Sic Transit Gloria

Dealing with Reality

2011-09-11T18:01:00.005-04:00

Well, I sit here on a Sunday with another fall in shambles before it even gets started. The intent of this post isn’t to break down the details of yesterday’s gut punch 41-34 loss by my alma mater Mississippi State to Auburn. I’ll leave the analysis of the coaching, officiating, and players to the washed up coaches in the employ of ESPN and the message board lunatics. No, this is just the means of catharsis I am employing to handle the annual realization that Mississippi State football is forever doomed. As my wife said this morning after assessing the somber look on my face, “I just don’t think Mississippi State is ever going to be the program you want it to be.” To which I calmly responded with something along the lines of…

That’s a tough pill to swallow just one day removed from watching the wheels come off your team’s season for another year, even tougher when it all went down at Auburn. As a quick aside, they wasted no time in retiring Cam Newton’s number and slapping his smiling face up in the end zone of their stadium. It’s a nice reminder of the unseemly side of college football, which has come bubbling up to the surface in recent months. Watching your quarterback rifle a line drive pass into double coverage, then watching that pass bounce off a defender’s helmet into the arms of another Auburn defender who returns it for a touchdown, then looking up and seeing Cam Newton smiling back at you from the far end zone is just more than any person should have to confront.

Still, there’s something to be said for staring reality squarely in the face, though it is certainly not the only approach to overcoming disappointment. Shortly after my wife summed up the sad truth that Mississippi State football is mediocrity defined (at best), I found myself aimlessly wandering past the television in our living room. The great Joel Osteen was on, with his giant grin and strangely coiffured hair. Joel Osteen is clearly no fan of a beleaguered football program, unless his coping powers are considerably stronger than mine. He stood in front of the strange gold globe that serves as his backdrop and said “Think yourself happy, think yourself peaceful.”

Perhaps that IS the ticket, Joel. I’m happy and peaceful. I don’t need my fall to be defined by the anticipation of momentous football games with all the angst and emotion they entail. No sir, I can find peace and happiness as I did this fine Sunday afternoon, picking up endless piles of dog poo in my back yard and meticulously edging the dying grass in my front yard while trying not to break my wrist when the edger veers a bit too close to the driveway and sends sparks flying and a jolt through my wrist.

And I’m just scratching the surface of the many avenues other than college football available to me (and you, should you find yourself in similar straits two weeks into the season). Perhaps I'll look into scrapbooking or cooking classes. Or maybe I'll just have someone blindside me in the face with the Yellow Pages.

The Crazy Days of August

2011-08-28T15:45:00.008-04:00

It has been unbridled craziness here this weekend. Friday night I actually stayed up until 11pm, making it 45 minutes into a 55 minute documentary revolving around the discovery of a sunken pirate ship. Sadly, I succumbed to sleep and crashed on the couch before finding out the specifics of the techniques they were using to clean off the cannons. Still, it was a riveting evening. Then, fresh off the high of that wild experience, I walked into Kroger yesterday afternoon and came relatively close to buying one of their trays of sushi. Sushi…from Kroger! Talk about living on the edge. Ultimately, I found the risk greater than the reward and held off, but still. There’s something in the air I tell you!

"It can take years to meticulously clean the corrosion off of the sunken cannons..."

Perhaps my need for these edgy thrills comes from the lack of entertaining sports in my life at the moment. Consider the fact that in the past week I have learned the following:

1) There were over 40,000 people in attendance at a Little League World Series game.

2) Kris Jenner, matriarch of the Kardashian clan, recently got a $50,000 facelift in advance of daughter Kim’s wedding.

How do I know these things? Have I been watching E! and hanging out on youth baseball websites? Perhaps so, but that is beside the point. No, I came across these factoids while watching ESPN News and listening to sports talk radio. When ESPN and the talking heads on AM sports radio are covering topics such as these, you know times are tough.

Look, I know that football doesn’t start for another week and Major League Baseball is of declining interest to us as a sports-watching nation. But I really must ask that the Little League coverage on ESPN go away. Not only are they broadcasting the games, but “highlights” from these contests are finding their way into ESPN plays of the day. Here’s a good rule of thumb- if the game in question has a mercy rule that’s employed if one team is up by too large a margin, it doesn’t need to be televised or covered.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for kids sports. If my daughter wants to play little league softball or basketball, I'll be plenty pumped and into it. I’ll probably be the guy on YouTube sucker punching a referee for making a bad call against my daughter. But I like to think that even then I will grasp the concept that no one outside of friends and family will have an interest in the outcome of these games. It’s kids! Playing on a miniature field! I assume some people must be interested, because I know ESPN is nothing if not genius about maximizing their viewership. But this one is baffling to me. I knew it was a bad sign when I was actually relieved and somewhat interested when they cut from Little League coverage to back-to-back detailed segments on NASCAR and soccer.

But rest easy, weary friends. We are just one week away from Labor Day, the return of football, and indeed the return of normalcy to our lives. Until then, we'll just have to look for entertainment where we can find it. I believe I did see that there was also a documentary about a ventriloquists' convention, so there's always that.

Extreme Couponing

2011-08-18T22:00:00.004-04:00

So here’s an interesting fact of which some of you may not be aware- turns out that having a baby in your care eats up quite a bit of your free time. As in, like, all of it. Don’t worry, though, I just got done lecturing my eight week old daughter about her monopolization of my time, and I’m fairly certain we made some nice headway. Granted, the conversation ended with her drooling out a large quantity of breast milk onto my shoulder, but it seemed like she got the message.

Anyway, one consequence of having a baby is a notable ramp up in the desire to find cheap deals. It sickens me to say that I watched nearly half of an episode of Extreme Couponing recently on TLC. Now I can take some solace in the fact that I didn’t seek out the show. My wife left the TV on the TLC channel, perhaps after taking in the latest riveting episode of Toddlers & Tiaras. Either way, I didn’t make a mad dash for the nearest sports channel. No, I sat there watching a rather pitiable Midwestern woman clean out a store’s laundry detergent and Ramen noodles supply for something on the order of four dollars. They then showed her returning home to unload her haul in the overflowing stock room of her house. It was pitiful, and yet…a part of me was intrigued. How do these extreme couponers ply their trade with such magical frugality?

I put it out of my mind until I was at the grocery store last week and got behind a real live extreme couponer! This lady’s efforts were much more pedestrian than the mammoth shopping sprees shown on the TLC show, but nonetheless she managed to pocket roughly 30 large tubes of toothpaste and a similar quantity of bars of soap for less than one dollar. My anger towards her was palpable for two reasons. First, she pulled her routine directly in front of me in the express checkout lane. 15 items or less! Stingy cheapskate hoarders expressly forbidden!

Note to extreme couponers- the express lane is based on the number of items in your cart, not the number for which you are actually paying.

Second, as I watched her savings pile up and her amount owed to Kroger drop coupon by slowly-swiped coupon, I’m not ashamed to admit a bit of envy crept into my mind. By the time I completed my transaction, I was flat out depressed. She even had the nerve to turn around to me and the cashier as she victoriously departed and inform us that the purchase was for charity, intent on robbing us of the one thing we got out of the whole fiasco- seething bitterness toward her and her $0.49 purchase. As the cashier processed my items and my Kroger plus card savings were tallied, I confided in the cashier that I was a little embarrassed at my meager savings compared to the coupon lady. “No, no, four dollars in savings is still good”, she kindly replied. I did my best to express my gratitude for her pity, headed for the exit, and mustered up the moral clarity not to sideswipe the lady's car with my cart as I made my way through the parking lot. Maturity is difficult but, I guess, rewarding.

Blog Absence

2011-08-02T22:03:00.011-04:00

Hello? Is anyone out there? My sincere apologies for my recent sabbatical from posting. It's frustrating, because I was on a bit of a roll. I had managed multiple posts in a single week twice in a row! Add to that the stories from my personal life that were coming my way fast and furious, and Sic Transit Gloria was on fire.

Unfortunately, things took an unfortunate turn here at blog headquarters when my home's basement completely flooded last week. It was an odious mix of water and mud that came washing in from our storage room and covered the entirety of our basement. Unlike the Biblical flood in Noah's day, this one did not last for forty days and forty nights. Of course Noah didn't have access to contractors who, for a hefty sum of cash, will storm your basement with 15 or so industrial sized fans and dehumidifiers.

So the basement is dry, but I've spent the better part of the past week dealing with the aftermath of the whole event. Between the guys who got the water and mud out and the drainage specialists and soil engineers, my time and energies have been devoted to addressing this whole fiasco. Frankly, I haven't been in the right mindset for the jackassery this blog has come to represent. This space is better suited for complaints about the British Open or the noxiousness of tartar sauce than for the honest to God frustration of last week.

But enough. It's time for a rally! This video is dedicated to me, because I need it and because I say so.

If Daniel Larusso can conquer the All Valley Under 18 Karate Tournament, then I can conquer a flooded basement AND keep the blog posts coming!

So stick with the blog. I will battle through the challenges of raising a newborn and keeping my house standing, and you will keep searching for pictures of Brigitte Nielsen (the source of roughly 60% of this blog's traffic ever since The Murls contributed this guest post) and perhaps we will all get a little something out of it.

Losing My Mind

2011-07-18T21:33:00.009-04:00

Whoooo!!! It has been an interesting couple of weeks here at the house. Special thanks to The Murls for the recent guest post. Our daughter is four weeks old now, and needless to say we do not have the whole thing figured out. My wife ordered a book last night that she feels certain holds the key to newborn peace and tranquility. Given the small library on the topic of how to properly raise a newborn that has taken root in our house, it’s hard to imagine this new book offering up any heretofore undiscovered wisdom, but we must hold out hope.

The days seem to follow a similar routine. You awaken and lay eyes on your beautiful daughter and thank God above for this gift he’s granted you. Then the day wears on, and things head downhill. And then you find yourself, seated at the computer in the dark of night, looking for black market baby auction services. Uhhh, just kidding…but if you know of such a thing…The biggest downside to the whole thing is that our brain functionality has been cut by somewhere in the neighborhood of 70%. A few days ago I watched my wife drop no less than four things over an impressive five minute stretch.

Meanwhile I’ve been far worse than her. A couple of weeks ago I headed to Target in search of a scale to replace our old one. I wheeled into a nice parking space, turned off the car, and prepared for my quick mission into Target. It was at that point I attempted to hop out of the car, only to be mercilessly jerked back inside by the seat belt I had failed to unbuckle. Still reeling from that episode, I wandered into Target and proceeded to be mesmerized by the various offerings. I wandered up to the checkout with Archer Farms mushroom risotto, Diet Mountain Dew, and about five other items. Only when I was unloading my purchases back at the house did I realize that none of the items I was removing from the bags and putting in the pantry was a bathroom scale, my only reason for going to Target in the first place.

I wish I could say that was my only recent mental lapse, but unfortunately that is not the case. I’ve always had a bad habit of piling my in-between clothes (these are items that are not freshly washed but can, in my opinion, endure another wear before being relegated to the laundry basket for washing) on a table in our closet. Recently I noticed that a shirt near the top of this pile had a faint odor to it. Being the responsible adult that I am, I moved it from the in-between pile in the closet to the laundry basket without another thought. Actually, I momentarily thought it might be the smell of bat pee, but decided against that theory. A few days later on a Saturday I grabbed a pair of shorts from the pile for wear in the course of my errands. While sitting at Great Clips that afternoon, I noticed that these shorts possessed a smell similar to that of the shirt, but an even more virulent version. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it seemed like maybe something garlicy. Either way, I hoped that the lady cutting my hair was far enough away from my shorts region not to notice. I returned home and went about my errands, increasingly bothered by the smell. Finally, I checked in with my wife to see if she thought they smelled. She told me in no uncertain terms that yes indeed they did smell. So I changed shorts and thought no more of it until I got a call at work from her a couple of days later.

“Ummm, do you remember how your shorts smelled horrible on Saturday?”

“Sure, why?”

“Because I just got done washing them and they had a Ziploc bag filled with dog poo in the pocket!”

“Oh, uhh, yeah that would probably explain it.”

Apparently about a week earlier while walking the dogs I had jammed a bag of poo into the lower pocket of my shorts and then completely forgot about it. There’s a feature you don’t see listed in cargo shorts ads!

Shorts have 10 inch inseam, zip fly, and two lower pockets into which you can cram dog poo on walks (note that dog poo should be removed from cargo shorts at end of walk)

Say What? Some Overdue Complaining

2011-07-14T18:10:00.003-04:00

***Post by Murls

Well, while the world hasn't been banging down the door for a new post from this guy, I figured I'd give Craig a break and let him tend to his newborn daughter, his winged rats, and whatever else he does for kicks. Perhaps it's time to get back to the basics and do exactly what the subtitle of this blog promises - complain. I'd like to touch on the topic of language, aka, the stuff we say. I won't go after the obvious ones like our common misuse of the terms "ironic" or "literally" (mainly because I'm no English professor either) . . . instead I'll just point out a few phrases I hear often that I would like to see eradicated from the planet.

Disclaimer: I'm a bit of a half-ass curmudgeon in the sense that I ultimately believe in "to each his own", so if you do happen to use any of the following phrases, I promise I won't kick your dog:

1. "It Is What It Is": - now, had you asked me two years ago how I felt about this phrase, I would have told you that anyone who utters it should be forced to, well, watch me kick their dog. I have tempered my stance on this one a bit only because: a) it's wearing me down and every once in a while it's use actually has a sliver of meaning to me, and b) it is old enough now that nobody using it has that smug tone of "I am the most laid back person on the planet, hear me roar", which was certainly intertwined with its initial usage as it became popular among those getting tired of flashing the "it's all good" badge around town. So anyway, here's the overall problem . . . it means NOTHING!!! Just look at the phrase itself . . . it means . . . nothing. Biggest waste of oxygen in the history of our great civilization, other than when I tell people I only smoke cigarettes when I drink. That blue shirt is a blue shirt. Thanks.

2. "We are building a house" (past tense "We built a house"): To be fair, I am less enraged by this phrase than I am truly confused as to how it became so accepted in our culture, seemingly without any scrutiny. I remember as a youngster I would talk with adults that would casually state "I'm building a house", and my thoughts would immediately turn to "whoa, this guy's a badass" and then "I wonder how this dermatologist finds time to build a frigging house". Then I slowly realized that what this phrase really meant was that these people were simply "ordering" a house. You found some land, or maybe a real estate agent found it for you, and then you promised someone money in return for them building you a house. Hmm, sounds familiar . . . oh, I know why, cuz it sounds like every other transaction in the history of commerce! Just because you and your wife spent 3 weeks trying to decide whether the backyard should have a patio or a deck does not mean you "built" the house. So taking the easy joke here, I guess you also "removed" your appendix last year, or had the following conversation at a party: "My wife and I are building a fantastic SUV. It's coming along beautifully, and we're putting cherry maple in around the stereo."

"You did what, nancyboy?"

My suggestion: innocuously replace with "we are having a house built". Then we can be friends.

3. "Regular Coke is too sweet": I hear this one all the time and it's never quite sat well with me. I would propose that no human has ever tried Diet Coke and liked it in an organic sense - it's always affected by that person's desire to cut calories, etc. Most people train themselves to like the vile stuff, and for this I applaud them. Honestly. They have more willpower than I ever will, because I can't even do consecutive sips. Every once in a while a waiter will mix up the glasses and I'll accidentally go tearing into a straw-full, and at that moment my entire life flashes before mine eyes. And then there's the aftertaste. In other words, if John Pemberton invented Diet Coke in 1886 instead of regular Coca Cola, ol' Mr. Pemberton would have spent the rest of his life living in a cardboard box.

So here's where this gets tricky - there's just something about regular Coke being "too sweet" that carries a purist tone to it, much like someone who has removed all televisions from their house carrying on about how much better their life is. First, Diet Coke is hardly a minimalist's dream - there's enough artificial sweetener crap in there to make a slice of grapefruit consumable, so let's not get too proud of our newly matured palates. Second, you once liked regular Coke!!! That's what started this!!! Again, it's impressive that you taught yourself to enjoy the taste of artificial sweeteners more than good old high fructose corn syrup, but that is all that's happened here. Jared disciplined himself to lose 4,000 lbs. eating dry Subway sandwiches - surely he hasn't all of a sudden decided that a Big Mac tastes like ass.

An Important Warning for Users of Baby Monitors

2011-07-05T20:59:00.007-04:00

Before this post goes any further, I want to get it on the record that I know the topic I'm about to cover has been more than fully addressed over the years and is fodder for lame comedy. Still, with as many warning labels as I've come across over the years, this one still just completely floored me. Also, I'm a new dad with limited time on my hands trying to keep my throngs of readers satiated, so work with me here.

Anyway, this past weekend I decided to go ahead and attempt to set up the video monitor for the nursery. I took it out of the box and noticed the sticker at the bottom left instructing me to remove the larger sticker with the picture of the generic baby from the screen before attempting to use the monitor.

That is fantastic. I can just picture it now:

"Hey hon, can you check the monitor and make sure our baby is okay?"

"Hang on...yep, looks like he's sleeping just fine."

"Oh, that's great."

"You know, it is weird, though, he's wearing a yellow outfit now instead of the red one we put him in."

Wife walking over and looking at the monitor: "That is weird, plus, didn't he used to be Asian?"

Honestly, I know we've lost our intellectual edge as a country and have been passed in scholastic aptitude by many a hungry and studious nation, but has it really come to this? Oh, and to any parents who actually needed this warning, just a heads up that when you buy picture frames the picture that is already in there is not actually of your family and friends.

Checkmate

2011-07-03T08:00:00.000-04:00

Where in the stages of lame does attempting to play online chess fall? My sense is that it’s pretty high on the scale. And yes, I did attempt to play chess online recently. The most depressing part? I couldn’t even gain any acceptance among the subset of the population hanging out in Yahoo! chess rooms this evening. My first would-be competitor booted me off of his virtual table. I had tried to join an intermediate level game, but I guess the guy thought me too lowly for competition, what with my 0-0 chess record on the site. I suppose he is unaware of my brief stint on the chess team in seventh grade, or he would have accorded me more respect.

Fresh off that humbling episode, I entered the beginner room area. I joined one game and waited five minutes for the other person who had entered to play to press Start. No luck, so I exited and joined another game. There I waited, and waited some more. Finally, he messaged an apology. It was something to the effect of “Sorry, I have people over and got distracted.” Then he exited the game before it even began. When you get rejected twice on Yahoo! chess, once for lack of an adequate chess resume, and once because the other guy has social activities going on that don’t allow him time to placate your game request, it’s a bit humiliating. Perhaps the backgammon room is more inclusive.

Wells Fargo ATMs

2011-07-02T08:00:00.002-04:00

One last quick anecdote from the hospital. By the third day in the hospital my appearance and smell was much closer to that of a homeless vagrant you might find attempting to sell you a newspaper downtown than the newly inspired proud father I had become. A trip home for a lengthy shower and shave (I neglected to pack shaving gear) was in order. Going home also had the added benefit of shielding my wife from the prison-worthy lunch offering the hospital would be serving her, so it was a win-win.

For some reason, the parking deck at Northside is cash only. So I swung by the Wells Fargo ATM in the atrium to get some walking around money to pay the attendant. The welcome screen on the ATM was just baffling to me. It was something along the lines of "Tell us about your ATM experience on Twitter @Wells Fargo!". Am I missing something? What kind of an experience could you possibly have at an ATM that would warrant comment on Twitter?

"@Wells Fargo, just requested and successfully received $40 out of your ATM at Northside Hospital. Thanks!"

"@Wells Fargo, thanks for the awesome stamps your machine on N Highland Rd dispenses."

The only noteworthy ATM experiences that come to mind are probably not what they're looking for.

"@Wells Fargo, just got pistol whipped at your Piedmont Rd ATM. Lost $200, my GPS, and a 12-pack of Budweiser out of my back seat."

UPDATE: Not surprisingly, it doesn't look like Wells Fargo has the whole social media thing down yet. They seem to scour Twitter and link to everyone who mentioned them. They might want to take a minute to scan those folks Twitter feeds. Look at the post I highlighted with the area. Good to know! (You have to click on the print screen image. ***Warning: R rated language, though I did block the word in question out.)

A Birth and a Personal Accomplishment

2011-07-01T20:36:00.005-04:00

It has been just over a week now since my daughter was born. Before I continue with my snarky observations, I should first express my thanks to Northside Hospital. The place clearly has the art of bringing babies into the world down to a science, and every single person we worked with there had a great personality and seemed truly sympathetic to what you’re going through. In the back of your mind you know they’re working their way down the baby assembly line there, and that your daughter is one of probably 20 kids they will personally help deliver that week. Still, they in no way give off that kind of a vibe, and my wife and I were truly appreciative.

I’ll skip most of the specifics of the three nights spent in the hospital. There was a little bit of sleeping the first night, interrupted every 15 minutes or so by the very un-soothing sounds emanating from the trucks at the hospital loading docks, located conveniently right outside our window. Our daughter came early the next afternoon, and we got even less sleep that night and the following one. I can’t blame our daughter for the lack of sleep. She slept right through those nights, choosing to wait until we got back home to start keeping us up throughout the nights. In the hospital, it was the never ending carousel of nurses and techs coming in the room every 30 minutes. Sunday night, our third night, the most talkative woman in America was assigned to be our nurse or tech (I forget which). Remember that we had been in the hospital for two-and-a-half days at that point and were beyond tired. This woman had no problem staying up and working through the night, and she was only too happy to explain this phenomenon to us in excruciating detail. Sometime late in the evening on one of her frequent visits she launched into a monologue about the fact that the sound of a neighbor’s loud dog did indeed bother her a great deal even though working late nights didn’t. I never quite got the connection but had absolutely no intention of asking her for clarification. Instead, as I lay on my semi-cushioned bench in the corner of the room I was torn between whether to focus my efforts on tuning her out and trying to sleep or darting across the room and smashing my wife’s tray of uneaten food into the wall in desperate protest.

That does bring me to the topic of the food, and this really must be addressed. God bless the poor, poor souls stuck in that hospital without friends or family to get them food to replace the cafeteria meals that are served to the helpless patients. I didn’t taste the food, but I did see it, and I believe it would have been right at home in the finest prison mess halls our country has to offer. I understand that providing gourmet meals is not the core mission of a hospital, but if you are going to charge 15 grand and keep people in your care for multiple nights, they really are owed better than a piece of chicken (I believe) that looks like it has been strenuously mashed flat and then left to dry for days on end.

Those are minor grievances, though, and the whole experiencing was truly life changing. I left the hospital with a new perspective and sense of purpose. You might be inclined to question just how powerful this new-found inner strength really is. It’s understandable, but your doubts should evaporate entirely when I tell you that after returning home from the hospital I managed to successfully watch all 135 minutes of Waterworld (though it did take me five separate sessions due to a combination of baby duties and revulsion to the movie). I'm going to add to my accomplishment by saving anyone who has had thoughts of watching this movie the trouble. Plot summary- Kevin Costner has gills; also he's a total jerk, but not as much of one as all the evil dudes that ride jet skis and are commanded by Dennis Hopper (truly heartbreaking that he participated in this travesty); everyone's looking for some land, because the earth is covered with water, which blows; Kevin Costner and a few lucky folks find it, right after Kevin Costner walks on to Dennis Hopper's giant boat and manages to blow it up after openly confronting Hopper and not getting shot by either Hopper or any of his approximately 2,000-3,000 minions on board.

Well, I guess this post ended up a bit all over the place. My apologies for that. I'll close out with a summary: birth of my daughter- good; watching Waterworld- bad. That is all.

Waterworld- Exellent preparation for the horrendous children's movies in my future

An Unwanted Visitor

2011-06-25T18:13:00.003-04:00

Well, I’m back. As some of you know, my wife gave birth to a beautiful baby girl last Saturday, hence my recent absence from posting. Given that life changing event, my first return post was supposed to be about the whole hospital experience. I planned on doing my best to mix together just the right blend of emotion, humor, and hospital observations to make my first post since my daughter’s birth an entry more uplifting and meaningful than the usual petty grievances to which this blog is devoted.

That entry is still in the works, but life intervened last night with events that demanded an immediate recap. The neighborhood in which we live is afflicted, for whatever reason, with a very real propensity for power loss in the event of any kind of storm. Basically, if you hear thunder in the distance, you can count on a candlelit evening and entertainment options on par with those available to your average 19th century farmer once the sun set. That’s bad enough in general, but when you throw a six-day old newborn into the mix, it takes on an entirely different dynamic. For one thing, that newborn is in the market for food every two to three hours, and typically is covered in green runny poo and pee that is a bit more difficult to adequately address by candlelight. In addition, when you already freak out 15-20 times a day that your baby might not be breathing, realizing that she’s now swaddled in a blanket in a room that is 80 degrees and rising is more than a bit unsettling.

Being the crafty people that we are, my wife and I decided on the solution of opening up our bedroom windows. We have plantation shutters that we left closed, but no window screens. So after a few rants about the quality of Georgia Power’s efforts at restoring our power, I decided to try to catch a bit of sleep despite the less than ideal conditions. Not long after I nodded off, my wife frantically woke me to tell me about a sound she had heard outside one of the windows. I hate to say that I discounted the threat level, despite my wife’s sleep-deprived mixture of hysterical laughing and crying as she alerted me to the issue. I assured her that it was most likely a tree scraping against the house, but she persisted, and soon I heard the thumping noise for myself. Trying to keep the courage up I walked over to the window and explained I’d just open the shutters quickly, reach in, and close the window. Problem solved.

Both my wife and I read a number of books prepping us for life with a newborn. They were lengthy and full of information on things to look out for, proper routines for your newborn, and other important factoids. But not a single one of those books offered tips for how to evacuate your bedroom in an orderly fashion with your newborn in hand when a bat comes flying in through the window and right past your head. We could have used such pointers, because general chaos ensued as a black bat entered through the window. I believe my wife was on the brink of passing out on the spot. I responded by jumping over the furniture, running into the dog crate and knocking its door off on the way out of the bedroom.

Is it too late to visit the baby?

The only thing I did that displayed any semblance of intelligence was to shut the bedroom door behind me as the D’Arcy family beat a path of full-out retreat from the master bedroom. Now shut out of the bedroom with a hysterical wife, a six-day old baby, and two dogs, I attempted to plot my next move. No matter how much I tried, I could come up with no solution other than my returning to the bedroom. All phones and connection to the outside world were still in there, as were all of my clothes. I needed some information on the status of the power and how to remove a bat, and my wife needed me to be wearing more than boxers, so I was going back in.

Slowly, cautiously, I reentered the room. Not seeing the bat as I first crept back in, I gained a sense of composure. I grabbed my wife’s phone and iPad, then took the time to grab one of the still-lit candles. Mistake. I turned around to leave only to see the bat doing victory laps around the bedroom ceiling, and I made a run for it. Unfortunately, my hasty exit involved dumping candle wax all over my hand. After getting out of the bedroom and doing some hasty bat research on the iPad, I felt fairly confident that if we could just get the lights on in there the bat would probably hit the road on its own. So I reached in there one final time to turn the light switch on so that they would come on whenever Georgia Power got around to reconnecting us to the 21st century. It was approximately 3:30am when that blessed event occurred. We heard some thumping in the bedroom as the bat made its exit, and then finally we had our house back.

So if anyone out there is putting a book together on life with a newborn, I strongly recommend a passage on the value of window screens. They’re not just for bugs!

The House Is Ready, The Dog Is Not

2011-06-08T21:01:00.010-04:00

I know it’s been a couple of weeks since my last post, but I don’t want you to think I’ve been simply lounging around. No sir, it’s been a busy time here as we enter the home stretch of baby preparations. The wife and I spent an entire Saturday plus two additional hours on Sunday in a birth/newborn class. It was really a great way to pass the time, other than the 1980’s footage of uncensored childbirth. They showed four or five women, none of whom showed any interest in any of the following:

1) Pain medication
2) Wearing the hospital issued gown (i.e. they weren’t wearing one)
3) Avoiding sounding like they were in a low budget pornography film

I’ve also spent quite a bit of time assembling things, which is not one of my core competencies. I get derailed by soup cans that don’t come with the top you can pull off and actually require me to utilize the can opener, so it’s no stretch when I tell you that putting the stroller together nearly brought me to my knees. Then there was the bassinet, which required 39 steps to assemble. Granted, some of those were as simple as “insert 4 double-A batteries”, but nonetheless I just stood there staring at the manual with a combination of terror and awe muttering “39 steps…39 steps?!”.

In the end, though, I got it all put together (with some substantial help from my wife). So we were feeling pretty good about having our home just about ready for a newborn. And then an out of town friend came to spend the night with her five week old child. That's when our loveable, though perhaps mentally challenged, dog Reese came unhinged. She appeared to be prepping for a casting call for There's Something About Mary 2.

Replace Ben Stiller with a five week newborn to get the proper visual

Reese in more pleasant times

Now I'm no baby expert. I've skimmed a book or two recently and attended the aforementioned class, but that's about it. Having said that, my initial instinct is that you don't want your dog growling when your little baby coos or makes other cute little baby noises. Also, maniacally lunging at said infant and appearing as though her head might do a 360 degree turn akin to the possessed girl in The Exorcist would seem to me to be undesirable dog behavior.

And so I found myself online a few days ago hunting down a CD with baby sounds for pets and selecting the rush shipment option. In Reese's defense, we are pretty sure she is half crazy. She's also smart, though, and so we're holding out hope she'll get the whole thing figured out...hopefully more quickly than I was able to figure out the stroller.

Taking the Sideburns Up and the Self Esteem Down

2011-05-26T22:17:00.008-04:00

I’m at a bit of a loss about something. Actually, I’m at a bit of a loss about a great many things, but let’s take it one step at a time. Where is an average dude with an average crop of hair on his dome and limited stylistic aspirations supposed to get his hair cut? I go to Great Clips. I’m not sure why I go to Great Clips. I guess I do know why. Sometime eight to ten years ago I went there. They didn’t cut either of my ears off or leave me with a reverse Mohawk, and being a man of routine that’s about all it takes to earn my repeat business.

Quite simply, I do not like change. As just one example, my world has been completely upended for the past week since I made the fateful decision to agree to finally download the latest Firefox browser on my home computer. I didn’t really want to do it but finally succumbed to the incessant pop-up request to do so every time I tried to get on the Internet. Big mistake. I now spend half of my time staring at my monitor wistfully, looking at the spots where my favorites and history were so easily accessible in the past, then aimlessly moving the mouse to and fro across the screen before giving up and angrily typing in the URL of my desired web page.

Anyway, this reluctance to toy with the status quo is quite powerful, but it might not be enough to keep me going to Great Clips. The problem is really not with the actual haircut, at least not as far as I’m aware (my wife may beg to differ). No, the issue is with the humiliation to which I’m subjected during my visits. I’ve paid enough attention to my fellow patrons’ experience to know that I’m not the only one, a fact in which I take some solace.

Before I go any further, let me say that I conceptually understand the need for a place like Great Clips to push their ancillary hair care products. There’s probably just not a lot of money to be made at $14 a haircut, so I get that they need to unload some $20 shampoo and hair moisturizers here and there to make the finances pencil. But still, is belittling the customer really the best route to take in your up-selling efforts?

Stylist: “What shampoo are you using at home?”

Craig: “Uhh, I don’t remember the brand name.”

Stylist: “Oh okay, because your hair is REALLY dry.”

Craig: “My wife buys it and I’m pretty sure it’s legit.”

Stylist: “Okay, well you should really use some of this (insert product).”

Stylist, while applying small amount of said product: “See how nice that is?”

Craig: “Uhhh, I guess so.”

Fast forward to end of haircut…

Stylist: “So would you like to buy some of (insert product)? It’s on sale today.”

It’s a different approach to be sure. Maybe retail clothing stores should try it out. Say you waltz up to the register at Macy’s or your store of choice with a button down shirt or perhaps a nice summer dress.

“Ooooh, you are really looking heavy today! We’re running a special on cross trainer shoes today? Would you like to pick up a pair? It will really help with that double chin.”

Another Great Clips customer ponders the harsh critiques that accompany a $14 haircut

Surviving a Quick Trip to Los Angeles

2011-05-17T21:25:00.007-04:00

I kicked last week off with a 7:25am Monday morning flight to Los Angeles. Any week that begins with a 6:00am drive on I-285, followed by partially disrobing in the airport security line and then praying to the powers that be that your toothpaste and hair gel pass muster on the conveyor belt is going to be a tough one in my book. The trip took yet another turn for the worse when the European gentleman in front of me waiting to board the plane, sporting a shirt too short to tuck in even if had been so inclined and low-rise jeans, bent over for no less than a three minute stint to execute some sort of detailed rearrangement of the contents of his backpack. This wouldn’t have been overly problematic, except that his undersized shirt and jeans parted ways to reveal a most prominent coin slot. For a fragile mind such as mine, still stressed from doing nonstop inventories of my person to make sure I hadn’t left my watch or one of my shoes back at security, it was almost more than I could bear.

Thankfully, that marked the low point for the trip, for me at least. My comrades on the plane would quite possibly point to 30 minutes later when I woke myself up in a fit of snoring. In retrospect, I’m not sure my efforts to mask the episode with a false bout of sniffles and a subtle backhand drool wipe-off fooled them. At any rate, we all made it through. After arriving in LA I drove to my meeting, where my primary contribution was not repeating my sleeping episode from the plane. After the meeting, the plan was to visit two of my company's stores in the area. They were each 25 to 30 miles away, meaning I was signed up for some LA highway time. Spending the afternoon driving the area, I learned a few things. First, LA traffic doesn't seem as bad as it's made out to be. I suppose the more accurate explanation is just that Atlanta traffic is horrendous enough to inoculate you against the worst the nation has to offer. Second, Los Angeles has casinos?! Who knew? Maybe these are video casinos or something of the sort, but still. I had no idea. Thankfully I was far too tired to investigate further. Finally, there is apparently a huge market for radical weight loss surgery out there. I honestly swear that fifty percent of all billboards in the LA area are for 1-800-GET-THIN, which apparently provides lap band surgery. This is noteworthy, no? I thought the entire population of that city stayed rail thin eating tofu and sprouts.

That night I shook off the lap band billboards and treated myself to In-N-Out Burger, consumed in the hotel room. Enjoying a cheap meal in the hotel room is one of the absolute underrated aspects of business travel, and I am always more than a little heartbroken when my intentions to do so are undercut by well meaning fellow travelers looking to eat dinner together. No such worries on this trip, and so an otherwise brutal day on the road ended in style...assuming your version of style is cramming down a Milky Way from the gift shop of a Comfort Suites.

Texas Baseball Coach Is Here to Motivate

2011-05-05T21:17:00.006-04:00

Are you dragging a bit? Feeling a bit complacent today? Allow Texas baseball coach Augie Garrido to put a little fire in your belly. My two personal favorite moments:

1) The absolute disgust he displays at the fact that none of his players have been involved in a gang fight (0:45).

2) The move where he completely loses it and goes with the violent repetitive two handed slapping of a chair (3:01). I may be partial to this because I pulled the same move in Mississippi State's arena during a game with Ole Miss during my freshman year and was threatened with removal by a nearby security guard.

***PLEASE NOTE- this video is chock-full of profanity.

Battling Through

2011-05-03T20:53:00.010-04:00

There is a conspiracy afoot. Someone, or something, doesn’t want you all reading new blog posts here at Sic Transit Gloria. Ludicrous? It might seem so at first, but let’s examine the evidence:

1) Power has gone out for 12-18 hour stretches twice in the past week and a half here at the house. That might not be so noteworthy, except…

2) The second time temporarily fried our home computer , rendering it unusable for four additional days and nights. That might not derail your average 21st century blogger, but…

3) I am a technological idiot, incapable of tapping into the majesty of the Internet without the service of a computer bound to the wall with wires and cables.

It all seems a bit shady, does it not? Any one of those three items might happen naturally, maybe even two of them. But all three? I find it very unlikely. And so the world has sought to tear us down, like Talia Shire on the stairs in Rocky IV shrieking “You Can’t Win!!!” But I won’t be stopped that easily. No sir, I have been undergoing a grueling regimen in preparation for my return. I’ve had the wife slapping me in the gut during sit ups ala the Rocky 2 training scene. Actually that just happened when she saw I hadn’t finished moving the furniture in the nursery, but you catch my drift.

Truth be told, my efforts have been a bit less impressive than that. I did get in my car and drive around once, like Rocky did after Talia Shire voiced her treasonous doubt in the aforementioned scene. I wasn't pissed or thinking about motivational stuff, though, and I just ended up driving to Kroger and getting a steak to throw on the grill. Other than that, there's been some general angst awaiting the repair of the computer, then some general staring at the monitor and then at notebook paper and then back to the monitor.

The good news is that we are back up and running here and I'm mulling a few ideas for the blog in the coming weeks. If I can combine those ideas with a session in which I gain proficiency on our iPad, then watch out world.

P.S. I mentioned in a previous post my amazement at the results Google image search gives you these days. Here's the winner of most entertaining/random picture discovered while composing this post. A search for "Rocky 2 slapping stomach" (admittedly likely to produce some strange results) delivered this gem...

Overpriced Cakes and Bad TV

2011-04-22T18:19:00.005-04:00

Wow, I was tired today. I mean really tired, as in I was about to go air traffic controller right there in the office and just put the head down for an hour or so. If I am ever taken prisoner by bad guys and they are looking to pry information out of me, this is the way. No need to go hardcore, just limit me to six hours of sleep for a couple of nights and I’ll be unloading any information they are looking for (not sure what exactly that would be, perhaps a blow-by-blow recap of the 1988 slam dunk contest?). This bodes well for a guy two months from welcoming a baby into the world, no? Scary.

Anyway, I managed to stay awake long enough to surf the Internet for a bit, and what I discovered did nothing to cheer me up. Sure, fires are raging across the great state of Texas and the unrest in the Middle East continues unabated. But what really darkened my mood was reading that yet another reality show about a maker of designer cakes is debuting this week. Now if you’ve read this blog at all you know that wall to wall reality TV programming is a staple in my house. Up to now my wife has (thankfully) shown no inclination to add this genre to our current lineup, and I can only pray that continues.

I don’t even know where to start with this whole concept. For starters, does it not matter that the cake she’s finishing up in her promo picture is about to slide off the plate? I hope there’s nothing in that martini glass perched perilously on top. It is refreshing to see that the whole thing hasn’t kept her from staying grounded in reality.

“Big corporations, rodeos and rock concerts will spend $500,000 on a party,” she said. “What I charge for a cake is nothing to them. And oftentimes, it feeds 4,000 people. That works out to $5 or $10 per serving. It only seems crazy if you look at the final number.”

Uhh, okay. Forgive me if $10 for a small sliver of cake does seem crazy. I guess the real takeaway from that quote, though, is the fact that rodeos are big in the overpriced designer cake circuit. I would think that guys that are willing to get kicked in the balls by giant bulls and face down the very real prospect of death for an outside chance at winning a check for $8,000 would eschew $10 a slice cake, but maybe not.

People, let me give you a tip. If you need a big cake, go to Costco! Other than the mildly unsettling layer of cream they jam in the middle, they are actually quite tasty. And if you are bored enough to ponder watching this embarrassment of a show, get a hobby!

The Next Three Days- A Brief Review

2011-04-19T21:45:00.009-04:00

Aaaaand I am back. Perhaps you assumed I was off on an exotic trip or at least chopping my way through a lengthy list of manly chores. Alas, my recent days have spent watching American Idol and reading The Kite Runner. I actually did just complete painting our nursery, a task that would have taken a normal person six to eight hours but in my case stretched over six grueling evenings. Happily, tonight I put the finishing touches on my effort.

On Sunday I took a quick break from painting to watch The Next Three Days. If you haven’t seen the film and don’t want too much given away (like, for example, the fact that this movie is straight up horrendous) you should stop reading here. You know it’s a bad sign when the DVD starts freezing up an hour and a half into a movie and you half hope it will just completely lock up to put you out of your misery. The good news is that apparently it is relatively easy to break an inmate out of the federal pen in Pittsburgh, should the need arise. So easy in fact, that Russell Crowe’s character (John Brennan) didn’t even get around putting his plan in action until about 70% of the way through the movie.

What transpired for the first 90 minutes? That’s a great question, actually. A good 10 minutes of screen time was taken up by Elizabeth Banks muttering inaudible lines, which forced my wife and I to repeatedly back up the DVD and jack the volume up to levels previously untested on my stereo. Then somewhere along the way there was a five-minute cameo by Liam Neeson, who clearly owed someone either a giant favor or a large gambling debt. His character escaped from prison seven times, then turned himself in every time…because that all makes perfect sense. Supposedly he would always turn himself in because he got tired of waiting for someone to catch him. The main character finds him because he published a book about his successful escapes. Now I’m no expert here, but my sense is that breaking out of prison seven times tacks on a good stretch of time to your sentence, such that you would not be enjoying a nice latte in one of Pittsburgh’s fine coffee houses.

Liam Neeson contemplates the wisdom of signing on for The Next Three Days

The highlight of the movie, though, is John Brennan’s first attempt at breaking his wife out. First he learns how to make a skeleton key watching YouTube videos. Who knew? I just like to watch old football highlights and the occasional Irish music video. Anyway, he takes his homemade key to the jail and gets it around security with relative ease. He then tries to open a side door, but sadly breaks his key in the process. The police quickly notice the broken key in the door and lock the place down. They then reveal that they have security footage with a clear shot of the hall and the group of visitors with whom Brennan entered. In a show of masterful skill, the lead guard shows Brennan the video and asks him to point to himself in the video.

Brennan: “Uhhh, over here.” (pointing to middle of crowd)

Cop: “This isn’t you back here at the door?”

Brennan: “Uhhh…..no?”

Cop: “Okay, well if it is you then you might want to think about what will happen to your kid if both his parents are in prison.”

Brennan: “Got it.”

Then he takes the advice to heart and focuses on his kid rather than hatching an escape plan for his wife. No, wait, he breaks his wife out while barely breaking a sweat and spends the rest of his days hanging out with his family in a beautiful coastal setting. By the end of the movie, I was actively rooting for the demise of both the main character and his wife or at least to be overtaken by a Joe Biden-style nap. Sadly, neither came to fruition.

Joe Biden has the right approach for a viewing of The Next Three Days

Difficult Decisions

2011-04-05T20:48:00.008-04:00

Whooo, hot times here at the house! Not hot times like there's an epic party going down for which you missed the invitation. Hot times like it was 81 degrees in our bedroom last night, since our upstairs air conditioning unit has officially given up the ghost. It has been a rockin' couple of evenings here, the heat not withstanding. Last night I watched a portion of the thrilling NCAA championship slugfest between Butler and UConn. I went upstairs to watch the second half in bed, only to find the TV on Bethenny Ever After. It was great, though, because I had really been longing to see the behind the scenes footage of the stressful time leading up to her appearance on the equally riveting Skating With The Stars competition a few months ago.

So there I was, all bummed out about having to sit through 20 minutes of inane footage of Bethenny and her squadron of handlers while the game moved into the critical second half. But the great thing about last night's game was that you could tune out for 20-30 minute stretches of time and miss no more than a handful of baskets. Actually, I'm not sure Butler stuck a single point on the board while I watched Bethenny fret about her 40th birthday party and the terrible stress she was under.

Tonight is a bit calmer, as I'm taking the opportunity to do a bit of reading. As a side note, I have that Comcast adult alternative music channel on TV and Mercy by Duffy just came on. That's song I hate just a little more each time I hear it. And just a moment ago, Duffy sunk even lower in my book. The channel runs little facts about the artist as the song plays. Normally you learn that so and so lists Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and Jefferson Airplane among their influences, or that they first performed on stage when they were four at the local mall. Anyway, they just showed that Duffy became interested in the music industry after watching Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act. Phenomenal.

My biggest learning, though, came from the baby book I am trying to power through. I have no intention of stirring up emotions or any kind of eco-debate here. I was just honestly baffled to read a section on "diapering essentials". Specifically, in a very even-handed way the book laid out the choice of disposable vs. cloth diapers. Really? Is this book perhaps sold in Amish lands or as a package deal with those newspapers sold by residents of communes? Here's how the book lays out the downside of going down the cloth diaper path.

"The downside is that they don't always absorb wetness as well as disposables do, and you can sometimes have more leakage of urine and stool from them."

Wow, hang on, let me think this one through. That decision could really go either way, but I guess I'm leaning towards the option with...less leakage of urine and stool. I look forward to the next chapter, where I will undoubtedly learn the pros and cons of heating the nursery with a wood-burning stove.

The downside is...

No More Cinderella

2011-03-29T21:20:00.007-04:00

Holy cow, what a week. Last week I was tasked with giving a presentation to by far the largest audience of my adult life. Somewhere between 500 and 600 folks in the energy industry had the riveting pleasure of listening to 20 minutes from yours truly on how a large retail company approaches energy efficiency at its stores. Yes, a raucous time was had by all. As I mentioned in a blog post last summer, I’m no great fan of public speaking. The pressure was further ramped up on me, as the conference inconveniently scheduled a speaker who appears regularly on CNBC shortly before me. This guy was channeling Tony Robbins, while I was hoping my suit jacket would be enough to protect the masses from my panicked sweating. I’m happy to report that I ultimately managed to hold my own on stage. At least that’s what they tell me. I think I went blackout ala Will Ferrell in the Old School debate scene about halfway through my presentation.

Anyway, the speech was part of an industry conference that started on the first Sunday of the NCAA tournament. Now that would normally irritate me, but it actually served the purpose of preventing me from having to witness my brackets go up in smoke for yet another year. More importantly than the demise of my dreams of winning some cash, though, are the implications for college basketball as we move forward. And while many are cheering the unlikely presence of VCU and Butler in the Final Four, I don’t think those implications are good.

College basketball is struggling these days. I watched fewer games this year than I ever have in my life. Now there are a number of reasons for that, one of which is certainly the fact that my Mississippi State Bulldogs were a train wreck both on and off the court. Watching two members of your team throwing haymakers at each other in the stands after a December game is not a great motivator to buy the ESPN Full Court package.

Mississippi State basketball 2010-2011...good seats still available in the bench area.

Still, I’ve watched my share of college basketball in years past even when my alma mater struggled. But back then it was easy to make sense of the general landscape of the sport. The “Big Six” conferences each had two or three perennial powers that could be found in the top 25 every year. Then there were another two or three programs in each league that were typically solid and trying to claw their way to elite status. Then in any given year you might have another few squads across the country that would be having a great year by their standards and therefore be in the mix. Occasionally a UNLV or Memphis might come out of left field and interject themselves, and that was it. Lengthy debates about the relative strength of conferences would be had. In most years, you could count on the ACC coming out on top in those discussions, but all the major conferences could hold their collective heads high. Also, you could watch the progression of a team over two or three years. Sure, Kentucky might have taken an early exit from the tournament one year, but you knew that their freshmen-laden team would be back and even better the following season.

Fast forward to today. Who exactly is in the Final Four again? And who are their players? Without looking it up, I can name exactly three players on Final Four teams- Kemba Walker, Brandon Knight, and DeAndre Liggins. That’s a poor statement about me for sure, but it also says something about college hoops. Honestly, if you exclude Mississippi State and North Carolina, I don’t think I could name more than 10 players if you let me choose from every team in the country. I think the NBA rule mandating players wait one year after high school before being eligible for the draft has made the college game even worse than it was when the best players bypassed it entirely and opted to go straight to the league. At least back then there was a bit more stability.

There has to be something else going on as well, though. How have we ended up with a world where Wake Forest goes 8-24 in freaking college basketball? Meanwhile we have San Diego State and BYU camped out in the top 10 for the entire season. The second round of this year’s tournament (I mean the round with 32 teams, don’t get me started on the “First Four”) featured the following teams- George Mason, Temple, San Diego St, Richmond, Morehead St, Virginia Commonwealth, Butler, Gonzaga, and BYU. That’s eight of the 32 teams! The second round used to be the exciting chance to watch the one or two little guy Cinderella schools that had fought through somebody from a power conference and now had their shot at an improbable run at the Sweet Sixteen. Now half of those teams are favored in their second round games. Back in 1999 when Gus Johnson went bonkers on the mic for one of the first times as Gonzaga upset Florida to reach the Elite Eight, it was a legitimately moving moment because it was something that we hadn't seen before. Take a look and see if you can remember what it was like, lo those many years ago, when there was still such a thing as a Cinderella story in the NCAA tournament...

"The slipper still fits!"- A classic call from the not-too-distant past

As exciting as the ending of many of this year's games have been, there's just no longer this kind of shock factor when a big name program falls. When the little guy wins this often, there's no such thing as Cinderella.

Announcement

2011-03-28T21:24:00.005-04:00

Allow me to take a brief pause from the in depth analysis you have come to expect from this site on matters as disparate as the proper technique for stealing rotisserie chicken to my decision to download a Bruce Hornsby album on iTunes. For whatever reason, I’ve been wheel spinning on how exactly to incorporate this announcement into my posts for awhile now. In general, I have attempted to spare my legions of blog readers from any sort of emoting on my part. At some point, though, it only makes sense to get the word out there.

The announcement, for those who don’t already know, is that my wife is pregnant and we are expecting a baby girl here in the near future. I wrestled with whether to make this the focus of one of these posts, but I couldn’t figure out a subtle way to slyly tuck the news into another post so there it is. As much as anything I just wanted to forewarn everyone so that no one is caught unaware the first time I devote a few paragraphs to detailed analysis of baby poo or my anger at a lactation consultant. Perhaps I will even log in and unleash some sort of William Faulkner stream-of-consciousness rant after a few sleepless nights. We still have a few months of preparation before we get there, but consider yourself warned.

For now, we are readying ourselves for the big day. My wife has read three-and-a-half of the 10 books she either bought or was given. I believe she has the first 365 days already planned out in 15 minute increments. Meanwhile, I'm about 60 pages into my first book on fatherhood for your baby's first year. I knew I liked the book after reading the second chapter, which asked you to identify where you wanted to be on the scale of kinds of fathers. The first type of father was one who essentially hated his baby and didn't want to see it until he/she was old enough to drive him to a bar. The second kind of father didn't hate his baby, but was dumb enough to think you could leave them in a parked car for five or six hours. Of course, the descriptions climbed the ladder from there. But even on autopilot, I'm pretty sure I can get myself about two thirds of the way up the fatherhood scale according to this book.

In all seriousness, we are truly excited and looking forward to expanding the ranks of the D’Arcy clan. We are gratefully accepting all advice. Oh, and free baby gear.

A Little Anxiety on My Vacation

2011-03-13T18:29:00.011-04:00

Greetings! I'm just getting home from a nice mini-vacation that was, for the most part, extremely relaxing. We spent a few days in a rented condo on the beach in Seabrook Island, SC. We were looking for something quiet and extremely chill, and our condo at Seabrook delivered perfectly. Unfortunately, I did not make it through this getaway without a couple of jarring moments.

The first one came while getting caught up on the collection of magazines that had slowly piled up at the house over the past couple of months. I kicked it off with a Golf Digest, a magazine I was certain I could skim through in 10 to 15 minutes. Sadly, I came face to face with a site for which I was ill-prepared.

One thing you learn as you get older is that nothing is sacred. You recoil in horror as the sports you loved as a child are trashed by self absorbed, overpaid players. Your blissful ignorance is shattered when you realize that neither law nor common decency prevents a wretched rehashing of an all time classic like The Karate Kid by the likes of Jackie Chan and Jaden Smith. Still, you figure some things and some people are beyond compromise. And then you flip past the editor's column in Golf Digest and run into this ad...

I'll have that frozen daiquiri shaken, not stirred.

Are you kidding me?! James freaking Bond posing with a Louis Vuitton man-purse? Unacceptable. Don't you get your status as knight revoked for this kind of abomination? This may just tip the scales in Roger Moore's favor when ranking those who have portrayed Bond. Truthfully, if Connery shows up in any more of these he might just find himself below the enchanting Timothy Dalton as well.

Following that incident, the trip sailed along smoothly until our return drive home earlier today. We brought our dogs along for the festivities, knowing that they would enjoy running around on an otherwise empty beach. Traveling with the dogs did cause some alterations to our general road trip routine, though. Chief among the changes was that one stop along the way needed to occur at a rest area to afford the dogs the chance to stretch the old legs and handle their business. Now perhaps some of you are big fans of the state run rest stops that dot our interstates, but I personally haven't stopped in at one in many a year.

I do harbor a generally low opinion of them and, as such, was on the lookout for unseemly characters and activities. It was with this mindset that I entered the men's restroom at the rest stop at the Georgia-South Carolina border. My initial impression was good enough, I've certainly been in worse looking restrooms. I surveyed the scene and noted one fellow bathroom patron as I slid into the end urinal. That's where things took a turn for the worse. Over the next 30 seconds three additional gentlemen joined us, all of them selecting the urinals closest to me. Not good.

"Stay calm, Craig. These are probably just well meaning travelers not familiar with the etiquette that dictates they select urinals with as much spacing between men as possible."

And so I focused my attention on the sink, avoiding all eye contact and trying to escape as quickly as possible without appearing rattled. After a quick hand washing session, I speed walked over to the door without looking up. I reached for the handle and my escape to civilization...the door was locked. Uh oh. Panic quickly settled in as I more violently attacked the door handle. It was definitely locked, and now I was sweating it. There was now no choice but to lift up the head and fully assess my situation. It was at this moment that it quickly became clear that I had spent the last 30 seconds trying to storm my way into the janitor's closet, with the actual exit door about five feet to my right. Good times on the open road!

Is That a Chicken in Your Pants?

2011-03-02T22:44:00.007-05:00

This is just wrong on so many levels...

Report: Man tries to hide rotisserie chicken in his pants

A northwest Georgia man was arrested for allegedly trying to steal a rotisserie chicken and some wings from Walmart by placing the items in his pants.

Joseph Lee Stringer, 27, also put a toothbrush and a mouth guard down his pants before trying to leave the store through the garden center, the Rome News-Tribune reported.

Stringer, of Kingston, was charged with misdemeanor shoplifting and released on $1,350 bond, according to the report.

Now I don't believe in negativity without trying to find some good at the same time. So let's start off applauding Joseph Lee Stringer for his recognition that, indeed, the consumption of rotisserie chicken and wings should be followed by a good tooth brushing session. But, dude, if you are going to participate in the food smuggling trade, you have got to be willing to adjust your dinner menu. Hey, I like wings and mushy Wal-Mart rotisserie chicken as much as the next guy, but if it's going in your pants it needs packaging. That's just how it is, brother. Pilfer some of those frozen burritos or perhaps some tasty soup. Not only are they a better fit, but they won't ass up your sweat pants with stains and what not.

The $1,350 bond does seem a bit excessive, though. I can only hope at least a portion of that goes to the employee that had to restock the wings and rotisserie chicken in the deli section.

Thanks to heady Wal-Mart security, Joseph Lee Stringer never made it this far.

Crappy Tails

2011-03-02T21:19:00.009-05:00

It’s been just over a week, and the D’Arcy family is still reeling from the events of the morning of Feb. 19th. On that fateful day, my wife and I headed out with our dog Charlie in tow. We were headed to an evaluation session with Happy Tails to get him approved so that we could go with him to senior centers and other places where less fortunate folks of all stripes could enjoy spending some time hanging out with a dog.

We knew Charlie would be perfect for this for a number of reasons. First, he loves interacting with people and is basically good to go as long as he is getting attention from people. In addition, we took him to an eight week training class last Spring which he passed with flying colors. Finally, Charlie is not what you would call an, uhhh, intimidating dog.

Charlie (center) striking fear in nearby dogs at the dog park

Granted, we did have a bit of concern as to how things might play out that morning given our initial impression of Happy Tails. We had already been to an orientation session. That session was the first, and easiest, of five steps required to join Happy Tails (bad sign number one). During the session, the representative was EXTREMELY serious about the rules and regulations of Happy Tails (bad sign number two). She described the pet/handler evaluation process and noted that "the evaluation starts the moment you knock on the door". Uhhh, okay. Take it easy, hon, we're here to sign up for a volunteer organization, not to try to crack into the Omega Theta Pi pledge class. Now don't get me wrong, I certainly appreciate the need for an evaluation process. As this dog owner in Portland can certainly attest, not all dogs are cut out for extensive human interaction...

ROSEBURG, Ore. — A diabetic Oregon man with no feeling in his feet woke up to find his dog had eaten part of his right foot, including three toes...

I just assumed she was exaggerating the whole thing to make sure interested parties didn't show up with Snots from Christmas Vacation. I was sadly mistaken.

The morning of the evaluation I saddled up to the computer to get driving directions. That's when I discovered that they we were headed to a place in Woodstock called Ironclad Obedience (bad sign number three). I did take Charlie for a quick walk around the block before we left to try to get rid of some of his nerves. Unfortunately, he was still super-charged when I knocked on the door to begin the fun. I was ushered to a sitting area to wait on the beginning of the official evaluation. It took me all of about 60 seconds sitting there to know that I was on the front end of a train wreck. Several of the dogs in our vicinity looked like their owners had popped them with a tranquilizer dart right before entering the Ironclad Obedience premises. Meanwhile, the collection of dogs and crotchety blue-haired ladies patrolling the room with clipboards had Charlie doing a combination of jogging in circles at my feet and barking at me.

This dart is apparently needed to get your pet into the Happy Tails inner circle.

Soon enough I was waved over to station number one. Yes, there was somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 stations we would have to navigate. The first lady checked his grooming. Good enough so far. But then we moved on to attempting to have Charlie stay laying down while I walked 20 yards away. I found this rather amusing, since they were adamant at several points in the process that I not let go of his leash at any time during the evaluation or during actual visits. So unless I'm keeping him on a 60 foot leash, why are we ever going to encounter this situation? Next was an intense review of me walking Charlie, which we also failed due to our leash not drooping into a proper J shape while we navigated the straightaway. Next, one of the bitter evaluators started at one end of a walkway with a dog while Charlie and I started at the other end. Charlie made the fateful mistake of crossing from my right to my left to check out the other dog's nose. Fail.

And on and on it went. I looked over at one point and saw roughly 10 "X"s on the fail side. I think there were two or three on the pass side, but I can't say for certain. The real bummer is that in every portion that actually mattered, he was a rock star. He happily licked the grill of a lady in a wheelchair, laid compliantly on the ground while four people simultaneously petted and grabbed him, and stayed by my side as evaluators dropped pans and books on the ground in front of us. But his fate was already sealed. Happy Tails was looking for comatose dogs, and Charlie didn't fit the bill. Finally I was instructed to wait outside the front door where all the fun began. I stepped out there just as a heartbroken lady was told to hit the road because her extremely well behaved dog had apparently not passed one of the 10-12 stations. For Charlie, it was not nearly so close of a call, and the woman who was dispatched to inform me of the results seemed to take some pleasure in chastising me and my dog. For her finishing move, she took the leash from me and proceeded to jerk Charlie's leash and collar to get his attention. She stared at him and bitterly stated "I have a Brittany Spaniel, so you can't fool me." Something in that lady's voice made me fairly certain that the Brittany Spaniel in question spends most of its time chained to a radiator.

A disappointed Charlie attempts to come to grips with rejection.

Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T20:41:00.009-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day everyone! This post will be a short one, but I thought I'd relay a couple of tidbits from my preparation for this joyous holiday. Even though we decided to go extremely low key this year, I was not spared from a couple of painful episodes.

Purchasing a Card
Buying a card is always far more nerve wracking than I anticipate. The geniuses that manufacture greeting cards have come up with three genres of Valentine's Day card.

1) The uber gay- Yes, we are all looking to the card to put a bit of eloquence to what we feel about our significant other. We would like them to make it to the end of said card without having to wonder if they have unwittingly married George Michael, though.

Happy Valentine's Day...oh and one more thing...

2) The ridiculously short- I love the cards retailing for $4.99 that have a tiny drawing of a couple of birds perched on a branch on the front and something along the lines of "We're great together. Happy Valentine's Day." on the inside. It's never a good sign when your lady flips to the back of the card to figure out whether you bought it or made it yourself.

3) The "humorous" card- Even if these cards didn't appear to be written by castoff writers from The Jay Leno Show I find it hard to believe my wife would be pumped to receive one.

So given the scarcity of acceptable cards, we men are going to be forced to linger for a bit while we search. My request to our fellow card shoppers is this- Please, please conduct your card search in silence. While shopping for a card this past Saturday, I found myself next to a lady who couldn't resist vocalizing her reaction to the cards she was perusing. "Ooooooohhhhh...Mmmmm hmmmmm...That's a nice one."

Uhhh, maam, jockeying through the crowd at Target in search of a card I can purchase with some semblance of dignity is a difficult enough challenge without getting the play-by-play.

Buying Flowers
I'm not here to tell you that you have to get flowers for your lady, nor do I intend to tell you what kind of floral arrangement works best. No, my only flower advice is this- Pay close attention to where you purchase your flowers. Let's say you are celebrating Valentine's Day on Saturday night. Now let's say it's 2:30 and you decide to grab some flowers. Well, you've already made a mistake, as most florists close at noon on Saturday. But your situation is not hopeless! There are some florists that are open all day on Saturday. However, and this is very important, just because one of those places is named Atlanta Flower Market you should not necessarily assume that it is located in the city proper. It may in fact be located in Roswell, some 60 minutes north of the actual city of Atlanta.

I'm happy to report that I did ultimately find a card I could live with and pick up flowers from the "Atlanta" Flower Market in time to make it back for dinner. And good thing, too, because all my efforts would have been for naught had I derailed the final item on the agenda- a magical evening at Don Pablo's.

A Classic Album Ushers in the Modern Era

2011-02-10T21:52:00.008-05:00

A couple of nights ago marked a major milestone in the life of Craig D’Arcy (note the third person reference to myself ala an elite athlete at a press conference as an indicator of my level of bravado). No I did not complete a half marathon or learn how to grow pumpkins in my very own garden. Yes I did, for the first time in my life, purchase an album on iTunes. I’ve nibbled around the edges with the download of individual songs before when I knew I didn’t want more than one or two songs from an artist. But never before have I desired an entire collection of songs from an artist and acquired them via iTunes rather than conducting a hunt for the actual CD in the ever-diminishing music section of my local Borders.

Now before you shower me with huzzahs and praise, I must confess that the album in question was the debut opus of Bruce Hornsby and the Range, The Way It Is. I used to own this cassette tape, and its masterful blend of heartfelt piano and upbeat tunes got me through many a day in the late high school/early college years. At some point that tape met an untimely demise, either melting in the back window of one of my cars or perhaps falling out of my car unnoticed as I removed an overstuffed Wendy’s sack. Either way, something recently reminded me of it and I decided those songs needed to make a return to my music library.

Nothing says "modern" like Bruce Hornsby and his original bandmates (and their hair).

I haven’t decided how I feel yet about going the iTunes route. On the one hand, it was certainly a beautiful thing to conduct the transaction in all of 30 seconds, with the songs now loaded up and available to be mixed and matched with whatever other ones in my collection strike my fancy. On the downside, how will I know to whom this album was dedicated or who is sitting in on the saxophone on track #6 without the handy CD booklet?

I think it's a bit sad that we have said goodbye to the old way of buying music. What a stressful but exciting experience. Buying a tape/CD was such a roll of the dice. You knew one, perhaps two songs on the album. Armed with having heard those songs and your general impression of the artist, you had to make the go/no go decision. Then you would unwrap it on the way to your car, load it up, and anxiously wait to find out what you had on your hands. Sometimes you were treated to some fantastic music that you wouldn't otherwise have heard. Other times you kept skipping forward and slowly realized that you were going to have to test the store's return policy and claim some sort of damage to your newly-purchased Chesney Hawkes cassette.

Most who purchased the Chesney Hawkes album were left disappointed beyond the catchy title track.

There's no point clinging stubbornly to the past, though, so I think it's time I leave CD purchases in the rear view mirror. And I'll have to leave it at that. My favorite show is about to start and I need to program my VCR.

Office Bathroom Decorum- Embrace It

2011-01-27T21:42:00.009-05:00

Greetings readers! Also, greetings to any Google Image searchers whose quest for pictures of a naked David Hasselhoff posing with dogs or Chuck Norris-endorsed exercise equipment accidentally led you here. I have to admit this hasn't been the greatest day in the world. I woke up thinking it was already Friday instead of Thursday, and then I took a bit of a pummeling at work. And so I was strongly considering wallowing in my self pity and letting another evening slip by without a post. "Perhaps I'll just sit here and read up on the Egyptian riots or college football recruiting or some other depressing topic" I thought to myself. And just then, my computer jumped to the rescue. My iTunes, playing in the background, dug up this gem to put a skip in my step and get me back in the game.

Yes indeed, it's Swing Out Sister! Just try listening to that and still being in a bad mood. You can't do it, can you? Now for an even more difficult challenge, try to believe me when I tell you I'm not gay even though that song is in my iTunes library.

At any rate, with my spirits lifted I'm ready to tackle an issue that I've been meaning to address for awhile. This one is for all the men out there working in corporate America. First, let me say that I believe a vivid imagination is a beautiful thing at any age, so I don’t begrudge my fellow comrades who like to escape momentarily from the reality of the daily grind of office life. But having said that, I need to break some news to you. Based on what I’ve seen, some of you may be every bit as rattled by this revelation as you were in your youth when the truth about Santa Claus was revealed. Still, I feel that it is necessary and will ultimately benefit both you and mankind as a whole. So here goes...

The door to the men's room is not some magic, Narnia-like portal to a different world. It’s really just a door, and you are really still surrounded by coworkers. While this may seem obvious to many of us, there are clearly many men out there that have been heretofore unaware of this. How else are we to explain why an otherwise normal guy would proceed to methodically wash his bald head in the office bathroom sink while I am standing next to him? And that is one of the milder offenses. The level of comfort some feel in a public restroom is truly mind blowing. I understand you aren't feeling great and need to go to the restroom, hence your presence in the stall with your pants on the ground. Still, is it really necessary to unleash a series of grunts that lead me to believe I've wandered into a live birth in the primate section of the Atlanta Zoo? I think not. And there is quite simply no cell phone conversation, under any circumstances, that is important enough to conduct while sitting on the toilet in the office restroom. Seriously. Odds are they don't want to talk to you in the first place. Also, why are some men who are doing what they need to in the stall hellbent on making it out of there and running into you, who has merely stopped in for a quick pee? Sir, just hold your ground in the stall for a minute until the other person has left the restroom. Otherwise, an uncomfortable (and entirely preventable) exchange at the sinks is guaranteed.

Ladies, I am just going to assume none of this lack of decorum goes on in your restroom. Thinking otherwise would be more than enough to derail my Swing Out Sister-inspired emotional rally. And with that, I bid you good evening. My Lionel Richie Chill playlist beckons.

The End of the Season and (Hopefully) a Nickname

2011-01-20T22:00:00.007-05:00

I'd like to start this post with a hearty "thank you" to Sporting News. With one tardily delivered magazine, the fine folks behind this once-informative publication answered two questions that had been on my mind in recent days. I absentmindedly reached into the mailbox on Tuesday and pulled this gem out...

And just like that, I knew the answer to both of the following:

1) Should I renew my soon-to-expire subscription? No.

2) How did the Falcons manage to get their doors blown off by 27 points in a home playoff game? Because we have the most overrated quarterback in the league, who just happens to have the worst nickname in recent memory.

What exactly was Sporting News shooting for with this cover? Tough? Cool? Matt Ryan looks like he paid $10 bucks to get into one of those fan fest events that precede big college and pro games and then struck a pose while his mom snapped a picture of him. Good Lord dude, do you not have an agent or publicist of some sort that can review these photos before Sporting News picks one? The magazine doesn't actually show up until a week after it could possibly be relevant, so I know those guys aren't in a hurry to get it published. I understand that you have the arm strength of a QB in junior high school, but it doesn't benefit you to look like one.

And while we're at it, can we please say farewell to the Matty Ice nickname? Listening to announcers throw it around 20 times a game made me want to ram my head through the television, and I actually like the Falcons. I shudder to think what reaction it triggers in those who don't. And most importantly, it's not accurate! Yes, Matt Ryan has led some game winning drives, but he has had horrible showings more often than not in big games.

To be certain, there were other factors that contributed to the blowout that left a decidedly bad taste after an otherwise successful season. For starters, it would be nice if the Falcons took this offseason as an opportunity to sign a cornerback tall enough to ride the roller coaster without a close inspection to make sure they are taller than the cowboy's hat.

Sorry Brent Grimes, but you can still ride the Tea Cups with an adult guardian.

Now, I know what you're thinking. How can I drag the good name of Sporting News through the mud for its late arrival when I have waited five long days to relay my battered emotions via the blog? There are two reasons for the delay. First, I was traveling in Arkansas for my grandmother's 95th birthday until Monday. Then I was unavoidably detained by the opening two episodes of Season 10 of American Idol. And with that, I will now punch myself.

Prepping for a Snow Day

2011-01-10T14:06:00.007-05:00

I’m checking in from a snow and ice covered Atlanta, enjoying an actual snow day home from work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still getting some work in thanks to my blackberry and laptop. Still, it is a most pleasant departure from the regular start to the work week. Last night involved hours of nervous anticipation as to whether or not the snowstorm would materialize in a forceful enough manner to actually keep the office closed. “Do I or do I not crack open a beer and pretend that it’s another Saturday night with no work tomorrow?” This is the question I and thousands of other Atlantans pondered last night as we stared skyward and willed the snow out of the clouds.

No winter storm in the South is complete without a mass run on the grocery store, and this one was most definitely no exception. The wife and I headed to both Kroger and Costco yesterday. I swear we were not in panic mode, loading up the pantry and refrigerator with enough bread and milk to see us through the Apocalypse. No, we just honestly needed groceries. And unfortunately, I also needed gas. The allure of gas priced five cents below market and the apparent fear of inaccessible gas stations combined to form a backup some forty cars deep at Costco. I, of course, rolled into Costco with the needle on empty, thinking myself a near genius for skipping the many vacant gas stations on the way. So faced with no real options, I waited it out, watching my fellow penny pinchers top off their already full tanks with a few gallons while I prayed to the heavens above for my car not to run out of gas in the line.

Happily, I navigated the Costco gas station area without incident and made my way inside for the main event. I don’t know what it is about that place, but the energy of the place triggers some kind of buying mechanism in my brain that doesn’t otherwise exist. Six giant canisters of cranberry sauce? Throw it in the buggy. 12 pounds of dodgy-looking fish? Let’s do it. Anyway, I happened upon a couple of interesting discoveries along the way. While grabbing a 250 count jar of One-A-Day Men’s vitamins, I noticed that they have picked up an official sponsorship from Major League Baseball. Brilliant! “Hey, what sport really exudes peak physical condition?” the higher-ups in marketing must have pondered across the conference table at One-A-Day headquarters. And baseball is what they settled on. Plus, baseball has spent the last three years plastered across the news catching heat for what their players put in their body, so somehow they must have worked that out in their head as a positive as well.

The chiseled physique of Dmitri Young and his teammates may seem a daunting goal, but One-A-Day vitamins can help.

Then, just before queueing up in the checkout line, I decided to swing by the restroom. And in a nondescript corner of the store, I made an interesting discovery. Is it common knowledge that Costco sells industrial-size boxes of Trojans? I certainly wasn't aware of it. I like it, though. Perhaps the buyer of that product is truly the ideal man, an impressive blend of frugality and confidence that no woman could resist.

The Start of a New Year

2011-01-06T21:47:00.010-05:00

Happy New Year!!! It's January 6th, and I'm attempting to crawl out from under the post-holidays malaise that has engulfed me. The combination of seeming perpetual darkness outside and the 25 pounds I've picked up over the past three weeks (I kid...sort of) have slowed my efforts at productivity here at the start of 2011. I would set myself to tackling my list of New Year's resolutions, but I haven't had the energy to think of them and certainly not to actually capture them in written or digital fashion.

But no more of that! It's time to get in gear. So inspired am I that I have left the GoDaddy.Com Bowl behind to post my first blog entry of the year. Yes, I have handed over the remote to my wife and made my way to the computer. I am aware that the forward march of time and technology has produced devices that would allow me to keep my seat in front of the television while composing this, but I believe I've made it clear in prior posts that I am not what you would refer to as an early technology adapter. And in any case I can now hear the sounds of the latest episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, so proximity to the TV doesn't strike me as overly appealing at the moment.

I want to start of 2011 with a positive post. Specifically, I want to applaud Google's update to the functionality of Google Image search. Initially, the change annoyed me, but I have come to embrace it. Not because it actually works better, but because it is far more entertaining. Instead of typing what you're actually looking for in the search box, it is as though you type in "show me pictures of random sh!t" every time. Searching for a picture from Major League 2 (don't ask, this post was originally going to be about a different topic)? How about a picture of Jesus gently caressing a baby dinosaur instead?

My search for a picture from Major League 2 yielded this shot from a scene that apparently didn't make it through final edits.

They seem to have made it a game. With every search, in addition to (possibly) pictures tied in to what you typed, you are guaranteed a few scantily clad ladies and numerous completely unrelated images. Don't believe me? Check out this seemingly innocuous search for "Irwin M Fletcher", the main character in Fletch.

It's been awhile since I've watched Fletch, but I don't remember either of those two ladies (one of which I partially censored for my PG13 blog) being in the movie. Also, I'm not at all sure what Frank Poncherello or a well-groomed dog posing with his awards is doing there, and that's all just on the first page. The key is to find what you need without scrolling too far down, though. Not all the oddball pictures are of award winning dogs or sultry models. No, there are some very unsettling looking folks out there, and their pictures await you as well...whether you are looking for them or not.

A Night At The Movies

2010-12-25T18:41:00.008-05:00

This post is for the guys…because I know what you’re thinking. Natalie Portman, she’s a good looking chick. And I need to get out of the dog house for inviting the boys over last weekend and leaving wings and half-empty beers between the sofa cushions. And hey, ballet is not my thing, but how much of the movie could really be actual ballet dancing. Yeah, why not, I’ll go see Black Swan.

And that is where I step in my friends. Consider it a Christmas present to you or just my good deed for the week. My advice to you- DO NOT DO IT. That is presumptuous, though, because what I look for in a movie may not be what floats your boat. As the theme song for the classic sitcom stated so eloquently, it takes different strokes to move the world yes it does. For example, just because I don’t prefer camerawork that is akin to 1980s home video footage of a child’s birthday party and that is so shaky and zoomed in that it merits nausea medication doesn’t mean others feel the same. And my feelings about watching a girl pick off her skin to the point of significant bloodshed 10 to 15 times in a two-hour period (not a big fan) may not be yours at all. But make no mistake, you are signing up for ballet. I mean, a lot of ballet. And visions of a dude in giant black feathery outfits using his position of power for sexual gain.

I won’t give away too much of the movie in case you are of a mind to see it. Just prepare yourself for a mixture of ballet and disturbing images…and not much else. I came out of it feeling like Ace Ventura immediately after realizing that Einhorn was a man, but maybe it’s just me. At least the night wasn't a total loss. On the way out of the theater I caught a glimpse of a larger than life cutout of Justin Bieber alerting me to his soon-to-be-released 3D movie, Never Say Never.

In two months these sweet red boots will look like they are coming right at your grill.

Say What?

2010-12-13T20:24:00.013-05:00

Sorry for the lack of recent posts. Between Christmas errands, a lack of inspiration, and weather conditions that have dropped my core body temperature to a level that supports only the most limited and essential functionality, it has been a struggle. I was in a bit of a bummed out mood this weekend anyway, as this past Saturday was the first of the year without college football. Other than the Army-Navy game (which, all jokes aside, is well worth watching) and some FCS playoff games, the only thing related to college football that was on was the Heisman trophy presentation. I decided to skip that one, as the Heisman trophy doesn't do much for me in the best of years and certainly held no appeal with Cam Newton set to be the obvious winner. Given that there's about a 90% chance that, just like the one awarded to Reggie Bush in 2005, this one will be rescinded, one wonders if they even bothered to have the Cam Newton painting done to hang on the wall.

So by the end of the weekend, I'd say my mood was holding up about as well as the roof of the Metrodome...

Punting is likely to be a challenge in the reconfigured Metrodome.

Ahhh, but there is always something out there to brighten your day if you just keep looking. For me, it was the Big Ten that came to the rescue. Yes, if there is one thing the fine folks in the upper Midwest know how to do, it is providing a warm hearty laugh to fend off the falling temperatures. Actually, they are also quite adept at getting their doors blown off in championship games. Anyway, they released the names for their divisions today, and I can only assume that it was an early Christmas gift to lift the spirits of the cold and weary across the country. East and West? North and South? No sir, the Big Ten will be divided into the Leaders and Legends divisions. Bravo! That is fantastic.

Here's the rationale from the conference commissioner:

"The Legends, not too hard in that we have 215 College Football Hall of Fame members, we have 15 Heisman Trophy winners," commissioner Jim Delany said in an exclusive interview with The Associated Press. "We thought it made perfect sense to recognize the iconic and the legendary through the naming of the division in that regard. ... We've had plenty of leaders in the conference, that's for sure, but the emphasis here is to recognize the mission of using intercollegiate athletics and higher education to build future leaders."

That sounds good, much better than admitting that they couldn't create divisions based on geography because they wanted to split up Michigan and Ohio State. I don't know whether I will cringe or laugh the first time I watch Pam Ward kick off the telecast of the noon Big Ten game telling me with a straight face that "Wisconsin comes into today's game currently sitting second in the Leaders division, while Northwestern is struggling to keep pace in the Legends division." Actually I won't do either, since I won't be watching, but you get my point. A 12-team conference called the Big Ten with a Leaders division and a Legends division? Maybe there really is a Santa Claus.

Tough Duty: In addition to providing color commentary next to Pam Ward, Ray Bentley must now discuss the Leaders and Legends divisions of the Big 10 on a weekly basis.

Exercise Machine

2010-12-02T21:03:00.009-05:00

During a brief respite from shoveling all manner of food in my piehole over the extended Thanksgiving weekend, I ran across There's Something About Mary on television. It was a pleasant trip down memory lane. I happened to be watching during Brett Favre's legendary cameo, in which he deadpanned "I'm in town to play the Dolphins, ya dumbass". It reminded me of a simpler time when I thought of Brett Favre as an old school gritty competitor who played the game the right way rather than an attention-starved egomaniac who sends pictures of his junk to hot girls 20 years his junior. (By the way, that article contains a picture of Jenn Sterger that just makes the whole story even funnier. "Hi, I'm Jenn Sterger. Yes, I am here to do a serious interview. No, I am not sure what happened to my t-shirt.")

Anyway, earlier in the movie there's a great scene where Ben Stiller picks up a hitchhiker. This guy, in addition to being a serial murderer, has what he believes to be a revolutionary money-making idea- a seven minute abs workout video. The premise was that this would put the well established eight minute abs video right out of business. Well, like much of the rest of this once-hilarious movie, that notion suddenly seems extremely outdated. How can that be, you ask? Look no further than the fine folks at ROM (The Time Machine)! Seven minutes for a quality workout? Hah! How about four minutes! That's right, all you need is three things:

1) Four minutes a day- check
2) $14,615- ehhh, maybe
3) The ability to successfully hop on board this bad boy...

Just put your foot right here and, wait, no! Hand, I mean your hand! Oh, the humanity!

Yikes. I thought that's what they put Khalid Sheikh Muhammed on down at Gitmo. Seriously though, the website is fantastic. I have never seen an angrier attempt at selling a product. The geniuses behind this contraption have no trouble letting you know that only one in 35 people who receive their free informational DVD end up purchasing the contraption. Why the low conversion rate? Could it be that it 25% of purchasers suffer a life-altering injury within 30 days of their first use? No sir, there are two primary hurdles.

The first one is the cost. While 15 grand might strike you as a lot of coin for an exercise machine, this is in fact the "absolute least expensive" method to improve health and fitness and is "far less expensive than...having other equipment at home". The even bigger issue, though, is "experts". I only put that term in quotes because that is how the makers of the ROM refer to them. The experts, you see, are "close minded" and will not be swayed from "giving their negative opinion or even ridiculing our ROM". Plus, they totally took away our cookies and won't let us play outside. Damn "experts".

So if anyone out there is looking for any last minute Christmas ideas, I think this is it. You or a loved one can drop 20 pounds in no time. Granted, it may be through the loss of a limb, but don't you worry about that. Letting those worries keep you from buying the ROM is letting the "experts" win. And I won't stand for that.

(Hat tip to my friend Martin, who sent the Fast Exercise link my way.)

Sticking It to THE Man

2010-12-02T20:08:00.007-05:00

After dropping a game-winning touchdown pass in overtime this past Sunday, Buffalo Bills receiver Stevie Johnson was angry, and not just at himself. No sir, he wanted an explanation from the big man upstairs, as this Twitter post made clear.

I PRAISE YOU 24/7!!!!!! AND THIS HOW YOU DO ME!!!!! YOU EXPECT ME TO LEARN FROM THIS??? HOW???!!! ILL NEVER FORGET THIS!! EVER!!! THX THO... 5:12 PM Nov 28th via Twitter for iPad

God guides the football out of Stevie Johnson's hands during a critical play, unaware of the Twitter tongue-lashing he would soon receive.

You tell him, Stevie! Honestly, that requires some serious stones. It’s one thing to not believe in God in the first place. It is quite another to believe that God has the power to guide a football out of your highly paid hands on national TV and then tell that same God to cram it. And not even in an off the cuff slip of the tongue. No, Stevie Johnson took to Twitter, typed out his retort, and published it. Hey God, you like that 24/7 praise you've been receiving lately? Well you can forget it now, brother! Oh yeah, and I'm going to make change in the offering plate next week, too. Deal with that.

If I'm being honest, though, I have to say I don't really have a problem with Johnson's reaction to the situation. When I initially saw the story, my initial thought was to bash him. Anybody who does believe in God has had this exact thought at some point, though. Johnson just went ahead and pecked that thought into his ipad and hit publish instead of just letting it bounce around in his brain. If you read through his Twitter postings, you'll see that he softened his feelings soon after. Actually you would first learn that " YUNG N.A.Z CLOCKWORK MIXTAPE HOSTED BY: ZFBEATS COMING SOON", then you would learn that he softened his feelings toward God. So I say good for you, Stevie Johnson! Your spiritual honesty is to be commended. I might not stand near you in a lightning storm, but I applaud you from afar.

Hello Savings, Goodbye Sweet Youth

2010-11-25T21:35:00.007-05:00

I'm old. Please understand that I'm not completely delusional, and so this isn't really such a huge mental breakthrough moment for me. Still, it's a bit jarring when you have that eye opening moment when it all comes into focus for you. For me, it happened while perusing the Atlanta Journal Constitution earlier this evening. I ran across the pile of Black Friday specials and decided to dig in and see if anything looked appealing.

And then it went off the rails. Soon enough I had mapped out a day of big savings. Luggage, Christmas gifts, high powered flash lights! Bring it all on! That's when it happened. When you find yourself excitedly shouting across the room to your wife that Walgreens has a buy one, get two free special on wrapping paper, you can kiss your youth goodbye. Actually, I guess you can kiss your manhood goodbye as well.

The pile of Black Friday specials that brought news of discount televisions and my entrance into old man status.

Anyway, with that moment of catharsis out of the way, allow me to turn my attention to Black Friday in general. Don't get me wrong, I was aware of the general phenomenon. Retailers look to this day to kick off a giant holiday season and usher in profitability for the year. I thought it was a relatively limited event, though, focused on things such as electronics and appliances that one might be looking to purchase as a gift. Not so, my friends! In the market for a 9,000-lb. heavy duty wench? This Friday morning only, you can save $100. How about a 30-ton vertical log splitter? You can score the unbelievable price of $1,440 this Friday morning. Much like the one year membership in the jelly of the month club, that's the gift that keeps on giving the whole year round.

I'll have to leave it at that, because I need to call it a night. Kmart opens at 5am, and the two for $11 special on batteries only lasts as long as supplies last. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Don't Feel Fine)

2010-11-18T21:05:00.009-05:00

Have you read the book of Revelations recently? No? It's been awhile for me, too, but I'm pretty sure I remember the highlights. At some point I believe the dead rise from their graves, the ocean turns to blood, and a bunch of locusts wreak some serious havoc across the land. And if I'm not mistaken, wedged right in there somewhere it says something about NCAA football turning from the greatest sport known to man into a colossal piece of flaming poo. Well, my friends, I feel relatively certain that day is upon us.

As I type this, I have the Alabama-Georgia State game on television (42-7 in the second quarter). Why, you may be reasonably asking, would I have such a game on? Well, I read earlier today that big news regarding the Cam Newton situation could be breaking during this telecast. Of course, that info turned out to be false. This may cause me to swear off college football message boards, which would be the third time this week I've made such a declaration. Even if you rule out some of the more outlandish theories I've run across- my personal favorite was that the White House is suppressing the case against Auburn because Obama's press secretary grew up in Auburn and is a big fan- there is a ridiculous amount of evidence pointing to the fact that at a bare minimum Cam Newton is ineligible by the standards the NCAA has historically used.

Heeeere come your 2010 Auburn Tigers!!!

And yet he rolls on, flashing his goofball smile and leading Auburn straight toward the BCS National Championship Game. What I can't get over is that the NCAA has all but forced schools to sit players for infractions that are the equivalent of jaywalking compared to this. Mississippi State's Renardo Sidney was ruled ineligible for one and a half seasons in basketball because the NCAA believed (never fully proven, just suspected) that his parents received $11,800 in benefits while he was in high school. I just want to make sure you caught that- ONE AND A HALF SEASONS! And yet with mounting evidence that Cam Newton's father solicited and received $200,000, Auburn's "dream season" rolls on. Perhaps the NCAA will ultimately handle this, but it is looking more and more likely that Auburn will get to play in the SEC and national championship games before anything happens.

But even putting that aside, it feels like college football has lost its way. Lest you doubt me, have a quick look at the bowl schedule this year. It's bad enough that somehow the already bloated bowl lineup was further expanded this year to include the New Era Pinstripe Bowl and the Ticket City Bowl, but have you seen when the National Championship Game will be played? January 10! No, my oversized mitt did not accidentally hit the 0 after typing January 1. The game is going to be played nine days after New Years. If they slide it back a bit more we can just roll it into the NCAA basketball tournament and have a real winner on our hands. I guess they don't realize this or care, but people have moved on from college football by that time. It's something on the order of 45 to 55 days since those teams played their last game, which is just absurd. It would be like having the NFL playoffs end in late January as they currently do and then playing the Super Bowl in mid-March.

So things are looking pretty bleak at the moment. And while the NFL currently offers some solace, even that may be fleeting given the looming lockout at the end of the year. I would suggest stocking up on canned goods and bottled water. If we can't rely on football to get us through the fall, it may come down to a combination of Major League Baseball and early season NBA. And that, I believe, is the final sign.

Overdue Post

2010-11-12T21:44:00.003-05:00

It has been a rough week on the productivity front. The combination of the end of daylight savings time last weekend and the continually developing Cam Newton saga conspired to produce a lack of productivity noteworthy even by my standards. My workdays were spent refreshing Mississippi State, Auburn, and Alabama message boards in hopes of catching word of a new development on the recruiting of Cam Newton. For those of you who don’t frequent college football message boards, pat yourself on the back and do not under any circumstances change that. They are primarily the refuge of the unintelligent, the delusional, and the uncouth. And yet there I was, hitting F5 every five minutes, and trying to follow links to Twitter posts reporting whether Cam Newton did or did not attend the Auburn pep rally last night (he did not). Depressing.

Cam Newton, derailing Mississippi State's season and my work week

On the heels of accomplishing very little at work I would pack up for the day, full of ambition and ready to tackle some evening projects, including getting a new blog post or two up. Then I would set one foot outside into the pitch blackness that has descended on us since the end of daylight savings time and that was out the window. Try as I might, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was time for bed, even though every clock in the house claimed that it was no later than 7pm.

Meanwhile, my readership here at the old blog has likely been cut in half in my absence, meaning that I’ve gone from two relatives checking in to one and from 16 Europeans whose Google image searches for pictures of either Brigitte Nielsen or Justin Bieber erroneously lead them here down to eight. And then I arrive at home tonight only to find my spotty Comcast Internet service down once again. Damn you fates! It seemed that the universe was hell bent on preventing a new post. But then the clouds parted. Not only did I regain access to the Internet, but I found it full of crazy, quirky news.

And so I’m back! Back to make sure you know that sometimes when you make the late night run to the porn shop, you not only solve your evening entertainment quandary but score a lottery ticket worth $129 million. It isn’t surprising to learn that only one guy out of the group that pooled their resources to purchase the ticket was willing to reveal his identity. It was surprising, however, to see that he said the following:

"The only thing I can assume is that the Lord trusted us to do certain things with the money that He bestowed upon us," he (Mike Greer) said. "That's the only thing that I can gather."

Yes, Mike, I believe you are correct. The Lord, who does indeed work in mysterious ways, saw fit to guide money into the hands of you and your friends, trusting that you would use that money to buy porn and lottery tickets. Makes sense.

And that’s not the end of it. Next I ran into some news on my favorite industry, the airlines. Apparently Nepal Airlines, when faced with an issue with one of its planes, sacrificed two goats to address the issue. Fantastic.

“Hey, looks like one of the engines is down. Should we pull the plane back in for repairs?”

“Nah, boss says we’re running late. Just knock off a couple of goats and let’s get out of here.”

Is that a separate line item on Nepal Airlines’ income statement? I wonder if they have analysts that crank out spreadsheets evaluating whether to focus on plane repairs or additional goat sacrifice.

Booooooooo!!!!!!!!

2010-11-01T21:12:00.008-04:00

Does the title of this post refer to the sound made when one is extremely unhappy, often at a sporting event or political rally? Or could it be a reference to Halloween, the much ballyhooed holiday that has just come and gone for another year? Perhaps both are true, for if ever there was a holiday that deserved to be heckled and berated, this is surely it. Is there any holiday even remotely close to the level of annoyance that is Halloween?

I don't mind admitting that I am essentially a cranky old dude at this point, but even in my partying heyday I wasn't a fan. The initial idea of thinking up a super witty get up may be appealing, but the fun quickly fades once your mullet wig is scratching the hell out of your head and your polyester bell bottom pants are continuing their all night wedgie assault. Last year I bought what I believed was a humorous and not uncomfortable 70's one-piece jumpsuit. Only when I headed to the restroom for the first time did it dawn on me that I was facing the prospect of fully disrobing down to the knee level in order to execute an effective pee. Not good.

Not to mention the fact that there are just some disturbing sites that come with the Halloween scene. Sure you may run across a good looking cheerleader or nurse, but then you look around in the beer line and come face to face with these guys.

Okay, you may be saying, but Halloween is about the kids and good old fashioned trick or treating fun. And even though Halloween fell on a Sunday (something that the next Congress should take a long look at outlawing), I decided to get in the spirit and embrace it. And for awhile it went pretty well. I enjoyed passing out candy to the kids and seeing them having a blast. If only it had ended after that pleasant run- somewhere around 7:30pm when the time had come for holing up with a movie and ceasing human interaction. Alas, it did not. The trick or treaters kept on coming, and the average age trended decidedly higher. I'm fairly certain that I hooked up a couple of freeloaders older than me with some free Twix at one point. At about 9:30pm, after the last of the free candy had been requested and dispersed, my wife and I took our dogs out in front of the house. Only then did we realize that someone apparently felt that the two candy bars they received from us were inadequate and had helped themselves to one of our pumpkins on the way out. Classy.

Out of Control

2010-10-27T21:34:00.011-04:00

Did you know that "Pizza Hut has lowered the price on everything on the menu"? No? Nor did I until I heard and saw a Pizza Hut spokesperson loudly belting this proclamation out on my computer at work while trying to catch a quick sports fix on ESPN.com. I made the mistake of clicking on a link from their homepage and on came the video ad in the corner of my screen. Hey, newsflash to ESPN and others- a giant chunk of your readers are either at work or some other place where blaring video is less than desirable. It's reminiscent of the overly aggressive folks manning the kiosks in the middle of malls across the country. All you want to do is keep the head down and make a beeline for Auntie Anne's Pretzels and the next thing you know you are brushing off some chick trying to force you to try out her special facial cleanser made with ingredients from the Dead Sea.

I certainly don't mind ads littering the sides of web pages, but you can't have the video, and especially audio, start running automatically when the unsuspecting viewer opens the page. Throw in the new phenomenon of these giant expanding banner ads and there are some otherwise solid websites that are about to lose me. It turns into a white knuckled stress-fest to see if I can shut off the Pizza Hut video without accidentally dragging my mouse over the Nissan ad on the side that turns into a full screen car, all before my boss walks by and thinks I'm watching a damn movie.

I guess we had this coming. We were offered the chance to pay for our Internet content and we balked. Paying for subscriptions was never quite palatable to most of us, and so the onslaught of banner ads started. And as I said, as long as they are restrained I am all for it. I don't even mind Yahoo! filling my entire screen with a picture of an apparently deranged girl who is so pumped about Yahoo and other social websites that she blasted her arms full of tattoos promoting them.

You might want to throw one on there for eHarmony while you're at it.

So ESPN.com, consider yourself warned. I may not be one of your "Insiders" who you have duped into paying you for "premium" content, but I still have rights.

The Audi is Gone Baby Gone

2010-10-20T21:03:00.006-04:00

I bid an impromptu farewell to my car last week. As I mentioned in my last post, my not-so-dependable ride broke down on my way into Savannah for a work conference last Monday. The estimate I received the next day was, uhhh, not good. Specifically, the mechanic told me it would be at least three grand, and probably more. No thanks. So I made arrangements to have the Audi towed off one final time, with the proceeds going to charity. It was a bit surreal to be leaning against the front wall of a repair shop with luggage, golf clubs, and a tote bag full of everything I could grab out of my dilapidated "luxury" car watching it bounce down the back roads of a foreign town on the back of a tow truck. It did seem like a fitting end to the relationship.

So I'm in a bit of a scramble to get a replacement ride and generally feeling like things are just a bit off the rails. At least I did feel that way until a news story this morning gave me some perspective. I noticed a story about an actress from the movie Gone, Baby, Gone being arrested. I wasn't thrown off by that. Hey, it's not uncommon for the bright spotlight of fame to lead people down the wrong path and cause some poor judgment. But then I opened the article. Whoa. I understand that a mugshot is obviously not going to capture you looking your best, but that is brutal. Never mind the fact that she was busted trying to steal a used 32-inch TV. What, was the "need a penny, take a penny" bowl at the local QuikTrip too tough a heist? What's that worth, like $75? Anyway, this story appears to have a happy ending. As the article states,

Schwindt (boyfriend) told us that Quigg, who has two children, ages 8 years old and 19 months, is “addicted to heroin.’’ He said she’s at the CAB Boston Treatment Center doing a seven-day detox.

“She has a problem and, hopefully, she’ll get help," he said.

Fantastic. Typically a nice seven day run is more than enough to kick heroin.

Jill Quigg, looking good even before the start of an express heroin-detox session.

Road Warrior

2010-10-11T21:32:00.008-04:00

I’m a creature of habit, a man of routine. My recent increase in work travel has forced me to try to become more flexible, though, which I think is a good thing. My wife might disagree, what with the night sweats and panic-stricken Sunday night dreams, but such is the price of progress.

So I hit the road again this fine Monday with a sunny spirit and a skip in my step. This time I was driving, not flying, and Savannah was my destination. I have to tell you that it’s quite tough to keep that smile plastered on your face when your car shuts down on you and the steering wheel locks up as you cross the scenic bridge over Savannah doing about 65 miles per hour. Mercifully, that noted Audi craftmanship kicked in and kept my car (which has given me troubles on more than one occasion) going until I found a nice quiet place to stop.

So after making peace with being at the mercy of a Savannah mechanic not of my choosing and watching the Audi assume its all too familiar spot affixed to the back of a tow truck, I made my way into the Savannah Westin hoping to get the evening back on track. Unfortunately, the check-in experience only added to my annoyance. After giving me my room key, the desk attendant informed me that I was eligible to select the "green option". This gave me the right to decline housekeeping services during my stay in exchange for a $5 gift card that could be used in Starwood restaurants. I have to admit that after mulling it over for awhile, it doesn't seem like such a bad deal. Given that in my single days I routinely bedded down in a residence that didn't see what would be referred to as housekeeping services for six month stretches, skipping two days of sheet changes isn't such a rough proposition. I think it was two things that bothered me. First, they really shouldn't present it to you as though you've qualified for an exciting offer. When I heard "You're eligible for...", I was envisioning a free canister of mixed nuts or perhaps an exciting free authentic Savannah souvenir. Second, it truly drives me crazy when such things are labeled as green. The only reason they offer it is because somebody somewhere crunched the numbers and figured out that the average total cost of cleaning a room is somewhere north of $5. I'm more than fine with that, but don't try to guilt me into accepting under false pretenses.

So after all of that, I've made my way to my admittedly pleasant hotel room and am watching what appear to be the final minutes of the Braves season. Bobby Cox looks pretty bummed out, but I'm giving him a run for his money.

Jim Mora and BP Undermine My Sunday

2010-10-05T21:34:00.005-04:00

Greetings everyone, I apologize for the delay in posting. This update is coming to you from somewhere above Fort Defiance, Arizona (sounds like a nice place for a little R&R) as I return home from a quick business trip to Los Angeles. Actually, I’m not enough of a technology adopter to access wireless Internet during a flight, so technically it will be posted from my house just like every other one. By the way, did I miss a news story at some point concerning some kind of revolutionary new airline software? Somewhere along the way they figured out how to ensure that every single flight is filled to maximum capacity. It wasn’t that long ago that after taking my seat on a flight, I would watch the passengers file by praying that the seat next to me remained vacant. And there was a realistic chance of just such a blessing occurring, too. These days there’s not a chance in hell of that happening. How these airlines constantly teeter on the verge of bankruptcy is a mystery to me. Flights seem more expensive than they’ve ever been, they try to charge you for everything you would rationally expect to be a standard component of the experience, and they are apparently running flights at 100% capacity.

Anyway, a couple of things have been bouncing around in my head ever since I watched the Falcons game Sunday. It was a good one, with the Falcons overcoming a sluggish start to pick up a last second victory that moved them to 3-1 on the season. Still, a bit of the joy of the overall experience was lost right from the start when I realized that Jim Mora would be one of the color commentators in the booth. I assume having Jim Mora do the Falcons game was an intentional move by Fox, as it has already happened multiple times this year. Now I don’t profess to be versed in the nuances of the broadcast sports business, but my assumption has always been that your goal was to incentivize people to watch your programming. I must have been mistaken, though, because Fox is clearly doing its best to drive would-be Atlanta viewers away. For starters, his commentary is a toxic blend of absurdity and inaccuracy. He spent virtually the entire game heaping praise on the San Francisco offense and its interim coordinator, despite the fact that it managed to produce a grand total of seven points for the entire game (incorrect). He also blurted out with childlike enthusiasm that he had “goose bumps” after a play in which a defensive back broke up a seven yard pass attempt (absurd). Heaven help his fellow announcers in the booth if something exciting actually happens. Leaving his wayward comments aside, though, why would Fox think that Atlanta fans would want to listen to or see him in the first place? “Hey, you know what I haven’t thought about in awhile? The coach who led us to two straight underperforming seasons while acting like an immature jackass and going on radio stations talking about how it was his dream to take a different head coaching position.” That was fun, let’s relive those halcyon days a bit more.

"Hey Atlanta fans, remember how miserable Falcons games used to be? Who's up for a little more Jim Mora?"

So just when I had done my best to make peace with the sweet sounds of Jim Mora’s analysis, here comes one more ad from BP about how seriously they take their responsibility to clean up the Gulf in the wake of this summer’s tragic oil spill. Are these guys really this clueless about the American mindset? Do they not get that the public can’t be bothered to care about anything that happened more than a month ago? For the love of God, Mel Gibson is probably about three quiet months away from winning an Oscar, and Bernie Madoff could put out his memoirs and make millions at this point. We lack the ability to stay pissed at anything for that long…unless you keep reminding us! So on the TV comes Iris Cross with a serious look and a somber sounding voice. “I was born in New Orleans, my family STILL lives here,” she intones as pictures of bummed out fisherman and beaches flash on the screen. Oh really, Iris, then why the hell are you a corporate shill for BP?! I think I hate you, and oh yeah, now that I think about it, I hate your company as well. You already polluted the Gulf of Mexico, must you and Jim Mora collude to do the same to my Sunday NFL experience?

"Iris Cross, here to remind you that both I and my company suck."

Sometimes You (Don't) Wanna Go Where Everybody Knows Your Name

2010-09-27T21:14:00.007-04:00

There’s no warmer feeling than being recognized by familiar faces. Whether when entering church, the gym at the Y, or perhaps your neighborhood bar, it truly lifts the spirit when those that work at the establishment give you a smile of recognition. You know where this doesn’t apply? The Panda Express. No, it is rather quite embarrassing when the pleasant woman standing behind the array of mass produced Chinese fare smiles at you and then calls your order out for you. Such was my experience at lunch today (continuing a string of recent unpleasantries during lunch).

Panda Express employee: “How are you, sir?” with a smile as though she’s surprised I had managed to hold out for as long as I had (two weeks!) before returning.

Me: “Umm, okay.”

PE employee: “What can I get for you today? Oh, orange chicken and mandarin chicken, right?”

Me: “Yes” while reaching for the Blackberry, looking around nervously, and making a mental note not to return to Panda Express for quite awhile.

Here's a suggestion to employees/managers of basically all fast food establishments. Even if someone comes into your swillhole "restaurant" daily, act like it's the first time you've ever seen them. If they are in there enough for you to recognize them, you've obviously already won their business. I'm certainly not advocating rudeness, by the way. Be pleasant and peppy, just don't make it seem to them and anyone else in earshot that they are your location's top revenue driver.

So management of the Vinings Panda Express, take note. If you want my business (after my hiatus that must now extend at least three weeks), you will act as though you have never seen me the next time I grace your premises. You may be the most convenient provider of orange "chicken", but you are not the only one!

Being recognized at Cheers, far superior to being recognized at Panda Express

The Hideous Free Work Lunch

2010-09-20T20:26:00.005-04:00

There isn’t much that’s sacred in corporate America these days. The soul of the American white collar worker received its pink slip a couple of years ago, and basic dignity was shown the door last year in uncomfortable fashion with two weeks’ severance and a kick in the pants as parting gifts. Still, we need something to which we can cling, a last bit of turf to call our own. I submit to you that lunch is the final frontier. I’m not demanding extended time out of the office every day or anything of the sort. I eat at my desk quite frequently and am more than happy to do so.

No, I request only that I be allowed to dine on a meal of my choosing without being made to feel like I’m pulling a shady move. Nothing drives me crazier than having to deal with a work lunch where sandwiches are provided. I honestly don’t mean to sound ungrateful. If I wasn’t appalled by tomatoes and the combination of juice and seeds they bestow on every piece of bread and sandwich meat with which they come in contact, it wouldn’t be a problem. I can actually get past the shredded lettuce which couldn’t be entirely removed from your sandwich if attacked with a shop vac. But I wouldn’t even mind that all sandwiches are ordered with the presumptuous mindset that everyone loves deli sandwiches with lettuce and tomato (and occasionally even more egregiously, with mayonnaise) if I could be allowed to alternatively go procure a lunch of my choosing. After all, that’s what all the long hours are for, are they not? So that a man can take six dollars of hard earned disposable income and buy something moderately appealing for lunch rather than staring down the barrel of a lunch that triggers nightmares from my youth. I thought I was past the point of being forced against my will to eat food that I find disgusting. If I finish this wretched tomato-drenched sandwich, do I get an extra 30 minutes of cartoons on Saturday? And one other question before I move on. What in the hell is with the chip selection that accompanies these pre-ordered lunches? I feel relatively certain that plain Lay’s potato chips and Sun Chips would both have been discontinued long ago had they not worked their way into the corporate lunch racket.

A youngster acquiring the skills needed to make it through a corporate lunch meeting

But I am not all complaints and bitterness, my friends. No, I have a solution for the lettuce and tomato haters out there who peruse their Outlook calendar and see the dreaded working lunch meeting in their future. It’s relatively simple, and though it requires some violation of social norms it can be pulled off fairly easily once you’ve got the technique down. Now your standard boxed lunch is going to be a deli sandwich cut in half with a meat of your choosing and the aforementioned lettuce and tomato. What you do is quite simply take the two defiled halves and turn them into one oversized, tolerable half. Grab your boxed lunch and head for your seat. Wait until there is sufficient commotion or, even more ideally, a presenter has started talking. When everyone’s focus is elsewhere, you slide the entire top of both halves off to the side. This removes the ruined top piece of bread as well as the lettuce and tomato. You next subtly take one half and flip it over on top of the other, thus making one large half sandwich. Not only are the unwanted toppings gone, but the two pieces of bread you kept typically have not even been touched by tomatoes.

There is an advanced version of this in which you grab an extra napkin and attempt a detailed wiping of the cheese to further purify your sandwich, but that is not to be attempted by beginners. Having your boss watch you polish a slice of Swiss cheese with your napkin while the rest of the room discusses the contents of a PowerPoint slide is something to be avoided at all costs.

Get Ready to Embrace Air Travel Once Again!

2010-09-15T21:15:00.011-04:00

I've been on quite a few flights lately, and without question the process is at best a nuisance. From chatty fellow travelers to lengthy security lines, it often feels less pleasant than the bus ride through Pakistan in Spies Like Us.

However, I think my fellow flying compatriots would all agree that one issue stands head and shoulders above the rest. Fix just this one issue, and the airlines will be back on the path to customer loyalty, an improved travel experience, and the return to bottom line profitability that would certainly follow. As I'm sure you've guessed already, the issue is legroom. Too little legroom? Passengers feeling like they've been shoehorned into their seats? Of course not! How ludicrous. No, the problem would seem to be excess legroom.

"If only her row was a bit closer, I could more properly affix my knees to the back of the seat."

Rest easy, though, weary traveler. The airlines have been laser focused on the issue and are close to rolling out a solution. Behold the "SkyRider", the new seats apparently set to be installed in coach in the near future.

The SkyRider, facilitating travel to faraway lands AND a three hour gluteus maximus workout!

Read the entire article if you are so inclined, but here's the key part:

The design, named the “SkyRider”, allows just 23 inches of legroom, which is about seven inches less than the average seat's space of 30 inches.

Shaped similar to a horse saddle, passengers sit at an angle, with their weight taken on by their legs. It allows seats to be overlapped.

The seats would also offer storage space including a shelf for carry-on bags and hooks to hang a jacket or a handbag.

The makers say the seat would allow budget airlines, such as Ryanair, to cram more passengers into their tight cabins.

It appears that currently this is primarily being sought out by low cost European carriers, and that it may also face safety regulation hurdles. Rest easy, though, for I have no doubt that their American counterparts will be on the case soon enough. Now if they can just cut back a bit more on the peanuts and pretzels and perhaps further restrict passenger access to drinking water, I think they might just have a winner on their hands.

Facebook

2010-09-13T22:23:00.015-04:00

Well, my wife is currently pulling a TV session that is taking the term horrendous to a whole new level. Specifically, that involves switching back and forth between the MTV Video Music Awards she recorded last night and the current episode of Bachelor Pad. It’s bad news for me, but good news for you, because D’Arcy is back on the blog. Look at that, I wrapped cockiness and a third person reference to myself into one sentence as an homage to the NFL players currently participating in a Monday Night Football game that I can’t see.

Being at the computer also allowed me to check my Facebook account, which is almost more overwhelming than I can handle. Back when I signed up for Facebook a couple of months ago, I received a number of comments expressing shock at my decision to do so. I don’t remember roaming the countryside launching into invectives against Facebook or its membership, but perhaps I’ve just tucked those episodes far away in my mind following my decision to join. I think my reluctance had more to do with the seeming nonstop nature of it rather than any superiority I felt to the website or its participants.

After a couple of months as a fringe member of the Facebook community, I’m not critical of it in general. I definitely have questions, though. First of all, how in the hell do some people post so frequently? I can’t even remember whether or not I washed my hair at the end of half of my morning showers. How do people remember to let the world know that they are headed out for a jog? Or honestly, why do you even want to? Again, I'm not critical, I just assume that people don't care whether or not I'm currently noodling over whether the barbecue I just found in the back of my fridge is too old to safely eat for lunch. Some updates read like a real-time journal of a Frank Ricard Saturday.

Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don't know, I don't know if we'll have enough time.

Also, how do people deal with taking what appear to be dozens of pictures a day and posting them? My wife and I have about an 18 month stretch of our lives for which I believe there is not a single shred of photographic evidence. Yet a visit to Facebook leaves me feeling like the only person in my extended network of friends who forgot to photograph and post my half-eaten inaugural Chick-fil-A spicy chicken sandwich.

Either way, God bless you frequent Facebook posters. I say go for it. I honestly wish I was better at the whole thing. Regale us with your inspirational quotes and the results of your journeys to Publix!

I'm Big In Europe

2010-09-13T21:46:00.007-04:00

Hey, let's get a shout out from all the Serbs in the audience. Let me hear you! As this map from the traffic measurement tool clearly shows, Sic Transit Gloria is blowing up in Eastern Europe.

Someone in Serbia went searching for an American-style denunciation of Julia Roberts and the PGA and struck gold.

I guess when you put a high quality product out there, you can count on Europeans to climb on board the bandwagon, a fact to which this legend of both film and music can certainly attest.

For the record, I am 100% certain that the Serbian visit was some sort of random Internet anomaly. In all seriousness, though, I do appreciate everybody sticking with this thing and checking in from time to time. The blog just hit 1,000 visits, and even after you back out the one from my Serbian friend, that's still pretty solid.

And have no fear! Though the PGA season is coming to a close, Julia Roberts' latest film is already fading from the spotlight, and Burger King is now under new ownership, we'll have plenty about which to get riled up. I might even touch upon corporate America, the mother lode of angst, at some point. I'll need to recruit a volunteer to swing by and secure my belts and shoelaces before touching that one, though.

The Rules of Golf- Still Absurd

2010-09-06T14:55:00.001-04:00

I do love golf. I want to get that on the record, because this blog is in danger of appearing to be the farthest thing from a fan of the sport. Having said that, when something appalling just presents itself to me, I'm going to comment.

So golf is having quite a run. First, the PGA ruined its eponymous championship. And now, the absurdity of the rules and "integrity" of the game has surfaced once again in the story of Zach Nash. Young Zach, a 14-year old golfer, won the boys 13-14 age division at the Milwaukee County Parks Tour Invitational. Now, that's not exactly the biggest tournament on the golf calendar, but it was clearly a big victory for the youngster. Here's what happened next:

After his victory, Nash went to the Rivermoor Golf Club — where he played 36 holes nearly every day this summer — to practice more and talk to one of his mentors, Chris Wood, the club's head golf professional.

"I was showing everybody my medal and then Chris and I went and we were having a soda and he said 'Hey, whose club is this? And I said 'my friend's.' And he said 'This makes 15.' I was in shock after that," Nash said.

The penalty for breaking the rule, called rule 4-4, is two strokes for each hole played with more than 14 clubs, with a maximum of four penalty strokes. But since he didn't notice his extra club during the tournament, a penalty wasn't added. That meant he signed an incorrect scorecard, which he knew disqualified him.

Nash said golf prides itself on honesty and players calling penalties on themselves. While the decision was clear, he said he couldn't help but cry a bit in front of Wood. Wood had to call Nash's father, Bob, to pick him up.

Later that night, Nash called Andy Landenberger, junior tour director for the WPGA, to explain what happened. He sent back the medal, which Landenberger said he would present to runner-up Dane Reinhardt, who shot an 80.

Nash, who has been golfing for about three years, said a friend spent the night at his house before the tournament and left a 5-wood club, and he put it in his bag not realizing it made a total of 15.

Alright, this is unacceptable. I understand this kid is going to get on television and have articles written about him, so he probably ends up better off when all is said and done. Still, how does any of this make one bit of sense? A friend stays at your house, accidentally leaves one of his clubs with yours, you don't use it all day, a jackass club pro that is supposed to be your friend and mentor sees it and calls you out costing you your medal, and this is a feel good story? No way. Clearly the kid got no benefit whatsoever from the extra stick in his bag. Why would the club pro even point it out? What is he doing scanning the kids bag looking for infractions?

This is the kind of story that will get bounced around in golf circles and be breathlessly retold by Jim Nantz and Jimmy Roberts with melodic tunes in the background. Meanwhile, the rest of the world just keeps moving on down the road. Golf- doing it the right way, and becoming less relevant by the day.

Buffalo Wild Wings Ruining Televised Sports for Another Year

2010-09-06T13:00:00.000-04:00

Happy Labor Day! More importantly, we can all breathe a sigh of relief now that football season has returned. Last Sunday I found myself on my couch choosing between watching the Little League World Series and the US Amateur golf championship. Because if there's anything that can top watching 12 year old's play baseball, it's watching 17 year old's play golf. On top of that, ESPN and SportSouth were showing high school football games to round out the selections. Hey, anybody got footage from a bar mitzvah or some church league hoops while we're at it? Unreal.

The only downside to the joy of having football back on the tube is the return of the godforsaken Buffalo Wild Wings commercials. Surely all of you remember this gem from last year...

So let me make sure I understand. The loser in the #2 jersey is so desperate not to return home to his mother's basement that he asks the referee to cost his team the game and "send this thing into overtime"? Beyond the absurdity of rooting against your own team and the referee somehow communicating with you through the television over the bar, can I ask why it is that your time at the oh so sweet Buffalo Wild Wings is dictated by the end of the game? If you're having such a blast, may I recommend just staying for another beer, celebrating your team's victory, and watching the start of the next game? What blows my mind is that they have had an entire year to ponder the idiocy of these commercials (they ran a similar one during basketball season), and the outcome was to basically remake the same commercial using the groundskeeper instead of a referee?! I can't find the horrendous new commercial on YouTube, which is perhaps a blessing in disguise for all of us. Watch a little football, though, and it won't be long before you're subjected to it. If you don't have DVR, it's almost enough to have you longing for the Little League World Series.

Behold the Power of the Blog!

2010-09-01T21:04:00.003-04:00

Call it coincidence if you will, but I'm not buying it. On Monday, Murls posts a scathing piece ripping Burger King and Quiznos on this very website. A mere two days later, not only does it emerge that Burger King was a potential sale target after their stock price had declined in recent weeks, but the spokeswomen for one potential buyer made it clear that they have no interest at this point. The owners of Quiznos are no doubt in emergency crisis management sessions at this very moment.

I couldn't agree with the anti-BK sentiment more. In fact, I boycotted the place for at least two years in my younger days after they waited 20 minutes to tell me that they didn't have what I had ordered and paid for. That was on the heels of numerous other customer service offenses, which was finally enough to make me walk away from the Italian chicken sandwich of which I actually used to be quite fond. I wish I could blame a portion of my boycott on the cleanliness issue, but since at the time I routinely ordered food from an Athens Chinese establishment with a sticky floor which required significant effort to walk across and a health code rating of 73, that would be less than honest.

Prognosis . . . Negative

2010-08-30T19:23:00.010-04:00

***Post by Murls

I’m on the road a lot these days for work. I am also blessed/cursed with a bit of a low-rent appetite when it comes to lunch. This combination, in my opinion, qualifies me to analyze the nuances of our nation’s eateries, ad nauseum, no matter how little facts I may actually be working with. My wife would tell you that I can go on for days . . . for now, let’s pick one tiny category and get the ball rolling. How about “restaurants that are in a swirling death spiral down the turlet of inevitable failure”? Just 2 for now. Cool? Cool.

1. Burger King – sounds crazy to say it. Back in the 80’s it always seemed like Burger King was the formidable, albeit lesser, arch-rival of McDonald’s, the Pepsi to their Coke. Sure it was second fiddle, but the universe had to keep Burger King around just to ensure the proper balance of things. But somewhere between then and now, things went downhill, and this is before they pinned their hopes on a giant-sized KingCranium that is pretty funny but also kind of gross and in no way prompts me to sling processed meats down my gullet.

Really there’s just too much wrong with BK to list, but in a nutshell . . . their fries blow, their attempt at branding over the last decade has been a strange mix between non-existent, low-rent, and bizarre, and of course, 9 out of 10 BK Lounges are no cleaner than a set of motel sheets dipped in Hunt's ketchup and hepatitis.

Pop Quiz: Stare at this ad for two minutes and you’ll see: a) a sailboat, or b) Debbie Gibson preparing to fellate a 7 inch sandwich.

Burger King’s desperation can be seen in their constant churning out of gimmick foods – chicken fries, funnel cake sticks, seven-inch dong sandwiches, and most recently, ribs. Yes, ribs. But what will ultimately be their demise is the fact that they are hands-down the worst run of all the fast food chains. BK employees are long overdue for a Knute Rockne pep talk, or at the very least, some type of brochure that explains that they are actually working, at a job, where you’re supposed to . . . work. And not put boogers in people’s food.

OVER/UNDER of life on earth – 10 years. Papa bear has deep pockets and they can probably push their schtick on some 3rd world countries for a while.

2. Quizno’s – Hmmm, not sure what happened here. The first time I ever ate Quizno’s was in Cincinnati and it was definitely the first of its kind. Awesome. I think I ate there 3 times in the span of two days and then wrestled with fortnightly cravings upon returning home to the ATL. Soon enough, Quizno’s exploded into every town in America, billed as the nation’s fastest growing franchise. Then they pumped this little gem onto TV screens across America:

Holy bejeezus balls. I’m guessing their advertising firm was lined up, blindfolded, and systematically executed one by one after this sucker aired (although admittedly, the pepper bar line is pretty funny). But okay fine, mistake was made, and yet again one corporation learned the “disgusting rats don’t make people want to eat our food” lesson, the hard way.

I was able to power through this mishap, and I continued to hit the Q if it was in plain view. Yet even with my veteran status, I never quite understood how the frick to order at that place. Do I say what I want now, or do I wait until after my meat-laden bread plank comes out of that toaster? Oh, I order SOME of the stuff now? Okay, lettuce, tomatoes . . . what, those are after? Olives are now?! WTF!!!

Sounds nit-picky, but little things like that can often crystal-ball me the certain death of a franchise. Maybe after cracking the riddle of how to make their trays look like a “Q”, the big swingers up at headquarters were feeling a bit cocksure and got lazy. Understandable.

"Hundred bucks says you can't get it into the trash can."

Anyway, the novelty has certainly worn off for Americans, and other chains have popped up offering superior versions of toasted sandwiches (see Firehouse Subs), less commercials with rats, and less suicidal tendencies post-grub ("wait, that sub had pepperoni on it too?”). And so today I can hear the ringing of the death knell as Quizno’s scrambles to offer $4 torpedos, $3 bullets, and will soon roll out their $1 “throwing stars”, keeping consistent with the appetizing ammunition theme.

OVER/UNDER – 4 years. I take no pleasure in saying this, by the way. The poor franchisees jumped on it when it was hot, and my guess is that 90% of them never made any real money before the thing went sour. Now they’re just hanging on, hoping somehow the ship will turn around. It won’t.

Other Notables:

- Baskin Robbins: Yes I am heterosexual. I happen to appreciate a solid ice cream cone every once in a while . . . one man and his lickin' cone. Trust me on this call, Baskin Robbins is on borrowed time.

- Any mexican restaurant that charges for chips and salsa (you know who you are). Perhaps this is simply wishful thinking on my part.

Eating Out Isn't What It Used to Be

2010-08-23T17:00:00.000-04:00

I’ve always been under the impression that when you’re feeling a bit down, the best thing to do is to get out there- get out among your fellow man to have your spirits lifted. I must say that recent events lead me to believe otherwise. First, there was my less than stellar flight companion a couple of weeks ago. And now, on the heels of that brutal experience, I can add dinner last Thursday night.

After a long week, we decided to head out to grab a bite to eat. We ended up at Six Feet Under. It's a pleasant place with a solid menu, nice beer selection, and a rooftop deck. You know what you don't expect to see at such a place? An 11 year old girl doing what I assume must have been a cheerleading routine over and over again. She would typically start out doing just the hand motions while sitting in her chair and somewhat quietly chanting the cadence. Then, inevitably, the spirit of the routine would take over and out of her chair she would go. Now standing less than 10 feet from me (as I attempted in vain to focus my attention on my fried scallops), she would really get into it. This included hands behind the head, a karate chopping gesture, some louder counting, and a good bit of hip gyration that I would have expected to draw protests from the parents of the girls aiming to make this cheerleader squad. That didn't appear to be the case, though, because this whole session went down under the approving eye of the girl's mother. Sadly, the practice session came to an abrupt halt after she knocked the emergency exit door open (setting off an alarm) during one of the aforementioned gyrating portions of the act.

To cap it off the general indecency going down around us, my wife let out an exasperated gasp about halfway through dinner.

"Yeah, I know this girl is doing a cross between Mr. Miyagi and Beyonce. I'm trying to look elsewhere."

"No, not that, you have to check out this couple sitting behind you."

It turns out that as a means of showing affection, they were getting up in each other's grills and playfully rubbing their noses back and forth. How about a little decorum, folks? If you decide to dine in a public setting, keep your beak to yourself and keep your pre-teen child's cheerleading practice on hold until you get home. I don't think it's too much to ask.

Julia Roberts Rears Her Head Yet Again

2010-08-20T22:28:00.008-04:00

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Damn you, Julia Roberts, I will not let you take over my blog! That said, I must revisit your wretchedness one last time. After the excellent guest post by Murls and my follow up, I thought we had left Julia Roberts in our collective rear view mirror. And then, unfortunately, my wife asked me last night if I had heard about her recent conversion to Hinduism. "Uhhh, no, and for God's sake can we keep it that way?" was my response. Unfortunately we could not, and soon enough I was reading an article discussing Julia's conversion.

The gist of it is this- Julia Roberts, while filming Eat, Pray, Love, converted to Hinduism. As a result, a priest renamed her three children Laxmi, Ganesh, and Krishna Balram. I'm no expert on Hinduism, and in all seriousness I understand that Krishna Balram is quite probably a highly respected name in that faith. But can I just say that a decade or so from now, when paparazzi cameras are following an adolescent Krishna Balram into crystal meth houses, and Julia and her godforsaken husband are trying to figure out where it all went wrong, this might be a good place to start? Were you to continue reading the discussion with Julia, which apparently is part of an upcoming story in Elle magazine, you would also learn that she also now believes in reincarnation. The oh-so-deep-thinker Julia says that after her hectic and stressful current celebrity life, she hopes to be reincarnated as "something quiet". I have no doubt that you will be, Julia. The Hindu gods have already blessed you with the mouth of a catfish in this life, and I can think of no quieter animal than that.

Someday in the future an innocent catfish will be paying for your sins of today, Julia.

The PGA Tour Is Doomed, Part II

2010-08-17T21:37:00.003-04:00

As I briefly described in Part I, the PGA tour is hanging by a bit of a thread these days. No one has consistently stepped up and taken advantage of the vacancy left by the implosion of Tiger Woods. Still, I certainly understand that neither the PGA or the United States Golf Association (USGA) can be blamed for that. I have no doubt that they are praying either for Tiger to return to form or for someone else to elevate their game to the point where they can actually motivate viewers to return. But while I won't blame tour or USGA officials for the current state of play, I have a serious, serious gripe. I will try my best to lay it out more tactfully than the profanity-laced tirade I directed at my television on Sunday evening.

First, how about a little test to determine your legitimacy as a golf fan in the eyes of both the PGA and the USGA? In the picture below from a major golf tournament a few years ago, which person is the most important to the event?

If you went with the top ranked Tiger Woods or his highly touted opponent Padraig Harrington, you would be incorrect. If, for some reason, you chose the rules official on the right, you are correct (and I hate you). Golf has an absurd obsession with its rules and with letter-of-the-law enforcement, and both are extremely problematic.

Let's start with the rules. Good God, the rules. It is perhaps easiest just to lay out an example. Are you aware that according to the USGA rulebook, rabbits, moles, groundhogs, gophers, and salamanders are deemed burrowing animals? You might wonder why the rules of golf address the status of salamanders. It is because you are only entitled to move your golf ball out of a hole in the ground if it is made by a "burrowing" animal. So if it is deemed that the hole was created by a dog, which is a non-burrowing animal (this is an actual example on the USGA website), you are not allowed to move your ball. Brilliant. The USGA rulebook is literally full of gems such as this.

So I hope we can agree that many of the hair-splitting rules of golf are completely absurd. That in and of itself, though, wouldn't be an insurmountable problem. No, the deal breaker is the method in which these rules are enforced in tournament play. You see golf leaves the keeping of score up to the players themselves, and that is what causes the absolute injustices that occur far too frequently. The first thing to keep in mind about this unnecessary and archaic way of doing things is that both the PGA and the USGA are EXTREMELY proud of this setup. They claim that relying on players to keep their own score is what makes golf more honorable and noble than other sports. But here's the problem- tour officials are lurking and waiting to catch players on inadvertent mistakes and technicalities. And in golf, they don't just correct your score or the situation, they hit you with penalties. Quite often, the penalty is complete disqualification from the tournament. True story- in 2007, Sergio Garcia was disqualified from a PGA event because his playing partner accidentally wrote down the wrong score on a hole for Sergio. That's right, because the guy he was playing with made an error writing down his score (one player keeps the official score for the other playing partner), Garcia was DQ'd. Absolutely unreal.

It would be the equivalent of the home plate umpire in baseball not announcing balls and strikes but penalizing the batter if he guesses wrong and heads down to first base thinking he drew a walk. And the scorecard travesty is just one example at the end of the round. Players are subject to this lunacy throughout the round. What drives me crazy is that there are now rules officials out walking with every group. It would seem quite logical to me that if questionable circumstances arise, it would be on the rules official to preemptively issue a ruling so that the player knows what they are facing. But no, they revel in lurking in the shadows and allowing players to walk into traps for which the officials can then gleefully destroy their round and tournament.

"Hey, rules official here, what's the best way to screw this guy? Keep it down, he's right beside me."

All this brings us to the asinine end to Sunday's PGA Championship. Dustin Johnson came to the 18th tee leading by one and proceeded to honk his drive into the area where the crowd had gathered. He headed over, cleared out a bit of space, and hit his second shot following his normal shot routine. That involved his club head touching the ground, and that would come back to haunt him. After finishing up with a bogey, he thought he was to be part of a three-man playoff. He was quickly informed otherwise by a rules official, who met him on the 18th green with a sad and somber look that I would have taken as genuine if I didn't know how those guys revel in these situations. Let's do one more test. What do you notice about this picture of Dustin Johnson hitting out of a "bunker" that is rather uncommon?

If you went with the fact that about 1,000 people are standing in the supposed bunker (including tournament marshals), you win! What an absolute joke and disgrace. As mad as I was watching it go down, what truly put me over the top was the predictable turn that Jim Nantz, chief announcer cheeseball and tour suck up, made as the situation progressed. There was about a 10 minute stretch from the time Johnson was first confronted on the 18th green until the official announcement of a two stroke penalty was made. During this time, Nantz slowly shifted from the initial stance of all the broadcast team, which was that there was no way that could be deemed a bunker, to the stance that it was a tough break but that technically is the rule so that's how it has to be.

And what was the net result? Dustin Johnson, an up and coming golfer that just might fit the bill of much needed rising superstar, sitting in the clubhouse while yet another also ran (Martin Kaymer) hoisted the trophy at a major championship. Rather than talking about the great shots of the week and whose game was on the rise, we're talking about the specifics of rules and the "integrity" of the game. It's just the way the PGA and USGA like it. Unfortunately for them, they're the only ones.

Things to Keep to Yourself

2010-08-16T22:19:00.005-04:00

I don't normally post article links on here, but this one was too classic. While getting caught up on the world of figure skating (what?), I ran across the following headline:

Ex-skate champ Bobek gets probation on meth count

I was intrigued, so I clicked on the article. Apparently Nicole Bobek was once a successful skater but ended up involved in a crystal meth ring. She was sentenced to five years probation and, I think, now wants to get her life back on track. I'm not 100% certain, though, based on her quote about the whole situation...

"Nothing but positive things can come out of this," Bobek said outside the Jersey City courtroom where she was sentenced Monday. "It's been a long 1 1/2 years. I'm looking to get back onto that ice."

Hey hon, just a quick word of advice. If you're really "looking to get back onto that ice", you might want to keep that to yourself. That is, after all, what got you in trouble in the first place.

Nicole Bobek loves being on "ice"

The PGA Tour Is Doomed, Part I

2010-08-16T20:42:00.007-04:00

I should have known better, I really should have. It's a significant statement about the appeal of the PGA tour as things currently stand that I only realized the PGA Championship, golf's fourth and final major of the year, started on Thursday while randomly checking Yahoo! Sports at work. I'm not a completely over-the-top follower of the PGA, but that I wouldn't even realize a major was going on would have been completely impossible prior to the past few months. Even worse, the realization that such a big tournament was getting underway didn't inspire me to get caught up and ready to get dialed in for some golf. No, it made me decide that this was the right time to completely skip out on the whole thing.

My rapidly disintegrating interest in professional golf is obviously tied in large part to the Tiger meltdown that started last Thanksgiving with him wrapping his SUV around a tree after firing off one too many texts to his collection of unseemly broads. I make no apology for the fact that I watched tour events largely to soak in the majesty of Tiger in top form. I had no problem with the networks' decision to continue covering Tiger even when he was 10 shots off the lead, as he was still more likely than anyone else to produce an insane shot, not to mention actually inject some life into the otherwise stodgy galleries.

Nonetheless, I stand ready and willing to watch some entertaining golf, even if Tiger's not going to be the one to produce it. Give me some sweet shot-making, a power swing, and (please don't forget this part, aspiring golf "super stars") a non-robotic course demeanor, and I'm in. Instead, major after major is being won by also rans who can be reliably counted on to fade back into the mediocrity that their game demands.

Louis Oosthuizen, winner of the 2010 British Open, and apparently less interesting that whatever is on the television

So knowing all of this, I steered clear of this past weekend's PGA Championship entirely. Until, that is, I returned home Sunday afternoon just in time to catch the final hole. How I wish I hadn't done that, for the mere 20 minutes I watched still has me infuriated a full 24 hours later.

More to come tomorrow in Part II...

Flying the Friendly Skies

2010-08-12T08:00:00.001-04:00

So air travel's a blast, huh? I know this is news to no one, but it was driven home to me in painful fashion last week. I traveled to Minneapolis for a few days for work and was reminded of just how horrible the whole experience has become. The return flight was delayed, resulting in our landing at 11:30pm. As I still felt entitled to dinner, the end result was my sitting in the dark at home wiping the mayo off of a Wendy's spicy chicken sandwich at 12:45am on a Thursday night. Good times.

As annoyed as I was by that debacle, you can't get too upset about a flight delay of an hour and a half. The flight out on Tuesday was another matter, though. I'm not mad at the airline about this. I can't say I was actually mad at anyone, just very, very annoyed.

It started with me running a bit late (typical) as I rolled into the Atlanta airport. I pulled all the way up to the parking deck entrance before realizing that the only area with any open spaces was hourly. Faced with a time crunch, I hit the hourly zone hoping my employer would see fit to reimburse me. I then endured the misery that is security at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. You all know the drill- long lines, fellow travelers who missed the notice that you can't carry 48 ounce bottles of hair product through security since A DECADE AGO, stripping down to your boxers, redressing while your belongings continue moving down the conveyor belt.

So I was already in a state of semi-disarray as I stepped on board and headed for my seat in row 45. I was unaware that the engineers at Delta had even found a way to wedge that many rows in. As I finally arrived at row 45, I noticed a kid about 10 years of age already seated in the aisle seat. I was to endure this flight seated between him and a guy in the window seat halfway through a Domino's pizza he brought on board. The kid wasn't all that pleased with me at first. You see, he had already lowered his tray and set up a battle scene among eight or nine action figures he brought with him for the flight. And though he most assuredly enjoyed his enactment of some sort of battle for world domination among these action figures, complete with his replicating the sounds of flying and gunfire, I soon learned that there was something that he enjoyed even more- talking. Among the things I learned from my fellow traveler prior to his mom finally yelling at him to stop talking to me about three hours into the experience: there is some special feature to the chest plate in Iron Man's armor; he doesn't want to be a pilot because planes have too many buttons and he wishes they were like cars; he really likes Iron Man (this was proven when he put on a giant arm/wrist pseudo-weapon toy which he held up to the left of my face for a couple of minutes until I looked over; he would really like to meet Stan Lee, the creator of Marvel comics; he will never smoke but he might chew on cigars because that's not bad. I'm leaving out many, many things that I've managed to block from my memory. Did I mention that this flight was delayed as well and had no air conditioning in my part of the plane for the first hour I was on board?

I have more to say about airline travel in general, but I will save my complaints about people who recline their seats all the way back and the bag of eight microscopic pretzels they now serve you for another day.

A small portion of the scene to my left on last week's flight

Justin Bieber

2010-08-09T20:12:00.007-04:00

One of the things I pride myself on is that I don’t, in the normal course of my daily affairs, punch 16-year old kids in the face. It’s just one of those rules I like to live by. I think perhaps I learned it in church. Regardless, I am pondering a one-time exception to my otherwise firm principle in the case of Justin Bieber.

My feelings took a turn from general annoyance to the just discussed rage after reading that Bieber, at the age of 16, is releasing his "memoir". I love the cover that they have been so kind as to release ahead of time, though. There's nothing that annoys me more than a memoir that is only 80%-90% official. Rest easy Bieber Nation, this one is 100% official!

We love u 2, Justin

But here’s the real question- what in the hell are people in their twenties (and older) doing listening to this stuff? While out this past weekend, I actually witnessed people theoretically old enough to be receiving paychecks from corporate America voluntarily dancing to one of his tunes. After a bit of follow up research, I believe the song in question was "Baby". I do have to admit that the lyrics are quite impressive for a lad of 16...

And I'm like
Baby, baby, baby ohh
Like
Baby, baby, baby noo
Like
Baby, baby, baby ohh
Thought you'd always be mine (mine)

I suppose it's just that kind of insight into the human condition that has fans on edge awaiting the October release of the book chronicling Justin's life journey thus far. I have no doubt that the prose will be on par with the great stories of Ernest Hemingway. We can only hope that, in similar fashion, the story ends with the main character getting gored by a bull or angry marlin.

Julia Roberts Follow Up

2010-08-07T14:29:00.012-04:00

Murls, God bless you for addressing the absurdity of Julia Roberts' “iconic” status. It baffles me to no end, and I very nearly threw something at the screen the first time I had to endure the Julia Roberts playing Julia Roberts scene in Ocean’s 12.

I was a bit troubled that when you went searching the recesses of your mind for an ideal masseuse, the wheel stopped on Brigitte Nielsen. Even at her peak, as she stood by watching Ivan Drago get pumped full of ungodly substances prior to felling the great Apollo Creed in Rocky IV, she seemed a bit rough to me. And having been forced to sit through her season of Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew Pinsky, I can tell you it has gone downhill from there.

I believe there's been a mistake, I requested a female masseuse.

Otherwise, you were spot on. I'm not sure why you left out some of her other travesties, such as Stepmom, but perhaps you were just displaying a bit of mercy. I will say that for whatever reason, she annoyed me in Sleeping with the Enemy perhaps more than in any other film (excluding the previously discussed Ocean's 12 scene). Watching her and Kevin Anderson duel it out for cheeseball of the year made it hard not to find yourself rooting for the angry and unstable husband. The only thing I could never figure out is why in God's name the guy wanted her back badly enough to drive to Iowa to retrieve her in the first place.

Julia Roberts (and the annoying Kevin Anderson) from her most appealing angle in Sleeping with the Enemy

None of the Above

2010-08-02T20:40:00.004-04:00

***Post by Murls

During a recent 'situation' in which I was kidnapped, bound and gagged, and forced to read People Magazine's 'Sexiest People' issue, I stumbled across the following poll:

This little example of hard-hitting journalism pretty much frames my long-running confusion with the altar upon which the world places Julia Roberts. She has been revered as the world's queen of actresses for at least a decade, and of all the most bankable actresses in Hollywood, she seems to hover above the rest of them in stature. In fact, if you were fortunate enough to endure the epic saga that is Oceans 12 you will remember that she even partook in a parody of herself; a parody in which she was so worshiped that she was given special access to some gay jewel-encrusted egg (which was eventually thought to be grinched by some dude in a tracksuit performing impossibly-gay-er dance moves through lasers).

"My agent is so fired."

So we all agree that Julia Roberts is staggeringly famous and adored, right? The thing is, I don't think she's been in all that many good movies.

Nicholson, Duvall, Deniro, Pacino, even Leo . . . they are considered great and each have a handful of ridiculous movies in their quiver (gross). Lest you think I'm being sexist, we can say the same for Meryl Streep, Diane Keaton, etc. But here we have the hallowed Julia Roberts, and the list from which I should choose her best movie reads like a form of punishment for shoplifting in at least 9 states. Let's review:

Pretty Woman: Blockbuster, damn successful film, this cannot be denied. But what absolutely perplexes me is, why in the crapdom is this movie so iconic and considered a benchmark for romance? I believe I speak for every man on the planet here - she was a hooker!!! What in the pots and pans is romantic about a chick that has anything to do with being a hooker?! I realize that kissing a frog and having it turn into Prince Charming is a bit outdated, but no way little girls across America are now daydreaming of turning a few tricks with some fat bald men en-route to meeting Mr. Right. Maybe throw in a crack pipe and some track marks just so you can say you had the full experience?

Nobody finds love on an empty stomach.

Oh, and also, SHE WAS A HOOKER!

My Best Friend's Wedding: Sorry, I'm finding it difficult to type with this pencil in my eye. Once this film ends I will remove it. We'll talk soon.

Charlie Wilson's War: Pardon me? That was a movie? It had Tom Hanks in it too?! Soooooo . . . it's a nice piece of revisionist history involving the least interesting characters to ever be allegedly linked to the most obscure aspect of the Cold War in the 1980's, AND it's a politics play. You know what, cancel my 4 o'clock massage with Brigitte Nielsen, I'm in.

Wait. Shoot. I can't decide.

Erin Brockovich: Good movie, good acting, good actress. Bravo, Julia, seriously.

Runaway Bride: Spoiler alert!

"That's a wrap!"

No, I Don't Watch That Show!!!

2010-08-01T21:17:00.010-04:00

I feel like at least once a week, I have a conversation that goes a little something like this:

Friend/Acquaintance: "Hey, do you watch (insert name of trendy cable show)?"
Craig: "Oh yeah, uh, yeah, well no, well I've seen it a couple of times but I can never remember to watch it on a regular basis. Yeah, but it seems really sweet."
Friend/Acquaintance: "You should watch it", with a look of scorn and disapproval.

I'm sorry! I can't keep up! Earlier tonight I started thinking about taking the $13 per month gut punch and resubscribing to HBO and then broke into a sweat when I remembered that some of the hip shows are now on Showtime. Maybe HBO isn't cool anymore; maybe Curb Your Enthusiasm and Entourage are yesterday's news. Showtime has shows about serial killers, lesbians, and pot. Seems trendy to me, but then I won't have time for the shows about vampires!

As I have mentioned, some of the TV viewing time in my house is burned on shows that have no place in a respectable society. Still, there's seriously no way to keep up. I pondered trying to climb on board the Mad Men bandwagon this summer, but we missed the season premiere and I don't know if I have it in me to try to catch up.

It just seems like it was a better setup back in the heyday of network TV, when there were three legitimate channels and everybody watched whatever made it into the prime time slots. I guess I should embrace the progress and the fact that programming options are so abundant. My glorified view of 1980's television overlooks the fact that people were so short on options that they actually kept Hotel and Falcon Crest on the air for five and nine seasons, respectively.

Why, yes, our show did suck, but at least people knew where to find it.

It's really just part of the larger narrative of my falling behind the times in general. I think the government is in initial discussions to have my house listed on the National Register of Historic Places due to the fact that you can find both a home telephone and actual CDs inside.

Stuff About Stuff and Having Too Much of It

2010-07-28T17:00:00.001-04:00

Whoa, say what? While in Nantucket last week, I ventured into a local bookstore in search of tales of the sea or perhaps a nautical map that appeared to hail from centuries ago. Though sadly much of the store turned out to be run of the mill bookstore fare, I did find a couple of books and a magazine worthy of purchase. As I stood in line, I noticed the guy in front of me head toward the exit with a book about "stuff". I thought nothing of it and made my way to the counter, unaware that I was headed for some serious irony.

As I stepped up, the lady behind the counter informed me that they were giving away a free book and tote bag to everyone making a purchase. Okay, I guess I'm all for some free stuff I thought. Perhaps it's something with a bit of local Nantucket flair or something tied to the island's whaling past? Nope...

That's right, it's a book about how we all have too much stuff and how that fact is destroying our lives and the planet. And how best to promote such a minimalist philosophy? Why, by handing out unsolicited copies of your book and a similarly themed tote bag to people who have expressed no discernible interest in them of course. Unreal. Alanis Morissette, in the unlikely event that you Google yourself and find yourself reading this blog, that's ironic.

Why yes Alanis, it is ironic.

Power Outages, Vacation, and the Philly Connection

2010-07-26T21:03:00.012-04:00

A power outage here at the house tonight almost prevented my posting for another day, but thankfully I am back up and running. There is nothing more instantly debilitating than losing power at your house. When I arrived home from work to a powerless house, my thought process went something like this.

6:30 (Pulling into driveway) "Hey, the garage door opener isn't working."
6:32 (Walking into house and noticing all lights and appliances off) "Ahh, it looks like a power outage is to blame."
6:33-6:40 (Walking around outside with dogs) "Hmmm, I guess the computer and television will be unavailable."
6:41 "Wait, I can't heat up or in any other manner prepare food."
6:41:30 "Wait, it's too dark to read in here."
6:42 (While standing in the closet with a candle looking for a t-shirt) "Uhhh..."

And that, my friends, is how you find yourself sitting solo with a magazine and an oversized sandwich at a Philly Connection 15 minutes from your house at 7pm on a rainy Monday night. It's not a good place to be mentally. Actually, it's just literally not a good place to be. Luckily, I called home and the answering machine picked up, confirming that power had been restored. It was just in the nick of time as well, for my next move was to go watch the movie Salt by myself had the power still been out.

A far cry from last week, which we spent in Boston and Nantucket. We had a fantastic time in both places. In Boston, we walked around and saw a number of the historical sites in addition to taking in a Red Sox game at Fenway. Let me offer this piece of advice. If you find yourself in Boston looking for Fenway, do not operate under the otherwise reasonable assumption that people wearing Red Sox shirts and jerseys must certainly be headed to the same place you are. I pity Paul Pierce or Tom Brady mulling about that town searching in vain for someone sporting Celtics or Patriots gear. Over the course of three days I saw zero Bruins clothing items, one Patriots t-shirt, and two Celtics items (one shirt and one hat, I believe). Red Sox gear, meanwhile, is everywhere. It is unreal.

After Boston, it was on to Nantucket, which is just a flat out different world. Anytime in the course of a day you can notice a ring for sale for $121,000, a woven basket for sale for $2,500, and then sit next to a guy at a bar who starts off a conversation- "well the thing about snow in Vermont is...", you know you have ventured onto foreign turf. It was a beautiful place, though, and we had a great time. While walking around the island, I came upon this gravestone. If you have to go, and I suppose we all do, this seems like about as good a writeup as you can have...

He was a seaman on board the ship Northumberland 84 guns under the command of Sir Geo. Cockburn that conveyed Napoleon Bonaparte to St. Helena in 1815 and received marked notice from the Great Emperor. He was also a seaman in the Albion 74 in the attack on the city of Washington in 1814. In 1820 he was shipwrecked on the island of Nantucket where he resided the remainder of his life. He was well known as a successful master rigger for 50 years. Honored for his integrity, respected for his uniform courtesy and beloved for his kindness and generosity.

I'm Back!

2010-07-25T21:05:00.004-04:00

Well, after a fantastic week in Boston and Nantucket, I am back home and back on the blog. Permit me this Sunday evening to hole up and recover, and then I'll be back with more. I was going to try to post something more substantial, but I started off by going to Google image search. I see that even something that ran as smoothly as Google Images can't be left unchanged these days for too long. Thanks Google, it wasn't nearly challenging enough before when you could just type in what you were looking for and have returned to you pages with a manageable number of pictures and a brief description that made it clear why this picture might be relevant to your search. Far better, apparently, to barrage my screen with hundreds of pictures requiring me to scroll over them to understand what marginal similarity they might bear to my search. Things I don't enjoy- Sunday nights, change, and Google images.

My next post will have a brief trip recap and will be of a much sunnier disposition. I was going to close with some relevant- yet still humorous- picture but, ah you get the idea...

Brace Yourselves

2010-07-16T21:41:00.005-04:00

Can I ask you to take a seat please? Are you sitting down? Okay, I need to let you know something. I am headed out on vacation tomorrow morning, and as such there is likely to be only a single post next week. I know, I know, its going to be a struggle for you. We are headed to Boston and Nantucket for a little R&R. I plan on posting something mid-week. Until then, I'm out!

A Note to All You IT Guys

2010-07-16T21:31:00.004-04:00

If you are in the network engineering field or in IT more generally, please read this. I had a conference call with a couple of network engineers at my company yesterday. Without getting into specifics, their team rolled out a project a couple of months ago that triggered some unintended consequences for me and some vendors with which I work. They are now about to roll out phase two, and so they did me the courtesy of placing a call to discuss the status of their corrections for the first set of issues. Fantastic! Thanks for the kind gesture...or so I thought.

I have one thing I would like people in IT to realize- the rest of us don't know what in the hell you are talking about! After some brief introductions, they launched into the details of what had happened and what was in store for me when they rolled out phase two (which they were very excited about). I pulled my Post-It Note pad close and tried to capture the essence of the call. This is what I honestly ended up with...

"Great, thanks for the call, I think I've got it."

Farewell, My Friend

2010-07-13T21:14:00.007-04:00

Last night as I was about to hop in bed, I grabbed a wadded up shirt to don for the night. Then it hit me that this shirt, now serving as a last line of defense for our bedding against the inevitable Monday night sweats, was once a proud member of my wardrobe. In happier times this shirt spent its days on a hanger amongst other clothing items that might be selected at any time to be worn in public settings. Now, like a great pitcher five years past his prime, it was being called on for mop-up duty.

The downward spiral of a great t-shirt is a lengthy, and ultimately depressing, path. Unlike when you notice a glaring rip in your boxers and start the six month wind down process (six months is about right, no?), the t-shirt is capable of hanging on for years past the time when decency should have demanded its retirement. And hang onto it you will, for it is indeed rare to find the shirt that hits the mark on every possible attribute- overall length, fit, sleeve length, neck size, neckband width, material weight, and style.

In its infancy, a top notch t-shirt can find itself being called on as a fashion statement in social settings. Once a bit of visible wear-and-tear sets in, a downgrade to errand running and milling about the house duty is in store. Finally, the former alpha shirt finds itself resembling Swiss cheese, partially see through, sporting an armpit hole large enough to fit your arm through it, and being called on for a yard mowing session or a night of sleep when the forecast calls for heavy sweat.

The great champion, in its final days

Over The Hill

2010-07-13T20:29:00.013-04:00

As I type this, I am embarrassed to note that Lionel Richie is playing in the background on iTunes. That embarrassment will be short lived, though, my friends. Not because the song will come to its end momentarily. No, it is because when I awaken tomorrow I will officially be an old man, and old men may freely jam out to Lionel without a care in the world. I may no longer be able to navigate my way to that song if I accidentally accept the download of the latest version of iTunes, which will assuredly be a technological bridge too far for me. Should I encounter Say You, Say Me or Penny Lover, though, my 36 full years on this earth will entitle me to sweet enjoyment. Yes, my birthday is tomorrow. I shall bid farewell to year number 35 and begrudgingly usher in the back half of the thirties.

Today while waiting dutifully in line to purchase the 20 oz. Diet Mountain Dew required to power me through the afternoon, I was forced to listen to the abomination that is Lady Gaga on the radio behind the register. For just a moment I worried that my desire to shove my fist through the radio was a sign of my old man instincts kicking in, that I was officially out of touch with pop culture. But then it hit me- there's nothing wrong with being appalled by an "artist" for whom these are the suggested search results...

So I will look to moments of enlightenment such as that to offset the sinking feeling I get the next time I can't figure out how to operate an iPad.

Craig D'Arcy, age progressed to tomorrow morning.

God Bless You, King James

2010-07-08T21:50:00.009-04:00

I had begun to lose hope. It's been a long, long time since I've been passionate about the NBA. Certainly I've tuned in to watch the Hawks get mauled in the postseason, but for the most part I had reached the point of indifference. But perhaps just in the nick of time LeBron James has come to my rescue. I realized tonight, while suffering through ESPN's stomach turning special in which he announced his decision to join the Miami Heat, that I believe I now hate LeBron James enough to pique my interest in the NBA.

It was hard to say whether the whole disgusting production left me angrier with James or ESPN. From Stuart Scott continually referring to James as The King to the perfectly placed Vitamin Water reach-in cooler behind James in the gym from which he crushed the collective heart of Cleveland, it was appalling. The very fact that LeBron and his entourage went to ESPN and engineered airing the whole thing on a special entitled The Decision is beyond disgusting. It's what 17 year old high school kids do to announce what college they're attending, not what 25 year old "men" do when hopping on the first train out of a town that worshiped them. Not to mention the fact that I view his decision as a cop out. Unlike Jordan, Kobe, Magic, and Bird, he couldn't get it done on his own. So he's taking his ball, his ego, and his sycophant posse to South Beach. Perhaps the most annoying part of his announcement was the fact that I think he's lying about when he actually made his decision. I don't believe for a second that he made his final decision this morning. I think he's known it for at least a week and probably for longer than that. Otherwise, I don't think Chris Bosh would have already committed to the Heat. For LeBron to actively play a role in building the whole situation up just so he could maximize the shock value of his decision strikes me as petty and obnoxious.

It works out great for me, though. LeBron has taken a huge step towards joining two former stars for whom my hatred ran deep- Michael Jordan and Isiah Thomas. That might just be enough to get me back into the NBA again (at least until the inevitable strike next summer). If I can get the image of Linda Cohn and the voice of Stuart Scott out of my head before my nightly dreams kick in, the hour I spent forcing myself to watch The Decision may have been well worth it.

LeBron says goodbye to Cleveland, and I say hello to my new least favorite player.

Correction

2010-07-08T19:33:00.004-04:00

Since I strive for accuracy here on the blog, I felt the need to make a correction. While walking down the hall at work today, it dawned on me that I slightly misstated the reason I started my personal boycott of Atlanta Bread Company in a recent post (yes, these are the things that bounce around my brain while at work). I wasn't mad specifically about the limited amount of turkey I received. What angered me was the fact that I didn't want any of the standard sandwich fillers- lettuce, tomato, etc. I did however request a slice of Swiss cheese. When I realized that I was charged an extra $0.75 for the cheese, even though my sandwich was approximately 1/3 as large as everyone else rolling through the line, the boycott commenced. Just needed to set the record straight.

It was the cheese!

How I Spent My Weekend

2010-07-07T21:36:00.010-04:00

I hope everyone had a great 4th weekend. Did you spend it at the lake cruising back streets in oversized golf carts drinking jello shots and Nuvo with your lady, then capping off the evening watching the entire fight card for UFC 116 with a crowd of lake locals? No? Just me?

French vodka, sparkling white wine, and passion fruit nectar- what's not to like?

(As an aside, you have to love that the drop down box to enter your age on the Nuvo site goes to 12/31/2008. I admire their responsibility in turning any 18-month old children away from their site attempting to read up on this tasty adult beverage.)

Well, it was a solid time despite the rather unusual itinerary. We actually did hang out by the lake for quite awhile before transitioning to the aforementioned nighttime plan. One of the locals had the Nuvo, which he selflessly shared with all the ladies, as well as a round of jello shots. As I mentioned, the main focus was UFC 116. I'll skip the recap, but it basically entailed fists and elbows slammed into faces, some uncomfortable looking submission holds, and a good bit of blood on the canvas. I did learn that they don't test for steroids in UFC, a fact obvious to anyone who takes a good look at the evening's champion Brock Lesnar.

Happy 4th of July!

2010-07-03T08:29:00.004-04:00

Just a quick note that I'll be out of pocket for the next several days. Hope everyone has a great Independence Day. One quick depressing thing to pass on. I didn't watch the first episode of the new season of The Real World in New Orleans, so I just found out this morning via a Mississippi State message board that a fine student from MSU is one of the cast members this year. She's, uhhh, not great.

One Month and Counting...

2010-06-29T21:08:00.010-04:00

Hello again all you Wahoo maniacs! This is Harry Doyle here welcoming you to another edition of Teepee Talk. Hey, in case you haven't noticed, and judging by the attendance you haven't, the blog has been up and running for a full month now.

Okay, that covers my Major League reference quota for the month. I did want to say a quick thanks to all of you who have been dropping by and especially to those of you who have signed up as followers. According to current trending analysis, I'm on pace to hit the hundred follower mark right about the time of my first post belittling the chintzy senior's discount at Shoney's.

In the meantime, the second month promises even more excitement and cutting edge analysis. Either that or I'll run out of material entirely and just start republishing Glenn Beck conspiracy theories. You'll have to check back to find out which way we're headed!

Getting fired up for month number two of Sic Transit Gloria...good seats still available.

Taqueria swill Hole

2010-06-27T21:34:00.014-04:00

Do any of you find yourselves boycotting various entities? I don't mean the "I'm upset about the oil spill in the Gulf and am boycotting BP" or the "I don't buy products manufactured in China due to their appalling use of forced labor from political prisoners" kind of boycott. I mean the kind where you go into a barely suppressed rage in an Atlanta Bread Company over the quantity of turkey on your sandwich in 1999 and successfully refuse to set foot in another one to this very day.

My most recent boycott is Taqueria del Sol. Simply driving past one of their locations on my way home tonight reminded me of how angry Taqueria makes me. I was trying to capture exactly what it is about this place that drives me crazy, and shockingly their website laid it out perfectly. Their home page features three reviews, and the first one includes the following line- "You know not to grab a table early or break the house rules because the system works." I'm sorry, I can't remember which of the following things I left my house hoping to accomplish:

1) Become a pledge at Omega Theta Pi
2) Enroll in military basic training
3) Enjoy a couple of tacos and a beer

Welcome to Taqueria, you may now order.

How about taking yourself a little less seriously? In case you aren't familiar with this place, the concept is that you place your order up at the register and then they bring you the food. Quality food, limited service, affordable price. I'm with you so far. But somewhere early on they seem to have added "treat people like dirt" to that list. My relatively new boycott of Taqueria is still long enough that I can't remember all the things that have disgusted me while dining there. Our last house had a Taqueria less than a mile away, so we went above and beyond to overlook the glaring deficiencies for convenience sake. Rule #1 at Taqueria is that you don't sit down until you order (no saving tables). Other places don't have to invoke this rule, because other places don't make everyone queue up and order at a single register that guarantees 30+ minute lines at all times. In addition, you can be assured that when your time to order finally arrives, if you pose any question whatsoever to the person taking your order, you will be made to feel like the jackass of the week. Another important thing to remember at this swillhole is that they do not have servers. You should most definitely not ask any employee walking in your vicinity for a napkin, more chips, or anything of the sort. One other random annoyance that I now recall is that the one by our old house was not open for lunch on Saturday. That makes sense. There's no reason the general public would expect a Mexican place with a deck to be open on Saturday afternoon. Also, I swear the place had "no cell phone" signs posted. I would go verify this, but the odds are that I would punch either a wall or the person at the register before completing my visual surveillance.

So if you happen to be from out of town and find yourself in Atlanta, please do not visit Taqueria del Sol. This city has approximately one Mexican restaurant per 50 square feet, so your options are numerous. Don't select the one that proudly displays how seriously it takes its "rules" on its web page. Gracias.

Car Troubles

2010-06-27T21:09:00.012-04:00

This past week while driving around town, my car let out its familiar ear-piercing beep alerting me to a new malfunctioning component. I crossed my fingers (well not really, I was driving at the time) hoping it was notification of a low wiper fluid level or perhaps a faulty brake light. Unfortunately, I also noticed that the ABS and Emergency Brake lights were on.

I knew that was likely a bad sign, but decided to peruse my handy Audi manual once I got back home to get the diagnosis straight from the manufacturer of this high-performance vehicle. After turning to the correct page, I got a nice synopsis of what I should expect to see from these indicator lights. Further, I was informed that I should give my local dealer a call when I had a chance. Got it. Now let me move on to the second bullet to see what I could be looking at here so that I might properly slot this situation on my to do list.

Okay. The back half of my car could break away from the front seat at any moment. Thanks for the heads up. I guess I shouldn't drive to lunch today if there are more than two of us.

USA-Ghana In-Game Diary

2010-06-26T18:45:00.012-04:00

The USA is taking on Ghana in the first phase of the “knockout round” of the World Cup, and you know you want the play-by-play insight of someone who knows absolutely nothing about soccer. Well fear not, because I’m here to bring you my running in-game diary. It’s not original? So what, I say. I actually did this once before on a short-lived prior website. At that time I chronicled an Atlanta Hawks game early in a season in which they went 13-69, so compared to that I was overflowing with excitement at the prospect of a US World Cup game. So without further delay, here we go…

2:00 Crank up the vuvuzelas, we’re live for the USA and Ghana.

2:02 ABC shows us the first live shot of the stadium for tonight’s game and it’s, uhhh, really small. I thought these things drew huge crowds.

2:03 It just started to sink in that I am on the hook for 30 minutes of pregame analysis, as the match doesn’t actually start until 2:30. I should have DVR’d!

2:05 Bob Bradley, the coach of the US team breaks down the Ghana squad as follows: “Their attacking players are creative.” So they’re into music, poetry, and what not?

2:06 According to Alexi Lalas (who has gone totally corporate with the haircut, by the way), the keys to a US victory are discipline and possession. Duly noted.

2:17 My wife just let out a disgusted “Oh my God” after the fourth set of commercials started rolling. Apparently there really isn’t anywhere 30 minutes of actual pregame discussion needed to set the stage for this match.

2:21 Okay, I’m a bit of a soccer skeptic, but the highlight montage from the last-minute win over Algeria just succeeded in getting me fired up.

2:23 Both teams enter the field, and it has a bit of an Olympic opening ceremonies feel. Credit where it’s due- It looks like they put the game ball on a ceremonial pedestal and then have someone grab it to get the match started. Solid touch.

2:27 I don’t love the idea of playing Ghana. As the last African nation still alive, I kind of want to pull for them in general.

2:28 ABC puts the starting lineups graphic on the screen for Ghana and, wait, what? Ghana’s coach is named Milovan Rajevac? I didn’t see that coming.

2:30 We’re underway!

2:32 The first US scoring chance comes up empty. Boo.

2:35 The play-by-play announcer tells the audience to “Stand by for a night of shredded nerves and beating hearts.” Will do.

2:36 Ghana draws first blood five minutes in. Half the team storms the track surrounding the field and does a partial victory lap. It isn’t the greatest testament to your sport when goals elicit this kind of reaction.

2:38 #28 for Ghana gets on the board by recording the first fake injury of the match. He executes it to perfection, drawing a yellow card on the baffled US defender.

2:40 Whoa, I just realized that the color commentator is former US player John Harkes. I thought it was the voice of Mary Carillo. I’m not sure on which of the three of us that reflects the most poorly.

Mary Carillo, apparently not providing color commentary for the World Cup.

2:41 Bill Clinton and Mick Jagger are seated next to one another in the stands. Hide the women and children after this one’s over.

2:45 To my very untrained eye, Ghana looks dominant at this point.

2:46 So why isn’t the announcer that yells “Gooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!” doing these games? I guess the fact that he doesn’t speak English is a bit of an obstacle. I’m not sure it’s a deal breaker for me, though.

2:47 Steve Cherundolo of the US just picked up a yellow card. One of soccer’s many strange rules- he doesn’t have to sit out the rest of this game but would have to sit out the next game if the US advances.

2:49 The announcer (who has the phenomenal name of Ian Darke) says the US team is “looking like rabbits in the floodlights”. I take it that is a bad thing.

2:51 Mary Carillo: “When the players stop moving, then that means there’s really a low percentage of options for players to pass and move.” Brilliant.

2:52 Good God, it sounds like one of the fans has brought in a ship’s horn in lieu of a vuvuzela.

2:52 Argh! A near US goal is thwarted by the Ghana goalkeeper.

2:54 I think the tide is turning….ahhh I don’t know what the hell is going on.

2:55 Hold on, Ghana has a corner kick and one of their players is lined up in the goal! This is legal in a sport hell bent on low scoring?

3:01 Mary Carillo is not happy with the US performance thus far.

3:04 Bogus! Another near miss for the US.

3:06 Another weird soccer rule- Ghana is playing a man down for the moment because one of their players is injured.

3:08 Ghana’s uniforms have me thinking McDonald’s.

Ghana, I'm lovin' it.

3:11 Fake injury number two by Ghana. This time there is no call.

3:12 Ghana launches a shot on goal that curls just 30 yards over the crossbar. Just a bit outside.

3:14 Is it a good sign that I find myself scrolling through the channel guide? I think not.

3:14 Hey, Die Hard is on TNT. What’s it been, three days? Up next, The Bourne Identity!

3:24 It’s halftime, with the score 1-0 Ghana Black Stars. My key takeaway to all of you out there nearly 90 minutes in- The US needs a cool team name like the Black Stars or Bafana Bafana.

3:32 Early in the second half, the US very nearly scores. I actually did just yell “Get in!” at my TV. Alright, I am dialed in.

3:34 Ian Darke just credited “the change of shape” for the good start to the second half by the US. I’m confused.

3:37 I feel like Monte, Harry Doyle’s color man in Major League.

Harry Doyle: Monte, anything to add?
Monte: Uhhh, no.
Harry Doyle: He’s not the best color man in the league for nothing.

3:40 Clint Dempsey pulls the first fake injury of the match for the US.

3:41 The US and Ghana just collectively headed the ball five times in a row. I thought I had accidentally changed the channel to the circus. Bring on the juggling elephants!

3:44 A nice defensive stop by Jay DeMerit prevents a second Ghana goal.

3:46 Yeah! The US has a penalty kick coming. Dempsey, not realizing he already got the call, just repeatedly slapped the turf in faux agony.

3:47 Goal!!!!! Landon Donovan ties it up on the penalty kick.

3:54 ABC just showed the Ghana bench. Question- Why does FIFA force the benchwarmers to garb themselves in those FIFA bibs. Are they worn as a symbol of shame for not making the starting lineup. Maybe they should just go with sackcloth.

4:00 We’ve got some running, some kicking, and some horn blowing.

4:01 The attendance is “nearly 35,000”. Again, I seriously thought these matches were a big deal on the world stage.

4:07 Clint Dempsey goes down and momentarily freezes while deciding whether it’s his knee or his head that just got “injured”.

4:13 We’ve made it to the 87 minute mark, and the US is unable to take the lead despite being continually on the attack.

4:15 Folks, we’re staring down the barrel of 30 minutes of overtime. Ehhh…

4:16 Currently the game is in three minutes of additional time, which is probably the strangest soccer rule of all. Why can’t they just stop the clock when the situations occur that cause additional time to be added?

4:18 Announcer Ian Drake as regulation ends in a 1-1 tie: “It’s going to be a long night here.” Agreed.

4:20 Apparently Ghana’s government paid for 1,000 fans to travel to the World Cup to support the team, but their budget ran out after 15 days and they were forced to return home. That’s not funny, but then again it kind of is.

4:25 The 30 minutes of extra time is underway. I trust I’ll be getting time-and-a-half for this.

4:28 Ghana scores three minutes into the extra time. It doesn’t look good.

4:33 Eight minutes into the extra time, the US barely misses off a corner kick after a Ghana player, having apparently been shot, was just carted off on a stretcher.

4:37 The continuous clock is a serious problem. Ghana is obviously stalling.

4:44 #10 of Ghana just pulled an appalling fake injury. Soccer is going to have to address that issue if it wants to be taken seriously by me (and you know they do).

4:48 Unbelievable! Another fake injury by a Ghana player. He’s carried off the field sitting upright on the stretcher.

4:50 Ghana just burned two minutes by substituting for a player on the far side of the field from their bench. I say again, the continuous clock and fake injuries must be addressed.

4:53 With four minutes left, it appears to be over for the US.

4:57 The final is 2-1 Ghana, and that is a wrap. There were some entertaining moments, but I think that covers my soccer watching for another four years.

Houston, We Have A Problem

2010-06-20T21:12:00.005-04:00

You know how to tell that all is not as it should be in your life? You are in your kitchen preparing a nice turkey and swiss sandwich or other dinner item of your choosing and notice that your wife is about 10 minutes into an episode of Tori & Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood. If you respond by dropping your sandwich in disgust and lobbing an offhanded comment in her direction, all is well. If, however, you semi-frantically begin fretting about whether or not Tori is refusing to allow Dean to continue his motorcycle racing career and ask your wife to pause the DVR and give you a recap, then it’s probably time to admit that you have gone a bit off the rails.

Note that heightened interest in such a show is not necessarily quite so problematic if you are a college-aged girl or a wealthy homemaker with limited hobbies and interests. A 35 year-old male is probably not the target market, though. I know this because the advertisements that followed the aforementioned episode were for tampons, women’s razors, and skin rejuvenation products. I blame my wife, as she is certainly the one who brought such wretched programming into our house. I’ve managed to fend off her reality TV shows with varying degrees of success. I have abstained almost entirely from all of The Real Housewives shows (I can hear the odious sounds of part three of the Real Housewives reunion in the other room at this very moment). Others, such as Keeping Up with the Kardashians, have been harder to shun.

And so the battle lines have been drawn. The next showdown is apparently coming over 9 By Design, a horrendous looking new show about a self absorbed couple that make their living as interior designers and, apparently, by using their seven helpless children to secure a TV deal. Pray for me.

Come on Tori, let him ride his bike! He promises he'll be careful this time.

A Bad Combination

2010-06-13T21:32:00.005-04:00

It’s always good at the end of the weekend to be able to look back with a sense of accomplishment, a sense that you have done something of significance or broadened your knowledge base in a meaningful way. Too often I find myself on a Sunday night wishing I had made more of the weekend and feeling a bit angst-ridden over the fact that my weekend time is over.

Not this time, my friends. No, through innovation and sheer will I made a big discovery this weekend. Honestly, it just started as so many weekend nights do. I was scanning YouTube for some nice Irish clips and Mississippi State highlights. The Mississippi State sports clips aren’t all that easy to find, but I’ve honed my searching technique over time. Anyway, after returning home from dinner with friends, my wife called it an early night and left me on my own. Now everyone knows that a Saturday night session scouring YouTube is far more enjoyable with a nice beverage in hand, and this is how my big discovery came to fruition. A quick look in the fridge confirmed that an egregious oversight at Kroger a few nights earlier had resulted in a beer-less house. Further searching of the kitchen area revealed that we also lacked both decent liquor as well as normal soft drinks. I stared blankly at the kitchen cabinets for a moment or two, unsure of my next move. There was a bottle of red wine, but that just doesn’t cut it when you are watching crazy Irish fans belt out Fields of Athenry. That’s when it hit me. I did indeed have the necessary ingredients to create a nice little drink. Sure, it wasn’t anything you’d ever be able to order at a restaurant or bar, but these ingredients would surely work just as well as their more recognized competitors. And so I happily poured my drink and headed for the computer. One sip in, I knew I had stumbled upon something big. I had in my hands, the worst drink ever. Lest you ever find yourself thinking that Kilbeggan Irish Whiskey and Diet Big K might turn out alright, let me assure you it does not.

Worst combo ever

Checking In

2010-06-09T21:47:00.007-04:00

Now that the ranks of my followers have swelled to double digits, I felt compelled to do a brief check in. I am aware that not only have you yet to receive any logoed merchandise since signing up, you have now not received a new blog entry in three-plus days. Please know that I have taken these egregious conditions to blog management, and you should expect a dramatic uptick in service going forward.

In all seriousness, I have been sidelined by two quite unpleasant events- the malfunction of my home computer and a Toastmasters speech on Monday night. It’s hard to say which of these was more painful, the slow drip torture of several days with limited contact with the outside world (computer failure) or the six minute waterboarding session that is a Toastmasters speech. Thankfully, both of these issues have come to merciful conclusions. The computer is up and running again, and my Toastmasters evaluator was eventually compelled to bring her constructive criticism to a long overdue end.

D'Arcy takes a breather after another flawless Toastmasters address

Anyway, I have to run. The season finale of Fresh Meat II: The Challenge is about to begin.

Shazam!!!

2010-06-06T12:38:00.004-04:00

I was putting a little fuel in my car yesterday at the local Racetrac and made an interesting discovery. Have you ever taken a good look at the grid of accepted debit/credit cards on gas pumps? Trying to entertain myself while I filled my 19 gallon tank with 19.5 gallons, I happened to take a closer look. Perhaps this is common knowledge, but is everyone aware that there is apparently a Shazam credit card (see the center of the bottom row)? It comes complete with a solid lightning bolt logo.

That just seems like it would be a lot of fun to pull out of your wallet and throw down on the tab. I assume you're required to yell "Shazam!" when using that card. This whole experience was a huge win for me, because I also realized after making it all the way across the bottom row that I could, in fact, use my Alaska Option card.

Ball Don't Lie?

2010-06-05T14:31:00.008-04:00

Our gracious MC Craig has kindly asked me to buzz the blog tower occasionally with various, often useless thoughts. As a lifelong Boston Celtics fan (minus the Dee Brown era, of course), I'm suddenly drawn back to watching NBA hoops this month, and this punched me in my noggin . . .

An old joke with NBA basketball is the absurd tolerance for traveling. Again, it’s an old joke, but really, why the heck is there so much traveling? These athletes are professionals, guys who have played basketball for the majority of their lives. One very important tenet of the game is that you have to dribble a basketball, not run with it. If you want to have ‘game’ and walk around with your chest puffed up, learning to make sweet moves while dribbling at the same time is a must. The rule is enforced at younger ages, everyone adheres to it. Then, all of a sudden, at the professional level (it’s creeping into college now too), these guys completely ignore the obstacle of dribbling while producing their highlight reels. What’s to be proud of when you posterize someone if you’ve taken 3 steps and had to break the rules of the game to accomplish it?

Straight-up baller

I don’t get it. Even more perplexing – how did your body so quickly re-program itself to play that way? Bottom line on traveling – isn’t it the dorkiest possible transgression in basketball? Shouldn’t someone be embarrassed by their need to travel in order to effectively play the game? What would its equivalent be in golf? . . . teeing it up in the rough? . . . weak.

Take It Easy

2010-05-31T20:50:00.004-04:00

What is it about the gym that brings out the weirdness in people? From elderly ladies wearing sports bras and skin tight shorts to muscle-bound guys with chalk all over their hands sounding like they’re giving birth to twins over in the bench press area, the situation has gotten completely out of control. There is a bizarre sense of comfort that seems to overtake people in the gym. I can’t even speak to the atrocities of the locker rooms, as I swore off entering them many years ago after running across one too many naked guys in no hurry to change that status.

Umm, no sir, this actually isn't okay.

The last time I was at the Y, while diligently plodding through my treadmill-based workout more appropriate for a man about 20 years my senior, I found myself next to a guy running backwards on the treadmill. I’ll definitely admit to being entertained, waiting (hoping) for the scene to turn into an outtake from that OK Go video. But mostly I was just left wondering how this guy was pulling it off with a straight face. If I could release myself, like the rest of my gym mates seem to have done, from the concerns of appearance and protocol, I would show up with those oversized Bose headphones that are marketed for blocking out noise on airplanes. Forget the nuisance of jet engines and screaming babies, how do I block out the grunts coming from the guy with about 60 pounds too much loaded onto the leg press machine? Even more importantly, how do I block out the view of the inappropriately sized running shorts in action on the rowing machine in front of me?
Has it always been this way? In the 1920s, when guys played golf and tennis in suits and ties, did they still gather in gyms, strip down to their wife beaters, and scream at each other while somebody cranked up the tunes on the victrola? Somewhere along the way society decided to confer safe zone status to gyms. Much like sanctuary cities for illegal immigrants, the gyms of America opened their arms to the masses looking to wear inappropriate clothing and make primal sounds not even meant for the bedroom.
All I know is that it’s time someone took a stand. Is it too much to ask for people to remember that they are still in a public place? If you want to go crazy in isolation at your house, they make some great workout products for you. I hear the Total Gym XL is phenomenal. What are you, better than Chuck Norris? Or perhaps I should just embrace the situation, strip down in the locker room, casually throw some talcum powder on my nether regions, grab a spotter, throw a couple of 25-pound weights on the bar, and set free my inner workout beast.

U2 Officially Jumps the Shark

2010-05-27T21:29:00.002-04:00

U2, I'm afraid we need to ask you to go ahead and call it a career. The Joshua Tree is one of the all-time great albums, and there are plenty of other solid U2 songs to go around. But good God, is anyone truly paying attention to these new tunes they are slinging out there? I was driving around this past week and for some reason actually listened to I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight. In case you haven't paid attention to this gem, I need to let you know that it starts as follows:

"She's a rainbow and she loves the peaceful life
Knows I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight"

The new U2 lyricists

I'm sorry, I guess I missed the press release announcing that Smash Mouth was writing U2's lyrics these days. I'm making my way up the age chart right along with the good lads from Dublin, so I'm reluctant to give them too hard a time. Still, are they churning this nonsense out because they somehow still need to collect some cash, or do they really think that these tunes are still legitimate? Bono, perhaps it's time to focus your efforts on American Idol Gives Back or the Clinton Global Initiative. It's been a great run, but it is most definitely time to hang it up.

Open and Shut Case

2010-05-27T21:28:00.002-04:00

So here's a question just for the men. What's the proper protocol when you are forced to pee in the stall toilet rather than the urinal? I've never felt truly comfortable when faced with this dilemma, though it happens rather frequently. You walk into the men's bathroom, and there are a couple of occupied urinals and an open stall. Lurking behind the guys at the urinal feels a bit awkward, so you head for the open stall. But what's the next move? Do you close the door or leave it open? Closing it gives the appearance of a guy scared to pee in public. Leaving it open, though, gives off the creeper vibe of one who is inviting your fellow man to take an unnecessary gaze at your pee session.

I always end up devoting far too long to the situation and trying to appear casual while easing the door to the near closed position. Inevitably the door will slowly open as I pee, leading to thirty seconds of profuse sweating and panic.

A Lot Of Nerve

2010-05-27T21:27:00.001-04:00

For sheer ballsiness, I’m not sure anyone or anything can hold a candle to the owners of assembly line burrito restaurants (I'm talking to you, Moe's). Don’t get me wrong, I don’t begrudge their general business model. In fact, the rapidly assembled burrito absolutely makes my list of positive cultural advances of the past 10 years.

No, my quarrel is with the travesty that occurs when you reach the register. Fresh off a five minute session of guiding your lunch from station to station, intently steering your burrito clear of cilantro, sour cream, or some other unwanted accoutrement, you arrive at what ought to be the easiest part of the transaction. Yet rather than mentally preparing for the upcoming elbow throwing session at the salsa station, you must first deal with the signing of the receipt- a receipt with a tip line brazenly plastered on it. So the tip is for what exactly? Not sneaking jalapenos onto my burrito when you saw me looking away? Approving my request for chicken rather than substituting tofu squares? I don't love the tip jar that sits by many a register these days, but at least you aren't forced to state your intention not to contribute before your meal is handed over.

So That's How It's Done

2010-05-27T21:26:00.001-04:00

There are many, many tasks that strike the common man as infeasible. Balancing a checkbook, changing a tire (or is that just me?)- these are certainly tasks that try men's souls. But one thing about which I've always felt confident is that were I to have a son I could figure out, with relative ease, how to give him the same name I have. For those who prefer to leave nothing to chance, rest easy with the knowledge that a six step guide is available to walk you through the labyrinthine process. Next in the series- a seven step guide for opening a canned beer.

First Post

2010-05-27T21:25:00.001-04:00

Oh, the pressure, the pressure. This is the inaugural post, and it feels like it should be momentous. This post marks the start of a new blog, and its readers should celebrate the innocence of it all. A few years from now, when I am using this space to extol the virtues of trans fats and children's toys with lead-based paint, you can say you read me before I sold out to the man.

A bottle of champagne should surely be broken against the side of a ship to celebrate the occasion. Failing that, I will just say thanks for checking out the blog and leave the rest to the poetic stylings of Judge Smails.

It's easy to grin,
when your ship comes in,
and you've got the stock market beat.
But the man worthwhile,
is the man who can smile,
when his shorts are too tight in the seat.