in different things. She’s always telling me how she “took Mother to Texas” or “took your granny for a boat ride” or something like that. I know that doesn’t sound all that odd at first, but the thing is that my granny is dead. So Mom is really talking about doing those things with Granny’s ashes. Weird, huh? I think so, but it’s weird in a creepy but funny sort of way. And Mama Abs refuses to believe that it’s even a little bit creepy. People who aren’t amused by it clearly don’t have senses of humor, according to her. However, I think it’s kind of a tired joke at this point because Granny died 10 and a half years ago, and they’ve been carting those ashes around ever since. (My uncle once put the ashes on a bar at the Elks lodge where Granny used to hang out and asked random people there, "You wanna buy my mother a drink?") Making it even weirder is that it’s really just half of Granny’s ashes doing these things at this point, as the other half have been buried or scattered or something. Sometimes, Mom will even “put Mother under the Christmas tree” (the ashes are in a goldish box with a ribbon on it). Sigh. I guess Granny did always like Christmas. All that is by way of explaining that I think it’s safe to say that Mr. Rockwell didn’t spend any time at my folks’ house at Christmas time. Or if he did, he sure as hell didn’t paint pictures about it.

Take this Christmas, for example. Instead of a traditional gift exchange, we decided to try a Yankee Swap type of thing with my step-dad’s family. The short explanation is that everyone brings a gift and puts it under the tree. Then everyone draws a number. The person with number 1 chooses and unwraps a gift from under the tree, then the person with number 2 can either take number 1’s present causing number 1 to pick and unwrap a new present, or number 2 picks and unwraps a new present. Et cetera. I’ve tried this with lots of different groups, and they often don’t get into the spirit of the thing, which can be summed up in one word: "MINE!". These folks who don't get into the proper spirit think it’s “mean” to “steal” someone else’s present, so it ends up being just a gift drawing. Booooorrrrriiiiinnnnnggggg. I knew that this family group would have no trouble with those types of hang-ups, and it would be a good time. I wasn’t disappointed.

There were some growing pains as people got into the flow of this kind of gift exchange. I got hosed by drawing number 2, so I didn’t expect to end up with a good present. What I unwrapped when it was my turn was a handful of little glass things that Mom told everyone were “salt dips.” I don’t know what that means, and I don’t want to, but the kicker was that these glass thingies were once my step-dad’s mom’s property, thus making them heirlooms, I guess. Having heard that, I thought there was a good chance that someone would steal them from me or at least give me something more interesting for them afterwards like, say, a pack of matches.

After I unwrapped the glass dip thingies, Mom was explaining to everyone (about 15 people) what they were and where they came from. As that explanation wound down, my step-dad’s grandson’s fiancée (or should I say my step-sister’s son’s fiancée? how about step-nephew’s fiancée? whatever, you get the idea), who is a nice, sweet girl who recently graduated with a degree in Mortuary Science – no, I am not making this up – decided to move things along and grabbed a gift to open. Not many people noticed, though, as there was a general hubbub about the dip thingies and who wanted them (not me) and how there were other family heirlooms to consider among the gifts under the tree. However, the to-be-step-niece-in-law got everyone’s attention by holding her newly unwrapped gift – a bag of some indeterminate material – aloft, patting it, and asking, “What is this? Is this a joke?” Everyone in the room looked confused as they tried to figure out what it was. Apparently, it was a joke, as evidenced by my brother and I nearly collapsing in fits of laughter when we realized what it was. Then, Mama Abs started laughing. The to-be-wife-of-my-step-dad’s-grandson wanted to know what we were laughing at, but we couldn’t tell her just then, due to all the laughing we had to do.

Finally, gasping and stuttering in between guffaws, I said, “Those. Are. My grandmother’s. Ashes. Half of them anyway.”

Hilarity ensued from there, and I imagine a weird and possibly creepy family tradition was born. And why not? Granny always did like Christmas.

To her credit the girl in question laughed about it, too. And, yes, she was allowed to grab another gift. And, no, I didn’t get stuck with the glass salt things. I got a DVD. So everybody won.

Can you imagine that in a Norman Rockwell painting?

Me neither.

Monday Night Chronicles

2006-12-18T21:29:00.000-05:00

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

2006-12-12T13:08:00.000-05:00

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

2006-12-05T23:04:00.000-05:00

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

2006-12-05T11:30:00.000-05:00

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

2006-11-20T17:21:00.000-05:00

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)

2006-11-14T17:28:00.000-05:00

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.