Darth Weasel Jedi Mind tricks you

So when IS a good time for that?

2012-01-21T09:20:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I walked around the corner in a very busy place and walked by an individual engaged in a rather intense conversation he was trying to keep pseudo-private...I say pseudo-private because if he really wanted it to be private he would have taken advantage of one of the 4 or 5 conference rooms on the floor and closed the door.

Anyway, as I walked by I heard him saying in hushed volume but strained, intense tones, "I MEAN it. This isn't a good time for THIS."

All sorts of things he could have been discussing of course but my first inclination is it had to do with some sort of interpersonal relationship difficulty.

Fair enough, most if not all of us have had disagreements with our friends or loved ones. But I am going to go out on a limb here and say the best of us are those for whom those are rare, hard work goes into resolving them, and one more basic truth.

There really ISN'T a good time for that. Those argumentative moments are a clear indication the process broke down somewhere. Someone was too rigid or insensitive...instead of putting the other person first, they behaved in a manner that led to conflict.

And admittedly those are sometimes unavoidable...different believe systems, for example, can lead to different approaches or beliefs on what is the right answer.

For example, there is a very prominent social issue on which my wife and I do not see eye to eye. My take on it comes from my study of, belief in, and understanding of Scripture. I do not presume to know where she bases her take on the situation from...it is enough to know the source is different.

Our views on it are so diametrically opposed it would be like one person saying "tennis is fun" and the other person saying "tennis is miserable".

Not too long ago she posted a comment about the actual issue on a public forum giving me a couple options; one, I could start a public discussion which, do to the emotional nature of responses that would follow, would become an intense and serious argument.

Or I could take the tact of not responding to it....those who know us both know how we each believe on the subject and can make their own decisions. It has been discussed many times in the past and another time of discussing the same points of view will accomplish nothing. Which is what I said...nothing.

My point here is I believe that was an example of putting the other person first. It would have been quite easy for a simple post/comment to escalate into a major argument, which many relationships encounter.

At the same time, neither she nor I have given up trying to convince the other that their position is wrong. And yes, there is a time and place for it...but those times and places can involve calm, reasoned discussion instead of harsh words, bitter tones, and things said that need not have been.

But there is a further point. The individual who is in a public place...work, the mall, a restaurant, etc., who encounters the phone call to discuss a tension filled issue is at a severe disadvantage in society. The other party in the argument deserves a certain amount of blame for choosing a time and place that hamstrings the other person do to exterior considerations.

A post like this one is always difficult to conclude. There are a lot more things I could say and a lot of ways I could draw it all together. But in the end I guess it comes down to this;

Conflict should be prevented when possible, minimized when not, and dealt with in the proper time and place. Which, by the way, is seldom if ever in public.

The Caloric Myth

2012-01-19T21:56:00.000-08:00

3500 calories = 1 pound. Eat 3500 calories more than your maintenance weight, you gain a pound. Eat 3500 calories under your maintenance weight, you lose a pound. Exercise an extra 3500 calories and you lose a pound.

These are the hard and fast, iron-clad truths of weight. That is the math.

Except it isn't. This idea has been kicking around my head for a while, and I finally figured it out.

See, they say that when you eat affects your weight also. And what types of foods you eat.

But most importantly, there is the feared "plateau" where you are doing everything right...eating less than your maintenance calories, exercising the proper amount, etc., but the weight does not come off because your body has adjusted to it.

Your body has adjusted to it...the 3500 calorie thing is a myth. It is there to fool suckers like me into thinking if we do what we are supposed to, watch what we eat, exercise, that pounds will come off. And when they don't it gets discouraging.

And it is based on a lie.

3500 calories does not equal a pound. It only does so in some circumstances. I was robbed. I demand a recount.

Okay, I recounted. There are now 3 calories in a chocolate cake slice. I am off to consume 12 calories. See you soon.

What happened?

2012-01-16T20:56:00.000-08:00

For the last two years I have been getting into better and better shape. Two years ago Fluffy the Cat and I (some of you may know him better as Robert Tres, Atilla the Honey Bear, or simply not know him at all) started riding bikes a lot.

It helped my running stamina appreciably.

This past year we were more aggressive about it, riding 30+ miles nearly every weekend and even the occasional mid-week day.

On top of that, I started playing tennis. A lot of tennis.

Some of it was casual ball-striking with Mr. Riot Kitty and Riot Kitty herself. Some was casual doubles with members of the softball team or slightly more aggressive singles action with various members.

Some was intense action with a Romanian who, at the beginning of the year was better than me and by the end of the year I dominated him so completely he did not want to finish the set.

The thing is...with all the biking and softball playing and tennis playing with some basketball mixed in, I was in tremendous shape.

At one point I played over two hours of tennis three nights in a row, including one where I biked for an hour after the tennis, and felt I could have played even longer with ease.

I have developed what is, for a 40 year old guy who was in awful shape just 2 years ago, unbelievable.

Tonight I was playing racquetball and 10 minutes in...I had a side-ache, I was fatigued, out of steam.

I have no excuse, no explanation. I played racquetball last Thursday and Saturday and have relaxed other than that. It is crazy and makes no sense at all.

The only saving grace is I had two huge comebacks and won both games we finished...but I am more than a bit concerned at my fatigue.

*Sigh.* Some of us are never happy.

Why picky eaters are more awesome than you

2012-01-14T20:49:00.000-08:00

I am a notoriously picky eater. If it has relish, mustard, mayonnaise, catch-up...well, okay, any condiment other than salt and butter, i do not eat it.

If it has beans...well, okay, ANY vegetable...I do not eat it.

If it looks or smells nasty...I do not eat it.

And so forth.

Now, you might think this is a bad thing. You would be wrong.

See, when it comes to restaurants, my life is infinitely more awesome than yours.

Let me explain.

Have you ever gone to a restaurant, carefully looked over the menu, agonized between two or three fine choices, ordered, and then, when the food arrives, had the onset of buyers' remorse?

You look at the delectable plate set in front of your dining companion(s) and realized you made a wrong choice?

That has never...ever...ever... happened to me.

No indeed. I look at their plates and think, "I sure know what I like. I definitely made the right choice for me. In fact, their food makes me want to hurl."

Jealousy at a restaurant, thy name is never mine. I am just cool like that.

Drag Racing for Idiots

2012-01-03T19:59:00.000-08:00

I am never especially fond of people drag racing on city streets. It is dangerous and pointless.

Because I drive a "muscle car" a lot of people feel compelled to challenge me. My standard response is to poke off the line so slowly I could be passed by a pseudopod with a broken pod.

Most of the people I see jumping off the line are driving one of three types of rigs; a similar muscle car...Mustang, Charger, etc....or a rice burner...or an oversize pick-up with a big engine.

I may not like the drag racing...but at least I get it with those. The races I do not get are those like the one I observed today. Sadly, it was one I saw coming.

I was at the top of an on-ramp with 2 left turn lanes. Shortly after the turn as you proceed on Walker towards Allen it narrow to one lane.

So the car in front of me (and behind the car first in line) was about a 2002 rusted out powder blue Geo Metro. The car at the front of the right lane was about a 1990 rusted out VW station wagon of some sort. Maybe a Volvo.

Both of these fine automobiles have a top speed of about 35 mph and can easily go zero to 10 mph in something like 30 seconds. They are built for many things...being the butt of jokes, decent to good fuel mileage, not having good survivability in accidents...but speed and quickness are not high on their list of attributes.

Now, anyone with even the faintest modicum of common courtesy...or good sense...knows the proper protocol here is for car 1 in our lane (the closer, therefore "shorter" lane) to go, then the outside lane, then the inside lane and so forth, alternating in this manner.

But as soon as the light turned green the Metro gunned it. Leaping forward with the speed and power of a broken squirt gun, he manfully tried to muster enough speed on the uphill left turn sprint to impede the wagon from getting ahead of him.

Not to be outdone, the wagon whipped its crippled gerbil into a frenzy. "Go gerbil, go!" the driver could be heard exhorting his powerful engine.

Seeing the wagon was trying to stop him from stopping the wagon from taking its rightful place in the line of traffic, the geo pushed his second foot through the floorboard so he could run with both feet Fred Flintstone style.

It was a good thing he had forgotten his shoe because the first car in our lane was unaware of the drama unfolding behind him as they drag-raced each other in the life and death struggle to save almost an entire second of travel time. As a result he was proceeding in a safe, sane, non-drag racing off the line manner.

Either that or he was laughing so hard at the pathetic race unfolding behind him he was unable to apply sufficient force to his accelerator to speed away from the pack.

Anyhow, the lane narrowed to one. I waited with bated breath...and a foot near the brake...to see who would win this scintillating speed duel between the 25 mph drag racers.

I am happy/sad to report the Metro failed in his endeavor to out-jerk the other driver and was compelled to see the wagon merge into the space he should have had from the beginning.

This high-speed race covered almost a block in about 35 seconds. I think I could actually have traversed the same distance in the same time on my bike if I so desired.

And that is without drag racing.

So people, please, if you are going to put the hammer down...please do not do it in vehicles incapable of outrunning the guy with the walker from the Office. At least have a car capable of leaving some rubber on the pavement.

Because that was honestly about the most pointless vehicular duel I have ever seen.

And I kind of hope to see another one like it because I need a good laugh every now and again.

Drew Versus the Bathtub Round 2: The Spouts Revenge

2011-12-17T21:55:00.000-08:00

I have mentioned in teh past various incidents displaying somewhat less than a high level of home-repari competence...such as this hilarious story about being defeated by a bathtub drain.

This seems like a great time for a completely (seemingly) random diversion.

I have been quite a busy athlete this year. I have biked hundreds of miles. I have played numerous sets of tennis. I have played several hours of racquetball. I have lifted weights every other day since June with very few exceptions.

Furthermore, I have been a very...what is a word for "stupid" or "risk-taking"? Oh, I know...a stupid, risk-taking athelete.

I seldom warm up for weight-lifting, just start out with my strongest lift. I do not stretch after athletic endeavors. I do not always wait long enough between athletic events to allow my body proper rest. I do not wear a helmet while biking. The list goes on.

I have also been a very...what is a word meaning lucky? Oh, yes, unbelievably blessed athlete. No wrecks on the bike, no pulled muscles or injuries any more serious than a quick bout with tennis elbow which healed itself almost overnight.

Thus ends the digression.

This morning I went to the gym and did a power-lifting routing starting with the most difficult lift I have ever attempted (and powered through three full sets of even though i knew it was too much after the first rep in the first set). I also used two new machines, thus meaning I worked out longer than normal.

I wanted to stretch after the workout. The best science on the subject, contrary to popular belief, shows that athletes who stretch after strenuous activity have fewer injuries than those who stretch before...who, somewhat counter-intuitively, actually have MORE injuries than even those who do not stretch at all.

Not knowing proper stretch form, I wanted to stretch in private, not in the hustle and bustle of the main Globo-Gym (La Fitness reminds me a great deal of Globo Gym in the movie Dodgeball (2004)). So I stepped onto the basketball court for some private stretching.

Being the wise, intelligent, good-head-on-his-shoulders person I so clearly am, I instead picked up a ball and proceeded to do a cardio-busint shootaround that had the sweat dripping. I then left without doing the stretches.

I ate a healthy, nutritious power-breakfast of Cini-Minis and French Toast sticks from Burger King, washed down with the equally healthy Dr. Pepper, then went and played tennis for 2-1/2 hours.

I was feeling great, feeling energized. I went home to shower before heading out to St. Helens for the family Christmas.

I reached up to get the shaving cream. It started to fall. I yanked my good foot out of the way of the falling can, terrified it would fall on my toes and break them. It then occurred to me that my left foot, the one with plantar fasciitis and near-constant tendon fatigue, was in mortal danger.

With lightning-like reflexes I jerked it out of the way. Unfortunately, the lightning whose reflexes I borrowed had fizzled. So it was not as quick as I might have liked.

Actually, it was too quick and I ended up ninja-kicking the tub spout. Unfortunately, kicking with the strength of a ninja but not the toughness can lead to issues...such as the 3" long, 1-1/2" wide gash I bashed open in the side of my foot.

It instantly swelled to about an inch out.

Want to see a picture?

Fair warning...it is disgusting. Turn away now if you have a weak stomach.

You have been warned.

All that red stuff is not supposed to be red. No clue what the white stuff is.

I still went to St. Helens. There I learned my sock had stuck to it, so it was even prettier.

Fortunately the swelling appears to have gone down, but the fact remains...after all the risks I take in athletic endeavors, I think it is pretty funny to cripple myself trying to shave and ninja-kicking the tub spout instead of doing it more reasonably...like when I actually deserve an injury...............................

I ask you to spread the word about LA Fitness

2011-12-03T11:17:00.000-08:00

Last June I signed up as a member at Ballys. It was a very good deal.

Here is what was promised;
1) Purchase 2 years, get a third year free
2) Unlimited access to all clubs
3) All amenities at each facility are included.

I have enjoyed my time there. I have learned to build a workout routine on the weights. I have shot baskets. And, as of last Thursday, I started playing racquetball.

Something else happened Thursday. When I went into the club Thursday, they were changing out memberships to LA Fitness because that organization purchased Ballys. They promised that all the Ballys things were transferring over.

Ok, fine, no problem, I am fine with that. I get what was promised and paid for.

They were having a hard time finding me in their system, so today I went in to change it over, which I had to do at LA Fitness.

And they told me of a few changes.
1) They are NOT honoring the free year.
2) I now have access to one club.
3) They charge an extra 10 dollars per month to use the racquetball courts.

So now the cost of my basic membership increased by 34% for fewer clubs and fewer amenities. If I want to continue to play racquetball, it will cost me an additional 30%. And they are trying to convince me that is fair.

Lets do the math. I paid about 399 dollars to use all facilities for 3 years. I am now paying 399 dollars to use most of one facility for 2 years.

Instead of $11 per month for full access....which is what I was promised and paid for...I am now at 16.63/month for fewer locations and, if I want full access, that price rises to 26.63 a month.

It is not fair, it is theft. They are not delivering what was promised and paid for.

What is that awesome, somewhat cleaned up phrase people like? "Don't urinate on me and tell me it is raining."

Don't deliver less than promised and paid for and say it is "so it is fair for everyone". Let me tell you what is fair; deliver the services contracted initially.

So I ask anybody who can to spread the word about the disingenuous practices being engaged in by LA Fitness.

And I can assure you if this is not rectified, they will never see another penny of mine when this membership runs out. I am happy to report my membership was paid in full, so Ballys already got that money. The only money LA Fitness might see is if I find enough racquetball partners to ensure a couple games a week in which case I will try to split the fee with them.

No point cutting off my nose to spite my face.

But every time I walk in that door, I know I will be bitter about them taking away what I paid for and trying to convince me it was a good thing.

A bitter taste like that will last a life time.

OK, I admit it...I am excited

2011-11-30T21:28:00.000-08:00

One of the things the Goose would change about me if she could is I just do not get excited about much. When I look forward to things it is casual at best...honestly, in my life it seems the more I have looked forward to an event, the more disappointing it has generally been.

Example; though I vastly prefer riding with friends, on occasion I want to really push myself, test myself, see where I am at on a ride, which is firmly at odds with my preferred riding style with Fluffy the Cat where a more leisurely pace replete with conversation and stops to enjoy the scenery is more in order.

So when opportunity presented itself, I looked forward to it with relish, only to be greeted with an astounding level of disappointment.

If you want to go further back, I once went on a trip to Universal Studios Florida/Disneyworld/cruise to the Bahamas which arguably was the seed of my first marriage dissolving. Yeah, that is taking something I looked forward to and turning it into a disaster (though a blessing in disguise...had that marriage not disappeared, I would not have been blessed with my awesome wife I currently enjoy. But still...hard to call that trip anything other than a huge disappointment.)

So at some point I just...stopped. Oh, sure, I plan things and enjoy them, but I have trained myself not to look forward to them too much because...well...expectations = disappointments.

So with that preamble, let me just say...I am super excited for tomorrow.

I have been planning it for weeks, thinking about it a lot, prepping for it...I went to the library to get a book which I have been studiously reading.

I went shopping on black Friday. I spent a few pennies less than a hundred bucks getting ready for it.

Tomorrow, for the first time in something like 22 years I step onto a racquetball court.

I love the competition, sure...but even more than that, I love running and hitting the ball, getting to shots I have no right to get to, sweating rivers, and demonstrating athleticism.

I cannot truly put into words how much I am looking forward to it.

I always enjoyed playing racquetball and, in the cold, rainy winter months, having the opportunity to do so again has me in a place I seldom go...I am genuinely excited.

Yeah, I went there. Raquetball sex joke approaching

2011-11-25T10:45:00.000-08:00

I am sometimes accused of being a very bright, mature individual. I am highly offended by that. I am not, was not, will not be mature. I love movies like Despicable Me far too much.

Well, today being Black Friday, I did what most bitter-sweet, radalicious super cool immature Americans do...I went to the gym. Got in an extra long workout including looking at a couple new machines. The little lady wants a Wii and a blue one at that...insert your own water-related Wii/wee joke here. I am saving my tastelessness for one spectacular explosion. And remember that word...

Well, the Game Stop by the gym had 2 customers including me and 3 staff. But despite my asking them three times if they had a specific game and saying I could not find it, they would not help me look for it even though they claimed to have it in stock.

On a note completely unrelated to that craptacular customer service, I did not purchase the Wii I had in my hands.

So I decided to swing by Performance Bike. On my way there, I noticed the parking lot at Best Buy was not packed so I stopped in. They were out of any color Wii. But in the same complex is a Sports Authority or Big Five, or some chain sporting goods store.

Time for an aside. Since Oregon has started its rainy season and we will see rain for the next 9 or 10 straight months, tennis season is done. So a couple people I know who are also Ballys members have agreed to play some racquetball with me. That is why I went to S.A.

Well, they had a nice wall of rackets. My intention was to get a cheap 15 dollar racket, a can of balls and call it good.

Another aside, this for those who do not know my current situation and to get in a cheap joke. Until March or later, my wife is working in Nebraska.

Sure enough, I found some racquetball balls cheap. So I was walking around the store with a couple cans.

Not knowing too much about racquetball equipment, I asked the pretty young associate what she would recommend.

She went to the wall and found a tremendous deal and recommended that one. So yeah, right there as I was standing in the middle of the store with my blue balls in my hand she gave me Head.

Hey B...you are really fast food and thanks for nothing, you twits

2011-11-23T22:53:00.000-08:00

So the self-conscious elitist fast-food joint next to my place has a signboard. Oh, they do not think of themself as fast food. They charge 9 or 10 bucks for fish and chips that are fish patties drpped in oil. They charge 6 bucks for a turkey burger. (8 bucks at Red Robin, by the way...and about 20 times better tasting at least. I tried one of the fast food turkey burgers and about puked. Horrific. And expensive. ) They like to think they are a sit down restaurant with sit down prices and fast-food times and quality.

Back to the sign board. It has cost them some business from me.

For example, when they put up stuff I find highly offensive...like their "omg" text speak...I spend my food dollars elsewhere at a minimum until they take it down. I would much rather hear a dozen f-bombs and find that much less objectionable on every level.

In a way, they topped themself. They recently said sopmething along the lines of, "Help a veteran, for every (sweet potato fry?) sold, we will donate .25 to the Salvation Army."

Really? Idiots.

News flash from those of us with functioning brain cells. Donating to Goodwill helps vets as much as donating to Salvation Army.

the Salvation Army, since you seem unaware of this, is NOT, I repeat NOT a real army. And veterans have no connection for it.

This has been a free service offered whoever the tool is who came up with that sign.

Yeah...I rock

2011-11-19T22:41:00.001-08:00

We had a work party tonight for the holidays. Traditionally I have been extremely shy about going to functions like these.

Honestly, just because I WORK with someone does not mean I wish to HANG OUT with them.

Of course, there are exceptions...I really enjoyed my golf outings with the people I worked with at my former employer, for example.

But for the most part when I am not actually working, there are people I would rather hang out with on my own time.

With the new job I have consciously and deliberately been trying to change that...interacting more on a personal level, learning about the people as people instead of just co-workers.

So even though the Goose is in Nebraska still, I went to the party.

It was great. I was talking to one guy, making a few smart-aleck remarks as I am wont to do, and after a few minutes of joking around and laughing together, I asked if he was with our company or was there as the guest of one of the workers.

To which he replied, "Oh, I am the new CO..."

Oops.

It would not be so bad if this were a one time occurrence. But see, a few weeks ago, i was about to get on the elevator to head home, another guy was waiting and, me being me, I made a few off-the-cuff smart-aleck remarks as I am obviously adept at.

As we were exiting the elevator, I said my name and asked his...yep, you guessed it...he was the co at the time.

Anyhow, we recently acquired a new company based down south. The two main guys from that branch were here for the party and I spent a while talking to one, getting to know him. During the conversation he gave me one of the finest compliments I have ever received.

You see, I had huge doubts about taking this new position. It involves doing some things I have never done before and I did not know how I would learn to do them. So for the first month, maybe month and a half I was nervous that I would not be good at the job and they might get rid of me.

The longer I am there the better I think I am at the job, and the more confident I am in general. In fact, recently I assessed the market and a major change that is coming. I then wrote a short note to our division, telling them what I think is going to happen and how it should be handled.

This guy had read that and said, "From the outside looking at it, I was thinking, 'This guy really knows his stuff, he is really sharp'".

It is one thing to THINK I am "getting it" and doing a good job. It is another thing entirely to hear something like that unsolicited from someone like that.

I am on cloud nine tonight.

The Ones who hit the hardest

2011-10-22T07:20:00.000-07:00

Wow, been longer than I realized since I ventured into the electronic realm. Things have changed vastly since I took my new job. Also, I am spending large amounts of time reading, biking, hitting balls, working out...and less time writing. Probably more over the winter.

So I sit here this morning pondering one of the great questions of life; to Cinnabon or not to cinnabon.

We all know one of the great joys in life is devouring a warm, dripping with butter cinnabon washed down with the nectar of the Greek gods, Mountain Dew.

Opposite that indisputable, iron-clad ultimate TRUTH, is the inconvenience that to acquire said perfection would require traversing nearly 2.3 miles of road, round trip. Is perfection worthy of effort? I will have to get back to you on that.

Meanwhile, I wish to express my dissatisfaction.

The old saying goes, "Don't judge a book by its cover."

Fair enough. I should think you can, however, divine somewhat of a book's intent by the title.

The Ones Who Hit the Hardest; The STEELERS, The COWBOYS, the '70s, and the FIGHT for AMERICA'S SOUL by Chad Millman and Shawn Coyne.

At the risk of losing many readers, the Cowboys have been my favorite football team ever since when I was about 8 my foster brother Larry let me read his football digest. reading about the thrilling exploits of guys with cool names like Tony Dorsett, Roger Staubach, Preston and Drew Pearson...plus, having always loved the west, westerns, cowboys, etc., the name resonated with me.

Knowing what I do about the game of football and the cities of Pittsburgh and Dallas, it was obvious from the title this book was meant to explore the battle to see if America would be blue-collar, rugged, hard working or flashy, shallow, glitzy, white-collar.

The book starts well, explaining the steel industry that drove the growth of Pittsburgh...and the misery of working in it, being locked into a mill for your entire life by the system designed to essentially turn the workers into industry slaves. It is a dark corner of our nations history that should and does still bring shame, even though it is far in the past when conditions were like that.

It then starts explaining how the football Steelers were built.

The way the book is formatted, it will discuss unionizing issues in the steel industries such as who was leading the unions, the path taken by the Steelers as they developed their dominating teams of the 70s, and occasional flashes to how the Cowboys were founded by oil money, how they built their team.

It just never finished or delivered on the promise. It allowed the unionizing story to peter out. It universally praised everything Steeler and killed everything Cowboy. I could live with that if it delved into the issues surrounding why the Steelers and Cowboys were different and would appeal to different fan bases.

I could have forgiven the shortcomings if it looked at any of the issues or completed any of the lines of inquiry they began.

Instead it is just a series of episodic writing about specific elections, specific drafts, and specific games without ever addressing the underlying issues which were promised in caps on the jacket cover.

It is rare a book disappoints me so much that I rail against it...but this one managed it. I would not care if it had not shown so much promise...but promise unfulfilled is so much more disappointing.

I know it isn't "real" but I am still proud

2011-09-10T11:21:00.000-07:00

This has been a busy, exercise filled week. And this morning I biked to the gym, did my weight work, then rode aimlessly until I totaled 20+ miles 9actually netted just over 21) and went home.

Weighed myself.

Now lets point out going in...I engaged in heavy exercise last night for over 2 hours in 90 degree heat. I know that artifically depressed my weight already.

I scratched out a super-healthy breakfast of cake smothered in milk.

I then rode to the gym, worked out, and rode about an hour and ten minutes more.

Coming off this exercise, my weight will be artificially depressed.

I know that. I know my "real" weight is probably 4 to 6 pounds more.

But...when I hopped on the scale for the first time in memory it registered 219.5. Under 220.

220 is a major, major, major goal for me. For the last few weeks I have been plateaud between 224 and 228, bouncing back and forth.

Just to see the numbers on the scale, even knowing they will not stick, is so exciting to me it gives me hope and energizes me.

Just thought I would share my excitement.

Politcs at its bets; the Obama explanation for the earthquake

2011-09-03T14:19:00.000-07:00

It is no big secret I am not a fan of the current president. I do not care for his fiscal policies, his moral stances, or what often appears to be a very disingenuous approach to many issues.

To save time, back the above phrase up to include the prior 2-term president...and the 2 term predident before him...and the one term president before him...

I am detecting a pattern here. Nor am I the only one to hold this view, except i am in the minority in thinking both parties are complete and total wastes of human flesh who do far more damage than good.

It sure seems like when the Republicans are in power the Democrats spend all their time explaining how everything wrong with the country and/or world is the fault of the current administration.

It also seems like when the Democrats are in power the Republicans spend all their time explaining how everything wrong with the country and/or world is the fault of the current administration.

And this is true from the highest levels of power on down to the drooling simpleton who punches his party ticket cuz hes a repiblidemocrat or whatever his party is. Why think for himself when he can simply see his parties name and vote for their candidate, no matter how odious that candidate is?

Sam Adams, anyone? I have mentioned before I am sure how at PSU the class was extremely left-wing and talking about the evils of Bush and how the populacve needed to educate itself so they would never vote for any Republican...

and then, almost without exception, bragging about knowing nothing about Sam Adams but voting for him because he had the same name as a beer.

How did that turn out for you, morons?

Anyway, all of the above is a lead-in to an e-mail joke I got that I thought was pretty hysterically funny. the grain of truth found within is what makes it great.

**************************************************************

President Obama has just confirmed that the DC earthquake occurred on a rare and obscure fault-line, apparently known as "Bush's Fault".

Obama also announced that the Secret Service and Maxine Waters continues an investigation of the quake's suspicious ties to the Tea Party.

Conservatives however have proven that it was caused by the founding fathers rolling over in their graves.

********************************************

And with the joke out of the way, let me say this about the problems in the country today. If you voted for any person now serving as a major party member in the Oval Office, either house of national Congress, your state assembly, your local governor/mayor/city council/judge/law officer/dog catcher/biscuit eating gold-digger of the month...IT IS REALLY YOUR FAULT.

The Epitome of Sexy

2011-08-30T21:26:00.000-07:00

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Or, in the case of drunken one-night stands wherein you wake the next morning to find a wart-covered troll with a nasty head cold somehow replaced the smoking, hard-bodied beautiful person you picked up in the bar last night, beauty is in the eye of the beer-holder.*

With that said, there are certain things which seem to be generally accepted by the population at large to be "sexy".

Like cheerleaders.**

Strippers.***

Little girls.
Wait, stay with me on this one. can somebody please explain to me why a grown woman in knee-high socks, pleated skirt, and pig-tails is "sexy" when to me it screams out pre-teen school girl who wants to play those hand-slapping games and tetherball.

What am I missing? Why is it hot to fantasize that your grown paramour is someone with whom intimate relations = statutory rape? Color me confused with that one.

But it gets...well, I do not know if worse is correct, but certainly no better than a lateral move.

Many of us use terms of endearment. Honey. Sugar. Sweetie. Babe. Ho.

Wait a second..what is up with people calling and/or allowing themselves to be called pimp/ho/bitch?

These are derogatory terms indicative of classless, bottom dwelling pond-scum who sully the name of decent people everywhere.

Talking about your girlfriend as your ho is downright disgusting, not sexy. Yay, you rent her favors out for money. Go you! Enjoy the extra company. You spend a lot of time at the beach? Just curious where the crabs your ho has came from. Are they freshwater?

But wait, you are the pimp...you hire the girls out for their favors for money...much better, he said sarcastically.

But there is one term of endearment that creeps me out worse than all of the above.

Why on earth is it "sexy" for someone to say, "Who is your daddy" or for the girl to call her man "daddy"?

Father-daughter intimate relationships are a good idea, not downright nasty, creepy, disgusting and repulsive?

And I do not even want to think about the 30-something wearing the pleated skirt, knee-high socks and pigtails asking Daddy to spank her.

But I am glad I could implant that image in your head. you are welcome, there will be no extra charge for that service.

There is really no point to this rambling except to get off a few cheap jokes, get a few laughs...and retch over some of the things you perverts find sexy.

* NOT the voice of experience.

** Absolutely true. Cheerleaders are, the great majority of the time, smoking hot and worthy of eye-time.

*** Over-rated. And usually carrying several scary uninvited travelers which can make the rest of your life much less pleasant. Kind of like my ex-wife...except prettier.

Smoke on the water

2011-08-15T21:42:00.000-07:00

When I first started working out in the gym it was frankly terrifying. Outside of one week in my senior year of high school I had literally never lifted weights. Not free weights, not machine weights. Nothing,

Learning how to use the machines was a bit intimidating at first. But I have a goal and part of that means working out 3.5 times a week.

I was working so hard on figuring things out I took a notebook to the gym and after each machine i would record what the name of the lift was, how much weight, how many reps, and if it was too easy, too hard, or just right.

After lacking any motivation whatsoever Saturday and failing in every goal I had set except catching up on watching Hard Knocks I decided to make my regularly scheduled workout Sunday afternoon a punishing workout. After all, not even getting out of the apartment Saturday was...well...pathetic.

So I did. I did a stout warmup, pumping out between 165 and 200 watts for 15 minutes on the stationary bike to loosen up.

Then I started in on the machines.

And on the first machine, I set a new personal record for max weight. This new record, by the way, is 50% heavier than the weight I lifted on this machine the first time I lifted. And managed to lift that same amount through all three sets. Never before have I lifted the same weight all three sets...I have always had to decrease it.

Then I did the second machine...and the same story. personal record for max weight, managed to complete three sets at that weight.

In fact, on 6 separate machines I set records for max weight, and I completed all three sets. I also added two machines I had never used before and used every machine I have ever used even once. So personal records for number of machines.

Then I shot baskets for a half hour.

Then back to the stationary bike for a punishing half hour.

Net; record amount of time in the gym. I felt good about that. I still feel good.

I feel good because I set a goal and am working towards it, ignoring set backs and powering past hurdles that in the past I might have thought not worth powering past.

That is personal growth. I am pretty happy about that. I have pushed myself in ways to places I never thought I would or could.

This is turning out to be, in many ways, the best year of my life. We won a championship in basketball, my friend and I are bicycle riding huge numbers of miles for us, I have dropped 19 pounds and developed muscle definition in my arms for the first time ever, I get to play tennis a bit most weeks, I am golfing, hitting the gym, and just in general being as active as I have been since I was about 19 years old.

I am feeling more fit and energetic than I have in years, working a new job I love, and things are moving forward.

In fact, if my wife was here with me instead of doing what we gotta do for 6 more months, it would be perfect.

But it leads to an interesting question.

I think it is obvious I love sports. I like to play basketball, softball, tennis, golf, volleyball, and to bike. I like to watch basketball, football, hockey and baseball.

Which leads me to wonder; millions of people play sports. Some of us play very well, some play very poorly. I wonder what most people enjoy more; watching a good game between two talented, motivated teams...or playing themselves, even on a bad team?

Thanks to the wonders of DVR, I of course do both...but what is more fun?

Arguably, it depends on who you are with when you do it.

The oddity of Uncle Bucking

2011-08-08T20:15:00.000-07:00

John Candy had a lot of very funny movies. One that comes to mind is Uncle Buck where in Uncle Buck is forced into emergency kid watching duty. Inexplicably he goes to a parent-teacher conference at an elementary school wherein he is forced to use a urinal designed for someone much shorter than he is.

Naturally, this leads one to assume that when you encounter a similar circumstance, you have been Uncle Buck'd.

There are certain rules when using the public restroom. Some are so obvious it seems silly to mention them...like, if someone is already using the urinal, you do not step up beside them and share it.

Obvious, I know...and you hope everyone knows this. You suspect they do...you believe they do...you hope and pray they do...if you think about it at all.

Other rules are just as true but, being unwritten, seem to escape notice. Like, if you walk into a restroom with 5 urinals, someone is at one end, you always leave at least one empty one between you and they while they do their business.

I do not know why this is, I just know that it IS.

Perhaps it is the splatter effect...you do not want to get doused by some random dude's overspray.

And there are certain things you hope not to hear. Like loud grunts and moans or massive explosions of excessive exhaust from the posterior of someone in a stall. Let me rephrase that...you NEVER really want to hear those sounds...but if you MUST hear them, I guess you would rather they emanate from a stall than a urinal.

But the other unwritten yet eminently needful rule is the Uncle Buck rule.

Put succinctly, it would read, "Use the correctly heighted urinal".

See, for some reason, mens bathrooms always have two urinal heights. I do not know why...the stupid things have like 3' of aiming area, so in theory it is not real tough to hit the bullseye. Even for Ralphie after he shot his eye out.

But one will sit a foot higher than the lowest one. I presume the lower one is for children and perhaps the odd midget. I include the second category because you even see this phenomenon in card-secured areas of private businesses.

So imagine my surprise the other day when, answering the call of nature after 60ish morning ounces of water I walked in and saw some guy about 6'6"...using the short urinal.

That is kind of hard not to notice. It is one thing when forced into it by circumstances...we all have been Uncle Buck'd before. But to deliberately do so? Shame on you.

Moved here from the Junior Woodchuck Guide to Cycling blog

2011-08-06T11:35:00.000-07:00

I wrote the following as an introduction to a piece I am working on about my Saturday bike ride. However, the tone of that blog is quite deliberately light-hearted and designed to draw laughs.

This one sometimes is for laughs, sometimes for serious. This post is very serious to me and hard for me to write. I finally elected to move it to this blog and leave the other light-hearted in tone. To those who read both, I beg your understanding for this choice. I think more people will read it here, and I think it is important.

When I ride, I disobey a lot of conventional wisdom. I tend to believe the research that says helmets have minimal safety impact at best and hence do not wear one. I do this because I personally do not believe it has any appreciable safety benefit, though I know I am outnumbered in this belief.

When I ride alone, I wear earphones in both ears. This is probably the most dangerous thing I do as it unquestionably affects my hearing which is unquestionably not the best thing...but I do take this into account by riding on the right side, checking over my shoulder frequently to see if anyone is coming up on me, and checking behind me before making any move to the left to pass someone.

I often slow rather than stop at intersections, proceeding through if I see no traffic. I do always look each way 3 or 4 times at least before I do this.

In short, I do not believe I ride dangerously by any stretch of the imagination, but I do admit there are a few tweaks I could make to my riding style that might be beneficial. I bring this up due to something very close to my heart.

This week my riding partner lost his mother to a senseless act where, even though she was, to the best of my knowledge, properly walking through a crosswalk with the right of way, she was struck and killed by a driver disobeying a traffic law. (Accept my apologies if I have the story wrong).

It is sad to see someone behaving safely slain so tragically. It reinforces the need to take safety seriously whether you are walking, riding, driving, or any other activity. Just because YOU behave safely does not mean others will.

May she rest in peace and her family, friends and loved ones find peace regarding this tragedy. My heart goes out to you.

And to my readers, please...be safe in all you do. We live in a world where common courtesy has become uncommon, where common sense is not so common anymore, and where people are so intent on getting where they are going in a hurry that they have decided their wants are more important than your rights...so please, please, please...take extra time to be safe. Be safe for you. be safe for others. be safe for your loved ones.

Thank you.

Millions for defense, but not one penny for tribute; Why Americans glorify war

2011-07-30T20:34:00.000-07:00

The Revolutionary War. The First Barbary War. The War of 1812. The Second Barbary War. The Mexican-American War. The Civil War. The Spanish-American War. World War I. World War II. The Korean War. The Vietnam War. The Gulf War. The Iraqui War.

You are welcome for that 10 second tour of 236 years of United States history. Just under two decades it takes for this country to get involved in a "major" declared war. I say major because that list ignores numerous "minor" or undeclared wars...such as the "Indian Wars" (a broad phrase incorporating more than 2 centuries of almost continuous, non-stop warfare against hundreds of nations), "inconsequential" conflicts such as Granada, Afghanistan, Bosnia...the list goes on.

In short, there have been more years with the U.S. engaged in armed conflict than there have been without.

Warfare is part and parcel of the American culture and has been almost from the moment Europeans landed on the shores of the New World. It became part of the national identity early on.

How often battles against the peoples who already populated the land, the French to the North and West, or the Spanish to the South and East actually happened was not as important as the perception that those battles were always happening. Living with the threat of terminal combat was part of every day life and filled the literature of the times. Heroes were men of action, skilled with musket, hatchet and sword.

The nation was born in blood and violence. Its early history, middle history, and recent history have been awash in blood and violence. It is embedded in the national psyche, the volksgeist of the people.

The funny thing is...by and large, the United States has adopted roman theory. The wars have been defensive.

Early English settlers on this shore saw no forts, no castles, no king, and settled in open areas that belonged to nobody. Please note...when I say belonged to nobody, I speak of their perception. That was not the case all over the Americas.

To the North the French primarily came to get furs and did not settle particularly heavily and, in fact, often adopted the ways of the Native Americans they encountered. To the South and East the Spaniards and Portuguese actively sought out the natives and coerced, co-opted, outright killed, enslaved, abused, murdered, slaughtered, wiped out, enacted genocide...well, i think you get the point.

The English spawned tidal wave of humanity, however, primarily was after land. Owning a piece of land, worshiping the way they chose (or, in rare and seldom reported cases, chose not to) was the goal, and seeing empty, unoccupied land as they perceived it, they went there.

This naturally led to conflict with people who felt that, even if they did not fence it in or spend time on it overly often, it was their land.

Violence escalated and the frontier certainly was a terrifying place to live as both sides wreaked ever-worse atrocities.

When a people broadly believes they are in the right, it is almost impossible not to demonize the enemy. More to the point, when "innocent" whites were attacked or stolen from, it justified overwhelming response to most of the people.

Just as justified were the various brush wars with the French. They were extensions of the heinous European power attacking the mother country and thus justified.

The Revolutionary War was an act of self defense against the unreasonable demands of the mother company...like enacting a tax that lowered the price on tea.

The First Barbary War (Tripolitan War if you insist) was a reaction to the attacks on US shipping.

The near-war with the French shortly prior was over the same thing and, depending on who you believe, gave rise to the phrase, "Millions for defense, not one penny for tribute" as uttered by either Robert Goodloe Harper (correct) or Charles Cotesworth Pinckney as generally believe (false; his answer was 'not a sixpence')

The War of 1812 was over British impressment of sailors, or so the story goes (please note that issue is nowhere in the peace treaty...though many land claims can be discovered there).

The Mexican American War was over border disputes.

By the time the Civil War rolled around, the country had been involved in essentially continuous armed struggle either externally or internally since before its inception. Furthermore, those wars, rightly or wrongly, were presented as being for national defense. Every. Single. War. (Some would argue the Mexican-American War was a deliberate expression of Manifest Destiny. Others would dispute that claim.)

The point is, the national psyche was programmed to glorify the men who could get the job done in warfare. The nation was born in violence, raised in bloodshed, and would continue to find identity through warfare.

The US entered World War I largely isolationist, and emerged seeing itself as a major power. We entered World War II as the victimized nation and emerged as THE power in the free world, two-time rescuer of the French in particular, Europe more generally and the world by extension.

The men honored by this country have primarily been men of war...Washington, Jackson, Sherman, Grant, Lee, Stonewall Jackson, Audie Murphy, Patton, Eisenhower, etc.

People wonder sometimes why the US is so eager for war. The answer is so much simpler than sometimes presented; it is because that is what we have been taught is important, it is those men who walk tall on the pages of history. In fact, men who were not men of war are pilloried in modern teaching.

There is perhaps one exception...Benjamin Franklin seems to have escaped the revision of histories presentation relatively unscathed. But Thomas Jefferson is a slave owner and philanderer, Edison stole all his inventions or at best took credit for the work of others, the captains of industry are all robber barons and men of evil...

Find the bright, the beautiful, the well-known American heroes and they are people of action who have bathed in the blood of the enemies of this nation of ours and came out the stronger.

Even the exceptions, the movie stars, have traditionally shined brightest when they portrayed violent men; the Duke was forever a gunfighter or hard-bitten trail boss. Cowboy stars blazed hot across Hollywood from the earliest silents on through the 50s and 60s. War movies, action yarns, these are the things that gave us names like Stallone, Schwarzenegger, Snipes, Li, Chan, Lundgren...okay, so nobody admits to having seen a Lundgren movie, but the point stands.

We are trained to glorify war. Then we talk about hating it. Somewhere there is a disconnect. If only I could figure out what it is.

Now if you will excuse me, I need to go pay a guy one penny.

Tribute.

Would be different if I had millions for defense...

The bathroom conundrum

2011-07-25T18:50:00.000-07:00

We live in a society constantly seeking ease. Why take the stairs when you can take the escalator? Why take the escalator when you can take the elevator? Why take either when you can shop online from home?

No matter how easy something is, there seems to be the constant search to find an easier way. Have separate remotes for your tv and dvd? Too much trouble. Get a universal remote. Want to watch netflix? Too much to sign in, let your playstation do it for you.

Well, as part of the search for ease, so many things these days are automatic.

Doors open before you get to them, triggered by electronic magic. Lights turn on when motion is detected. Toilets flush themselves.

Ah, yes, the classic flushing toilet. So many people seem to be incapable of flushing that toilets are automatic now. Fortunately, we have not yet reached the point where they actually perform the bowel movements for us...I fear the day the mystical electronic magic reaches into the sphincter region and extracts the waste.

Anyhow, you then (hopefully) proceed to the sink.

And there we encounter one of my favorite ironic conundrums of nonsensical stupidity.

You turn the faucet on, then the soap self-dispenses.

Please, please, please...someone tell me what is the point?

Let's think about this for a second. You wash your hands because you do not want to spread germs. Okay, fair enough.

You turn the water on when? Oh, yeah, right...BEFORE you wash your hands. So any germs you had pre-wash are now on the faucet handles.

You then wash and reach up to turn off the faucet...thus having safely deposited the germs you wanted to cleanse in a safe location you have to touch again.

In a saner world, would not the water turn on automatically and the soap be what you did not care if you touched?

Just sayin'

No, being a teacher does NOT mean you are a hero

2011-07-17T15:32:00.000-07:00

I was watching Burn Notice the other evening. It is one of my guilty pleasures...a poorly acted cheese-fest of ridiculous escapades and cheesy lines. But flat-out enjoyable, for all that.

One of their favorite ploys is appeals to cheap empathic emotional responses, hence the large number of story lines where the client is an abused wife/girlfriend/child. Simply saying, "x is abusive" provides all the motivation the heroes need to pursue a case.

And, since doing that 3,465 times in a row might get old, every so often they throw in some other easy appeal to something everyone feels great love for...

Such as this episode where a credit union has its files stolen and thousands of teachers are going to lose all they worked for and saved.

The unspoken but definitely intended intent is that, since the victims are teachers, they are by definition heroes worthy of honor and going the extra mile to protect them.

Now, let me say up front. I have nothing against teachers. And before we get there, no, I have nothing against policemen, firefighters, soldiers, or hamster-munching alligators who walk on two legs and wear Christian Dior. If they wore Ralph Lauren, of course I would have something against those gators...and so would you. But Dior is all right in my book.

I do want to take exception with the automatic assumption that teacher = hero. Because it outright is not true.

It is an article of faith in pop culture that being a teacher means you are underpaid, overworked, and a hero because you work with kids.

Those claims are a) bullsmurf, b) bullsmurf, and c) highly subjective and, in my humble yet accurate opinion, bullsmurf. Let me explain.

"Underpaid:. the school year is 9 months. For those 9 months, in 2006 (several raises ago), the AVERAGE salary in Oregon, at the time the 14th highest paid state for teachers, was $50,044.

That would be 5,560.444 cents per month with 3 months vacation besides the various vacation days during the year.

For the AVERAGE teacher. Some are lower, some are higher. That is the average.

Now, on the one hand, I do think good educators are worthy of good money. I do find it ridiculous that NBA and NFL players and owners are arguing over salaries when they play and manage a game for an extravagant living. The two things are not, however, related. One group being overpaid does not mean another group is underpaid.

I take hearty exception to the idea that a profession is worth more simply because someone says it is. Teachers do important work. And they get a very nice salary for it. They are well paid.

The overworked portion is nonsense as well. I know I will get screamed at by the "max 20 students to a class, 18 is better" crowd. Save it. You point to your preferred research cronies, I will point to mine. We all know even in the most heavily weighted studies, anything after 3rd grade comes out "marginal improvement if any at all" and 3rd grade and below results vary widely depending on control factors.

For that matter, if we take the results of the most heavily weighted, biased research crying for smaller classes, we would close the public schools entirely, return to the nuclear family option and home school every student since 1-to-1 teaching presents the highest results. But that will never fly because the teachers unions would make sure it was legally prevented from occurring.

The thing is, teachers have a set number of hours with students and several hours besides set aside to prepare, correct, grade, etc. Some use it effectively, others do not. those who do not often end up working more hours.

Working longer but less efficiently is a problem with the teacher, not the system.

On the third point...working with kids does not automatically make you a hero. Working with burn victims does not automatically make you a hero. Putting your life on the line does not automatically make you a hero (see "mob soldier").

There are many, many teachers out there. Lets reveal a dirty little secret. They are not all good.

In my public grade school years I had over 20 teachers. I liked several of them. I thought 1 (one) was excellent, Mr. Howell. I thought several were okay and I thought a few were outright bad...like the science teacher who allowed several groups to not dissect their assigned frog, asked students to help him figure out how to do it himself, and still gave As to several people who never came near their frog.

Nor was his teaching style unusual.

In my college and university years I had dozens upon dozens of teachers. And honestly...most of them are what they are. Average at what they do. A few are above average, a few are below average, and the vast majority are...wait for it...relatively close to average.

Average.

Furthermore, I caught mistakes made by numerous teachers. Even as far back as fourth grade. Continuing on through college. Sometimes they taught outright falsehoods because it was in the curriculum. That is pathetic and far from heroic. Do the research, teach.

There is the occasional individual who rejects a really high paying job (say...mid 6 figures) to dedicate their life to teaching. I might be inclined to view him or her as a hero.

There is the occasional instructor who finds ways to turn around students heading in the wrong direction. I am quite inclined to look on them as a hero.

But for the average teacher, most of them are probably making as much if not more money than they could had they not become teachers. they lead a pretty easy life with one of the most optimal schedules available to anyone, have more time off than anyone else who is not a multi-millionaire, and have unbelievable protection against job loss no matter how incompetent any given teacher is.

That is not the definition of hero in my book.

This is not to denigrate teachers. They provide a valuable service. Many of them are indeed dedicated, hard-working individuals.

But hero? That is stretching the meaning of the word.

And I, for one, am tired of hearing it and hearing them held up as sympathetic figures anytime someone needs to make a cheap appeal to emotion.

Now if you will excuse me, I have lollipops to steal from small children, puppies to kick, and a hiding place to find because i expect a whole lot of hate for this one.

I am just gonna brag on myself for a moment

2011-07-13T22:04:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago I mentioned my fear of change. Though there are things I dislike about my current job...well, current for 2 more days...I never really looked as hard as I could for a new job. Part of that was because I dislike and somewhat fear change.

There is always that little voice in the back of my head that says, "Even though you have done a tremendously good job for 11ish years...what if they figure out you do not know what you are doing?"

Fear of failure can prevent taking chances...like grabbing the brass ring, trying for a job at the edge of my qualifications or taking a job that, even though I feel eminently qualified for, is still new.

So in the past I passed up a couple chances.

And as the day for this new job...which I genuinely believe I will be not just great at, but actually better than they can possibly imagine...approaches, word has gotten out to both current customers and suppliers that I am leaving.

And the outpouring of sentiment has been...well, my head no longer fits through the door. The giant, 20' wide, 20' high warehouse door.

I have been amazed how many customers have come to like me so much they have requested my personal contact info...phone number, e-mail address...and sent messages such as the following:

"Just wanted to say goodbye as I will not be here the rest of the week. You laughter and jokes and great sense of humor that adds to the fun of our days will be sorely missed. I wish you the best on your new adventure and where ever life takes you. Please keep in touch! "

It feels good to know that I have done such an excellent job that people I interact with solely in a work-based function think of me as a friend.

It is one reason I have, for the first time in my life, complete confidence that a new job will not just be something I do well but be something that is easy for me. Because I can work with people. And they like me.

So, yeah, not really much point to this post except that I have been touched by the appreciation shown by those I have worked with for the last 10 years or so. I am feeling really good right now.

The world's greatest living author

2011-07-12T20:12:00.000-07:00

I know many of you have already heard about this...but I cannot stop laughing, so here goes.

While the wife was shopping for a dress for an upcoming wedding...hopefully not hers or mine, but hey, lets keep an open mind...I was idly riffling through a stack of books.

And there I ran across perhaps the single greatest sentence in the history of great sentences.

The author, Pamela Hill, in this book published in 1976, is touted as ""One of the greatest living novelists of high romance and demonic obsession."

Wow. First off, who knew the field of high romance and demonic obsession had enough authors to need ranking as "one of the greatest".

Second, why the need to specify "living"? How many of the best authors of high romance and demonic obsession are dead? Like, maybe they were actually possessed and began writing tremendous tales of high romance and demonic obsession only after they passed beyond?

So many questions have been raised.

Like.."High romance". Are they doing pot? Coke? LSD? Is it being high and romantic that led to getting possessed?

I am just so impressed by this that I am dedicating my life to finding and reading one of her books. And maybe, just maybe, one day I too can be one of the world's best authors in a typical field like stories of sports and farming underwater cabbage.

Ah...the wonders of July

2011-07-08T09:17:00.000-07:00

It is no secret I am not a big fan of the heat. I actually have it written in every contract that any time it is over 70 degrees if there is no breeze I am not just allowed but actually REQUIRED to complain.

I vastly prefer month after month of rain to two consecutive days of brutally hot weather...say anything over 75, with or without breeze.

Which makes it all that much funnier to be spending this week in Branson, Misery and Red Cloud, Nebraska....two of the hottest places in the identifiable realm of human habitation.

I will say it is worth it this time. Been a really great week with the parents-in-law, the Aunt and Uncle, and of course my wonderful wife.

It was a great week of hanging out, seeing the sights, hanging out at the pool...

Pool. Ah, yes, the best part of the story.

See, I hate "slime". And is there any substance known to man slimier than sun block? Maybe baby snot...but nothing else.

I despise the greasy, slimy, unguent feel of sun block.

My wife, being a wise, loving woman who knows she at times must protect me from myself, insisted on slathering it on me each trip to the pool. I know why she does it and appreciate both the thought behind it and the effort expended to apply it despite my incessant whining about not liking it.

She faithfully did so every day except the last. That day I escaped her loving clutches and went sun block-less.

And, as per her dire warnings, there was indeed a very painful sunburn acquired.

As a general rule when I err I admit to it, often quite publicly.

This will NOT be one of those times. You see, the heinous, painful sunburn was not acquired by the pseudo-albino I am. No, no, no.

The wonderful young lady who dutifully slathers on buckets of sun-block got it.

This seems like a great time for me to say..."hahhahahahahaa I told you so."

But I will not because I want to live.

A Major move

2011-07-01T16:49:00.000-07:00

I do not like change. I have sometimes stuck myself in bad situations because I disliked change...like staying with a woman who repeatedly cheated on me. Common sense says that is good change...but I do not like change, so stayed with her.

I only left my first long-term job when they went under. I had chances to leave, just never wanted the change. I like security, the comfort of the familiar.

But sometimes change comes whether we like it or not. That time has come for me.

I have long had reason to leave where I am job-wise and never done anything about it. You probably know I am still bitter about the outright theft when they did not pay me commission that was promised because the new guy did not feel compelled to honor the agreement I had in place.

Which was the second worst thing they had done to me in a four month span.

But I stayed. Because I do not like change.

Which makes it all the more surprising that by the time you read this, I will have made a major, major change. It is not on the level of marrying the world's most awesome wife, which I was privileged to do 7/7/7. It is not on the level of having children, which I have not done yet. But to me, it is HUGE.

I accepted a job with a different company. For the first time ever I am deliberately leaving a job that, despite the issues, I like with people I like.

I do not know anybody else who would have even hesitated to snap this one up, but I have such a hard time with change I hesitated, crossed the "t"s, dotted the "i"s, talked to the wife, thought some more...

And I cannot express how excited I am about this job. It is a job I know I will be great at. they will love me. they will be amazed at my efficiency, ability to multitask. I will love doing the job.

Weird how much I feel change. But this is a good day...kind of like an early 40th birthday present to myself.

Things I find funny

2011-06-30T21:36:00.000-07:00

All my life I have struggled with my weight. As a baby I had baby fat. As a child I was pudgy. As a youth I was stout. As a young adult I was heavy set. As an adult I was obese. As an unhappy divorcee I was morbidly obese.

I did some serious work back in 2008. I had crested at maybe 270, 275 or so, lost some weight, and got serious about losing more November 8, 2008. When i started I weighed 262 pounds.

By the 30th I had dropped 10 pounds, and then I started doing a lot of physical labor which made it even easier to lose weight. By February I was down to 230.
Well, over the last couple years I stopped paying attention and had crept back up to 244. For a 5'10 40 year old, that is high in obese range and getting close to morbidly obese.

So I got serious again. Joined a gym. Working out hard.

Today I was taken out to lunch, then had a double turkey burger, chips, and soda for dinner...splurging, celebrating.

Then i went to the gym, crushed myself on the weights and stationary bike...and figured out to not be dangerously undernourished, I actually need to eat more. About 500 calories worth.

but I am full.

me. Having to force myself to eat. I find that hysterical.

Since Robert Tres is slacking...

2011-06-29T20:19:00.000-07:00

This Saturday past mi amigo Robert Tres and I decided to get in a morning ride, hoping for about 40 miles on the Banks to Vernonia trail.

This is one of the more challenging rides we do. 20ish miles out at some ridiculous grade (is it 18%? that sounds high.) Anyway, you are riding uphill for something like a hundred thousand miles. It is long and difficult.

When we got to the head of the trail, there was a sign saying the trail was closed at the 5.6 mile mark with no detour. We both laughed it off. I have never seen a no detour I could not find a detour around.

So we started off at an easy, relaxed pace. Felt good. At one point we were commenting on how easy the warm up was and he pointed out our warm up speed up this hill was...I think it was 17 mph?

Which to a real bike rider is not all that impressive...but a couple years ago when we did the relatively flat Fanno Creek Trail our TOP speed was 14 mph....so for us going slightly uphill at a warm-up pace...I will argue impressive.

Well, just into the start of the real hill, sure enough...we come to the closure.

A chasm like 40' across and so deep we could not see the top of the backhoe actively working. And it stretched out both ways as far as we could see.

After looking for a way around we gave up and headed back.

With the downhill, we topped out about 28 mph, held that, 26 mph, and 22 mph for long spaces of time.

We would have been faster if not for the crowds on the trail forcing us to slow down.

When it ended we had done 11.2 miles in 42 minutes, the time vastly increased by the slowdowns to avoid little tykes swerving into our way on the trip. But we were still 9 minutes quicker coming back than going out...nearly 2 minutes per mile faster.

We ended up driving back in and taking the Fanno Creek trail after all. We wanted to get a ride in.

So we bombed along at a pretty good pace and at one point were on Hall Blvd. It has a nice wide bike lane, but the hill is one that has always slowed me to like 8 mph. This time we were over 18 mph most of the way up it...so we are definitely getting to be stronger riders.

We stretched the ride out to where we hit our 40. Much fun was had. Much increased speed up hills was shown.

I am actually very, very excited about that. I have always struggled mightily with hills. I hit them and the concept of the effort ahead of me that will be required gets into my head so I stop working before I should and the hill becomes a mighty mountain.

But I was reading a bit on some of the forums about it and, combined with my recent regimen of pushing myself to my limits, I approached the hills differently. I think it showed.

I also am realizing something more and more. Typically, knowing how much energy I would need to expend on a hill, I was afraid of burning out t early so would deliberately scale back my effort...which then meant I arrived at the top slowly and fatigued. The more I tried not to use my energy, the less I had.

Well, this time I went the opposite. Screw conserving...I pushed hard leading into and up the first portion of the hill...which, counter intuitively, instead of sapping my energy seemed to give me even more. Even as hills got steeper I felt like I was getting faster and stronger and using less energy.

So when I try to conserve energy I feel fatigued, when I expend massive amounts of effort I feel refreshed. There is something wrong with that equation...

Upshot is, it was a great ride. Really enjoyed it despite the trail issues.

Things places should not sell

2011-06-26T19:56:00.000-07:00

There are times when you go into a specific store and see them selling something that has you scratching your head.

Like, no matter how poor I get, I think the equation is pretty simple; going commando > purchasing underwear from Goodwill.

Guessing > purchasing home pregnancy test from the Dollar Tree.

Speaking of Dollar Tree, I stopped in there today. And they had a big sign advertising one dollar steaks.

Let's count the number of things wrong with that sentence.

1) Dollar Tree.
If you are purchasing something and the most you are willing to spend for it is a dollar, it better not be important. This means things like shampoos, food, safety equipment, medicine are all big no-nos to purchase from that or similar franchises.
2) They had a big sign to advertise something there.
When the most expensive thing you have in your store is a dollar, you really have no need to advertise it. It is not as if sign guy will look at how much he pan-handled today, look over and see the sign and decide to spend him unearned coin there because of the advertising.

Nor are you going to get large amounts of foot traffic from people who WERE going to Sesame Donut next door but saw your sign and thought, "Hey, I do not really want this sugar filled delicious gut-bomb, I want what is advertised on that sign at the dollar tree".

Besides which...how many dollar stakes do you have to sell to break even on what you spent on advertising? Hint; a LOT. No matter how bad the steak, there certainly cannot be a lot of profit in one that cost a buck.

3) One dollar steaks.
Food is expensive. Good food is outrageous. steaks are towards the top of the food chain. You cannot get a good BITE of steak for a buck. An entire steak for that price?

Quick, somebody call the NHL and ask if someone stole their pucks. I think I might have found them...

I can think of worse things. I mean, who wants to buy a recycled condom? "We washed it in the dishwasher, go forth and don't multiply."

Pre-chewed food is pretty low on my list of desires as well.

Pre-bruised fruit?

I could go on, but I think I have made my point.

Open memo to store owners; if the product you are selling has a purported value of 400 times what you are selling it for...don't. Just...don't.

All is right with the world again

2011-06-23T20:19:00.001-07:00

It took four attempts, but I found a store with Alpocalypse in stock. You may now go back to your regularly scheduled lives.

2011-06-22T07:27:00.001-07:00

Apparently the workouts are paying off...cut 7 minutes off 25 minute ride to work. One suspects hitting many green lights helped also....

D'oh. Sorry about yesterday's post...or was it day before?

2011-06-21T22:07:00.000-07:00

I typically do not drop real names on this forum. For those who know me and my friends/family, they already know who I am talking about. For those who do not...well...you are missing some awesome people.

This is obvious because they know ME.

So yesterday's post was supposed to be on a private blog seen only by myself and two relatives also working on their weight issues...and was a bit more personal and name-revealing than intended.

If it helps any...today's workout was far more intense. I hit the weights for about 15 - 20 minutes, then did a 45 minute hit on the bike pumping out as many as 210 watts...or so it said...when pushing upwards of 120 rpm on the top level.

But the machine backed off, possibly because I actually out-spun its capability to provide resistance...

By the time I was done, I crushed 16.82 miles in 45 minutes, burned just a handful short of 500 calories, then went back and hit the weights again.

I do think it is funny that the sweat soaking my shirt made my bag when done heavier than some of the weights I lifted...

Of course, I then killed any good I had done. I went to see Green Lantern.

I had low expectations for this movie. Previews were lousy, critics killed it, and the visuals were horrible. But it is 5 dollar movie day...and 2 dollar popcorn...

And I upgraded to the bucket planning on bringing half home and eating it over the course of the next few days...

But then I killed the entire bucket and their "medium" soda...thus undoing all the good work I did at the gym...instead of a 1k calorie deficit, I had a 200 calorie deficit for the day..

*sigh*

Must be payback for the slip up.

Anyway, should have some actual, interesting content for this site soon.

Thanks for your patience and understanding.

June 19th, day 14

2011-06-19T16:46:00.000-07:00

I knew the 232.3 was not maintainable. It was aided by the 35 miles Sean and I rode Friday. It was hurt by the pizza I killed 2/3rds of at Sunshine with Dad, the brothers and their wives and Rick. On the semi-bright side, I did hold back to just 2 glasses of soda.

But I really wanted to be at 234ish. Today is the day I need to hit 234 to stay on schedule. So when it said 234.4 well...I was not ecstatic like I would have been at 233, but I was not disappointed. I have been tracking calories and exercise pretty closely, so if my math was correct, I SHOULD be at 234 and change. anything else and I would need to refigure.

I was pretty hungry, so I had 2 cups of Golden Grahams, kept with the no-fat milk. Not nearly as good, but the calorie savings matters. 330 calories.

I really need to figure out how to do the weight lifting. I am pretty convinced building some lean muscle mass is a key to getting my metabolism up. It has been quite revealing how that has gone.

I guess it is kind of disappointing that I did not push harder to just have the trainer show me how to use the machines instead of doing a regular session. Had I known I was quite so prideful about not looking like a complete idiot, I probably would have.

Instead, I have thrice gone to the gym with the explicit intention of working the weights, seen the crowd, not wanted to look stupid and just hit the stationary bike instead.

On the one hand, that has been very good. I really kill it on the bike...I average a bit over 20 mph even on the top level the machine offers and biking is a calorie-eating exercise. Even at just putting out 43 watts, it claims I am burning 7-800 calories per hour.

Also, when Sean and I rode, I could feel myself staying stronger longer. It is a delicate balance between just laying back enjoying the ride and wanting to burn a boatload of calories. He was really cool about letting me push it a bit and we definitely road faster than normal.

I do not want to do that all too often. Good exercise, but I think less fun from the just hanging out with a friend standpoint. And that is why I have the gym membership.

Anyway, today after church I had a crazy thought. I bet not many people hit the gym on Sunday. Would be a great day to study the machines and see if I could figure out how to use them.

Sure enough, there were maybe 6 or 8 people. So I went straight to the machines. I read the instructions, and where they were not too complicated, I sat down and did 12 - 15 reps.

I am happy to say I now feel comfortable with my ability to work most of the machines. I went row by row and maybe 3 or 4 looked too complicated to try. So I did a lot of leg curls, leg presses, military presses, etc.

I did notice my left shoulder is completely shot. On the military press I noticed I could not lift it nearly as high as the right. It was 6-8" below it. I tried my "if I have enough desire, I can perform any physical task I desire" routine and it failed miserably. I simply cannot lift as high with my left arm.

It was a very sad moment.

Anyway, after running through the machines, I was only about 30 minutes in, so I went back to the stationary bike and tried to keep my heart rate at the specified 108 for fat burn. In 35 minutes I punched out 13.7 miles, burned something like 156 calories but was only putting out 43 watts. A constant 43 watts.

That was sad, since my cadence was often 138 r.p.m. which should be at least moderate effort. But according to the charts, it is only light effort. *Sigh*. Even when I try to work it, it says I am barely trying.

I did kill the rest of the pink lemonade while on the bike, about 200 calories.

530 for the day.

Then went shopping. I am happy to say I was much better; I loaded up on bananas for breakfast, grapes, a couple different types of apples, and even some strawberries. I will be pounding a lot of fruit this week.

I also grabbed some baby carrots. The only vegetable I do not despise. I am going to try and snack on those this week.

I also decided to switch it up and instead of turkey tacos, going with turkey burgers this week. Was going to get the lean ones, but they mix in peppers. Yech.

Grabbed some shrimp, orange juice, roast beef for lunch and a marinade.

Then I went to the soda aisle and...oh, I am proud of this. I passed on the soda. It was tough, but I really want to hit 220 so I am making sacrifices.

Got home, was starving. Hour at the gym, then shopping...got out the pan, ready to cook the burgers...and when they are frozen I cannot get the @#$%^&*(*&^ wax paper off. I have to thaw them out despite their ludicrous brag "freezer to grill, no thawing".

Sure...if you enjoy wax paper in your meal.

So I measured out some shrimp, had that and some baby carrots. 230? And I splurged on a coke, 140.

900 for the day. I am all set for one of my beloved monster dinners. Couple turkey patties (340), some cheese (80) and I foolishly grabbed some burger buns...170. 590 calorie double burger...mmmm....

I am starting to come down with a cold again, so I will have OJ with it.

I am keeping a few calories in the bank because I hope to A) get together with Sean and Michelle at Cold Stone later this week and B) want to have a small popcorn and hit Green lantern Tuesday.

So the plan for the week is simple;
I hope to ride to work Monday through Wednesday...looks like rain Thursday...and go to the gym for an hour Monday and Wednesday.

I should finish the cereal Monday morning and then have bananas, apples and grapes for breakfast the rest of the week. Roast Beef sandwiches with some of the Doritos I have left over from last week, then turkey burgers most evenings.

I really, really, really want to be 232 by next week, and down to 230 before flying out to visit Em.

Days like today where I should finish about 1300 will really help with that. Gives me an extra 569 already, so I should have 2/3rds of my ice cream covered...go me!

16 years already?

2011-06-15T21:20:00.000-07:00

What a weird night last night was. First, had a weird nightmare about running into the ex. She was all trying to be apologetic for everything she did...which already put me in that state where I knew I was dreaming in real life but not in the dream where it felt very real but I could not wake up to stop the dream that thought it was real life...

Even worse, there was no forgiveness in my heart and there has to be. Some day I will stand before God seeking forgiveness for my failings. If I cannot find it in my heart to forgive that done to me, why should He forgive me?

Anyway, fresh off my rude rejection of the overtures towards asking that, I went straight into a deep funk...in my dream...about Mom dying. It was all so real again as if it happened yesterday.

I remembered her weaker moments when she knew she was days away. I remembered her moments of greatness earlier when she was healthy and still able to perform her motherly functions. And it really, really got me down in the dream, even though in real life I still knew I was dreaming...but it was vivid and fresh again.

I don't know how to explain it...it was kind of like i was controlling the dream except it kept not realizing I was controlling it and going in horrid directions. And I would try to yank it back to where it was supposed to be.

And even knowing I was dreaming the emotions of the dream were vivid and real in real life.

And when I woke up this morning, I realized Saturday, the day we are cleaning up Grandmas place to sell after her recent death...is the 16th anniversary of Mom dying.

2011-06-15T18:04:00.001-07:00

Another hour, 22 miles and 450 cals burned. Go me!

My great failing comes back to bite me again

2011-06-12T21:17:00.000-07:00

The other night I needed to run out to my car. Taking the phrase literally, I stepped outside the door of the establishment and began running to the car. About half way there I stopped running.

It was not because I was tired.

It was not because it hurt.

It was not because my desire to get to the car sooner had slackened.

It was completely, totally, 100% because...I was bored.

Yes, on a 30 second run to my car I got bored with running.

It has always been that way with exercise. I busted my tail last week. And when there is a ball involved I typically do not stop. Playing softball, basketball, tennis, I do not get bored with running. I will run for hours.

But if it is just to get/stay in shape or go from point a to point b...running is boring. Let me rephrase that...running is Boring. Capital B.

I noticed when the PT was asking me what level of pain I was feeling, even when it reached 8 or 9 I kept pushing. If he said do 15 i would try to do 16. If he said 10 I tried to do 12. I was willing to push myself there.

But will I have the motivation and drive to exercise without a ball involved and without someone standing there pushing me? Eh. Depends on if I get bored.

The real irony is I almost never get bored. I typically have an active and imaginative mind. I am always coming up with new ideas for books which I have bits and pieces of laying around at various places, or tweaking one of my completed works, or working on some of the songs I have attempted to write, or writing about one of my hobbies,...

But put me in a situation to exercise and there it is. I quit because I am bored.

Sad.

Here is hoping I get the job done tomorrow and hit the gym as scheduled.

2011-06-11T12:37:00.001-07:00

Mmmmmm.....teeeeennnnniiiisssss

OOooohhhh....pain

2011-06-10T22:09:00.000-07:00

Saturday Robert Tres and I rode 30 miles.

Sunday I started a personal program to get my weight down. It is important.

See, my tipping point is kind of 240 pounds. When I hit 240 I start getting sharp shooting pains from time to time. This only bothers me because it is in the region of my heart. This scares me so I finally got serious about taking off some weight.

My goal is modest...I like being around 220. I feel good, the Goose says I look good. So 20 - 24 pounds was my target.

So I set up a program for myself to exercise 3 times a week with a modest goal of biking 1 hour a day three times a week. I also altered my calorie intake in such a way that if I maintained that level of exercise, i should lose 2 pounds a week.

Monday had last league game. Good time playing basketball. Because it is always a good time playing basketball. It is also more intensive exercise. Success.

Keeping my calorie intake right where I wanted it.

Thursday had double header, played not one but two games of basketball. Great time. Great for weight loss. Actually saw 233.9 on the scale.

That particular set of games was at Ballys. On the way out I saw a sign...3 years for 11.08/month. That is an awesome price. It was also the last day of the promotion.

After a quick text exchange with the Goose, I signed up. With it came a free personal training session.

My first inclination was to put it off a few days. My better inclination was to do it the next day...which was today, Friday.

So directly after work I went for my session.

Did exercises I have never done before. And pushed myself harder than I have in years. And after about 45 minutes I pushed a little too hard. My leg started cramping. 3-1/2 hours later it still is.

But I feel good. I accomplished my goal and then some for the first week.

Of course, a smart person would rest up for a couple days. Me?

Playing tennis in a charity tournament tomorrow as last-minute replacement for someone who pulled out with injury. Ironic, isn't it??

For now...I am just going to curl up in a fetal position and complain about the pain...

Today, I am a champion

2011-06-09T22:35:00.000-07:00

Twice we trailed by 16 points or more to undefeated teams. The first time we came back.

The second time we trailed by as many as 15 with 6:52 left in the game.

But when all is said and done, childhood buddy Kyle, long-time friends Josh and Joe and I are champions of the 64 team tournament. I am proud.

Guilty pleasures in a time crunched world

2011-06-08T20:21:00.000-07:00

I have mentioned before my embarrassing pseudo-secret that I enjoy the show America's Got Talent even though it is really at a loss for credibility when people like the generic, pedestrian singer that won last year beat out unique, innovative acts.

But the process to get there is often entertaining as we get to see a variety of acts, including a handful that are things we have not seen before. In my mind it would be a better show if they auto-dismissed singers, dancers, and dance crews. Those all have their own shows, they are all boring and show us NOTHING we have not seen dozens and dozens and dozens of times before.

Oh, look..he spins on his head. Wow. Oh, now he does a gymnastic move. What great dancers these guys are.

Sarcasm font off.

Oh, listen...he moodily strums a guitar and squints while caterwauling. How unique...I mean, it is not as if you can hear the same pedestrian chord changes, the same whining voice, and see someone wearing that same stupid hat at forty-seven local dives.

Oops, sorry about that...I thought I had turned the sarcasm font off. I was wrong. It was still on. But I have that fixed now.

One of the glorious things about living in the modern age is the DVR function...or whatever name your device calls it. You can record a show and skip all the craptacular parts.

For example, I routinely record Blazer games, start watching them when the live game is at half time and finish within moments of the game finishing through the simple expedient of skipping the commercials, half-time, and random cutaways to another bland, pointless sideline interview which typically is "player a is trying to score". Wow, really? Thanks for that brilliant insight.

And an hour show like Talent is easy to watch in 15 - 20 minutes simply by skipping the judges entrance, the tiresome shots of all the people lined up to audition and so forth. Cut out the boring acts I do not have any interest at all in like singers and dancers and I can watch an hour show in about 10 minutes.

And with all the time I save, I can enlighten all my admiring readers on how I waste my time...you are welcome for that.

Thinking through a bike ride

2011-06-04T18:40:00.000-07:00

The sun was shining. The birds were tweeting. II was frustrated because I did not have my bb gun with me.

So instead of plunking a few Tweety Birds for my good friend Sylvester the Cat, my good friend Robert Tres and I elected to go for a bike ride.

So I thought I might give you a play by play.

First, we started off on the Fanno Creek trail, a fairly flat stretch of bike trail.

Wow, this is nice. Feels good to have a nice breeze, be pumping my legs, riding at a casual pace. Good times.

Then we took a slightly different trail, one involving a certain amount of hills. Up hills.

This is not bad at all. It actually feels kind of good to expend some extra effort. Or is it? This seems like a pretty big hill. This hill just keeps going. Come to think of it, this hill is a bit steeper than I thought it would be. My legs hurt. I am too old for this. I cannot keep going.

In my own defense, it was a pretty steep hill...probably climbed 12 or 13" over the course of a mile. I will just let my thoughts carry you along, and let you imagine the rest of the terrain.

Well, no problem. Made it up the hill. I guess I can do this. What the...another hill? Well, lets see how this one goes.

Legs...burning. Lungs...bursting. Resolve...weakening. Must...not...show...weakness. I must make it up this hill. I think I can.

I....I think...gasp...I think I....huff....I think I can....puff...I...huff...think...puff, gasp, puff, huff, gasp...I...huff huff puff gaps huff gasp puff gasp huff can.

Whew. Made it. I bet now we will have a goodly amount of...what the smurf? ANOTHER uphill? This thing is like straight up and down. There is no way my wheezing gasps for breath, spaghetti legs can power me up this hill. But I will see how far I can go.

Oh, the pain. Someone kill me now. Look back, see how far up the hill we are...whoops, maybe 10'. Not a good sign. Stop, rest. Legs...on fire. Lungs...ripped out of my chest. But at least we are at the crest of the hill. Look, a downhill!

Whhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee what the uphill again? really?

Can't do it. So...many...hills. All going up. I must be in that famous MC Escher painting where every staircase goes higher than the next one except somehow those fiends at the road department did it with roads.
I am pretty sure it is physically impossible for every inch of our ride to be uphill.

I better look back and see if parts of my body are dropping off from exhaustion. We must have been riding for 20 hours by now and gone 200 miles. Robert Tres is not even slowing down. Dude is a machine. I am jealous.

And it is not just this uphill we have been on for 36 hours making me think that.

Oh, look, I can see his speedometer...what? 10 miles? Well, at least only 9.2 of them have been uphill. Half a mile has been flat so we have, by aggressive estimate, already been blessed with 3 tenths of a mile of downhill.

Did my legs get amputated? I cannot even feel them anymore. Too much effort. I forgot my name. Where am I? Who am I? Why is there air?

What the...ANOTHER, EVEN STOUTER AND LONGER UPHILL?

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

There is no possible way. Cannot do this. Who thought this was a good idea? why do people do this? There is no way this is worth it. Not even close. Why do people work out to the point where they "feel the burn"? I quit. I am never touching a bike again. I hate this. I hate my life. I hate...

Oh. We are at the crest of the hill. We are going downhill. I have not pedaled in 5 minutes and am all but passing cars on the freeway below. This is awesome! This is so totally worth it. When we reach the bottom, I am climbing it so I can have this downhill again

oh no, we are going uphill again I hate my life I am gonna die my legs got ripped off by the bike rider leg ripping off troll and my lungs got ripped out by the exerciser destroying gnome of doom this is the worst pain of my life oh wow another downhill I love this this is so awesome let this hill never end oh no another uphill I cannot do this I...

Oh. We are home.

Another light 30 mile 3.5 hour ride dropped on the world. Take that, puny hills! Bwooohahahah!

hang on a second, someone knocking at the door. be right back.

Hi. I am the new author of this blog. The former author was trash-talking us. So a few of us hills got together and ripped his legs off. One cell at a time. Sorry about that.

Nebraska is nothing like a classic Western

2011-05-30T20:57:00.000-07:00

In the classic Westerns of the early days of cinema on up through the 60s it was quite common to see the same scenery over and over and over and over in the background. Basically, they would just paint up two or three pictures and slide them by repeatedly in the background. Some people have compared Nebraska to those old Westerns with lines about how little differentiation there is in Nebraska terrain.

I find that to be a baseless bit of fiction. So I decided to disabuse people of that false notion once and for all with a pictorial picture of much of the state.

So when I landed in Omaha, I broke my camera out of the bag and took a picture of the land on the way from Omaha to Lincoln.

Between Omaha and Lincoln

Now to be fair the land in that picture could be considered dull and featureless. However, that is just one picture from an hour long drive. Also, one dull, featureless picture should not be considered as representing the whole state. There is a lot of variety in the state.

For example, the Goose wanted to show me a park they have in Lincoln where they keep some buffalo. I think any reasonable, clear thinking person will immediately recognize that a park in the middle of the largest town in the state will look nothing like featureless unpopulated highway drives. So I took a picture.

The park within Lincoln City limits

As you can see, this alone should disabuse anyone of the notion that scenery in Nebraska is in any way, shape or form repetitive. This looks COMPLETELY different from the highway photo. I fail to see how anyone could ever get confused between the two.

Now, the cynic might say, "Yes, but that is the difference between a park in a city and the highway."

True. But Monday we drove back to Omaha to go to the zoo to hang out with one of my sisters (who lives in Iowa) and her daughter. So I took a picture of the OTHER side of the highway.

From Lincoln to Omaha; the other side of the road

As you can see, the road that bifurcates the two sides of the road also makes a huge difference in what Nebraska looks like. Compare the two photos and you will see almost nothing in common.

A couple days later we headed out from the relatively high-denisty population of Omah and Lincoln to go to tiny little Red Cloud. This should give us a fine opportunity to see a lot of variety in the Nebraska wilderness. So lets look at some of the land and I think you will soon agree with me that Nebraska is a beautiful state that has nothing in common with the old Western trope.

First we passed a little town called Troy and I took a picture before we got there.

On the road to Troy. No, not that Troy...no horses or scantily clad guys with spears and swords here.

Then we went through Hastings, which has a decent size population so of course there will be more development there.

Hastening past Hastings

After Hastings, we went through lightly populated Blue Hill, which coincidentally is where the Goose has her second job. Nice little town.

The hill is blue but the diverse scenery keeps people otherwise...as in not blue.

And finally we got to Red Cloud.

Blue Hill, Red Cloud...I scoff at anyone who cannot see the difference in scenery. The colors are clearly different.

As you can see from looking at the pictures above, Nebraska has a wide diversity of terrain. I think it is highly unfair to say if you have seen one part of Nebraska, you have seen all of it. Hopefully this photo essay did the same for you.

But just in case someone is not convinced, I took a picture towards the evening so you could see it in a different light.

So if anyone EVER tries to convince you Nebraska is not a beautiful state with a wide diversity of terrain features, you just point them to this post. They will come away convinced.

PS: If any Nebraskan is feeling insulted by this tongue in cheek post, I apologize. It is supposed to be funny. Have some ice cream.

2011-05-30T04:21:00.001-07:00

Turns out flying to where the wife is at is MUCH easier than flying FROM where she is. Who saw that one coming?

excerpt

2011-05-28T22:31:00.000-07:00

The other day I was just spit-balling off the top of my head. Frustrated with the work I was doing on a fictional book, I started punching up what a little bit of Dreamcatchers might look like.

A caveat; the terms I use are carefully chosen to reflect phrases used at a given time. When operating outside the strictures of time periods, I almost always use the term Native American rather than Indian or some of the pejorative terms found in the piece below.

Also, the selection of more direct tribe names is a nod to the fact that the Sioux nation is essentially a creation of non-Native Americans to refer to a loose confederation of tribes speaking similar languages.

With that said, what follows I am essentially trashing because I am not happy with it, either...I wrote it off the top of my head without referring back to my research, I broke the plan of going by decade, and just do not like the way it developed. But you might be briefly entertained....or not. So here it is.

Before the echoes of gunfire died out at Wounded Knee there was a complete shift in the paradigm. No longer could the Indian tribes be seen as a credible threat. The last vestiges of their power died on that field. At the same moment, a centuries old view began to change.

From the time the residents of Roanoke Island disappeared, Indians were viewed as a lethal threat. The thought of Indians rampaging through civilized lands killing, torturing, kidnapping, and scalping in an orgy of mindless violence was a long-standing, well-established belief.

Many people lived in fear of these mysterious sub-humans who lived purely to fight. They were brutal, uncivilized, savage people who moved with the wind, silent as a mouse, swift as a leopard, and as dangerous as any people had ever been.

The truth that the interaction of the various tribes with advancing white civilization had almost universally been disastrous for the tribes seldom seemed to cross the mind of most people. In truth, Native American military successes could be counted on one hand.

The gathering of the tribes under Pontiac had brief success but ultimately failed utterly. Tecumseh saw his attempt to reverse the loss of Indian lands crushed before it got started.

Indeed, most famous Native American war leaders were famed not for their success but for how long they put off ultimate defeat. Chief Joseph, Geronimo, Cochise, Mangas Coloradas, Captain Jack, and more were famed for having maintained resistance longer than anticipated.

Arguably, there were just two military successes with any lasting impact for the Native Americans.

The most successful of these was Red Cloud who forced the closing of forts and the Bozeman Trail. It was the one and only time Native Americans “won” a war and the results were temporary at best. Within 8 years the gains made were lost and indeed, further reverses occurred as a result.

A key event in that war was the mis-named Fetterman Massacre where the arrogant Fetterman led 80 men into a trap that saw them all killed. It was an ambush that shook the nation and gave credence to fears of Indian military power.

Those lessons were reinforced by what is generally considered the greatest Indian military success against white soldiers of all time, the Battle of the Little Big Horn. Often called Custer’s Last Stand, it was both the greatest victory and worst defeat the Indian tribes would ever encounter.

While the victory on the field is unquestionable, so are the results. When the nation learned of the loss of Custer and his command, the resulting outcry ended in the devastation of any semblance of Indian military power.

The last gasp of Indian power came about 14 years after the events at Little Big Horn. A movement called the Ghost Dance frightened some elements of society. Some have argued the events that followed were a result of the events at Little Big Horn.

The 7^th Cavalry was shepherding members of the Lakota tribe to a reservation. Fears of their power demanded the Minneconjous stack their firearms. Arguments exist over who fired the first shot but there is no doubt about the outcome.

Any doubt that the last vestiges of Native American military had been destroyed were swept away in a hail of gunfire. Gatling guns swept the largely disarmed Lakotas. Men, women, children, babies, grandparents were shot to ribbons and left to freeze in ghastly positions in the bitter wintry conditions.

Frank Baum, who later would write The Wizard of Oz, wrote an editorial[1] which often has the most controversial part repeated in which he stated, “The Whites,

by law of conquest, by justice of civilization, are masters of the

American continent, and the best safety of the frontier settlements will

be secured by the total annihilation of the few remaining Indians. Why

not annihilation?”

To be fair, this portion of the quote is a mis-representation of the tone of the entire editorial but it became the sentiment most often repeated. It touched on the primary belief held by the majority of the nation.

Oh, to be sure there were exceptions. Standing Bear became a cause célèbre that allowed “Bright Eyes” to make well-attended speaking tours that publicized an alternative view of Native Americans. Various famous Native Americans had been paraded around the Eastern States on similar tours, though seldom including persons so eloquent as Bright Eyes.

As far back as 1883 Wild Bill toured with his Wild West Show. To be sure the image that often remained with those who attended these shows was the Indian attack that closed the show, but the entire experience showed another side as those who attended were able to see “Indian encampments” and interact with famous Native American personalities.

These interactions would lead to seeing another side of a people that had previously only been encountered in news reports, penny dreadfuls, or artwork by men such as Winslow Homer, Eastman Johnson and Frederic Remington.

A kinder, gentler side of Native Americans was also occasionally presented in the famed Leatherstocking Tales in which Natty Bumppo. He was white but had the skills of the Indians as well as his trusted side-kick Chingachgook.

However, while there were occasional positive portrayals of Native Americans the overwhelming bent of the narrative was that they were savage, inhuman beasts to be feared and exterminated.

Fast forward to the year 2000 and the picture has changed markedly. The Native American is a tragic hero. He is the preserver of nature, paragon of virtue, down-trodden victim of the cruel white man, and spiritual wise man.

The Native American has become a pop culture hero. People seek out hallmarks of Native American culture and make them their own. Sweat lodges, drum circles, peyote, and similar sacred rites are co-opted in the interest of rejecting modern evil ways in favor of returning to the pure ways of the Native Americans.

At the high-water mark it seemed as if one in every three cars had a dream catcher hanging from the rear-view mirror. The view of Native Americans in the dominant social awareness had made a 180 degree change. Their holies, most sacred artifacts were nothing to be feared but instead a casual trinket meant to tell the world the possessor had the pure Native American spirituality.

How did this change happen?

Positive Visions

It has been argued that almost from the landing at Plymouth Rock a systematic program of demonizing Native Americans was institutionalized. They occupied the land. Freshly arrived Europeans wanted the land. To justify taking the land required altering mindsets.

Thus the Native Americans were presented as sub-human and dangerous. To bring peace and safety required removing Native Americans. At times that meant forcing them off their land onto other lands. At other times it meant whole-sale killing.

Attempts at genocide are well documented. While the numbers of Native Americans killed through war, disease, and other means are widely debated what is not debated is that it was deliberate.

One of the most famous cases was the introduction of smallpox infected bankets into a population unprepared to deal with the disease. People were slain in apocalyptic numbers. It is difficult to perceive of such attempts at genocidal murder as having even the slightest bit of moral authority unless you first have established the victims are themselves unfit to live.

Thus the argument goes that any time there was a theft, assault or killing enacted by the Native Americans the incident was magnified to the point where their depredations demanded a rapid, catastrophic response that required no regret, regardless of how many Native Americans were killed.

Naturally, not everyone agreed with this vision. Protestations against the mistreatment of Native Americans are recorded as early as the voyage of Columbus. All too often, however, those voices were few in number and easily drowned out by those with other motivations.

It is important to point out there were times when the Native Americans bore some culpability as well. We should not blindly assume complete innocence on the part of the tribes and complete guilt on the part of the Europeans. Both sides engaged in behavior that the light of modern scrutiny would find reprehensible.

However, it is not in the scope of this book to determine who was right or wrong. Rather, we are looking at how the majority of the public perceived native Americans. From that standpoint, the overwhelming majority of the narrative revolved around how immoral, deadly, and brutal the Native Americans were.

Early on one popular narrative was the captive. Native Americans would carry off a woman during a raid who would be forced to live as an Indian, often bearing “half-breed” children brought on her through what was retroactively termed rape.

Ultimately through white courage she would be rescued from the sub-human existence she had been forced to live and repatriated to genteel society, though of course she was scarred forever by having been sullied through interaction with the red heathen.

Pejorative terms such as “red heathen” were found all throughout the narrative. Redeeming values were few and far between. The captors were brutish, violent, passionate savages. They lived to fight, kill, rape and murder innocents.

It was in 1823 that James Fenimore Cooper published The Pioneers in which we were introduced to a new kind of hero.

Natty Bumppo was white but he was raised by the Delaware Indians. He learned their ways and adopted them. He was so successful at “being Indian” that he had the chief of the tribe, Chingachgook, act as his sidekick.

Indeed, he was an early example of “the noble savage”. Honest, courageous, and loyal, he stuck with Bumppo even when that meant he stood in opposition to other Native Americans. In The Last of the Mohicans (1826) it cost him his son when Uncas is killed by the paragon of evil, Magua.

The success of the Leatherstocking tales spawned a host of imitators. Hallmarks of the genre are numerous. They always include a white man who is better at being Indian than the Native Americans themselves.

Typically they are silent in the woods, able to track anything, completely honest and without guile. Yet they maintain moral superiority over the Native Americans who fall into superstition and appear to have no motive in life other than following the hero

This character archetype became so prevalent that people instantly understood the character of Tonto when the Lone Ranger made his appearance on the radio in 1933. It had long been a staple in penny dreadfuls, magazine serializations, and dime novels, all of which were popular entertainment in the late 1800s.

Yet portrayals of Native Americans in a positive light were extremely rare. They had been portrayed as nothing but savages for so long that they were not even considered to be human beings.

It was not until United States ex rel. Standing Bear v. Crook in 1879 that any Native American was legally considered a person. This was a reflection of public perception.

How could they be considered people? Newspaper reports were heavily slanted in how they portrayed events. What became known as the “Fetterman Massacre” provides and excellent example of how events were disseminated to the public.

Fetterman had publicly stated he could take 80 soldiers and “ride through the entire Sioux nation.” On December 21, 1866 he got his chance. Using a technicality, he seized command of a rescue force Colonel Carrington had given to Captain James Powell. He led 80 other men into an ambush that replicated almost an identical ambush from just a few weeks prior

Within minutes 81 men were dead. They had been heavily armed, most of them with 7 or 16 shot repeating rifles. This was not a helpless civilian group but rather a military force trained to fight Indians that fell into a clever ambush and lost the battle.

Newspaper reports called it a massacre and emphasized the mutilations inflicted on the dead men. The portrayals of the events as a massacre and savage mutilation were a misrepresentation and weighed heavily on public opinion.

By contrast when Colonel Chivington murdered hundreds of “friendly” Indians under Black Kettle at Sand Creek and wore the most intimate parts of the women they had mutilated, most newspapers reported it as a battle, ignoring the fact the Colorado Territory militia violated numerous laws and treaties to attack an unprepared camp flying the American flag and, shortly after the ambush began, a white surrender flag.

How these events were portrayed goes a long way towards showing how the belief that a cohesive plan for demonizing the Indians had been emplaced. Portraying them as aggressors and murderers regardless of truth justified swift, harsh reprisals.

Indeed, the idea that Native Americans could not be civilized had long been in place. Andrew Jackson, memorialized on the twenty dollar bill as one of the greatest Americans in history, took part in the forced removal of the Cherokee despite the fact the Cherokee had developed such elements of civilization as a written language, newspaper and courts. Yet in the 1830 they were still considered too uncivilized to remain in their home lands.

It is worth noticing their lack of civilization became apparent to all when gold was discovered on their land. Once their land had value, these savages could not be tolerated living among decent folk but were forcibly (and illegally) removed from their holdings to Oklahoma.

It was part of the systematic portrayal of Native Americans as less than people. Even those who lived peaceably for decades could be portrayed as dangerous and undesirable as soon as their land was shown to be valuable.

Thus we see that from earliest times Indians were brutish savages unfit for civilized lands. They were portrayed in fiction, in news reports, and word of mouth as being immoral and unworthy of status as humans. They were a danger to society.

CHAPTER

As the new millennium dawned the United States had experienced a major shift. There was no longer unexplored, unoccupied land to be found further west. The events at Wounded Knee were six years past, the last gasp of Native American resistance to the seizure of their land.

The most dangerous Native American leaders were either dead, living in captivity or had become sideshow attractions.

Cochise, Sitting Bull, Captain Jack and Crazy Horse were dead. Sitting Bull, Chief Joseph, Red Cloud and Geronimo were living on reservations. From time to time one or the other of these once-feared Native Americans would appear in Wild Bills Wild West Show, at a World’s Fair, or at some other attraction as curiosities.

Geronimo serves as a primary example. He was one of the first people ever to ride in a Cadillac. For a brief time he was a Sunday School Teacher at a Baptist church until he was removed from the position due to his continuing propensity to drink and gamble on his shooting skills.

Native Americans were no longer something to be feared and dreaded. They were now a defeated people who lived on reservations, out of sight and out of mind except when put on display as curiosities. They were something to be viewed much like a traveling circus or one of PT Barnum’s acts.

When Theodore Roosevelt was inaugurated in 1905 one of the people in his parade was Geronimo. No longer the most feared man in the American Southwest, now he was just another draw in a celebratory occasion. The time was past to demonize the Native Americans and the time had arrived to begin portraying them as victims on occasion and patriots as others such as during Buffalo Bill’s show.

Since the Spanish-American War, the highlight of his show had changed from being an Indian attack on a cabin or wagon train to a battle with the new villains, the Spaniards. Native Americans were translated to heroes.

They were now revered for their skills in horsemanship and archery. They were now portrayed in a positive light in a show designed by a masterful entertainer that was often emulated and had a huge impact on how the masses viewed Indians.

Other fields of entertainment were similarly affected. One fine example would be the movie industry.

Still developing at the turn of the century, the movie industry featured large numbers of Westerns. To be sure the primary narrative remained the same; Indians were either the threat to the hero or a drunken buffoon.

But there were exceptions. The occasional film would be made wherein the hero would fall in love, invariably with an Indian princess. To prevent miscegenation, the Native American would perish by the end of the film, thus allowing the white hero to return to the embrace of other whites, but the positive portrayal would remain.

Arguably, these films had as much if not more of an impact on the national psyche than more standard fare. When the viewer had seen the cavalry surrounded by Indians skylining themselves on a ridge dozens of times, only to be defeated through timely intervention, the story more or less told itself. But when they saw something unusual such as the heroic princess sacrificing herself for love it was something new, unusual and unique enough to be memorable.

This is not to argue that seeing these movies changed attitudes but rather that seeing an alternative presentation of Native Americans would begin to seep into the collective consciousness. The more often they were shown in a positive light, the more opportunity there would be to dismiss old stereotypes and fears and replace them with new thoughts and ideas.

Sports provided another avenue. Baseball was a leading pastime in the early 20th century and a haven for Native Americans. Typically nicknamed "Chief", they often developed rabid cult followings and gained great stature, including multiple Native Americans starring in some of the World Series in the first decade of the 20th century.

[1] http://www.history.ox.ac.uk/hsmt/courses_reading/undergraduate/authority_of_nature/week_7/baum.pdf, accessed 5/26/2011

Beware the great black hunter

2011-05-25T14:48:00.000-07:00

Our dog is many things. Loud. Small. loud. Energetic. loud. Jealous. Loud.

So today we were out in the yard playing ball. She loves to chase it. Wears my arm out. Keeps playing.

But today she got distracted. Saw something under the house. Started ignoring me and the ball and pawing at under the house.

Time for a detour.

Yesterday there was quite the commotion when a baby possum was seen in the back yard. A few minutes later the world was home to three fewer possums.

Meanwhile, the Goose was worried that momma possum would beat up on Bella. Bella is, as mentioned, loud and energetic, but she is still just a tiny, black-furred chihuahua. And being small, that means she probably would not hold up well in combat against a mad momma possum.

So for a while Goose did not want Bella in the back yard until she decided possums do not come out in the day.

So as I was out there throwing the ball, Bella gets distracted, starts barking at the tiny little gap under the house. I move a board...

and the little turkey snatches out a baby possum which she then prances around the yard with it in her mouth playing keep-away from me.

She might be small and loud, but she is fast and agile.

So now I am chasing the dog while the Goose flips out a little bit thinking Bella will get sick again like she did when she found the dead squirrel. And Bella is prancing like she does when she is proud of doing something she thinks she should not have.

So yeah, now she is known as Bella the possum hunter. Loudest hunter on the planet.

Overheard at the zoo

2011-05-23T21:54:00.001-07:00

"Not now, honey, Mama is vibrating."

I can only hope she meant her phone...

2011-05-21T13:11:00.001-07:00

"I GO ZIT FREE FOR MONTHS. THEN MY HUSBAND COMES AND NOW I HAVE A GIANT ZIT" MY WIFE SURE LOVES ME....I AM loved

2011-05-21T10:07:00.001-07:00

Well despite the broken plane hour delay....made it. They held plane for us. Late but making it

2011-05-20T18:47:00.001-07:00

Heading to st helens for some time with bros before flying off to visit the most awesome girl in world for week and change. Pretty good friday...

I remember what started me on my life of crime

2011-05-17T22:00:00.000-07:00

Grandma Alda was hard for us to figure out. She was a cool Grandma, too.

At her place we got to use the swimming pool, watch tv, and as often as not, Mom would spring for a pizza when we visited Grandma Alda.

As an aside...outside of Alan Alda, I do not believe I have ever heard that name anywhere else. I should research the meaning.

Anyway, every two or three years we got to go to Chuck E Cheese.

I should clarify; my life growing up was, in many ways, quite sheltered. For most of my youth we did not have a television. When my buddies were rocking the Ataris, Commodore 64s, etc., we had hand-held pong. Or the TSR-80, a "computer" which used, I kid you not, cassette tapes as hard drives.

The point is, Chuck E Cheese was awesome. Not for the hideous animatronics. Not for the poor high school kids sweating through oversize, overheated costumes.

No, it was awesome because we got to...wait for it...play video games. Pac-Man. Mrs. Pac-man. Asteroids. All the high tech wonders were open to us.

But it was Chuck E Cheese that started my on my criminal career. Even though Dad had my attention twice each Sunday and each Wednesday when we went to church (and the 3 - 6 weekends a year we would go to rallies, so on Saturdays as well), and the week of Camp Wilkerson, and every day when he interacted with me as a father should, he simply could not compete. His message was drowned out in the bells, whistles and sirens of Chuck E Cheese.

Oh, he tried to warn me of the evils of gambling. He tried to tell me of the trials and pitfalls, the dangers, and the seedy characters you have to interact with to enter the nefarious world of gambling.

Pinstripe suits, tommy guns, marked cards, cheats of every description...like Giant Gray Fuzzy Mice inhabited by pimply-faced, sweating, bored teenagers trying to muster enough coin to take a date to the movies on the Friday they are not stuck inside the suit.

But the truth is...Chuck E Cheese is nothing but a din of iniquity. It is a cesspool designed to corrupt the pure young children who enter those seedy halls of greed.

Fortunately, courageous parent (and blatant idiot) Debbie Keller is standing up against this vice. Oh, sure, it may not have the normal marks of a gambling den. No pinstripe suits, armed men with toothpicks and cigars hanging out of their mouth, no gunfire, alcohol, or pall of smoke hanging low in the backroonm as they use passwords to keep out cops, politicians and other criminals of that ilk, but Keller knows a gateway when she sees it.

And who can deny that the place "where a kid can be a kid" is anything but a gateway into a life of rampant gambling, unchecked by any seed of decency?

That is why Keller is fighting back. Even though the suit demands 5 million, she is quick to point out, ""It is not about the money". No, she wants to protect your kids from the gateway to gambling known as Chuck E Cheese.

Now, on the one hand, I hope you got a dozen or so laughs out of some of the preamble.

On the other hand, the thing that should draw the biggest laugh is a case proceeding through our courts.

As a general rule I scoff when I hear spurious claims about underfunded schools. But when I hear this...well, I hope Keller was a drop-out, because if she was an honor student and came up with this garbage...well...they say there are no stupid questions. If this is a smart question for her, what does it say about her intelligence?

Work can be tough

2011-05-16T21:59:00.000-07:00

I like to think I am a hard worker. I really put forth the effort when I am being paid to do something. So naturally, when the request was made, I tried to fulfill it. "Go get it" I was told. So off I went to get it.

It was supposed to be easy. In fact, i was told, "It is so easy it is frequently used as both simile and metaphor. So I know you can handle it."

I thought I could. Honestly.

I saw what needed to be done. Unfortunately, it was stuck. I looked around...nobody was looking. I applied a little force. I put my foot on the wall, reached down with both hands, and gave it a mighty yank.

It did not come loose.

Another look around. Nobody was paying attention. Good, I did not want to be embarrassed by my incompetence.

I booted it. Hard. And yanked as I did so, thinking that would jar it loose.

It did jar loose a squeal of indignation.

Frustrated I could not do the job, I tried to figure out what to do. So I reached in my pocket, pulled out two quarters and dropped them. Sure enough, that did the trick. The little girl turned her head for just a split second, looking at the quarters, and when she did I snatched the lollipop and ran.

Would have got away with it, to, if she had not been faster than me.

My only defense is they told me to take candy from a baby, and she was at least 6. If she was 5 I could have gotten the job done.

I think...

p.s. if you take this serious, I grieve for you. It is funny. learn that. live it. laugh at it.

On good communication

2011-05-14T20:56:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I was kind of in the throes of depression. My first marriage had ended in a flurry of affairs my wife decided to have. Being cuckolded can do some things to your confidence and mind-set. Especially when, after crying about how, "I never knew what I had until it was gone", she comes back, then leaves for someone she claims beat her and stole the dog. Wow, if I am worse than that, how worthwhile can i really be?

I kind of had my "mid-life crisis" early. I was in my early 30s with no prospects for companionship and could not remember the last time I had met someone close to my age and single, never mind adding in the possibility of being interesting to me as a potential companion for the rest of my life. As someone who does not drink or like to dance or party, it is not like there were a lot of places to meet people.

Compounding that, I was taking a Spanish class which, even fresh off that divorce, even with watching Mom struggle with breast cancer twice, other cancers twice, then the one that struck her down at 45 years of age, even with having 9 family members or close friends die (including Mom and Grandpa who I was VERY close to) in a shade under six months, that Spanish class was far and away the most miserable experience of my life.

I would rather have gone through the back to back years of full-blown pneumonia again than take even one term of Spanish.

I cannot adequately express how much I hated, hated, hated every second of that class. I never felt like I was "getting it", I never knew where I stood in relation to where I should as far as how much I had learned, and so forth. I really, really, really hated that class. I still get upset just thinking about it. It was miserable. Time for a tangent.

My sister and brother in law had been encouraging me for a while to go with them to his home town of Bordonal, Michicoan, Mexico. I think a lot of it was they saw my frustrations and loneliness and wanted to help. Plus, they loved taking people there.

So I went. Had a great time. And at one point, a game of basketball started.

Now, the more you know me, the more you know how I felt about this. With apologies to the Goose, basketball is, in many ways, THE great love of my life. I am still known to sit in front of the tv bouncing a basketball on the carpet or spinning it on my fingers or practicing the wrist-flick that is my shooting motion, watching the rotation to make sure it has that gentle back-spin I love….even when the tv show is something like Burn Notice, which has absolutely nothing to do with basketball. I just love having the ball in my hands, talking about basketball, watching basketball, playing basketball or thinking about basketball.

Now, remember…I could scarcely communicate with anyone outside of the one girl from Sacramento there for her quinciera. But how much communication do you need in basketball? I did what I do…scored when nobody else could, passed to make sure everyone got some shots up, and made sure to block the shot of the tallest guy on the opposition, a 6'8" monster who had not yet bulked up yet. I rebounded, played defense, and did the other thing I really do...I sweated.

A lot.

As in...there was not a dry inch of skin or cloth within 3' of me.

The game went on for probably two hours or so. I had a great time. We actually had quite a crowd watching which was kind of laughable. While there were 4 or 5 of us who could play a little bit, there were also 6 or 8 people rotating in and out who…well…if they just double dribbled and ran 5 steps, it would have been a vast improvement. They were more likely to double dribble 5 or 6 times, take 8 or 10 steps and do this multiple times on the same possession.

But you roll with the conventions of the group you are playing. I did not say anything because I did not care. We were playing basketball. We were having a great time. And there was a crowd, which I REALLY love...there is something deep inside me where I play better with people watching.

After the game I looked like I always do after playing basketball….which is to say, extremely nasty. How do I say this mildly? I sweat. A lot. As in, I can post up anybody because nobody wants to touch me. I look like I just stepped out of a shower and have not toweled off yet. Except I do not exactly smell of strawberries and rose petals.

So as I am walking away, flushed, sweating like Niagara Falls, a little sunburned, but happy, several girls in a bunch made a point of stopping to say something to me.

And, being me, I had no clue what they said. Now, a normal person has several ways to deal with this situation. I think it says a lot about me the way I approached it.

I said a few things about having just had 4ish classes of Spanish and not understanding subjunctives.

Wow. Subjuncitves? Really? A simple, "Lo siento, no entiendo mucho de espanol" would have been fine. A "gracias" would have been great. "I do not really understand past participles"? What an idiot!

I think it says a whole lot that when it is something I truly want…such as to play a game of basketball…I can find a way to communicate. I quickly adapted to the rules they were playing by (talented players by the rules, everyone else could travel at will, for example), figured out the scoring system (1s inside an artificial line, 2s outside it) and who was on my ever-changing team.

But put me in a situation where I am unsure and uncomfortable and I resort to a didactic discussion on my short-comings.

Well done.

Makes you wonder how the Goose puts up with me.

On the bright side, it was one of the great breaks of my life. Because I later found out that several of them were close to my age and interested in talking to me more. And, me being a green card ticket at the time...well...you know...

And by not being able to communicate with them, I was later blessed with the best thing to ever happen to me, marrying the Goose. With her I can talk just fine.

People stun me with their genius

2011-05-04T22:34:00.000-07:00

So, at my first job today, there was an add-on.

The list of materials to be added changed several times. Tomorrow is the last delivery to that job site. The job site is 300 miles away. Thus, it is VITAL to get it right. A small mistake can equal hundreds of dollars in additional shipping costs. This does NOT, in contradiction of all you think of me, make for a happy Weasel.

So I asked the guy doing the material list to provide me a new list.

He asked, in complete, 100% seriousness, "Do you need an accurate list?"

Not to get more time for it. The final, approved list was done.

Not as a joke.

He was 100% serious. After I believe 9 changes to this list, he wanted to just verbally make the final 3 changes.

"Yes. I need an accurate hard copy of the list."

"I just told you the accurate list."

"And you have a long history of verbally giving me bad lists. We just went over this Friday. And Wednesday. And Tuesday."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure. I need an accurate list."

"Okay, just work off what I told you and I will give it to you tomorrow."

Wow. Like that is going to fly. Like...ever.

I have made no secret of my distaste for my company since they out and out stole over a thousand bucks for me, devastated my shoulder and illegally forced me to take time off unpaid.

At the same time...I do a good job. I would argue a great job. I have made changes that have saved us hundreds of dollars in shipping costs on multiple jobs. Clients routinely go out of their way to compliment my performance to multiple people...my self, the outside sales reps, the branch manager...I even had one call one of our suppliers and discuss how much they like working with me.

The point is...I am not going to allow someone else doing a pathetic, half-hearted, no effort job that costs my client time, the company money, or makes the person arranging shipment's life more miserable.

Has not been more than a week since he and I had a shouting match in front of basically the entire branch in which I informed him in no uncertain terms that his choosing to do other projects was making the jobs of the various people more difficult, that he needed to prioritize better.

I also informed him the material list he gave me on that one was garbage. I pointed out the various hand-written corrections that had gotten so bad they were largely illegible and the ones that were legible were so confusing I had no idea what was supposed to ship.

So it is not as if my having issues with him are new. I mean, they ARE...but they are not.

I can count on two fingers the number of times I have had vociferous arguments with co-workers in my 23ish years of working life.

I simply prefer to find other ways to deal with these things. Usually I can find a workaround.

At least I have an easy excuse...stress of separation.

Except it really is not an excuse. I just need to calm down, relax, and remember...in six months, I will not even remember this material list incident.

Then again...if I ever hear the words "Do you need an accurate list?" again, it might just push me over the edge...

We hang by a thread

2011-05-02T20:16:00.000-07:00

My uncle went into the hospital this Saturday past.

I should clarify...another uncle. Dad being one of 8 and being the second youngest at 66, you know there will be a few of them passing away in the near future. An Aunt and Uncle did so in the last year, maybe year and a half. And they were two of the healthier looking ones.

It is a natural part of life. You are born, you live x number of years, you die. Some, like Grandpa, will go peacefully in their sleep. Others will go screaming in terror...like his passengers did.*

Anyway, those of us in the family who are religious...which is the vast majority...spent more than our fair share of time praying. Those who believe he is right with God for peace and no suffering, those who believe otherwise that he might have a chance to get right.

It was serious, and he was not expected to come out.

Funny thing is, they did not take him to his "normal" hospital. And the hospital they DID take him to did not have his wishes on file. His wishes were explicit and clear. He did not want to be resuscitated.

Because he was not at the hospital where those wishes are, doctors did what doctors do. They resuscitated him. Multiple times, if the story I am told is correct.

And he is home today.

I really am not sure what I am saying with this little story. Had he been where he would normally be, i would be making plans to attend the funeral of yet another loved one.Instead, I am blessed with him having one more day of life.

More to the point, his brothers and sisters can say what they need to say to him. Because they will always be closer to him than I can be. And that is how it should be.

As the years progress and our family shrinks, who knows which of us will pass first and which will live surprisingly long, healthy lives?

I just hope we make the most of it. And share a lot of love with our family and friends in the meantime.

And yes..if I know you and you are in the hospital with your life on the line, you can rest assured that regardless of your beliefs, I will be true to mind and pray that God has mercy on you, whether you are a believer or not. I surely hope He has mercy on me.

*Yes, that is a stolen joke. I still think it is funny.

Excerpt of interest

2011-04-21T22:44:00.000-07:00

(the following is one idea for part of the climax of a book I am working on that is a mixture of Western and sword and sorcery. Just thought you might be briefly amused)

Kersey quivered with rage as he picked himself up from the dust. Stranger had no right to treat him this way. His hand went to his hip as he rose.

Stranger laughed contemptuously. "What are you going to do, boy? Shoot me with your accounting wand?

He took two quick steps forward, bringing him chest to chest with Kersey. He reached down and jerked the accounting wand free of its sheath, breaking it in two and tossing it aside. He drew his left hand lighting wand and shoved it into the sheat, then took three quick steps backwards.

"Now you have a real, live adult wand. Go ahead, pull it."

Kerseys' mind flitted back to that fateful night so long ago when Stranger had shot Telfair down in a Wizards duel, only to be arrested by Sir Robert immediately after for the murder of Old Mand Wesson. Since then the bodies had piled up.

For the longest time they had all thought Stranger was the murderer until the truth came to light. Had Kersey not stolen Telfair's lightning wand after he had been killed, he would not have been out practicing in secret and seen the real murderer.

Yet after all that, after he cleared Stranger's name, he still found himself alone in the street facing his mentor and foe. It was a battle he could not hope to win.

Stranger had been here before. He was perhaps the fastest wizard with a wand the world had ever seen. Kersey had never used a lightning wand in anger. His sheath rode pitiably high on his hip,making it all but impossible to get his wand out in time. Stranger would kill him before he got the wand into action.

Or would he? He thought again of those tense moments. Stranger had let Telfair get off two lightning bolts before killing him. He had hesitated that split second to ensure everyone knew it was self defense. Was it a habit or just an off day?

Kersey licked his lips which were dry and cracked even as rivulets of sweat dripped down his forehead. He clawed his hand over the sheath.

"I think I will rearrange my wand before we have it out."

Stranger nodded. "Suit yourself. Your best move is to let it drop to the street, go back to your store and stay out of the business of your betters. I like you kid, but if you draw on me, I will kill you. Be smart. Drop it and go home."

Kersey felt his nerve returning. He had the edge. Even Stranger did not know of the countless hours he had spent practicing with the lightning wand. Stranger may not have killed all the others, but he had killed Sir Robert. That was enough for Kersey. He would have his vengeance or die trying.

As he finished tying the sheath low on his hip in imitation of how Stranger wore his, he saw Sandy from the corner of his eye. She was pale and drawn but said nothing to dissuade him from his course of action. He slightly tilted his head, acknowledging her, then turned his attention back to Stranger.

"You shouldn't have killed Sir Robert."

His hand flashed for his wand, but Stranger's was faster. Kersey shuddered as he saw the wand come up. He did the only thing he could think of. He spoke Strangers's name.

"Goodbye, Pettit."

The shock through off Pettit's aim just enough. His wand shot forth lightning which struck kersey in the shoulder, bringing the now familiar smell of burnt flesh to his nostrils. It knocked his own aim askew, yet still his lightning wand, honed by hours of practice, spoke true enough. Lighting belched forth, driving deep into the chest of Stranger, or Pettit as Kersey knew him, knocking the big, hard, cold man down.

Kersey started to relax, to check out his own wound when he heard a scream. Pettit was sitting up, his lightning wand coming level with Kersey. And this time he had no surprises left.

2011-04-20T16:53:00.001-07:00

Ride home much better. 19 minutes. Fewer red lights meant they removed some of the extra hills i noticed this morning. They will put them back tonight

2011-04-20T07:18:00.001-07:00

First bike ride to work of the year. 39 degrees. About 28 minutes. More hills than i recalled...or, more likely, i am more out of shape. Hmm. Nah. More hills

Okay, I probably deserved that

2011-04-19T18:26:00.000-07:00

After yesterday's cruelty, I probably had some karmic recompense coming. Insinuating someone is a complete and utter moron just because they fail to pay even the scantest attention to a given question might be a bit beyond the pale.

On an (possibly) unrelated note, I decided to ride my bike to work this morning. I made sure to go to bed early, get up a few minutes early to allow extra time.

I showered, shaved, dressed, and went to pump up my tires. Back tire, no problem. Quick, easy. Aired up. Ready to go.

Front tire...about 3 pumps in it starts leaking. I reset the stem. I pump. It leaks faster. I give up and drive.

I was just going to let it sit until payday, but the weather is so nice out and expected to be so bad later I decided to go get it fixed. Off to Performance.

At first he saw it leaking but could not find the problem. Finally he found it. Sure enough, big hole ripped in the stem. He thought a new tube would be fine.

I, however, have a long history of needing tube after tube after tube. I still had the original tire on the front and probably better than 7 or 8 hundred miles on it by now.

Last year my good friend Bob Tres helped me with a similar problem on the back tire and recommended Gotham tires. After having to replace the tire something like 4 times prior to that and zero after it despite having ridden two or three times as far after that replacement as I did before, I decided just to go with that since it is just 13 bucks or so for the Gotham tires which do miracles.

But of course the size we had put on they no longer have available.

We found the next size up, he put it on, I paid, home I went.

The bike I ride is blessed with quick-release tires, designed to be so easy an untrained and blindfolded chimpanzee can install them.

Having no chimpanzee in me, I am incapable of performing this simple task. For whatever reason I could not get the disc to fit into the brake. I fought it. I spun it. I tried a handful of things. I got frustrated as I always do when incapable of performing even the simplest task.

I went and researched it on the computer. I watched some incredibly poorly made youtube tutorials and some surprisingly well made ones.

Not one of them addressed the issue of getting the disc back into the brake pad.

I am apparently the only person on earth to fight this issue.

Frustration growing.

I went back over, looked at it a long time, finally decided the magnets had sprung out of position. Spent another length of time figuring out how to get them where they should be. And only 40 minutes after returning home I was able to complete the 30 second task of installing a quick-release wheel.

Tomorrow I will attempt to ride to work. I will not rely on the front brake because it is not properly installed. But the tire is on, it is pumped up...and I managed it successfully.

It probably would have fixed itself if not for my snarky post of yesterday.

I apologize for nothing.

Names are changed to protect the stupid

2011-04-19T18:14:00.002-07:00

Actual event from today:

*Ring* receptionist picks up phone
"Thank you for calling ******"
pause
"No, John Doe is out sick today. Can **** help you?"
pause.
my phone rings.
"Thank you for calling ******, this is Darth Weasel, can I help you?"
Him: "I need to speak with John Doe"

What I wanted to say: "He is still out sick. Nothing changed in the last three seconds."

Sadly...I refrained.

The old lady, the mower and the rock

2011-04-14T22:07:00.000-07:00

The neighbors kitty-corner from us were members at the same church. They terrified me.

The husband...lets call him Morris...was on an oxygen tank. In his younger years he had smoked quite heavily to the point where to be without the omnipresent oxygen tank would have suffocated him because of the damage done to his lungs.

He was a relatively mellow man, but when you are pre-teen hearing someone wheeze heavily and breathily between words while wheeling around a big ugly brown tank...well, it can be a bit scary.

But really, I always thought of Morris as harmless.

His wife on the other hand, I did not think of that way. I thought of her as a harsh, bitter, mean-spirited, sharp-tongued, scary woman. I tried to stay away from her as much as possible.

Dad, being the good-hearted, loving man that he is, tried to change my perception. He acknowledged her meanness but pointed out what incredibly difficult lives both Morris and Irene had led. Their families hated them and literally tried to have them institutionalized. Not because they had mental problems but because they wanted the meager possessions they would then be able to get their hands on.

Their children had been known to tell the grandkids, in front of Morris and Irene, that they wanted them to die painful, horrible deaths.

Despite a lifetime of having been treated by this first by their own respective parents, then by virtually everyone they had come in contact with, they were trying to improve themselves. In the loving congregation at St. Helens they found people who overlooked their flaws and showed love and compassion. They mellowed over the years.

They even hosted a few get-togethers at their place which were always well attended by church folk.

I say these things to point out I was wrong. I should have had the good heart shown by my parents, the Scotts, the Fischers, the Nelsons, the Allens, the Richardsons, etc.

It was very funny that for years she called Greg Fischer "Craig." Every time she did everyone would laugh. every so often someone would tell her his name, even write it down but to the day of her death she called him Craig.

But to the point of the story.

I wish I could say I did it voluntarily. And, in my own defense, perhaps two or three times it was. Usually when I saw Irene outside getting ready to do it herself. But honestly, more often than not it was not voluntary. Dad or Mom would send me down to mow their lawn.

They had a decent size lawn. It was a solid 35 - 45 minute job to mow it based on the length the grass had gotten to. I would not have minded that part.

What I hated was the prelude.

See, St. Helens is built on a rock. 6" at most below the surface in any given place you are going to hit solid rock.

Sometimes it stuck above the surface. One such outcropping was in the side yard. I could see the rock from our house a quarter block away. It was that big. But just in case it had not been obvious, they marked it. It had stakes marking it. Bright yellow rope. Astronauts on at least two space missions mentioned seeing it. Stevie Wonder thought his blindness was cured but it returned as soon as he stopped looking at this rock and its marking.

In short, there was no humanly possible way to avoid seeing that rock without going out of your way to avoid seeing it.

But every time before I mowed the lawn, Irene would give me the tour of the yard.

It started with that rock.

"There is a rock in the yard. Be very careful you do not hit it. It will wreck the mower blade."

Lion prides sunning themselves atop the expansive surface of the stone roared with laughter. I simply nodded.

"There is no need to mow this section," she would say, pointing to the boundary marked by 7' tall sticker bushes.

I already knew they were there...I had cuts all over my arms from picking blackberries so Mom would make a blackberry pie. This would have made more sense if I liked blackberry pie. I didn't. But for some as yet inexplicable reason, every year I would beg her to make a blackberry pie and she would promise to if I picked the blackberries. I had a wonderful Mom. She had a very stupid son.

"The edge of our property is here," she would say, pointing to where the long grass that had not been mowed all season by the Harts made it pretty obvious.

When I was smart I would acquiesce with a polite, "Yes, ma'am." When I was me...well, pointing up the foot drop between the Hart's yard and hers and saying, "Do I need to mow up there?" only made the prelude longer.

Then the boundary with her equally elderly neighbors, usually freshly mowed by their grandchildren, would be pointed out.

Then we would walk to the front...which had no yard. "There is nothing to mow up here."

Every time.

Back to the back yard and over to the rock. Mike had his steam shovel parked atop it but she felt compelled to point it out again.

Then, when I was mowing the lawn, every time I headed towards that corner she would step out on the back stoop to watch and make sure I did not mow over that rock.

I would be lying if I did not admit I was tempted.

This went on week after week after week. Super hot days were worse. She would insist on giving me some concoction that was allegedly lemonade. It made Crystal Light seem like it has actual flavor. It made salt water taste sweet.

She would insist I drank it. And she would stand right there until I did...there would be no tossing it in the bushes and returning the empty glass to her. She had been forced to fight so hard for every little thing she had she was taking no chances on losing a glass.

She was trying to be nice.

Looking back, I wish I had been kinder to her. More patient. More caring. More like Dad.

On the other hand...that rock was pretty hard to miss.

Post script.

One day after Morris had died and before Jim Moss spent several years caring for her, the lawn needed mowed. For whatever reason I was not there to perform the task. My older sister was.

By this point, Irene was no longer able to step into the lawn to give directions. The bright yellow rope had disappeared at some point.

And yes...the mower encountered the rock.

A snapshot in time

2011-04-11T22:27:00.000-07:00

Below are the headlines pulled from Google news at one specific point today. I specify that because the headlines at any given moment vary. They change often over the course of a day. So I copied each individual headline, put it in bold and dropped it in here.

Beyond it are comments of my own, strictly about the headline. Some are meant to be funny...some tragic. Read at your own risk.

Japanese Declare Crisis at level of Chernobyl
Not something I will make light of. There are differences, however.

In the case of Chernobyl it seems to have been a horrible combination of under trained people manipulating a technology beyond their capabilities. Poorly maintained, it was not only a disaster waiting to happen, it was also a tragedy made worse by the state of the world at the time.

Japan will receive assistance from every corner of the world whereas the time and place of Chernobyl meant they were on an island of their own. This has a lot to do with politics. Yes, I find it sad that people suffer because of politics. But neither Russia nor the US would have had it any other way at that time.

Obama to draw sharp contrast with GOP over budget
This budget crisis has been hysterically funny to watch.

First off, as a tax-payer, the best possible thing that can happen for me is for the Federal government to completely shut down. They waste unbelievable amounts of money, they pass laws they have no business passing and refuse to enforce laws on the books they do not like.

The criminal histories of numerous members of Congress are pretty easy to track down. Their willingness to freeze the wages of those in service while raising their own is illogical, unethical, and indefensible.

Even better was Obama claiming it was the Republicans making it political because they would not compromise their position whereas he was trying to reach across the aisle by not budging from his stance. Hypocrite.

Both parties are guilty of posturing and trying to make political capital instead of doing what is best for the country. Not for their own individual states...for the country.

Where are the Alexander Hamiltons of this age who set aside self-aggrandizement in pursuit of what they believed was best for everyone? Shot down by modern Aaron Burrs I think is a fair assessment.

Charleston Cannons began the bloody Civil War
What a confusing period of history. the South was right about states rights. The North was right about slavery. How to choose between the two? I guess with millions of skeletons.

Hillary calls for cease fire in Libya
Yes, because anyone outside the Clinton household and the goofballs in New York who voted for this tool care.

Except, oddly...I am in agreement with him on this one. Where is the outrage over being in Libya? Oh, that is right...it isn't a Republican in office. Hence the cacophony of demands to get out of Iraq/Afghanistan/close Guantanamo Bay are strangely silent. One suspects protests would be on every corner had Obama lost the election...

Ivory Coast president urges calm after Gbagbo is arrested
Quick. Point to the Ivory Coast on a map.

Right about now someone somewhere is pointing out that most Americans cannot do so as proof of poor education.

Right about now I am pointing out...in the greater scheme of things, there is not a lot of point to knowing where the Ivory Coast is for the vast majority of Americans.

Critics call new French ban of veils "harmful"
Easy fix. If you do not like the law of the land, go to a land where you DO like the law of the land. There is a reason calls are rising for bans of markers of Islam. In this case I think that particular ban seems a bit mis-placed...but the protest should be on those critics.

US Court upholds freeze on Arizona immigration law
Sad that the government spends more effort preventing a state from copying Federal law than it does prosecuting its own law. This failure to support, protect and defend the Constitution is a sad, sad commentary on the current administration.

Mitt Romney opens White House quest for 2012
My jaw just cracked. That was a big yawn.

West Texas Firefighters get assistance from out of state
Someone flew in some rain? We have some in Oregon we could spare for you...

Hunt for Serial killer Turns up More bones along Long Island Beach
because, you know, the best place to search for a serial killer is in the sand. He might be laying low under a bunch of kelp that washed up on the shore.

Friday Lightning Round:Donald Trump, Mideast Violence
Because the call for someone who has repeatedly declared bankruptcy yet remained repulsively rich through a series of clever abuses of loopholes to be our President is exceeded only by the volume of calls for someone with horrific hair whose current claim to fame is a never-ending series of training a stream of losers how to do business his way to tell us how he thinks over a century of warfare can be settled. Next week they turn to Kermit the Frog for his thoughts.

Winklevosses Lose what may be final appeal in Facebook lawsuit
Millions of nerds cry at the wrong done them. They then update their Facebook status with support for the losers.

of the lawsuit, I mean.

Stocks close lower; Alcoa beats by a penny
This is news? Stocks will be lower for the foreseeable future. Just sayin'

Global Crossing to be acquired by Level 3 Communications
So, uh...yeah. If you need to cross the globe, apparently now you can do it as long as you have security clearance of a high enough level.

Gas prices Rise, and Economists seek tipping point
Really, until enough people refuse to pay the prices, the tipping point will not be reached. I am as guilty as anyone. I could easily bike to work every day. But I look out at the chilly temperatures, wet streets, miserable riding weather and decide to suck it up and drive to work.

It is not worth turning a 15 minute drive into an hour and a half bus ride to save fuel. It is not worth a miserable bike ride. It is worth 3 or 4 bucks a day.

Now, on the other hand I do find myself taking voluntary trips far less. I plan my drives carefully. Grocery trips follow church. Going to St. Helens is a rarity.

And at the same time, I heard someone planning a trip to Michigan and choosing to drive instead of fly. Well...whatever I do NOT spend on fuel he will...so...yeah. Gas prices keep rising and, in other news, old folks complain about the young.

Amazon.com Will Sell Kindle Digital Reader With Ads for $114
Others will keep reading real books instead of electronic facsimiles.

Intel Takes on ARM with New 'Oak Trail' Atom Platform
Nnnnnnnnnnnnoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!

Giants and Dodgers come together in pregame ceremony
Okay, so those idiots who were in the fight managed to bring peace to two franchises that have hated each other for decades...have fostered hatred between their fans for decades...have celebrated incidents like Sal "The Barber" Maglie taking off the face of the enemy...

and suddenly fans, most likely engaged in dropping f-bombs on each other, discussing the dubious legitimacy of the parentage of the other, likely drunk, get in a fight and now there is peace?

Fan is short for fanatic. Too bad so many fans take that definition to its extreme. Relax, enjoy the game. It is just entertainment.

Heat show tougher skin against Celtics
They chose the right shaving cream.

Tori Spelling announces pregnancy
Fans of good parenting, in an unrelated event, begin crying copious tears.

Kirstie Alley suffers second mishap on Dancing
Everyone Cheers.

Benicio Del Toro having baby with Rod Stewart's daughter
Wow. One of the goofiest looking people walking the earth today getting together to produce a child with one of the worst voices of all time. How could anything go wrong here?

Tenet sues Community health Systems for overcharging Medicare
because, you know, nobody else in the health care system is overcharging. I know of at least three cases where people saved hundreds of dollars by NOT using insurance because of how much the medical care providers charged insurance companies.

One more reason I want the Feds to stay way away from mandating health care coverage. Constitutional violations aside, the government is outright incompetent.

Doctor's Don't Always Take their own advice:survey
Do as I say, not as I do.

Vitamin D protects against age-related vision loss
In other news, people breath air. Seriously, is there ANYONE who does not know properly balancing intake of the various vitamins and minerals will enhance our health?

And, combining with the comment on doctors not taking own advice...how many of us alter our eating to enhance our life?

Grizzlies-Trail blazers preview
Memphis has something to be excited about. I would say the Blazers are going to snap up the 6th seed, but in light of their history with legs, saying "snap" and the Blazers in the same sentence seems to be in poor taste.

"Crash" Wallace lands in Portland and fits right in

Gerald Wallace escaped Charlotte, a team that shows all that is right and all that is wrong with sports at the same time. That city has no business having a team, but instead of folding the franchise, along with several others that are not feasible for various reasons, they keep plugging away trying to make it work when it has now proven twice it does not.

Meanwhile New Orleans shows they cannot support a team but insist on having one even as Sacramento refuses to use public money for a stadium...and rightfully so...leading the team to leave, as is its right, and everyone complains.

There are no heroes here.

Except me. I am a hero. Because I say so.

It's time to meet the tool of the week

2011-04-05T21:49:00.000-07:00

It is no big secret I love sports.

I love to golf with friends. I like to play softball and basketball, volleyball, horse-shoes, tennis and more. I enjoy watching the occasional game, a lot of football and of course a ton of basketball.

I have been known to re-watch the same Blazer game 3 or 4 times on occasion. I actually own Blazer gear I have actually paid for not as part of a ticket package but actually set out to pay for that garment.

I love, love, love sports. They are a huge part of my life.

With that said, I believe they are a BALANCED part of my life. I do not play or watch them at the cost of time with my family. I do not spend money needed for food or bills on them. They are a leisure activity that is limited in its role.

Tonight I saw an individual for whom these things may not apply.

He was walking outside of McDonalds on Weidler Street with his guffawing girlfriend. He was wearing a Raider jersey.

Now, for those less in the know about sports than me, the Raiders are a football season. Which ended in February. They are a Southern California based team known more for their rebellious, outlandish, anti-social behavior than for talent.

Associating with the Raiders often has less to do with an affinity for the game of football and the fortunes of the team than it does with proclaiming the bearer to be gangster, an outlaw who scoffs at social conventions.

This guy fit that pattern to a t. He had the teardrop ink on his face which reputedly represents jail time. He was pretty inked up beyond that.

However, I do think he actually IS a fan of the Raiders.

Because he combined his passion for tattoos with his passion for the team and got an Oakland Raider symbol tattoo.

On his cheek.

Thus qualifying himself for our tool of the week. Get a grip, people. Sports are a diversion, not a lifestyle. Just sayin'

Goal accomplished

2011-03-30T21:23:00.000-07:00

Since my goal was to complete the first edit, I pushed it. I stayed up late. I cut corners on lunch hours.

And in the end...liking my finish more upon re-reading than I did when writing it made all the difference.

Tonight I finished editing my book on the first run-through.

I am still considering a major re-write or two, but for now...it is finished. Over 125,000 words. A lot of blood, sweat, frustration, and ecstasy.

And no matter what happens from here on, I can honestly say...I have written a book. A real, novel length book. Beginning to end.

Tomorrow I will go about getting it ready to send out to my guinea pig readers. But for now...I bask in the glow of accomplishment. I am really, really proud of getting it done by my self-imposed deadline.

The epic week of FAIL

2011-03-29T17:06:00.000-07:00

Wow, where to start. My goal for the month, that seems like a good place.

I started editing my book early this month with the stated goal of finishing the first edit this month. With one day left...I think it is safe to say that will not be happening. I still have 15% or so left to edit. Fail. But I made a lot of progress, got in some good re-writes. Fail, but just.

As the month proceeded, one day I randomly opened an envelope for my car registration. Renewal is coming up in May.

Except when I opened it...well...by May I mean March. So I needed to get the registration renewed.

Saturday I was going to St.Helens so it seemed like a great time to stop by the low-volume DMV at Lloyd Center.

My well-known hatred of driving since all the out-of-staters moved here and made our traffic New-York baddish led me to see how much trouble I was in when they turned out to be doing road work. 3 lanes narrowed to 1. I spent about 10 minutes sitting through 4 stoplight changes and moving about 2 car lengths. So now I am steaming.

Finally I get to Lloyd Center, go the DMV and see...they are now closed on Saturdays. Used to be open, but just started closing. Grr. Fail.

Then my wife, when I told her about that, pointed out...I have to take it to DEQ anyway.

So yeah, the extra driving to sit in construction before hitting a closed place was not necessary.

So Monday I made arrangements with my co-workers so I could leave early to hit up the DEQ I know where is. They told me about another one that is closer. I checked the address on the website...and..well...all that extra planning to get to the DEQ was shot down because Portland DEQs are closed on Mondays. Fail.

So today I left 2 hours early for lunch to go that DMV. Fought the ridiculous, over congested traffic on 99 to make a 15 minute drive in just 30 minutes...and in line at the DEQ to get the car tested, opened the glove compartment, pulled out the up to date insurance card...

except it was gone. The card in there expired in 2008. Last time I cleaned it out (also the first time apparently) I must have grabbed the wrong one.

So yeah, without an up to date insurance card...cannot get tested. Another wasted trip.
Epic fail.

Is there ANY doubt whatsoever that on my 4th attempt to perform this very basic task the car will fail their air test?

I have a question for Charlton Heston

2011-03-14T19:31:00.000-07:00

I notice your cold, dead hand is empty. Who pried it out?

Committing murder is hard

2011-03-08T19:55:00.000-08:00

It was always the plan. He had to die. But it was still hard.

From the very first time I began concocting this scheme it has been intrinsic to the project that someone had to die. And not just someone, but a very particular, specific someone.

But when the moment came and I had to kill him it was still hard.

As the moment grew closer it got more difficult. My breathing grew short, my palms sweaty. Surely, I thought, there is another way. He can be convinced to do it right. He can change. I can get my way without this.

But in the end, too many stubborn moves were made. Too many times my will was thwarted.

So I did what had to be done. I killed him.

Oh, sure, to the casual observer it was just keystrokes on the keyboard. Virtual ink on the computer screen. But he has been a friend, a traveling companion, a constant companion for years now.

From the very first conception of the trilogy until yesterday when I killed him off, his role has always been to die.

But when I had to write it..well..it was tough.

So yeah, this is kind of my way of saying..the rough draft of the Trilogy is finished. 122,223 words. Approximately 489 pages worth of novel according to my best estimate.

the sad thing? Because it was so hard to kill him off...after all, I have come to love this character a great deal...I hated doing it. And I think it made the end of the novel weaker because I wanted to find more ways to make it more meaningful.

So anyway, starting back through it to clean up some details...characters that switched genders, naming towns and certain characters...

By the end of March the plan is to have it ready to pass out for harsh critiques.

But for now...I am mourning the passing of a much loved character.

Aw, who needs stereos anyway?

2011-03-07T18:55:00.000-08:00

Having a decent stereo in my car used to be very important to me. Of my first 4 or 5 cars, all of them had some sort of enhanced system in them. Most were professionally installed and probably contributed to my ongoing struggles with hearing things clearly. I am sure eardrum damage occurred.

The first car i had was a diesel Isuzu I-mark.

Got 35, maybe 40 mph back when gas was under a buck. Yes kids, I am old enough to remember that. 400% inflation on gas fuel prices in my driving life, already. Scary.

Well, at that time I had the bright idea of installing the system myself.

To anyone who has encountered my mechanical expertise in such classically hilarious tales as Drew versus the bathtub or Drew Versus the BBQ, the idea I would make such an attempt has real potential to injure you as you fall to the floor convulsed in laughter.

But at the time I was young, ambitious, and brave. So I spent hours figuring out how to wire in a couple of speakers into my car.

Now, these days i would probably not do this for several reasons. First, I would not trust myself to not destroy something when fiddling with wires.

Second, I realize how expensive cars are on how little value there is in risking wrecking something when a professional will install it relatively cheaply.

Third, the idea of planting a couple of house stereo speakers in my back window makes me shudder in revulsion at such a garish display.

That is not a misprint. I took a couple of stand alone speakers, about 20" wide by 36" tall and wired them into my car. I had a amp/equalizer mix that pumped out enough power to run those speakers and give me a little bit of bump in the back.

Not worth it.

See, one time the car broke down, as used first cars are wont to do. Fortunately, it broke down at work. At the time I worked at a lumberyard hidden away on a quiet side street with maybe 6 houses on the street. Really no reason to take that street. Ever.

Now, as stupid as i was to put home stereo speakers in my car, I have to admit getting called to come to work at 3 am by the police was even stupider.

Some genius thought so much of these 8 dollar speakers that he broke out the back window and stole them.

I call him a genius because A) the speakers were worth NOTHING, B) he left the equalizer, and C)....3 of the doors were unlocked. The only locked door was the rear passenger door.

Sometimes I am glad to be older and more mature. I suspect never again will I have home stereo speakers I home-wired stolen from my broken down car with three unlocked doors at three in the morning.

But there are a lot of stupid people out there, so I could be wrong.

Time and place, peeps. Time and place

2011-03-03T20:52:00.000-08:00

There is a group to remain nameless that really has no concept of humanity.

Well, okay, so numerous groups fit that description. Lets narrow it down to the ones I am referring to.

Namely, the individuals picketing funerals.

Against war? Good for you. You apparently recognize passages referring to God's Church "beating their swords into plowshares" and "learning war no more", passages such as the oft-cited Fruit of the Spirit, passages that talk about Christian actions being first pure, then peaceable.

Unfortunately, your timing and parts of your message belie what you are trying to do.

By picketing a funeral, specifically the funeral of a soldier, you are being deliberately provocative. You are intentionally being hurtful. You are taking a time of sorrow and emotion and deliberately making it worse.

I suspect part of your defense for your actions would rest on "there is a sorrow which is a Godly sorrow for it leads to repentance".

Do you think your actions are likely to lead anyone to repentance? Or will they drive them to anger, bitterness and hatred? You walk the path of Jonah, telling the people of Nineveh how much you hate them without realizing how he was chastised for his attitude.

You reflect poorly on the God you claim to serve.

If you wish to protest the evils of war, do so. But do it in an appropriate venue. That venue is NOT outside funerals.

Ever.

Shame on you.

As for your other message...your means of expression is nearly as despicable. Why not use Biblical terms instead of vulgarity?

You are as bad as the leftist whack jobs with bullseyes on pictures of the Wisconsin governor. You are as full of hate and bile as they.

Find repentence while you can.

And find better times and places to make your message known.

Shamelessly taken from a guy who CLAIMS this is from his friend

2011-03-01T21:42:00.001-08:00

YARD SIGN
From a guy in Texas :

My neighbor is a "lefty" of sorts (Obama bumper stickers, gung-ho socialized medicine, "guns should be banned", etc.). So this past spring I put this sign up in my yard after one of his anti-gun rants at a neighborhood cocktail party.

The sign wasn't up more than an hour before he called the police and wanted them to make me take down the sign. Fortunately, the officer politely informed him that it was not their job to take such action without a court order and that he had to file a complaint "downtown" first, which would be reviewed by the city attorney to see if it violated any city, county, or state ordinances, which if there was a violation a court order would be sent to the offending party (me) to "remove the sign in seven days."

After several weeks he was informed that the sign was legal (by a quarter of an inch) and there was nothing the city could do, which obviously made him madder.

I tried to smooth things over by inviting him to go shooting with me and my friends at the hunt club but that seemed to make him even more angry. I am at a loss how to reconcile our long relationship (notice I did not say friendship), any suggestions would be welcome.

You thank the Academy: I will thank the idiots running this state

2011-02-28T16:50:00.000-08:00

Sad sight when I got home today. They have drained the pool. Started breaking up the concrete.

Now, on the one hand...no big deal. I did not swim in it even once last year. I do not much care for swimming. So losing the pool I may or may not use even a single time this coming year has very little impact on me.

On the other hand...a lot of people DID use it. Often. It was a very popular feature.

So why are they taking it out you ask?

Oh, wait...you didn't ask? No? Not you there in the back? You did not ask either? Anyone? did anyone ask? No?

Oh...

Well...well I guess I have nothing to write about today then. So never min...what?

Oh, NOW you are asking. Okay. Well then...

Our fine state added some fresh new requirements. These upgrades cost several years worth of maintenance costs to install. And become more onerous. So instead...APA is simply...and rightfully...taking the pool out.

Well done, Oregon.

You raise taxes, cut services, drive businesses away, and to make up for it you add ridiculous, unneeded, idiotic rules that make it so inexpensive apartments cannot afford to keep pools.

Why would we want cheap summer entertainment in a depressed economy?

Why would we want to have a pool?

Open memo to the Oregon governor/legislature; why do you not find something important to do? Something USEFUL. Instead of harming your constituents. Just sayin'

A perfect convergence of music and mood

2011-02-25T17:10:00.000-08:00

99% of the time when I am in the car I am listening to my I-pod. It is hooked to run through my car stereo and it works just swell.

About once a month I rotate the songs on my I-pod so it is always fresh and does not get tiresome since I only go through the rotation two or three times a month tops.

Currently I have 354 songs on my I-pod. they are a weird mish-mash...the odd Johnny Cash song, a lot of Southern Gospel, some rap, a bit of classical, some hard rock, a bit of classic rock, a little bit of contemporary, some ska, and of course some Weird Al.

On a percentage basis, you are probably 1% likely to stumble on a rap song, 1% a hard rock song, 1% classical, 10% classic rock, 2% "other", 10% Weird Al, 25% ska/new age/pseudo-rap, and 50% southern Gospel.

Most days it is random.

There is a one in 354 chance of having the right song playing today.

And yet...when I got in, started the car, clicked on my I-pod, there it was...Sir Mix A Lot thundering out, "You're Messing with My bad Side".

There were 353 worse choices today. Today...the Ipod got it right.

Talk to you Monday.

Why is the benefit limited?

2011-02-23T22:09:00.000-08:00

Saw an add for life insurance. Part of their caveat was "limited benefit for the first two years".

It really got me to thinking. Why two years? Why not five or ten? Or twenty? Honestly, regardless of when I choose to purchase life insurance, the real hope is I will not be using it for many many years.

But I guess for this company, they only want you to live for two years. That is why the benefit of living is only limited that long. After two years, you will start to understand the benefits of being dead.

Like dinner parties.

You do not have to invite anyone, the maggots are already there.

Maggots. The real reason life insurance is limited for the first two years. It takes that long for your dinner guests to arrive.

This sick bit of humor has been brought to you by Necrophiliacs Anonymous. Stop in for a few cold ones.

"Can I take that?"

2011-02-22T22:28:00.000-08:00

I heard the drawer slide open and the little gasp of astonishment.

"Oh! Can I take that?" she asked.

Since it was not the bedroom she was in, I had to assume whatever she found in the drawer was something she meant, "Can I take that in my suitcase when I return to Nebraska, not the thought that probably was more likely to spring to mind for some of my more...shall we say sensuous readers?

"Sure" I replied, not bothering to look at what she was referring to.

This was clue number one it was okay for her to take it. Seriously, she worked so hard getting through school I cannot think of anything I would refuse her. Maybe if she asked me to get a Brazilian bikini wax...I might refuse that. But other than that...pretty much hers for the asking.

"You did not even look at what it was."

So I journeyed into the kitchen. In her hand she held a device I had never seen before.

"Uh, no. You cannot take that." I said ironically. "What exactly is it? Where did it come from?"

She pointed to the drawer closest to the refrigerator.

"I am not sure I have ever even opened that drawer," I said. "You are welcome to anything from it."

"We have three" she said. "Are you sure it is okay if I take it?"

"Pretty sure, yeah. Take two. take all three. What is it?"

"It is an apple slicer."

"Oh." I took a few minutes to digest this information. Studied it. "Oh, that is good. I quit eating apples because they are not worth the effort. This would change that. I might take one to work."

"Oh, okay, then I will just leave them here."

"Nah, we have three. I only want one. Please, please...take at least one and preferably two."

Finally convinced, she did. And having discovered something new, I was pretty excited. I was able to try something new. And it works awesome.

I am now able to eat apples at will. This is a great step forward for me and I am very excited about. By trying something new, I gained a new, beneficial, and positive experience.

It was an unusual step for me. One of my biggest, most glaring character flaws is my stubborn, unyielding, uncompromising way of not trying new things. If I have not done it before I see no need to start now.

On a completely random, unrelated, non-sequiter style note, I have missed out on many wonderful opportunities in life due to my unwillingness to try new things.

Another door slides open. "Can I take this?"

"What is it?"

"Can opener."

"Oh."

"We have three."

"Yeah, I haven't used one since...uh...well, about ten years before we got married. Take all three."

"No, I will just take one. I want the electric one, but I will leave that for you."

I gave her kind of a quizzical look. "Why? I don't have a single can here in the apartment. I cannot remember the last can I actually opened. You want it, and more importantly, you will actually USE it."

After a bit more conversation, largely involving me stressing that she can and should take any and everything she likes to get settled in to her new home, she acquiesced to taking it.

A drawer slid open.

"Can I take this?"

A Team got a Burn Notice

2011-02-20T20:53:00.000-08:00

The star was wrongfully convicted of crimes not committed. Now being sought by the authorities, the star moved to a popular warm-weather climate to survive as soldier of fortune.

The conceit of the show is people in need of assistance track down the hero who puts together a plan to save them.

This plan invariably A) requires assembling advanced technological constructs from commonly found cast-off materials, B) fails, and C) finally comes through in an altered form with the technical innovation providing a starring role.

They repeatedly and deliberately refuse to kill anyone. People are occasionally killed, though never by the heroes.

Typically, the star then turns down or returns most if not all the money tendered leaving you wondering how they actually make their living.

Fans of the A-Team recognize this description. A high-octane, cheesy, badly acted comedy-action-adventure series in the 80s, it still resonates with us today as we recall Hannibal Smith's "I love it when a plan comes together" tag line, the cheese of Murdock and of course the attitude of jewelry salesman B.A. Baracus.

Fans of Burn Notice recognize it as well.

Which makes me wonder; both shows are so similar, do they have the same producers/developers/writers?

For anyone nostalgic for the 80s by seeking an upgrade I suggest watching it.

Because when you are a pop culture critic, you...

I Doubt It

2011-02-17T18:13:00.000-08:00

When I lived in St. Helens we used to have barbecues about twice a month. They were tremendous fun. Most of the attendees were from church, so it was a very family-friendly gathering. No smoking, alcohol, etc. No clothing-challenged individuals. Language so clean that euphemisms like dang were never heard. (This may be important)

Due to our large yard, there were sometimes volleyball games played. Very fun.

Due to our two stories, we often gathered upstairs to play Foosball or Nintendo 64. Outstanding entertainment.

Due to our large living room, we either played pool or ping-pong. I miss those days a lot.

And sometimes we would have lots of people, so we would gather around and play a card game called I Doubt It.

The idea of the game is to get rid of all the cards in your hand. But they must be played in sequence. The first person plays any number of cards from their hand, claiming them to be Aces. the second person then plays any number of cards from their hand, claiming they are deuces and so forth until Kings are played, at which point it would be back to Aces.

Of course, sometimes when it was your turn you may not have the required cards in hand in which case a bluff would be enacted. You would throw in say...a 6 instead of a 5, but since they were face-down nobody knew this. Unless, of course, they had all the fives themselves.

Anytime someone made a suspicious play, anyone else could say, "I doubt it." The cards played would be exposed. If the player had indeed thrown what they claimed, the challenger had to take all the cards from the middle into their hand. If the player had NOT thrown what he claimed, however, then HE had to take all the cards into his hand.

Sometimes the pile in the middle would get quite large, and nobody would want to take them so you had to be VERY sure about challenging.

So in the middle of one particularly challenging game, the pile in the center was humongous. Every play was careful and people checked their cards feverishly hoping to catch someone else or come up with a way not to get caught.

One guy who was almost out (if you got rid of all the cards in your hand, you won by being "out") and had not been caught made a play. Another player happened to have all four of that card in his hand and challenged.

He had not challenged all game and had been waiting for his chance. he got a bit flustered as he jumped to his feet, threw down the four cards of the rank named face-up to illustrate he KNEW this guy was caught, and shouted his challenge.

Now, some of you may know I Doubt It by some of its other names.

Some of you, remembering the sentence I earlier said might be important already know how he challenged. Suffice it to say, he did not say "I Doubt It" but rather...well, the other popular name for the game is listed on the link.

This would have gone over much better had two preachers not been in the crowd at that particular barbecue.

And yes, I still laugh to this day whenever someone says, "I doubt it".

the phrase that pays

2011-02-17T18:06:00.001-08:00

There are certain phrases that we apparently can not get enough of.

For example, listen to music for a day. Count the number of songs that say, "in too deep". How deep is too deep? Apparently not very since it is so common for people to get there. Less than 6' I suspect because when you get 6' deep you tend to stop singing.

Which leads me to believe A) very few singers are dead and B) love is shallower than a grave because you can be in too deep and still sing.

Perhaps that is because we do not understand the capabilities of singers, song-writers, or actors. After all, how long has it been since you have heard the phrase, "You have no idea what I am capable of".

Actually, we have a pretty good idea what you are capable of. You can leap somewhere between 2" and 2', reach things 2 shelves above your head, and write repetitive, trite garbage such as...oh, I don't know..."You have no idea what I am capable of".

It is used as a threat. As a hidden promise. As an explicit promise of untapped abilities. What we do know is that we don't know what you can do.

If we did, the paradigm would change. Everything would change because this weeks program changes EVERYTHING.

I cannot count how many shows/political ads/blogs have this as their go-to phrase.

This week, John-boy opens the door to his parents bedroom and EVERYTHING CHANGES.

This summer coming to a theatre near you from the guys who brought you three other movies you found dull or idiotic is the movie that changes everything.

Well, not everything...if your show is so lame that it needs everything changed, I can think of one thing that doesn't; I still ain't watching.

I know you are wondering...

2011-02-16T22:42:00.000-08:00

Just what I have been up to. My presence online is so sporadic these days.

Well, for starters, the next couple weeks after a visit with my wife are always a time I really prefer not to be around people much. Nothing against them...I just know I will be a little bit snarly and gnome-like because the difficulties involved in not seeing your loved one every day weasel their way deep inside me where I am a horrible person and convince that side of me it is okay to come out for a while, that I am justified.

Even though the parts closer to the service tell me know, it is not...we made a choice, it is the right choice for us and is building a great future for us and any children we may be blessed with.

But until I can get myself back on track and get past those first few days when the missing her all fresh and anew part so dominates my thoughts, I am just better served to spend lots of time getting my head on straight.

It is so counter-intuitive...but as I posted a few days ago, I have to get used to her not being here again in order to return to happiness.

We spent a few euphoric days hanging out and being us, we will do so again in a month or two.

Meanwhile, i keep thinking I will complete the first book of the trilogy in just a day or three. I am working on the big finale, know exactly what is going to happen, just need to get it on (electronic) paper...but I do not want to write it while in the mindset I have had recently.

So instead I have started work on another book I have had in the back of my head for a couple years. It is still in the easy part...the free-flowing opening where the words come faster than I can type, the characters develop themselves, the plot shapes itself even better than what I had designed...

and I have managed in two weeks to write 10% as much as I have written in two YEARS on the other one.

I do not know if that is good or horrible.

But it is what I have been up to.

well, that, watching Shrek Forever After, Despicable Me, How to Train Your Dragon...over and over and over...loving it.

Almost ready to be a people person again. thanks for your patience.

things you should never hear in places you should never hear them

2011-02-10T21:16:00.000-08:00

Imagine. you are walking through the airport. A guy is there meeting the girl he met on craigslist/e-harmony/random other dating site. (I did not even KNOW "Vegetarians Meet"...(an ironic name if I ever heard one) existed until last Saturday.)

He wants to impress her, so he tries to compliment her appearance. "You are the bomb!"

Next thing you know he is in prison for three years for terrorism. You just cannot say "bomb" in the airport in any context.

Which makes me wonder why they are allowed to have a gate called C4...

Is that my head? because it sure seems empty...

2011-02-09T22:03:00.000-08:00

People are funny. We can...and do...get used to a wide variety of things. Often truly horrific things. But we get used to them because...well, I guess because we are familiar with them.

It is true of a wide variety of things. Gas prices, for example. Currently they are about $3.19 a gallon here. About 2 bucks a gallon more than they should be. But there are no riots, no people boycotting it with any appreciable success...we just pay it. Because we are used to it now.

We work 5 days a week to have 2 days off. We celebrate small victories like getting paid to not work a half dozen or dozen days a year. Not real big deals...but we are used to it. We accept it.

Loved ones get sick and die, sometimes of horrible, wasting diseases like cancer. Some of us pray about it, some people curse about it, but in the end...we accept it. that is just the way it is.

I mean, there are times it still bothers me that Mom was just 45, had fought various cancers for nearly 15 years, had young kids, and died having experienced way too much pain her last couple of years...

But I accept she is gone. Dad has a new wife. For that matter...all six of us kids have (or in one case, simply had) a wife or husband of our own. Life goes on, we accept a sad truth...we will never see Mom again on this earth, never taste her holiday treats like peanut brittle, sugar cookies, etc. Never hear her laugh...or laugh at her waving the paddle around wildly as Mario goes careening off the cliff.

It is a truth, a sad truth...but we get used to it.

For the last year and a half, there has been a difficult situation, but I have gotten used to it. I know, I whine about it a lot...but that is because it is important to me.

My wife went to school across the country. She graduated. So since August 2009 we have seen each other only sporadically. It is so bad, my good twin even is closer to her than I am, as evidenced in this photo.

(For those who did not get the joke...I just claimed the Grinch, pre-heart enlargement, is my GOOD twin...thus insinuating SOMETHING about me...)

In that time, I have moved across town to be closer to work. I have a marvelous little apartment. Quiet. Close to work. All the amenities...computer, tv, heat, lights. Proximity to friends.

I got used to coming home to a dark, quiet apartment. Kind of like my own little Fortress of Solitude.

I even got to where I liked it. It was familiar. Comfortable.

Well, this past week my beloved better half was here visiting. And I have to say it was pretty awesome. In a way it was like when we first started dating or our honeymoon. It was all fresh and new. It was a tremendous amount of fun.

It reminded me anew of just how awesome my wife is and how fortunate I am to be married to her.

She did some amazing things, including hanging some pictures, some rearranging of things...the place is cleaner, cooler looking, etc. In fact, as I said to the guys at work, "for the last few months it has been a place I lived that was close to work. Now it is home."

This morning I dropped her off at the airport before work. Had a hectic day at work. had a post-work meeting. Got home...

and it hit me.

It is much harder coming back here and her not being here than it was. Because I am not used to her not being here again. It will take a bit of time to get used to it again.

In time, I will again get used to coming home to a place I live my wife doesn't. But right now I am not.

*sigh*

It is for a good cause we are doing this. We have plans in place to make sure it is not just bearable but as pleasant as possible to be apart while we are together.

And in a way, I hope I do not get used to it.

But I know I will, and in a way...that might be the saddest thing I have ever written. I do not want to get used to it. I want it always fresh in my mind what we are working for.

Do not know if that made sense...but if you read between the lines, there is one thing that should come through clearly.

Miss you babe. Come back soon.

File this under "Things I did not want to hear"

2011-02-03T19:30:00.001-08:00

Our dogs name is Bella. She is a tiny little chihuahua. And not all that smart...

Anyhow, the wife and I went grocery shopping. On the way home she called her mom and was talking. I, of course, heard but one side of the conversation, but that side went like this.

"So how is Bella?"

"Uh-huh. And did she poop?"

"Did she eat it?"

"That little turd! How come she only eats it when I want it?"

For the record...she MEANT when she wanted to clean it up. But she said...well, I do not know, because about that moment A) my eardrums exploded, B) I vomited, 3) we careened out of control and hurtled off the road, crashed in a big fireball and possibly died.

Some days are better than others

2011-02-01T20:20:00.000-08:00

Yesterday as the final post was posting I was off, ironically, playing basketball.

Playing with one close friend from growing up...Kyle...and one with whom I have been friends since his birth. He is much younger than the rest of us.

So I got home from work...and it was a rather unpleasant work day...made a light dinner, and then made a cake.

See, one of my great joys in life (get ready to drop me 17 points on the pathetic-o-meter) is to have dessert after any given meal. It can be Cold Stone as it was the other evening with Riot Kitty and Mr. Riot Kitty...it can be brownies as I make about every other week...it can be candy bars...ice cream...I simply crave something sweet.

On a completely unrelated note, I am overweight.

But tonight I felt like making cake for no apparent reason. White cake with chocolate fudge frosting.

Then went to the game while it cooled down.

My history with this league has been poor. In one attempt a few years ago, Kyle and I were on a team that won our league. That followed two seasons where we won 2 or 3 games out of 7 and lost the rest, most by big margins.

It was the next season (many short seasons...7 games each) when I shattered my athletic career, ripping apart the tendon that runs from the ball to the heel of the foot. Ever since then I have struggled with fasciitis. It can come on at any given moment.

I once organized a co-ed team that our closest game was 20 points. And we lost every game.

2 seasons ago we lost our first 5. Our first lead in any game at any point...including the first basket of the game...did not come until game 5.

In other words, most of our teams have been bad. Real bad. Clipper bad.

The first game of this season we won by just 12 but led by 20 for much of the game. And I began to get an inkling.

Tonight we were in a real war for about 10 minutes. After 5 minutes the score was 6-6. After 10 minutes it was 12-9. It was tough, rugged, close.

I looked at Collin and said, "The first team to string together two or three baskets is going to win."

Prophetic. In the next 15 minutes we scored about 30 points. They scored about 14.

And it was over. We were running at will, scoring whenever we wanted, and at the other end two or three guys at a time were blocking the same shot.

We were not just better than them...we did to them what has been done to us.

We wrecked them.

They were complaining we were in the wrong league.

Possible true...they actually had the talent to compete with us, they just do not use it right when the game breaks down. Once they stopped running their plays and just started going one on one it became almost impossible for them to score.

Here is the weird thing.

I, Darth Weasel, the guy who LOVES to win, felt bad.

I felt bad for annihilating them.

But worse...I felt bad because I am no longer good enough to play on either team...the one that won or the one that lost. I cannot jump, move my feet, or run.

So now...ironically, after a blowout win...I feel like I do not belong.

On a team that was my brainchild.

You really cannot comprehend how depressing that is to me.

Seriously.

This is not a level, not a joke, not an understatement.

But it is pathetic.

Which reminds me...I am going to go enjoy some cake.

And maybe watch Despicable Me.

1

2011-01-31T20:59:00.000-08:00

This was the situation he had once lived for. The ball in his hands, the fate of his team on his shoulders, and the clock his opponent.

Now, however, he was feeling his age. His body was breaking down. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, his knees, back and ankles hurt from the pounding up and down, and he was just looking forward to getting home and icing the most extreme aches.

Worse yet, he was not confident he could hit the shot. Sure, he had gotten to where the little jump stop sliding left heave from just inside the free throw circle was his money move, but it had not been falling all night. He was maybe 3 for 8 on them tonight, hardly a number designed to inspire confidence.

Somehow he had lost much of his game in the years he had stopped playing regularly. He always had an excuse for why he was not playing…taking the kids to baseball practice, going to dinner with the wife, working too many hours…and instead of being a highly toned athlete primed to win, he now had the completely untoned, borderline obese, exhausted, winded body.

But there was still that touch of what had carried him to the bit of success he had experienced. Somewhere deep inside was still the spark of the competitive fire which had led him to work on his game until he was able to beat the older, taller, stronger Martin, to make him a starter on a high school team that competed for regional championships, that allowed him to lead a small college past the first round of the NCAA tournament.

That spark lit, bringing out his will to win. Yes, he might still miss the shot, but he was at least going to take it. He was going to create the moment, take the shot, and win or lose.

Memories of the thrill of competition started firing in his synapses. He could picture those golden moments when the ball dropped through the net with that satisfying swishing sound…and picture those gut-wrenching moments when the ball clanged off the iron, ricocheting away from the basket and away from victory.

Maybe that was why he had really stopped playing. At some point his competitive drive and declining skills combined to remove the joy from playing and left behind only repeated disappointment as he lost with more and more frequency.

That meant lots of losing and losing was not fun.

Losing had never been easy for him, so perhaps that was the secret motivation behind finding other things to do. When he no longer could impose his will on the other team to the point where he won far more than he lost maybe he just metaphorically took his ball and went home.

Being in this situation again, though, was like seeing an old friend after drifting apart for a few years…the flood of great memories suddenly brought back that love of the game, that thrill of competition, that moment to decide if he was a winner on this particular night or a loser.

In the great scheme of things this game was pretty irrelevant. Neither team was talented enough to win their division, much less any trophy that anybody outside the metro area would have heard of.

But that did not matter. It was a game, which meant it was worth winning. After 49 minutes and 59 seconds of grueling, sometimes painful, exhausting, sub-par play between two pedestrian teams, everything hinged on his actions in the next miniscule portion of his life.

Joe smiled as he cut past his defender and pulled up to elevate for the jumper before the defender at the rim could rotate out. He reached the apex of his jump, flicked his wrist to send the ball towards the basket.

This…this, he decided, this is still fun.

2

2011-01-30T15:55:00.000-08:00

This was the situation that had caused thousands of shot attempts towards the rim when growing up. Ball in his hands, his team trailing, Joe taking the shot to win or lose the game.

Of course, in his head he made that shot every time. It was just part of the internal narrative during practice. In reality, most of the shots he had put up in those theoretical practice situations had missed.

But it was an easy fix; reset the situation, claim he was fouled and could move to the free throw line, say he got the shot off quick enough that he could get the rebound and re-shoot or the ball bounced out of bounds with 1 tick left on the clock.

There were a lot of ways to “fix” a missed game-winning attempt in practice. In practice, he always won.

In game situations, however, that was no longer true. There became real pressure to make the shot instead of try to make the shot.

The difference was subtle but real. No harm done if he missed a practice game winning shot, but if Joe missed a real game-winning shot, he felt like he let the team down. It entered his head as one of those things he feared.At first, it had not been an issue as he had an improbable run of five consecutive times he made the shot in that situation. Then he had his first miss. He quickly recovered from the miss to make his next two, but then had missed three straight game winning shots.

Those situations had spread out across several seasons…high school, traveling teams, college…but the toll started to show.

At some point he stopped demanding to have the ball in his hands with the game on the line and instead started working to get rebound position while a teammate took the pressure shot.
Somehow, he had stopped being the “clutch” guy and become the “look like you are putting forth effort, but hope the ball does not come to you” guy.

It had been yet another sign that his skills were declining, though in this case it was his mental approach rather than his body breaking down.

The mental approach was huge and as he had aged, he had come to realize not all shots are created equal.

A ten foot jumper over a defender in a game with a 10 point separation was easy to make. That same shot against the same defender in a tie game or game separated by just a possession worth of points was more difficult by at least a factor of two. Add the pressure of being in the waning moments of the game and the doubled degree of difficulty found its self trebled.

Some players instinctively rise to the challenge. Others shrink from it. When he was 20, Joe was the former. Now that he was closing in on 40, he was the latter.

All those jump shots in the driveway to win the game were decades ago. He was separated from them by years of work, dealing with the wife and kids, dealing with the stress of bills and deadlines.

It did not help that his body was dealing with the stresses of injuries, being out of shape and not having been taking hundreds of shots a day. Yes, there was a time this was the position he wanted to be in. Now was not that time.

Still, he had the ball in his hands, the head-fake had moved the defender, and there were only 2 seconds left. Using the space his fake had created, he began to dribble left toward the free throw line.

3

2011-01-29T15:53:00.000-08:00

Joe leaned to his right, trying to shift the defensive attention. It was a trick he had learned almost as soon as he started playing basketball.

Defenders know most players prefer to go right so are predisposed to accept any evidence the offensive player is going to move in that direction.

He had perfected the art in one-one one battles against his taller, older friend Martin.
That had been such a key part of his childhood…playing ball with his friends. At first it had been exemplified by his duels with Martin.

Two years older, a foot taller, 30 pounds heavier, Martin had won. Game after game after game he won. He won by going inside for lay-ups. He won by getting every rebound. He won by blocking Joe’s best shot attempts.

But Joe had a dogged desire to get better, a willingness to work at it, and a ferocious competitive streak. Slowly but surely he figured out ways to get better.

Instead of losing 11-0, 11-1, the games started getting closer. 11-7. 11-8. 11-9. Once he even forced their version of overtime.

Always they played losers outs, win by two. But Martin was still better when it mattered. On that one crucial possession Joe would have the chance to take the lead and Martin would just crush his best move.

So Joe found a new best move. And another. He became more creative, adept at fooling Martin. If Martin knew Joe’s plan he could stop it every time. But if Joe could shift him out of position for just a heartbeat, it presented an opening and Joe could often score.

When he began playing pick-up ball in games of 2-on-2 or 3-on-3 he found he was among the best players. He found ways to score. The harsh lessons of getting the ball sent flying when he attempted a shot against Martin now put him in good stead as he was able to subtly redirect the efforts of his defenders and now got to the rim virtually at will.

By the time he was in high school he had perfected a go to move he saved for clutch situations. He would head fake to the right, do a reverse spin dribble that put him on the left side of the lane with his defender on his right hip and explode to the basket, laying it in or, when he grew tall enough, dunking it with the rim protecting him from the defender. It was the same move he had developed playing against Mel on his driveway.

It was a brilliant move, and very effective until he sprained his ankle one too many times. He had done so repeatedly through the years, and it had never been a big deal. He was young, he recovered quickly.

As he entered college, he found himself wearing high tops as opposed to his beloved low tops. They cut down a little bit on his lateral agility but provided the extra support. He still thought of himself as indestructible, but looking back it was a sign that his body was starting to break down even before he hit his prime.

By the time his extremely brief pro career ended, he pretty much had to wear an ankle brace to play. Gone was the agility that allowed him to make spin moves with regularity, as was the explosiveness to get past defenders.

So he did what players do, he adjusted. Instead of spin moves designed to get lay-ups, he went to pull-up jumpers. He could still elevate quick enough to get a shot away after shifting a defender.

There were times even this move was tough for hi to pull off. Sensitive ankles screamed in anguish as he put tremendous torque on them with the pull up. It was a different stress than the stresses of spins and after a time, even that move was one he used less and less.

He found it would take longer and longer to recover. He did not even need to actually injure it to need recovery time. Just the stress of several jump stops would have his knees aching for days on end.

Even running up and down the floor was something that would have him feeling fatigue for several days. He would be slightly less energetic, find it harder to get up in the morning for a few days after a game.

As a result, he found himself looking for teams that played zone defenses as opposed to man-to-man, for teams that would walk the ball up the floor instead of run constantly, looking for teams that would set screens, work the ball around and slow the game down as opposed to the frenetic pace he played at when he was younger.

He learned to pick his spots to expend his energy. He was choosy about when to drive, when to post up, or when to take his pull-up jumper.

With the game clock almost expired and his first three options, it was looking more and more like he was going to have to choose. Take a contested jump shot, drive to the rim, or to drive and stop short for a jump shot.

Regardless, he was almost out of time. The ball was in his hands, and it was going to be up to him to decide the game.

4

2011-01-28T20:51:00.000-08:00

4
With Carl and Chris covered, the next option was Jeff. Having in-bounded the ball, Jeff had sprinted to the right baseline. Joe looked that way, but Jeff’s defender had shaded him and there was no passing lane.

It was not overly surprising. While this league did have two referees calling the game, it was really glorified rat-ball. It was like playing a pick-up game with referees and jerseys.

Whereas in his prime Joe would not have considered playing on a team capable of entering the last possession without a plan, of getting down to just four seconds left on the clock with no play designed to get a shot off, on this team it was to be expected.

Gone were the days when he played on teams that spent hours practicing. Pin-downs, double screens, cross-screens, pick and rolls were all things designed to get good shots. Here the plan was to inbound to whoever was open first, everyone go to their favorite spot, and hope.

Though the rules were largely the same, this was not the same game Joe had grown up playing, had gone through school playing and even had a cup of coffee in the NBA playing.

These players thought practice meant going to an empty gym and heaving up improbable shots that they would never take in a game.

SHOULD never take in a game, he amended his thought. He had seen some shots taken that made H.O.R.S.E. shots look ridiculous. Even worse, the guys taking them regarded them as good shots.

Joe had always preferred shots with a good percentage chance of success. His worst shooting year in organized ball had been 44% and that had been the year he fell in love with the three point shot.

Looking back, that had also been the year that was the beginning of the end of his organized basketball career. It wasn’t that he could not hit the three. He was a little below average, but was hitting about 30% of them, still a respectable number but not a good number.

But towards the end of his career he had stopped driving to the basket and started taking more threes. He had convinced himself he was a better shooter than he actually was and justified a lot of them. In truth, it had been a result of his declining skills but he had not recognized it himself.
Still, the coaching staff ran enough plays for him that he still got a few easier shots and scored reasonably well. That was the advantage of having set plays. You could count on getting open looks in situations that made sense.

In this league, he often would post up with good position but his teammates did not recognize the scoring opportunity, instead jacking up their own, often contested shot. Having no plays was one of the detriments to playing in this type of league.

It also meant the Celebrities did not have a good plan to generate a likely scoring opportunity in the closing moments of the game.

Jeff had a good idea to sprint to the corner, but when his defender went with him instead of double-teaming, it essentially took him out of the play.

With no set play to fall back on, it was going to be up to Joe to find an opening to score the game-winning bucket. It was a shot that could not be taken in fear.

Fear had almost derailed his career in organized basketball before it ever started. When he entered junior high he had been very excited about playing on the basketball team. However, the day of physicals he had missed school with an illness that kept him out for a week.

By the time he got back, the horror stories being told by the guys who had taken the physical of what it entailed had so frightened him that he had not tried out for the team because he was so afraid of the physical.

When he did try out in 8th grade he was a year behind in developing a team game. It took all he had to summon the courage to go in for the physical. The taunting the other guys had given him about what they had gone through had festered in his mind, growing into the proverbial two-ton gorilla on his back and terrifying him to the point he almost elected to not even play team sports at all.

Far better to avoid them and the grueling, humiliating invasive nature of the physical, or at least so he was almost convinced.

Ultimately, however, his competitive spirit allowed him to overcome that fear.

But fear had its uses, too. He was afraid of losing his hard-won spot on the team so he drove himself hard in practice and games. He was afraid of losing games, so he expended every ounce of effort he had during the games.

Fear of failing had proven a powerful spur and carried him to unprecedented levels of accomplishments once he got over his unfounded fears based on hyperbole and the unknown.
By the time he reached college he was noted for his fearlessness.

Then his career ended and he had become just another face in the crowd. Going to work, building a family, he was just another average Joe.

When the desire had entered him to start playing again, he had again hesitated, facing fear. Fear he would not be as good as he had been. Fear he would embarrass himself. Fear he would injure himself. Fear he could not run or jump. Fear he could not shoot. Fear he could not defend.

Fear, fear, fear.

Everywhere he looked the game he once lived and breathed caused fear.

Fortunately, his wife was very supportive and provided him the impetus to get back on the floor.
He went back to playing and found some of his fears justified. He was no longer capable of playing at a high level. But at least he was playing.And now he was in one of those situations he feared…needing to score and unsure of himself. He was afraid of letting the team down.

5

2011-01-27T20:49:00.000-08:00

5

His eyes flicked towards Chris in the high post. Chris was being matched up with a slightly taller defender, and almost as soon as Joe looked that way, he dismissed the option.

Chris was the type of player he had always hated playing with. An overblown sense of his talent, a complete lack on conscience and willingness to fire up any shot from any spot on the floor no matter how well he was covered.

Chris was the prototypical “black hole” of playground legend. He thought the only good pass was one that came to him. The idea of passing out of a double team or passing to a cutting teammate or even passing to another player because he himself was in bad position to shoot never occurred to him.

From one standpoint Joe understood Chris. Joe liked to shoot as well but he was also a willing passer who did a better than average job.

He had played with more than his share of gunners throughout his career. They had always annoyed him. A good team beats a good gunner the vast majority of the time. Being part of a good team mattered to Joe.

It was one reason he had always been willing to “do the little things” as people called it. He was always the guy dropping back to defend against the fast break, setting the screens, going hard to the boards even against taller, stronger opponents.

When he was young he had the speed and stamina to keep battling against people gifted with better size than he had. Now, however, he found himself tiring more easily. It took him a second longer to drop back on defense, so he had to play further from the basket on offense. It took him longer to recover from a stout forearm shiver under the boards, so he had to pick his spots to get a rebound.

That made it more frustrating to play with a guy like Chris. It was one thing to be wearing himself down grabbing tough rebounds, defending against odd-man fast breaks, setting screens, and working hard if he got rewarded.

But when he worked hard to establish post position or made a cut through the lane to get in prime scoring position only to watch Chris jack up a wild shot against two defenders in his hip pocket, then watch the shot careen well away from everyone on the Celebrities, it took a lot of the fun out of playing the game.

Fun. Was it still fun to play?

This team was not a group of guys from the same neighborhood playing on the same team because they went to the same high school. This was not a group of guys representing the same college. It was not even a semi-pro team getting sponsored by a local restaurant.

He was now playing on a team made up of friends of friends, co-workers of friends, the friends of his friends’ co-workers…some of these people he still could not remember their names after 6 games together.

That might have been a huge part of his love for the game. Most often, the never-ending pick-up games were against people he knew and knew well. Typical games included a couple guys from his street, a couple guys from the church he went to, and their friends from their school or other local schools.

There was a certain camaraderie that developed. They regularly bought each other sodas, Gatorade, candy bars, power bars and so forth.

A lot of bragging went on in regard to every aspect of their lives, on and off the court…who was seeing what girl, who was about to get what job, who had the hot new car or whatever else they could find to compete in with braggadocio.

But the real bragging was reserved for momentous occasions. Woe betide the young man who offered up a lay-in to see it swatted out of bounds. The act was inconsequential in terms of effectiveness…with no shot clock and the ball going out of bounds, there was no change of possession.

The real value came in the smack talk as claims of epic proportions were made.

“I blocked that so hard your grandpa got bruised.”

“I like that new tattoo you are sporting on your forehead. You must love Spalding.”

“That shot was so weak a double leg amputee could have blocked it.”

“Did that feel the same as it does when you ask for a date? Total rejection.”

“Way to bring it strong, Nancy.” It was never clear why Nancy was considered a weak girl’s name. But that always seemed to be the name used.

Of course, should a guy get juked out of his shorts the claims were no kinder or less grandiose. Perhaps the most-used one, often after someone had fallen so hard for a fake they lost their balance, involved the artistry of a mime.

Someone would hunch down, search the pavement for a bit, and mime picking up something extremely small with their thumb and forefinger. “Here is your jock strap back.” The inference was he had been faked right out of it.

Had the guys not known each other well, much of the smack talk might have inspired fights. But they did know each other. Thus it became a symbol of their friendship based on basketball. It even became part of the fun. It was fun because of the people involved.

But then again, at this stage of his career, it was not really about who he played with so much as it was just playing. And yes, when it came down to it, playing in a game decided on the last possession was still worth the sweat, the bumps and bruises. It was still fun.

6

2011-01-26T20:31:00.000-08:00

6
He spun and surveyed the floor. His first inclination was to pass to Carl on the left baseline. Carl had a fairly consistent shot from there and it seemed like their best opportunity to score.

Unfortunately, Carl’s defender stayed home. Ruefully Joe recognized this was a new development. In his glory days, that man would be sagging into the lane to deny the path to the hoop for Joe.

For years, one of Joe’s patented moves was a head fake to the right, 360 degree spin left and drive to the rim where he would lay it in, scoring and drawing the foul more often than not. He had gotten so good at it that people routinely left even good 3-point shooters to help Joe’s man defend against it. He had become adept at drawing the extra defender and passing to the open man in the corner, which simultaneously allowed him to set up in good position to get the offensive rebound if his teammate missed.

That move had been developed in his driveway wars with one of his Dads friends. When he was developing his game, Mel used to stop by to visit Joe’s dad. Inevitably, Joe would be out shooting baskets in the driveway and at some point, Mel would take a shot or two.

Both guys being competitive, it would never stop there. It would become a game of horse or pig. Then they would play some one on one, usually to 11.

Those games taught Joe a lot about basketball. The driveway was pretty narrow, maybe 8’ wide. Mel was a big man, about 7” taller and 150 pounds heavier than Joe. On a regular court, Joe would have torched him with uncontested jumpers or, if Mel closed out on him, drives to the rim.

But on the close confines of the driveway Mel could use his size and knowledge to good advantage.

Joe got used to taking elbows in the ribs, knee-to-knee contact. Mel did not like to lose and Joe hated to lose, so their games got quite violent. It did not help that the games were played on Mel’s sort of court where he had every advantage. If Joe started to blow by Mel, he would simply foul. Hard.

Joe got used to having bruises, scrapes, even bits of blood from getting knocked sprawling on the pavement if he threatened to get by the bigger, older, slower man, but he did not stop trying.

He found other ways to score, Even on the close confines of the driveway, he found he could make head fakes and spin moves to get to the basket on occasion. He simply needed to be able to absorb the inevitable body contact and still score.

So he worked at it until he could. It was rough, brutal, violent…and made him a better player so long as he was quicker and had better lateral movement.

Those days were long gone, however. Now his speed and agility were seldom enough to allow him to penetrate the lane or drive near the basket. Even if he were to attempt such a move there was little or no need for the help defense to come.

In the absence of a double team, the passing lanes were far more clogged and a pass was more likely to be intercepted than lead to an open look for his teammate.

Instead, Joe had developed a nice post game. He was most effective establishing position on the block and calling for the ball. If he was given a good entry pass, he had enough shakes and shimmies to move his defender out of position, giving himself a clean look at a turn-around jump shot.

That was part of developing his game. He had to find new tools to work with as his physical abilities diminished. It had taken him a while to realize that. He still occasionally tried to do things that he simply was unable to do anymore. Just last game he had gotten rim-checked when he tried to dunk on a breakaway instead of just taking the simple lay-in.

It was embarrassing and he probably would not try to dunk again, whether in a game or not. He simply did not have the springs he used to.

And knowing he did not have the quick first step meant he needed to find other ways to score. In a sense, this had been good for him as it made him play more than a team game.

In his youth he had been a bit of a ball-hog. He always wanted the ball in his hands, he thought of every shot he took as a good one and every shot taken my a team-mate…even a shot that fell…was not as good a shot as one he took.

That was not strictly true, to say he was a ball-hog. In fact, for most of the game it was quite the opposite. He would drive and kick to the open teammate. A lot of that was because he always felt that, even if they missed, he was the odds on favorite to get the rebound, using his knowledge of playing styles and typical shooting results to get to the right place to grab the board. Usually he was correct.

But when the game was on the line he had always taken that shot. Always. And usually made it. Now, however, with six seconds left, the game on the line, he found himself looking to pass.

7

2011-01-25T20:23:00.000-08:00

Joe’s eyes flicked up to the clock. 7 seconds left, and the C-list Celebrities were on the wrong side of the 52-51 score.

He smirked inwardly. Playing 50 minutes and having just 51 points, to still be in the game was ridiculous…but then again, it was kind of the epitome of rec-league basketball. These were not highly tuned athletic bodies engaged in spirited athletic competition but instead has-beens, wanna-bes, and never-weres throwing up bad shots against worse defense and seeing what would happen.

Oh, sure, there was the occasional good basketball play. A drive to the hoop here, a spinning post move there, a nice rebound, the occasional better than average pass. But for the most part this was a game between out of shape, pedestrian basketball players who were fortunate to hit the backboard with a shot, much less score.

Out of shape. That was perhaps the best description of Joe himself.

In his younger days he could play for hours. It was not unusual for him to play basketball for four or five hours at a stretch. Half-court, full-court, 5 on 5, 4 on 4, even 1 on 1 did not much matter. He just wanted to play.

If nobody else was around and available he would practice his dribbling, shooting, and post moves for hours on end by himself.

He would play one on one, two on two, one on two…whatever it took to get a game or at least some time playing ball.

He had never been everything a basketball player should be. He had pedestrian strength, slightly above average leaping ability, and decent stamina. He was quick, though not fast. He would never beat anyone in a hundred yard dash, for example. For that matter, a 40-yard dash was not his cup of tea either.

But put a defender up on him and he would use his lightning quick first step to blow by them and get to the rim.

As age and lack of activity took over, however, he lost that quickness even as he added bulk. But it was not the good bulk, the toned, muscular bulk of an athlete. Instead it was the bad bulk…a lot of fast food, comfort food, soda but not the exercise levels needed to keep from ballooning into the massive excess weight puddle together and kindly called love handles.

He was not morbidly obese but he was certainly not slender, either.

Running up and down a court for 30,40 or 50 minutes straight was no longer a good idea, though. He did not have the energy of youth and now the pounding on his knees and back left aches for three, four, sometimes five days after playing.

From time to time after a particularly exhausting game he would wonder if it was still worth it to play, but then the thrill of competition would bring him back.

At least he had been able to find good competition. Sure, he was no longer running up and down the court with guys who could dunk, hit the three, and similar basketball activities, but he had found his own level.

The guys he played against now were like him. They mostly knew how to play but no longer had the physical tools. As a result, the games were close.

Like this one. The game would be decided by this possession in the next seven seconds.

Nobody was open so Joe flashed to the top of the key, making himself available for the inbound pass. Well, flashed was the wrong word…he moved as quickly as his middle-aged knees and flopping gut would allow him, keeping his bulk between his defender and the inbound. This was good and bad. The good part was he was open.

The bad part meant the inbound pass came to him at the top of the key. Now he had the ball and seven seconds left to find a way for the C-list Celebrities to score a basket and win the game.

It is small, round, light, and guides my life

2011-01-24T22:24:00.000-08:00

Checking in at a rather modest 1.6 pounds, 29.5" in circumference, 122 pebbles per square inch (roughly 35,000 for those interested). 8 panels bisected by black lines.

You can shoot it, bounce it, dribble it, pass it, block it, turn it over, score with it. You can play full court, half court, 5 on 5, 1 on 1 or any permutation in between. It keeps track of pig, horse, and Isuck.

I love basketball. I love watching the game when played at a high level. I love playing the game. I like playing it on Xbox 360, also, though being a cheap-skate, I am currently playing a game 3 generations old (I am playing NBA2K9 in an era when those who are "with it" are playing 2x11).

I like to talk about the game. I like to read about it. I like to think about it.

With Kyle, one of my oldest friends, and Josh...about 16 or 18 years my junior...I am again playing in a Monday night league.

And feeling my age, let me tell you...

Saturday my good friend Mr. Riot Kitty , apparently angered I am still breathing, decided to punish me with a hilly, brutal 43 mile bike ride...our first ride since day after thanksgiving.

Oh, sure, he will come up with some lame excuse that argues he doesn't hate me...like it being my idea to go for a ride that day or something...but we all know the truth. He really inserted the idea Inception style in an attempt to derail my return to the basketball floor.

It failed. I returned. I played decently...problem being, we have a GOOD team this time, so playing decent looks bad.

Be that as it may, I am so enamored of basketball that I have written a short story titled 7 Seconds to Go.

The name is a reference to a famous basketball book, :07 Seconds or Less; My Season on the Bench With the Runnin' and Gunnin' Phoenix Suns.

It is told in 7 parts, each covering roughly one page worth on Microsoft Word, about 14,000 words pending revision.

So, in my continuing effort to bore the world, I will be posting a chapter a day for the next few days.

Feel free to ignore it.

2011-01-20T19:20:00.001-08:00

Good use of phrase:checking out bills. Bad use;in mens room. The phrase? "but dad! Its so small!"

A fascinating reaction to an officer shot

2011-01-05T21:07:00.000-08:00

As a general rule I am not a big fan of law enforcement. I find them, as a rule, to be hypocrites more likely to break the law than enforce it, willing to break rules to get their way in prosecuting people, some of whom deserve it, others who do not.

Generally when I hear of an officer injured in the line of duty, my natural reaction is "another criminal off the streets. Excellent."

Today I hear about a shooting in Ranier, Oregon, in which a police officer was shot. Now, there are exactly one police officers I personally know and that one works in Ranier.

And I was worried.

I worked with his dad for years at a lumberyard. I considered his brother a friend and had a very interesting trip trying to help him by taking him to the VA hospital to try and get clean from drugs...

A trip in which I stood between Manuel and the woman he was convinced was aiming rays at him through the car seat because I was not going to allow this slender guy to harm this woman...and later that night he bent two steel security doors. I am fortunate he did not go through me to get at her.

The point being, I have a history with this family. There is one officer I respect as a human being and as an officer.

He has the same name as his Dad, Ralph Painter.

It saddens me that my initial, foundless fears were proved true. Ralph was the man shot and killed.

I have not talked to Ralph for several years. But I would still consider him a friend. I am saddened by his senseless death. I agree wholeheartedly with the comments of Mayor Cole.

When you discuss good men, men who are thoughtful, compassionate, willing to help others, Ralph is...was...certainly one who came to mind.

I grieve for his loved ones.

The fascinating thing...again, I have not spoken to Ralph for probably ten years but I still find sadness in the way he passed.

Vengeance is not for me and it is not for me to wish ill on another person...but I cannot help thinking it would not be the worst event in history if his murderer were to catch an infection that lingered for months, causing him untold agony before he dies.

Which means, the way this world often works, he will experience little pain, a slick lawyer will get him out of jail time and he will win some ridiculous lawsuit against Ranier.

Whatever happens, the world is a little worse today for losing Ralph Painter Jr.

There is just one word to describe today:Epic Fail

2011-01-04T19:57:00.001-08:00

I actually thought that was a pretty funny joke.

Until I saw the responses.

"Why, what happened?"

"Not sure what to say. Did you get fired?"

":-("

"?"

It is well known that when you have to explain jokes, they are less funny. Or, arguably, not funny at all. But whatever, here you go.

The phrase "There is just one word to describe this day" indicates that following the mis-placed colon (if memory serves, that should actually be a semi-colon. Sadly...I do not care enough to go back and fix it, though I do care enough to type all this explaining I do not care. Which may be a funnier joke than the one in the header, apparently.) will be but a single, solitary word expressing inexpressible feelings.

Instead, I used two words.

Which is itself a "fail" thus making it an "epic fail" in and of itself.

*sigh*

I remember when I used to be funny.

It must be everyone else suffering from memory failure.

I still haven't recovered from Y2K

2011-01-03T19:53:00.000-08:00

When the whole Y2K nonsense was going on, I was in a good place to experience it. Married to my first wife.

What a wonderful family she had. Lets see;

Her father A) did not believe in the Holocaust and B) had certain borderline white supremacist tendencies which caused him to decide native Americans were, in fact, white to justify his having married one.

Two or three of her brothers got their first felony randomly deciding to hold up a place one night. No plan, just a "hey, this seems like a good idea right now" type thing.

A few other things, but I think you have a feeling for the family.

Well, with the dangers of Y2K approaching, one of her brothers really, really, really bought into the hype.

This, of course, was one of those people who thought he did not have to pay income taxes because it was unconstitutional (which, to a point, it is...but good luck winning that in court. It is fun being forced, on pain of prosecution, to pay a "voluntary tax", but that is a rant for another post).

He also was convinced a way to get free money was to deposit an empty envelope, making a claim for a larger amount, and instantly withdraw from the ATM based on that amount. This worked best done Friday after hours. Since the bank accepted the deposit, they could not say you did not have the money.

This is the genius who wanted to use our yard.

Not to camp in when computers crashed, society melted and the sky fell upon us as pundits predicted.

No, he wanted to use it to bury hundreds of cans of food so he would have food to eat as the world descended into a Twelve Monkeys apocalypse.

I want to point out this was an individual who, when he chose, actually had some bright things to say, he occasionally had gainful employment and usually achieved certain levels of promotion based on his capabilities.

Then he would remember who he was and go all ****** on them and off he would go to his next big adventure.

The irrational, delusional fears people had about the whole Y2K thing were not just limited to people on the fringe of society.

Reputable commentators knowledgeably spoke about potential doomsday scenarios as computers flipped from 99 to 00.

Have not heard a lot of apologies from them. Weird, you would think we would have.

But it speaks loudly to how much credibility most pundits, commentators, talking heads, political figures, etc. have when they present the various "the world is ending because of people" nonsense, most of which predictions, purely by chance I am sure, put millions of dollars in the pockets of those predicting disaster.

Well, 2011 is finally here. We are over a decade into the new millennium.

And, much to my (lack of) shock, people are still stupid and still fall for the charlatans, quacks, illusionists and outright liars trying to scare us into submission.

What scares me most...is the number of otherwise bright, intelligent people listening.

Best Career Options for 2011

2010-12-30T06:57:00.000-08:00

In light of the depressed economy, people are looking to save money at every turn. This has created a new and exciting sales opportunity. I want to get in on the ground floor.

So starting tomorrow, I am going to start looking for a job doing what should be THE hot new career in 2011.

Selling used caskets.

And, in other news....BACK UP YOUR FILES

2010-12-27T20:51:00.000-08:00

Grr. So a few days ago I picked up a virus from somewhere. Not really sure where...my list of sites I go to is pretty narrow.

Anyway, it did some pretty fun stuff on my fine computer. Like, to stop programs I had to unplug the computer.

I could get it going in 'safe" mode, but it would not even start otherwise. It would lock up during the booting process and get stuck forever.

This made me sad.

Over the years, I had downloaded a few programs like Picasa and Itunes that had, in turn, a great deal of time-consuming downloads of their own.

Like all my cds so I could just keep rotating the music on my Ipod instead of changing out cds.

And thousands upon thousands of photographs...family trip to Silver Falls, the trip to see the graduation, family Christmases, including a few pics of my late Uncle Ken.

Other files, of course, though less important.

Manuscripts for both the Trilogy, the steel story, and the man who couldn't die.

Resumes.

Open Office files for some things my brothers and I do.

And the only way I could figure out to get it fixed was the option of reformatting the computer.

Which wipes out EVERY download.

So now, I have in front of me the intimidating task of re-downloading hundreds of cds, data card after data card of photos...

On the bright side, I once more have a fully functioning machine.

On the dark side, I did not have one for a few days and lost a lot of data.

Fortunately, all the truly important data was backed up in one way or another.

Good thing.

I will probably not ever forget losing a couple hundred pages I had written on the Trilogy which never could be recovered.

But boy is it frustrating meantime.

2010-12-25T15:58:00.001-08:00

Merry christmas to all. Hope to get computer back soon for more extensive writings

Merry Grinchmas

2010-12-23T23:01:00.001-08:00

Well, time for the thing you have all been waiting for with baited breath. Why, exactly, a person would bait their breath is unclear to me. What do you hope to catch? Flies? Chocolate very seldom comes to baited breath.*

Anyhow, after a troubling, stress-inducing start to the trip, I finally made it to Nashville. The Goose and I then drove to Orlando to spend a few days at Universal Studios as a celebration of the Goose graduating from the accelerated Nursing program as a member of the honor society and also sort of a second honeymoon.

I know the Goose loves me, because she even wore a hat modeled after my personality.

It was pretty cool. They had everything in Seuss Landing decorated for their production of How the Grinch Stole Christmas", including having people wandering the park with prosthetics to make them look like the Whos of Whoville and having various signs relating to it.

We wetre also able to see some superstars. For example, my pseudo-crush on Jessica Alba is well known (I really liked the show Dark Angel until it went stupid and kind of lost the heart that made it cool for a couple of seasons. It just became too moody and melodramatic. Her career since then...well...forgettable, with the possible exception of the first Fantastic Four movie in which she played Sue Storm, aka the Invisible Woman.)

So here is my sighting of Sue Storm, the Invisible Woman, flying the Fantasticar.

Later, we got a picture of The Grinch, and also the lesser, green version who is modeled after me, albeit somewhat kinder and gentler.

The guy was hilarious. I told him how much I admired him before he was corrupted by the Whos. He played along with it.

And here is one of my favorite pics. The pure joy on the Goose's face does the cockles of my heart good. If only I could figure out what a cockle was.

All jokes aside...life is so much better with her by my side. It is really tearing me up to know the day we will actually be in the same house...same state...smurf, the same side of the Rockies! together is indeterminate.

Our original plan had us being together a month or two after graduation, but circumstances have so changed that now the date we will be reunited is pretty up in the air. Might be two months, might be another year.

And that is really hard to deal with.

The whole time she was in school, I knew the plan and the sacrifices were worthwhile. Short term pain for long-term gain, but the end of the separation was always a known quantity. Now it is up in the air. Grr.

Well, anyway, we went back to Nashville for her graduation. She does not fully comprehend how stunningly awesome she did in school. She was in the top percentage of her class, one of just a handful of students who made honor society, won leadership awards in addition to graduating from the accelerated program. Even students doing the longer, more traditional schedule did not do so well.

I am inordinately proud. I like to think our relationship is close enough that being apart added to the degree of difficulty, and she still crushed it like I knew she would.

So here is the "pinning", the recognition she is actually a nurse.

The happy couple. I wonder if people think it is weird that in virtually every picture of the two of us together, I lean my head on hers. But I just like being around her so much that on those rare occasions we are together, I want to be close to her, you know?

After the pinning was the actual graduation ceremony. Here she is actually getting the nicely packaged diploma.

And showing it off.

During the commencement, the valedictorian was a guy from Africa who spoke no English when he started at Belmont. To finance school, his family sold 20 cows and finances meant they were able to attend.

His speech was nice...a story of sacrifice to get an education, of separation from loved ones for a time to acquire improved opportunities in the future.

He was very charismatic and received a standing ovation. I participated in such, more to fit in than because I felt moved. I recognized at the time he got it more for his charisma than content, though the content was decent. His closing, tear-fueled, heavily accented "Do great things! Do great things! Do...great things!" is exactly what makes me a poor target for such things.

It was impassioned, emotional, and empty.

This is not a shot at him. That works for a lot of people. I am not one of them. I do not get overly emotional and am more likely to respond to logical, well-thought out words than emotional but empty phrases.

While I am giving credit, I should pass some on to her Mom and step Dad. They provided a great deal of support and assistance in various ways as well, and take, if anything, even MORE pride in her scholastic accomplishments than I do.

1...2...3....

AAAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Anyway, it was a wonderful trip that was a lot of fun.

It also makes the time apart that much more difficult. I am sure I sound like a broken record and people get tired of my whining, but I miss her so. Even if as I was typing this, she was sitting in the other room watching some tv show that I dislike...it would be so much better than her sitting a 12 or 14 hour drive away, you know?

According to Genesis, the reason God created woman was it was not good for man to be alone.

Certainly true in my case. I miss being able to share some happy moment or other with her. She softens me. She enhances my enjoyment of various things.

Like, today I made cookies. These cookies are candidates for worst cookies in history. I do not know if I put in too much salt or the Vanilla Extract went bad or what, but they are...well, not inedible, but not saliva inducing.

If she were here it would be funny. She is not, so it is irritating. As is the lousy taste of the tacos. Guess the crockpot day-long marinating was not as good an idea as I thought.

Grr.

Anyway, the trip was great, the separation is not, but it will all be worth it soon.

I think.

* Yes, I know the correct spelling. But the joke dies if I do, so take the bait, as it were.

2010-12-23T17:23:00.001-08:00

Today's semi random movie quote" Mlatrine!"

Theme park Fluff Fluff

2010-12-22T20:43:00.001-08:00

Graduation pics coming soon. Just too hard to post them right now. I be missing the wife, you know?

Okay, maudlin stuff over...it is time for another hair-raising, thrill-packed tale of derring-do and adventure from the just-completed vacation.

We spent a couple days at Universal Studios. Due to their awe at my presence...or the sub-freezing temperatures, perhaps...people stayed away from the park in droves.

This meant popular rides such as the Dueling Dragons had waits of 5 minutes instead of 55 minutes. (It also meant it was so cold it was borderline not worth it to go on the ride...ah, who am I kidding, it still rocked!)

4 of those minutes were the walk from ride entrance to where you actually get on the ride.

Normally the wait is bordering on an hour, so to amuse people, they post bits of "fluff" to make the ride thematic.

On the Dueling Dragons, the theme was Harry Potter, so they posted a bit of fluff.

The lights are on, the windshield wipers flipping back and forth, and it occasionally honks. I laughed, kept walking up the path.

At the top of the hill was a park employee lounging by the entrance. The smart-aleck inside me could not resist.

"Some guy had an accident back there" I said, pointing back down the hill.

"What? Where?"

"Along the path. Crashed his powder blue car into a tree. Must have just happened...the motor is still running."

To my never-amending amusement and marginal chagrin, he got a worried look on his face and started running down the path to check on the accident as I made my merry way to take my seat on the ride.

Good to know he knows the fluff on his own ride, has the intellect to realize a car getting to that point of the park is next to impossible...

And feels shame because as the ride took off I saw him walking back to retake his post, shaking his head and laughing.

2010-12-22T16:28:00.001-08:00

WoO-hoo! Robonika break is here

I need a volunteer

2010-12-21T12:54:00.000-08:00

So at the Goose's graduation, the commencement speaker did the normal; take a bunch of famous quotes, mash them together and make vaguely inspiring pronouncements from them.

One of them was the FDR "We have nothing to fear but fear itself" nonsense. And the lesson he drew from it was the tried and false sobriquet, "Find that which you fear the most and make a point of doing it. By so doing, you will conquer your fears."

Well...by her own admission, there is something about a job she is looking at the Goose fears. It would involve being lead nurse at night...like Nick at Nite, except less funny...at a small hospital just the other side of the middle of nowhere.

Her fear is that her inexperience could lead her to kill someone with a mistake.

Now, all of us make mistakes from time to time. Some are serious. Others are not. Typing infer when you obviously mean imply is clearly a mistake...but people get past it. Except Al.*

So I have encouraged the Goose to confront her fear, face it, and make a point of doing that which she fears most.

We just need a volunteer she can kill.

After all, it is what was suggested in her commencement speech...

* Inside joke well laughed at by those whom are familiar with the song referenced.