Tag: Misc (Page 10 of 11)

Wrapping Some Things Up

June 11, 2004 / DB

As I posted earlier, back home again in Indiana. Naturally, there were tornado warnings here last night, although none close to our part of the city. I’m starting to feel a little cursed. Almost four inches of rain here in Carmel this morning. It’s like Seattle, only it’s 90 with a thick layer of steam from all the water on the ground.

Yesterday was my brilliant day in the first class cabin of American Airlines. I must admit, while it was nice to get on and off the jets first, have decent if unspectacular food delivered to me, and as many Diet Cokes as I wanted (Does Roy Williams know about this?) the best part was for the first time in my life, I took a serious nap on a plane. After my 3:55 AM wake up call yesterday, I was in great need of some additional sleep. After downing my omelet, bagel, and fruit plate, I leaned my comfy seat back and promptly dropped off for two hours. Normally when I sleep on a plane, I’m wedged into my seat and wake up ever ten minutes. After about 60 minutes of that, I give up. I fell asleep somewhere over Utah and woke up 30 minutes before landing. Very nice. One thing I noticed about first class is everyone wants to have rather loud conversations on their cell phones until take off, and immediately after landing. Apparently the average first class passenger is so important no minutes can be wasted not making calls, even if they’re personal. I, on the other hand, find some deserted corner in the airport to make all my calls from.

The rest of my Portland visit was good enough. Downed some very good fish & chips Tuesday night, had some outstanding Vietnamese food Wednesday. Great beer both nights. Wednesday I drove out to Astoria, on the coast. Typically, we were socked in by clouds so another visit without seeing Mt. St. Helens. I couldn’t even see Adams or Hood on this trip, until the flight home. Along the way to Astoria is a town called Longview, which is right on the Columbia River and a huge logging town. Roads are clogged with logging trucks transporting felled trees. The asphalt is littered with chunks of lumber and bark. When you get ready to cross the river, a quick glance to either side offers nearly endless views of trees ready for processing and transport stacked along the shore. Roughly halfway to Astoria, you hit a section of road that is literally completely covered by trees. It was similar to driving through a covered bridge. Suddenly, you come to a more open section and you notice that you’re in an area that has been heavily logged. While staring in awe at the open space, I noticed a large bird floating across the road. “That’s a big hawk,” I thought. Then I snapped out of it and realized I was staring at a Bald Eagle. Extremely impressive.

We were sitting in a bar Tuesday night and heard the Pistons lead the Lakers late. We moved nearer a TV to watch, and LA promptly took the lead. We lost interest a little, until we noticed Detroit had fought back. Then they extended. This was amazing! The Pistons were going to win two in LA! Then Kobe hit the biggest shot since Jordan shoved Byron Russell. We looked at each other and said, “We’ll be able to tell our kids where we were when the Lakers won the series.” So what happened in Detroit last night was just stupid. Larry Brown’s a witch, but no way should the Pistons be making the Lakers look absolutely silly like that. I’d still bet on the Lakers to win, but all of a sudden, you can see the confidence in the Pistons that they can not only compete in the series, but they have a great shot to win. Fascinating.

For some reason, anytime I travel to the Northwest, I get a huge thrill when I hear any of the 90s grunge bands on the radio. It’s like buying a t-shirt of a sports team at the stadium where they play; there’s something extra special about hearing Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, or Everclear in their home territory. Maybe it’s because people still wear flannel there.

While we’re on the subject of music, I heard this new group Velvet Revolver a lot in Portland. Scott Weiland from Stone Temple Pilots on vocals; Slash, Duff McKagan, and Matt Sorum from Guns ‘n Roses manning three of the four instruments. Surprisingly, the styles come together quite nicely. Check them out when you have a chance.

I must sing the praises of the folks at Blogger and Google. First, a month or so back, they added comments as an included feature, offered more templates, and made some administrative changes that make running a blog much easier. Then, they offered photoblogging, which is very cool. Finally, they’ve incorporated Audioblogging as a free feature this week. I didn’t have a chance to try it out yet, but I can call into a number, record up to two minutes, and then an audio file is posted to the blog. This has been an option you can pay to have for some time; I just never figured it was worth it. I’ll try to give it a shot sometime soon to see how it works. Blogger members have been offered a chance to use Google’s new mail app in its beta format. I’m holding off, just because I have four e-mail addresses already and don’t want to add another until I know it’s a stable product. Thank you, Google Gods!

This ad war between Budweiser and Miller is stupid. First, the Miller commercials are just dumb. These are the natural progression of arguably the greatest campaign ever, Tastes Great – Less Filling? Then, AB’s response commercials are equally dumb. Miller may have been purchased by a South African company, but is it not still made in Milwaukee? Does any beer made at Budweiser plants around the world (which they used to brag about) not count as American beer even though it tastes exactly like what’s made in St. Louis? We’re at war in two countries, facing terrorist threats, about to pick a President for four years and Congress for two, and we’ve got idiotic mudslinging rather than intelligent, clever ads for beer that doesn’t even taste good. What’s the world coming to?

PDX

June 7, 2004 / DB

It’s a little concerning that the missive I began Saturday, while battling insomnia and drinking beer, is not to be found on my hard drive. Perhaps its disappearance into the ether is a sign it wasn’t worthy of your time.

I’m sitting in the historic Governor Hotel in downtown Portland. I just made a pilgrimage to Powell’s Books and managed to escape only $13 lighter. I’ve purchased books from Powell’s online and their PDX store, but this was my first trip to their world famous hub store in downtown Portland. They have something like a billion books. Well, “more than a million” according to the Portland guide book I’m looking at. Like Portland itself, it feels like a blown up version of something you’d find in a college town. The entire store smells of incense. The majority of the patrons could be described as “artsy” based on their outward appearance. Most importantly, it’s an independent bookseller and thus has great deals on new books and a significant stock of used books in outstanding condition. I purchased a used copy of The New Father, A Dad’s Guide to the First Year and two books about penguins for the Little Girlfriend. Did I mention I spent $13? The dad book alone was more than that new at traditional bookstores. I highly recommend checking Powell’s online out. Purchase more than $50, and shipping is often free.

Tornado warnings in Central Washington, according to the weather man I’m watching. Really? “If you’re in a mobile home or a vehicle, find good cover immediately.” Even in the Pacific Northwest, trailer parks are target #1.

Since I lost my draft from Saturday, I’ll summarize my brush with fame last Friday. We stopped into a liquor store to purchase a present for a friend and some O’Doul’s to take to the party for S. While paying, and making jokes with the guy behind the counter about a pregnant woman buying liquor, S kind of poked me and nodded her head behind us. I looked over my shoulder, and approaching us was the local weather hottie. She looked much different in person. The TV makeup was laid on pretty thick, her hair sprayed to concrete levels of stability. On TV, as I said last week, she appears hot in the wholesome, good looking mom kind of way. In person, she looks more like someone who’s a little older and trying hard to keep the youthful look. Blame the makeup. Also, she had this pissed off look on her face. We scampered out, trying to steal glances and not trip over ourselves. As soon as we got through the door, I asked S if she noticed what Weather Lady was buying. She said no, so we hustled to the car so we could circle back and get another look at her (Further evidence my wife rocks; she’s giving me permission to check out another woman!). We start to slowly pull through the parking lot when we see Weather Lady walking towards us. Still had an awful look on her face, large bag of purchases under her arm, kind of walking in the path of traffic. It was amusing to see three cars, all driven by men, each driver checking her out, sit and wait while she strutted across to her car. I wondered aloud if it had been an especially tough weather day (It was 80 and sunny) and she needed to go home and get loaded, which S thought was pretty funny. We did not see the 11 o’clock news to see if she was hammered or if she had the night off.

I picked up an outstanding Midwest beer sampler as well, which has been added to the log on the right.

So two weeks ago we’re at Costco and I decide to check out the office chairs, as we’re in the process of replacing mine. I’m about to sit in an especially comfy looking black leather model when a guy says, “Are you in sales?!?!” 15 minutes later, I’m not exaggerating, I finally tear myself away. I can’t tell you exactly what we talked about, although I recall meeting his wife and son and noticing my wife turned tail and disappeared rather quickly. Anyway, guy gives me his card, and asks for mine. Luckily, I don’t carry cards with me. I gave him my cell phone number (Why didn’t I just make something up?) and he said he’d give me a call sometime. No clue why. Saturday my cell phone rings and it’s some local number I don’t recognize. Thinking it’s a sales call, I let it ring through. As soon as the message indicator pops up, I dial in, and hear my buddy from Costco. He said he’s looking forward to talking to me and leaves his number. “What does he want to talk about?” asked S. “I have no idea,” I said with some concern. She thought that was hilarious. He called again Sunday. I’ve put him in my phone as Freak Boy, so I don’t accidentally answer sometime.

No matter what you thought of Ronald Reagan, his passing is obviously a huge event. I don’t have the exact words, but I saw a recent quote from Nancy Reagan that basically said Ronald had slipped to a place where they could no longer contact him. What a sad reminder of how horrible a disease Alzheimer’s can be.

Long client meetings tomorrow, followed by (hopefully) some micro brewed beer and fish & chips for dinner. Wednesday, I head out to Astoria, which is at the mouth of the Columbia River on the coast, and the spot where Lewis & Clark ended their journey. And hopefully some more beer and fish & chips that night. Thursday, I fly home first class!

Short Fiction – Class

May 21, 2004 / DB

Monday
First day of the last year! Finally a college senior. Two easy semesters and then I’m out of here. Time to enjoy the ride. Only three classes this semester, plus a full time job. No reason not to get good grades. What’s first on the schedule? Sociology of the Family. Ah yes, easy class. Took it two years ago then quit on Drop Day for some silly reason. Not my finest hour, that semester. I should cruise through it this time.
Get to class early, grab a good seat, check out the honeys. There’s my spot: second row, middle seat. Not too aggressive, not too passive. In the heart of the action. Sit down, open the paper, act like you’re reading. Let them come to you. Wow, someone saw a plastic surgeon over the summer! Whoa, girls didn’t look like that when I was a freshman. Hello there, it’s that cool chick from Spanish last spring.
“Hey, what’s happening?”
“Hi! You’re still around?”
“Yeah, I’m an X year senior.”
“X year?”
“Sure, X protects me from the embarrassment of revealing how long I’ve actually been here!”
“I see, you’re probably just hanging around for basketball tickets anyway. How was your summer?”
“Flew by. Took two classes, worked full time, took a trip to California for a wedding. Not the plan I had in mind for my last summer of freedom. How was yours?”
“Went way fast too. Had an internship back home in Chicago and took a night class. Wasn’t exactly the most thrilling summer either. I only think I made it to the pool five times.”
Hmmm, looks to me like she made it to the pool plenty. I really should have gone to more of the study groups she hosted last year.
“So, what did you get in Spanish last semester?” she asks with a knowing smile. Like she doesn’t know already.
“Well, I got an A but it was a lucky A.” Chicks dig humility.
“Whatever, you and Sandra had your own little conversations the rest of the class never understood.”
Nice smile, nice laugh.
She leans in and whispers. “Who is that? I should probably know but have no idea.” She points towards the door.
Holy shit! Marshall Phelps! The highest rated basketball recruit to arrive on campus in over a decade! There in the flesh, looking like your average lost freshman. Except he’s 6’7” and weighs more than me and the cutie together.
He’s walking this way. OK, OK, act cool. Act cooooool. What was the line in Pulp Fiction? How did Fonzi act? Something like that.
“That’s Marshall Phelps,” I whisper back. “He’s a freshman. Best high school player in the country last year. He’s the guy that’s taking us back to the Final Four.”
“Well, I figured he was a basketball player, but I don’t know them as well as you do.”
“My other hobby, on top of private conversations with Spanish teachers, is memorizing meaningless details about high school athletes.” Another laugh, excellent.
Good God, he’s sitting down next to me. Don’t stare, be friendly, DON’T STARE!
“Hey, ummm, what’s up?” Softer voice than I expected, but he’s probably scared out of his mind. I know I was the morning of my first college class five years ago.
“Hey. Errrr, welcome to campus.” Idiot.
“Thanks, man.”
Awkward silence. Don’t say anything stupid. More awkward silence. Blink.
“Umm, where’d you get that paper dude?”
“This? Oh, you can get them all over campus. I think there’s a bin out in the building entrance. You want mine? I’ve pretty much read the whole thing.”
“Yeah, sure, that’s cool, thanks.”
“No problem.”
Silence
“Hello everyone, welcome to Sociology of the Family. I’m excited about the semester ahead and hope you are too. Let’s get started…”
Marshall Phelps is going to be my man!

Wednesday
Damn, running late for class. Gotta get there quick so I can claim my seat. Can’t believe I didn’t say anything else to Marshall on Monday. Pop through the door, still plenty of open seats. Same row as Monday, slightly to the right side of the room this time. Shit, there’s Spanish cutie, one row away, staring right at me. How did I miss her?
“Hey, sorry, I’m out of it today, didn’t see you.”
A weak smile back, no words. Probably blew that, not that I had a chance anyway. Oh well, Marshall’s going to roll in any second and sit next to me. I’m going to find a way to casually mention how impressed I was with his performance in the McDonald’s All America game last year. Then he’s going to ask if he can study with me this semester. Next thing, we’ll be hanging together on weekends. He’ll leave me tickets for road games. I’ll offer to bring him home for Easter.
Two minutes to class.
One minute, grad assistant is setting up at her desk.
Thirty seconds, no Marshall, one seat left next to me.
Class starts, seat taken.
Marshall walks in, takes a seat in the back corner, doesn’t even look at me.

This is based on a couple unrelated events, the first of which I’ve been struggling to write some kind of fictional account for at least two years. I even had a 15 page early draft of a short story based on the incident, but hated where it was going and it’s now tucked safely away on a disk somewhere. I needed to write something about it, though, so you, my loyal and dear readers, are subject to the experiment. I don’t claim it to be good, just something other than my regular observations.
Inspiration? The guts of this come from the day Paul Pierce walked into my sociology class when he was a freshman and I was a, well, X year senior. I damn near jumped out of my chair. I looked around and no one else seemed to be paying attention. I had been following Pierce’s high school career for almost two years. The day he committed to attend Kansas, I ran through my parents’ house screaming. And now he was looking for a seat in my class! Nine years later, he’s my favorite NBA player and I missed the chance to latch onto him before he made it. All because he chose seats poorly. The girl angle is based on a real event as well; also a missed opportunity from my college years. A certain symmetry I found ironic.

Fun With Search Engines

May 19, 2004 / DB

In the blog template updates last week, I also changed the tracking software I use. I think the service I’m using now, eXTReMe Tracking, does a much more accurate job of tracking who visits on a daily basis as well as telling me exactly who visits. The true coup is the search engine tracking it includes, which is always fun. Here are some recent search engine queries that led people to my site:

Is Diana Degarmo Hispanic?
Single Armenian men in Nashville Tennessee
Prince song “Sweet Thing”
Diana Degarmo ethnicity (X3)
Bonsiour
Murray + Barbecue + Ontario + “honey brown”
Michigan’s Ugliest Baby
Michigan’s Fab Five
Fat Ugly Red Sox Fans Pics
Giada De Laurentis

I think I see why young Miss Degarmo is so popular. People want to keep her coming back so they can figure out what her ethnic makeup is. I’ve always assumed she’s a white girl. Am I missing something?

Also, in a week, people have visited from the following countries:

Canada
Finland
Belgium
Bulgaria
Singapore
France
United Kingdom
New Zealand
Taiwan
Unknown (My all time favorite country! I loved those guys in the 1984 Olympics.)

Further Proof Today’s Kids Are Spoiled

May 18, 2004 / DB

I stumbled into the kitchen this morning and grabbed a brand new box of Honey Nut Cheerios out of the cabinet. I noticed some Shrek artwork on the box, and words that said something free was inside, but didn’t take time to read them. I opened the box up, and lying on top of the sealed wax bag of cereal was a small package. I pulled it out, unwrapped it, and found a digital watch with the Three Little Pigs from Shrek as the artwork. Not only do kids get kick ass toys in cereal now (I realize the watch may work about as long as a “Rolex” purchased in Hong Kong, but still, it’s a digital watch!), but they also don’t have to go elbow deep into the box, or spend the morning pouring an entire box into a huge salad bowl and then carefully returning it to get their gear. It’s resting softly on top, like a wedding ring on a pillow. I remember at least two “incidents”, generally with Fruity or Cocoa Pebbles, that ended with roughly a third of the total volume of cereal scattered on the floor from my efforts to get some plastic Fred Flintstone bicycle reflector out of the bottom of the box. Kids these days…

Weiners On The Weekend

May 17, 2004 / DB

We joke often about Will Ferrell’s line in Old School about the big Saturday he and his wife have planned: a trip to Home Depot and maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond. I found another outstanding addition to that lineup over the weekend. Friday evening, we attended an open house for a relative who’s graduating from high school. After the open house, we decided to swing by Super Target to pick up some food for the weekend and get some important things like socks and Lime Away. My 24 year old sister-in-law was along for the ride and as we pulled into the Super Target parking lot, her roommate called. “Where are you?” “Super Target!” “Why???” OK, Super Target on Friday nights isn’t aimed at the mid 20s demographic.
While we were placing our items on the check out conveyor, the people in front of us noticed a noise making gift we got for a friend’s son. “Wow, that’s really cool. It makes noise!” I told them it was a gift for a six year old. “That’s awesome, our five year old would love that!” When they were checking out, they asked for change in fives and tens so they could “pay the babysitter”. “Big night out at Target?” I asked. Taking no offense at all, they happily agreed. So if you and your loved one are looking for a nice addition to your weekend lineups, I heartily recommend your local Target.

What was concerning about Target on Friday night, though, was the packs of roving kids. Apparently if you live too far from the mall and can’t drive, you find a way to get to Target. We ran into at least three groups of pre-teen packs numbering 6-10 kids.

Baby development update, S is off to the doctor this morning for her 28 week (actually 29 week) check-up and her gestational diabetes test. As I type this Sunday night, I can see her stomach twitching and pitching as the Little Girlfriend kicks away. S did a quick ultrasound last week and the baby was still positioned across her stomach rather than vertically. Since then, though, it seems like she’s probably moved into a more vertical position, hopefully head down like she’s supposed to be. The kicking/standing tends to cause more discomfort to S, since they tend to find targets that are relatively important organs rather than just being into empty space. But all in all, things are continuing to progress normally and without incident, although S is obviously dreaded the accelerated weight gain that generally accompanies the third trimester.

Last weekend, I gained an ally in my plan to make sure our girl is a little sportster. One of my sisters-in-law said, very matter of factly, “You’re not going to have a prissy girl. I’m going to make sure she’s a soccer player.” OK, excellent. For the record, I’m comfortable with soccer and basketball. Gymnastics are definitely out. Swimming would be cool. Softball, no offense to other softball players, but I think we’ll not steer her that direction. And she, along with all future children in this house, will not play in the leagues that force them to practice three times a week and play two times a week. Over the course of a six month season. At the age of five. I remember my Little Leagues starting practice the last week of April, starting games in late May, and being done by Fourth of July. Sure, we wanted more games, but we never got burnt out on the sport. I want my kids to enjoy sports, and if they happen to turn into something they’re good at and can play into high school and perhaps beyond, that’s great. But I’m not turning my kids into little freaks who hate the things that are supposed to make them happy.

I’ve probably mentioned that so far S’s only real craving has been sweets. I’ve been trying to get back on a regular running schedule and make my gym workouts really count to offset the added desserts we’ve consumed over the last month. But the surest sign of how pregnancy can alter a woman’s appetite came Sunday. We were at a birthday party for a six year old that included a cook out for adults. I looked at S’s plate and saw a half eaten hot dog. “Are you eating a hot dog?” “Yes, and it’s not bad.” She’s long been on the record as declaring hot dogs the single most disgusting food know to man. She thinks the last time she ate a hot dog was when she was five. We’ll see if she comes home with a huge package of Ball Park franks this afternoon.

Saturday was Pole Day at the Speedway. No, not a stripper convention, but the day when the pole position was determined for the Indy 500. It ended up being a bit of a dud, with cold and rainy weather, so I didn’t watch much of the coverage. Missing that, I was able to take another step into solidifying my Indy resident status. We took a trip to Watson’s. Sadly, we missed an appearance by the Watson’s girl, who was helping to promote the grand opening of their new store. We’ve been looking for some wicker furniture for our sun room and decided it was at least worth the trip to check out their selection. First set we see when we walk in the door was an $8000 set of hand made furniture from the Philippines. We later learned the laborers, who no doubt earn something like a penny a day, hand harvest the wood, drag it through swamps to a village, and let the wood hang and cure for five days before it is hand fashioned into furniture. I was ready to turn around and walk out but was overruled. Pretty much everything was insanely expensive, even with the grand opening discounts, so we did our best to avoid the sales sharks who were circling frantically and escaped without buying anything. But now I’ve been to Watson’s!

Good song choice: ABC using Jeff Buckley’s “Last Goodbye” in their promotions for the final episode of The Practice. I didn’t watch it, but I dug the promos.

I can’t believe the Spurs choked away the series to the LA Cockroaches. I can’t see the Kings beating the Lakers. The Timberwolves are capable, but it won’t happen. And we all know no body from the East can beat the Lakers in a seven game series. Yep, Hollywood ending. Tears in their eyes. Emotional rally in downtown LA next month. And then Kobe will resign with them after flirting with every other team in the league for the past 12 months… He’s just used his “dalliances” with other teams to build the drama. He’s not going anywhere. Maybe Shaq will retire so the rest of the league has a chance next year.

Gifts

May 11, 2004 / DB

I like gifts. I received two outstanding gifts over the past week. Last Friday, the mailman delivered a package from the delightful Mandi R. of Denver, CO. I wondered, “What have I done to deserve this?” Once the wrapping paper was removed, it was clear what I had done to deserve it: I knocked up my wife. You might think Mandi purchased some cute little animal gear, since she’s down with animal rights. Or, you might have wondered, did she purchase my daughter her first political piece of clothing, since Mandi and I have similar political views? No on both counts; Mandi did much better than that. In the package was a tiny black t-shirt, with the cover of the first Clash album screened onto it. That’s right, my daughter will be the proud owner of a Clash shirt the moment she exits the womb! I can’t wait for the day when our girl is old enough to wear her shirt. We’ll sit in her rocker together and sing “Bankrobber.” “My daddy was a bank robber/But he never hurt nobody/He just loved to live that way/And he loved to steal your money.” Perfect for teaching your young ones about the ways of the world! Outstanding job, Miss R.!
Second, over March and April, I covered for a coworker while she was away on her maternity leave. It was really pretty easy, as the ten or so clients I covered for were quiet almost the entire time she was away. When she returned two weeks ago, she asked for my address, so I figured she send me a thank you card. Monday, the FedEx man rang the doorbell and left a package from the Kansas Sampler store. Inside, a bottle of Gates barbecue sauce, a bottle of Bryant’s barbecue sauce, and a bottle of Hayward’s barbecue sauce, along with a bottle of Gates dry rub. Two outstanding ladies have graced me with the most excellent of gifts.
Two quick notes. 1) This isn’t a contest, so no need to send in competing gifts just to get props on the blog. 2) Our daughter is going to have more clothes than she knows what to do with, so this shouldn’t serve as notice to flood us with additional clothes. The grandparents are going to have that covered.

Warm The Hell Up

May 3, 2004 / DB

First, it’s far too cold for May 3. I hate that one last cold snap that just ruins some weekend in the spring. Not sure how cold it actually got here last night, but we flipped the heat on at 5:00 yesterday afternoon. So much for thinking the gas bills wouldn’t be something we had to worry about until November.

Friday night, we watched a birthing video. I can’t claim I learned much because I was busy ridiculing the fashion of the people in the video, which was filmed in 1987. One mom clearly put on mascara before she started 18 hours of labor. In the post-birth scenes, she had bright red hair that scrapped the ceiling and hung like a mullet around her shoulders. Plus, it was clearly filmed at some “alternative” birthing center as the delivering moms were doing all kinds of crazy things. When a pediatrician who works with kids straight out of the womb says, “What the hell are they doing?!?!” I think it’s safe to assume the video didn’t share the experience we’re going to go through.

We did some shopping over the weekend. S. made the observation that when we were in stores like Banana Republic, J Crew, etc. the hired help doesn’t ask her if she needs any help any more. They just smile and ask her how she’s doing. A pretty clear sign she’s obviously pregnant now.

Saturday we went to the Circle Center Mall in downtown Indy. We stopped in for dinner at PF Chang’s and settled at the bar for the obligatory 45 minute wait. Looking around, there were numerous tables set for rather large groups. Around 6:00, groups of fancily dressed teenagers began pouring in. Yep, it was a prom night. I understand kids aren’t always flush with money on prom night, especially after buying a dress/renting a tux, arranging for transportation, paying some 25 year old a 30% tax to have him buy you three cases of the cheapest beer possible. But PF Chang’s? We went to Plaza III for our prom night dinner. I love the Chang’s, and I know it’s not exactly cheap, but it seems pretty informal for something as special as prom. I imagine these are the same people who get engaged at sporting events.

Coral was clearly a popular color in prom dresses this year. And it’s always funny to watch 16 year old girls try to walk in formal dresses and heels. Can I also say the way some of these girls look is completely ridiculous? No daughter of mine is leaving the house looking like that!

After dinner, we walked around the mall, which like most malls in the US is a big cruising ground for teenagers on weekend nights. So in addition to all the promsters, the mall was loaded with regular kids out for a cruise. I decided the retro jersey craze has gotten completely out of control. I saw jerseys for players I barely knew, and I’m sure 15 year olds had no clue who they were. I think I liked it better when you saw 1000 Deion Sanders and Michael Jordan jerseys. Not to mention jerseys that went for $75 when we were in college now run for $275. Where are these kids getting this kind of money for a 1971 Dallas Chaparrals Ron Boone jersey?

The Royals are totally disheartening. Even when they play well, they can’t get a win. I fear Carlos Beltran was looking at condos in Manhattan this weekend. The five year window that began with Sweeney, Beltran, Febles, etc. coming up is sliding shut.

It was criminal that I didn’t include Echo and the Bunnymen’s “Lips Like Sugar” in my top 20 songs of the 80s list I put together back in ’99. Funny how songs that are so old and you barely knew can rocket to the top of your list years later.

We’re in the market for a good camcorder. Sony seems to be the brand of choice among other recent/prospective parents I’ve talked to. Any other recommendations?

Book of the weekend: John Lydon’s Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs. It’s the memoir of Lydon’s youth and his time as lead singer for the Sex Pistols. An interesting read for anyone that’s into music history. I tend to think many of his criticisms of Joe Strummer and the Clash were based on jealousy rather than legitimate critiques, but it was still worth the read to get Lydon’s perspective on things. He has some very interesting views on the state of the world at the time he wrote the book (1994). What I enjoyed most was the title, which was taken from the postings at many bars, hotels, and houses for rent in England back in the day. Lydon, who was Irish by ethnicity by English by birth, rails on the class system of England throughout the book. What a beautiful statement on the ridiculous nature of racism. Not only are you lesser if you happen to be from Ireland or Africa (or your parents are) but you’re no better than a dog. God Save the Queen!

April Rules

April 29, 2004 / DB

The perfect adult weekend: ideal weather (sunny, highs in the low 80s, just a hint of humidity but not enough to make it truly sticky), an entire day in the yard, another day spent out on the back deck listening to baseball, and the wife has been in Florida the whole time. Wait, that last part isn’t ideal, don’t quote that line ever. But pretty much everything else about the weekend was perfect. I’ve got a few more hours before I head to the airport to pick S. up, so I’m holed up in our sun room (although it’s truly lovely outside, it’s extremely windy and each new gust loosens another wave of dead limbs and leaves towards me; I need the protection) with the Old School Rap Music Choice channel cranked, enjoying the last couple hours of sun. It’s about a month early, but it would really be great if they slipped DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince’s “Summertime” into the mix.
I’ve slept with the windows open the last four nights, the ceiling fans have been running the past two days, and I nearly turned the air conditioning on today (it was 85). The trees are starting to bud, so we’re seeing less and less of our neighbors behind us. The squirrels and birds are going nuts. A few more weeks and the night air will be full of the masses of cicadas predicted for this year, and other night time performers. But for now, the nights are warm, breezy, and silent.

While I was cleaning up after my yard work yesterday, blowing leaves and clippings back into our tree grove, I decided to aim the leaf blower under the deck to give our friend Mr. Opossum a welcome to spring. Forgetting the fact he/she may well have moved on by now, I didn’t take a second to think, it’s an opossum! It’s not going to come running out because I aim some high powered air in its general direction. It’s going to curl up and act dead until I leave it alone. I need to remember the facts I picked up while reading my National Geographic animal cards when I was a kid.

The Royals are quickly transforming from exciting to depressing. Can anyone on this team hold a lead? This is getting to be reminiscent of the 1999 team, except that team was supposed to be awful so 11-10 losses seemed like hope for the future instead of a failure of the carefully assembled talent. Proving it’s something to do with me, I listened to my first Indianapolis Indians’ game today. Each Indians lead was met with an immediate Richmond Braves answer. Finally, the Braves won in 10 innings (I think, I turned it off by then). Luckily, there were two other baseball stories this weekend. First, the first Yankees – Red Sox series. I can pretty much echo my comments from the UNC-Duke game in March: we know it’s a great rivalry, do you really have to hype it so much? In the grand scheme of things, this series was totally meaningless. If Boston had won Sunday and gotten the series sweep, it would have absolutely no bearing on a possible playoff series between the two teams later this year. That’s what’s great about baseball: in a 162 game season, while rivalries are important for fans, they don’t make or break a team’s season. Settle down, people, we’ve still got 150 or so games to go before they really matter to franchises like Boston and New York. Second, Barry Bonds’ revival over the weekend. The whole steroids in baseball thing is hard for me to work with. On the one hand, performance enhancing drugs should be strictly policed and banned. But as the old saying states, the hardest thing to do in sports is hit a baseball. I find it hard to believe Barry hasn’t used something less than savory to improve his performance (I think the same about Mark McGuire). Whether it was true steroids or not, I won’t hazard a guess. However, any “supplements” either player used may have turned 425 foot home runs into 450 foot shots, but neither guy hit a lot of cheapies. And they still had to hit the ball. For all his surliness, inappropriate actions, and outright hostility to fans and the media, Barry is arguably the greatest player ever. It’s been a joy to watch him perform over the course of his career. He’s really the one baseball player that commands your attention at each at bat. I hope he stays healthy and can give the Hank Aaron record a run.

All that said, Yankees suck!

I did watch a pretty good chunk of the Fox broadcast of Friday’s Sox-Yanks game. One of my favorite things about Tim McCarver is how he is always trying to prove how smart he is. He has a unique method of pronouncing the names of foreign born players to attempt to show his worldly knowledge. What I love about it is how he almost always does it wrong, pronouncing them as a New Yorker would rather than how a fluent speaker of Spanish (most often) would pronounce them.. Example: Friday he kept referring to Enrique Wilson of the Yankees as “on-REE-kay”. As anyone who’s ever taken Spanish knows, the letter E is always pronounced the equivalent of a short E in English, “eh”. So it should be “ehn-REE-kay”. Give him credit for being consistent, though. Joe Buck always came back quickly with the correct pronunciation, which was a nice victory for those of us concerned with such things.

Some of you might wonder what I think about Roy Williams’ comments in Sunday’s KC Star referring to KU fans assuming he was some how behind David Padgett’s decision to transfer. Listen, I don’t think he was directly responsible in any way. I think it’s fairly obvious that David’s father has a different idea for how his son should play than Bill Self does. No biggie, that happens all the time in college sports. David did plan on coming to KU and playing for Roy, so it’s understandable that there may be some lingering issues from last year’s mess. But once again, Roy is proving he has either an extremely limited or selective memory. A year ago at this time, he was shocked when someone asked him about his promise to not have another press conference about his coaching status until he retired, despite making that statement on a night 20,000 of us went to Memorial Stadium to listen to him say exactly that. Now, he’s somehow incredulous that anyone would find it likely that David Padgett might end up and North Carolina. Apparently Roy has forgotten how he teared up just about a year ago and talked about how hard it was for him not to be able to coach Padgett and Omar Wilkes. Perhaps he has forgotten how he, for the first time ever, came out strongly in favor of letting recruits out of the letters of intent when there is a coaching change. It was well into last summer when he finally acknowledged his “press conference” comments. Maybe he’ll finally remember him referring to Padgett being “stuck out there” (Yet never once mentioning the names Wayne Simien, Keith Langford, or Aaron Miles) in a couple months and understand why some people are still pissed and him and North Carolina for ruining what should have been a great ten days for the players on the 2003 KU team. The only good thing about the end of the basketball season was the first year was over. There will always be comparisons between Roy, Bill, and Bruce Snyder by fans of North Carolina, Kansas, and Illinois. But once the first season is over, people can settle down and not fixate on those comparisons. Roy, perhaps in an attempt to make sure he’s not forgotten in Lawrence, is doing his best to not let us move on.

I was out driving around Saturday and passed the local high school sports complex. I noticed the parking lot was full of cars and busses, so assumed there was a track meet or something going on. On my way back later, I saw it was actually a tennis tournament that was going on. Does it make me a dirty old man to have noticed, while passing roughly 1000 feet away at 55 miles per hour, that high school girls are wearing shockingly revealing clothes on the tennis courts? I swear I saw a couple navel rings even from that distance.

When I was a kid, I thought dandelions were kind of cool. Now, they’re public enemy #1 in this household.

Why was it news that Emeka Okafor was declaring for the NBA draft? Didn’t UConn already retire his jersey? Wasn’t that kind of a hint that he wouldn’t be back next year? It’s bad enough that Duke has taken to retiring jerseys on worthy senior’s final home game. UConn did it for a kid with a year of eligibility left! Not that he wasn’t deserving or that he doesn’t carry himself on and off the court in a manner other players should aspire to, but what if UConn got upset early in the tournament? Is his career tainted? Until UConn beat Georgia Tech, he was just another very good player who happened to play on the east coast, and thus be considered an all-time great prematurely. Would UConn have looked silly for hanging his jersey so soon? What if he decided to come back for his senior year? Would they quietly have removed his jersey from the rafters for another year?

I’m in the middle of a baseball reading project. I just finished Daniel Okrent’s Nine Innings, which is supposed to be an explanation of the anatomy of baseball as told through the nine innings of a real game. In addition to relaying the on-the-field happenings and strategies of a game between Baltimore and Milwaukee in 1982, it also explains the then relatively new concept of free agency, minor league systems, ownership groups, managerial concepts, and on an on. I bought the book in 1986, but don’t think I ever read it all the way through. I found two rather interesting bookmarks. One was the wearing schedule for my first pair of contact lenses. It appears as though I picked them up on July 21, 1986, so I believe that confirms details of a certain letter also written that summer that was exposed publicly last year. Seeing the card certainly brought back memories of trying to get my finger into my eye to put in/remove my lenses. It took about 150 tries each time I put them in, took them out. Second, I found a McDonald’s Dick Tracy scratch off game from 1990. Looks like they still owe me a cheeseburger. I started Michael Lewis’ Moneyball today, which is part two of my reading project.

While we’re talking about projects, I have a very special one lined up for later this week that I hope you all will enjoy. Not letting it out of the bag yet, in case I don’t get around to it when I plan. But it should be something of interest to all.

Catching Up, Part Two

April 8, 2004 / DB

More catching up thoughts, including the occasional comment added during Monday’s game.

Portland is by far my favorite place to visit for work. It’s a tremendous city, full of gorgeous views, brewpubs, a college town vibe, clients I actually enjoy visiting, and most importantly, a group of people I know from previous lives that I can visit with. Unlike most other business trips, I don’t retreat to my hotel room each night with the sum of my excitement being checking e-mail and hoping something interesting is on HBO. On this trip, I met one friend from high school/college who I had only seen once in nine or ten years for a drink. Met another fellow KU fan who I had only known from his posts on a private e-mail list over the past five years for a beer another night. Had drinks with another college friend and his partner (who have obtained a marriage license and are planning to thumb their noses at some prominent politicians with a wedding in May) another night. And finally, had dinner with good friends who are my traditional PDX hosts both nights I was in town. When you actually have something to do, and good people to visit with while you’re on the road, it makes the hours you spend preparing for and sitting in meetings with clients completely tolerable.

Why does Jim Nantz seem surprised by the most mundane of plays?

Another great benefit of traveling to Portland is my client who is a huge outdoor enthusiast. He gives me an opportunity to meet with the people I need to meet with, and then we retire to the safety of the Willamette River for a two hour kayak trip. The weather was absolutely gorgeous on Thursday: sunny, slight breeze, temperature somewhere in the low 70s. We paddled out to some islands in the river and beached on one for awhile so we could hike into it a little. We climbed a small outcropping of rocks, pulled our selves up to the high point, and could look down on the channel we had just paddled through, then up into hills that were covered with a thousand shades of green: trees, shrubs, mosses, lichens, pretty much anything that can grow was present in layers up the sides of the hills. A coworker who was along for the visit pointed out that the scene looked like something out of a Hollywood fairy tale. On our trip back to the dock, we went through a long area full of breeding geese. It was eerie to see little pairs of geese eyes staring at you from the brush every 100 yards or so, like some feathered version of deliverance. Invariably, when you saw the first head, there would be a mate nearby. We saw a couple territorial battles, with large males honking and chasing each other about on the water and in the air. We saw females who were clearly nesting, a nervous male pacing nearby. It was a sweet reminder that geese aren’t just the obnoxious birds that like to congregate around the church on my regular running route and load up the sidewalks with guano.

If I’m a coach and I have a 7′ oaf, I force them to watch video of Luke Schenscher. The kid knows exactly how to play within his abilities in a way that helps the team. KU fans say David Padgett needs to put 30 pounds on over the summer. I’d settle for 15 and picking up some of Schenscher’s game.

A great unknown band from the early 90s was Manhattan’s Truck Stop Love. Two members of TSL went on to form Ultimate Fakebox, which had a small measure of national success in the late 90s. I listened to TSL’s debut EP on one of my flights last week. I had forgotten how great the songs were; terrific combinations of southern rock, garage execution, and pop sensibilities. It’s a shame they didn’t get more love in the great Lawrence-KC music harvest of the early 90s.

Warning to loyal readers: the Rwanda genocide anniversary is having a strong effect on me. I watched most of the PBS documentary Ghosts of Rwanda last week and started a book by the BBC journalist who covered the genocide last night. I’ll have a lengthy discussion of that topic next week.

Is it just me, or was that the most boring NCAA title game ever? I honestly don’t recall one that was over that early. (Thanks to Google, it looks like Duke’s 20 point win over Michigan in 1992 was the last game to rival this year’s.) That’s what’s so amazing about the NCAA tournament. It doesn’t matter what the match-up is in the finals, it always turns into a thrilling game. Well, almost always. And yes, I puked in my beer when I saw Georgia Tech start shooting free throws like they were a bunch of Chris Dudleys. Why couldn’t they have done that a week ago? It was fun to hear Billy Packer wetting himself over how good the ACC should be next year. Nothing like a blow out to remove what little filter he has over his personal feelings.

Thursday baby update: while the Little Girlfriend was in the middle of her normal evening playtime, we were thoroughly entertained/freaked out by being able to see S’s stomach jump and twitch with the movements. Still too soon to see any elbows or feet sticking out, but there was some serious movement going on. S. stared at her stomach in a manner that reminded me of Alien. I thought it was about the coolest thing ever.

From the limited poll response, it seems like “One Shining Moment” for a variety of reasons, is less popular than it used to be. I need to pull out my tape from 1988, but I swear there are more interviews, commercials, etc. now between the final buzzer and the montage than there used to be. Maybe that’s what makes it so hard to watch; you have to wait through 45 minutes of filler to get there. Unless we get 45 minutes of Bonnie Bernstein, that’s tough to sit through.