Hair: Always where you don't want it, never where you do.

Everyone has it, and some people are obsessed with it. It takes some people three hours to style, others it takes three minutes. Some choose to rid their body of it (though they never can TOTALLY rid themselves of it, which is why Gillette will always be in business), others grow it out for a cause. Hair is something amazing to me. It amazes me that humans have hair that predominantly grows in the same places -- the head, face and chest (for males), armpits, legs, pubic regions, etc., and it's pretty much that way for all humans. Yet hair growth locations are different for every other animal -- it becomes "fur" on many, an extension of their skin. Call me a weirdo, but this astonishes me. Evolutionists would say that "we evolved to have hair in these places." I say God created Adam with hair in these places with a specific purpose in mind -- sometimes for warmth (as on the head and chest), and sometimes to keep sweat and dirt out of different orifices of our body (as in eyebrows, nose hairs, moustaches & beards, etc.). Whatever you believe, you've gotta admit, it's pretty cool and weird. And it's possibly even more weird that I'm so enamored by hair. And even stranger than that, you're still reading this post. Perhaps you're asking, "When will he start to have a point?" Hopefully right now...

...I've been able to grow hair on my face pretty well since maybe 8th grade. I think I shaved the soft, white hair off of my upper lip when I was in 7th grade, but it started coming in dark probably the next year (and don't let anyone ever tell you that shaving makes hair come in thicker, it's not true; it simply makes your hair grow with stumps on the end, making each hair appear fatter, rather than tapered at the end). I've never been able to grow a good beard, however. My brother (3 1/2 years my junior) can grow a beard in about 45 seconds. Seriously -- I think I sat and watched it grow one day, like Chia. He's growing a full beard now as a matter of fact, (he says) until the Devils are eliminated from the playoffs (which may not happen for a while since they're on a 14-game winning streak and playing better than they have in three years). I saw it last night and it's thick. But for me, it has never been easy. I tried growing one on our way to the Black Hills last fall, but Dawn made me shave it because she said I looked stupid. She always thinks my facial hair looks stupid. She also says it hurts when I kiss her if I have facial hair (which I'm sure it does), so I never really get to try (to grow it, not to kiss her). It's probably good that I don't try too often to grow a full beard (although I tend to let my face get pretty scruffy before I shave), because it just comes in so darn patchy. To be honest, I suck at it. I think I could do a nice Magnum P.I. moustache if I wanted (though Dawn may file for divorce), but I want the whole thing. I want the beard and it ain't happening.

So where am I going with this...oh yeah -- so after Tony Almeida died on 24 this season, I jokingly told Dawn I was going to grow a soul patch (a small growth of hair under the bottom lip) in "honor" of Carlos Bernard's character's death. She (for a reason which is so far beyond me it's not even funny), was like, "Yeah, you should." My friend Derek wears one, as do a number of hockey players. Carlos Bernard does, in addition to Howie Mandel and Ty Pennington, so it must be cool, right? Sure. That's the reason to which I'll attribute her quick backing of the soul patch idea...pop culture. So I started growing the soul patch and have been for the past month and a half and...

...NOW I AM FINALLY TO THE REASON WHY I BEGAN BLOGGING ABOUT HAIR IN THE FIRST PLACE:

No one says anything when you're growing a soul patch.

I've done it all -- a set of mutton chops, goatee, chin goatee, long sideburns, patchy beard, and I even was growing a moustache for a college film I was working on in the summer of 2000. And pretty much every time (especially on the moustache), people will say stuff. They'll say, "You need to shave," or "SOMEBODY needs to shave," or "You've got some dirt around your mouth there," or my personal favorite -- the knee-slapping inquiry, "Is your razor broken?" But with the soul patch, no one seems to notice. I got one comment on it without having to bring it up myself: my good friend Dan who pretty much says anything that's on his mind said, "I can see your soul patch has lost weight," after I made a comment about him looking like he'd shed some pounds. And because that statement pretty much makes no sense whatsoever, it has been stricken from my observation that: No one says anything when you're growing a soul patch. It's strange. I don't know if it's the fact that it's too embarassing to say anything to me about (kind of like that new perm that your co-worker gets that everyone is thinking "holy crap" about but no one will actually ever say anything about (even to other co-workers). I just don't know if it actually looks good on my face and there's nothing to say about it or if people are talking about it behind my back and I embarrass myself every time I step out the door with it on my face. It's even really bizarre at home; Dawn never says anything. She'll still say, "Go shave, Mr. Harryman." And then I'll ask, "even the soul patch?" and she'll say, "No, not the soul patch." Why? Why not the soul patch? She never says anything about it either. I'll say, do you like my soul patch, and she'll say, "Mmm...I don't know yet." Okay, it's been like 45 days. How can you not know? Is the soul patch so mediocre in the realm of facial hair? Are they that hard to notice that no one cares? Are people walking around with soul patches and I'm just not aware of it? It's such a mystery to me. When we went home for Easter my mom said, "Aaron, what is that under your lip?" to which I replied, "It's my soul patch." My brother noticed it right away and called me "Almeida." But other than that and the comment about it looking like it's "lost weight," no one says anything about the soul patch. It's funny. But at least Dawn's letting me grow facial hair. And I've found a style I can actually grow pretty well. So I'll keep growing it until someone makes fun of it...unless it's you. Because I'll know that you've read my blog.

Good/Grief 1

There are so many little things going on right now, I don't even know where to start. Here's a fairly random synopsis of the recent goings-on.

SPORTS: The Devils miraculously won the Atlantic Division, after winning -- that's right, winning -- 11 straight games. That's no ties and no overtime losses, but 11 wins. That earns them the third spot in the East, and they'll play the Rangers on Saturday afternoon. It could be on NBC, so do yourself a favor and tune in. In other hockey news, the Des Moines Buccaneers are in the Clark Cup Championship, and play game one (of a best-of-five series) in Urbandale on Saturday night. And finally, the Iowa Stars start their seven-game series with Milwaukee (which everyone and Alice Cooper knows is "originally an Algonquin term meaning 'the good land.'") on Friday and will play game three on Monday night in Des Moines. Be there.

HOBBIES: I went disc golfing in my third different state in the past year, playing at a park in Rochester, Minnesota over Easter weekend. It was windy on an open course, and I didn't have my discs with me. That equals disaster for me, who can't throw a good drive without my beloved "Pinky," and can't putt without my Innova Birdie. Throw the windy conditions in the mix and I'm worthless. So I spent a lot of time combing the nearby river for discs, wanting to add to my running total of 43 discs found in the past ten months. I didn't find anything, and walked out of there with what felt like hypothermia and a minor puncture wound on my foot. I was fasting at the time, adding insult to injury.

PERSONAL LIFE: We came home from Easter break to find a plaster udder hanging from our ceiling. Apparently we had some rain over the weekend and our roof took the holiday off. There was some water on our living room floor, which sort of messed up the wood. But the biggest issue for us is the fact that we have two problems to fix -- the roof and the ceiling, and no professionals can come out and look at the damage until potentially next week. Of course it could be worse, but it's just one of those problems you don't want to have to worry about. And strangely enough, last night we had a quasi-monsoon that brought about a third of an inch of rain and then disappeared, and I expected a deluge to fill the bucket I'd placed there before we went to bed. I woke up to find the bucket and the udder as dry as a bone. Go figure; it's a mystery.

FAMILY: We celebrated Easter in Rochester and Chapin, spending time with both sides of the family. I got to see my cousins' babies, which was cool. I wish we could have spent more time at each of our parents' places, but anyone who's married knows how difficult it can be juggling schedules on holidays.

MOVIES/TV: We haven't been to the cinema in some time. Not only has nothing sparked our interest (though we went to V for Vendetta on its opening weekend), but we haven't had time since we've been getting caught up on different TV shows of interest. I'm currently involved in season four of The Sopranos and season two of ER, and Dawn and I have been using the Internet to get caught up on Lost. We're finally ready to watch it "live" when it airs tonight. I also am working on the complete series of Firefly, and Da Ali G Show season two. It sounds like entertainment overload, but it really isn't -- this has been going on for weeks. And it slows down every day the weather improves, because we do more and more outside.

MUSIC: Right now I'm checking out the new Mat Kearney CD, which contains six songs off of his first album. The repeat songs are worth repeating though, and the new album is pretty good. He's kind of a "you've heard one, you've heard them all" type artist, but that also translates into "if you LIKE one, you'll like them all" for me. Other than that, I am slowly weaning myself off of the latest Umphrey's release (which is excellent) with lots and lots of Supergrass (including their latest, Road to Rouen) and sprinklings of artists like John Vanderslice, Aqualung, Elbow, Doves, and Coldplay. James Blunt works his way into the mix every so often as well.

Amazin'!

I'm going on fast tonight for the holiday, and I won't be back online until Monday...

...so I leave you with this, probably the most clever thing I've ever seen on the Internet, hands down:

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=8547285560243429315&q=RBI+baseball&pl=true

Happy Easter!

Sports

I'm riding a wave of team pride that I haven't experienced for quite a few years, and it's getting me back into sports, moreso than I've been in a while. Sure, the Illini made the NCAA basketball finals last year, but there was no hockey -- the sports fan in me just wasn't quite complete. But in the past year, the Saints have been my only real disappointment (I'm not even counting ISU sports right now -- don't get me started), but there were a lot bigger things going on in New Orleans than football at that time, making a poor season easier to swallow. Currently though, I'm on cloud nine after the Tigers won five road games to open the season and found themselves tied for the division lead; the Devils have won eight of their last ten and are only two games behind Philly for the fifth spot in the Eastern Conference playoffs; the Iowa Stars went berzerk and put together an eight-game winning streak, landing them in the final playoff spot in the AHL's Western Conference (they lead Omaha by three points with four games to go); and the Suns lead their division by six games though Amare Stoudamire is out for the year (making an NBA title a virtual pipe dream). So things are good for "Sportfan Aaron." In addition, the NCAA tournament rocked (aside from the last three games), and was enhanced by a first round ousting of the Iowa Hawkeyes in dramatic fashion, and the Saints recently nabbed Drew Brees (about which I'm very optimistic).

So if you're ready to talk sports with me, I'll actually speak proudly of my teams for the time being. And win or lose, the NHL playoffs begin soon (which is hands-down the greatest thing about sports), so I still win. Except I don't have cable. So I actually lose.

I love sports.

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!!!!!!!!!