Hong Kong. Say hello to my new desktop background. Just awesome.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Hey Philly, Get A New Thing
Rocky. This film first came out in 1976, followed by three good sequels and two that never happened. Just go with it. Ever since then, every pathetic lugnut and ham-and-egger from the greater Philadelphia area has been getting an erection whenever they hear the first few bars from that seemingly inescapable theme music. The Phillies' recent run to the World Series has made that song even more prominent. I propose that they get over it and find one more lousy thing about their city to latch on to outside of some fictional heavyweight boxer that was conceived and portrayed by a guy whose entire film resume up to that point consisted of porn.
Never mind that Philly is home to one of the greatest heavyweight boxers of all time. He's black. In Philly, that doesn't count. Does anyone else find it a bit sick that a city would sooner build a bronze statue of a fictional boxer "from" that city before they build a statue of a real boxer who happens to be African American? Bill Burr does, and he has a lot more to say about this fine little city. It's long but worth every single glorious second. Not convinced of Philly's dirty little prejudices? How about this Philly institution. That's not to be confused with the other Philly institution of giving endless shit to Donovan McNabb.
The cruel irony of it all is that Frazier was considered an Uncle Tom when he was in his prime and was often derided by African Americans and, specifically, his rival Muhammad Ali. Looking back, you can see that Frazier was OJ before OJ was OJ and killed two people. When he's in the ring or on the field, he's good as gold, but once that's over, he's just another... you get the point.
Anyway, with the Phillies clinching a World Series victory as I type this, perhaps once their obnoxious celebrations settle down a bit, Philadelphians will no longer feel the need to cling to the one good thing that ever came out of that God-forsaken city. But probably not.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Things More Important Than What We're Seeing in the "News"
In no particular order...
Health care
ENVIRONMENT
Iraq war
Economy
Education
Creating jobs
If this election is about the issues, Sen. Obama wins in a landslide.
Health care
ENVIRONMENT
Iraq war
Economy
Education
Creating jobs
If this election is about the issues, Sen. Obama wins in a landslide.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Hot Hot Heat
Busted. No, my night job as an exotic dancer in a gay night club called The Tool Box is still a tightly guarded secret. I mean the status of the central air unit in our house. As in, we need to buy a whole new one. Damn. Luckily, it's my folks' unit, I just use it. Or used to.
We don't realize how dependent most of us middle class and above people have become on our controlled indoor climates. Just ask the Dub. She grew up in a house that is constantly kept at 70 degrees. Any (READ: Normal) temperature above that makes her uncomfortable, even though she's equally sensitive to low temperatures. Come to think of it, I'm not sure she's ever not been too cold or too hot the whole time I've known her.
I don't mean to throw my dear, sweet future wife under the bus (okay, but I still did), but I think her situation illustrates how it is possible for us to lose touch with our normal, preset equilibrium. Take another issue I've been dealing with lately, lower back pain. Granted, I'm experiencing this pain because I'm working on my Olympic lifts, but anatomically, we're not built to sit down. Sitting down places undue stress on the hips and lower back. The natural idle position for bipeds like us is a squatting position, as in "your balls are showing."
On another note, now that classes have started back up, I'm adjusting well to yet again being the know-it-all go-getter in my classes, at least for the first few weeks. I do find it amazing how reluctant people in grad school are to step up and take leadership of projects. The fact that I'm being forced to be that guy is nothing short of appalling.
A little image to go with my last post...
We don't realize how dependent most of us middle class and above people have become on our controlled indoor climates. Just ask the Dub. She grew up in a house that is constantly kept at 70 degrees. Any (READ: Normal) temperature above that makes her uncomfortable, even though she's equally sensitive to low temperatures. Come to think of it, I'm not sure she's ever not been too cold or too hot the whole time I've known her.
I don't mean to throw my dear, sweet future wife under the bus (okay, but I still did), but I think her situation illustrates how it is possible for us to lose touch with our normal, preset equilibrium. Take another issue I've been dealing with lately, lower back pain. Granted, I'm experiencing this pain because I'm working on my Olympic lifts, but anatomically, we're not built to sit down. Sitting down places undue stress on the hips and lower back. The natural idle position for bipeds like us is a squatting position, as in "your balls are showing."
On another note, now that classes have started back up, I'm adjusting well to yet again being the know-it-all go-getter in my classes, at least for the first few weeks. I do find it amazing how reluctant people in grad school are to step up and take leadership of projects. The fact that I'm being forced to be that guy is nothing short of appalling.
A little image to go with my last post...
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Gag (order) Me With a Spoon
Off-limits. I get it; families are off limits. I get it; young people have sex. And I get it; teenage pregnancy shouldn't be touched with twelve 10-foot poles taped together end to end. Here's the thing. The Republican party has been in the business of telling families what to do for the past 15 years. The Republican party has been preaching abstinence only education for at least as long. The Republican party has a proud history of pulling out all of the stops when it comes to sleazy, inappropriate attacks. So forgive me if someone needs to call bullshit here, with all due respect to Sen. Obama's demand that the families stay completely off limits.
So Gov. Sarah Palin (R-AK), newly selected (and hardly vetted) Republican Vice Presidential candidate, has confirmed that her 17-year-old daughter is five months pregnant. Nice to see the abstinence-only education that Gov. Palin strongly endorses is working so well for her family. As a new Christmas gift for left-leaning voters throughout the country is left under our collective tree seemingly every morning, this little tidbit just boggles my mind. While Sen. McCain's aides promise that they conducted the most exhaustive research on Gov. Palin, I can't help but be skeptical in light of this development.
Methinks Sen. McCain had his heart set on BFF Sen. Joe Liberman or similarly moderate Tom Ridge, but since both are a little too moderate (if that even means anything), the senator from Arizona knew he had to pick the most medievally conservative candidate available to fire up the lukewarm socially conservative base. It also wouldn't hurt to make a splash and steal some of Sen. Obama's post-brilliant-speech thunder.
I've got two words and one gesture for Sen. McCain...
Of course, the problem is that all of the hype that this pick has generated has been confused at best and downright negative at worst. Sen. McCain himself claims to have known that Gov. Palin's daughter, Bristol, was pregnant before making the pick. Given how badly the conservative base needed to be courted, at least in the eyes of Sen. McCain, I really, really doubt that. I'm curious to see how the right shrugs this off. Of course, I shouldn't be surprised if they come out of this unscathed. I mean, this is an affluent white girl we're talking about.
Two more things...
1) Does anyone else find it disturbing that conservatives feel the need to commend Gov. Palin for not aborting her Down's Syndrome child?
2) The best speech of the convention wasn't Sen. Obama's, it was Sen. John Kerry's. Watch all of it, it's worth it...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P1yri5CXDZg
So Gov. Sarah Palin (R-AK), newly selected (and hardly vetted) Republican Vice Presidential candidate, has confirmed that her 17-year-old daughter is five months pregnant. Nice to see the abstinence-only education that Gov. Palin strongly endorses is working so well for her family. As a new Christmas gift for left-leaning voters throughout the country is left under our collective tree seemingly every morning, this little tidbit just boggles my mind. While Sen. McCain's aides promise that they conducted the most exhaustive research on Gov. Palin, I can't help but be skeptical in light of this development.
Methinks Sen. McCain had his heart set on BFF Sen. Joe Liberman or similarly moderate Tom Ridge, but since both are a little too moderate (if that even means anything), the senator from Arizona knew he had to pick the most medievally conservative candidate available to fire up the lukewarm socially conservative base. It also wouldn't hurt to make a splash and steal some of Sen. Obama's post-brilliant-speech thunder.
I've got two words and one gesture for Sen. McCain...
Of course, the problem is that all of the hype that this pick has generated has been confused at best and downright negative at worst. Sen. McCain himself claims to have known that Gov. Palin's daughter, Bristol, was pregnant before making the pick. Given how badly the conservative base needed to be courted, at least in the eyes of Sen. McCain, I really, really doubt that. I'm curious to see how the right shrugs this off. Of course, I shouldn't be surprised if they come out of this unscathed. I mean, this is an affluent white girl we're talking about.
Two more things...
1) Does anyone else find it disturbing that conservatives feel the need to commend Gov. Palin for not aborting her Down's Syndrome child?
2) The best speech of the convention wasn't Sen. Obama's, it was Sen. John Kerry's. Watch all of it, it's worth it...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P1yri5CXDZg
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
The World Class Athlete...
...or douchebag. Take one look at the picture below and admit you probably wouldn't like these guys if you met them...
The guy in the black hat and shirt with the cigarettes in his mouth is the starting goaltender for the Montreal Canadiens. The dude second from right is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, players for the Toronto Maple Leafs, Mats Sundin. The winner on the far left is Kyle Chipchura, another young player in the Canadiens system. In case you still want to hang out with them, here's another shot...
So they're friends. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Seriously though, I knew guys like this in high school. They sucked. It's why we indoor kids didn't make it out to a lot of sporting events in high school. We didn't feel like cheering those guys on. Looking at these photos makes me wonder what the difference is between these guys and those meatsticks in high school. I think it has something to do with the fact that these guys are world class athletes and those guys are probably landscapers these days.
What bothers me even more, though, is that these guys are among the best in the world at what they do, especially Price and Sundin. They call upon their lungs to carry them through grueling hockey seasons and playoff tournaments. And here they are smoking butts like Europeans. FULL DISCLOSURE: Sundin is European. Regardless, it amazes me that these guys can still do what they do while also doing what they're doing in this photo and then go out and do more of this the next day. If anything, it just further hammers the point that these guys' bodies are gifts from God and mine is built like a chess player's.
The guy in the black hat and shirt with the cigarettes in his mouth is the starting goaltender for the Montreal Canadiens. The dude second from right is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, players for the Toronto Maple Leafs, Mats Sundin. The winner on the far left is Kyle Chipchura, another young player in the Canadiens system. In case you still want to hang out with them, here's another shot...
So they're friends. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Seriously though, I knew guys like this in high school. They sucked. It's why we indoor kids didn't make it out to a lot of sporting events in high school. We didn't feel like cheering those guys on. Looking at these photos makes me wonder what the difference is between these guys and those meatsticks in high school. I think it has something to do with the fact that these guys are world class athletes and those guys are probably landscapers these days.
What bothers me even more, though, is that these guys are among the best in the world at what they do, especially Price and Sundin. They call upon their lungs to carry them through grueling hockey seasons and playoff tournaments. And here they are smoking butts like Europeans. FULL DISCLOSURE: Sundin is European. Regardless, it amazes me that these guys can still do what they do while also doing what they're doing in this photo and then go out and do more of this the next day. If anything, it just further hammers the point that these guys' bodies are gifts from God and mine is built like a chess player's.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
I Am the Man
Math. Not exactly a strong suit for me. But my love for fantasy sports can make me do extraordinary things.
This is the first year the KB Friends and Family Hockey League (TM) will be hosted by ESPN's fantasy hockey platform. In fact, I think this is the first year they're doing fantasy hockey in Bristol. I was very impressed with how robust* the platform is, supporting an endless array of customizable options, including league and draft formats that Yahoo can't even touch. For example, if I had a stable of 9 hard core managers, I could make this a keeper league. You can create divisions, customize the schedule on a week-by-week basis, choose from 5 different scoring formats and playoff criteria, etc. You also get free real time stat tracking, something you have to pay $10 for with Yahoo.
In awe of this brave new world of variables, I decided that I would break my league up into two divisions (Crosby and Ovechkin) and create a schedule similar to the NHL's: Every team plays each intra-divisional rival three times and each extra-divisional opponent twice. The idea is to foster rivalries and hopefully create a little competitive balance.
Creating this schedule was not easy in word, nor was it easily done. After several swings and misses at finding a free, functional schedule generating software on the interwebs, I opened up a blank Excel spreadsheet and dusted off the old math engine. The thing hasn't been taken out for a spin since the spring of 2002, so it took several tries to get it to turn over. Over three hours later, though, I had my schedule. Granted, the more mathematically inclined could have probably completed this in less than 30 minutes, but I believe I still deserve a hearty pat on the back. I won't go into the boring details of it, save that there are 10 teams, each represented by a letter (A-J). Each row is a week, each column is a game slot, making each box a matchup consisting of two teams. No two letters repeat themselves in any given row. I rule.
| Game 1 | Game 2 | Game 3 | Game 4 | Game 5 | |
| 1 | ) AB | CD | FG | HI | EJ |
| 2 | ) EI | BD | GH | CJ | AF |
| 3 | ) AC | BE | HJ | FG | DI |
| 4 | ) AD | EF | CI | HJ | BG |
| 5 | ) AE | BF | DJ | GI | CH |
| 6 | ) GI | BH | AC | FJ | DE |
| 7 | ) AJ | BF | CG | DH | EI |
| 8 | ) AI | BJ | CE | DG | FH |
| 9 | ) AG | DF | BC | IJ | EH |
| 10 | ) AB | CF | GJ | EH | DI |
| 11 | ) BC | AD | FJ | HI | EG |
| 12 | ) FJ | AH | BE | DG | CI |
| 13 | ) GH | BD | AE | IJ | CF |
| 14 | ) GJ | BI | AE | DF | CH |
| 15 | ) AI | BJ | FH | CD | EG |
| 16 | ) AJ | BH | CG | FI | DE |
| 17 | ) AG | FH | CE | BI | DJ |
| 18 | ) AB | CD | FG | HI | EJ |
| 19 | ) BC | DE | GH | IJ | AF |
| 20 | ) AC | BE | FI | GJ | DH |
| 21) | AD | CE | FI | HJ | BG |
| 22 | ) CJ | BD | AH | GI | EF |
*"Robust" is easily my favorite BS word in the English lexicon. Having come from a marketing/sales-ish backround, I've come to appreciate the meaningful meaninglessness of this word. No other word says "it's really good with lots of stuff" the same way "robust" does. When in doubt, always say "robust."
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Put the Lotion in the Basket, Pt. II
Disturbed. Below are the psychotic ramblings that I received on a Hall of Fame reservation card this morning...
Can't you just picture Buffalo Bill carving that message into the card in his basement while wearing his skin suit? My theory, though, is that someone copied word for word the contents of one of those virus spam emails. I feel like I've gotten enough of of those in my time to recognize the style. That is all.
Look. I've had better nights. I've had a threesome. I've had a foursome.
You never will. I haven't, actually. [Illegible] . . . the things [illegible] .
. . A habit I suppose [illegible] . . . -ave from now on- Sorry about that. You
a guy? They were two bi blondes? A girl? Two guys w/ exactly the right bend. The
saddest think I know is that sexual fantasies are at the top of the fantasy
list. Beak that and you'd be golden. But you won't. Adam and Eve couldn't.
Can't you just picture Buffalo Bill carving that message into the card in his basement while wearing his skin suit? My theory, though, is that someone copied word for word the contents of one of those virus spam emails. I feel like I've gotten enough of of those in my time to recognize the style. That is all.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Fantasy Sports
Reality. Let's not fool ourselves. Fantasy sports are very much a part of our everyday reality, at least for some of us. I like to think that I'm on the more extreme end of fantasy managers. In 2007, I finished the year with three football teams, three hockey teams, and about a half dozen pick'ems between NCAA and NFL football and NCAA basketball. I have a first place finish in hockey and a second place finish in football to show for all of that work.
This year, I boast four football teams (two of which are keeper leagues), a baseball team (currently 24 games ahead of the competition), and most likely 3-4 hockey teams, one of which I will run myself. It may look like a lot of work, and it is, but two things drive me: The glory of winning, thus boosting my yahoo rating, and the Christmas morning-like thrill I get from live fantasy drafts.
It goes without saying how good it feels to use your foresight and analytical skills to show up the people you compete against in these leagues, whether it is a group of friends or a random league you joined or got invited to. Winning doesn't just mean picking the right players but using them correctly, paying close attention to matchups and hot and cold streaks. Admittedly, blind luck also plays a part in one's fantasy league success, but doesn't that feel just as good? If you don't think so, imagine winning the lottery and pocketing $100 million for doing absolutely nothing besides standing in line at Krauszer's for ninety seconds while the guy in front of you collects the change from his purchase of Penthouse and chew.
For me, though, fantasy drafts can be just as fulfilling, if not more so, because they represent the unadulterated perception of victory 8 months before it even happens. I can't count how many times I've logged back on to my team page weeks after the draft yet still before the start of the season and just admired the team that I just drafted. In fact, I was doing it earlier today. And because I can't resist...
Stinkin' Root Beer
1. (6) Joseph Addai
2. (7) Larry Johnson
3. (18) Peyton Manning
4. (19) Antonio Gates
5. (30) Santonio Holmes
6. (31) Anquan Boldin
7. (42) Devin Hester
8. (43) Nick Folk
9. (54) New York
10. (55) Jamal Lewis
11. (66) David Garrard
12. (67) Chris Cooley
13. (78) Kevin Curtis
14. (79) Jerricho Cotchery
15. (90) Rob Bironas
This is obviously not a deep league. Only six teams with not so many roster spots. I don't care. I love looking at the stacked roster that I just put together. For something a little more in-depth, here's a league with way more teams, roster spots, and individual defensive players...
Tabata This!
1. (1) LaDainian Tomlinson
2. (20) Tony Romo
3. (21) Braylon Edwards
4. (40) Jonathan Stewart
5. (41) Fred Taylor
6. (60) Dallas Clark
7. (61) Calvin Johnson
8. (80) Kevin Curtis
9. (81) Mike Vrabel
10. (100) Stephen Gostkowski
11. (101) Ed Reed
12. (120) Adam Jones
13. (121) Nick Barnett
14. (140) Antonio Cromartie
15. (141) Michael Boley
16. (160) David Garrard
17. (161) Mario Williams
18. (180) Roman Harper
19. (181) Calvin Pace
20. (200) Deuce McAllister
21. (201) Leon Washington
22. (220) Ted Ginn Jr.
23. (221) James Hardy
24. (240) Roderick Hood
25. (241) Tim Hightower
The first Dance of Joy moment probably comes when I first enter the draft room and find out what position I will be drafting from. I have to admit, I don't always look forward to getting the first overall pick. For instance, I was disappointed to learn that I had first overall in the league immediately above because I didn't want to have to choose between Ladanian Tomlinson and Adrian Peterson. The 2nd overall pick was far and away the best pick to have in any football draft this year. Hockey will be a different story this year, though. If I get the first overall pick in any one of my hockey leagues, before picking Alexander Ovechkin without any hesitation whatsoever, I'll be as surprised and happy as this guy. Anyone out there want to be my studio audience?
One of the auxiliary joys of fantasy sports is devising witty team names. Obscure movie quotes and pop culture references are always winners. Here are my ten best fantasy sports team names.
10. Maurice DuBois
9. Broccoli Rabe
8. The Ab Abbers
7. Hundreds of Stuff
6. Stinkin' Root Beer
5. The Holy Rollers
4. The Frickin' Fracks
3. Enflamed Kaspar
2. Dueling Ted Knights
1. Flow Me
Honorable Mention
Puttin' On the Foil
Sather's Cigar
League registration doesn't start for fantasy hockey until the end of the month, but I've already been ranking my players and simulating drafts. And to think some league members want to add some financial incentives. This is going to be a good year.
This year, I boast four football teams (two of which are keeper leagues), a baseball team (currently 24 games ahead of the competition), and most likely 3-4 hockey teams, one of which I will run myself. It may look like a lot of work, and it is, but two things drive me: The glory of winning, thus boosting my yahoo rating, and the Christmas morning-like thrill I get from live fantasy drafts.
It goes without saying how good it feels to use your foresight and analytical skills to show up the people you compete against in these leagues, whether it is a group of friends or a random league you joined or got invited to. Winning doesn't just mean picking the right players but using them correctly, paying close attention to matchups and hot and cold streaks. Admittedly, blind luck also plays a part in one's fantasy league success, but doesn't that feel just as good? If you don't think so, imagine winning the lottery and pocketing $100 million for doing absolutely nothing besides standing in line at Krauszer's for ninety seconds while the guy in front of you collects the change from his purchase of Penthouse and chew.
For me, though, fantasy drafts can be just as fulfilling, if not more so, because they represent the unadulterated perception of victory 8 months before it even happens. I can't count how many times I've logged back on to my team page weeks after the draft yet still before the start of the season and just admired the team that I just drafted. In fact, I was doing it earlier today. And because I can't resist...
Stinkin' Root Beer
1. (6) Joseph Addai
2. (7) Larry Johnson
3. (18) Peyton Manning
4. (19) Antonio Gates
5. (30) Santonio Holmes
6. (31) Anquan Boldin
7. (42) Devin Hester
8. (43) Nick Folk
9. (54) New York
10. (55) Jamal Lewis
11. (66) David Garrard
12. (67) Chris Cooley
13. (78) Kevin Curtis
14. (79) Jerricho Cotchery
15. (90) Rob Bironas
This is obviously not a deep league. Only six teams with not so many roster spots. I don't care. I love looking at the stacked roster that I just put together. For something a little more in-depth, here's a league with way more teams, roster spots, and individual defensive players...
Tabata This!
1. (1) LaDainian Tomlinson
2. (20) Tony Romo
3. (21) Braylon Edwards
4. (40) Jonathan Stewart
5. (41) Fred Taylor
6. (60) Dallas Clark
7. (61) Calvin Johnson
8. (80) Kevin Curtis
9. (81) Mike Vrabel
10. (100) Stephen Gostkowski
11. (101) Ed Reed
12. (120) Adam Jones
13. (121) Nick Barnett
14. (140) Antonio Cromartie
15. (141) Michael Boley
16. (160) David Garrard
17. (161) Mario Williams
18. (180) Roman Harper
19. (181) Calvin Pace
20. (200) Deuce McAllister
21. (201) Leon Washington
22. (220) Ted Ginn Jr.
23. (221) James Hardy
24. (240) Roderick Hood
25. (241) Tim Hightower
The first Dance of Joy moment probably comes when I first enter the draft room and find out what position I will be drafting from. I have to admit, I don't always look forward to getting the first overall pick. For instance, I was disappointed to learn that I had first overall in the league immediately above because I didn't want to have to choose between Ladanian Tomlinson and Adrian Peterson. The 2nd overall pick was far and away the best pick to have in any football draft this year. Hockey will be a different story this year, though. If I get the first overall pick in any one of my hockey leagues, before picking Alexander Ovechkin without any hesitation whatsoever, I'll be as surprised and happy as this guy. Anyone out there want to be my studio audience?
One of the auxiliary joys of fantasy sports is devising witty team names. Obscure movie quotes and pop culture references are always winners. Here are my ten best fantasy sports team names.
10. Maurice DuBois
9. Broccoli Rabe
8. The Ab Abbers
7. Hundreds of Stuff
6. Stinkin' Root Beer
5. The Holy Rollers
4. The Frickin' Fracks
3. Enflamed Kaspar
2. Dueling Ted Knights
1. Flow Me
Honorable Mention
Puttin' On the Foil
Sather's Cigar
League registration doesn't start for fantasy hockey until the end of the month, but I've already been ranking my players and simulating drafts. And to think some league members want to add some financial incentives. This is going to be a good year.
Monday, August 11, 2008
My Old Man and His Grill
Comedy. If not for my frustration over the matter, I would have laughed out loud at my dad's absurd suggestion this evening.
A few weeks back, when I was making delicious meals for myself while my folks were away, our old grill broke. One of the valves was rusted to the point where you couldn't even turn it anymore, and one of the propane jets must have been clogged, too. It was over 10 years old, and my dad was clearly waiting for the slightest excuse to scope out the newest, spiffiest models. Naturally, he went out and got quite an impressive piece of grilling equipment.
Lately, I've been the go-to guy for grilling steaks for dinner. I've gotten pretty good at it, too, getting the heat and timing just right. So I wasn't surprised when my mom asked me to turn the grill on this evening. That's code for "you're cooking tonight."
Glad to ply my trade once again, I enthusiastically leave midway through my 15-1 throttling of the Washington Nationals in MLB 2K8 on my Nintendo Wii. As I make my way outside, my dad says, "Why don't you save yourself the trouble of cleaning later and grill the steak on a tray or pan."
...
Beyond annoyed, I respond, "Why don't I save myself the trouble of even turning on the grill and throw the steak under the broiler, or even in the microwave for that matter?" Sassy, no?
Now we're all the same way when we get a new toy. We want to keep it as close to its out of the box/off the lot condition for as long as possible. Unfortunately, if you're talking about a grill, you're pretty much telling yourself that you never intend to use your new toy the way it was intended. Part of the idea of grilling anything is to give it that smoky, flame-kissed flavor that you can't get any other way. You go about that by always allowing some of the charred remnants of your last meal to stay on the grates. I view it the same way as I would breaking in a new baseball glove. It's okay to chisel off the big, chunky pieces, but you generally want a little stuff on there.
Not my dad.
Dad intends to keep ol' Bessy Lou in mint condition and condemn his family to meals that were grilled but taste broiled. As a matter of principal, I now intend to boycott "grilling" anything until he changes this policy. Granted it's his grill that he bought with his money, but my point is that he never should have in the first place if this is how he intended to use it. So I have no problem telling him that he's welcome to make shitty food on his grill.
On another note, he asked the waitress at Bensi last night how big the fried calamari appetizer was...the one he's had before...every single time he's been there since the place opened.
A few weeks back, when I was making delicious meals for myself while my folks were away, our old grill broke. One of the valves was rusted to the point where you couldn't even turn it anymore, and one of the propane jets must have been clogged, too. It was over 10 years old, and my dad was clearly waiting for the slightest excuse to scope out the newest, spiffiest models. Naturally, he went out and got quite an impressive piece of grilling equipment.
Lately, I've been the go-to guy for grilling steaks for dinner. I've gotten pretty good at it, too, getting the heat and timing just right. So I wasn't surprised when my mom asked me to turn the grill on this evening. That's code for "you're cooking tonight."
Glad to ply my trade once again, I enthusiastically leave midway through my 15-1 throttling of the Washington Nationals in MLB 2K8 on my Nintendo Wii. As I make my way outside, my dad says, "Why don't you save yourself the trouble of cleaning later and grill the steak on a tray or pan."
...
Beyond annoyed, I respond, "Why don't I save myself the trouble of even turning on the grill and throw the steak under the broiler, or even in the microwave for that matter?" Sassy, no?
Now we're all the same way when we get a new toy. We want to keep it as close to its out of the box/off the lot condition for as long as possible. Unfortunately, if you're talking about a grill, you're pretty much telling yourself that you never intend to use your new toy the way it was intended. Part of the idea of grilling anything is to give it that smoky, flame-kissed flavor that you can't get any other way. You go about that by always allowing some of the charred remnants of your last meal to stay on the grates. I view it the same way as I would breaking in a new baseball glove. It's okay to chisel off the big, chunky pieces, but you generally want a little stuff on there.
Not my dad.
Dad intends to keep ol' Bessy Lou in mint condition and condemn his family to meals that were grilled but taste broiled. As a matter of principal, I now intend to boycott "grilling" anything until he changes this policy. Granted it's his grill that he bought with his money, but my point is that he never should have in the first place if this is how he intended to use it. So I have no problem telling him that he's welcome to make shitty food on his grill.
On another note, he asked the waitress at Bensi last night how big the fried calamari appetizer was...the one he's had before...every single time he's been there since the place opened.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Long Time No See
Golf. The last time I played it was 5 years ago with Frank, Steve, and Brophy at Scotch Hills. Today, I played golf again, this time with...wait for it...Frank, Steve, and Brophy at Scotch Hills. I shot a 108, good for a tie at 2nd place behind Frank at 97 and Broph at 112. I borrowed a driver from my dad because I thought I would need the extra club head (I did), and it did make a noticeable difference, at least at first. I'm talking long, straight drives. My driver juice wore off after the front 9, though, so I guess that newfangled equipment isn't good for much after all. I was definitely at an advantage going into today's round, though, because I just don't care.
I know many folks who take their golf seriously. Personally, I'll never understand that. I won't say that I don't relate to people getting worked up about their performance in competition. Hell, I'd be the last person to criticize anyone for that. I'm the guy who seriously considered leaving my college hockey team midway through my senior year because my game dropped off that season and I thought that it would be better for the team if I removed myself from the situation. What I mean is that I don't understand why so many people, mostly men, are so obsessed with this odd game. At this point, it's so much a part of white collar culture that it's ingrained in you one way or another, but I think much of it stems from a desire for men to be a part of the pack and play "The Game" (I don't mean golf).
From a young age, even I was told that I should play golf because it's something that men play and that you need to play it if you want to be good in business. Simplistic terminology, I know, but that's how it was communicated to me, if not in those exact words. It's just what people do. That alone is enough to turn me off from it. "F--- that," I say, "I won't be told that I need to do this in order to be a 'success.' Who says I even accept your definition of success in the first place." That was the four year old me speaking.
After having given golf a shot multiple times, I can say without doubt that there are hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of middle management to executive types out there playing golf and hating it. As for the rest, they probably think that because they have the time and the money to play golf or belong to a county club, they are some kind of success. I find that pathetic.
That being said, there are a lot of golfers out there that I like, such as Frank, Steve, and Brophy. And my dad. The point is that I don't buy into that culture and I believe I see through it. Don't even get me started on the elitist nature of the game, which really has more to do with my bellyaching about it. It rubs me the wrong way to see so much land reserved for the use of a select, relatively wealthy few. There are many better ways to use those resources. And to the phonies who point out that the natural integrity and beauty of the land is being preserved, I simply ask what's so natural about meticulously cropped lawns and trees, fed by fertilizers and pocked with man made sand pits and ponds and planted with trees that weren't there to begin with? If anything, it's yet another symbol of control by the wealthy.
So anyway, this is all that went through my mind as I drove to the course today. The only reason I went was because I enjoy any opportunity I get to hang out with these guys, especially Brophy, who's always away at seminary these days. I'm so glad I don't take golf seriously because for me, it was being able to laugh at myself and the others as we stunk up the golf course that made the day. I had a carefree attitude, and I was just able to focus on sharing the day with the guys.
This leads me to something else that I think draws men to golf: the bonding aspect. Let's face it, we guys aren't interested in getting together over martinis and sitting around in a circle and crying with one another. We avoid that kind of direct emotional connection because that's something else that's been communicated that men don't do. So how do most of us get around this? We talk about and try to play sports. Not too many of us are athletic enough anymore to do much, so we play golf . We can laugh at one another's crap shots and pat each other on the back for nice shots. We'll tell the same stories for years, like the one day you played and it was pouring rain and your driver flew out of your hands on your back swing and almost hit someone. And of course, most importantly, golf gives us one more way to compare ourselves with other men and prove our worth.
As for me, I'll still avoid golf if i can, but as long as I don't give a crap and the company is good, I'll still find ways to enjoy it.
I know many folks who take their golf seriously. Personally, I'll never understand that. I won't say that I don't relate to people getting worked up about their performance in competition. Hell, I'd be the last person to criticize anyone for that. I'm the guy who seriously considered leaving my college hockey team midway through my senior year because my game dropped off that season and I thought that it would be better for the team if I removed myself from the situation. What I mean is that I don't understand why so many people, mostly men, are so obsessed with this odd game. At this point, it's so much a part of white collar culture that it's ingrained in you one way or another, but I think much of it stems from a desire for men to be a part of the pack and play "The Game" (I don't mean golf).
From a young age, even I was told that I should play golf because it's something that men play and that you need to play it if you want to be good in business. Simplistic terminology, I know, but that's how it was communicated to me, if not in those exact words. It's just what people do. That alone is enough to turn me off from it. "F--- that," I say, "I won't be told that I need to do this in order to be a 'success.' Who says I even accept your definition of success in the first place." That was the four year old me speaking.
After having given golf a shot multiple times, I can say without doubt that there are hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of middle management to executive types out there playing golf and hating it. As for the rest, they probably think that because they have the time and the money to play golf or belong to a county club, they are some kind of success. I find that pathetic.
That being said, there are a lot of golfers out there that I like, such as Frank, Steve, and Brophy. And my dad. The point is that I don't buy into that culture and I believe I see through it. Don't even get me started on the elitist nature of the game, which really has more to do with my bellyaching about it. It rubs me the wrong way to see so much land reserved for the use of a select, relatively wealthy few. There are many better ways to use those resources. And to the phonies who point out that the natural integrity and beauty of the land is being preserved, I simply ask what's so natural about meticulously cropped lawns and trees, fed by fertilizers and pocked with man made sand pits and ponds and planted with trees that weren't there to begin with? If anything, it's yet another symbol of control by the wealthy.
So anyway, this is all that went through my mind as I drove to the course today. The only reason I went was because I enjoy any opportunity I get to hang out with these guys, especially Brophy, who's always away at seminary these days. I'm so glad I don't take golf seriously because for me, it was being able to laugh at myself and the others as we stunk up the golf course that made the day. I had a carefree attitude, and I was just able to focus on sharing the day with the guys.
This leads me to something else that I think draws men to golf: the bonding aspect. Let's face it, we guys aren't interested in getting together over martinis and sitting around in a circle and crying with one another. We avoid that kind of direct emotional connection because that's something else that's been communicated that men don't do. So how do most of us get around this? We talk about and try to play sports. Not too many of us are athletic enough anymore to do much, so we play golf . We can laugh at one another's crap shots and pat each other on the back for nice shots. We'll tell the same stories for years, like the one day you played and it was pouring rain and your driver flew out of your hands on your back swing and almost hit someone. And of course, most importantly, golf gives us one more way to compare ourselves with other men and prove our worth.
As for me, I'll still avoid golf if i can, but as long as I don't give a crap and the company is good, I'll still find ways to enjoy it.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
End of an Era
Self-sacrifice. So ends the T.O. era of the UR Ice Hockey Club. For clarification, T.O. has been the coach/GM of the club since the beginning, making the T.O. era the only era of UR Hockey.
The club began in 2001, when a few guys wanted to play some hockey at U of R. One thing led to another, they registered as a club, found a handful of other guys who still had the itch, and begged Coach, this mulleted dominator of the Richmond beer leagues, to lead them. For a little perspective, this is how the team looked in the fall of 2002...
Notice how we don't even have half the number of players you would find on a standard roster. Out of fairness, we were missing two players: Bevans, a great goalie who was forced to play out due to our short roster, and Forty, a fleet-footed, flashy defenseman out of prep school. Back issues forced Forty to play through severe pain during half of our time together. It was actually quite moving to watch and helped keep me going when I had serious self-doubt at the end. Both of them represent the way Coach's selflessness manifested itself in his players.
The jerseys are straight out of the beer leagues, modeled after one of the crappiest jersey designs the NHL ever saw, at least IMO. The Godfather, Bernie, founder of the club, is the guy kneeling on the far right who looks like he dipped his chin in a bucket full of pureed Ring Dings. The stud in the black and blue pads on the left (yours truly) would have looked more comfortable in a high school JV game in 1999. I have a library of classic stories involving everyone in this photo, even the two quitters, and I could go on about this photo, but I'll just say that we had two things in common: 1) We all loved hockey and 2) We all looked like sex criminals. Oh, and one of those guys has a lower back tattoo of the NHL logo...
I didn't even plan on playing hockey past the first half of my junior year in high school. That was the last I had played, knowing I didn't stand a chance to make varsity. I focused on my studies and got into a great college. The summer before I got to Richmond (the same one when I met my future wife, btw), I Googled "university of richmond" + "ice hockey" on a whim and came across the primitive first website of this club. I sent out a "recruit inquiry," which I found was just a fancy name for Coach's email. He emailed me back and said he was happy I still had "the bug" and encouraged me to get in shape before school started so I could come to tryouts.
I ended up bringing my gear to school but chickened out at the last minute, thinking hockey was in my past and college was for trying new things. The day after the first tryouts had passed, "Zoo," Blondie at the right end of the second row, was going door to door looking for more hockey players to fill out the sparse roster. It's almost laughable to think about if it wasn't so pathetic as I look back now. Being the total gamer that he is, both in hockey and life, Zoo talked me into showing up for the next team skate (aka my first practice) and eventually pretty much every shady decision I made in college thereafter. Accordingly, Zoo is now one of the groomsmen in my upcoming wedding.
For a little perspective, 2002-2003 was the last year that UR Hockey wasn't a champion of some kind. He's how the team looked over the course of the next three years...
As Coach himself pointed out at the organizational meeting at the start of each season, "There's a lot of smiling faces in those pictures." The trophies piled up, the jerseys got nicer, but the bottom line was that we were happy. We were happy because we loved to play and because we got pretty good at it together. We played for fun because we played to win and winning was fun. Period.
Being a part of a winning team was certainly a highlight of my time at UR. In fact, I was considering transferring during my freshman year, and if not for the idea of sticking around and playing more hockey, I very well may have left. It wasn't just winning that made it for me, though. I never had a chance to be "the guy" on my high school and minor hockey teams. I got a late start and never reached a high level of play relative to other guys my age. My club teams never had winning records, and my school team was so good that I could never be a starter, much less a backup or third stringer.
At Richmond, as long as I put in the time and effort, I knew I would always have the opportunity to be the guy, and after two years of holding the clipboard and opening the bench door, I became a starter on a winning team. I earned some individual accolades, won some titles, and competed in a national tournament. None of this would have happened without Coach's commitment to the organization, holding things together so all most of us had to do was work hard in practice and games. Contrary to what most might think, I enjoyed my time as a backup. Coach made me feel just as important a part of the team then as when I was getting the majority of the starts in net. If/when I end up coaching a team of my own, I will always begin the year the same way Coach did, telling the guys, "Know your role; accept your role; love your role." I don't think I would have loved my role the way I did if T.O. hadn't been my coach. I hope I can have that effect on younger players some day.
This got too wordy several paragraphs ago, so here are some photos (many more smiling faces) of things that wouldn't have happened without Coach. They say more than I ever could.
We may have played like amateurs, but we celebrated like pros...
The club began in 2001, when a few guys wanted to play some hockey at U of R. One thing led to another, they registered as a club, found a handful of other guys who still had the itch, and begged Coach, this mulleted dominator of the Richmond beer leagues, to lead them. For a little perspective, this is how the team looked in the fall of 2002...
Notice how we don't even have half the number of players you would find on a standard roster. Out of fairness, we were missing two players: Bevans, a great goalie who was forced to play out due to our short roster, and Forty, a fleet-footed, flashy defenseman out of prep school. Back issues forced Forty to play through severe pain during half of our time together. It was actually quite moving to watch and helped keep me going when I had serious self-doubt at the end. Both of them represent the way Coach's selflessness manifested itself in his players.The jerseys are straight out of the beer leagues, modeled after one of the crappiest jersey designs the NHL ever saw, at least IMO. The Godfather, Bernie, founder of the club, is the guy kneeling on the far right who looks like he dipped his chin in a bucket full of pureed Ring Dings. The stud in the black and blue pads on the left (yours truly) would have looked more comfortable in a high school JV game in 1999. I have a library of classic stories involving everyone in this photo, even the two quitters, and I could go on about this photo, but I'll just say that we had two things in common: 1) We all loved hockey and 2) We all looked like sex criminals. Oh, and one of those guys has a lower back tattoo of the NHL logo...
I didn't even plan on playing hockey past the first half of my junior year in high school. That was the last I had played, knowing I didn't stand a chance to make varsity. I focused on my studies and got into a great college. The summer before I got to Richmond (the same one when I met my future wife, btw), I Googled "university of richmond" + "ice hockey" on a whim and came across the primitive first website of this club. I sent out a "recruit inquiry," which I found was just a fancy name for Coach's email. He emailed me back and said he was happy I still had "the bug" and encouraged me to get in shape before school started so I could come to tryouts.
I ended up bringing my gear to school but chickened out at the last minute, thinking hockey was in my past and college was for trying new things. The day after the first tryouts had passed, "Zoo," Blondie at the right end of the second row, was going door to door looking for more hockey players to fill out the sparse roster. It's almost laughable to think about if it wasn't so pathetic as I look back now. Being the total gamer that he is, both in hockey and life, Zoo talked me into showing up for the next team skate (aka my first practice) and eventually pretty much every shady decision I made in college thereafter. Accordingly, Zoo is now one of the groomsmen in my upcoming wedding.
For a little perspective, 2002-2003 was the last year that UR Hockey wasn't a champion of some kind. He's how the team looked over the course of the next three years...
As Coach himself pointed out at the organizational meeting at the start of each season, "There's a lot of smiling faces in those pictures." The trophies piled up, the jerseys got nicer, but the bottom line was that we were happy. We were happy because we loved to play and because we got pretty good at it together. We played for fun because we played to win and winning was fun. Period.
Being a part of a winning team was certainly a highlight of my time at UR. In fact, I was considering transferring during my freshman year, and if not for the idea of sticking around and playing more hockey, I very well may have left. It wasn't just winning that made it for me, though. I never had a chance to be "the guy" on my high school and minor hockey teams. I got a late start and never reached a high level of play relative to other guys my age. My club teams never had winning records, and my school team was so good that I could never be a starter, much less a backup or third stringer.
At Richmond, as long as I put in the time and effort, I knew I would always have the opportunity to be the guy, and after two years of holding the clipboard and opening the bench door, I became a starter on a winning team. I earned some individual accolades, won some titles, and competed in a national tournament. None of this would have happened without Coach's commitment to the organization, holding things together so all most of us had to do was work hard in practice and games. Contrary to what most might think, I enjoyed my time as a backup. Coach made me feel just as important a part of the team then as when I was getting the majority of the starts in net. If/when I end up coaching a team of my own, I will always begin the year the same way Coach did, telling the guys, "Know your role; accept your role; love your role." I don't think I would have loved my role the way I did if T.O. hadn't been my coach. I hope I can have that effect on younger players some day.
This got too wordy several paragraphs ago, so here are some photos (many more smiling faces) of things that wouldn't have happened without Coach. They say more than I ever could.
We may have played like amateurs, but we celebrated like pros...
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
More Meat
Results. So I just got back from my last workout before my week-long vacation in Kansas and Missouri. I did Check Your Legs I, which is 3 rounds for time, each round consisting of 25 bodyweight squats, 25 lunges on each leg, 50 switches, 12 jumping squats, and 25 kettle bell swings with a 50 lb. kettle bell. You do all of this while wearing a weighted vest with 10% of your body weight. Since I'm in a bragging kind of mood, I've embedded the ranking for this routine. For the record, Millie is a mother in her mid 40s who absolutely dominates everyone else at the gym. I'm quite proud of myself today.
LogsItAll.com Custom Ranking
Posted using ShareThis
LogsItAll.com Custom Ranking
Posted using ShareThis
Monday, July 28, 2008
The Blogger of the Narcissus
WTF. So I was gonna hit up the ATT store with my old man this evening to transfer my cell phone service to my own plan, as well as pick up a new phone while I'm there. My current model has been a P-O-S since day one, despite how cool I thought it was at the time. Of course when I arrive at the store, my dad has his signature disapproving look strapped on nice and snug. Turns out their "system" is "down" and they haven't been able to do much of "anything" all day. Which begs the question, what the hell were they doing with the store open all day to begin with? That shit is weaksauce.
This also begs another question: Why do you care? Or perhaps more appropriately, why do I think you care? It's because aside from masturbation, there is no more self-centered act than blogging. I believe that what happens to me and what I think about it actually matter to people. And the anonymity of the internets implies that I believe there are random people out there who don't know me but really should. Thank God I'm here to give them what they don't know they want. This is what confused me about blogs when I first heard about them, way back in the summer of '04.
One of the girls I interned with in the Office of Admission at the U. of Richmond was telling us that she would blog about her roommate issues. Of course, she had a link to her stupid little blog in her AIM profile. (Do kids even use AIM and its profile feature anymore?) Anyway, I said, "Obviously, your roommate can just click on your blog when she's going through AIM profiles and see that you're not-so-anonymously talking smack about her. Why don't you just talk to her face to face?" I didn't pay attention to her answer because, as it turns out, there really was no one out there who wanted to listen to what she had to say, and my impression of these "web-logs" was forever cast.
By "forever," I mean about four years. I think part of my interest stems from my eventual forsaking of the mainstream media and adoption of the Netroots as one of my primary sources of information. Corporate media have no incentive to present the facts as they are. Example: If the unwashed masses believe that the presidential election isn't even close at this point in the race, why should they watch the news? In order to keep viewership up, there is too much incentive to fabricate a narrative that suggests that the race is in fact a close one. This will keep asses in seats and eyes glued to the TV sets. This is only one example of the many failures of the mainstream media market.
Back to blogs, though. I'm obviously not in the business of debunking media myths and dispensing truth from my electronic soapbox, unless you believe in the truths of manginas, pounding nerds, and Crossfit.
If you do, welcome, brother/sister, you have a home here.
For me, I like the idea, even if it is only an idea, that there is an audience for my thoughts. For example, look at the iPod game I just posted. I enjoy sharing aspects of my life with others, even if the others really only exist in my own mind. This shouldn't be seen as contradictory to my distaste for cell phones/cell phone culture, though. Cell phones allow anyone to drop in on your life at any given moment. There is no sense of control there. With this space, I can control what is shared, how much is shared, and how often.
In that spirit, here's something I think is worth getting off my chest. As progressive, cosmopolitan, and well-informed as I like to think I am, I'm just as susceptible to ignorant BS as the next guy. In fact, I often wonder if I'm just another one of the unwashed masses, subject to whichever way the wind is blowing. And yes, I acknowledge that this thought betrays a certain sense of elitism. One of the key pieces of evidence I use to arrive at this conclusion is the fact that between 2003 and 2005, I dabbled in various forms of conservatism. Perhaps the pinnacle of this dalliance came in the fall semester of 2004. WARNING: This may upset you, regardless of how you know me now. It's some pretty awful stuff. The circumstances are explained in the link, so here it is...
LINK
Again, not one of my prouder moments. And yet here I am, still angry of course, only now I consider myself a leftist. Am I a slave to the grass always being greener on the other side? A decided turn in the general public opinion of things? Let's face it, it's pretty easy to call yourself a progressive these days. You're not exactly taking a courageous stand by criticizing conservatives. In this sense, I'm not exactly entitled to call myself a DFH, as I did in at least two previous posts. That would imply that I was in the opposition when the country was thirsty for A-rab blood (and oil), appalled at the idea of two men marrying, and generally disdainful of those who disagreed with the status quo. Essentially, I was the type who made DFHs what they were. Not exactly something I'm chomping at the bit to take credit for, but I like to think that I'm at least conscious of where I fit in now and how that correlates to where I've been in the past.
This also begs another question: Why do you care? Or perhaps more appropriately, why do I think you care? It's because aside from masturbation, there is no more self-centered act than blogging. I believe that what happens to me and what I think about it actually matter to people. And the anonymity of the internets implies that I believe there are random people out there who don't know me but really should. Thank God I'm here to give them what they don't know they want. This is what confused me about blogs when I first heard about them, way back in the summer of '04.
One of the girls I interned with in the Office of Admission at the U. of Richmond was telling us that she would blog about her roommate issues. Of course, she had a link to her stupid little blog in her AIM profile. (Do kids even use AIM and its profile feature anymore?) Anyway, I said, "Obviously, your roommate can just click on your blog when she's going through AIM profiles and see that you're not-so-anonymously talking smack about her. Why don't you just talk to her face to face?" I didn't pay attention to her answer because, as it turns out, there really was no one out there who wanted to listen to what she had to say, and my impression of these "web-logs" was forever cast.
By "forever," I mean about four years. I think part of my interest stems from my eventual forsaking of the mainstream media and adoption of the Netroots as one of my primary sources of information. Corporate media have no incentive to present the facts as they are. Example: If the unwashed masses believe that the presidential election isn't even close at this point in the race, why should they watch the news? In order to keep viewership up, there is too much incentive to fabricate a narrative that suggests that the race is in fact a close one. This will keep asses in seats and eyes glued to the TV sets. This is only one example of the many failures of the mainstream media market.
Back to blogs, though. I'm obviously not in the business of debunking media myths and dispensing truth from my electronic soapbox, unless you believe in the truths of manginas, pounding nerds, and Crossfit.
If you do, welcome, brother/sister, you have a home here.
For me, I like the idea, even if it is only an idea, that there is an audience for my thoughts. For example, look at the iPod game I just posted. I enjoy sharing aspects of my life with others, even if the others really only exist in my own mind. This shouldn't be seen as contradictory to my distaste for cell phones/cell phone culture, though. Cell phones allow anyone to drop in on your life at any given moment. There is no sense of control there. With this space, I can control what is shared, how much is shared, and how often.
In that spirit, here's something I think is worth getting off my chest. As progressive, cosmopolitan, and well-informed as I like to think I am, I'm just as susceptible to ignorant BS as the next guy. In fact, I often wonder if I'm just another one of the unwashed masses, subject to whichever way the wind is blowing. And yes, I acknowledge that this thought betrays a certain sense of elitism. One of the key pieces of evidence I use to arrive at this conclusion is the fact that between 2003 and 2005, I dabbled in various forms of conservatism. Perhaps the pinnacle of this dalliance came in the fall semester of 2004. WARNING: This may upset you, regardless of how you know me now. It's some pretty awful stuff. The circumstances are explained in the link, so here it is...
LINK
Again, not one of my prouder moments. And yet here I am, still angry of course, only now I consider myself a leftist. Am I a slave to the grass always being greener on the other side? A decided turn in the general public opinion of things? Let's face it, it's pretty easy to call yourself a progressive these days. You're not exactly taking a courageous stand by criticizing conservatives. In this sense, I'm not exactly entitled to call myself a DFH, as I did in at least two previous posts. That would imply that I was in the opposition when the country was thirsty for A-rab blood (and oil), appalled at the idea of two men marrying, and generally disdainful of those who disagreed with the status quo. Essentially, I was the type who made DFHs what they were. Not exactly something I'm chomping at the bit to take credit for, but I like to think that I'm at least conscious of where I fit in now and how that correlates to where I've been in the past.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Fun and Games
This actually looks pretty cool. I've tried someone else's and it was impossible, even though there were plenty of songs that I knew.
Step 1: Put your music player on shuffle.
Step 2: Post the first line from the first 25 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing.
Step 3: Bold/strike out the songs when someone guesses both artist and track correctly. Italicize the last song to be guessed.
Step 4: Looking them up on Google or any other search engine is CHEATING!
Step 5: If you like the game post your own!
Step 6: If I did yours, do mine.
1. Who's that knockin' on the door
2. You jump, jump here, you jump, jump there
3. We're on our own, cousin
4. Think I'm drunk enough to drive you home now
5. See them walking hand in hand across the bridge at midnight
6. Breaking my back just to know your name
7. I thought I saw a man brought to life
8. Oh you shook me, you shook me all night long. (Harder than it looks)
9. Tin soldiers and Nixon's comin'
10. Such is the way of the world
11. On and on and on we'll stay together, yeah
12. God on high, hear my prayer
13. I hope you're happy, I hope you're happy now
14. All winter we got carried or way over on the rooftops just got merry
15. No one ever made me feel like someone, 'til him
16. When we laugh indoors the blissful tones bounce off the walls
17. By the time the buzz was wearing off
18. Ain't seen a night, things work out right, go by
19. There was a man on the road about an hour ago
20. I should warn you, when I'm not well, I can't tell
21. Lady sing the blues so well
22. Well a young man ain't got nothin' in the world these days
23. M-e-t-h-o-d-o-f-l-o-v-e
24. In another town, don't let me forget
25. And when it rains on this side of town it touches everything
Step 1: Put your music player on shuffle.
Step 2: Post the first line from the first 25 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing.
Step 3: Bold/strike out the songs when someone guesses both artist and track correctly. Italicize the last song to be guessed.
Step 4: Looking them up on Google or any other search engine is CHEATING!
Step 5: If you like the game post your own!
Step 6: If I did yours, do mine.
1. Who's that knockin' on the door
2. You jump, jump here, you jump, jump there
3. We're on our own, cousin
4. Think I'm drunk enough to drive you home now
5. See them walking hand in hand across the bridge at midnight
6. Breaking my back just to know your name
7. I thought I saw a man brought to life
8. Oh you shook me, you shook me all night long. (Harder than it looks)
9. Tin soldiers and Nixon's comin'
10. Such is the way of the world
11. On and on and on we'll stay together, yeah
12. God on high, hear my prayer
13. I hope you're happy, I hope you're happy now
14. All winter we got carried or way over on the rooftops just got merry
15. No one ever made me feel like someone, 'til him
16. When we laugh indoors the blissful tones bounce off the walls
17. By the time the buzz was wearing off
18. Ain't seen a night, things work out right, go by
19. There was a man on the road about an hour ago
20. I should warn you, when I'm not well, I can't tell
21. Lady sing the blues so well
22. Well a young man ain't got nothin' in the world these days
23. M-e-t-h-o-d-o-f-l-o-v-e
24. In another town, don't let me forget
25. And when it rains on this side of town it touches everything
My Little Talking Crack Pipe
Addiction? I've been thinking about addiction lately. No, I'm not a drug addict. I'm very careful about which and how many vices I keep; narcotics is not one of them. Nor do I know any drug addicts. At this point, I think it's too early to tell if I know any alcoholics. If I do, it's a private matter, and for the few I suspect, it still hasn't been that long since graduating from college, so I can't be sure. Take a look back at the copious amounts of alcohol either you or your friends consumed in college. Remember the odd times of day and circumstances under which these kids drank? Now apply that to adult life. Perhaps no greater double standard exists than the one regarding alcohol consumption by college students versus working adults. It doesn't surprise me that so many people come out of college full blown alcoholics. In their minds, all they're doing is business as usual. Think about that the next time you find yourself pre-gaming for your niece's first communion.
Yesterday, I lost my cellphone. This may not seem like it falls under the same categories of addiction, like alcohol, sex, or black tar heroin, but not having my fix rendered me non-functional, unable to get through the day normally. I sacrificed the majority of the day to looking for ways to get that fix. An hour after arriving at work, I drove back home and turned my house upside down looing for the damn phone. On the way back, I stopped by the ATT store because I was already prepared to buy a new phone, but because I also wanted to transfer service, I couldn't do even that without my dad being there to sign off. I'm still on the family plan - weak.
By the time I got back to work, it was after 11am. I spent the next hour between my car and the school, thinking I may have left it there while locking up after the film shoot. No dice. 12pm = lunch, and there's no way I was giving up my hour, regardless of the circumstances. I may have put in a total of one hour of honest work before leaving at 3pm for the ATT store again to pick up a temporary replacement, which happened to be a fantastic Nokia model. Fast forward to getting home from locking up the school at 8pm, the cleaning lady having left several hours ago, and there's my God-forsaken phone staring up at me from the center of the kitchen table.
Looking back, it's pretty stunning that my life stopped in its tracks because I didn't have my cell phone. I don't call or text on a regular basis. The whole home purchase thing means I've been making and receiving more calls than usual, but nothing huge. In fact, I've spent way more time complaining about my phone than appreciating its utility. Am I the only one who is against the idea of any- and everyone having 24/7 access to me? I find it intrusive, and I'll never feel like I have 100% me-time so long as I've got that phone in my pocket. By removing the phone from the equation, though, I felt cut off, nervous, and insecure.
Perhaps the phone's most useful function is as a security blanket.
Yesterday, I lost my cellphone. This may not seem like it falls under the same categories of addiction, like alcohol, sex, or black tar heroin, but not having my fix rendered me non-functional, unable to get through the day normally. I sacrificed the majority of the day to looking for ways to get that fix. An hour after arriving at work, I drove back home and turned my house upside down looing for the damn phone. On the way back, I stopped by the ATT store because I was already prepared to buy a new phone, but because I also wanted to transfer service, I couldn't do even that without my dad being there to sign off. I'm still on the family plan - weak.
By the time I got back to work, it was after 11am. I spent the next hour between my car and the school, thinking I may have left it there while locking up after the film shoot. No dice. 12pm = lunch, and there's no way I was giving up my hour, regardless of the circumstances. I may have put in a total of one hour of honest work before leaving at 3pm for the ATT store again to pick up a temporary replacement, which happened to be a fantastic Nokia model. Fast forward to getting home from locking up the school at 8pm, the cleaning lady having left several hours ago, and there's my God-forsaken phone staring up at me from the center of the kitchen table.
Looking back, it's pretty stunning that my life stopped in its tracks because I didn't have my cell phone. I don't call or text on a regular basis. The whole home purchase thing means I've been making and receiving more calls than usual, but nothing huge. In fact, I've spent way more time complaining about my phone than appreciating its utility. Am I the only one who is against the idea of any- and everyone having 24/7 access to me? I find it intrusive, and I'll never feel like I have 100% me-time so long as I've got that phone in my pocket. By removing the phone from the equation, though, I felt cut off, nervous, and insecure.
Perhaps the phone's most useful function is as a security blanket.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Food, glorious food
Cuisine. I just got through eating one of the most delicious meals I've ever had. You know who prepared it? This guy. With my folks out of town for their annual Cape May vacation, I'm on my own for meals, and I wanted to avoid blowing too much money on takeout. Now that I've sorta opened up and started eating many more vegetables and other non-meat, non-starch foods, I've got a great opportunity to start experimenting with many new ingredients. Not to mention that my impending nuptials mean that I will no longer be relying on the culinary expertise (or lack thereof) of my mother. I actually look forward to being responsible for preparing meals for myself and the future Mrs. KB. For brevity's sake let's call her "W" or "the Dub" from here on in.
Tonight's bill of fare started with a modified version of Whole Foods' Genius Salad. The recipe isn't anywhere online, but those who have eaten at Whole Foods probably know that it consists of broccoli, baby spinach, walnuts, red peppers, chicken, and some sort of oil that I haven't quite figured out. It's all raw (except for the chicken) and quite nutritious. My take on it was that I went heavier on the baby spinach, used olive oil, and to make up for the blandness of the baby greens, I splashed a healthy measure of balsamic vinegar. The result was extraordinary, and luckily I made enough to possibly last me until Friday.
The main course consisted of BBQ all-natural chicken cutlets that have been marinating in BBQ sauce since I got up to go to the gym this morning. The flavor was overwhelming in the best way possible. The cutlets were smaller than I'm used to, so they cooked more than I normally would have let them, but at least they were extra smoky. I also grilled some green and red peppers, some red onion, and some green squash, all touched up with a mixture of olive oil, salt, and pepper.
Earlier in the day, I ran some errands, which included picking up a few new pairs of boxer briefs, some low-cut socks, and a fantastic new ipod dock. There is certainly something to be said for preparing food while listening to some of your favorite tunes. It's like that one kitchen scene from The Big Chill.
Next up, either salmon or kebabs, Jemaine style.
Tonight's bill of fare started with a modified version of Whole Foods' Genius Salad. The recipe isn't anywhere online, but those who have eaten at Whole Foods probably know that it consists of broccoli, baby spinach, walnuts, red peppers, chicken, and some sort of oil that I haven't quite figured out. It's all raw (except for the chicken) and quite nutritious. My take on it was that I went heavier on the baby spinach, used olive oil, and to make up for the blandness of the baby greens, I splashed a healthy measure of balsamic vinegar. The result was extraordinary, and luckily I made enough to possibly last me until Friday.
The main course consisted of BBQ all-natural chicken cutlets that have been marinating in BBQ sauce since I got up to go to the gym this morning. The flavor was overwhelming in the best way possible. The cutlets were smaller than I'm used to, so they cooked more than I normally would have let them, but at least they were extra smoky. I also grilled some green and red peppers, some red onion, and some green squash, all touched up with a mixture of olive oil, salt, and pepper.
Earlier in the day, I ran some errands, which included picking up a few new pairs of boxer briefs, some low-cut socks, and a fantastic new ipod dock. There is certainly something to be said for preparing food while listening to some of your favorite tunes. It's like that one kitchen scene from The Big Chill.
Next up, either salmon or kebabs, Jemaine style.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Put the Lotion in the Basket
Decisions. I would like to point out that I've been working at the same place since May '07. I just found out today that the work day ends at noon on Fridays during the summer. Let me repeat. I've been putting in 3 extra hours each week throughout the summer since I started. I believe I'm owed some overtime pay. Am I that detached from the ins and outs of my workplace or am I so ingrained already that it's just assumed that I know crap like this? Either way, it worked out nicely because I was planning on cutting out early today to go house hunting (or cavorting for condos???) with my fiancee and future mother-in-law.
Our journey took us from Springfield to Montclair and back. Rather than conduct our tour of Essex and northern Union County in a gas guzzling caravan of two or three, the three of us were chauffeured around by our real estate agent in her Prius. Not bad, even though my back sweat was sticking to her leather interior. Being the DFH that I am, I appreciated our agent's generous offer to take us around herself.
Two units we saw were in Springfield. They were hopelessly and, in my opinion, uselessly far from any public transportation, much less any semblance of a town center. I am a DFH. This means, among other things, that I judge all towns and cities according to how consistent they are with the Gospel of Jane Jacobs. I also believe in Peak Oil Theory. A home is only as good as how optional driving is in the area. If we're talking about buying a home as an investment, the forward-thinking approach for me is to make sure you won't require a car do to any little thing besides go for a lap around the block. The more centrally located, well connected areas will become most desirable, while the farther removed suburbs and exurbs will become the new slums.
We saw two units in Montclair, a very hip, desirable town. One was feet away from the train station, and the supersonic train whistles would never let you forget it. Not to mention it was laid out in a way that made it completely useless as a full time residence. The second unit in Montclair was in a beautiful 1920's converted apartment building. We knew there would be trouble, though, when we could hear a cat whining behind the door before we even walked in. I didn't clock us, but we made it in and out of that crap hole in record time. The twenty-something cat lady living there turned the place into a filth den that rivals Buffalo Bill's basement of horrors. Ironically, Bill was a dog lover. Thank God we didn't stumble upon Ted Levine dancing around with a man-gina. (The 2:30 mark). Which reminds me, hooray for new seasons of Monk and Psych starting tonight.
We saw two other units in Springfield that were on a central road and less than a mile from the Short Hills train station. There is a jitney stop nearby, as well as plenty of NJTransit bus stops. One unit was particularly well suited to our needs, and since we were already together in the agent's office at the end of the day, my fiancee and I put together a preliminary offer sheet. Despite losing a condo in South Orange less than a month ago just when we were ready to close, we figured there's no sense in sitting around and waiting for the right place to pass us by just because we're still licking our wounds. The thought of starting this whole process all over again is already quite draining, though.
Our journey took us from Springfield to Montclair and back. Rather than conduct our tour of Essex and northern Union County in a gas guzzling caravan of two or three, the three of us were chauffeured around by our real estate agent in her Prius. Not bad, even though my back sweat was sticking to her leather interior. Being the DFH that I am, I appreciated our agent's generous offer to take us around herself.
Two units we saw were in Springfield. They were hopelessly and, in my opinion, uselessly far from any public transportation, much less any semblance of a town center. I am a DFH. This means, among other things, that I judge all towns and cities according to how consistent they are with the Gospel of Jane Jacobs. I also believe in Peak Oil Theory. A home is only as good as how optional driving is in the area. If we're talking about buying a home as an investment, the forward-thinking approach for me is to make sure you won't require a car do to any little thing besides go for a lap around the block. The more centrally located, well connected areas will become most desirable, while the farther removed suburbs and exurbs will become the new slums.
We saw two units in Montclair, a very hip, desirable town. One was feet away from the train station, and the supersonic train whistles would never let you forget it. Not to mention it was laid out in a way that made it completely useless as a full time residence. The second unit in Montclair was in a beautiful 1920's converted apartment building. We knew there would be trouble, though, when we could hear a cat whining behind the door before we even walked in. I didn't clock us, but we made it in and out of that crap hole in record time. The twenty-something cat lady living there turned the place into a filth den that rivals Buffalo Bill's basement of horrors. Ironically, Bill was a dog lover. Thank God we didn't stumble upon Ted Levine dancing around with a man-gina. (The 2:30 mark). Which reminds me, hooray for new seasons of Monk and Psych starting tonight.
We saw two other units in Springfield that were on a central road and less than a mile from the Short Hills train station. There is a jitney stop nearby, as well as plenty of NJTransit bus stops. One unit was particularly well suited to our needs, and since we were already together in the agent's office at the end of the day, my fiancee and I put together a preliminary offer sheet. Despite losing a condo in South Orange less than a month ago just when we were ready to close, we figured there's no sense in sitting around and waiting for the right place to pass us by just because we're still licking our wounds. The thought of starting this whole process all over again is already quite draining, though.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Casting Call
Creepy. I'm looking for some 14 and 15 year old girls. The younger looking, the better. Yeah, that's right, I'm rounding up extras for a classroom scene in a short film being shot next week at the school where I work.
Two weeks ago, a former classmate of mine who is now at film school at Columbia University, wanted to know if he could use our school for a short film he is producing. Titled The Sage, the film is about a young woman who is failing at her job as an 8th grade history teacher. The ghost of Frederick Douglass visits her one day and inspires her to become a better teacher and a better person. The End. Did I mention that Don King - the Don King - is cast as Frederick Douglass? You have to admit, the resemblance is a bit striking.
The director, Alexandra, came by yesterday to scout classrooms. She is very professional, organized, and enthusiastic, and she couldn't be more grateful for letting her use our building. Being the nice guy that I am, when she mentioned the need for extras, I volunteered my casting director services. Now I'm looking for 10 kids, mixed gender and ethnicity, that can pass for 8th graders. Since I work at an all-boys school, I've got plenty of candidates that I can turn to. Not so much with the girls. I don't know too many teenage girls. That's probably a good thing in the grand scheme of things, considering the people who do, but that doesn't help me out with this situation. Help would be appreciated.
Two weeks ago, a former classmate of mine who is now at film school at Columbia University, wanted to know if he could use our school for a short film he is producing. Titled The Sage, the film is about a young woman who is failing at her job as an 8th grade history teacher. The ghost of Frederick Douglass visits her one day and inspires her to become a better teacher and a better person. The End. Did I mention that Don King - the Don King - is cast as Frederick Douglass? You have to admit, the resemblance is a bit striking.
The director, Alexandra, came by yesterday to scout classrooms. She is very professional, organized, and enthusiastic, and she couldn't be more grateful for letting her use our building. Being the nice guy that I am, when she mentioned the need for extras, I volunteered my casting director services. Now I'm looking for 10 kids, mixed gender and ethnicity, that can pass for 8th graders. Since I work at an all-boys school, I've got plenty of candidates that I can turn to. Not so much with the girls. I don't know too many teenage girls. That's probably a good thing in the grand scheme of things, considering the people who do, but that doesn't help me out with this situation. Help would be appreciated.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
DFH
War. I don't read a lot of fiction. This is not by design. I read what I find interesting, compelling, and relevant. After all, we only have so much time on this Earth. Often, this leads me to history and the social sciences. I recently started to re-read a favorite of mine from high school and the work that may have set me on this path. Dreadnought is an epic account of the geopolitical goings-on from the middle of the 19th century until the day before the beginning of World War I. For such a great scholarly work, you wouldn't expect it to bring historical events to such a personal level. Robert K. Massie provides in-depth character studies of all of the monarchs, prime ministers, chancellors, admirals, etc. that shaped and were shaped by this unique time in history.
I mention my latest read because of a passage that I read today. I didn't realize the Karl Rove play book existed before the man was ever born:
"[Joseph] Chamberlain roamed the land, hammering on a single issue: the conduct of the [Boer] war. His purpose was to convince the electorate that a Liberal victory would mean the political defeat of British arms in South Africa. His theme became, 'A vote for the Liberals is a vote for the Boers!' (Emphasis mine). This charge was shouted from platforms, proclaimed by billboards and placards. Posters depicted prominent Liberals kneeling in tribute to [Boer] President Kruger, helping him haul down the Union Jack, even urging him to shoot British soldiers. One Liberal M.P. attacked in this fashion had lost two sons in the war and was actually visiting their graves in South Africa when the election was held."
Let's see. Over-extended nation state meets their military match in a rag-tag group of insurgents whose land was unjustly invaded by aforementioned nation state. Come election time, the nation's war hawks lambaste the leftists for being pussies and wanting to "lose" the war and portray progressive candidates as friends of the enemy. For good measure, they wrap themselves in the Stars and Stripes - errr . . . I mean Union Jack - and cruise to victory.
Those dirty f---ing hippies, when will they learn?
I mention my latest read because of a passage that I read today. I didn't realize the Karl Rove play book existed before the man was ever born:
"[Joseph] Chamberlain roamed the land, hammering on a single issue: the conduct of the [Boer] war. His purpose was to convince the electorate that a Liberal victory would mean the political defeat of British arms in South Africa. His theme became, 'A vote for the Liberals is a vote for the Boers!' (Emphasis mine). This charge was shouted from platforms, proclaimed by billboards and placards. Posters depicted prominent Liberals kneeling in tribute to [Boer] President Kruger, helping him haul down the Union Jack, even urging him to shoot British soldiers. One Liberal M.P. attacked in this fashion had lost two sons in the war and was actually visiting their graves in South Africa when the election was held."
Let's see. Over-extended nation state meets their military match in a rag-tag group of insurgents whose land was unjustly invaded by aforementioned nation state. Come election time, the nation's war hawks lambaste the leftists for being pussies and wanting to "lose" the war and portray progressive candidates as friends of the enemy. For good measure, they wrap themselves in the Stars and Stripes - errr . . . I mean Union Jack - and cruise to victory.
Those dirty f---ing hippies, when will they learn?
Monday, July 14, 2008
You're such a meathead
Meat. I understand that as first impressions go, my previous, first-ever blog entry betrays a certain je ne sais quoi. Actually, I do know what it is and it's meatheadedness, at least according to my future wife upon reading said entry. You can thank her for the title of this entry. You can thank Ogre and the Alpha Betas for showing the rest of us wannabes how it's done and pounding nerds whenever the opportunity arises. I learned in college that the amount of meat packed onto one's frame is directly correlated to the amount of meat one packs into the cranium. The more one talks about lifting, the less one wants to talk about reading, thinking, etc. Perhaps exercise redistributes body stuffs that would otherwise be used as brain cells? Maybe I was just born with natural disadvantages on both fronts. In fact I'm certain of that.
So for the sake of purging red meat from my otherwise gray matter, let's discuss something else. Tampa Bay Lightning franchise centerman Vincent Lecavalier is a wealthy man and is set to become an even wealthier man by way of $85 million over the course of the next 11 hockey seasons. The deal will take him up to his 39th birthday. Naturally, my first thought is that I can't relate to what it feels like to be swimming in money - literally if Vinny ever felt so moved to drain his swimming pool from the fresh Pellegrino he fills it with everyday and try something new.
Something else I can't relate to and that provides better food for thought is the feeling of being the best in the world at whatever it is that you do. Be it hockey, academia, medicine, pounding nerds, whatever. There is always a supremely elite class of performer who knows a feeling that no one else can truly know. One question that comes up is whether everyone has this one thing yet only a select few are lucky enough to unearth it. The idea is rather exhilarating and even egalitarian in a sort of kindergarten-eque, "you're all special" kind of way.
Life is a grind, though, and we only have limited time to explore our talents and capabilities before it's time to get serious. I feel like that time is shrinking, too, with our capabilities and roles being defined, either by others or ourselves under pressure from others, much earlier in life. I already sense this becoming an impossibly long entry, so I'll pick this up later. Suffice it to say now that conventional views of success and education are completely out of whack with what is actually needed from our promising young people.
Sincerely,
So for the sake of purging red meat from my otherwise gray matter, let's discuss something else. Tampa Bay Lightning franchise centerman Vincent Lecavalier is a wealthy man and is set to become an even wealthier man by way of $85 million over the course of the next 11 hockey seasons. The deal will take him up to his 39th birthday. Naturally, my first thought is that I can't relate to what it feels like to be swimming in money - literally if Vinny ever felt so moved to drain his swimming pool from the fresh Pellegrino he fills it with everyday and try something new.
Something else I can't relate to and that provides better food for thought is the feeling of being the best in the world at whatever it is that you do. Be it hockey, academia, medicine, pounding nerds, whatever. There is always a supremely elite class of performer who knows a feeling that no one else can truly know. One question that comes up is whether everyone has this one thing yet only a select few are lucky enough to unearth it. The idea is rather exhilarating and even egalitarian in a sort of kindergarten-eque, "you're all special" kind of way.
Life is a grind, though, and we only have limited time to explore our talents and capabilities before it's time to get serious. I feel like that time is shrinking, too, with our capabilities and roles being defined, either by others or ourselves under pressure from others, much earlier in life. I already sense this becoming an impossibly long entry, so I'll pick this up later. Suffice it to say now that conventional views of success and education are completely out of whack with what is actually needed from our promising young people.
Sincerely,
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Yes, I do think I'm better than you, and so do people like me
KB 2.0. That's been the theme of the past month. I joined a Crossfit affiliated gym in South Orange called RunJumpLift, and the results so far have been amazing. I'm not built to get big or anything like that, but I love the rush of a good hard workout and realizing improvements from week to week. I have to admit, when I first walked into this place for a 2-week trial, I was skeptical. What I saw amounted to a converted auto garage with a few basic pieces of workout equipment and free weights sitting against the walls, some pullup bars, and a rather intimidating set of truck tires and sledge hammers. All of this amounted to about one step above the Italian Stallion's arrangements in Rocky IV.
Of course, part of realizing said improvements rests on the right kind of diet, and I've noticed my performance improve significantly since I started to eat like I actually cared. Admittedly, I've never eaten well in the traditional sense. On second thought, I've always eaten well, just not healthily. I'm talking wings; I'm talking Mexican food; and hell yes, I'm talking anything from Sheetz at all hours of the day and night. Indeed, a freakishly fast metabolism has been one of my life's joys. Yet lately, I've found it easier than anticipated to forsake all types of delicious food. Could it be that my competitive impulse is so strong that I would sooner give up the best sloppy joe in the country than add a minute to my Barbara time? It would appear so, and based on how ridiculously well things have gone so far, I don't see myself turning back any time soon.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a Cliff Bar in front of me with my name written all over it.
Of course, part of realizing said improvements rests on the right kind of diet, and I've noticed my performance improve significantly since I started to eat like I actually cared. Admittedly, I've never eaten well in the traditional sense. On second thought, I've always eaten well, just not healthily. I'm talking wings; I'm talking Mexican food; and hell yes, I'm talking anything from Sheetz at all hours of the day and night. Indeed, a freakishly fast metabolism has been one of my life's joys. Yet lately, I've found it easier than anticipated to forsake all types of delicious food. Could it be that my competitive impulse is so strong that I would sooner give up the best sloppy joe in the country than add a minute to my Barbara time? It would appear so, and based on how ridiculously well things have gone so far, I don't see myself turning back any time soon.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a Cliff Bar in front of me with my name written all over it.
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