For Your Irritainment

Top 10 songs of 2011 that you shouldn't not be listening to.

2012-01-03T20:40:00.000-06:00

So, this is really happening. Mainly, I just felt like telling you about music. Then I remembered I already had this blog set-up and...voilà! New blog post. Yes, it's weak. Yes, it's short. Yes, it's basically just a list. But it's better than nothing, no? Whatever. Anyway, I think I just killed the "things I don't understand" meme(is it a meme if it's just me?), but you'll live...probably. So, without out further ado, here's my Top 10 songs of 2011. In order. Maybe. I believe these were all released in 2011, and they all in some way bore themselves into my brain. Some are popular, most are not. I'm guessing there's several you've never heard of. Some are deep or depressing or meaningful or uplifting or just flat out catchy (despite their troubling topic. See: Foster the People). But I think they're pretty, pretty good. Here's a Spotify link of the whole list for your listening pleasure.

10. Pumped up Kicks - Foster the People
This song took over the world. Only some people stopped to realize what it might be about.

9. Mission Bells - The Apache Relay
This is one of those bands that I just happened upon. They may even be Christian. Despite that, this is just one of those swelling, soaring songs that get me.

8. Helplessness Blues - Fleet Foxes
I don't know. I just like it. And I think it says something. And in a way that's very listenable. It might be my anthem. Hell, in one way or another all these songs are probably my anthem.

7. Keep Your Eyes Open - NEEDTOBREATHE
More Christian. Like for real. So making decent music is not completely beyond the genre. Which is good to know...I guess.

6. Birds - The Submarines
I saw this duo open up for Eels at The Grenada this summer. This song was embedded deep within my scull for a good while.

5. Putting the Dog to Sleep - The Anlers
I really love this song. It's one of those I listened to, thought it was good, then looked at the title and thought, "What?", then I listened about 50 more times. It's really about that. But is still awesome.

4. Shake it Out - Florence + the Machine
A very late edition, but another one I could. not. stop. listening. to. Plus, Florence kinda does something for me. I'm convinced that she's the quirkier, artsier version of Adele. Which I like...more than Adele. Also, I feel there's a pretty strong religious angle working if you listen.

3. Couer D'alane - The Head and the Heart
Technically, this one came out in 2010 but only 2 weeks before 2011 started so it's in. Saw these guys this spring. It only confirmed what their record seemed to suggest. Awesome. Honestly, it was hard to pick just one song off this album. Any of the last three artists really. But that's what I do for you, "...the things people will do for the ones that they love."

2. Poison & Wine - The Civil Wars
To say this duo exploded in 2011 would be an understatement of epic proportions. Plus, they've got it. Whatever it is. Music is good.

1. We Will All Be Changed - Seryn
I listened to this song the first time in about March, bought their album...then proceeded to catch them live 5 times before the summer ended. Yeah. Like I said, almost any song on their album is worthy of this list. You should probably listen to it yourself...maybe 50 times. Not that I know what that's like...

Things I don’t understand #82…

2011-03-14T14:58:00.003-05:00

…Why I don’t observe Lent.

Okay, this is not entirely true. I know about Lent. I’ve heard that literally translated it means “Spring”. As a Christian it’s hard not to “observe” it, but my level of participation has always been quite low. After all, (as I have often said) there’s a reason I’m Baptist. But as the days(and years) pass, I’ve slowly come to realize that I’m missing an opportunity here. Hopefully, it’s not an opportunity to to prove how sacrificial I can be (“I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full”) but to be drawn back to the one who made the ultimate sacrifice.

It’s silly how silly we humans can be. We know that God came to earth, suffered, was tempted, suffered some more, and finally died on the cross as one final and definitive proof of his love. We KNOW it. But I wonder how often we remember it. I don’t. Instead I tend to dwell on all the stuff I already feel like I’ve given up in this life in the supposed name of my God and forget to recognize that no amount of forbearance on my part would even register on God’s scale. So after pleas from my current pastor and former pastor that I should consider giving something up for Lent, I think I might.

I think one of the reasons I've been so slow to embrace this practice is that my past contact with those “observing” this aspect of Lent many times involved them “giving up” things that needed no giving up. Non-coffee drinkers giving up coffee, teetotalers giving up beer, vegetarians giving up meat, non-duffers giving up golf…so I thought, “What’s the point?” Well, hopefully I've found the point. I found something to give up. In doing so I pray it will cause me to remember. Remember Christ’s suffering outweighed my suffering. That his temptation outweighed my temptation, that his holiness, righteousness outweighs my feeble attempts at godliness and religion. That Jesus’ sacrifice outweighed any the world has ever known. And that God’s grace outlasts all of my silliness and folly.

I hope that the process of “giving up” will result in not only remembering the costs but the reward. That at the end of Lent, new life can be found. You know, the hope of Spring.

Things I don't understand #81...

2011-02-11T16:53:00.001-06:00

…What’s a good Valentines Day gift.

So, it would seemed I dodged this bullet once again. (Hey, life’s a bitch.)(What? No, no. I said “life” and that’s what I meant.) But, I figured for all those poor saps out there staring down the proverbial barrel of the proverbial gun, I would try to help. It makes no difference if it’s a completely made up holiday or not, the clock for you is ticking like you’re heading into a ‘24’ commercial break.

Anyhoo, you could get candy, but it’s lame. Pretty, pretty lame (Unless you’re 10…or attempting a little Valentines Day ironic humor). The default seems to be flowers. Do that, but don’t just hand them to her. That defeats the purpose. Sure, chicks dig flowers, but what they dig even more is their co-workers being jealous that they got flowers. I’ve made this mistake before, and well, look at me. So, flowers…delivered: check. Then there’s jewelry. Honestly, I feel like jewelry is too substantial a gift to give on a made up holiday, but I guess if you’re rolling in dough, go nuts. But I feel like I need to introduce you to a little concept called “managing expectations.” I also hear there’s those(married, of course) who go the lingerie route. I think I grasp the pros of this approach, but it also seems there could be some definite cons. I.E. the collective minefields of style and size (have you ever seen Hurt Locker?) and that fails to mention how the obviousness of your “motives” might be received. I wish you luck, but tread lightly, brother, tread lightly.

It should be obvious that you also must provide a nice dinner. As to what a “nice” dinner might mean for you and yours, I cannot assist. But this is not the “Price is Right”, so it’s much safer to ‘go over’. Oh, and if you uttered the phrase “Valentines weekend” at any point, I still want to punch you.

You’re probably starting to get a sinking feeling that this post is actually going to be no help to you at all. That really shouldn’t shock you, though. I mean, just log on to the Facebook and check my relationship status. Exactly. Consider this your first installment in the “Managing Expectations” lesson series. You might also notice that I offered no suggestions for the ladies out there. I don’t really think this needs explanation, but I feel safe in assuring you it will require no monetary outlay.

That reminds me, CBS Cares(my favorite PSA provider) has a gift idea that I somehow didn’t think of. Let me know how this one works out for you.

Things I don't understand #80...

2011-02-02T15:15:00.004-06:00

...Hey, it is what it is. And as I end one sort of disappointment I'll probably immediately cause another sort. Because the topic of this blog(my first in more than a year) is the only serial entry. That's right, the BCS...or lack of a play-off...or most inexplicable situation is sports. Period.

The reason I'm still doing this some two months later than normal and 3 weeks after the college football season ended is two-fold. 1) I just read Death to the BCS. You should check it out. 2) I think what TCU did does give us a whole new perspective. If you're new and still not sure what's going on, uh, just scroll down about three posts. (Yeah, it's that.) I know, it's been awhile. Sorry. (Hey, I said, "Sorry." Back off.) Anyhoo, what Death to the BCS did was confirm all the things I believed might be true. It also revealed that the bowl system is more nefarious and ridiculous than I could have ever imagined. Basically, it steals money from institutions of higher education and provides "the man" outrageous salaries to put on one stupid game. What TCU did was confirm that the "little schools" do belong in the process of deciding a champion, which they currently are not.

So now we're going to see what a play-off would've looked like this year. If you want all the criteria, just scroll down. Despite what you might have heard, I clearly don't have the time. (Clearly.) As you view the first round match-ups, just imagine how great, how exciting, how riveting this would be. And don't be so quick to dismiss all those "small schools", either.

Fictional 2011 College Football Play-off Bracket

(1) Auburn (SEC Champ)
(16) Florida International (Sun Belt Champ)

(8) Arkansas (At Large)
(9) Michigan State (At Large)

(4) Stanford (At Large)
(13) Connecticut (Big East Champ)

(5) Wisconsin (Big 10 Champ)
(12) Nevada (WAC Champ)

(3) TCU (Mountain West Champ)
(14) Central Florida (Conference USA Champ)

(6) Ohio State (At Large)
(11) Virginia Tech (ACC Champ)

(7) Oklahoma (Big 12 Champ)
(10) Boise St. (At Large)

(2) Oregon (Pac 10 Champ)
(15) Northern Illinois (MAC Champ)

This year was interesting on a couple of fronts. The first team out was LSU which was ranked #11 at the end of the regular season. I think the highest ranked team ever left sitting at home. Because of that, the WAC ends up with the same number of teams as the SEC and Big 12. Talk about "level playing field".

Things I don't understand #79...

2010-01-03T21:51:00.004-06:00

...What was so great about last year...

Happy NEW Year!

Things I don't understand #78...

2009-12-22T10:00:00.002-06:00

...if I should have let CBS make the Christmas list for all the women in my life.

Watch CBS Videos Online

Merry Christmas everyone!!!

(And no, this does not appear to be a joke.)

Things I don't understand #77...

2009-12-10T10:22:00.004-06:00

...and #63 and #2. Oh the thing? It's the ability of people to proliferate utter nonsense in the form of the BCS(Bowl Championship Series).

Yes, it's that time again. So everyone stand up, face the north, and feel free to salute in whatever way you see fit. It's the annual(6 years running!) look at "what the NCAA should actually do to decide a football champion and reduce Jason's reasons for bitching by one." If you have any awareness of my rooting interests, you might be left thinking that I'm perfectly happy with the final match-up that the BCS supplied us. In that respect, I guess I'm good. But as a wise man once said, fairness is not demonstrated in the result but in the process. And the process stinks. This year we had 5 teams finish the season with an undefeated record. So they did everything they could possibly do to win a championship, yet every member of three of those teams knows that they have zero chance of attaining that goal.

We need a playoff. One where every team in every conference has a chance to win it all at the beginning of the season. So we need a 16 team playoff to allow every conference champion to get an automatic bid. Caveat #1: If that team has more than 4 losses, they forfeit their bid. (Sorry, but we are trying to decide a champion and if you can't get through a 11 game season without losing 5 times, then we already have a pretty good indication you're not championship material.) After the 11 conferences have their teams in, we use some BCS-style poll to get our at-large bids. Caveat #2: Each conference will be limited to no more than 3 teams. (This is just to ensure that conference biases do not take control. I'm sure there's some that would have 8 SEC teams in a 16 team field if they had their druthers.) We would then seed the teams by their ranking and then let the fun begin.

Were there to be a playoff, I think there would be some obvious repercussions. First as I alluded to, regular seasons would be reduced to 11 games. That's what they were until about 5-10 years ago and I don't think it would be too big a deal to return to that. Plus, that would still limit the games the two championship contenders would play to 15. (Texas and Alabama will both play 14 games this year, so 15 is by no means an egregious amount.) Second, there would be no more conference championship games. It would only be a hinderance for a conference's top teams to play each other when they might not have to. Once again, we had 100 years of college football with out any such games yet always found a way to find conference champions so I think they can figure it out. I must admit, I believe that these conference championship games are one of the main barriers to getting a playoff. That's because they are such monumental cash cows for the conference offices and their commissioners. Those commissioners control the BCS, and why would they give up all that money(and control)? But a guy can dream, can't he?

So, I've got this years NCAA Football Playoff Bracket. And based on all the factors listed above, it's a tad convoluted. Basically, I took into account the conference championship game to signify the winner of said conference be tried not to penalize the loser for a loss because I don't believe those games would be played. (I.e. Florida will get the #2 seed instead of #6.) Just in case you were wondering, the last team in is #13 Penn State. The first team left out is BYU(Sorry, Mormons). Behold:

(1) Alabama - SEC Champ (BCS #1)
(16) Troy - Sun Belt Champ (Unranked)

(8) Ohio State - Big 10 Champ (#8)
(9) Iowa - At large (#9)

(5) TCU - Mountain West Champ (#5)
(12) LSU - At large (#12)

(4) Cincinnati - Big East Champ (#4)
(13) Penn St. - At large (#13)

(3) Texas - Big 12 Champ (#3)
(14) Central Michigan - MAC Champ (#25)

(6) Boise St. - WAC Champ (#6)
(11) Virginia Tech - At large (#11)

(7) Oregon - Pac 10 Champ (#7)
(10) Georgia Tech - ACC Champ (#10)

(2) Florida - At large (#2)
(15) East Carolina - Conference USA Champ (#26)

Despite the fact that this is the 6th year I've done this and despite the fact that it will never happen, I still get a little giddy when I stop and imagine the match-ups and the potential 2nd round games. I can't imagine wanting to miss one of them. Yet, every year, we do.

Things I don't understand #76

2009-12-07T18:39:00.004-06:00

...Christmas Music. Or at least everyone's compulsion to start listening to it in September.

Music Monday? I like Christmas music as much as the next guy. At least, that's what I used to think. Then I started to discover that there were people roaming this great land of ours that thought that perfect chaser to All Hallows' Eve was a good rendition of "Silver Bells". I guess I just live too regimented a life, because the earliest I would ever consider spinning some "Winter Wonderland" was when the sun went down on Thanksgiving. I don't like to mix my seasons and I don't like to read ahead. As the Byrds once sang:

To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven

Besides, isn't there a bigger issue here?

That being that the catalog of favored and accepted Christmas songs seems to be somewhat limited. I mean, how many times to I need to hear "The Christmas Song" and "Silent Night" and "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer"?(NONE.) And even though I have 27 differing renditions to choose from, I rarely need more than a good Bing Crosby or Nat King Cole. All that being said, I'm now ready to join you. It's cold. It's December. It's time for Christmas (and the appropriately corresponding tunes). BTW, not that I intend to turn every Music Monday into a commercial for Amazon.com but they are currently doing 25 Days of Free where you can get a free Christmas song everyday until THE day. (Warning! Some songs are a little more in the "Christmas Spirit" than others.) But I'm in. So let's go caroling, but you better hurry. Because when the calender reads "December 26" I'll be ready for the pages of the music catalog to "Turn, Turn, Turn."

Things I don't understand #75...

2009-11-16T15:38:00.016-06:00

...How sex is used to sell almost everything.

Welcome to "Music Monday", sort of. Today might seem a little esoteric, but you should try wondering through my mind some time. I'm sure you wouldn't be surprised to see the example I've chosen on the right. For an artist with the somewhat limited range and musical talent of Rihanna, not to mention her target audience, she probably needs to use every asset(ah-hum) at her disposal. See Britney Spears. See Lady GaGa. See Beyonce. See Shania Twain. Sex sells pop music. Sex sells R&B. Sex sells country. Got it. Got it. And got it. Now what I didn't expect was this.

One day while perusing the Amazon mp3 selection I noticed their free download of the day was some opera number. I thought,"Why not?" Everyone could use a little culture, even me, plus the price was right. Sure, it probably won't take, but I've got a pretty big hard drive(if you know what I mean). So as I was downloading the song, I glanced at the "Customers Who Bought This Song's Album Also Bought" area that featured various covers from various classical and opera albums. Now, this it not pop. Or R&B. And definitely country. Those things are products of the music industry, this is art. This is the high-minded world of the hoity-toity music lover. Surely, they wouldn't fall prey to the basest of instincts in us. After all, they just care about the music...the opulence of a string section...the power of a well trained mezzo-soprano. Surely this crowd would not be swayed by a hot chick on the cover. Right? Well, this is just a sample of what I saw:

Okay...So we all have our weaknesses. Sure, no one's wearing a barbed wire bikini, but I'm not overwhelmed by a sense that we're focusing on the music here. I really don't know why this struck me so(ok, I probably know one reason), but it just seems so odd to me. The juxtaposition of, "Hey, you should be listening to these really important works of art...and you can know this because they're performed by hot chicks." Isn't that basically Bud Light's strategy? And we all know what Bud Light tastes like. Now St. Pauli Girl, that's a beer.

Things I don't understand #74...

2009-11-04T16:57:00.001-06:00

...Why we don't:

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder treason and plot,
I know of no reason
Why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

That day is fast approaching, but it seems it did get forgot. I don't know about you, but I really had no idea about Guy Fawkes or his day until I watched the movie V is For Vendetta. The "Gunpowder Treason" could be described as an "overreaction" by some about the lack of Catholics in Parliament. What Guy Fawkes and his band decided to do was basically fill the basement underneath Westminster with gunpowder and then let'er blow during the opening day. Obviously they were found out, since tours of Parliament can be undertaken without one being submerged in the River Thames. And even though he failed, we can thank Mr. Fawkes for the fact that "Guy" is a generic term for a man. (Yeah Guy!)

Despite it's notorious element, it would seem that Fawkes legacy has become one of a revolutionary out to thwart tyranny. And that would be the theme of V is For Vendetta. In this case "V", decides to take on the whole of the futuristic, fascist British government while dressed in a black cape and wearing a Guy Fawkes mask. And in the process it has become one of my favorite movies...of all time(echo, echo, echo). So much so, that I've instituted my own tradition of celebrating Guy Fawkes Day by watching said motion picture. Feel free to join me. Showtime is tomorrow at probably around 8 p.m., my place. There might also be chili (not because of any sort of tradition, I just like chili).

Things I don't understand #73...

2009-11-02T09:27:00.004-06:00

...If the Old 97's would teach me how to write songs.

Welcome to Music Monday! My path to becoming an Old 97's fan was a bit of a circuitous one. Because they are a Dallas band and I grew up near there, I had heard of them when I went off to college. But because they were what would have been considered an indie band, I had never really come across their music. Until one fateful day in Abilene when scouring the used CD bins at Hastings I came across Wreck Your Life for $3. Done. I then promptly put it in my CD player, listened to it once, and...didn't really think about it much after that. Weird.

But then about four years later, in another used CD store, I stumbled upon the album you see above. After giving it about a 10 second listen at the store,Too Far to Care was mine and I was Old 97's (too gay?). I thought the entire thing was one of the best records I had ever heard (still do). I then went back and listened to Wreck Your Life and realized what an idiot I had been and just missed it the first time around.

What I had missed was some great turns of phrase in the lyrics. Lines like:

I've got my wife, the other women, and the whiskey killing me.
The first two make it so that I see red. The third one makes it so that I can't see.

and

The way she tossed 'em back
I would've had a heart attack.
But as it is I let her drive my car.

We can't forget

Every other day is a kick in the shins
Every other day it's like the day just wins
But you make it all right, you make it OK
You make me sorta glad that I waited till today

And probably my favorite

If that phone don't ring one more time,
I'm gonna lose what's left of my mind.
You made a big impression for a girl of your size,
Now I can't get by without you and your big brown eyes.

I mean, come on, even Phil Jackson quotes them. They my be one of the few bands that I can quote, to some degree of accuracy, almost every song in their catalog. Anyhoo, they released a new album this year. Blame It On Gravity was good. Probably their best album in a while, but there was one song that made me jealous. It was so good that it made me wish that I had written it. It's a fairly simple country song sung not by their lead singer but by bassist Murry Hammond(which would seem to indicate he wrote that particular ditty). But despite all the clever wordplay and rollicking tunes that fill their catalog, I think this might be the best song they ever wrote. Maybe the perfect country song. Oh, it's called "Color Of A Lonely Heart Is Blue". So give it a listen and tell me why I'm wrong and my jealousy is misplaced. (I'm not and it isn't.)

Things I don't understand #72...

2009-10-30T13:30:00.004-05:00

...Why Halloween has to be an annual thing.

If you follow this blog closely(and I mean really closely) and have a good memory(and I mean a really good memory) you might recall my stance on All Hallows' Eve. Obviously, it's not in the affirmative. Seriously, couldn't we all just do without this? The pranks. The bad candy. The begging for said candy. The over 5 billion dollar costume industry. The "haunted houses". How do we get a referendum going? I'm pretty sure I'm in the minority here, but some things never change. As this post from five years ago can attest.

...I feel compelled to say,"I hate Halloween." Not for any sort of religious reason. I actually think the whole "we'll call it Fallfest, or Harvest party, or some other obligatory church/school creation with a name that draws attention to the color of the leaves and makes every attempt not to use the word Halloween in any form" to save the children from the "evil" effects of All Hallows' Eve is a little silly. Kids can understand make believe. I grew up calling it Halloween and still did not feel compelled to worship Satan. Or trees. Nor do I think any human can fly on a broom. Speaking of growing up. I hated Halloween as a kid, too. The same drama seemed to play out every year as I would decide I was not participating in the Trick...or Treating while my little sister grew more impatient as my mom attempted to remind me of all I would be missing. I would then capitulate, but only so the tension would end... and for the candy. I still hated it. I hated dressing up. Still do. Costumes hold no allure for me. Plus, I wasn't fond of having to beg for the candy either. Not much of a beggar. I really wanted to just look up at the patronizing adult and say,"If you want to give me the candy, you see the plastic pumpkin. If not, fine. I don't really need your candy." But I didn't. I played the part. Smiled and took my wages for looking like a fool. Sister happy, Mom happy. Halloween another 364 days away. Man, I hate Halloween.

But hey, Happy Halloween!

Things I don't understand #71...

2009-10-26T18:54:00.002-05:00

...Why I don't get invited to parties like this(see video at bottom).

Don't get me wrong. I get invited to parties(Lots and lots of parties.). But not parties that feature very intimate settings with live bands. So yes, I'm gonna talk about music again. It's Monday. It's Music Monday. Go ahead, test me on this. Come back next week and see if I not talking about music again.

This week it's a band that I pretty much stumbled upon all on my lonesome called The Love Language. And I get the feeling no one really knows about them, yet. At least, not any of the sources I usually consult. In fact, they're so big their only internet presence comes in the form of a myspace page(Go ahead, give them a listen). But the kids are good. And having fun. They're a little more lo-fi than I usually prefer, but I found it impossible not to like their stuff. You may find it possilble not to like them, but I dare you to watch/listen to the track below and not have some involuntary toe-tapping going on. Impossible! (Added bonus: While watching the video[1:40 mark], feel free to compare and contrast the energy levels of the tamborine/keyboards chick and the bass player. Bass players: The hall monitor of the rock world.)

"Lalita" - The Love Language from Sitcom Serf on Vimeo.

Things I don't understand #70...

2009-10-19T17:18:00.000-05:00

...why you're not listening to Lyle Lovett.

Yeah, that's what I said. If you just snickered, I hate you. Ok, hate's a strong wrong. I severely despise you and heavily question your ability to make aural judgments. I know I might have made some promises, but we're talking about Lyle here. I'm from Texas. He's from Texas. Yes, he's got kinda of an odd look. But when's the last time you married Julia Roberts. I thought so. Despite what ever you might think, he's a genius. He's what should have happened to country music in the 90's and 00's instead of Toby Keith and Kenny Chesney and Rascal Flatts and all that, well, crap that Nashville spewed out instead.

I haven't heard his new album yet, but I'm pretty comfortable saying you should go buy it right now.(Oh wow, look at that. There's a handy link right up there so you can do that. Neat.) Whether live or in a recorded format, he never disappoints. So do what's right, do it for America, and do something good for your heart and get you some Lyle Lovett today...whether you're from Texas or not.

Things I don't understand #69...

2009-10-16T12:03:00.006-05:00

...Why the Michelin Man is white.

Seriously, he's made of tires. My lifelong experience with tires would suggest two things. One, they're made of rubber. Two, they're black. Do any color-association with a three-year-old and I'm pretty sure it would play out like this.

- "Apple?"
- "Wed!"
- "Grass?"
- "Gween."
- "Tires?"
- "Back!"

You know what I mean, though. And while I may not understand why Bibendum, creation of O'Galop at the behest of the French tire company, is white; I think he probably helped to make you racist.

I actually had the idea for this particular post a couple of weeks ago when I saw a Michelin commercial and was immediately bothered by the same question that arose when I was but a wee lad. "If he's made of tires, why is he white?" I'm almost positive I drove at least one parent to the brink of madness as I laid out my case against the Michelin Man's inherent "tirey-ness". I finally was forced to console myself--after being assured that he was indeed made of tires-- with the fact that there must be some where in the world or in history where white tires were prevalent. So, while that could be true, shouldn't at some point this character at least gotten a tan?

Anyway, I'm currently reading Blink by Malcolm Gladwell. In it there's a brief section that talks about the unconscious or implicit racism that we all seem to carry around despite what we choose to believe, say, and do. Basically, our environment and the various influences that make up our cognitive world secretly whisper, "White good, black bad." So much so that even black people can't escape it's effect. There's even a test produced by Harvard's Project implicit you can take to see just how implicitly racist you are (I was moderately influenced, which I think is pretty impressive considering I grew up in small town Texas). And while I read this, the first thing I thought of was the Michelin Man. He may not have been created with any thought as to which color was more appropriate. But in the end, an iconic character known the world over might have become one more in the long line of influences that makes us react to people in ways we wish we didn't.

So, to all my black friends out there, I would like to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry that somewhere far below the surface I might "think" something less of you than I should. (Please remember that this is in my subconscious and almost entirely out of my control. Please?) I'm sorry that your life might be harder at times because of implicit racism. I'm sorry that I liked the Michelin Man at some point. But know, as with most things, it's the French's fault.

Things I don't understand #68...

2009-08-11T15:46:00.006-05:00

...The deal with bands that have rabbit in their name.

I would like to apologize. Not for your boredom or the lack of activity here or my general uselessness. You see, I've realized recently that I'm one of those people. Not one of the people who says they'll help you move and then "forgets" to show up, or one of those people that mows and edges the lawn and then doesn't sweep the sidewalks(my grandfather would wring my neck). No, I'm one of those people who lets their own interest in a particular topic or movement override their decision making which causes them to continually attempt to proselytize their friends until they reach an appropriate level of enthusiasm. I see now that it's hopeless. And fruitless. All my suggesting at parties what we really should be listening to, all my non sequiturs about bad and/or overrated popular music, all my homemade sampler cd's, all my making fun of other people's musical tastes--ok, strike that one-- but all the rest are over. Done.

You may be asking, "Well, what's this?" Well, this is my blog. You came here. I'm not shoving it in you face. Heck, if you don't care about music, there's a good chance you already stopped reading. Here, I can still tell you about bands you should probably be listening to for no other reason then I want to. And you can ignore it at your peril. So speaking of bands and rabbits. I've got two videos for your listening and viewing enjoyment. The first is from White Rabbits of NYC. And then we have Frightened Rabbit. Despite the fact they're lyrics can be...challenging and sometimes laced with profanity, I really like what they're dealing. Maybe it's the fact they're Scottish. But I hope you enjoy this acoustic number.

So you're welcome...and I love you...and I'm sorry.

White Rabbits "Percussion Gun" Music Video from White Rabbits on Vimeo.

Things I don't understand #67...

2009-07-27T10:26:00.005-05:00

This...

So I stumbled upon this video and as I watched the questions just kept flooding into my mind:
1. What bride would actually go through with this? Sure, I've known some who had crazy ideas, but none of them ever had the guts to pull the trigger. And of all my friends, I can only think of one who would consider this lever of insanity.
2. How did she talk all the groomsmen into doing it? (And after watching, some of the bride maids must have been reluctant as well. At least they should have been) Had someone come to me at the rehearsal and said, "Oh, by the way Jason, we would really like it if you could shimmy, step, and strut your way down the aisle, you know, R&B style," I can't imagine my reaction would have affirmed either their choice in method of entry or groomsman.
3. Speaking of rehearsals. How many did this take?
4. What song is this? (It's "Forever" by Chris Brown. Is that ironic considering his relationship "issues"?)
5. How is it that the short, pudgy guy always seems to be the best dancer? (At least in white circles) I knew I should have taken advanced physics in college.
6. Why can't I stop watching? (Yeah, something about white people and dancing for five straight minutes.)
7. Why couldn't I have been in a wedding where I didn't have to wear a jacket? Texas + summer + jacket = sweat. Lots and lots of sweat.(Did I mention the time I almost passed out during a wedding?)
8. What's the grandmother of the groom thinking?
9. Didn't the bride need to give us a bit more? I mean, c'mon Jill, after what you just put your friends through, everyone should be involuntarily induced into a Fame flashback as you come down the aisle. Or at least think you shared a secret wish of being a featured dancer on Soul Train.

Also, I think there's a couple of things to be learned from this video.
1. Commitment to the bit, any bit, is vital to the success of the bit. The first guy down the aisle was all in, and that's the only way to make sure it doesn't go from funny to sad.
2. Most all of life is enhanced to the backdrop of a good dance beat.
3. Should I ever get married, watch out.

Things I don't understand #66...

2009-03-11T17:58:00.001-05:00

Why the facebook is so concerned about my dating situation.

If you are familiar with the facebook, you're probably also familiar with the ads in the right side-column of each page. After some time, I noticed that they all were about essentially the same topic. I then asked around and found that no one I knew shared in my experience. Basically, that 75%-80% of the advertisements I see on there are in some way related to me getting a date and/or wife. Luckily, they can also be somewhat amusing(with the occasional shocking thrown in for good measure). What I find most entertaining is usually the photo and the accompanying headline. It seems that the facebook knows a little about me because they are at times personalized, as they mention my current location(Texas). They also seem to hit the Christian drum pretty heavily, too. Though, I don't know if that's because of anything found in my profile or just the general nature of guys wanting to date Christian girls(look it up, it's true).

Anyhoo, I spent about 15 to 20 minutes clicking around the facebook and collecting a lot of the ads(though, not all) and will now share with you some of my favs. As of yet, I've been able to withstand the onslaught and retain my dating site virginity. But feel free to vote for your favorites, and maybe I'll take it under advisement.

The picture above goes with the head line: Check out local girls - Find the largest collection of single women at Thirty Plus Singles. --

So, the facebook also knows my age and has already begun pigeon-holing me.

Romance over 30 - This is your chance to meet and chat with 30 plus singles at Mate1.

So I'm still eligible for romance? Whew!

Meet Local Women. - Connect with attractive local women at Thirty Plus Singles.

This is weird, but thirty doesn't seem as bad as it did about 10 seconds ago. Yeah, I don't get it either.

Single women over 30 - Find sexy mature women at Thirty Plus Singles.

Still thirty? Check. Sexy? Check. Women? Check. Mature? Didn't you just say thirty? Also, do mature girls really pose for pictures like that?

Meet Elite Mature Singles - Dating for mature singles can be very difficult, but it doesn't have to be. Mature Singles Only believes that no one should be alone.

No one? Ok, fine. But I'm not sure I want to date anyone who's already been officially labeled "Elite".

Now we'll move the "Christian" category:
Connect with Christians - With ChristianMingle's scientifically designed matching system, we can introduce you to your soulmate! Try it now!

Ah, bridging science to the soul. That's very holistic of you.

Want a Christian Girl? - Why don't you ask her out? It is easy to do it on Christian Mingle.com. Just send her a message. Try it free!

I think so. Why so demanding? Also, are there Christian girls that are less...frosty?

Fun Christian Singles - Meet fun Christian singles in minutes! Start your free, no obligation trial of ChristianCafe.com. Email and IM free for 10 days.

It may just be because it's the only one that included a male in the picture, but this seems less fun than creepy. Seriously, dude, you're creeping me out.

I'm assuming these are less "Christian":
It's okay to look - Sign up and meet thirty plus singles today.

Good to know. Ummm. Yeah.

Meet Hot Girls - Thousands of single girls are waiting for you now at FindingSingles, and you can join free today!

This seems overly simplistic. But I am a man, so I'm listening. Ok, so you did say "Hot".

Get a Girlfriend - Tired of being single? Meet sexy, fun girls today at True. 100% Free.

Once again, oversimplified. Once again, still a guy. It is what it is people.

Want a Girlfriend? - Tired of being single? Meet sexy, fun girls today at True. 100% Free.

Uh, no I think I'm okay. And I'm pretty sure they're not looking for boyfriends, either. At least not in the classical sense of the word.

Now for what I'll call the "niche" sites:
Meet Asian Women - Single? Meet 1000s of Asian women in your area today at Asianpeoplemeet online dating. Browse pics and videos. Join free!

Wait, should this offend me? I mean, it's not like all Asians are the same. Now Orientals...

Meet Russian Women Today - Classy, educated, beautiful Russian Ladies for classy men.

Classy...this entire process just screams, "Classy." Warning: could be a mail-order bride site.

BBW Personals - Website for BBW singles and for those that admire them. Sign up for free to view photo profiles!

Did I mention "Niche"? Warning: Do not enter BBW into google and press enter. Trust me.

And finally the "Does anyone smell desperation?" category:
Man wanted now - Due to the amoubt of female response online at Perfect Match.com, we lack men responding to their needs for attention. Chat free now!

Now! "...their needs for attention." Where do I sign up? Plus, free chatting.

Mail order brides service - For a man from Texas! Create a happy family with your Russian Bride!

When conversation is no longer an option, you can always turn to your credit card. Facebook and mail-order brides, what more does a man need?

So now all you married folks know what you've been missing. Jealousy does not become you.

Things I don't understand #65...

2009-03-10T12:02:00.004-05:00

...the facebook.

Ok, so I get that it's a "social networking" site, but do any of us know what that really means? And I even get how it works(to a certain extent), but most of my time spent on the site seems to involve me thinking,"Is this what I'm actually supposed to do?" I thought impersonal electronic interaction was supposed to remove uneasiness. Yet, it seems we've just added an entirely new category of social tension. I've had to institute a whole new protocol to ensure I maintain a respectable level of facebook etiquette. I.e., anyone who wants to be my facebook friend gets to be my facebook friend, providing they've supplied a profile picture(got to make sure they're committed). This rule had to be implemented because so many people who wanted to be my facebook friend where never actually, well, my friend. I currently have 96 friends on facebook(yes, I'm well aware I'm a loser), yet a quick survey revels less than half of those have ever been my friend at any time and at any loosely defined level. And of those, I have a current relationship with less than half. Now, some people who I don't really know I actually wouldn't mind knowing, but I don't...yet, we're "friends". It's all so confusing.

There's also a myriad ways of communicating just via facebook. You can use "the wall", but there's also the inbox which works essentially like email. And there's always the status updates, which allow you not only to let people know what you're up to, but comment on what other people are up to. I've had conversations with people using all three methods, but what's the preferred method? (And sometimes people mistakenly leave a message on your wall about your status instead of just commenting on it. Talk about confusion!) And what do people want on their wall? I guess what I want to know is, how many of these methods can I use to ask a girl out? Ok, I want to retract that, or redact it, or something. I'm sorry.

Plus, I'm having a little trouble reconciling this new social contract I've apparently entered into with the fact that everyone seems to agree that the facebook is a complete waste of time. Don't get me wrong, I love it. But I'm not sure why. Plus(and this is probably just something that effects me), haven't I just found another way to disappoint and offend people? It's a gift, I know. But I'm good enough at it when people can actually hear the inflection in my voice. I guess it's just another occupation hazard of always having to carry this acerbic wit wherever I go, but I digress. All I'm saying is, the facebook? Good...and well, bad...oh, and welcome to facebook week.

Things I don't understand #64...

2009-02-11T17:30:00.001-06:00

...People who think they have four eyes, three hands, and two brains.

So I was out the other day during the later stages of rush hour. I was on Central Expressway, yet moving at a fairly un-expressway rate of speed(and in case you aren't aware, Central is a place of many lanes and going fast). Finally, the waters parted, and there was opportunity for all of us to collectively express our liberty by way of the accelerator...except for the car in front of me. I could see the lane preceding it and it's relative openness. Despite that, there was no increase in speed and there was even some random breaking. I began to question the heavens(and really, I wouldn't be surprised if other drivers might have heard me considering the volume of my query) as to why the car refused to speed up or remove itself from the roadways. As we parted ways, I was, for a moment, next to the car and was able to peer in on the driver to see if they were injured or truly(as I expected) mentally impaired in some way. As I gazed at her(no comment), I decided she was not hurt but decided to table the latter. For I then saw the true reason for her inexplicable driving habits. There was a cell phone...and she wasn't trying to talk on it. SHE WAS TEXTING!!!!

Now I know there's some disagreement out there about whether it's possible to talk on the phone and safely pilot one's vehicle(it is), but I think we can all agree that typing coherent words and even sentences on a device while checking your work on a tiny screen should probably not be done at speeds above 10 mph. If you're at a red light, text away. But as soon as it turns green, PUT THE PHONE DOWN! And you sure as Hades better not sit there while the light is green. Even if you were to find yourself on the same freeway in stop and go traffic, if you wanted to broadcast a couple of "LOL's" during the stop portion, I'm willing to look past it. But we're not talking about those scenarios, we're talking about actual movement. And needing to be aware of your surroundings and other drivers while moving at a high rate of speed.

So on this exact same trip, as I returned home, I got back onto Central. At this point, it was much more welcoming. As I merged onto the thoroughfare and accelerated, I was once again met with a dangerous obstacle. A car doing fifty in front of me. Now that might not seem dangerous, unless every other car is doing 70...which they were. I could tell you what happened or you could just re-read the first paragraph. Because it was the exact same story. No lie. A woman(no comment) texting on her phone. Apparently, God get's a kick out of sending me in to rage induced histrionics on our roadways. Good one, God, good one. Oh, and what I found most interesting was neither of these drivers were teenagers as one might expect. Instead, both were at least in their thirties, maybe forties; the elder being no younger than fifty. So apparently, this epidemic has no age-limits.

Things I don't understand #63...

2008-12-12T11:00:00.001-06:00

...How many times, and how many ways, the BCS can screw up one of the greatest sports.

I can't believe that after all these years, it's only getting worse. As a bonus, this year it was actually the team I support that got screwed (Yea BCS!). It's just almost too painful to discuss. But I'm going to go through it all, yet again. Main point: There should be a playoff in college football. Sub points: This is just really ridiculous; You've got to have 16 teams; All opposing arguments are completely ludicrous and are rendered void on a yearly basis.

I got to thinking the other day about if you met a guy who recently moved to the U.S., and who also was a big sports fan. He recognized the huge popularity of college football, yet was confused about the process of finding a champion. Imagine in your mind that scenario and then imagine as you begin your explanation. How convoluted does it sound after 30 seconds? How foolish do you feel after 60? The BCS is basically like a boxing match going to the judges if most of the judges didn't actually watch the fight but just looked at the punching stats the next day and then combined that with the boxers' reputations. I imagine the foreigner replying with one word, "Preposterous!" And that's what it is. We need a playoff system.

The playoff system should be 16 teams because there are 11 conferences and 120 teams. Obviously everyone can't play everyone else, so a weeding out process must be employed. I would eliminate any conference champion with more than 4 losses (just in case one of those "other" conference champs goes 6-6 or somethin') and then leave the empty slots to be filled with at-large bids. If you don't include all the conferences you leave a major problem unsolved. That being that every team in the top division should start the year with a chance at winning a championship. Currently, this is not true. Ask Utah and Boise St. And limiting it to 8 teams would still make that likely. Plus, you still risk leaving out teams with legitimate arguments. This year being a prime example. Either Boise St. at 12-0 or Penn St. at 11-1 would be left out of a 8-team playoff. And even with 16 teams, it is still one of the most exclusive post-seasons in sports. So 16 it is.

Now a response to the various arguments for the current system (really, what are these people thinking...or whose dole are they on?). #1) "Each week is a playoff." Really? Like the week Texas played OU? Or the week Florida lost AT HOME to a pedestrian Ole' Miss? What about the week that Boise St. lost? Oh wait, they didn't. So they won their "playoff" yet somehow find themselves playing in the...(you don't even know what bowl they're in do you? You're never gonna believe this...) the Ponsietta Bowl. I bet you don't even know where it's played.
#2) "That would be too many games and these are student athletes." Seriously? If a playoff were introduced, the regular season would most likely return to 11 games instead of 12. That means the two teams that make it to the championship would play 15 games. OU and Florida will both end up playing 14 games this year. Plus, every other level of the NCAA has a playoff. So I think they can handle it. #3) "A playoff would make games less important or exciting." Sure, OU vs. OSU did have drama, along with Florida vs. Alabama. But what about all those good teams that had been eliminated from championship contention and were just playing out the string? And honestly, OU vs. OSU would have retained much of its importance because OSU would have been playing for their playoff lives instead of just hoping to ruin OU's title run. The same for Florida-Florida St., or Georgia-Georgia Tech, or Ohio St.-Mich, or Penn St.-Mich St., or BYU-Utah, or...you get my drift? For every game that the stakes are reduced there a multiple games, no, make that teams that all the sudden become relevant with the introduction of a playoff. So, as you can see, those objections are dumb.

Now, we get to look at this year's mythical bracket. I decided to make it easier on myself and just use the last set of rankings and the winners from the conference championship games. This may seem like a no-brainer to you, but because I'm convinced that a playoff would mean the end of such games, I've ignored them in the past. But I'm going for less mental gymnastics and taking the easy way out. Sorry. Here we go. Just imagine how glorious it would be if instead of switching our attention to basketball this week we were gearing up for a tournament that sported this bracket of potential match-ups. FYI's: For the first time in 5 years, the Sun Belt winner actually qualifies, thusly Okla. St or Georgia Tech (depending on if there was a cap of 3 teams per conference) find themselves on the outside looking in. And the Mt. West conference gets 2 teams in while the Pac 10 gets 1 (ouch).

(1) Oklahoma - Big 12 Champ (BCS #1)
(16) Troy - Sun Belt Champ (NR)

(8) Penn St. - Big 10 Champ (#8)
(9) Boise St. - WAC Champ (#9)

(5) USC - Pac 10 Champ (#5)
(12) Cincinnati - Big East Champ (#12)

(4) Alabama - At large (#4)
(13) Va. Tech - ACC Champ (#19)

(3) Texas - At large (#3)
(14) E. Carolina - C-USA Champ (NR)

(6) Utah - Mountain West Champ (#6)
(11) TCU - At large (#11)

(7) Texas Tech - At large (#7)
(10) Ohio St. - At large (#10)

(2) Florida - SEC Champ (#2)
(15) Buffalo - MAC Champ (NR)

BTW, ESPN has a feature where you can simulate a 16 team playoff. It doesn't have all the teams available, but it's still kinda cool to look at.

Things I don't understand #62

2008-12-08T13:00:00.007-06:00

...How I can live in a world where this is an option.

Not for me, but you know, for people in general. So, I'm sitting in front of the TV one night...actually, I was sitting at the laptop at the table with the TV in the background but in view. I had it on ESPN (shocker) and I'm guessing it was later in the evening. Anyhoo, I'm sure I was doing something really important like checking Facebook or looking for music or making vital fantasy football moves (not blogging, though; definitely not blogging) when some commercial caught my eye (I can also see my TV in a mirror so as to not have to do such exhausting things as turning my head).

It started out showing a couple who were very obviously in the process of some very personal interaction. A phrase flashes on screen, "These people are married." More images of possible actions one might take if they found themselves in a hotel room with a scantily clad female, then a second phrase. "But not to each other." At this point, the commercial had my full attention. I sat there staring at the screen. Mainly, I was waiting for the punch-line. It had to be some joke, some funny beer ad. Surely, they couldn't be supporting one cheating on their marriage, breaking one's vows. But no punch-line came. Instead, just a web address and then a slogan: "Life is short. Have an affair." I sat there dazed and agape. Despite the lack of a comical ending, I still thought this might be a joke...or more of an elaborate ruse. A prank. So I went to the site. And I quickly came to the conclusion that this was real.

They claim to have over 2.3 million members of their "dating service". But alas, not many single ones (poor me). According to their faq(why do I find it so odd that they have a faq) if you're single, "you're probably going to have to try a little harder." You see, I don't have as much to lose and therefore can't be trusted...in a dating service for people looking to break one of God's "Big Ten". So I guess if you're making a list or reasons for me to get married or not, this can be added to both sides of the ledger. Sure, you're more likely to be cheated on, but now you find yourself eligible for additional "dating" options. So just in case you still think I'm making this up, I've added the commercial below for your viewing pleasure. Life is short...

Things I don't understand #61...

2008-11-12T17:35:00.001-06:00

...How both those pictures could possibly be me.

Yeah, this. Throughout the life of this here blog, I've tried to stay away from this particular topic, for whatever reason. But after numerous requests from various sources(and the fact that topics sometimes are hard to come by) I decided to relent. Many of you know this story, as you lived it with me, but just in case...

Both pictures are indeed of me. The first from about 8-10 years ago (I really don't remember) and second is much more recent. So yeah, I was a fatty. Bordering on morbidly obese (High Five, Wendy's!). About 7 years ago(maybe 8?), my roommate at the time (Eric) wanted to join a health club, but he didn't want to go check it out by himself. So I agreed to go with him. Next thing I know, I'm also a member of a health club. I think the high fees combined with the fact that earlier that year I had been told by a doctor it'd be a good idea to drop a few, ensured that I would actually use the membership.

Use it I did, pretty much 6 days a week, at least. I'll spare you the stories of peeing blood, realizing the red stuff on my towel was coming from my shirt which was actually blood coming from me, and the like; but suffice it to say I did not do it half-heartedly. Now despite the fact that I was at the club 6-7 days a week, sometimes for up to 2 hours, I never grew to like it. Even though I run several times a week, I have never experienced "runner's high". And never have I looked forward to working out. The one thing I did like? The results. That I actually knew the efficacy of what I was doing helped a lot. So over the course of about a year and a half to 2 years, I went from (this is fairly embarrassing) about 320 lbs. to a low of 191. I now sit at a smidge over 200. Of course, the years since have seen me yo-yo a little. But as much as I don't know how I let it get that bad, I know I will never let it happen again.

A couple of random observations from a guy who used to be really fat. One, after losing weight, you get treated better. I still remember one of the first times I was in a department store after a precipitous loss in weight. I had never been asked if I needed help that many times in my life. I actually looked around for hidden cameras, thinking it must be some sort of joke. It wasn't, that's how the non-fat(or I guess I should say less fat, because I'm still pretty big) are treated. Also, you've never seen disappointment until you've had to tell a person the bad news that the way to loose weight is to eat less and exercise more. Seriously, once someone finds out or just gets up the gumption to ask how you did it, they look at you like you're the Wizard of Oz (pre-curtain-pulling) because you've obviously been let in on one of the great secrets of the universe. But when they find out the uncomplicated yet difficult truth, they look like you just notified them of Santa's questionable existence. I now have a pat answer for when I get such a question. I warn said person they probably won't like it, and then I tell them, "I got off my fat butt, and stopped stuffing my fat face." Although, the more you're off your butt, the more face-stuffing you can still enjoy, but you know what I mean.

Oh, and I should also warn you, since I once was fat I retain my license to make fun of fat people. I can freely roll my eyes when I hear excuses that include phrases like "poor metabolism" and "big boned". Sure there's some truth to them, but in the end, the thing on the opposite end of the fork from the food is you--a sentient, free-willed being. Oddly enough, I used to think I was big boned. Until I did the wrist test, and realized I wasn't big boned...I was fat. Finally, one last story of post-fatdom. Not being able to walk around a family reunion anonymously; or the time I ran into a guy I grew up with, and he just blew me off because he had no idea who that guy was who knew his name. No, this occurred at the aforementioned health club.

At this point(year 3 as a club member), I had lost all the weight I was going to lose and was in maintenance mode. Well, as anyone who's ever been a member of a health club knows, you get to where you recognize the regulars, whether you're an introvert like me and do everything possible not to talk to them or not, you still find yourself exchanging numerous knowing nods. Well, on this day, one or the other regulars--a 50-ish guy in really good shape--who I had never shared a single word with approaches me at the water fountain and what resulted is the following exchange:

Not me: Hey, doing ok?
Me: Yeah, good. How are you.
Not me: Fine. So you've lost quite a bit of weight haven't you?
Me: Yeah, you could say that.
Not me: Yeah, you're a bit of a rock star around here. Everybody's amazed how well you've done. How much did you lose?
Me: Well, actually it was about 100 pounds, maybe a little more.
Not me: Man! That's great! Yeah, you were a bit of a porker, but now you look great!
Me: (smile creeps across my face as I realize that the truth just leaked out) Yeah, I guess I was a porker.
Not me: Well good job man. I just wanted to let you know people noticed your hard work.
Me: Thanks. (Still wearing somewhat quizzical smile)

That was the first and last time I ever talked to him. And now you know the famous "Porker story".

Things I don't understand #60...

2008-11-11T16:02:00.003-06:00

...How history keeps repeating.

So we ran that dumb race again. Obviously, someone brought a camera this time. Also, we ran a complete mile (Yeah us!). Two new people showed up (Andrea and Tommy). And two other people wussed out (Eric and Patrick). And we ran at a different track (J.J. Pearce vs. SMU). So all those things were different. But unfortunately, one important detail remained the same.

Bryan still won.

I didn't let him get away until the second lap, though. So that's something. But get away he did. And I'm still a tad unclear how it happened, but that doesn't really matter now. It really bothers me that I continue to allow him to back up his braggadocio, but what's a big, fat, slow, white guy supposed to do? So here are the final times as precisely recorded by our official time keeper, Kurt (Andrea's husband):

Bryan - 5:53:68
Jason - 6:13:77
Andrea - 6:29.86
Tommy - 7:02:90

Things I don't understand #59...

2008-11-10T17:00:00.001-06:00

...How something that looks like that could be one to the most perfect dishes I've ever enjoyed.

* Warning * Vegetarians Beware!!! * Warning *
What you are looking at is a dish named the "Belfast Burger Bomb", or just "The Bomb" to us insiders. Despite it's somewhat irreverent European name, it's birthplace is actually the very non-European suburb of Frisco, TX, at a very fake pub called the Irish Rover. This "burger" changed my life. I put that in quotes because its construction puts the categorization of burger into question. Here's how it's built. A bottom bun. A good quality patty of beef. Next(This is where things get tricked up a bit), comes a big pile of french fries. Yeah, I know. Then, it is topped with a very nice version of chili. And finally, cheese is added with no regard for human life and melted perfectly. Yes it is a heart attack waiting to happen. And yes, it is glorious.

What seems to make it so perfect, is that it's the first chili burger that actually delivers on its potential. It seems almost anyone who likes burgers and likes chili has at some point succumbed to the raised skirt and perfumed inner thigh of the chili burger only to be disappointed. I think it's because the ingredients combine to overwhelm the taste buds in a messy, meaty overload. I think the key for "the Bomb" is the fries. It acts as the perfect mellowing agent and allows you to complete the dish...and then be overcome by a meaty euphoria. If you haven't had it, I'm sure you think I'm crazy. But this dish makes me want to open a restaurant just so I can make it and serve it to others.

Oddly enough, it was discovered on accident. Bryan and I were at the Rover as is our custom after many a FC Dallas game. He had mentioned he wanted to eat light, and I began scouring the menu. When I saw it, I suggested it immediately, knowing Bryan's true temptress, chili, and that the opposite of light had to be something called the "Belfast Burger Bomb". I figured he would just deliver a failed smile and order something featuring grilled chicken. Well, obviously he didn't because neither one of us has ordered anything different in the almost year since that fateful night when after taking the first bite he looked at me with tear filled eyes and said, "Thank you, this is great." So I guess I should thank God for Bryan's weakness of the flesh.

P.s. Speaking of burgers. It has been decided that something will be brought back to life. Several years ago, my roommates and I embarked on a quest to find the best local burger place. Local being the Dallas area. After about 2 years of having a burger for lunch almost every Saturday, we stopped. Mainly because we felt we had exhausted all the possibilities. But now it has returned. So if the thought of massive quanta of burgers interests you (or just hanging out with me on a Saturday) you can inspect this site for further info.

Things I don't understand #58...

2008-11-06T23:03:00.003-06:00

...Why we continue to play with fire.

That's right, the second round of a one mile race now being affectionately (yet ironically) tagged as "The Magnificent Mile" will be run Saturday morning at 9 A.M. The first time around there were four of us, which really seemed like way too many people for me likely to lose to. Now all we've done is added two more people to assume the role of my defeater. Even better is one of them is a girl. And all indications are she's not slow. BTW, I'll still be the biggest and oldest person making their way around that track. I can't wait...

Now if you recall how the first race went down, Bryan took off and we never really got close to him again. He has already promised that he will attempt to repeat that feat, just at a quicker pace this time. This is problematic for me, as my strategy had been not to let Bryan out of arm's reach this time around. And now I have to worry about if I blow it out too soon, I'm going to hit the wall just as some sprightly chick goes flying by me. Plus, there's always the threat that this will all be more than my fragile form can take and I'll just drop dead, right then and there. This is serious.

The one thing I can promise this time around is that we will run a full mile...Or 1600 meters...or four full laps...you know what I mean. It'll be official...or at least more official. I've even heard the timekeeper might not be blind this time. Once again, I ask for your prayers that I might live to tell about it. And by all means, if you like to witness this first-hand, be at the J.J. Pearce track in Richardson by 9. Even better, bring your running shoes. Registration is still open.

Things I don't understand #57...

2008-11-04T15:25:00.005-06:00

...Why I bother at getting and/or staying in shape.

As you may or may not know, I am single... a.k.a. unmarried (sorry Mom). And if we're all being honest here (you look pretty honest), I'll admit that I'm not totally against the idea of being married someday...or at least finding some human of the female persuasion that's willing to admit she might be romantically linked to me. But sadly, no luck. So several years ago, after taking a very honest and extensive self-evaluation I realized I was way too smart, way too funny, and way too charming (I also scored high marks for humility) that the chink in my armor must be my level of fitness. I took efforts to change that, to varying degrees of success, but that's not the issue here.

You see, last week Manuel Uribe, former world's fattest man, got married. Seriously? So all the running and lifting and exercising and pseudo-healthy eating and fast-food passing and no soft-drink drinking, what's all that for again? Apparently, I could check in at almost 600 pounds and not harm my chances of landing a fairly normal looking chick. I'm sure this is just one more indication that I have no understanding of true love (as if), but come on! He lost almost 50% of his body weight and still tips the scales (more like renders inoperable) at 570 pounds. So before I return to that fabulous porker lifestyle and suggest you buy stock in some of my favorite fast-food establishments, I'd like to talk to all the single ladies out there.

Hey, how you doin'? I'm not trying to get in the way here or anything like that, but I just wanted you to know how your wedding might be different if you marry me instead of your 600 lbs. potential mate:

- I will be able to arrive at the ceremony in a car instead of on the back of a flatbed truck. If you have a flair for the dramatic, I could even arrive on horseback. Try finding a horse to carry your 600lb fiance.
- Instead of wearing a white shirt and a sheet wrapped around my legs, I'll wear pants. Truth be told, I can pull off a pair of flat-front slacks pretty well.
- I'll allow you to put a ring on my finger...because my size exists.
- The aisle will not have to be 8ft. wide to allow the bed I been in for 6 years straight. I'll be able to walk...and stand next to you. Unless you prefer me being rolled in. I'm very accommodating.
- At the reception, there will not be a team of doctors flanked by armed guards positioned between me and the wedding cake at all times.
- No swaying to the music here, we can actually dance. (Though poorly, despite being <500lbs., I am still a white dude.)
- The Guinness Book of World Records will not have a representative present in case the armed guards fail.
- Consummation of the marriage will be physically possible.

So I've included a video just in case you need visual confirmation of what I just told you. And if you're able to get through it without laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, then you're a bigger man than I.

Things I don't understand #56...

2008-08-02T13:13:00.003-05:00

...Where I'm going to find my next mancrush. (I know only about 1 and 1/2 of you care about this, but you always have the option of reading your dang own blog.)

Yesterday a transfer was finalized that will send Juan Toja from FC Dallas to Romanian club Steaua Bucuresti. He is was one of my favorite players that I actually got to watch in person on a regular basis. About a year ago, I first revealed my newest mancrush (which has no sexual connotations, it just means that as one man you like and respect another man...and probably wish you were him) and he's already gone. He brought a combination of skill and effort rarely seen on any sports field, maybe especially soccer. But, he wanted to have a chance to play for and against the big clubs, so off to Europe he goes. Now I'm taking applications.

Tony Romo seems like an obvious replacement, but he may just be too obvious.
And I don't want to share my mancrush with basically every guy in the Metroplex. Oh well. Below is a video farewell from Juan with some of his highlights (there's another shorter highlight video if you follow the link to the previous post) that remind me why I loved him...uh, I mean liked and respected him so. So long and via con Dios. We hardly knew you Juan, we hardly knew you.

Things I don't understand #55

2008-07-24T18:11:00.004-05:00

...Bluetools.

You heard me…or read me, I guess it would be. If you don’t know what a bluetool is, even with the assistance of the illustration, we should probably first make sure you aren’t one. If you own a handy, dandy wireless earpiece(aka, Bluetooth headset) for your handy, dandy wireless phone you are well on your way. But you’re not necessarily all the way there. Consider these questions seriously.

Do you ever, while wearing your HDWE(Handy, Dandy Wireless Earpiece), talk on it in public with neither hand occupied by anything? Or really either hand still free?

Do you ever wear your HDWE when not making or taking a phone call? You know, just in case. Wondering around the mall, the office, the ballpark with a little metal/plastic blinky thing hanging on your ear?

Do you ever miss calls because you were unable to properly affix your HDWE before it stopped ringing? Because why talk on the phone if you’re not talking on your HDWE?

Do you ever covet other people’s HDWE’s and long to have their superior technology/style adorning your lobes?

If you answered yes… if you even had to think about whether answering in the negative would be dishonest to God and yourself, then you are probably a bluetool.

I don’t know how to say this, but I don’t get you. You do realize that a piece of shiny metal/plastic dangling off the side of your head looks ridiculous, don’t you? Especially if it blinks. Please tell me it doesn’t blink. And you do realize that walking around in public and appearing to talk out loud to yourself or no one in particular makes you look crazy, don’t you? Especially if you talk with your hands, and they’re both empty. I just don’t get the need to be double wirelessly connected whether my hands are full of irreplaceable things/small humans or not. Maybe I’m just not important enough. Maybe if I was constantly inundated with such consequential communiqué, I too would recognize the need to eschew manual phone manipulation to ensure I was always available to those who need me. But I can barely justify having a cell phone half the time, much less the need to be able to participate in a jujitsu match while simultaneously starting a prayer chain. But as in most cases, that’s just me.

Oh, and if you have so become one with your HDWE that you either refuse or completely forget to remove it for an engagement photo that could be widely dispersed, then you my friend are a Bluetool.

Things I don't understand #54

2008-07-17T18:50:00.001-05:00

...How people usually look how they sound.

Really, how is it that somehow our vocal cords tend to find a way to match up with our faces? I’m not saying that you can distinguish the eye color of the guy taking your order in the drive-thru or the shapeliness of the girl’s legs who took your reservation, but you can get a general idea of attractiveness. This struck me recently as I began working in this new locale(Birmingham…keep up, already). I walked into an office where cubicles were in use, and after a while I heard a female voice. I was horrified. I almost made a face, but my superior ability to appear emotionless under any circumstance kicked in. I was sure I did not want to see the face (or body) whose voice that belonged to. I later found out I was absolutely right. Not to be mean(which is exactly what I’m being, sorry Mom) but the word ogre was the only thing that came to mind. Yeesh.

“But Farky,” you might be saying, “I sometimes hear someone’s voice and imagine them attractive and later meet them only to find them…well, ogre-ish. How do you explain that?” Well, I think this is exactly one of those cases where the exception proves the rule. (Yes, I know most of the time that phrase makes absolutely no sense, but stick with me. What else do you have to do, really?) I would submit that on those occasions where you physically encounter someone after verbally meeting them and find their voice to be incongruent with their visage, you’re surprised. And why would you be surprised if not for the lifetime of previous experience which affirmed your ability to rate attractiveness by sound? You see, we only notice the ones that don’t match, and take the ones that do as status quo…the order of things…normative…expected(really, how can you expect to argue with that many synonyms?).

In any case, it just seems odd that it could be so. And I begin to wonder if our voices start out matching our face or if we somehow affect our voice by our beliefs on how attractive we are. If, unconsciously, we allow our self-image to revise the way we sound? Hmm, I don’t know. You figure it out. I’ve got to go figure out how to sound like Johnny Depp (except when he’s a pirate…ok, maybe when he’s a pirate, too).

Things I don't understand #53...

2008-07-15T21:33:00.002-05:00

...that guy.
Are you kidding me? I know I’m probably violating all that we’ve grown to know and love about “Things I don’t understand...”© by having the same subject in two out of three entries, but good grief. Last night Josh Hamilton put on a show… the greatest show in the history of the Home Run Derby. Sure, you’re saying, but who cares about the home run derby? Honestly, most of the time, not even me, bona fide baseball fan. That’s what’s so amazing about it. Not only did I make a point to try to catch the event, but after Hamilton’s first “at bat” I received not one, but two phone calls asking me if I had seen it.

I did. If you didn’t, Hamilton hit a record 28 home runs in the first round. And they just weren’t your garden variety out of the parker. Three went over 500ft. I have no idea how many reached the 3rd deck of Yankee Stadium. It had every person in the stands and all 23 announcers ESPN enlisted for the event oohing and ahhing. Karl Ravich become so drunk over his performance that he predicted Josh would hit one out of the stadium before the night was over. (BTW, that’s never happened before.) But once again, what makes it so amazing is his story. I won’t rehash the whole thing. But if you ignore the whole almost dying because of a drug addiction thing, he was out of the game for over three years. When he left he was minor league single-A ballplayer. He returned from not hitting a pitch for all that time to hitting major league pitching, skipping both double and triple A. That’s just not done. But neither are most of the things that Josh Hamilton ends up doing.

What was remarkable about last night was that Josh Hamilton was able to take a meaningless, fake sporting event and turn it into one those “great moments” in so-and-so history. He made me lean towards the tv to get a better look at his monster shots. He gave me chills. He made me remember what I love about sports, especially baseball.

Things I don't understand #52

2008-07-09T21:28:00.004-05:00

…How Birmingham (yes the one in Alabama) became known as “The Magic City”.

Oh yeah. Hi, how’s it going? Yes, I’m sorry. It’s been a while. But I have good reasons...well, reasons anyway. I’ve been away. I’ll run to the bathroom while you guess where... ... ... ...uh, yeah. Alabama. Very near if not completely in Birmingham. It’s lovely here. Almost magical. Yes, it is really called that. Google it or something. I actually didn’t discover this fair burgh’s moniker until my first flight out of here when I happened upon a table full of t-shirts making such a proclamation in a gift shop near my gate. I stared at the table and then took a quick glance around to make sure there weren’t any hidden cameras to catch my reaction. There weren’t.

But here I am, in Birmingham, blogging for you...because I love you that much. Like the good book says:

“...but Jason showed his own love for us in that while we were yet lazy, Jason blogged for us.”

Admittedly, I’m using a very loose paraphrase.

So I’ve been here about a month and I’ve learned some things about Birmingham that might or might not involve magic. It’s not as big as they think it is. Travel time from the airport to my office near downtown is about 8 minutes...from rental lot to parking lot...even taking side streets and never getting on the freeway. As far as traffic goes, they have some, but that’s mainly because if it’s not an interstate it’s probably just two lanes...and all the traffic lights require you to wait 2-5 minutes whether there’s a chance of a car crossing the intersection or not(this will make you scream certain words while in your car). Also, they are not the most adept at merging. I learned after almost inserting my rental car into the trunk of the preceding vehicle twice the first week to assume they will stop inches from the highway (because they will) looking for the all clear before proceeding. Other fun facts...Birmingham has one of, if not the highest murder rates in the country. Random watching of the local news has confirmed this. Let’s see...the choice of restaurants seems limited, and if you do find one, hurry, it’s probably about to close. I found this one I wanted to try, unfortunately I got there at 8:05. It closed at 8. I had another place turn off the lights as I sat in the drive-thru at 8:55. Not exactly a town of night owls, apparently.

So, despite the fact that my search for the magical part of Birmingham is limited and thus inconclusive, I going to actually suggest that some other nicknames might be more apt. Here are some of my suggestions:
Birmingham, the city that sleeps.
Birmingham, not the one in England.
Birmingham, death awaits you.
Birmingham, Bull Connor was probably wrong, our bad.

Things I don't understand #51...

2008-05-28T17:30:00.006-05:00

...The sports miracle that is Josh Hamilton.

It's baseball again. And you almost got this last week but, well...stuff happens...I was busy...and sick...and lazy. Anyway, you should probably just go read the cover story in SI this week, but I'll try to give you the Cliff's Notes version. Josh Hamilton is the new center fielder for the Texas Rangers. Acquired in an off-season trade with the Reds, he is now the story of Major League Baseball(thus the cover story).

Nine years ago, out of high-school, he was the top pick in the MLB draft. He was the ultimate 5-tool player (hit for average, hit for power, good glove, good arm, can run like the wind) in a 6"4', 225 lbs. frame. A pure athlete and a natural at the game. Oh, and since he was known to unleash a fastball upwards of 95 mph, he could have also been a pitcher if he wanted to. He was also considered the antithesis of a troubled kid. All was going well until a dump truck smashed the car he was in as his mom drove. The time off because of injury was the impetus for a downward spiral of epic proportions. Coke binges then became the new norm, and by the time he had cleaned up he had been out of baseball for a couple of years.

Josh found a renewed faith in God and an understanding that he's lucky to be alive. He also refuses to carry more than $20 in his wallet at any given time to ensure any temptation doesn't turn into something more. What's miraculous is that it's seems he's lost nothing in his return. After playing only about have the season last year, his numbers this year are staggering(considering he's also making the sometimes difficult transition to another league). His name is found in the same sentence as the phrase "Triple Crown" (leader in HR's, RBI, and Avg.). He's already had several highlight reel catches and he's been compared to Mickey Mantle (that never happens). Did I mention he's on the cover of Sports Illustrated(first Ranger in almost 10 years)? I also got to personally witness one of Hamilton's majestic blasts. It went out into the concourse of the second level(that doesn't happen either). And then after Tuesday's game I read this in the paper about Josh's eighth inning game clinching grand slam:

"I've been having trouble seeing here, and it's been kind of frustrating," said Hamilton, who broke a season-long RBI drought of four games with five RBIs. "I saw the ball leave his hand. It looked like a sinker. I closed my eyes and swung hard. When I opened them back up, it was heading towards the seats."

So apparently not only is he a stud athlete, but he's a Jedi. Not fair! Hitting home runs with your eyes closed should not be allowed. I'm just glad he plays for my team for once. Ah yes, the force is strong with this one.

Things I don't understand #50...

2008-05-27T15:54:00.004-05:00

...Why no one talks like my grandfather anymore. (Well, except for my grandfather...and you know, all those like him.)

I could've spent this post celebrating the amazing feat of making it to 50 things, but I won't (you should, but I won't). Instead, I thought I'd reminisce about the sounds of my youth and home. Even though I've removed almost every verbal indicator that I originated not only from Texas(I still use y'all and howdy, but that's about it), but small town Texas (Gainesville by way of Paducah), I still enjoy going home and listening to certain family members talk. And sometimes I just miss hearing the vernacular of my rural upbringing. I think that may be partly do to the fact that I live in the "big city"(Dallas) and find myself constantly surrounded by city slickers, Yankees, or a combo of the two. Conversely, my grandfather(or Pappaw as some might call him) arrived in Texas as a small child in a covered wagon(and yes, he's one of those grandfathers who's nice to pretty much everyone and can fix pretty much anything).

Despite the fact that we were related, all throughout my childhood and youth it seemed I was always being confronted with the notion that we just talked differently. At times it lead to down right confusion. The first one I really remember is the word "battries". Yes, I know it's not a word. But my grandfather used it all the time. Everything probably just needed new "battries". I was sure I was supposed to know what these were. My only hunch was that he meant batteries, but he was definitely not saying that. I finally got up the nerve to ask my mom, at which point she laughed and confirmed they were, indeed, batteries. I think that only cost me about two years of tension.

Another point of confusion cropped up much later. I worked with my grandfather on a couple of summers off during college. This was also when I discovered my Pappaw liked to talk a lot more when Mammaw(my grandmother) wasn't around, but let's try to keep that between us. Anyway, as he would regale me with tales during our lunch hour, there seemed to be many occasions where someone needed to or should be trying to "get shut of" something. I think it took me approximately one month to first get through the southern twang to verify the words of this phrase and then figure out what it meant. What? Oh, it means to rid yourself of that particular item. But you have no idea how often I sat there repeating(or trying to repeat) that phrase over and over to myself trying to crack the code. It was a great day and quite a relief when I finally did "get shut of" that confoundedness.

Just in case you want to feed my nostalgia(maybe in celebration of 50 affiliated posts? I don't know) I thought I'd give you a list of some other words and phrases that I used to hear quite often, but now hardly ever hear (unless I'm trying to be funny or ironic). I'll also try to give a definition or maybe an example in case you're a Yankee so confused by my southern ways.

"Betcha a coke" - I was always confused about why we had to bet a coke to settle a disagreement(and no, coke should not be capitalized, because that meant any soft drink)

Directly - with out delay. Ex. "He found out his wife was home waitin' on him and got out of there directly."

Ornery - stubborn with a touch grouchiness. Ex. "I tried to get Jason whatever he wanted to eat, but he was mad and got ornery and down right refused to touch his food."

Piddlin'- doing nothing in particular, wasting time. Ex. "I told him to have the yard done by the time I got back; but when I did, he was just out there roaming around picking up rocks...just piddlin."

Plumb - completely. Ex. "I meant to bring you the tickets, but I plumb forgot."

Reckon - guess, figure, estimate. Ex. "When I left he wasn't there, I reckon he'll make it home o.k."

Everwhichway - in any or all directions or methods. Ex. "That firecracker went off behind him, and he went everwhichway at once."

Gully washer - extended storm or downpour. Ex. "The weatherman said it wouldn't rain, but instead it came a gully washer."

Light out - move quickly, leave with haste. Ex. "That tomcat heard that dog bark and he lit out of there like he was on fire."

Now if I just had some cream gravy...

Things I don't understand #49...

2008-05-21T17:36:00.003-05:00

...How this guy helped produce a perfectly beautiful baby girl.

Seriously. Look at him. How did he ever pass the qualification tests to be allowed to sire offspring? What's that? There's not a test? That is a problem. So once again the government can't be trusted. What's new? So where was God? Isn't there some sort of angelic monitoring system in place? I imagine some being with wings and a halo standing in the background with a ticker-tape, reading off different world events while God listens as He does His other godly stuff. "Johnny stole a bike, oil went up again, Barb stopped a fight, flood in Tunisia, Hillary actually thinks she'll be President, Yankees lost, Bryan's going to be a father..." Shouldn't that have caused His Heavenly Father to raise an omnipotent eyebrow and say, "Could you repeat that last one?" And then immediately get the accountants ready for an internal audit of the earthly oversight department?

But alas, what's done is done. And it's nothing short of a miracle. Truly, first he got a girl much more attractive than himself to marry him. Ensuring not only that his progeny would not be saddled with his, ahem, striking looks; but that there would be at least one capable parent in the household. So we're all thankful for that. But the need for prayers has really just begun. And know that this is obviously a joke...for the most part. I really don't know what the baby's going to think when that face keeps trying to comfort her at night. After a while he might actually succeed, and I'm sure she'll be ok. But that doesn't mean that as I sat there today holding 7 pound, 2 ounce Hayden a mere 13 hours after she was born that I didn't find myself looking at her, then looking at her dad and shaking my head as I thought, "He had a hand in this." It must really mean that anything is possible. And that there are miracles. And some things you just don't need to understand.

Things I don't understand #48...

2008-05-20T15:49:00.004-05:00

...Why I don't recycle more.

You might take from that first sentence that I'm about to regale you with regrets about not taking proper care of our dear Mother Earth. This ain't that. I'm not saying I probably don't need to do it, it's just not happening today. What this is is just an excuse for me to basically reprint an old post (Don't make that face). Luckily, I've decided to revisit what is most likely my most popular post ever. I guess I could just provide a link, but I know most of you are too lazy and wouldn't read it if you actually had to leave this page, thus the reprint. Plus, if you've joined us in the subsequent 2 years since it's original posting this re-run will be brand new to you. Either way, I think it's worth another reading (of course I do, it's my blog).

As a reminder, a few notes.
#1) I used to go to a singles only Sunday School class.
#2) When I say 'Gay', I don't mean homo-sexual. I just mean...well...stuff like this. Things that make others question your manhood. That's why it could never apply to women.
#3) This is an actual email.
#4) Yes, I know I'm still mean.

I occasionally get email from my old Sunday school class. Most of them get deleted. Some get read just enough to see there's no reason not to delete them immediately. Some...some go down in the "You really need a blog hall of fame". This particular one marries that feat (rock me!) with an entry into the "Gayest e-mail hall of fame". So, as you can see I'm about to do something very mean. I am about to make fun of an e-mail sent to me via my Sunday School class. But, as I said previously, God should not allow me to be tempted in such ways. I will always fail. I will try to point out all the ways that this email is gay, which is kind of ironic considering the subject of the email. Without further delay, here's the email with the subject of "I'm engaged" (names have been changed in a feeble and half-arsed attempt to protect the innocent).
Hey folks! I'm in Illinois right now, kind of hanging out with my parents for a week or two while I pound madly away at my dissertation all day. Anyway, I'm engaged!!!!
Sending an email announcing your engagement: GAY
THE STORY:
Last Saturday was the SPECIAL day. I had picked FEMALE up from Indiana University in Bloomington the weekend before, and we'd spent the week, her spring break, rather quietly, hanging out with my parents (this was HER idea--she loves my parents). Finally Saturday arrived, which I'd told her would be special. She suspected something was up, but she didn't know much more than that.

It was destined to be a star-filled day.
That sentence: GAY
In the morning, I took her to Chicago's Adler Planetarium, which overlooks Lake Michigan. On the way there, we read from my field guide to the constellations. The cover of the book features a depiction of Ursa Major, the big bear. Her nickname for me is "Bear," so we had a little laugh about that.
Cute nickname talk: GAY
The planetarium was SO much fun.
SO much? : GAY
It's located on Lake Michigan, so it has a breathtaking vista which we really enjoyed. And because we're both museum lovers, we soaked in learning the whole day. For us, an ideal day!
Ending sentences with exclamation marks: GAY

The museum closed at 4:30, and as it was closing, the cafe area began hosting a wedding reception. So love was already in the air. :)
That sentence: VERY GAY
Use of emoticons: GAY
I then took her to this incredibly deluxe restaurant located on the top floor of the Hancock Building, one of Chicago's tallest skyscrapers. The reservations were for 5:30pm, so we were there in time to see the sunset blazing on Chicago's skyline as we enjoyed some EXTREMELY gourmet fare. I also had a bag of Godiva Chocolates with me, which I'd picked up from Northpark Mall.
Describing not only the brand of chocolate, but where it was purchased: GAY.
A week ago, I told her I had a surprise for her, but I wanted to throw her off the scent by telling her she could EAT the surprise (so she'd thing it wasn't a ring). The bag was part of the ruse. She didn't know there was a ring stashed in the bottom.
Thinking your fiance is actually falling for the "ruse": GAY

The plan was to eat our after-dinner chocolates somewhere special--that's all she knew. Well the FULL plan was to walk a block away to Watertower Place, where a horse-drawn carriage awaited us. Imagine my shock to find that it was physically impossible to cross the street to our carriage--an anti-war parade was blocking the way! On the spur of the moment, I whisked her into WaterTower Mall. Thankfully, a few minutes later, the parade had passed.
Getting all worked over a possible minor departure of plans: GAY
However, there was another hitch in the plan. I had arranged to have the carriage bring us to Navy Pier, which is right on Lake Michigan. (Navy Pier is like a cross between an old-school theme park and a high-tech entertainment venue that hosts plays, etc.)
Navy Pier (despite the name): GAY
However, though the parade had passed, the street itself was still virtually closed! And it stood between us and the Pier. I quickly suggested that we spend some time looking at books in a really deluxe Borders Bookstore
Overuse of the word deluxe, especially describing a chain bookstore: GAY
that's right on Michigan Avenue. (Sidenote: Michigan Avenue, a.k.a. the Magnificent Mile, is Chicago's version of 5th Avenue in New York.)
Sidenotes: GAY
Finally I slipped away from FEMALE in the bookstore, discovered that the street was now clear, and arranged to have the carriage take us down. Then I returned to FEMALE. She thought we were headed home. Instead, I brought her inside a beautiful horse-drawn carriage! Clop-clop-clop went the horse as we headed toward our mystery destination.
Onomatopoeic description of carriage ride: GAY
Gradually our goal was revealed to her: Navy Pier, where we'd had so much fun together last summer!
Did I mention the exclamation marks? : Still GAY
We enjoyed the lights, but primarily we headed to a secluded sandy beach just north of the Pier that we had enjoyed some months ago. As we approached the lapping waves of Lake Michigan, we looked up at the stars we had studied earlier in the day. Again I pointed out Ursa Major, the great bear. I then gave her a special chocolate from the bag, and as she was taking it out of its special container, I held her and said, "FEMALE, you can see that the sky has a bear... but you don't! FEMALE, could I be your bear??
Do you really need me to tell you? : Super GAY
FEMALE [getting down on one knee and opening up the case with the ring], would you marry me??" Angels appeared overhead and rejoiced (I think, kind of fuzzy after this) as FEMALE wept and we held each other!
The phrase "we held each other": GAY
A long, romantic ride back in the carriage followed, and our drive back to Morris. As we neared home, we opened a box of Godiva Chocolates. As FEMALE bit into the first one, I began playing a CD I'd burned while still home in Dallas. It was a compilation of "our songs," first Sinatra's "I've Got You Under My Skin," then Louis Armstrong's "Only You," and finally Judy Garland singing, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."
The compilation: GAY
Judy Garland: Very GAY
I'd been singing these songs to her all week, so it was the culmination of days of preparation.
A week of those songs...being sung: GAY

It was too magical to go back home right away, so we went to a nearby park which is situated right on the Illinois river.
"Too magical"?: GAY
It was deserted and romantic. We opened the doors of the car, cranked up the music, and danced there in the dark next to the river, to the lilting rhythms of Sinatra.
Erroneously ascribing "rhythms" to Sinatra: GAY
The evening's finale came after we got home. I decided to wash FEMALE's feet. (Thanks for the idea, Alana!) I sat her down on her bed, brought in a special bowl and towel, and washed her feet, as an emblem of the life of service I would live for her, loving her as Christ loved the church!
My faith in God precludes me from commenting on the washing of feet thing

I think we did some kissing after that. Anyway, the bottom line is... I popped the question, and FEMALE said Yes!!! :)
Triple exclamation, emoticon : GAY and GAY

You're welcome and I'm sorry...again.

...and again. But not that sorry.

Things I don't understand #47...

2008-05-16T12:00:00.001-05:00

...How anyone could watch this and keep a straight face...Or how anyone ever takes this station's "news" seriously...Or why this "reporter" would ever be willing to show his face in public again...

Things I don't understand #46...

2008-05-15T11:52:00.005-05:00

...What good shaving cream is actually serving.

Let me first say, I hate shaving. I mean I really hate it. Of course--you might reply--is there anyone who actually likes it? Probably not. Men hate it. Women hate it. I still remember a disagreement I had with a girl in college where she posited that shaving for women was worse (i.e. legs) because of the additional surface area. My rebuttal was, "I'm putting a blade up to my face!" Her subsequent points were all met with the same reply, "It's my face," as I pointed to my mug. After the third time she finally said, "O.k., maybe you're right." No amount of PowerGlide blades or comfort guards or soothing strips will ever make it an enjoyable experience. Have I mentioned I hate shaving? So much that even at my advanced age, I still don't shave everyday. Since I've been blessed with slow-growing facial hair that is of a lighter shade I assume that some people might think I just have early-onset-five-o'clock-shadow on days that I don't shave. For those of you out there that might have thought that...HA! Joke's on you, sucker! Anyway, back to me.

In any case, for all those years (at least on the days I actually conceded to shaving) I used some sort of shaving cream or gel. Obviously, early on it was the classic type that's pictured above. But then there were supposed advances in shaving technology, and we had the option of the gel that turned into a frothy cream when friction was applied (Let it go). I said 'used' because a couple of weeks ago I ran out and didn't, for whatever reason, buy a new can of shaving gel. I just used regular old soap. And you know what? I didn't notice a difference. Not one. Not even a little bit. I went along in my ignorance and contentedness until a couple of days ago when out of no where a free can of not just gel, but HydraGel, shows up in my mailbox. Plus, it was ultra-sensitive with aloe and vitamin E. Because after all, who needs sensitive gel more than a sensitive guy like me? I took this as a sign from God that maybe I did need to be using some sort of specific-purpose-type-shaving-product on my face when shaving and starting using it. It was then that I realized there was a noticeable difference when I used a cream and when I didn't. And that was when I did, my face felt sort of dry and sore all day. And it made me thirsty (Yes, I know I'm weird. This is not a news flash.) At least on days when I used the soap, I didn't feel like every drop of moisture had been sucked from my face. The only possible enhancement I can think of from using the shaving gel is that maybe it makes my face smell better (Not that anyone probably gets close enough to notice). So unless I get barraged by women saying that they can't live without guys walking around with the faint aroma of shaving product emitting from their faces, my days of dropping coin on the stuff may be over. I've heard that shaving cream's lack of efficacy is because most creams and gels are composed mainly of alcohol or some similar component, and that a more effective product would be made with large amounts of glycerin. That may be true, but I'm starting to think that the only way to get your face not to feel like you've just run a sharp(hopefully) blade over it is not actually run a blade over it.

Things I don't understand #45...

2008-05-14T16:03:00.007-05:00

...How you're supposed to stop watching Braveheart once you start.

Sorry for my temporary absence...I was...uh...busy. Yeah, let's go with that. I would say I'll make it up to you, but who are we kidding? We both know I'll just disappoint you. So anywho...one day last week, after watching the requisite number of sporting events, I'm laying on the couch telling myself I'm tired and it's time to go to bed (both of which were true). But unfortunately, I was also giving the channels one last tour before turning in. And what do I find? No, not the sex lady...or the magic bullet infomercial...or ONE...MILLION...DOLLARS...(you're not taking this seriously, remember the first line?). Yes, it was Braveheart, just 10 minutes in and in beautiful HD (Mwuh, I love you HD). Because I'm quite familiar with the movie, missing the first few minutes was no problem. Me looking at the clock and adding 2 and half hours to it to find when I would make it to bed if I stayed to the end should have been. But William Wallace had just walked back into the village and been challenged to a rock throwing contest by his boyhood friend and then walked up to his first and only true love, Murron. I had no choice. I was screwed.

What followed was movie greatness(obviously). I mean, how can you not love the crazy Irishman who talks to God? "The Almighty tells me he can get me out of this mess, but he's pretty sure you're f***ed." Or that one old man that gets wounded in every possible way (including the loss of his left hand) but just won't die? The great battle scenes. Wallace picking fights with bigger armies; "Here are Scotland's terms. Lower your flags, and march straight back to England, stopping at every home you pass by to beg forgiveness for 100 years of theft, rape, and murder. Do that and your men shall live. Do it not, and every one of you will die today." The maxims like, "Every man dies. Not every man truly lives," and all those great speeches about freedom:

Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you'll live -- at least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!!!

Everyone saying, "Aye," instead of 'yeah' (What? Did I lose a little momentum there?). Yeah...well...

Another thing I don't understand about this movie is how it got branded as a guy movie. I think chicks should dig it because it's the ultimate love story. Think about it. He returns to a village to find his childhood sweetheart, marries her (in secret); and when she is uselessly murdered, his reaction is not just to go all "William Wallace" on the person(s) immediately responsible(think death). No, he starts a freaking war! And not just any old war, one that results in him not only defeating the armies of a more powerful nation, but invading one of the great military empires in history. And that goes well enough that he ultimately wins the freedom of his own country from the imperialistic empire as his own country is united. I mean, if that's not love, I don't know what love is. So as you ponder the best and quickest way to see Braveheart again(Don't tell me you haven't seen it), I leave you with this word...
FREEEEEDOMMMMMmmmmm!!!!!!!

Things I don't understand #44...

2008-04-30T17:58:00.003-05:00

...The sports marvel that is Sergei Zubov.

Yes, hockey. Because of my odd love of playoff hockey (and my innate ability to see the Maverick writing on the wall), I've seen more of the Stars last couple of games despite the fact that they played at the same time as our local NBA outlet. If you haven't, you've missed a lot of really good hockey, with favorable outcomes, no less(being a fan of Dallas teams, I've almost forgot what that was like). You've also not been able to witness the comeback and subsequent stunning perfomance of Sergei Zubov, Dallas Stars defenseman. In case you are unaware, Dallas played(and won!) the third game of their second round playoff series(Dallas leads 3-0). This was Zubie's second game back. In his first game back, he assisted(and by assisted I mean he made one of the most amazing whirling, behind the back passes you've ever seen) on the game's decisive goal. In last night's game, he not only scored the important equalizing goal seconds into the third period, he also led the Stars in ice time. Oh, and did I mention he hadn't played since January 17th. Yes, that's right after spending over 4 months off to treat both a knee injury and have surgery for a sports hernia, he returns during the most physical, intense part of the season and spends more time playing than anyone else on his team.

And lest you think that the 37 year-old Russian is some sort of workout warrior who can't be lured out of the gym, he's the exact opposite. Reports from those that follow the team as well as fellow players seem to indicate that no one ever really sees him working out. Oh, and he smokes. Yeah, a 37 year-old smoking Russian who never works out just walks back into one of the most physically demanding (Save it, Rick) arenas after months off as if he was never gone. I heard today that apparently his post game routine is a beer and smoke. Between periods he does decide to leave out the beer, so that's good. But this really doesn't seem fair. Not only to shmos like me, but his peers in the NHL. But despite this injustice, I hope you will join me in following the Stars playoff run. It would seem we are guaranteed at least one more series, and it's not like the Mavs or Rangers require your attention.

Things I don't understand #43...

2008-04-29T15:55:00.004-05:00

...Why I let Bryan win.

Honestly, I hadn't really planned on revisiting the race (sorry, "The Great Race")...unless I had actually pulled off the greatest upset in sports history and won the thing(Yes, even bigger than the "Miracle on Ice"). But when I read the comments and realized interest had reached the subconscious of some, I figured I could at least end the suspense (if 3 and half people maybe wanting to know qualifies as suspense, that is). So the race...

First let me say that the pre-race festivities included us screwing up the race so that no times can be considered official, for a mile run that is. You get four guys and one girl with "pregnancy brain" standing around a track at 8 in the morning, and the result is that we somehow decide and agree we should run 1500 instead of 1600 meters, because that's closer to a mile. Huh? Yeah, this was as much my fault as anyone else's, but, really, what were we thinking? So the race did actually start. Sure, it was awkwardly staggered as we tried to signal to Lisa (Bryan's wife) at the finish line (not the same as the start line since we're idiots) to start the "official" clock (which was rendered somewhat moot by our decision to adjust the distance) and then each took sort of a half step, stopped, looked at each other, and then took off. Yeah. That's when I made my first (and fatal) mistake. Bryan(once trained for a marathon) shot out of there, Patrick(athletic 25 year-old) and Eric(former HS and college sports star) made some attempt to keep up(though failed), and I (biggest and oldest) didn't. Mainly it was because I felt like crap and didn't want to. But I must admit that I also had a fairly strong inclination that Bryan (and Patrick and Eric) would not be able to sustain such a pace. That was, as far as Bryan is concerned, incorrect. So after about a lap we are already quite spread out.

With two laps remaining I realized that I was going to have to step it up if I didn't want to be completely embarrassed. At that point I was still in last place, and not by a little. I would approximate that Eric was about 20-30 meters ahead, Patrick about twice that, and Bryan? Well, he had somewhere between 150 and 200 meters on me, almost half a lap difference. Things were not looking good, nor was I feeling any better than when the race had started. But being the mule-headed idiot I am, I would not go quietly into that good night. I did pick up the pace, and was able to get by Eric (who graciously cleared the way). When I passed Patrick a couple of seconds later, I can only assume he didn't expect me as he exclaimed something like, "Oh man!" as I went around the outside (He later admitted that this move on my part completely demoralized him). Unfortunately, I had begun my "kick" too late, and Bryan (to his credit) didn't slow down near enough. If my memory and the "official timekeeper" can be trusted, I ran the final lap in 1:05 (it could have been 1:25 if one of those two are faulty) but still finished a good 75 meters and 17 seconds behind Bryan. Even though the times are somewhat meaningless, I'll give them to you anyway just so you can go out and mistakingly run a 1500 and beat our times.

Bryan 5:33
Me 5:50
Patrick 6:05
Eric 6:45

So there you go. We ran. And I didn't win (nor did I actually die, but I'm guessing you figured that out already). But next time Bryan...next time.

P.s. As a bonus for reading this far, I give you a link to a free Coldplay song off their upcoming album. Hurry though, you probably have less than 24 hours.

Things I don't understand #42...

2008-04-25T12:16:00.004-05:00

...Why I agreed to do what I'm about to tell you I agreed to do.

Depending on your commitment level to this here blog, you've probably come across a couple of references to my attempts (mostly failed) to stay healthy. Well, this I guess is an offshoot of that. One night about a month ago while dining with some friends, my running was the topic at hand. While I was the only one who had a sort of normal running routine, the other men at the table were both guys who also exercise in their own attempts to stay fit. The discussion turned to the pace at which I run and what the others might could do. It also seemed to stir some sort of competitive mood. Because the next thing I knew, an idea had been proposed to hold a one mile race four weeks from that day to see of what we might be capable (utter stupidity, obviously)...and I assented. That brings us to tomorrow.

So apparently, at 8:15 tomorrow morning I and three of my friends (we had a late addition this morning) will meet at the track at Southern Methodist University to run "The Great Race"* (yes, it's been given a wildly inappropriate official title, t-shirts might be available). And I am definitely not the favorite. I will be the oldest "competitor" by at least a year and in one case 8 years. I will also be the largest participant. As a general rule, big and old are usually not the best attributes to have in a foot race. Unlike some of the others, I have never trained for a marathon, I have never run track, I was never an all-state high-school athlete or a college athlete. What I'm saying is, I neither have any athletic "skins on the wall" nor do I fit any real definition of a "runner". Were Vegas to get involved, I think my odds of winning would be set at about 25-1. Odds of losing 1.5-1. Now, over the last couple of days, some severe sandbagging has been attempted by my adversaries despite the fact they predicted the winner would probably finish in about 6 minutes, but I'm not buying, and neither should you. I just don't want to get lapped. Plus, I've heard the race is going to be videoed. Great...

So, if you find a moment tomorrow at about a quarter after eight, I would appreciate a prayer that I don't kill myself as I attempt not to get completely embarrassed. Hey, if you want to come witness this almost guaranteed comedic spectacle in person, feel free (refreshments will not be available). And if you want to show up and prove how completely out of shape we actually are by participating, I would support that as well (last is still last whether there's 4 or 40). Really, what was I thinking?

*[trademark pending]

Things I don't understand #41...

2008-04-23T16:11:00.003-05:00

...How nothing sold by iTunes rates lower than 4 stars.

Ok, I'm exaggerating...slightly. The point being that somehow if you get your songs on iTunes, you've removed the possibility of sucking. Other than the picture at right, I really don't know what more proof you need. But it is quite shocking how every single album seems to be above average. My own informal survey suggests that the average rating for any record (yes, I know it's a download, but what are we actually supposed to call them? Wait! Save that!) is actually 4 and a half stars. Considering we're working on a 5 star scale, we should apparently get down on our knees and thank the sweet clean Lord above that we're so lucky to live in the golden age of music. Here's just a sampling of albums that rate the exemplary 4 and a half:

Christina Aguilera's self-titled debut
Nirvana's Nevermind
Britney Spears' Britney
Neon Bible by Arcade Fire
Welcome to the Dollhouse by Danity Kane (I don't know)
The Jonas Brothers' Brothers, Musicians and More (More?)
Heartbreaker by Ryan Adams

Yeah. Apparently all 4 1/2's aren't equal. And if you don't know which ones probably deserve that rating and those that don't, well...you might need to seek professional help. But really, isn't this just one more instance that proves the general public can't be trusted with evaluating anything?

Things I don't understand #40...

2008-04-22T15:55:00.004-05:00

...What color my hair is.

Just so you're aware, I haven't recently fallen asleep at the barber and accidentally got a bad dye job (not that you can get a dye job at the barber...or any self-respecting barber, or course) or decided to wash my hair with rain water collected in a copper bowl which unwittingly produced a chemical reaction because of the surprising levels of toxicity in the rain which is the obvious byproduct of years of ignoring corporate pollutants (Yes, I just combined an allusion to the 80's hit comedy "Diff'rent Strokes" and your official veiled acknowledgment of Earth Day. You're Welcome.). And no one is more shocked by this "development" than yours truly. I'm guessing you, like me, assumed by the time I reached such a stage in my life I might have gotten a handle on the basics. But the evidence seems to suggest that I'm not to be trusted by such mind-bending questions as, "Hair color?"

You see, as a child my hair was blond. By the time I reached puberty it had darkened (I thought considerably), and I was quite comfortable with my hair color then being brown. I made it through high school and college and all other sorts of various life events, made some friends...lost some friends, you know, stuff. All the time sure of my station in life as a brown-haired-man. That is until recently. I think I was at dinner with some friends the first time it came up. They're sort of newer friends so at times you find yourself having to go back to the beginning to put the stories of your life in proper context. In this case, someone was talking about how they had grown up having been referred to by the moniker of "Red" considering their hair is of such a shade (obviously so). At which point, he or his wife looked at me and said, "Well, I'm sure you get that since your hair is kind of red." I said, "Who? Me?" and then shot them a look as if they had just informed me I was adopted or the earth was flat or that there was a real-live dinosaur hovering above my right shoulder (I wasn't, it wasn't, there wasn't). I looked around the table for someone to confirm that these so-called friends were either blind or really confused by the color wheel only to find them looking at me and nodding as if this was fairly common knowledge. Even so, I dismissed it as an anomaly or bad lighting or something.

Then about a week ago I found myself in the company of two others who are fairly new to my social sphere. They both adamantly assured me that my hair was surely not brown, but of a hue found in the red family. So now, after walking around all these years thinking my hair was brown, I'm supposed to become this whole new person who's a redhead. Ok, so it's probably not that big a deal, but I have found myself randomly looking at the mirror and saying, "Red? Really?" And I still don't really see it. But my hair is red...or reddish...or auburn...or whatever, so watch out world.

Things I don't understand #39...

2008-04-17T16:39:00.003-05:00

...Why food at a place where they should be most concerned for your health is so unhealthy. I.e. Why hospital food sucks.

I've spent a good portion of the last couple of days in a hospital. I'm okay, but my grandmother had to have surgery (It looks like she'll be okay, too.) After her surgery yesterday morning, my family and I retired to the cafeteria so some might have a little breakfast. The choices were mainly either shocking or just flat out disturbing. You had the proverbial runny eggs, biscuits, gravy (hello?), bacon, sausage, hash browns, and the choice that sent shivers down my spine, egg rolls. I'm assuming they were some sort of breakfast egg roll. But the fact that there was an item that featured breakfast foods wrapped in something and then deep fried I think proves my point. They also had donuts, muffins, and cinnamon rolls; plus bagels for the health conscious. I abstained. I think I might have also seen some bananas and a vat of oatmeal. But mainly full of things that no one should probably be eating.

I was informed that someone had tried to get some lunch there the day before and had settled for a hamburger after analyzing the other choices and finding them severely wanting. Shouldn't fried food be eliminated from the hospital entirely? And finally , I was there when they brought my grandmother her lunch yesterday. The "main course" was chili-mac, with a side of oh-so-obviously canned mixed vegetables (sodium anyone?). Is there not one nutritionist in the whole place? It just seems to me that by eating there, you sort of putting yourself in a nutritional hole. And if you can't be healthy in a hospital, where can you be healthy?

Because of my obvious lack of commitment and the general suckiness of this post, I leave you with a video of a song I really like. Titled "Hospital Food", of course.

"...tell me something, tell me something I don't already know..."

Things I don't understand #38...

2008-04-15T12:27:00.003-05:00

...Who Sonic actually thinks they're fooling.

So after enjoying yet another Rangers defeat Friday night, my companion and I set out in search of ice cream. Unfortunately, our quest was threatening to be an abject failure based partly one some poor driving choices on my part but also because our primary target was closed...for good. It also didn't help that it took me so long to discover said closure that the clock had struck eleven. The time when all ice cream shops, it seems, turn out the lights. That left me scrambling for options, of which I came up with two. One, Sonic, "America's drive-in" or two, find a grocery store and by a carton. For whatever reason we chose (obviously, considering the overt direction of this post) Sonic. BTW, locating a Sonic in Dallas is not always the easiest of tasks, either...but I digress (honestly, isn't this entire blog one large digression?)

So I slide into a spot (behind the windows...I hate those guys staring at me while I order...or worse while I eat) and after quite a bit of vacillation we went with two SonicBlasts. One with M&M's, the other with Reece's peanut butter cups. And of course we had to get the large. I mean, six more ounces for only 40 more cents? What kind of fools do you think we are? In case your not completely current on the Sonic menu, the Blast is Sonic's answer to a Blizzard. (If you don't know what a Blizzard is, that might call your humanity into question.) So in the brief amount of time between me screaming into the tiny speaker and the "frozen treats" being delivered, I turned and said, "You know what's gonna happen? I don't know why we came here because we're gonna get these things and they'll have some candy on top but by the time we get half-way through it will be nothing but a vat of soft-serve vanilla ice cream." I must admit I was wrong. Because what we actually received would probably best be described as a dusting of candy. I might have gotten half of one Reece's...maybe. I guess we should have sent them back but, well, I'm just not that guy. It was then proposed that we acquire our own candy and mix it ourselves. I'm not saying this was a failure, but let's just say that it might have been better in theory than in practice. Something about chipped teeth on frozen M&M's and almost choking on half of a Reece's cup. And I was out 3 more bucks, 2 for the candy and one for the guy who was begging outside the 7-11 (my philosophy on how to deal with the destitute is still in flux). I think we both had a couple more bites and realized we probably could have split a small and been just as happy (which was not really all that happy).

But like I said, I shouldn't have even been there. Some months back some friends called and asked if I wanted to join them for dinner. I said, "Sure, why not." They then informed me they decided they wanted Sonic and to pick it up on my way over... and I could get something for myself if I wanted. Thanks. Well, I think even then when informed of the choice of restaurant, I said, "You know they're just gonna screw it up." But I went, I ordered, I realized that a side of fries was missing, then delivered the order. But of course, I had missed an order of tots and my sandwich (MY SANDWICH!) was not prepared correctly. At this point I made a proclamation that I was done with Sonic. That "why should I care if they don't?" And just in case you're wondering, my poor experiences are spread over various location, not just one.

So despite that fact that it's the only place I can get an Extra-Long Chili Cheese Coney and that they have some of the best commercials going...

...I'm on to you Sonic and you are on a very short leash.

Things I don't understand #37...

2008-04-10T16:35:00.003-05:00

...How we still haven't come up with a better way to find a tornado.

If you live anywhere around me (i.e. north Texas) you were probably awakened somewhere between 3:30 am and 4:30 am this morning by the sense that all was not well. Whether it was the rain against the windows, the howling wind, or actual warning sirens; sleep was interrupted last night. My first thought when I woke up was, "Dangit! Why am I awake?" My second was, "Oh it just rain hitting the window." The third was, "Wait a second, rain hardly ever hits my window directly, much less the entire expanse from top to bottom." At this point I actually made an attempt to fight through the grogginess. Got up and, of course as any highly intelligent person would do, went straight up to the window. What I saw was a raging storm. The rate at which the rain pounded my window made it feel like I was sitting behind the windshield of a big bus trying to drive through a hurricane. But I was standing still so that meant the rain was making excellent time. I stood there for a couple of minutes blinking at the night sky until I finally realized that despite my 20/15 vision and superior skills of observation, the chances of me actually predicting what might come next and the severity of such an event might be limited to the 30 feet surrounding the light pole nearest me. I flipped on the TV.

My friend Pete Delkus was already on the case (BTW, don't get me wrong, I love Pete. But I still miss Troy Dungan and his cute little bow tie sometimes). He informed me that, indeed, I was residing right in the middle of a tornado warning. That sounded serious. I then got my first look at the radar and just about messed my britches. There were several little circulating things and he kept saying "rotation" and mentioning points of interest very near where I stood. I pondered if I needed to retire to the tub and take my mattress along as a security blanket. Soon after, the warning was canceled and I relaxed.

I watched the news a little more as they moved into the "let's talk about what's happened phase" (I guess all those towns east of here would just have to figure it out on their own). After one rather inane phone interview with a guy in Las Colinas who witnessed a roof getting torn off a house, they spoke with some official in Ft. Worth. The storm had moved through there over an hour earlier and they were questioning whether some damage had been caused by plain old wind or a tornado. That's when I realized that the only way we know for sure if there was a tornado is if someone actually sees it. Despite all these stations with all their million dollar radars, we're still have yet to improve on the method of weather prediction shockingly similar to me standing dreary-eyed and looking out the window. After all this talk of supercells and wall clouds and hook echos and mesocyclones, the only thing we can really count on is Bubba in his pick-up eye-balling a twister. Pete did mention that storm watchers were being asked to report for duty, whatever that entails. But did any one notice it was 4 am? And thus dark? How exactly is Bubba supposed to see it in the dark? As defenses against an F5 go, that really doesn't seem to be all that impenetrable.

Things I don't understand #36...

2008-04-07T23:11:00.006-05:00

...How guys can spend all their time playing basketball and look like this.

The photo you see is of Memphis forward Pierre Niles. If you happened to watch the NCAA Championship game you got to see him make the briefest of appearances. Of course, his entry into the line-up was an immediate signal to Kansas to push the ball and, the resulting lay-up was most likely the impetus for Pierre leaving the game some 34 seconds later. The best part was watching him back pedal into the lane on defense. Talk about not playing to your strengths.

Honestly, I could probably include "Things I don't understand #37" as why anyone ever believes the stats in programs. Mr. Niles is listed by MSU as a 6'8", 310 pound sophomore. Yeah...uh no offense but I've met 310 lbs., I've known 310 lbs. (unfortunately), and you, sir, are no 310 lbs. I would lay big money to him being closer to 400 than 310. But how? If you stop to consider the facts, it's dumbfounding. He's probably 20, which means he's been playing ball for at least 12 years. Most likely for the last 5 or 6, he's been playing it everyday or at least for 6-7 months of each year. As sports go, basketball is not exactly the cushiest of choices. You might could talk me into it being the most cardiovascularly demanding of the sports. As a baseball fan (and former participator), I know where the fat guys can still play with some level of effectiveness and, basketball is not necessarily it (that's Prince Fielder over there). Football's probably not a bad choice either. But if you're tipping the scales at 310 (or 360), attempts at rebounding and lay-ups become classified as heavy lifting. Jumping is usually required in b-ball, and if memory serves the last time an offensive lineman medaled in the high jump was...yeah...never. If you weigh as much any three of the cheerleaders combined, God might be telling you to keep your activities a little closer to the terra firma. And the song playing in the background to your highlights is not gonna be "I Believe I Can Fly".

Things I don't understand #35...

2008-04-03T13:14:00.004-05:00

...Why anyone bothered to invent the dishwasher and why I continue using one.
Let's review. There is a machine called a dishwasher. Its name suggests it should wash dishes. If memory serves and the History channel isn't lying, machines were built to make doing something easier, me more productive, or do it more efficiently. (Can't everyone pretty much fill in the rest of this post themselves? We all see where I'm going here, right? What? Ok, because I respect and appreciate you so much, I'll keep going.) So how small must my iPod get before dishwashing technology reaches the point where a dishwasher actually serves it's primary purpose?

Because apparently before this fantastic contraption can "clean" my dishes, I must first scrub and rinse all the dishes. I may not be as clear on the non-automated dishwashing process as I thought, but at that point aren't I just one more step away from completing the act of washing the dish myself? Am I supposed to believe that this large box of useless metal parts was built so I wouldn't have to fill half the sink with soapy water? I really think I could pull that off with very few mishaps if I had to. Plus, you got the whole film factor. I mean, what is that? So my glass or bowl is officially clean (it was in a running dishwasher for over an hour after all) but now looks cloudy and might require another rinse? Oh, and that film is there forever. The dishwasher says you're welcome.

I don't even want to go into the environmental/conservation issues that should be addressed (I am the guy who pours motor oil down the drain just for fun) but, I have some serious concerns. This marvel of technology--that takes over an hour from start to finish to do something I could probably do in 20--also contains a heating element all running on Ben Franklin's electricity (I actually create my own electricity*). Then there's all that water being thrown around in there. Add that to the water I had to use to "pre-rinse" and what I'll probably have to use to "post-rinse" and well, my favorite mug is using more water to get clean than I do. Don't get me wrong I love the idea of the dishwasher, but I think we need to start over. And I would, but then I'd have to find something to do with all that dishwasher soap.

[ * Source: Matrix]

Things I don't understand #34...

2008-04-01T16:32:00.003-05:00

...How men and women can have such disproportionate opinions about their birthday. And by that I mean, women care and men don't. (Obviously, this is gross generality, but you did come to my blog after all.) I was lucky enough to get invited to someone's birthday party this weekend (I mean, how could you not invite me? I am the party.) and shockingly it was for a she. Granted, it was one of the noteworthy ones, ending in a zero and all, but it was the biggest birthday party I've been to in a while. I don't even remember if I had a party when I celebrated a similar "accomplishment". But it got me thinking about this dichotomy. If I've heard the phrase "It's my day" once, I've heard it a hundred times...exclusively from the fairer of the species. I was reminded by a female friend recently that it was her "birthday weekend". Huh? So even though this particular event by definition might should be limited to a singular day of blanket entitlement(which I still question), now it encompasses an entire four-day weekend?

I think another way this is easily demonstrated is in how one answers the question, "So what do you want to do for your birthday." You might even get the same verbal response from a man and a woman, "I don't know," but it seems with ladies that it's spoken with a gleam in the eyes and a devilish smile(as if they've just been reminded they are,indeed, the queen). I have experienced the following things from women that have passed through my life in regards to birthdays: a 30 day countdown to her birthday, divulgence of a plan for her own birthday party that included a large garden (think British garden here) and an orchestra...and fireworks, my own mother harassing my friends to ensure that my first birthday at college would be recognized with cake and decorations despite my assurances that I would be o.k. (and that I don't really like cake all that much), being asked on several occasions, and only by women, "You didn't get your birthday off at work?" Uh no. In what world do you get your birthday off?

The other thing that throws me for a bit of a loop is that my experience also suggests that women are the ones most distressed by the actual age they are celebrating...over four days. It just seems like a strange universe where you want everyone and everything to stop down for "Your day" but no one to inquire as to the specifics of said day. But what do I know? I just hope you know whether it's your birthday or not, I think you're great.

Things I don't understand #33...

2008-03-31T17:46:00.002-05:00

...How we made it through the winter.
Yes, It's that time of year. The sky turns bluer. The sun turns sunnier. Breezes turn warmer. Grass turns greener. Love is in the air. And my old friend has returned. Sure, three official games have already been played, but today is "Opening Day". I believe that there will be something like 8 games televised today, and I can count on at least one being on until sometime near Columbus Day. Music to my ears. It's so comforting to know that there's something that will always be there for you. I must admit I've taken my sports true-love for granted in previous years. I haven't paid it the attention it needs or deserves. But if it will take me back, I promise to do better. It might have something to do with the fact that the team I follow, my hometown team the stRangers, have been downright dreadful lately(And that's saying something when you consider their history). But that's no excuse. It's a beautiful game, maybe even perfect.

Next week a friend and I will continue our tradition of attending opening day of said local team together. In recent years his two young sons have been added to expedition but, I'm still not sure who enjoys themselves more. Probably, the kids (they do get to skip school after all), but their father and I usually share an odd sense of glee (And that's just after enjoying a hot dog). Last year did produce at least one tense moment for me, though. Steve (my friend) had left to go rustle up some food for the boys. They had agreed(somewhat begrudgingly) to stay in the seats with Uncle Jason so as to expedite the food run. The youngest(who still wasn't sure if Uncle Jason was all he was cracked up to be, and who can blame him) informed me he needed to take care of some business, and I don't mean at the nearest ATM. I assured him that his father would be returning shortly (I actually did believe this). After about 2 minutes, things apparently took a bad turn, for at this point he began squirming in his seat (which is difficult when you legs are pressed so tightly together). He also appeared to be approaching the point of tears, and in between mini sobs would remind me (and the 10-20 people within earshot) that he needed to tee-tee (or pee-pee or whatever phrase is cleared in his family). In my best attempt at empathy, I promised his dad would be back soon (Where the hell is he?). You might be thinking, why didn't you just take him? Well, my lack of experience in this particular area (and probably feeble mind) left me with no idea as how to handle the logistical problems introduced. If I took him, I would also have to take his brother, because leaving a 7 year-old alone at a sold-out stadium didn't seem like a good idea. That also meant I would have to collect the backpack that had been prepared and the various coats and jackets. Lugging all that to the long line at the men's room while having to somehow get word to Dad that his kids had not, if fact, disappeared seemed like too much of a risk. The pleas continued, and grew in loudness and intensity. At this point, I was starting to feel the glares of the surrounding patrons as they were now sure I was cruelest man to walk the face of the earth. I mean who just makes a little kid sit there and suffer? Hello. Well, his dad did return. Come to find out, he had tried to also procure souvenirs which had delayed him those few minutes that allowed us to go from defcon 5 to defcon 1. Despite the bumpy start, the day was a success. The Rangers might have even won (probably not). But opening day is...well...opening day. And baseball is baseball.

Things I don't understand #32...

2008-03-27T17:05:00.006-05:00

...Why the networks keep foisting inane sideline reporters on us.
I think this topic was actually suggested to me by a friend some time ago, but I'm not sure I fully appreciated it until recently. Don't get me wrong, I've been feed up with these "reporters" and their tired act for years, but not until the tournament started did I fully understand how very little I needed them. I realized in watching way too many hours of basketball last weekend that I never saw a sideline reporter. With so many games and so much stuff happening at once I'm guessing they decided they neither had the time nor the manpower to force feed us such drivel. And what drivel it is. I think I recall a time back when I was a wee lad that Lynn Swann(damn Steelers!) used to appear on my TV screen and let me know if someone was injured, and possibly even to what degree. You know, actual information that I could use. But those days are long since gone.

Now, sideline reporters come in two basic forms. The female reporter who's coming at you with prepared pieces about so-and-so who used to play Frisbee golf with his dead uncle and how those memories spur him to be the exceptional athlete you see today (i.e. Suzy Kolber or Pam Oliver[see above]). Or you get the ex-jock who just makes failed attempts at being funny (i.e. Tony Siragusa...yeah, that guy). The former(which is a large majority of the sideline reporter population), when they're not giving me useless personal interest stories, are usually trying to prove they belong be either adding their own commentary or just generally acting egotistical about their role in the entire affair (see Pam Oliver especially). There's also evidence to suggest that the ladies deepen their voice when they get on the sideline. Now is where I tell you something that will probably get me pegged as a sexist, but I think you need to hear it. You see, guys (about 85% of the sports watching audience) don't want to hear commentary about sports from the ladies. I'm sorry. We're not that enlightened (We are the type of guys who really like sports, after all). The moment we hear it, we either pay attention for points of comedy or just stop listening altogether. The result of all this is that we basically have no use for the female sideline reporter unless they happen to be attractive. Yes, it's primitive and crude and barbaric but, I am talking about men after all.

This in no way means that I have any tolerance for the second example as well. Maybe less. They should know better. But all these ex-jocks are so used to people telling them how great they are, I think they fail to realize how great they are not. I have been known to inadvertently change the channel at the mere sound of Tony Siragusa's voice. I actually think at the Superbowl they had three sideline reporters on duty. And by duty I mean...well I don't know. At one point, and my memory is real spotty here, someone who should have been on the field wasn't. I wondered if that someone was injured. I'm pretty sure had you been in close proximity while I viewed said bowl, you might have heard me yell at the screen that if only there were some sideline reporters to go report on such sideline activity. But no. They were too busy trying to decide if Tom Brady's romantic life was having a negative impact on his play. Maybe it was, but no one who cares about the game, any game, wants time wasted on these pompous, preening sideline starlets. So enjoy these games without them, because I'm pretty sure your respite will be short.

And finally, no talk of sideline reporting could be complete without mentioning that great day when Suzy Kolber ran into the very drunk and very frisky hall of famer, Joe Namath. Strug-gle-ling...

Things I don't understand #31...

2008-03-26T11:20:00.006-05:00

...pregnant men.
Yeah, you read that right. Go ahead and read it again if you want to. Seriously? This is what we've come to? Listen, I think I've done a pretty good job for the most part dealing with this "new world" in which I find myself. My Baptist, small town upbringing did not necessarily completely prepare me for everything that this life might have in store. Like having a drug dealer and a transvestite living in my dorm in college. Or having a boss that's a woman...or one that's gay...or both. That people might view the existence of God as a bad thing. That some might view the existence of cream gravy as a bad thing. Heck, I've even grown accustomed to the idea that some women instead of saying, "Thank you," will seethe and look at me with scorn because I bothered to open the door for them (Yes, I know you can do it yourself but, even though my mom lives 100 miles away and my grandmother is in a nursing home, there's still the remote possibility that they could come around the corner at any moment and remind my that, "You were raised better than that!" And well, I would rather you go first anyway. What? No I didn't mean anything by that either. I just meant that...Ok, fine if we find ourselves on the Titanic and it's going down I will allow you to give up your seat on the lifeboat to me. Are we good now?) In most cases, I handled each scenario with aplomb (the cream gravy thing still kinda throws me). But there was always one thing on which I thought we all were clear.

The women are the ones having the babies. Not so much, Jason (Yeah, third person again...deal). So a "man" in Oregon got himself pregnant. Neat trick. If you're thinking this is some sort of April fools joke, we're about a week early. It seems that Thomas used to be a woman but had a sex change operation to become a man. He got legal and everything. Thomas got married, but his wife is unable to have children. Luckily, despite the sex change (don't we need to get a little pickier about the definition of that particular phrase?) , Thomas kept his "reproductive rights". So now I've got to somehow reconcile a pregnant man with my (incredibly enlightened) worldview. Where's Dr. Phil when you need him? But doesn't this just really prove that not even our government requires commitment from it's citizens? So you have the surgery and take the hormones and all that that requires, but no one ever says, "It looks like everything is in order here Mr. Beatie. Oh, by the way you don't happen to have any organs that might allow you to birth another human, do you?" No? I'm the only one thinking that? Yeah, I know. I've still got some work to do.

Things I don't understand #30...

2008-03-25T14:52:00.004-05:00

...How movies like Ghost Rider ever get made. (Yes, we now return to the general nonsensical buffoonery that you've all come to expect)
Really. You're telling me this got by writers and directors (in this case the same person), producers, studio execs and numerous other supposed motion picture gatekeepers and no one thought to say, "Uh...has anyone noticed that this really sucks and doesn't seem to make any sense?" No one? Oddly enough, I got a urgent memo from the Department of Flimsy Premises a mere three minutes into this travesty, but I sallied forth. Despite what some might say, I do not shirk from commitment. Afterall, this movie featured such noteworthy actors as Nicolas Cage playing the title character who starred in Face Off and Con Air. Or Eva Mendes as Ghost Rider's love interest, who made such epics as Hitch and 2 Fast 2 Furious. (As an aside, the more I see of Eva Mendes' "acting" the more I'm convinced that the major reason she continues to get movie roles is her ability to fill out a dress.) Also there's Wes Bentley playing the devil's son, Blackheart, whom I'm sure has been in something since American Beauty but there's a good chance no one has noticed. And let's not forget the devil as played by Peter Fonda, who was produced from Henry Fonda's sperm and was inducted into the AMA Motorcycle Hall Of Fame. How could all these "great" actors go wrong? Surely they wouldn't lead me astray. Oh, but they would.

First I'll give a brief synopsis so you've got some idea how the story goes (I assume I'm the only one of us dumb enough to sit through this):

When the motorcyclist Johnny Blaze finds that his father Barton Blaze has a terminal cancer, he accepts a pact with the Mephistopheles, giving his soul for the health of his beloved father. But the devil deceives him, and Barton dies in a motorcycle accident during an exhibition. Johnny leaves the carnival, his town, his friends and his girlfriend Roxanne. Years later Johnny Blaze becomes a famous motorcyclist, who risks his life in his shows, and he meets Roxanne again, now a TV reporter. However, Mephistopheles proposes to Johnny that he will release his contract if he becomes the "Ghost Rider" and defeats his evil son Blackheart, who wants to possess one thousand evil souls and transform hell on earth.

How could this be bad, right? Yeah. Well, the first problem is that we spend a tad too much time in the build up. The first 20-30 minutes are spent with teen Johnny Blaze(Ghost Rider) and Roxanne. By the way, isn't your future already set if your name is Johnny Blaze? Don't you pretty much either have to have a career doing something that requires you traveling in excess of 200 MPH or setting stuff on fire? (Luckily, Ghost Rider gets to do both!) I mean Johnny Blaze, tax accountant just doesn't have the same flair. Then another quarter hour is spent showing us how Mr. Blaze has become the greatest motorcycle daredevil of all time. No matter how big the jump or how horrific the crash he always is okay (Another pet peeve. For his last big feat, he "sets" a new world record by jumping a football field goalpost to goalpost. 300 feet they kept saying. Well, a football field from one goalpost to the other is not 300 feet. It's 360 feet. The posts are at the back of each endzone, which are 10 yards long. The field from post to post is 120 yards...WHICH EQUALS 360 FEET!!!) So it's over 45 minutes before I get my first look at the actual Ghost Rider(I thought I was promised flaming skeletons on motor bikes, people!). And I got to be honest, not all that great. Plus, every time the Ghost Rider rides, everything lining the streets or in close proximity seems to be consumed by flames. Bad gas mileage is one thing, but this? I'm pretty sure Al Gore would not be pleased, no matter what evil you might be trying to thwart. Questions I still had at this point in the picture: What is his(Ghost Rider's) actual purpose? What's so great about having a contract for souls? Does he(Ghost Rider) have super powers? What are they? Honestly, I had very little idea what was going on. It was at this point that the undertaker shows up in the form of Sam Elliot to finally give us some background on the Ghost Rider and his function (I'm glad they only waited an hour!). Sam Elliot was probably the only thing worth watching in this whole mess (and well, maybe whatever dress Eva Mendes might have been filling), but even he was forced to deliver some moments of cheese. So, the Ghost Rider apparently is supposed to return those who have escaped Hell and collect contracts for souls in his downtime from being head truant officer of Hades. Fine, whatever. Let's get this going, already.

So Johnny pursues Blackheart and his band of merry spirits, but is erroneously arrested(honestly, the police's evidence was weak and very circumstantial) for the murders that the devil's son seems to have no qualms about committing. He breaks out of jail (this was surprisingly not that difficult for the chief agent of the prince of the underworld who is aflame and impervious to bullets). The bad guys figure out Ghost Rider is in love ("But now we know he has a weakness.") and kidnap said love (shocker). Ghost Rider then teams up with the undertaker who we discover was the last Ghost Rider who had been "living" surreptitiously for over 200 years (why this is possible is never explained, BTW) while protecting this contract that's so freaking important. Oh, the last Ghost Rider was the one who originally flipped the devil the bird and sent this whole preposterous plot in motion (but Sam Elliot spit and said,"Knucklehead." So, I'm cool with it). So, the Rider meets Blackheart to trade the contract for the girl (1000 souls for one dress-filling lass still seems steep), but he has a plan...he has a plan. Yeah, anyway he wins (with the help of his best girl even though he told her to, "Run!") and everyone is happy...except the devil. Because Johnny tells him he can keep his soul because he's going to use his powers (flaming skull and fancy motor bike that somehow responds to audible commands from afar) for good and battle the devil and his sinister ways (You take that, you Author of Evil, you!). You've got to leave room for a sequel, you know. Which reminds me, I can't wait for Ghost Rider 2.

Things I don't understand #29...

2008-03-21T11:32:00.005-05:00

...God's love.
(Admittedly, this topic is probably far too weighty for a place such as this...)
Sitting in church last Sunday listening to the sermon I was struck (finally, some might say) by the gravity of the scripture (Romans 8:31-34) as it relates to this day (Good Friday). It asks, "If God is with us, who can be against us?" My pastor (Dr. Denison) pointed out that the word "If" would probably be more accurately translated to "Since" or "Because". The question is not whether God is for us or not. He is. The question is, "Who can be against us?" In the following verses we are given more evidence of this one-sidedness. He was willing to give up his own Son for us (v. 32). Then another question, "Who will bring any charge?" (v. 33) And even if they did, God is the one who will be judge. And in case we need more convincing of God's bias towards us, Jesus--the one who died for our sins-- will be there pleading our case. How can we lose?

At that moment, I realized that God is continually working on our behalf. Pursuing us. Wishing us well. Despite the fact that at our best we are moderately loyal and adequately faithful(hopefully). That goodness is always a work in progress within us. Despite the fact that we are quite an insufferable lot, God loves us. Loves us so much that on this day, God allowed his only Son to die in our place. I am not a father, but I've yet to find one that didn't have considerable difficulty even conjuring up the idea of allowing his son to die when he had the power to stop it... much less die for one that actually deserved it. God loved me and you so much he not only allowed it but put this plot in motion. So if you question whether God loves you, whether God is for you, today is your proof. We shouldn't need it but we do. In some ways, this might should rank "Good Friday" as the most important of days for us lowly humans. Of course, Sunday(Easter) is pretty big, too. As Paul says, "...if Christ has not been raised,...useless is your faith" (1 Cor. 15:14) But the existence of Good Friday removes all doubt, God loves us. He loves me. He loves you. So Happy Good Friday...and Happy Easter.

Things I don't understand #28...

2008-03-20T11:16:00.004-05:00

...How this became one of the biggest sports days of the year.
Actually, the next two may be the biggest. It's rumored that these two days cost employers more money in employee down time than any other, as workers become distracted by games or by just trying to keep track of their "bracket". Many are known to take extra long lunches and some have just decided to take vacation days rather than deal with the temptation (I must plead guilty to both at some time in my past). What I find odd is the interest and affection that many men and even quite a few women (hey ladies!) hold for this tournament. A large majority of those caught up in "March Madness" would probably have to admit to not watching one regular season game. Now some of you out there might try to blame the seeming disinterest in the regular season on the fact that "so many teams"(65) get into the tournament thus rendering the regular season moot. That's all well and good until you take any time to look at the numbers and realize that 19% of D1 teams make it in. On the other hand, in the NBA and NHL 53% of teams make it to the playoffs. The NFL lets 38% of its teams in. Major League Baseball, which is considered miserly compared to it's professional cohorts, still allows 26% of its teams to compete for the championship. So one could argue, that of all the "major team sports" that America follows, the NCAA basketball tournament is the most exclusive...except for college football which lets less than 1% of teams compete for a championship (Don't get me started).

In the end, the best explanation I can come up with as to why these three weeks are so golden is a combination of the packed schedule and the somewhat intangible fact that it always seems to deliver. Whether it be big upsets or buzzer-beaters, intelligent team basketball or one-man shows, the tournament always gives us something. Sure, sometime Friday night after watching around 20 hours of first-round games predominantly played by teams I don't care about and in some cases didn't even know existed, I might think I can't watch any more... that is until Saturday.

Things I don't understand #27...

2008-03-19T17:25:00.006-05:00

...What I'm supposed to do when "American Idol" and "Dancing With the Stars" comes on at the same time on the same night.

I know, right! This is ridiculous. Who's in charge of scheduling in TV Land*? Obviously, I'm not. Because if I were, tragedies such as this would never occur. I just thank God that "The Bachelor" and "Big Brother" weren't on, too (Although, with this injustice, I'm starting to wonder if God is still paying attention.) How is one expected to choose between the elegance of deaf girls and 400lb magicians or the magical (yet, obviously necessary) re-workings of Beatles tunes by twelve people I've never heard of...still. How could I possibly be prepared to pick between watching scantily clad women twirl around or guys with questionable sexual orientation belt out the hits (Ok admittedly, that's really kind of a no-brainer).

Sure, in some ways the shows are the same. The mysterious back-up band lurking in the shadows. The over-the-top pageantry for each contestant. The faux-suspense-building delays orchestrated by hosts of questionable relevance (really, where do they find these guys?). But in other ways, they're so very different. For instance, one has a panel of three judges. One is guy who sometimes likes the performance, sometimes doesn't. Another is a girl of mysterious ethnic origin who likes everything. And the third is a crotchety dude who hates everything and delivers his critiques with a British accent. Oh wait...uh...well one of them has professional athletes. And I'm sure there's other stuff that's different about them, too. But how can I be expected to find those if they're both on at the same time? I can't. So that's why I watched the Mav's game instead.

++Disclaimer++
Some might think that because I was able to include some random details about these shows that I actually watch them, even if my public persona demands that I deny such. This is not the case. I have seen approximately 20 minutes of A.I. (short for "American Idol") since it's inception and about 7 minutes of D.W.t.S. (uh...yeah, I think you got it) since it's birth. In both cases, most of that was me suffering through 30 seconds waiting for the show I actually wanted to watch start. I will admit there was one time where I thought I could watch a whole 10 minutes of DWTS while I waited, but after about three minutes I was so ashamed of myself I was sure my neighbors would hear and report me to the authorities. At which point, they would have no choice but to castrate me for my crimes against manhood. I would have had to relent, for I could not think of any reasonable defense. I then dived for the remote. Instead, what this should do is go on to prove that these catastrophes of pop culture are so pervasive that one cannot somehow be collaterally ingrained with such useless knowledge without finding a large whole, climbing in it, and covering it with a slightly larger rock. I am not that fond of rocks, so instead I carry this needless info inside my skull.

(*This in no way refers to the Nickelodeon run network)

Things I don't understand #26...

2008-03-18T15:36:00.004-05:00

...How the microwave works.
Or maybe how it's supposed to work. Now, over the years I've figured several things out as far as the glorious invention of the microwave goes. Like (1)never leave bread in there for longer than 10 seconds. It just turns to a rubbery lump. (2)If you hear an explosion emanating from the microwave, go ahead and stop it. And (3)anything warmed with a filling, especially a chocolate filling, should be considered dangerous and treated with the utmost respect. But what I can't seem to get a handle on is the method of attack the microwave seems to sometimes take.

A lot of times, it appears that a bowl of food will actually be warmer near the bottom than the top, where the food is exposed. Add it seems that some foods take much longer to warm up than others despite what intuition might indicate. I obviously can't grasp exactly how the waves emit or what molecules are going to being polarized and in what order. Case in point, last week I went to warm up some left-overs consisting of chicken enchiladas and beans(yes, my life is one big gourmet festival). I assumed (yes, I know what happens when I assume) that the enchiladas would take much longer to warm than the beans considering the density of the flour tortilla, chicken, cheese and sauce conglomeration. I figured the beans with their large surface area would need much less time. Both had been refrigerated but considering the previous facts entered into evidence, I decided to microwave the enchiladas for a minute, then add the beans to the plate for an additional minute. So it went off without a hitch, right? Uh, notski. When I pulled the plate out of the "oven", the enchiladas were sizzling, they were definitely ready to be digested. The beans? Uh, they were not so sizzling. So when I gave them the tried-and-true and very scientific "stick my finger in the middle of it" test, I discovered that they were cold. Not "cold" in the not warm enough sense, but "cold" in the "these were just flown in from the arctic" cold. Huh? A spoonful of beans spends an entire minute in the hallowed arena of the microwave and comes out cold? At that point, I was afraid subjecting my tasty food to the horrors of electromagnetic waves and all that implies might cause some sort of nuclear enchilada holocaust in my kitchen. I'm not saying it was likely, but safety first, right? So I soldiered on and enjoyed my enchiladas with a side of cold beans. And if I were to be faced with this predicament again, I now have no idea what to do.

Things I don't understand #25...

2008-03-13T16:56:00.004-05:00

...How you're supposed to find out about new music.
I will plead guilty to being a bit of a music fan, but it seems that it becomes increasingly more difficult to find the new stuff out there. Unless you want to spend hours upon hours scouring the web or attend SXSW, of course (Why am I not at SXSW right now?). The cause of my greatest consternation in this area is caused by the fact that even though I live in the 5th largest media market in the country(Dallas), there is not one music radio station worth listening to. We're hoping with the return of the "Eagle" maybe the "Edge" will cut the heavy metal and return to some level of respectability, but it seems like a pipe dream. Because I haven't really listened to music radio in 5 years, I had to find other methods. For a while I used the reviews in the newspaper as a possible source, but then they fired half their staff several years ago and did away with such trivialities as music reviews, so screw me again. I've heard quite a few of those in the know like Pitchfork, but for some reason I find it off putting and don't go there as much as I probably should(As soon as I figure out why, I'll let you know.) Our good friend Lex has his new album recommendations, which is also helpful. There's also last.fm, which allows you to view what I might be listening to over there to the left, but I must admit I still have yet to grasp its complete value.

My biggest source of music has come from my subscription to emusic. And because emusic has gone to great lengths to position itself as the home of indie rock, well guess who finds themselves as somewhat of an indie rock fan (Hello! Hey, over here. Yeah, me.) I never envisioned myself as indie. I'm guessing most who know me just choked on something at the thought of me being called "indie" anything. Anyway, emusic offers more than its fair share of free downloads. Along with the occasional free offerings from labels (indie labels of course), the site also offers a free download of the day (*Note* To access that feature, you must download a browser toolbar, but I think it's worth it.) Even with my access to the site and other efforts, I still feel like a lot of the times I do find something new that I like it just happened by accident. One of my recent discoveries came from my own iPod. I put it on shuffle and walked by it later and thought, "I really like that. Where in God's name did it come from?" I had downloaded it months earlier (from emusic) and had not paid it enough attention.

So I thought we could help each other out a bit. I'll point you in the direction of some places I've discovered that offer free downloads and maybe you can do the same. Also, I guess if you already have an emusic* account, we could trade nicknames and be able to check out what we each decided was download worthy (Mine's Farky. Shocker, huh.). So here's a hand full of sites I've stumbled upon:

Missingtoof.com
Daytrotter.com
RCRDLBL.com
Square productions
Stereogum.com
And to be oh so very timely; SXSW offers many free downloads of bands performing this week here.

Finally, I thought I'd leave you with my proudest discovery of the last 6 months. One of those "How am I just now hearing this?" moments that makes you wonder if your abode is doubling as a large rock. And then you go find multiple albums worthy of you time and adulation. The band in this case was Spoon. And I will leave you with their newest release, "The Underdog". I dare you not to like this song. I DARE YOU.

(*If you don't have an emusic account I'd be glad to introduce you. What? Will I get something for getting you to join? Ah, don't worry about that.)

Things I don't understand #24...

2008-03-12T17:24:00.004-05:00

...What I'm supposed to do when this shows up in my inbox.
Don't get me wrong, I've become accustomed to getting my fair share of inquiries and mandates to lengthen my penis(I really don't think that many people should be worried about such things). But this? This is too much. Why would I ever be concerned about this?

(I used to think Sarah Chalke of Scrubs fame was kinda hot. Now I don't now what to think.)

Wedgie-Free!!! Is that really appropriate email content? To all the guys I guess I should say, "Sorry." To the ladies...would a congratulations be in order?

Things I don't understand #23...

2008-03-11T16:35:00.004-05:00

...How it is that all women can dance.
The thought struck me as I was watching a movie last night and a man --one who happened to be an international spy-- asked the woman he was trying to seduce to dance. Her reply was basically to ask him if he could dance. Well of course he could! He's a spy! But the exchange brought a couple of questions to mind. 1)Why is it assumed that men can't dance? (Yes, I know because we can't...at least try to play along) And 2)why is it assumed that all women can? (Yes, because they can...you're really starting to chaff me.) But really, the woman in question was a bit uptight and had the potential to be awkward and gangly. Yet, in the course of history has anyone ever thought to ask such a query of a woman? I doubt it. Now I'm sure this is probably some corollary to my declaration that women are "pretty and soft and smell good" but I'm having trouble fitting it in. Plus, I've witnessed numerous women in various attempts at athleticism and the results were...well let just say it didn't remind me of dancing. So where does this seemingly innate ability come from? Why do they want to do it so much? And why are men the exact opposite?

Now I'm not saying that I never dance, but it's not something I ever crave. And if there's not sort of woman angle it never crosses my mind. And when I do dance, it's somewhat of an iffy proposition. I'm a bit of a lumbering galoot, but luckily I have good feet for a big man. Nonetheless, I can't think of a single male friend who's would be called a good dancer. And most guys probably remember any good dancers they've come across (if I ever run into that Michael guy again I might have to sock for what he tried to pull with my girlfriend that one night). You might also be thinking that not all girls can dance...like the Seinfeld where Elaine embarrassed herself. But wasn't part of what made that funny the fact that it seemed so improbable? They might be out there, but it's just a blip on the screen. And really, I guess if one of us is going to get the talent to dance it's much better suited on the ladies.

Things I don't understand #22...

2008-03-06T17:26:00.004-06:00

...Why God likes to screw with me. (Yes, this is just another post about what an idiot I am, but I can't name every post that so...there ya go.)
There are actually several areas of my life where I think God is getting a fair amount of entertainment, but right now we'll just focus on one. This involves my long and arduous battle with trying to stay fit. Some friends and family are aware of my somewhat regimented workout schedule that includes the Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday jogging requirement. And it must be done outdoors. I hold great disdain for the treadmill. I just get way too hot. So some of my friends know my schedule, but obviously so does God. Because every time I get ready to run, I have some sort of new and exciting weather event to deal with. I've been known to say that if you want to know if the weather's gonna be bad, just check to see if I'm supposed to run. If I am, it's gonna suck. As an example, over the last two weeks, I've had to put up with 3 wind advisories, 2 bouts of rain, and snow on the ground. Now in the intervening days, it's been down right balmy. But today may have been the ultimate example.

I knew it was supposed to be chilly, so I was already outfitted in my cold weather gear. Basically, if it's below 50 I go with a long-sleeve shirt. Today, it was 45 but I sensed a bitter north wind, so I also added some light gloves. Well, sometime between me getting the paper and then leaving for my run, there was a development. For when I walked outside it was raining. I am now convinced that God did not want me to run today, but I wasn't so at the time. I paused and squinted at the rain. It was steady, but not heavy (not light either). I was sure it was just a momentary shower, so I thought,"Screw it," and took off. About 1000 ft into it, I realized I had probably miscalculated. At about a quarter mile I found some slight shelter under a tree and stopped to go over my options. I could just turn around and settle for a half mile run. Despite the rain and bitterly cold north wind(a lovely combination), I decided that was the wuss' way out. I tried to think of another route that would still provide me an adequate work-out, but I was stumped. Then the devil appeared on my right shoulder. "You can do it," he said. "Look, if there's a tree here, they'll be trees along the way. I won't be that bad." I thought for a moment and it seemed that, yes, there would be trees. "But," God said(obviously God is on my other shoulder),"What about the rain?!...and the wind?!... and the plummeting temperature?" Valid reasons to turn around. "But those are just excuses, plus, if you don't care about your own fitness, who will?" And with that I was off, again. I tried to run toward tree cover, but quickly realized that I had been tricked by the Prince of Darkness. Plus, it's still kinda winter, so the few trees there were might have been suffering from a leaf shortage. By the midway point, my legs were a nice red color, and I was completely soaked. Shirts, shorts, shoes, and socks. Plus, the water constantly running down your face doesn't help with the whole breathing thing. So, right after this, God decided to mock me for my foolishness. His method of communication was a loud crack of thunder. Yeah. I'm an idiot, but I'm not a complete fool (Maybe). If I think there's a chance of lightning, I don't go out. But here I am, a mile and half from home, and God's getting a good chuckle out of me because now I don't know whether to run toward the trees or away from them. I schlepped along, rain and thunder and all, and started to feel quite heavy. Near the end, I had to run pass several cars, and boy did they get a kick out of me. For that one moment, they were sure that here was one person is the world that was obviously dumber than they were, and they were right. So as a lesson, if your Heavenly Father is telling you not to go running, don't, it's not worth it. Unless you count beating your personal best time by almost a entire minute, which I don't .

Things I don't understand #21...

2008-03-05T15:10:00.003-06:00

...What to do when I get a haircut.
So today I did such. I got my ears lowered. So there's a couple of points of confusion for me here. There first is what I tell the person as to how I would like my hair cut. Now, if you live in the big city(like me), and you're a guy(like me) you probably end up at on of those generic prosuperfantasticcuts places(like me). That probably also greatly increases the chance that the person doing the cutting is not of American decent, thus introducing the added excitement of a language barrier. Even without the need for a interpretor, I'm usually at a loss as to what to tell them when I get the question,"So what would we like to do today?" I'm a guy! It's really not that complicated. Many times my reply is,"Uh...you know...shorter." Here lately, I've gone back to a relatively short cut that employs the use of clippers. This makes it somewhat easier, because I can just tell them what size guard to use and away we go. But...but then, like today, I get a question about the top. And sometimes, like today, I even get a specific question like,"So you want me to take a half inch off the top?" I have no idea. Unfortunately, my clairvoyancy does not extend into the realm of cosmetology. Is a half inch alot? Maybe we should take a whole inch. I haven't the foggiest. Most of them time I just nod my assent out of frustration and exhaustion of the entire subject.

Then we enter part two of my confusion. Does the person cutting my hair expect me to talk? I feel slightly uncomfortable not talking to someone that close to me who happens to be working on my head...with sharp objects. But there are a couple of obstacles here. First, I'm not there very long. If I'm still in the chair 15 minutes after sitting down, I start wondering what's taking so long. If we make it to 20, I start deducting from the tip. Once again, I'm a guy, it's not that hard. Obviously, you ladies out there probably go in thinking it will be at least an hour, so it turns into a regular afternoon tea. I've even been fortunate enough to get caught in one of these scenarios(don't ask), and after an hour and half, suicide seemed like a positive outcome. But as we've covered. This guy here...not a chick. I don't need to make friends at the hair cuttin' place. I need my hair to be shorter than when I went in. Another issue that inhibits me and the stylist sharing snappy retorts is that there is usually something very close to one of my ears making some sort of humming or buzzing sound. Today I think four different types of clippers or shears or electric razors were used. If you're talking to me, there's a good chance I can't hear you. Plus, let's not forget the whole language thing. I usually just end up sitting there with failed smile counting the minutes. And then I leave...and try to delay thinking about it until next time.

Things I don't understand #20...

2008-03-04T17:34:00.003-06:00

...why asparagus makes your...uh...you know...your pee smell funny.
I'm sure half of you are saying,"Oh, yeah. That's true. Why does that happen?" The other half of you are probably thinking I'm just about as crazy as you already assumed I was. If you weren't aware, it's true, this very odd side effect. I discovered it several years ago. I had just had a side of the green veggie with a meal. It was probably the first time I had any measurable quantity. The next morning, I noticed it. If you don't know what it smells like, it's hard to explain. It's just weird, kind of sweet but kind of sour. In any case, it's quite strong. I freaked out. I immediately ran to my computer to search the interwebcom.net to try to figure out which type of cancer or bird flu caused your urine to attack your olfactory senses in such an outrageous fashion. I then noticed in one of my searches something about asparagus. It was then that I was reminded (have I ever mentioned I'm a genius?) that I had enjoyed the dish just hours earlier. What I found put me at ease, but didn't really quell my confusion.

Get this. Not only do they(doctors or the such) say that only about 50% of humans experience this phenomenon, but they really have no idea what causes it. So it's also something they don't understand (I wonder what number this is in the scientific community?). There's even something odder than that. Sure they don't know what causes it; but even more so, they(quacks) are not even sure if the asparagus changes the odor of the urine for 50% or if only 50% of us can smell it. Thanks a lot guys. Good luck curing cancer.

Things I don't understand #19...

2008-02-29T15:41:00.005-06:00

...My mysterious stomach ailment or...why my stomach decided Thursday night would be a good time to turn against itself and the rest of my body. (Yes this is a post about how I got sick last night, but I think we both know you're a bit of a sadist when in comes to me and you secretly enjoy my suffering...or at least find humor in it. Maybe a little too much?)

Depending on how well you know me, you might already be aware of this little "feature" of me. If not, I'll try to lay it out for you. Despite that fact that I rarely get sick ( I worked at my former employer over 7 years before I missed my first day because of illness) and despite my claims that "I have the immune system of a horse", I have also been "blessed" with certain issues which tend to bring me back down to earth. The one of which I'm speaking is mainly composed of random bouts of nausea and random pains in my stomach and lower abdomen area. At it's peak level of performance, I am inundated with nausea with a chaser of stomach cramps. It's a lot of fun. The culmination of this particular level came about 5 years ago when I ended up in the emergency room on Christmas Day. On the way to said ER, I had prayed, not that I wouldn't die--that was already a forgone conclusion in my mind-- but just that I would have a peace about it. So after they ran all their tests, including a x-ray of my abdomen, they told me I was...dehydrated. You think? Might that have something to do with the fact that all solids and liquids that where once in my body have left long ago? And the only thing I've had in the last 24 hours is a couple of sips of Sprite (BTW, when and how did the clear soft drinks become some form of elixir? They never seem to work. Especially on someone who drinks sugar water about 4-5 times a year.) They gave me an I.V. and an hour later I went home. You might be saying, "This guy should go see a doctor." You're so cute, really, let me pat you on the head...such a cutie. Since the first pain in my stomach about 9 or 10 years ago that had me convinced I had appendicitis, I have been to various and sundry doctors. They do their blood work. Nothing. I've had multiple ultrasounds. Nothing. I had a doctor finally diagnose me with something. Unfortunately, it had nothing to do with all the nausea and abdomen pain, but he tried, dangit. So with that as our backdrop, we return to last night.

Oddly enough, I can usually feel these little episodes coming on and have found that immediately over-hydrating and trying to eat something benign will usually quell any massive attacks. On this day, though, the two glasses of water and the banana at 4:00 had no effect. By 5, I had moved all operations to the bed. By 6 I was freezing, despite the fact that I was fully clothed, under the covers and the temperature flirted with 70. By 6:30 I was fully entrenched in the seemingly endless campaign of "Jason's Stomach Wants to be Empty '08" which included both the nausea and the cramps. But I was fighting the good fight. Later the point of attack was modified, and let's just say I got out flanked. By 8 last night, I was sure that my stomach was pretty much empty. And it's not like there was all that much to begin with. Along with the banana, all I had had was a cup of cereal and a PB&J. So it's not like my body was retaliating for me pulling a Kobayashi or something. At any rate, the nausea and cramps continued to build in intensity. At 10:30, "We're Down with Up Chuck '08" campaign had all the votes it needed. As I knelt at the porcelain throne, I was surprised by two things. One, there was actually stuff in there. I really thought all previous consumptions had already been evacuated. And Two(*warning* this might be too graphic those of you with a weak stomach), pieces of banana were still present. Banana should not be able to survive in the human body for almost 7 hours. Essential, my digestive system flipped me the bird and went on strike. Bastard. Oh, this might be a good time to mention that for the last 6 months I've been imbibing one of these yogurt drinks that are supposed to help strengthen your immune system and assist your digestive track. I did have one yesterday morning. And I'm not saying it was completely useless, but you remember at the end of Saving Private Ryan when Tom Hanks' character pulls out his service revolver and starts firing shots at the German tank as he realizes that he'll never see his wife again?(Too much?) The effectiveness levels might have been similar.

So after orally extricating myself from any connection to food in either a solid or liquid form, I immediately felt better. I wondered why I had delayed this for so long. Within a few minutes, the thought of sleep seemed possible. I started to drift off. At that same point I also started to dream, even though I don't believe I was completely asleep. Here's where it might even got a little weirder. During my non-dream dream, part of me or maybe my conscious (or sub-conscious?) decided to object to a moral or ethical decision I had made in such dream. More or less that I was allowing the dream to continue along this path. But get this, in the sub-dream to my non-dream my alternate self (or split-conscious) was represented visually by Academy Award nominated, and Golden Globe award winning English actor Clive Owen. Huh? What's he doing here? (He was actually dressed very similarly to the picture you see at right.) At this point I realized (somewhat consciously) that I'm having a debate about my non-dream with myself as Clive Owen acts as my own agent in the dissenting opinion. This causes me to wake, and I agree with Clive (myself) that I will assent to his viewpoint if he (Clive) goes away. He does, and I fall back to blissful sleep. For ONE WHOLE HOUR! Why it's so hard for a tired, sick person to fall asleep completely evades me, but at 3:30 I was still lying there wondering what else I could do. I eventually was overcome, but before that I found out a couple of things when I resorted to flipping around on the TV hoping something or someone would knock me out. (1) There's a reality show (on Bravo I think) that features a dating service strictly for millionaire men. Some chick takes their money then scours L.A. for suitable mates. Shockingly, women want to be set up with rich guys. Most the time, it starts where 2 of the clients (men), are dropped in a room of 20-30 models/actresses/younger, attractive women and they always (shockingly) seem to like the men. Then the matchmaker does all the leg work in setting up individual dates with the hot chick of the guy's choosing. What a country. (2) I was actually quite shocked by this and keep in mind at 2:45 am I'm just flipping from channel to channel to see if anything can hold my interest for 2 minutes. Well, if you happen to flip by the Oxygen network at about that time, you might see what I saw. Which was two women selling...wait for it...sex toys. Yeah, I'm serious. In the 90 seconds I saw, I discovered things I didn't even know existed...and then there were the products (Ha, see what I did there...I led you in one direction and then WHAM, funny time.) But really, is this appropriate? Can't a sick guy just be sick without having to see that?

Well, I did sleep. I then woke up and had a nice piece of dry toast for breakfast. Of course, I followed that up with a #1 at Chic-fil-a for lunch. So yeah, I'm one of those guys who likes to get right back on the horse...and then write an incredibly long and inane post about the falling off part.

Things I don't understand #17 and #18...

2008-02-27T15:27:00.002-06:00

...How often I'm supposed to change the sheets on my bed.
I think the time table I've heard most often is once a week. Is it just the bachelor in me that thinks this seems awfully quick? It seems to take 3 or 4 days just to get them broken in, and them I'm supposed to up and change them? I usually go about 10 days and then start to think,"It might be a good time to change the sheets." And then it takes me another couple of days to actually do the changing. It's such an ordeal. Ripping everything off the bed...bedspread, sheet, fitted sheet, all the pillowcases. Ugh. And then you have to go put a new set on. Getting the pillows back in their cases always seems to really put me over the edge. And where did this once a week number come from? Are we sure it's just not another arbitrary number that busybody chicks came up with like the number of place settings you should always have on hand for an impromptu dinner party (16) or the number of times you're allowed to burp at the table (0)? Anyway, I changed my sheets on Sunday. I later washed and dried said previously removed sheets which brings us to #18...

...How the heck to you fold a fitted sheet?
It's got no corners. Its got elastic everywhere. That seems to cause these pockets which create air bubbles and therefore makes it impossible to fold in any organized manner. I used to spend lots of time on multiple attempts to get it right. Now I've given up any notion that there's actually a right way and usually end up just sort of rolling it up into a suedo-compressed ball. I'm sure my mother's proud. But by the time I figure it out it will probably be time to change the sheets again anyway.

Things I don't understand #16...

2008-02-26T16:18:00.002-06:00

...Award shows.
This may be one of those things where I'm surprised to be in the minority, but I'm pretty sure I am. My friend dedicated not one, but two posts to it. I was even fortunate enough to be invited by some other friends to watch the Oscars. I declined mainly out of shock. The thought of spending multiple hours watching a bunch of preening "artists" congratulate each other and make speeches and slip in the occasional untimely half-wit political statement just doesn't do it for me anymore. Honestly, I don't really even like the good speeches (I think there's been a couple). For some reason, even these masters of the stage and screen seem more like four-year-olds on ice skates when they don't have a script to read from and 12 takes to get it right. The tension of all those tense moments just wears me out. I don't watch the Oscars, or the Grammy's, or the Emmy's, or even the Tony's (I bet that last one's just blowing your mind). I guess I now know how a lot of chicks feel during the Superbowl*. But at least that has good commercials.

I think it may just go back to the fact that I'm too arrogant to have someone else (especially actors) tell me what the best was in a completely subjective field. I will admit, up until now, I've only seen one of the best picture nominees. But if that's one of the five best movies of the year, well...maybe they should have gone ahead and canceled the show. Besides, how can we support a system that doesn't even give The Bourne Ultimatum a chance to win? (As an aside; I may be prepared to name the Bourne series the best trilogy of all time. Yes, even Star Wars.) So despite the fact that I'm sure there were lots of funny one-liners and lots of beautiful women filling the screen, I didn't bother.

Even so, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't care. I'm sorry I didn't come watch. I'm sorry I didn't read your posts. I'm sorry I don't understand.

* used without the approval of the National Football League

Things I don't understand #15...

2008-02-21T17:00:00.005-06:00

...How some dudes dig other dudes.
Now I want to be clear, this is not a post trying to make any sort of moral, ethical, religious, political, or fashion statement. Honestly, I'm somewhat surprised any human, male or female, ever finds the average(or even above average) man attractive (file away for another post). Essentially, this stems from a conversation I had several years ago at a bible study (Yes, I know when best to steer clear of controversy). Actually, it was after the bible study had ended.

It was the typical stand-around-and-talk-about-meaningless-stuff portion of the evening. Somehow the conversation found it's way to thoughts on sexuality. More to the point, I think someone had mentioned that guys in general seemed to react more negatively to the thought of male homosexuality than to lesbianism. I somewhat hesitantly concurred. It was at that moment I realized I was standing in a group that included 7 to 10 females and me. And apparently, they took my reply as some sort of confession of my sexual deviance. I felt the spotlight. I realized had there been futures trading on Farky (yes, I just referred to myself by my nickname in the third person...welcome to the wonderful world of blogs) at that moment, they could have been had for pennies on the dollar. I finally said, "That's because guys understand lesbians." (One of the things I DO underdstand. Does this mean I have to start a whole new blog?) I'm pretty sure this didn't improve the situation. All the sudden, the handful of other guys in the room took evasive action. One backed away slowly. One was able to morph from human form to ghost. Another somehow broke the sound barrier and was out the door in under .18 seconds.

Spokeswoman for the group: Oh really? Why?
Idiot guy who should just shut up: Yeah.
SWftG: How?
(Chuckles emanate from the group, knowing that I was doomed)

At this point, I will admit that I had nothing. Even though I really did believe what I said and that I had never intended any sexual connotations, I was having a hard time coming up with a way to mollify the group and not prove to be the example of much of what was wrong with my gender. All the sudden, there was a light. I don't know if it was my own bumbling brain or divine inspiration (Honestly, I bet God was getting a bigger kick out of this than anyone) or blind luck. But at that moment it occurred to me what I could say that might get me at least half-way out of the hot water.

Idiot guy who no longer has the option of shutting up: That's because...uh...because women are pretty and soft and smell good; and guys...guys are ugly and gross and stink.
Women : (Demeanors soften and a slight "Ahhh" is heard as if a cute puppy had just entered the scene)
Me : (Looks behind himself to ensure that a puppy hadn't actually entered the scene. No puppy.)

Despite it's simplicity and somewhat juvenile nature, I still think it might be one of the truest things I've ever said. Obviously, I spoke in generalities, but I think it's generally true. The average girl is much better to look at the than average guy. And I'm not saying girls never stink, but it seems to take alot more effort to get there. Guys, on the other hand, are in a perpetual battle against the malodorous emission. And the success rate is troubling. Plus, have you ever been in a place where multiple guys live? God forbid you ever have to walk into a male dorm. And do I really even to defend the gross part? It seems to start with our actual persons and extend to the environment which we inhabit. Which leads us back to my original point...I think.

Idiot guy who now feels like he just pulled a rabbit out of his hat: You see, two girls just means twice as much pretty. Two guys, on the other hand, is just double the gross. And nobody wants that.

Yet, some seem to. And I just don't understand.

Things I don't understand #14...

2008-02-20T11:09:00.005-06:00

...why one of my favorite bands is giving away free music.
(Yes, I know this a cheapy.) By pure accident I was roaming the web looking at the websites of some of my favorite bands. Lo and behold, I find myself on the front page of the Counting Crows website, and I notice a link that says "Download Counting Crows digital 45". I click it and a zip file immediately begins to download. This momentarily concerned me, but I trusted that the site was reputable enough not to try to park a virus on my machine. After unzipping the file I find that, indeed, I have two songs from the Crows upcoming release, "Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings." Yea me! And yea you, for good measure.

Things I don't understand #13...

2008-02-19T16:15:00.003-06:00

...Why no one bothered to tell me that I had blood on my lip all day yesterday!

For those of you not keeping track of my daily schedule (yes, I know that's 100% of you), I made a trip to the dentist yesterday. Well, I guess more specifically it was to the dental hygienist, although the dentist made an appearance as well. It was just a scheduled teeth cleaning, and who doesn't love that? All in all, it was without incident. Maybe the least painful of my experiences in quite awhile. Unfortunately, anytime two hands, my mouth, and pointy metal cleaning implements come together, there will be blood. And that's what we got. Not very much blood, but blood nonetheless. My appointment ended at about 1:15. I then proceeded to go on with my day, errands and the like. I got home around 4. It wasn't until about 8 last night that after using the restroom, I looked in the mirror as I was washing my hands and thought, "What the crap is that on my face?!" "Why does my lower lip look like it has a big, bloody line dissecting it?" That's because it did.

I actually thought at first I might have cut myself, but me being the absolute genius that I am, was able to slowly piece together the theory that the more likely culprit was the two hands and the metal instruments. It was at that point that I begin to reenact my day and realize all the good people of Dallas I had imposed my bloody lip on throughout that time. The lady at the bookstore who was positive I needed help finding a book, the guy who took my lunch order, the cute girl on aisle 5 of the grocery that I smiled at, the old lady that I moved out of the way of, the cute girl (same one) I smiled at on aisle 7, the checkout lady...and I'm sure there were others. But the question remains, why didn't the hygienist maybe give me a heads up that I had blood lip? Or the dentist himself who I had to sit and wait on for 20 minutes after I was done so he could just take a look at things? (Did you look at my lip!? Did you see the blood!?) A little help would have been nice, is all I'm saying. I'm going to take this as a sign of maturity that I took the news in stride after figuring out I had been walking around looking like idiot for the last 7 hours. I also think it shows that I'm not all that vain since I probably used the bathroom between 3-5 times in those 7 hours and not once did I inspect my face before that. Why couldn't I be more vain!? I guess God just made me that way.

Things I don't understand #12...

2008-02-14T11:36:00.003-06:00

...Valentines Day.
Fine, I sort of get it. Love and love and celebrate the one you love and blah, blah, blah. But doesn't this made up holiday (and make no bones about it, it's so made up it hurts) create more problems and heartache that it ever resolves? I'm sure some of you (all right, most) will attribute my seemingly poor attitude about V-day to the fact that I am, indeed, single and haven't yet found my one true love (looks misty-eyed up to the heavens and sighs deeply). That could be true. But I have actually done a couple of these when I was in relationship, and all it really seemed to be was another chance for me not to meet the expectations of certain females ("That's just because you haven't found the right one!"). And I do not need any bonus attempts in that area. Sometimes (ok, once at least), I actually did succeed. But even then, I'm left with the feeling that I'm the sucker who got fooled by the evil-genius-inventor-of-made-up-holiday. And like I said, there are those that take being alone on this day extremely hard. I'm too much of a pompous, arrogant, loner to let it really bother me, but there are some. This might be especially true for the fairer of the sexes. I've seen girls cry, pout, and be just plain venomous on this day for seemingly no good reason. But, back to me.

There are two things in particular that I don't understand about this day. One is that people are starting to get a little fuzzy on the fact it's just one day. We are not in the Valentine season. I still can't find my copy of "The 12 Days of Valentines." It is a day. I hear people saying, "Oh, we decided to do it (Valentines Day, not "it", geez get your mind out of the gutter) early," or, "We're just going to celebrate one day this weekend", or (even worse), "Well, the actual day were doing whatever and then this weekend we're going to where ever." Thus turning a made up holiDAY into a full four-day weekend. And I think all this proves it that this day has been turned into just another excuse to buy people gifts, and (Problem #2) giving them to people who really shouldn't be trading "Valentines". My first recollection of this phenomenon was probably in about the fourth grade. When I got a Valentines gift from my parents and grandparents. I'm guessing I wore an expression somewhere between confusion and incredulous. I might have asked my parents if we were "going together" (what a punk kid). I believe at that point I informed them that if it was o.k., that they please not bother getting me anything for Valentines...ever. I think my grandparents got the memo but probably immediately discarded it (I'm kinda scared to go get the mail today). I've heard reports that friends and extended family and all sorts of random relationships are now exchanging Valentine gifts. I just don't get it (thus the title). I guess I just feel that if the person you're giving a "Valentine" to doesn't generate any sort of sexual tension (you know, that there be some chance that "it" might happen at some point, and yes, this time I mean "it"), then don't bother. You might be straying from the script.

And now I'll go pray that next year I have to worry about it...

Things I don't understand #11...

2008-02-12T17:23:00.000-06:00

...Why I still have freckles.
Yes, for anyone who hasn't had the honor of meeting me face to face, I have freckles. On my face. On my arms and on my legs and on my hands and on my fingers and on my ears. Very few body parts have been spared. My toes appear to be freckle free at the moment. I've always had freckles. As a small child I think it may be safe to say they were my defining characteristic. For the most part, I've forgot about them. I've heard you can get rid of them, but that's not really what I'm angling for here. Basically, I was reminded recently of a conversation I had with my dad when I was probably 3 or 4 years old.

Since, as I alluded to above, my freckles were quite predominant as a child, the other kids my age decided to pick from the low hanging tree and hurl the crippling insult of "freckle face" at me. At the time, I'm sure this was one the worst things I could ever be called (life allowed me to discover much differently, but that's another post). And it seemed I could never get away from it, because, after all, you didn't need any special knowledge of me to use it. You just had to have the sense of sight. Well, my 4-year-old frustration had reached it's boiling point one day when I cornered my dad and asked him if my freckles were ever going to go away. I remember him looking at me with concern and a slight smile (I should have picked up on that, no matter what age) and assured me that, "Yes, some day your freckles will go away." A breathed a deep sigh of relief and said, "Good," I then resumed playing with my Stretch Armstrong Spiderman.

I was probably about age 14 when that bulb of enlightenment went off, and I realized I might have to steel myself to the likelihood I would have to deal with this "malady" long term. Please trust me when I say that I have no anger or ill-will towards my father for this particular exchange. Besides, I guessing there are quite a few kids who lose their freckles. He was just playing the percentages and trying to get his only son to quit freaking out over the possibility of a lifetime of freckles. In that sense, it worked. I had bigger things to worry about, like if the General Lee was actually going to clear that ravine so the Duke boys would be able to save Daisy (They did). Also, I've heard there are a lot of fathers out there that recognize that there are conversations that just aren't worth having with a pre-kindergarten lad. And I'm o.k. with that. Just lay off the "freckle face".

Addendum to #10

2008-02-08T14:32:00.000-06:00

Well, the people have spoken, and I've never been one to disappoint my fans. Honestly, I'm kinda embarrassed I forgot about this. Although, my soccer insanity is not the feature of this particular episode, it's that of someone else. Let me paint the picture.

The backdrop is once again a game against the hated Houston Dynamo, except this time the stakes had been raised. It was the playoffs. So you are aware, in MLS that means that two games are played, one at each team's home field and the the aggregate score is used to determine the winner. This encounter occurred during the first leg which was hosted by F.C. Dallas. Because Houston is so close, they brought their fair share of fans, but luckily for us(I thought) we(Dallas) won, 1-0. Because of various factors, I and my traveling companions (Bryan and Lisa) had decided check out the gift shop before leaving. So keep in mind at the time of this encounter, the game had been over for about 30 minutes and Houston had lost(LOST!). As we exited the shop, both my friends decided they needed to use the facilities. I did not, so Bryan handed me his jacket--quite stylish, I might add-- to hold as I waited. I picked a spot sort of off to the side and stood there just watching the people pass. About 30 seconds after this, I noted that the Hispanic Dynamo supporters group (yes, there are two; one for the gringos and one for the Latinos) would be passing right in front of me. From the amount of noise they were making, I had to remind myself that their team was currently trailing in the series. What was about to happen would haunt me for days.

The first thing that caught my eyes as the orange clad throng approached was a chubby little Hispanic kid of about 10 who was chanting and singing and whipping his jacket in a circular motion at a high rate of speed. Not to be mean, but it was just plain funny looking. I realized someone might catch me laughing at a kid, and there were like 40 of them(Dynamo supporters), so a re-affixed my gaze and it was met by a dude who was probably college age. He saw me, saw my F.C. Dallas jersey, and started his approach. I think I just smiled. The whole time he was yelling stuff in Spanish (I don't speak Spanish), but by the time he was 6 inches from me, I knew enough of the language to get the gist. Essentially, my team sucked and the final outcome would be different(Sadly, this would later turn out to be true). Even so, at this time, I was still able to point at the pitch, hold up one finger on my left hand and say, "Un", and make an "O" with my right and say, "cero", and then point at my antagonist's Dynamo shirt. I then resumed smiling. This is where the altercation took a surreal turn.

With my attention distracted by my Spanish interrogator and the chubby kid who had taken up residence 2 feet in front of me and wore a slightly confused/concerned expression, a fourth party joined the fray. With the kid in front of me and the dude to my right, that meant my left was exposed. That space was filled by a Hispanic woman who I pegged in the 32-38 age range. She was moderately attractive and I can only assume moderately crazy. Her opening line was something to the effect of, "Ooo la la," followed by a lot of Spanish and accompanied by her running her hand through my hair. My personal space had been officially violated, but this chica was just getting started. I continued to smile, sort of. There were more "Ooo la la's" punctuated with kissing sounds. She might have made an attempt in English to tell me I was sexy. Please note though, that every word and sound was delivered in a mocking and taunting tone. My comfort level began to decrease somewhat. She then noticed Bryan's jacket and grabbed it. I informed her that she could not have it and gripped tightly. I think she then tried to barter for the jacket with the promise of beer. I declined. She decided to switch up here strategy by taking her hand and squeezing my left buttock repeatedly. The "Ooo la la's" returned. So I've got a dude yelling at me on one side, a woman groping me from the other with dumbfounded fat kid taking it all in...and all in Spanish. My mind begins to approach the point of total confusion and the only thought I have is, "WHERE THE HELL IS BRYAN!!!!" At this point, the man decided to give my left ear a go, and the woman obliged and moved her attention to my right buttock. I have no idea what to do. Nothing in my 30-plus years of walking this earth as a somewhat easy-going, appeasing human had prepared me to deal with open hostility and overt sexual temerity...simultaneously. I'm pretty sure my smile was gone. I was just trying to manage one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. Luckily, Bryan reappeared. It hadn't been more than 3-4 minutes but I would have sworn it was 20. With his arrival, the spell was broken. They began to move on and so did we. Although, I think the woman did take one more stab it getting the jacket from Bryan.

So, are you more...or less confused by soccer fans now? Yeah, me too.

Things I don't understand #10...

2008-02-07T15:13:00.000-06:00

...soccer fans.
"But, Jason," you're saying, "Aren't you a soccer fan? Didn't you go on a cross country road trip just to watch a US v. Mexico World Cup qualifier? Didn't you go to a World Cup? Don't you have season tickets to F.C. Dallas? Aren't you a soccer fan?" Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes. But I don't understand why they get so nuts. I don't understand why sometimes I get so nuts. Not as nuts as others, but sorta nuts, yes. In case you didn't know, the U.S. men's national team played Mexico last night in a what is commonly referred to as an international friendly. The final was 2-2. Oddly, enough, this is one of the headlines that the "international friendly" produced: Two shot in Houston post-game soccer brawl. Yea soccer! We still need to work on that friendly part. I guess it's lucky that this was the first US/Mexico game within traveling distance in the last few years that I didn't attend.

The question is,"Why is this so prevalent in soccer?" Maybe it is because it's one the few sports where opposing fans always seem to be pressed together. Or should the question be,"Does soccer attract the hooligan or does soccer produce the hooligan." As one example we can use me. If you were to scour the archives of this blog you would find more than one instance where I somewhat uncharacteristically got my hooligan on. I think this is noteworthy because I would expect most people who know me to use the term easygoing to describe me. Yet, get me near a soccer game and these things seem to occur.

Me going all hooligan on you arse #1(My first U.S. v. Mexico game):

(From post on 7/26/05) The last time I was at the Cotton Bowl... Shockingly, 4/5 of the fans were not rooting for the home team. It was almost scary. I learned that day, that unlike the normal American fan, international soccer fans show up early and begin cheering and chanting even before they get to their seat. It was already deafening 20 minutes before kickoff. Though the U.S. dominated throughout, the first (and only) goal was not scored until very late in the game. Luckily, it was by the red, white and blue. There’s something very satisfying about watching your team disappoint over 30,000 people.

Another difference I learned that day is that Mexicans don’t quit cheering when the final whistle blows even if their team lost. Dancing, chanting, drums and horns. None of it abated. This was reason one that my hooliganism began to brew. As we attempted to exit—me and my ten gringo friends and 35,000 Mexicans—it became apparent that there was a problem. For reasons I can’t fully explain, the main thoroughfare from the south end of the Cotton Bowl to the main parking area was blocked. Thus smashing us all together and forcing us to actually re-enter the stadium to cut across to the other side. This was reason two.

The main reason (#3 for those scoring at home) was the Mexican fan about five feet from me who whistled repeatedly for the entire time (about 20-30 minutes). This grated seriously on my nerves. This was no normal whistle. It was loud. It was piercing. I was literally getting a headache. I gave the guy dirty looks, which he definitely saw, but no effect. Then my friends and I tried vocally encouraging him to stop. Nothing vulgar, no profanity, just "DUDE, STOP IT." When finally I had had enough, I resorted to "scoreboard" tactics. In between each of his whistle blasts I would chant, "Un a cero." That’s "one to zero" in Spanish (yes, I know my linguistic skills are impressive, try to focus) and also the score of the game we had all just witnessed. This, unfortunately, had little effect. Well, actually the whistles might have picked up a bit. So, I was forced to go to the nuclear option.

I feared somewhat that the other Mexican fans might turn on me if I tried it, but I was now in a fight and I’m a man dammit. I had to win. So a slight modification to my previous chant was made and the result was "Dos a cero." Yes, that’s right "two to nothing." I hoped my friends had my back, but since they didn’t join in on my previous chant, I wasn’t so sure. For those with the question marks forming above their heads, 2-0 was the score of U.S. defeat of Mexico in the 2002 world cup. "But," you might be saying, "That was in 2002 and the game you were at took place last year, 2004, what does that matter?" Well, I not completely sure, but as best I can tell, this was a particularly painful loss for them. Your most hated rival on the world stage in the world’s most important tournament that only occurs once every four years. Ok, maybe I do sorta understand. I guess it would be like some sorry San Francisco fan bringing up "The Catch". Bastards.

So anyway. I said it. "Dos a Cero". Actually, I kinda sung it. Well, at the first sound of this the whistling Mexican switched up his MO a bit, too. His response was to flip me the bird, and better yet, to punctuate the breaks in my chant with "F*** YOU!". After a couple a more rounds, I stopped and so did he. But more importantly, no whistling. The way I see it, the U.S. had two victories that day.

My Hooligan ways #2 (US v. Italy, World Cup '06):

(From post on October 3, 2006)As I said before, there is nothing like cheering for your native land, especially when you're in a different country on the world's biggest stage. I was a lunatic. Jumping up and down like a fool. The chanting and singing by US supporters never stopped. News reports claimed that it was a pro-American crowd in attendance that night, but I can tell you first hand we were outnumbered 2 or 3-to-1 by Italians. Even when Italy scored, it seemed we stopped long enough to take a breath and started right up again. It was just odd that the atmosphere was controlled by Americans while the Italians could do nothing but sit on their hands and try to figure out what was wrong.

When the US scored to tie the game, I'm not sure I've ever been happier, ever. It's odd how emotionally involved one can get at a game. But I was in, baby, all in. And when that ball hit the back of the net (right in front of me, by the way) I went nuts. Jumping, high-fiving strangers from 5 rows away (one of the odd advantages of being tall) ,waving my flag in the air...like I just didn't care...good stuff. I should also mention at this point that the seats we were in were on a aisle. And by aisle I mean a 18 inch-wide space between the seats for some steps. On the other side of this "aisle" is where the US section ended and the Italian section began. Lucky me. This arrangement of fan juxtaposition provided some interesting opportunities. For instance, around the 60 minute, when the US had been playing a man down for the half and yet were still controlling play and taking most of the offensive chances, it gave me occasion to witness some 50 year-oldish Italian who no doubt knew more about soccer 30 years ago than I ever would curse his team and hang his head in defeat. From this vantage I was also able to see if Italian chicks are really that hot. I could have done that, but I didn't. Finally, it allowed me one-on-one interfacing with my Italian counterparts. (Possible Hooliganism Warning here) The interface in question came after yet another Italian player hit the ground in an attempt to draw a card from the referee, commonly referred to in the sport as diving. This resulted in a ,shall we say, a negative reaction from US supporters and possibly even some of the players. I rose to voice my displeasure. At the same moment, a fan from the country that looks like a boot rose and turned around to debate us, I guess. Our eyes met, he frowned and shook his head to let us know we had no idea what we were talking about. Usually I would try to avoid confrontation. I thought about that fact that his fellow countrymen greatly out numbered me and my countrymen and that they were much more familiar with fascism. But I did not go quietly into that good night, I never broke the stare. I rose my hands above my head and placed them on top of each other, like a Olympian on the high dive. I then jump and simulated such a dive, not once, not twice, but three times. He then gave me the look of man who just figured out who had shot his beloved hound and nodded and smiled as if to say," I see you, and you will pay for your iniquity." I nodded and smiled in reply as if to say," I wanted to be seen and relish the opportunity to altercate with you on this or any other subject." And that was that.

Soccer and me #3 - This I have never posted about before. I should have, but well, I ...you know...suck. But everything's better now, right? Anyway, this event occurred during a FC Dallas game against our heated rival, the Houston Dynamo. On September 30th as I sat in my usual seat on row #1 very near the visiting team's bench, I witnessed one of the worst things I ever seen on a soccer pitch. After the whistle blew following a free kick where Dallas narrowly missed scoring, I saw Houston player, Ricardo Clark, kick (yes, kick) Dallas player, Carlos Ruiz, in the ribs as he lay on the ground, face down. Did I mention I could also hear the contact above the crowd. Needless to say, I was inflamed. But more confused than anything. Ricardo Clark while known as a bit of a hack was not thought of as a hot head. Even so, I turned my attention to the Houston bench where one Brian Ching just happened to have just seated himself after coming off minutes earlier and notified him, politely of course, that I didn't appreciate his teammate's choice of actions. He informed me (Yes, that's right I'm now having a conversation with a member of both the US national team and the opposition) that Ruiz must have done something to warrant such a heinous attack. We then paused to watch the replay on the jumbotron. Replays show that the normal soccer stuff happened pre-ribkick, just bumping, tugging, grabbing and the like. Even so, and despite the fact that short of being punched right-square in the nether regions would a full-out kick to a defenseless player on the ground ever be justified, Ching turns back to me and says, "See, he deserved it." To say I exploded might approach accuracy. I was livid. My voice reached new and exciting levels. My blood boiled. After about 5 minutes of back-and-forth, I finally got him to admit that kicking another player might not have been the best move. Yet even now, as I sit here typing this, the anger returns. Does this mean I need to give up soccer?

Things I don't understand #9...

2008-02-05T16:15:00.000-06:00

...What all those settings on the dryer mean.
As you can see from the picture on the right, I don't have one of the snazzy all digital clothes dryers that can identify each article of clothing and manage the temperature needed appropriately. I have a simple model. Even so, I have no idea what those settings are supposed to mean for me. I know how I choose to interpret them, but their literal meaning escapes me.

I have 4 choices at my disposal:
1. Timed Dry (High Heat) - I'm pretty sure this one means that whatever is in there will be dried at high heat for the time I set it.
2. Air Dry - Uh... I'm assuming this means no heat will be involved? How would anything ever get dry?
3. Automatic Dry (Low Heat) - Here's where I start getting really confused. It seems I have the choice as to where on the scale I want my clothes to be dried, from very dry to less dry. But what does less dry mean? Less dry than what? Isn't the purpose of this blasted machine to get my clothes dry? And by dry I mean not wet, not damp, no evidence of residual moisture, dry. So what do I do with clothes that are less dry? Take a hair dryer to them? What I end up doing setting it by how wet my clothes are. If they aren't saturated, I set it to less dry. If they make their own puddles, more dry. It seems to work, but I'm still not sure.
4. Automatic Dry (High Heat) - Same as above, except it gets a lot hotter in there. Don't touch any metal buttons when using this setting.

I would like to note that I've been doing my own laundry since I was like six. It's not like I'm new to this; but even so, I would appreciate any help you can offer me here. If that help would include you showing up at my place and washing and drying my clothes, I would not complain. And well...if you choose to also fold those clothes after they come out of the dryer, there could be a marriage proposal waiting on you...presuming you can pass a battery of tests and, you know, not a dude.

Things I don't understand #8...

2008-02-01T13:37:00.000-06:00

...How Emmitt Smith gets paid to talk for a living.
Don't get me wrong. I love Emmitt....as a running back. He brought me countless moments of joy that included 3 Super Bowl wins by my beloved Cowboys. But even before his second career began, I was pretty sure he wasn't the most eloquent of orators. My favorite quote of his from his playing days was the clincher for me. There's a saying, that I sometimes use in my crasser moments, that goes something like this, "Excuses are like butts, everybody's got one and they all stink." I'm sorry. So, I think at some point Mr. Smith was asked to address why his team wasn't winning, and I'm pretty sure he had heard this phrase previously, but when he opened his mouth, this is what came out, "Excuses are like butts, everybody who got one." Yes, that is the complete quote...everybody who got one. The Prosecution rests, your honor. But despite all the anecdotal evidence, he was hired to talk about football. Here's the worst of it. Most people think this is his first year in his broadcasting career because he just started with ESPN. But no! He actually spent all last year talking (nonsensically, I might add) on the NFL network. So I guess they could at least be given some sort of pass, but what's ESPN's excuse? Yeah, me neither. But apparently I'm not the only one who noticed how bad he is, even people who work for the same company decided to take a run at him. Enjoy.

Things I don't understand #7...

2008-01-31T19:00:00.000-06:00

...What color socks to wear. I'm pretty sure a lot of men suffer from this particular confusion. If you made me, I would bet that most men have some sort of system they've decided to use, but they're secretly concerned that they picked the wrong one. There seems to be two choices. You either match the socks to the shoes, or you match the socks to the pants. I heard it college during a speech on professional dress that the socks should always match the belt and shoes, then I had a conversation around Christmas with a female whom I trust and respect about this and she assured me it was the pant method. But about a week ago, I wore a blue suit and decided to go with black shoes. I don't even remember what color socks I ended up choosing. I just remember staring at my sock drawer for a long time. And don't even get me started on which socks should be worn with jeans. And should you ever wear socks with shorts if they're not athletic in nature? I've always thought, "NO!"; but what do I know, really? I'm going to change my socks.

Things I don't understand #6...

2008-01-30T14:51:00.000-06:00

...How I didn't end up being a architect.
You might be thinking, "I know of like 10 reasons," or "what brought this on?" Well, this week marks the 50 year anniversary of the Lego. The great Lego. You see, from the time I knew what an architect was (probably age 7) to about my senior year in high school I was pretty sure I was going to be an designer of structures and drawer of blueprints. I'm not sure if that was based on my Lego prowess, but it should have been. I was a Lego genius. My two greatest Lego triumphs were the Blue Lion of Voltron complete with a hinged jaw and cockpit in the lion head that held a Lego man and a delivery truck that featured a full windshield, side windows, seats for the delivery Lego man, and a working roll up door on the back. I also crash tested the truck and found it was still structurally sound even after being rolled off the porch and down 2 concrete steps. I know you're impressed. Yet, despite my obvious ability with toy plastic building blocks, I never played with man-sized real building blocks. Huh. We may never know where it all went wrong. But in reverence to the Lego, I offer you this Lego time line. Good day.

Things I don't understand #5...

2008-01-24T16:59:00.000-06:00

...why Reebok abandoned such a good thing.
Most of the time, especially as we near the Super Bowl, we are confronted with various commercials and marketing attempts to both gain favor and access to our pocketbooks. Rarely, does a company come up with an idea that meets with the public's approval. Even less rare is when that same company decides to essentially drop the idea and not exploit their fortunate discovery. Sadly, though, that is the tale of Reebok and the short lived career of "Terry Tate, Office Linebacker." Terry made his debut in 2002, yet after commercials during the 2003 Super Bowl, only two other installments were produced for a total of only eight? The mix of comedy and bone-crushing hits is relentless and ultimately quite entertaining. But we needed more! Oh well, in memory of the great Terry Tate I give you all the "episodes".

God love "Terrible" Terry Tate. May he rest in peace...

Things I don't understand #4...

2008-01-23T14:00:00.000-06:00

...Bikinis.
You might be thinking, "But Jason, you're a red-blooded American male. What's there to understand?" And well, you'd be right. I understand that it might be the greatest article of clothing God ever invented. Huh? Oh...OK, so maybe God's not ready to take full credit, but isn't there something in the Bible about Him creating all things great and small? And both would apply here. Nothing has done more to make a trip to the beach more appealing since...well water. Trust me, I'm not here to decry the bikini. Nay, I celebrate it. I don't even question the various reasons why some women would want to wear them. There's just something I don't understand. (Thus the title).

What perplexes me is how we (men) got so lucky. This may be looking the gift horse in the mouth, or telling stories out of school, or any other cliche which connotes that I'm about to ruin something good by mentioning it. But the situation, as I see it, breaks down thusly (Pardon the generalities).

Men spend large portions of their time and energy (especially between the ages of 12-49) attempting to convince, cajole, and eventually break down the will of females so that they will move progressive (or regressively, depending on how you look at it) through the various stages of undress. One major positive (or negative, depending on how you look at it) benchmark in this process could be considered when all outer clothing is absent leaving only the underwear. So all these men, all this money, all this effort, all this brainpower (or not very much, depending on how you look at it) to achieve a particular goal.

But somehow, in this wonderful world in which we live all that can be bypassed if we do one simple thing..... Supply a body of water. It can be large (i.e. Pacific Ocean), it can be moderately sized(i.e. Lake Texoma) , it can be small (i.e. swimming pool) , it can be tiny (i.e. hot tub?), but if water is present a whole new world is made available. Is it really that easy? Do they(women) really not notice that they're wearing essentially the same amount of clothing, be it bikini or bra and panties? The answers to both are apparently yes. And since that's the case, I don't really even need to understand.

Things I don't understand #3

2008-01-21T17:28:00.000-06:00

How this can be so funny yet still hurt a little bit...
(BTW, language warning...I guess)

Things I Don't Understand #2

2007-12-06T23:39:00.001-06:00

...why must I, as a college football fan continue to be forced to put up with the BCS and not be allowed to wallow in the majesty that a playoff would be? Or, how many times will I have to write this particular post? Yes, it's that time of year. The point where I tell you how it should actually work, you agree, and then we all look at how great it would be.

First, if you don't think we need a playoff system after this most recent incarnation of college football then I guess you don't care about college football or you've ceased to produce brainwaves. Just one more argument, though, just to make me feel better. Am I the only one that detected an odor of fishiness when LSU ended up in the championship game by winning in a lackluster effort that somehow enabled them to jump over three teams that didn't lose, and one that actually had a more impressive win? The more obvious reasons? One, most years we seem to be a little too iffy on who the champion should be. Two, the current system essential locks out smaller schools or traditionally weaker conferences. A playoff system would kill like eight birds with one stone. Now to my plan.

I want to apologize to some that have been following along the whole time, but I'm going to go over the entire thing again. First, it will have 16 teams. Eight can't work because you still have some conferences automatically locked out. And any less than 8 (4 or the "Plus 1" option) still leaves us with a good probability of the same problems we now seek to alleviate. Second, and this may be the most controversial aspect of my plan. All conferences will get an automatic bid. There are currently 11. The one that you can't think of is called the Sun Belt. Yes, I would give them an automatic bid, too. I will add one caveat...more than four losses and you're out. Just in case one of those lowly conferences champions has a rough non-conference record. I include every conference because if they're in Division I, excuse me, the FBS (aka Football Bowl Subdivision) they should have a chance to win. If you don't think they should be included, then get them out of Division I...I mean the FBS. Next, I will limit each conference's participation to three teams. With only 5 at-large bids, it would rarely be implemented...but just in case. We would still use some sort of BCS poll to get our at-large teams and then seed them accordingly. Now, before we get to our mythical playoff bracket there's a couple of things I want to go over.

There are still some people out there that throw out arguments that we don't need a playoff system because each week of the regular season is it's own playoff. That is just patently false. As you can see from this year, both of the teams playing for the title lost their second to last game of the season. Which also just goes to show you that the whole, "It's okay to lose early in the season but not late," is just a sports myth. I just think a little more objectivity needs to be added to the situation. So finally the bracket. Look just look at how glorious this would be.

Oh, the Sun Belt champ. stays at home because Florida Atlantic finished the year at 7-5. That's more than 4 losses folks, so there's one extra at-large bid (Illinois celebrates).

(1) Ohio State - Big 10 Champ (BCS #1)
(16) Bowling Green - Mid-American Champ (NR)

(8) Kansas - At large (#8)
(9) West Virginia - Big East Champ (#9)

(5) Georgia - At large (#5)
(12) Florida - At large (#12)

(4) Oklahoma - Big 12 Champ (#4)
(13) Illinois - At large (#13)

(3) Virginia Tech - ACC Champ (#3)
(14) BYU - Mountain West Champ (#17)

(6) Missouri - At large (#6)
(11) Arizona State - At large (#11)

(7) USC - Pac 10 Champ (#7)
(10) Hawaii - WAC Champ (#10)

(2) LSU - SEC Champ (#2)
(15) Central Florida - Conf. USA Champ (#27)

So that's what it would look like. Just think of how magical that first week would be. With eight games, they would probably have to be played over two days. But what a glorious two days they would be. Honestly, there's probably only 3 first round games that you might be ok with missing. Oh, and the first team that got left out of the playoffs? That would Boston College at 14. As I've said before, wouldn't be better if the argument was over who was the fourteenth best team in the country instead of the third best team?

Things I Don't Understand #1

2007-11-07T14:36:00.000-06:00

Hello.

Yes, it's been awhile. I would apologize, but I know you wouldn't accept it so...let's just say I've been away. So hello to everyone, with a special shout-out to the "6 or betters". If it makes you feel any better, I've missed you too.

I should also tell you the blog is in for a change, or maybe we'll just call it a takeover. For the foreseeable future all posts will entail things I don't understand in no particular order. The list is obviously quite long, so I suspect this could last...well forever. Good times. With all that preamble out of the way, let's just get to it. Things I don't understand #1:

People on airplanes sitting by the window but acting like they don't want to look out.
Let me speak directly to that person. "Come on, are you serious. We're 35,000 feet up, hurtling through the air at 500 miles per hour and you're not interested at all? Surely you jest. In case you haven't noticed the view up here is kinda cool. I mean, we were just IN a cloud! That car down there on the country road looks so tiny it's has to be fake. But it's not! It's all real! Despite what Leonardo and professors and physics might suggest, 200 people in a metal tube should not be flying. But were doing it! Also, lightning up here is really a whole different experience. And if you don't think getting a look at a city at night from the sky is worthwhile I don't really know what can done for you. You might already be dead. Yes, I see that you are a professional traveler and you're really busy and you're already counting the minutes until these insufferable fools realize how important you are and let you turn your blackberry back on, but does that mean you have to deny all those seated down the aisle the knowledge of whether that noise was actually the wing falling off or not?" Ok, back to me.

I guess it could just be me. I just can't believe that anyone wouldn't want to see what was going on out there at all times. I guess I just can't grasp how anyone, young or old, doesn't find the birds-eye view completely fascinating. I guess it's possible that I'm the only one who fights the urge to resort back to being a two-year old every time on anything that actually goes up in the air. Even so, I still don't understand those people.

My New Mancrush

2007-07-08T15:34:00.000-05:00

...Juan Pablo Toja
He was acquired by FC Dallas at the beginning of the season. He's 22, got rock star hair, and a great game. He always hustles(in soccer they call that an excellent work rate), has great skill on the ball and generally makes you glad you showed up for the game. Earlier this week I watched him steal a ball, then as he tried to break free from a defender get knocked down, but still found a way to pass the ball from the ground with his knee. It also doesn't hurt that he's 6'1", 175. That may not sound that big, but in soccer--especially when you're not a defender-- it's practically huge. He tends to run over people and generally cause havoc to the opposing team. What makes him great is that he's a scrapper that actually has size and skill. Rarely do you see those together. Below is a video of the Columbian made by FC Dallas on his announcement to the All-Star team that might give you some idea what I mean.

That last goal in video? The one that might have you asking how he scored it. I don't know either. If you go HERE and click on the video for "06/09: Juan Toja punches ball into net" you can get a little better view of it, but I'm not sure you'll have any idea how he did it.

Stuff for you to enjoy...

2007-05-31T11:37:00.000-05:00

...well, at least I enjoyed it. Plus, I heard someone wants to know about new music.

For Mom

2007-05-12T12:39:00.000-05:00

From one of the great sages of my youth...
Happy Mother's Day!

For Bryan

2007-04-20T12:26:00.000-05:00

Below is video of Lionel Messi and a goal he scored earlier in the week. Messi is only nineteen and starting for one of the best soccer clubs in the world, Barcelona, along side Ronaldinho. Messi has often been called the next Maradona, which is soccer's equivalent of being called the next Jordan in basketball. Oddly enough, this goal looks scarily similar to one of Maradona's greatest goals, which you can see as well. Oh, BTW a great or very impressive goal is typically referred to as a golazo.

No, I don't know what's wrong with the play-by-play guy, I think he really likes soccer and Messi. Which reminds me, the title of the today's post is such because this is Bryan's favorite player. I will not even go into the depths that Bryan's man-crush for Messi delves. But I don't think it's normal. I think it involves bodily fluids, and I'll leave it at that.

The Death of Pretty

2007-04-01T21:59:00.000-05:00

I know I'm probably sealing my fate as single on every questionnaire for the rest of my life by evening mentioning this, much less writing about it, and ensuring those few members of the fairer sex that don't hate me already will join the throng, but hey what do you really care? Oddly enough, this observation stems from my trip to Germany but has nothing to do with soccer. A recent conversation with a friend reminded me of it and turned into something for you to read (and then become disgusted with me over). Are you ready for me to get to it? Fine, I will. It is simply this. Women, girls, females...basically all the people I come in contact that cause immediate confusion...Ladies, here in the U.S. of A.... they don't wear dresses anymore.

It's a little odd really, I go to stores and I see dresses. I see women looking at dresses on the rack and gasping, "How cute!" I think I might have witnessed a woman buy a dress before. I've even seen a woman's closet a time or two, they own dresses. But were it not for the fact that I go to church regularly, I'm not sure I would ever see them. I brave to bring this up for a myriad of reasons but really only one. It's sad. And honestly, it's probably not as sad for the ladies as it is for the men.
I will now speak for all men whether they permit it or admit it, and I'm talking to all the non-men. We like it when you wear dresses. You look good when you wear a flowy skirt... or even a not-so-flowy-one. We're not saying you don't look good in jeans, or shorts, or maybe even jorts (that's jean shorts) but when you wear something sans cuffs we are reminded where we stand. We are reminded that you are the attractive ones and we are the ugly ones. We are reminded what wars are actually fought over. We are reminded why we go through whatever it is we might respectively go through to just be in close proximity to you for long periods of time though it seems somewhat counter-intuitive. We are reminded that you are a woman.

We like that. We also like that fact that we're not a woman but that's a completely separate post. I might just be stricken with some odd good-ol-days syndrome, but the fact that we've come so far from the days where my mom was required to wear dresses to school everyday until she graduated has me flustered and forlorn. Listen ladies, I'm not saying you have to wear one everyday, I'm just saying every once in while reach past the capris or stretch pants and throw on a sundress...or little black dress...or maybe an a-line pleated skirt. Whatever you choose will be fine, I'm sure. There, I'm done...so let the hate begin.

Love,

Farky

One last thing

2007-02-19T16:45:00.000-06:00

Ok, I thought I was finished with the World Cup, but there was one day left unaccounted for...so ... What's up America? The last day of our trip--well not counting the next morning we left for the airport-- was allotted for the last first round (and overall) game for the US. They would be playing Ghana in Nuremburg. It's a quaint little town. See (view photos).

Unfortunately, we only had about an hour to explore because we had to leave for the damn Fan Fest. I'm sorry, did I say damn. Anyway...Most, ok all, of this time was spent searching for and then purchasing souvenirs. Since this was the last day, no more room for procrastination.

So we went to Fan Fest and were so underwhelmed that we almost perished before we were able to get through security. We stopped long enough to replenish our life force via some Polish dish and made our way to the stadium for the game. The highlight of that trip would have to be when I looked up and realized we were walking on the infamous Nazi parade stand. Creepy. We arrived at the stadium in anticipation of a great game. Keep in mind that with a U.S. win, the Americans were almost guaranteed to go through to the next round and that the same U.S. team were overwhelming favorites in the game.

So, imagine the feeling when after 22 minutes and a fairly rough tackle/steal of Claudio Reyna the ball hit the net behind Kasey Keller and Reyna's World Cup career ended. O.K. Reyna limped around for about 10 minutes before being substituted out, but you know what I mean. Oddly enough, I think I had said before the game if Ben Olsen ever saw the field during the World Cup that would mean the U.S. was either in big trouble or winning by 4 goals. Guess who substituted for Reyna...yeah. Despite all that, our spirits were quite lifted when Clint Dempsey pounded in the equalizer with just a couple of minutes until half time. Unfortunately, a couple of minutes was more than enough time for the German referee to make one of the worst calls in the history of the sport and screw the entire United States of America. Ironically, I had been happy to hear that the referee was German when he was announced at the beginning of the game. I was not as happy after he awarded one of the worst penalty kicks (that turned into the deciding goal) to Ghana.

I go through all that to let you know that after the game ended I had one more of my soccer hooliganism attacks. Well, maybe not a full out attack, but I was yelling things and wishing evil. I was even mad at the cops. Yeah, I don't know. Let's just say it one of those times I got caught up in the moment.

The other thing from the game I wanted to mention was the seating. Once again, why the heck can't the Germans get this seating organization down? Instead of just having one seat separated from the rest, the Krauts decided to kick it up a notch for our last game. Please note that we had 3 seats in the same section on the same row with consecutive seat numbers (Block: 24 Row:13 Seats: 30-32). OK? Got it? So that would mean the three of would be sitting together, right? Uh...not even close. The picture you see is of Lisa taking a picture from her seat as Bryan and I sit in ours. So in between Bryan and Lisa's seat is an aisle. Between Bryan and myself? That would be the ramp into the stadium. Oh, and there's a aisle right on the other side of my seat just to bring the point home. How much German beer do you have to drink to ever think this would meet with any one's approval?

So we left the game, I had a chocolate croissant and rode the train back to Munich. I had a tense and almost heated confrontation with a German girl who refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of my seat reservation. But who cares about that?

That was it...I hope. And just in case your still wondering, yes, I had a good time.

Munchen is where we party

2007-01-03T14:12:00.000-06:00

...It's not like we didn't party in Heidelberg...but...anyway.

Sure this post is about 6 months late, but I always fulfill my promises and finish what I started, not matter how absurb. So we rolled into Munich on a Sunday, I think. And let me just say that if you ever get a chance to take a summer train ride from Heidelberg through the lush hills of Bavaria to Munich, you should at least consider it. So we arrived at the train station, excuse me...the Hauptbahnhof, around noon and found our hotel. Almost a little too easily if you ask me. Once again we experienced the greatness of being on the top floor of a hotel without elevators (yea us!), but it was only the 4th floor. Well, except for the fact that they don't count the first floor, so it was actually the 5th (yea Germany!).

We had already decided that Sunday would be a rest day of sorts, no actual activities planned, but we wanted to get a lay of the land so embarked to grab something to eat and see what we could see. We quickly discovered that our hotel was mere feet from Karlplatz (yea us!) and not much further, obviously, from Marienplatz, home of the famous glockenspiel. We found a restaurant, Italian, and returned to the hotel by way of gelato (yea gelato!). We begrudgingly decided we needed to do laundry (boo dirty!). Unfortanatly, being German not only means you can't give decent directions in English; it also means you can't properly write an "X" on a map. After about 45 minute of wondering around in the hot sun (boo hot sun!), we decided we would try again the next day. After some rest, we undertook the daunting task of not only finding a suitable place to eat, but one where we could watch the game. By the game I meant the Brazil-Austrailia game, of course. By the time we wondered in and out of several establishments, including the famed Hofbrauhaus, tensions were rising. Luckily my keen ears honed in on the sound of sports announcers and we realized we were standing right outside just the place for which we were looking (yea me!). A good German beerhouse with good German food and bitter German women serving us. I feel like I should mention this was the first time on our trip that we encountered the "What language are you speaking?" face. We had heard Bavarians were hard-core about their Germaness (it's probably a made up word, but you can deal) and we found that to be true as we encountered this over and over again. We settled in with our food and our litres (that means beer) (yea litres!). We had a decent viewpoint of the makeshift screen and plenty of interested fans. BTW, and I guess I send this out to all the single guys, there are worse places to be than the same room with a number of Brazilian and Austrailian chicks...just sayin (yea hot chicks!).

**We must now take a break from our normal trip coverage to play a round of "Gay/not Gay":
You're in a foriegn land (Germany), in a public restaurant and you decide that your "mate" (you're Austrailian) needs face paint. He needs it now. And you need to give it to him. And by give it to him, I mean you need to sit on his legs while stradling them to make sure you have the proper angle to apply said face paint.
Yeah, I know. It's the supergayest thing I've ever seen. BTW, taking that picture and not getting beat up by a bunch of drunk Aussies was not easy.

Where were we? Oh yeah, Brazil won and that was that (yea Brazil!). Day 2 was the day of the (fanfare) walking tour (yea walking tour!). First we did our laundry, but then we got right to the walking tour (yea walking tour!). We saw Karlplatz, Frauenkirche, Marienplatz (see photo above), Neues Rathaus (New town hall - same photo), and Altes Rathaus (Old town hall). Of course we had to stop and have some lunch at the Marienplatz, but we got right back on the horse. Next was Peterskirche, where I actually stopped and prayed. Oddly enough, we walked out the church and almost immediately came upon this woman. Now, I want to be absolutely clear and say that in no way did my prayer have anything to do with photogenic woman who happen to be scantily clad in traditional German garb. But who am I to question God? I've been told He works in mysterious ways (yea God!). We went on to see Alter Hof (it was actually under complete
construction so all you could see was scaffolding and plastic sheets), the National Theater, the Residenz, Feldherrnhalle, and then Theatinerkirche. I must say, that eventhough all three churches we visited that day were impressive, this was by far the best. From there we headed through the Hofgarten to our final destination of the day, the Chinesischer Turm beer garden in the Englischer Garten. We made our way through Englischer Garten, which is no easy task considering it's bigger than Central Park and features such distractions as cricket matches, nude sunbathers and surfing. Yes, you read that right, I said surfing. Anyway, we and our weary legs finally made it to beer garden (yea beer garden!).

What a sight, I'm guessing there were between 500-750 people settled into picnic tables under the cheastnut trees enjoying soccer and beer, not necessarily in that order (yea soccer, yea beer!) We found an empty table and then quickly found some beer (yea beer!). As you might be able to see from the picture, the beers were quite large(yea litres!). So we enjoyed our heffes, the game, and I made eyes at some girl a couple of tables over (we would have had a picture of her if the only member of the traveling party who supposedly wasn't drinking hadn't forgotten all the sudden how to focus a camera). Ok, so we had some beer (yea beer!) and I also had the greatest roasted chicken and potatoes ever created (yea food!) So, after about 2-3 hours and 2 beers we had our fill (for the time being). Keep in mind those beers were a litre in size. Let's just say that fact, in combination with my fairly short drinking resume my have resulted in a an all-time first. But you have to wait to the end of the post to decide that for yourself...now, now, don't jump ahead. I might have also confiscated a litre mug as a keepsake(yea stupid American teenage girls who don't know what a deposit is!). I then lead us back to the hotel by way of gelato (yea gelato!) despite my alcohol intake(yea superior orientation skills).

Oh, I should mention that on the way back we had a couple of other encounters. One, all throughout town that day we continually ran into lions. Not real ones obviously, but the fiberglass variety in various stances, colors, and commercial allegiences. Lisa had decided earlier in the day that someone one have to pose with each one we saw. It seems like we found about half of them on the trek back. Here's some pics so you know what I mean:

The other encounter occurred when we came about a smaller beer garden and some people leaving after the game. As we approached I first noticed the three fairly attractive ladies. I then noticed that they were Australian(at this point in the trip it was pretty easy to do). I also noticed they were with some guys, but who cares about that. At that point I decided to start a cheer and see what would happen. So I (possibly with some influence of the two litres) yelled, "Aussie Aussie Aussie!", and on cue and without pause the ladies replied, "Oi Oi Oi!" I raised my stolen glass and gave a final "Woo-hoo!" in salute as we never broke stride. Unbeknownst to me, at the same time two feet away, a debate was raging when Bryan thought about doing the same thing. Unfortunately for him, he ran it by Lisa. And since the debate on my side was between me and myself (with some fine points from the two litres), I blurted it out before a consensus had been reached.

That was day two in Munich. I proclaimed then and will do the same now. The greatest day of the trip. No question. The next day wasn't bad either. We traveled to Prien am Chiemsee home to one of Mad King Lugwigs castles, Herrenchiemsee. He attempted to build an exact replica of Versailles, unfortunately he ran out of money. I was still cool. We also got close enough to see the Alps (yea mountains!). We headed back into town and after dinner that night and watched the Germans root against England at another beer garden closer to the hotel.

Day four was a little more somber, at least early on. We went to see Dachau. Nothing says happy day like a visit to a concentration camp. I'm glad I went. I think it's something everyone should do. I just don't know if I ever need to do it again. To follow that up we wondered aimlessly around the town for about and hour and half. That could have been my fault, but I'm going to give a big assist to the street signs "pointing" to the train station. If only they had all been pointing the same direction. We dropped Lisa off at the hotel and then headed for the Fan Fest in Munich just to prove that they all were lame. Success! Bryan and I then made the decision to try to recreate some of the magic of days past and returned to Chinesischer Turm (yea beer gardens!). We each had a litre but it wasn't the same. Mainly because we had to leave, I think.

We then returned to the hotel and hatched a plan to have dinner at Hofbräuhaus and then possibly watch the game that night at a separate hall or beer garden since we didn't think there was a TV there. We left and were confronted with quite a rain storm. We got to Hofbräuhaus relatively unscathed and discovered that finding a table might not be a given. Despite its size, we realized there were no empty tables in the main dining hall. Since that's where all the action was, we found a booth with only 3 people (they would seat between 6-8) and asked if we could join. They obliged and we soon found out that not only were they Americans, but were from Austin ("It a Small World" starts playing in the background). We enjoyed hours of eating, drinking (yea more beer!), conversing and singing with our new friends whose names we never got (boo us!). Because we were having such a good time, and because it was raining cats and dogs, we never made it anywhere else. We took one last walk trough the Marienplatz since it would probably be our last day in Munich as the next day we would be traveling to Nuremburg to watch the U.S. lose (that's all I'm saying about that day).

Obviously, Munich was great. I hope to go back. What else can I say? I just whipped you with like 10,000 words about it. What's that? Oh yes, the "all-time first". Well, I usually use this space to impose my will and poke fun and kick others in crouch. But today, for you dear reader, I will take assume the position and take a wide stance....Enjoy.

The Song That Never Ends

2006-11-28T10:00:00.000-06:00

Apparently, this is going to be an annual occurrence. That is, me complaining about the BCS and showing you how great it would be with a playoff system. But what am I supposed to do when they keep putting this crap in front of me and asking me to eat it. In the last five years I think the BCS has actually "worked" once, and that was last year. But just realize, it only "works" if we finish the season with only 2 undefeated teams.

I'm going through this tired act now as opposed to after this weekend's conference championships because I'm almost positive that if there was a playoff system, especially with 16 teams, the conferences would get rid of that game so fast it would make your head spin. They wouldn't want to saddle one of their best teams with another loss, which is really all a conference championship game would accomplish at that point.

Now, I've tweaked the plan just a tad. Let me reiterated it for you here. You know, because I'm nice and it's the holiday season and all. There will be 16 teams. Every conference champion receives an automatic bid unless (Tweak #1) they have more than 4 losses at which point an another at large team would be added. I think that would ensure that one of the low-end conferences doesn't get a 6-5--or like the year North Texas won the Sun Belt with a 5-6 record-- team in. Conferences would be limited to no more than 3 teams. At large bids would be determined by a BCS like poll. Now a look at what this year's mythical college football playoff would look like.

OK, sorry, I actually wrote the first three paragraphs without even looking at the standings and knowing that with my new 5 loss rule, that the Sun Belt champion would not qualify with a 7-5 record. Luckily for Notre Dame, as they received that last available at large bid. Also, I should mention that I had to just pick a winner for the SEC and MAC for their conference championships are actually needed to provide a clear cut winner.

1) Ohio St. (Big Ten Champ.)
16) Ohio University (MAC Champ.)

8) Boise State (WAC Champ.)
9) Arkansas (At large)

5) L.S.U. (At large)
12) Rutgers (Big East Champ.)

4) Florida (SEC Champ.)
13) B.Y.U. (Mountain West Champ.)

3) Michigan (At large)
14) Georgia Tech (ACC Champ)

6) Louisville (At large)
11) Oklahoma (Big 12 Champ.)

7) Wisconsin (At large)
10) Notre Dame (At large)

2) U.S.C. (PAC 10 Champ.)
15) Houston (Conf. USA Champ.)

So there you go. The first round would feature some great games, plus you get that all-Ohio 1 v 16 game. You get to find out if Boise St.'s for real and if the SEC is really all that. Oh, and the team left looking in? The team who would be complaining the loudest? Well, the next at large team would be #11 Auburn, but they would already be ineligible under my rules because the SEC has 3 teams in. So, the next eligible team that wouldn't get in would be #14 Virginia Tech. What's my point? My point is that instead of arguing if the #2 or #3 team is the better choice to play for a national championship we would be debating about #10 through #15. That would be better...wouldn't it?