One of the Best Sports Stories Ever.

I saw this story this weekend and it blew me away. It's the antithesis of the corruption that scars professional sports, and really captivates what sports should be all about.

*Broadband users: make sure you watch the video on the right side of the screen.

Coldplay

I'm not even going to get into why I haven't blogged in so long. I'm just gonna get right to the meat and potatoes.

By "meat" I mean Coldplay. And by "potatoes" I mean...well, Coldplay. Back in November I had my finger on the left-click trigger of my mouse ready to buy the best seats in the Omaha Qwest Center for last night's concert. I kept refreshing my Ticketmaster page over and over again at 9:53, 9:55, 9:56, until the screen changed and let me in to purchase the goods. I had my credit card number already "Ctrl-x'd" and ready to be "Ctrl-v'd" into the form...and when the time came, I was in the zone. Got a ticket for Dawn and Wade, and hit "Buy." Imagine my surprise when I found that we were in the second row on the main floor. That's right. Second row. We were never more than 30-40 feet from frontman Chris Martin at any point in their standard set, and since we were on the end of the row, Wade and I were able to reach out and cop a feel from him as he ran past down the aisle to the rear of the arena.

The concert itself blew my mind [Anyone who's going to a show soon may not want to continue reading this post, because I'm going to give away some things]. They start out with a blinding white panoramic screen for a backdrop, counting down from around four minutes while the band plays the intro for "Square One," the opener off their latest album, "X&Y." The clock ticks down as the band is in silhouette in the foreground, and right before the chorus, Martin comes sprinting to the front and leaps off of a platform, landing right in front of a bunch of drunken rich kids whose parents bought them tickets to a concert they'll probably leave early, and a mixture of true fans like myself and the people with which I attended. There's a whole lot of sound just blowing you away for about 10 minutes straight as they roll into "Politik," and the whole thing is choreographed brilliantly. The 15,000-plus fans were nuts from the get-go, and the show had a lot of cool elements like giant yellow balloons filled with confetti dropping from the rafters during "Yellow," a semi-unplugged songset including the tribute to Johnny Cash "Till Kingdom Come" (including a rendition of "Ring of Fire" that brought the house down), and a heck of a lot of Chris Martin running around like a lunatic (totally surprising me with his energy). Martin and gang seemed to be impressed with the venue from the beginning, saying if they'd known they "were going to get such a warm welcome from a place they'd never been, they would have come visit a long time ago." A writer from the Omaha World-Herald even said the climax of "Clocks" was the loudest response they'd ever heard during an arena concert. So what I'm saying is, it rocked big and bad, and you should have been there.

The concert was more than worth the price of admission (and believe me, with Ticketmaster's surcharges and arena fees, it was an investment), and will definitely be tough to top. The opening act was Fiona Apple, whose voice is still amazing me this morning. She's something to see on stage too, girating and seeming to curse out imaginary friends when she's not curling her 5-foot, 2-inch dainty figure into a ball. But man can she belt it out. I was more than entertained by her performance and will probably listen to a playlist from her on the iPod today.

And as for Coldplay, they've potentially surpassed Travis as the greatest band on my own personal planet. Now I've just got to go to England and see Travis perform live.

The OTHER Local Boy

It seems like everyone around here that follows professional sports is real high on local boy Kyle Orton (former Southeast Polk High School quarterback and successor to Drew Brees at Purdue) and his role as starting quarterback for the Chicago Bears. And with good cause -- Orton has improved in every game he's played (exactly what a rookie is supposed to do), and the Bears are atop the NFC North Division despite having first-string quarterback Rex Grossman (a.k.a. Glass Joe) injured and on the bench nearly the entire season.

But some people aren't paying enough attention. New Jersey Devils goalie Scott Clemmensen (formerly of Urbandale) is now 5-1 in his career in net, including winning his last two games (one of which was a shootout) with all-star and future hall-of-famer Martin Brodeur out with a minor knee injury. And Clemmensen's stats are nothing to scoff at -- especially considering any rookie goaltender entering the NHL at this time (with all the rule changes that promote high scoring games in an effort to win back fans) is going to suffer greatly in the statistics department. He has a goals against average of 2.05, and has faced 158 shots, saving 144. That's a save percentage of .911, which is pretty much unheard of (even in the ten games that Clemmensen has played). And the Devils aren't exactly the top defensive team in the league, either. They're currently 6-5-0 this season (sitting in third place in the Atlantic Division) and lack the pre-lockout defensive stars they once had in Scott Stevens, Scott Niedermayer and Ken Daneyko. And this is a guy that used to play for the Des Moines Buccaneers.

Sure, Orton is having a good season. But I wouldn't say his stats are anything spectacular. Clemmensen, on the other hand, could probably be a star today if he were ever thrust into a starting role (especially considering his success -- and more importantly, his experience -- in the AHL). It will be interesting to see what happens in his future. As long as Brodeur is healthy, Scott will ride the pine. But if he ever gets dealt away, or if Brodeur faces an injury that keeps him out for a while, watch out. He could very well be the most successful Central Iowan still active in the four major sports.

Siskow and Ebert.

I haven’t done a movie review in a while, so I thought that could be a worthwhile post since I’ve now seen two new releases in the last two days. Here goes:

The Weather Man (Nicolas Cage; Michael Caine; Gore Verbinski, director): B+
PLOT OUTLINE: Nicolas Cage (Matchstick Men, Adaptation) stars as Chicago weatherman Dave Spritz, the neurotic and depressed son of renowned author Robert Spritzel, played by the legendary Michael Caine. Spritz is divorced from his wife Noreen (Hope Davis, About Schmidt), and is becoming a stranger to his two children due to his obsession with a potential job in New York with "Hello America with Bryant Gumbel."

STORY (with spoilers): The movie starts with Cage’s character feeling optimistic about hearing from "Hello America" for an audition as their new weatherman, but also feeling pessimistic about his current life situation – an ex that hates him, a daughter in an awkward life stage and receiving little support from parents, and a son with a drug problem. Things only get worse for Dave Spritz, as he slowly realizes that his ex-wife may be in love with another man, his 12-year old daughter smokes cigarettes and is ridiculed at school, and his son is hanging around with a child molester. On top of that, he finds that his one true role model in his life, his father, has a terminal illness and could be dead within a few months.

Upon learning of his father’s condition, Spritz decides to make things right with his family. He begins to spend more time with his daughter, joining her in taking up archery as a hobby. He attends a counseling session with his wife, hoping to mend their marriage, and offers to buy his son a camera to encourage his interest in photography, provided the boy’s drug rehabilitation is successful. Spritz vows to his father that he will make things better, thinking his father would want to see his son’s life a success before his death.

The only problem with Spritz’ plan is that he banks on the job in New York to fuel his second chance with his family, believing that a new job in a new city with a salary double that of his current one will make his family happy. When his plan ultimately fails (though he is offered the New York job), he discovers that just being himself and finding out what he really enjoys doing is the answer to his problems. And following the advice of his father to just “chuck some things once in a while,” Spritz starts a new life in New York and becomes a happier man with a new job and a love for archery.

REVIEW: Overall, the performance isn’t much of a stray from what Nicolas Cage did with the character Charlie Kaufman in Adaptation – it's another dark comedy role that could earn him an Oscar, though it won’t. He did a good job as Dave Spritz, but it just wasn’t enough of a change from past roles (i.e. the neurotic Kaufman in Adaptation or the bumbling H.I. McDonnough in Raising Arizona) to be outstanding. Michael Caine, however, could earn a best supporting actor nod for his portrayal of Robert Spritzel.

Visually, the movie has some clever editing, but I was expecting more from a cinematography standpoint since Gore Verbinski provided us with some interesting images in The Pirates of the Caribbean and The Ring, and even in The Mexican and Mousehunt. Aside from a few high points, I was slightly disappointed by the imagery. Also, there was such a big deal made about how this movie just had to be shot in Chicago for authenticity (as opposed to in Canada), but I never got a real Chicago “feel” from it. I did, however, get a real “indy” feel from it, which was nice, and Hans Zimmer’s score was very well done.

The humor is definitely adult, and had me laughing out loud a few times. But the movie has such a depressing tone that you never really feel good about the character, even at the end. At times I felt a little tired of Cage’s character. While Charlie Kaufman was such an interesting person, I ultimately wanted to punch Dave Spritz. And while I hate to keep comparing the movie to Adaptation, the whole time I watched this film I found myself doing so. Maybe that was why I was mildly disappointed. It’s probably your best non-claymation bet for a laugh at the cinema right now, so I’d recommend it for that, but otherwise, wait and rent The Weather Man.

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North Country (Charlize Theron; Frances McDormand; Niki Caro, director): A
PLOT OUTLINE: Charlize Theron (Monster) plays Josey Aimes in a “names have changed but the story’s the same” account of the first successful sexual harassment suit against big business in the United States. Aimes, whose living situation is filled with sadness and abuse, moves home to the “North Country,” e.g. the Iron Range in Northern Minnesota, where a lot of iron mining takes place. She moves in with her parents and takes a job at the local mine, at which her father is employed and which also has a man-woman ratio of 30 to one.

STORY (with spoilers): Josey Aimes (Theron) is an embarrassment to her family – well, to her father at least – for taking the job at the mine. But he's embarrased not because of the abuse she'll take, but simply because he doesn't think it's a woman's place. From the beginning of this film to the end credits, every man-woman encounter is tinged with chauvinism and sexism, and at times it’s laid on extremely thick. The abuse of the women at Pearson Mine starts verbally, then turns into drawings on walls, profanities etched with feces in bathrooms and sexual pranks. Then it becomes physical, and it effects all the women at the mine, not just Aimes.

After the harassment and abuse goes too far, Aimes decides to take action. She begins speaking up to management and other superiors, but they just “toss shoulders” at her. Even the CEO of the company refuses to acknowledge Josey’s stories. And after she makes accusations toward some of the men at the mine, things only get worse. So bad in fact, that Josey quits her job and hires ex-hockey star turned lawyer Bill White (Woody Harrelson) to defend her.

White takes the case only because he’s taken a liking to Josey, and because if they win, it will be a victory the likes of which has never been recorded in the history of American justice. The trick is getting enough other women miners to risk their jobs and possibly their lives and admit to instances of sexual harassment at the mine so White can file a class action lawsuit.

REVIEW: What I once thought was simply another Oscar vehicle for Theron is much better than anticipated. It’s pretty much what you’d expect after seeing the trailer or seeing a similar film in the past, but it really goes deep into the character of Josey Aimes and makes you cheer for her. She’s been an outcast all her life, ever since giving birth to her son Sammy at age 16. As you see past events unfold in Josey’s life alongside the current events at the mine, you can’t help but want this character to endure it all and win the case. And that’s what’s best about the movie.

In addition, I thought Harrelson did a great job as a supporting actor (I predict he gets nominated for at least a Golden Globe – heck, if Lowell from TV’s "Wings" can, why can’t Woody?). Frances McDormand (Fargo) was her typical awesome self as Josey’s friend Glory, and if it weren’t for Glory’s husband Kyle (Sean Bean, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring), you’d think that every man in Minnesota was a pig. It was nice to see Bean in that type of role. I thought he was excellent as well.

Throughout the film is an awesome Bob Dylan-laced score, which I thought was timed perfectly with the recent buzz around Scorcese’s Dylan documentary. Granted, it’s pretty obscure Dylan (aside from Lay Lady Lay), but man, it’s awesome. If the documentary didn’t do it, this movie will make you want to go out and buy a bunch of his music.

“Okay,” you say, “But how did it look?” The answer is: Pretty darn good. Niki Caro (Whale Rider) really knows how to capture emotion, even in a place as dank and dirty as an iron mine. And up until the movie’s climax (which is really the only time that much takes place in the courtroom), the film really looks nothing like the “Hollywood-ized” cookie-cutter picture I figured it’d be.

So while it was about what I expected, it was better than expected. I recommend seeing it in the theater, but you’ve really got to be ready to see a movie of this type. It could make you angry and sometimes uncomfortable, but at the end you’ll be glad you saw it.

Post Toasties

I figured it was as good a time as any to drop a little post and let everyone know I haven't given up on the Internet or passed away. Why haven't I posted in months, you ask? A number of reasons:

1. Dawn and I got addicted to "24" and had to watch all four seasons in a row so we can be caught up for the January 9 premiere of season 5. That show rules, but be warned -- if you start watching, you won't be able to quit.

2. We've been planning a trip to the Black Hills, and whenever I have free time to surf the web I am either looking for travel info or searching for new music to load onto the iPod.

3. Work has been the busiest it's ever been, and I have been producing video like you wouldn't believe. It's been time-consuming, but I've been having fun.

4. I didn't want to show my e-face on the web until after the baseball season was finished because I was so disappointed in the Tigers.

5. I've taken up the addicting sport of disc golf. It has become so important to me in fact, that I go almost every day. I've made kind of a game out of exploring the local courses too. You see, I've found 36 discs this summer out in the woods and have yet to pay for a new disc.

That pretty much sums it up. Bad excuses? Yes, but excuses nonetheless and you have to live with it. And since I've got you here, let me mention something that I thought was funny that happened recently...

There are a lot of signs in Urbandale yards that say "Vote Getter" and Dawn and I aren't exactly sure what they mean. I think you have to be big into the community to understand. Anyway, the other day Dawn jokingly asked, "What's with these signs? Is there a candidate running for some office with the last name 'Getter?'"

That's all I got.

Calvin Should Urinate on Pine

Okay, after a threat from Derek, I decided to update for the second time since turning 26. This may be kind of quick, but I do have a few things to point out...

In the world of music:
"Stuck on You" by Lionel Ritchie and "Texas Tornado" by Tracy Lawrence: SAME SONG.
"Going to California" by Led Zeppelin and "Given to Fly" by Pearl Jam: SAME SONG.

In the world of movies:
"The Terminator" and "Terminator 2: Judgment Day": SAME MOVIE.
"Lilo & Stitch" and "The Iron Giant": SAME MOVIE.

Also...
"Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith": GOOD.
"Batman Begins": EXCELLENT.
"The Astronaut's Wife": HORRIBLE.

In the world of stupid people/concepts:
I saw a new version of the "Calvin Urinating" series of window and car decals. You know what I'm talking about -- Calvin (from the "Calvin and Hobbes" comic strip) urinating on Ford or Chevrolet logos or Dale Earnhardt's signature number "3;" that mischevious little turd will pee on anything. Well, this new variation of Calvin micturating while grinning as only Calvin can made me feel all warm and safe inside. In fact, maybe the government should raise the terror alert level to whatever the heck level signifies "completely secure." You see, that little Dennis the Menace wannabe now pees on the word "terrorists." So no need to worry America, Calvin's got things taken care of. Thank goodness.

Birthday Ramblings

So yeah, I'm 26 today. Hip hip hooray. I don't feel any different -- I went to work, did the same old stuff, and I'll probably go home and mow the lawn tonight (unless Dawn has a special dinner planned). Wait, I guess one thing was different, I got a free lunch from my boss (who got a free lunch from her boss because it was also her birthday). That kind of ruled. But then it was back to the same old, same old. And now that I've put myself in a completely indifferent mood, it's time to talk about some random stuff:

My cousin Melissa and her husband Cory are expecting a baby in December. Congratulations guys! Name it Aaron (or Erin).

If the Suns don't win tonight, this will be the worst birthday ever.

Oasis has a new album out. Someone get it so I can burn it (Wade).

"Deep Throat" was finally revealed. Who cares?

I desperately need to see some movies. I have only 16 more to see to complete the Internet Movie Database's top 250, and Andy is breathing down my neck with 20 to go.

I ate at Tasty Tacos three times in four days last week. I could eat my weight in flour tacos.

Over Memorial Day Weekend, Dawn and I visited our friends Amber and Dan in Wisconsin. I managed to stab myself in the arm with a red hot stick (my worst injury since putting the filet knife through my hand).

I will definitely tune in to "Hit Me Baby 1 More Time" tomorrow on NBC. Anytime A Flock of Seagulls performs, no one should miss it.

Finally, vote for my buddy Mike's tattoo so he can go to a Raider game this season. While you're at it, view the black bracket and look at Raider Jose's tat (WARNING: Do not eat before viewing.)

Rest In Peace, You Fat Old Slimeball.

This may be my only opportunity to use that as a title for a post, so I better act on it. Any other time I might use it would probably make me seem (and feel) like a jerk. But in this particular instance I don't feel as bad because I'm talking about a dumb catfish. As you probably know (or maybe didn't want to know), some dude caught the world's largest catfish outside of St. Louis on Sunday. A 124-pound pile of fish crap. And I made that exact statement about the fish as soon as I heard about it (before I heard of its fate). We're talking about a fat, slimy fish that had basically no purpose on earth anymore except maybe to eat bugs and grime from the bottom of the Mississippi River (because I believe God put catfish on this earth for no other reasons than for humans and animals to eat, and to keep rivers and lakes clean). That's not to say I wanted it to die, I wouldn't wish that on anything (except maybe the spiders inside my house and the wasps outside my house); all I'm saying is that it's basically doing nothing useful except keeping the Mississippi's water levels a quarter of an inch higher than they should be. There's nothing special about it, it just IS. Nothing else. Anyway, there's more to this story that's a little bit sad and makes me kind of feel for the stinky tub of guts. Apparently, some genius decided to keep the fish in captivity at Cabela's in Kansas City, so they decided to drive him across the state and throw him in an aquarium. You can guess what happened (though the people in charge apparently had not anticipated this) -- he died on the way. Big surprise. A fish that weighs eight times as much as my dog can't really be out of its home environment for an extended period of time, let alone the four hours on a truck or however long it takes to get from St. Louis to Kansas City. It's pretty lucky to be alive in the first place, and it's actually quite surprising that it can swim. But think about it. An animal that out-of-the-ordinary (most big freshwater fish weigh what...1 to 5 pounds?) needs to be in water. And I know they had it in a holding tank and everything, but how big of a holding tank do you need to keep a fish that large from stressing out? How about one the size of the Mighty Mississip? Yeah. Anyhow, it is abnormally large for a fish, and for something to go from near-weightlessness in a river to being almost completely immobile out of the river has to be a shock to the system (especially after fighting with a 220-pound man for 45 minutes). Discovering gravity alone must have almost killed the poor thing. And plus all the people slapping the fish saying, "Way to go, Tim" and flashing pictures at him had to be a bit frightening. That's not to mention all the "putting your head in the fishes mouth" jokes that were undoubtedly being played out, and the "comparing the fish to the size of your kids" hilarity that ensued shortly after he was landed. And that's all BEFORE they threw him in his cell. I bet the big boy died of a heartattack before the brilliant decision to drive him around even came about. What kills me about that is, someone from the Illinois Department of Natural Resources anticipated the fish's death (he said, "We're guessing that this fish was at least 30 years old. When you have a fish this old, this heavy, that has lived in zero gravity its whole life, it just won't tolerate a lot of handling."). Can't the DNR advise people not to take a fish across three states to be put on display? Aren't these people FOR natural resources, which (to the best of my knowledge) includes keeping fish and animals healthy and...(surprise)...ALIVE? Why didn't this guy step in and tell Mr. Pruitt to throw (or gently lay) the hunk of blubber back in the water? He got the recognition already, the pictures were cracked off, why not toss it back and see if someone else can catch it. Instead he said he wanted other people to have a chance to look at it. Why not give people a chance to CATCH it? Don't real fishermen like the thrill of the hunt more than the thrill of the look? I mean, Cabela's is making two replicas of the freaking thing. Replicas? Why did you need it in the first place if you were making replicas? Throw it back. Start a legend up about the old fatso. But don't let the thing die if you know it's going to die. This DNR guy also said "(The fish's) death was a sad footnote to a great story." To what story is he referring? The one where no one even knew the fish existed until this guy gets a hit on his line, wrestles with it for an hour, pulls it out, takes some snapshots and then lets it die on a trailer en route to a city 257 miles away? Some STORY. What a LEGEND. I'll be telling my kids about this one. The story about the idiot humans who had to show off a living animal so bad that they had no concern for its life. How painfully ironic. And I loved that heaping mound of goo.

The Suns Also Riseth

Before I rant, I want to e-publicly say congratulations to my cousin Brandon and his wife Toni on their recent marriage (the wedding was actually in February in Cozumel, but the reception was last weekend).

Now I will rant.

People are talking like the Suns are out of the Playoffs already. Is that why they're going to go ahead and play the remainder of the games? I'd like everyone to remember that Phoenix could still win the Western Conference, and do so without a seventh game. Granted, game three is massive. If they lose that one it could be next to impossible to come back. Here are some points that are keeping me optimistic, though:

1. The Suns went 31-10 on the road this season, one of the best road records in NBA history. They were also 31-10 at home. In the playoffs this season, they are 4-3 at home and 4-1 on the road (this could be taken one of two ways: First, that they will probably lose the next two making them 4-3 on the road and evening up their road and home playoff records since they are equally good at home and away...or second, they are a good team on the road that has won 80 percent of their playoff games outside of America West Arena. I prefer the latter point).

2. Joe Johnson might be coming back. Those 17 points per game can't hurt.

3. The Spurs can't possibly play any better, even in San Antonio. Can they?

4. The Suns have younger legs and are more fit for a six- or seven-game series.

5. The Spurs now are expected to win the series. That is sometimes worse than being down 0-2.

And thank you Woodsie for the info on lawn striping. My yard shall now look like Yankee Stadium.

Captain Blogtastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy

Hey everyone, Cork's getting married!!!!! Sean, congratulations. Sonja, good luck. Carrot Top, you're a genius. Tom Bosley, your voice is forever in my head.

In other news, this morning I saw someone talking on one of those car phones that were big back in the early- to mid-90s. You know the ones with the little carrying case and an actual cord attached to the receiver? One of those. I almost laughed out loud at how dumb those things are. They were so pricey too -- like $3 a minute or something back in the day.

My friend Derek and I were just debating over how you get the cool "baseball field-like" mowing strips in your yard. Does anyone know? Do you have to set the wheels in the front lower than those in the back? I've tried mowing criss-crosses in my lawn before to make it look like a Major League outfield, but to no avail. Someone please enlighten me, my grass is begging to look beautiful.

I was asked to feature the Photoshopped images of Blair Fisher that I've created in the past (along with Mike Donnenwerth and Grimace, Blair is one of my three favorite people/monsters to Photoshop). Here's the first installment:

Hit Me Babe One More Time

I spent three days in the Salt Lake area last week (thus the blaag drought). Man, is that country beautiful. We worked with a lot of great people too. I always meet such interesting agents and their families when I travel, which is a major bonus. The free food and board isn’t bad either – a long-deserved break from the land of cubicles every so often.

The hotel room I stayed in Wednesday night kind of caught me off guard though. The American Inn & Suites (not to be confused with AmericInn) was reported to be one of the better places in town to stay, and I thought it was great. The continental breakfast was superb, serving everything from gigantic pancakes to breakfast burritos. The rooms had a modern look to them (complete with flat-screen TVs): a bold color scheme, a very interesting "office" area, and a couple of nice-looking brick walls thrown in the mix. The only thing was, when I first entered the room and flipped on the light, I saw something I’ve never before seen in a hotel room. Let me ask you: What types of art would you expect to adorn the walls (keeping in mind I was in Utah) in a typical $100-a-night motel? A scenic mountainscape? Nah. Not at the American Inn & Suites. Green pastures at dusk crawling with elk? No. Maybe a print of a classic work like "Starry Night" or something? Nope. American Inn & Suites scoffs at that. At the American Inn & Suites when you open the door and flip on the light, the first thing they want to draw your attention to is a five-foot by three-foot photograph of Babe Ruth. That’s right. The Sultan of Swat hitting a dinger is the focal point of room 110 at the American Inn & Suites. And it truly is the focal point, it’s not just there for you to notice after checking out the place and saying, "Not bad." It’s for you to see FIRST. You know in how in spy movies or some dumb heist film, the diamond or painting or Constitution or other cliche that the burglar wants to lift is spot-lit in an otherwise dark room? That’s what it was like walking into room 110. I thought I had entered the Babe’s private quarters, or like I was opening a baseball collectible shop at five in the morning. I almost fell backward, it leaped out at me so much. Everything else in the room was dark and I had to feel around for a lamp in the dark just to locate the bed (part of the reason was my eyes weren’t quite adjusted to the extreme intensity of the spotlights pointed at George Herman Ruth). I asked the other three guys what pictures they had on their walls, and apparently The Babe wasn’t exclusive to room 110. However, it wasn’t the only picture in the establishment either. Two of them had Lou Gehrig, "The Pride of the Yankees," hanging from their wall, which forces the question: What is it about Tooele, Utah that would make a hotel owner say, "People staying here are going to want to see Hall of Fame baseball players, no doubt about it." Were these pictures free, or did someone actively seek these out because they felt "homey?" When you think "Utah," what comes to mind first? Babe Ruth? Didn’t think so. I personally think Stockton & Malone first. Or Mormons or The Rocky Mountains. Quite possibly the 7,553rd thing to come to my mind is Babe Ruth. It might not even ever come to my mind. I wonder if there are even any Yankee fans in the state of Utah. Yet if you book a room in the Salt Lake area, don’t be surprised if the second-greatest home run hitter of all time greets you with a four-bagger and a smile.

Falling Weight Def ectometer

This morning on my way to work I was sitting at a stoplight by a mysterious yellow, unmarked van pulling a yellow trailer with some sort of steel cover on it. The trailer had government plates and only had one marking on it: the words "Falling Weight Def ectometer." I sat thinking about what this could be when another similar vehicle towing the same load pulled up behind me. Then I was almost worried. Was I about to be abducted? What is this Def Ectometer, and more importantly, will it hurt me? Well, apparently not. After going to my old pal Google I have found that the Falling Weight DEFLECTOMETER (the deflectometer I saw was missing a letter on its label) is used in pavement testing. So I learned something today, and wasn't stolen by the government.

I tried to blog last Friday about Joe Johnson dislocating his orbital bone by his left eye in game 2 of the Suns/Mavs series, because the images from the injury were downright disgusting. However, my blog was mysteriously lost in publishing and the Suns and Mavericks have since split a pair of games, keeping it tied at 2-2. Game five tomorrow night.

I Really Didn't Want to Talk About This Again.

It was brought to my attention today that "Boner" is actually short for Richard Stabone, a character that was on "Growing Pains" for four years (missing the final three seasons, probably because the Seavers had a new child in the family and didn't want to utter his name in front of her). Okay, I understand that the guy's name is a nickname. I didn't think they would go so far as to claim that Boner was his real name. And it's a perfectly logical nickname. But give him a different one, please. How about "Bones" or "Bone" or "T-Bone?" Why Boner? My friend Derek asked what moniker I expected a high school kid like Mike Seaver to give his best friend. That's a good point, but why did a respected lawyer like Jason Seaver have to condone the name? Maggie even said it from time to time, although I seem to recall her calling him by his given name of Richard because she's just a flat-out classy lady. But the show loses points in the realism department because I just don't believe Jason Seaver would ever call someone Boner. Theo's friend "Cockroach" from TV's "The Cosby Show," now that was a clever name. It was funny every time you heard it (on a higher level of funny than "Boner" -- not a shameful funny, it was actually funny), and the parents could say the name -- heck, even Rudy could say the name without you having to give the television a look like it was swearing in front of your parents.

Five Straight, Eleven to Go.

(AP Photo/Kevork Djansezian)
Most Valuable Canadian.



(AP Photo/Paul Connors)
Cuban got smoked.

Porkins' Tour of the Caribbean

A co-worker stole my Jek Porkins figure off my desk and now he's apparently in Jamaica.

Photo Phone Phriday

My nephew Zach at two months.

I NOW INTERRUPT YOUR ENJOYMENT OF THIS CUTE BABY TO TELL YOU ABOUT MY TRAUMATIC MORNING.

Dawn called me at about 7:35 (we were both on our way to work), saying that she felt like she could cry because she had seen a cat that was apparently dead on the road move its head and try to get up. Well, I take roughly the same route to work as she does, and she told me to check on the cat and make sure it wasn’t still alive. I got to where the cat (I later named him Tuffy) was about 10 minutes later and pulled over to the side of a busy Douglas Avenue, and Froggered my way over to the kitty. By this time the cat looked dead to me, but didn’t appear to have been hit by any cars since Dawn had seen him. There was a pool of blood around the cat, and I thought it nearly impossible for Tuffy to still be alive. But when I reached down and pinched his tail to drag him off of the road, he popped its head up and hissed at me (which, obviously, scared the crap out of me and made me think, "I’ve got to save this kitty!"). So I ran back across the four-lane road and got a bag out of my trunk to use as a kitty stretcher. When I gently picked up Tuffy and carried him back to the car, he was clearly in pain and started to squirm, but I had no real choice other than letting him die (the cat ambulances usually are out of service until 9 a.m.). I had to get him to the veterinarian, and the only one I knew of was the one that Coop goes to up in Johnston. That’s a good 15 minute drive in rush hour. I got a little worried and was yelling at fellow drivers about the time the cat stopped responding to my touch (about seven minutes into the drive). By this time, I was doubly determined to save this cat, and found myself saying little prayers for the cat like it was my own. So when I pulled into the pet hospital I ran to the door and found a vet who ran out to my car and checked for vital signs. But Tuffy didn’t make it. He was diagnosed with massive head trauma and pronounced dead at 8:09 a.m. I was really bummed, having really cared for this animal’s life in the previous 20 minutes of my life. But like I told Dawn, if it had been our pet, I would have expected everyone that drove by or over the animal to do the same to at least try to save its life.

On that note, HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!!!!!!

Strange Things Are Afoot (In My Brain)

So I just got back from a business trip to Windom, Minnesota, a nice little town of about 4400 people, (coincidentally) located on the Des Moines River. We had a good shoot and I met some great people. But on the way there I saw a sign at the Culver's in Clear Lake that was promoting "Double Strawberry Tuna Melt." Was this some sort of prank or has Culver's lost their mind? I certainly hope it's the prior, or else business is going to fall flat on its face just from people thinking about this disturbing combination in a sandwich.

And since I'm on the subject of disturbing, I wanted to address something which I'm sure many other people have probably pondered:
Why was there a character on TV's "Growing Pains" named Boner?
Seriously. Boner. At the risk of putting that word on my site and earning myself a multitude of demented individuals visiting my site who used it in a search, it has to be said. I've got to get it off my chest. And I'm sure many of you (and other people who've ever seen the show) are wondering the same thing. I mean, I realize this is a slang term that isn't really used past age 10, and using the word as a name shouldn't result in a confused grimace unless your mind is "in the gutter" (like mine apparently is), but come on. We've all been 10 years old before. We all know the "tee-hee" behind it. Wouldn't the producers of a family show steer clear from naming any of their characters after any sort of (childish as they may be) slang terms attributed to parts of the male anatomy? This really irritates me. Just name the guy Jim or Bill. Or Cletus. He didn't even have a big role in the show. Naming him Boner didn't make his character more interesting, it just made him more creepy. This goes far beyond "Leave It to Beaver," which has never really bothered me, though it's bothered some people. In fact, the name Beaver for a young Jerry Mathers was just funny. If his name was Ted, the show would've been a bomb. But it was Beaver and it was a name that made you grin because of how well it fit the doofy little guy. But Boner? I'm never going to figure this one out. I'll be mad at Growing Pains forever for that one.

I Don't Know What's More Humiliating...

...well, I do know which is worse, but it just hurts so much (and I need to vent).

I'm talking about making it so far and losing. And while the heartbreak for my favorite sports teams is nowhere near that of the Minnesota Vikings, Buffalo Bills, or Atlanta Braves, I am in a situation that's sort of the same. Let me tell you why:

1. Most recently, The University of Illinois' basketball team went 100 years without making it to the NCAA Championship game, then made it in 2005 and despite being ranked No. 1 practically three-fourths of the season, lost by a few inches on a couple of Luther Head jump shots.

2. The NHL season was a complete wash -- the entire season cancelled due to labor disputes....the first time one of the major sports has been entirely called off.

3. The Detroit Tigers have been the worst team in baseball over the past decade (two years ago even rivaling the worst record in baseball history), and are below .500 once again.

4. The Saints would have made the playoffs this year if the retarded New York Jets could make a field goal and/or the Vikings could beat the hapless Redskins...and lest we not forget the missed extra point that cost them a 'yoff berth two years ago.

5. The Fighting Illini football team recently acquired one of the most hated coaches in football history (mainly because he was initially brought to a fickle school in The University of Florida that's still obsessed with Steve Spurrier), and couldn't possibly do any worse than they have in the last 10 years.

So you just read those five points and said, "Quit you're whining, Siskow. At least your favorite college basketball team had a shot at the title," or "Whatever, the hockey team you root for has won three Stanley Cups in the last 10 years," or "I cheer for the Cubs." Those are all valid points. What I'm trying to say is, I've had a deceivably rough year in terms of spectator sports that could be one of my roughest ever if:

6. The Phoenix Suns are the best team in the NBA in 2004-05, and lose in the finals. And if my friend Jon is right, they will, and it will be to the Detroit Pistons.

Granted, my teams have had success. It's not lack of achievement that makes my year painful, it's the emotions involved. It's tough to get so far and then fall short. But I empathize with you Cub fans and the Bills fan out there. And I'm not asking anyone to feel bad for me, all I'm saying is, my sports year is shaping up to be a lot like getting to world 8-4 on Super Mario Bros. and getting through the maze, getting past the final Hammer Brother and then getting killed by a fireball right in front of Bowser himself. And many of you know how much that sucks.

There Must Be More to Life Than Stereotypes

I think I have a real problem with the fact that monkeys have been unfairly placed into the category of "banana eaters." Why is that, and from where did this originate? I Googled "monkey diets" and "banana diet," and read some articles about monkeys' diets. And while mine is not by any means a scientific or credible search, I didn't find anything about monkeys primarily eating bananas anywhere. According to an article from the University of California at Berkeley, most monkeys dine on such fine cuisine as "leaves of many kinds and fruits such as figs, plums, berries, palmfruit and grapes." No mention of bananas though.

Could everything I've learned from TV and movies be wrong?

Speaking of TV, I tried to get on Wheel of Fortune last weekend, and waited two hours only to not hear my name drawn. What a rip. Oh well, at least I got a Wheel of Fortune pen that broke less than three hours later, and I got to watch a few rounds of "America's Game" while standing up and crooking my neck around a taller, louder gentleman than myself. Strangely, we drove around for 20 minutes trying to find a place to park and eventually parked on the side opposite the main entrance of Merle Hay Mall. Then when we got inside, found the event stage and snaked our way around to the end of the waiting line, we ended up outside, practically 100 feet from our car. It was like that episode of "The Simpsons" where Homer travels miles to work and has to park so far away from the power plant that he sees his kids in the Simpson family yard, just on the other side of the fence.

Even Charlie Sheen Was Once Fifteen.

First of all, yes. It's true. I blog now.

Secondly, I've actually been meaning to blog since last September (as is mentioned in my previous post of almost seven months ago). I just couldn't get the stupid site to work and gave up. But my friend Derek is into blogging now (and before him, Cork, Andy, Woodsie and Siple...and to a lesser extent, Dustin), so I decided to give it another try and got it working. So let's see if the ease of using blogger.com makes me update more (but don't count on it).

Third, here's a post:

Today at work I was walking down the hallway and had an awkward moment in which I almost ran into someone when rounding a corner, and then changed direction at the same time they did, almost ran into them again, said, "Oops," changed direction (at the same time once again), laughed, changed direction again.....(you get the picture).....and did so upwards of another 13 times or so. Seriously, it took about 30 seconds for us both to guess the correct direction to go around the other person (and naturally, neither of us was even ATTEMPTING to make eye contact with the other person), and then when I finally was on my way again I was actually winded and extremely frustrated. So I shook it off and kept walking. Not more than 10 seconds later, I met yet another person. I didn't have trouble passing by this person, but something even more strange took place. When I said hello to this person, they replied with a hearty "Arrghhh," like a pirate would. No kidding. What kind of people do I work with?