A Little Anxiety on My Vacation

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?

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

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.

A Classic Album Ushers in the Modern Era

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

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 lame 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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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)

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

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!!!!!!!!

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

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

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

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

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."