I know it's been a long time since I've posted, but I kind of hit the doldrums there toward the end of winter and early spring and wasn't motivated enough to write...outside of work. Recently, I've been inspired by numerous events and figured it was time to blog on!
This year the St. Peter High School drama department is putting on "The Diary of Anne Frank" for their spring play, which is a riveting production and I'm anxious to see the talented cast bring this show to life.
However, it's not often that someone can find something amusing about "The Diary of Anne Frank", given the serious nature of the show, the dire consequences the characters endure and the terrible final results.
However, those of you that know me probably figured I could put a slightly lighter twist on things. Do keep in mind this pales in comparison to the Seinfeld/Schindler's List episode where Jerry gets caught making out with his girlfriend during a screening of that Oscar-winning flick...which was a great episode BTW.
Let me preface this by regaling you with brief glimpses at my theatrical resume...ah, who am I kidding. My entire theatrical resume is just a glimpse.
While I did have a couple of bit parts during my elementary school days in my hometown community theatre as a member of the Workhouse Gang in "Oliver Twist" and as one of the Royal Children in "The King & I", once I entered the world of junior high and eventually high school, the only other 'dramatic' experience I officially endured was a stage crew member as an 8th grader in my high school's production of "The Diary of Anne Frank".
I have scant memories of the show itself other than the always abundance of theatrical talent my small high school used to crank out helped filled the auditorium seats for each emotionally-draining show. I do recall the harrowing ending when those hiding out with Anne and her family are finally captured and the hushed theatre as the lights dimmed on the final scene.
However, my most memorable moments came after we wrapped up our final show and tore down the set. It was at this time when this then wide-eyed 8th grader and a couple of classmates/fellow stage crew members who felt painting sets, organizing props and clothes and doing just about every other behind-the-scenes-thing needed to put on a good show was a good time, got to go to the cast party at one of the older cast member's home.
Actually, little did we know that while our spots in the high school spring play pecking order garnered an invite to the soiree the invitation extended to the three of us was out of mere courtesy and there was an apparent unwritten code of not accepting it. We were oblivious to that fact and were unaware of the looks of astonishment we must have gotten after the host opened the door to see the JoinUs Brothers trio standing there ready to par-tay!
Reluctantly, they let us in but probably on a "greet 'em, feed 'em and fleet 'em outta here" basis. As I looked back a few years later, there were obvious hints dropped throughout the evening that we had worn out our welcome and it was time for us to go, but I remember having a major crush on one of the older female leads and I wasn't about to miss out on opportunity to showcase my skillz to her (insert "bow-chicka-wow-wow" here) even though she barely knew I existed. To make matters worse for the other older attendees, one of those aforementioned skillz I possessed, along with my 2 compadres, was power chugging cans of Mountain Dew. I think we each got down 3 or 4 in the first hour.
While I eventually crashed at home several hours later from the sugar/caffeine-induced high, it kept us annoying long into the early morning hours until basically some of the older kids with driver's licenses basically offered us cash incentives and free rides home that were too good to resist.
On our way home I do recall seeing the eastern sky getting significantly brighter than when we went into the party, so I'm confident we did a good job of ruining what probably could have been a heckuva party, but it was a memorable night for at least three boys who suddenly gained some street cred with the junior high pubescent crowd roaming the halls of good ol' Mountain Lake High!
Friday, April 16, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
A sight for sore eyes in a long winter...
From an entertainment standpoint, there is no better three-word combo for my family than "free cable preview" (F-C-P)! It's that week when your cable company teases you with a week of viewing pleasure by throwing all their channels at you in their Technicolor splendor (except for Turner Classic Movies, which are in black and white)!
I envision the feeling of euphoria I get whenever we're blessed with FCP must be similar to what an addict gets when they know there's a good time 'bout to happen.
I do realize it's about time the Hildebrandt family stepped out of the 1990s in the world of home entertainment, but making the leap from cable to beaming in a signal from outer space is low on the priority list right now. The minute we buy an HD TV we'll have to make the conversion because our current cable provider doesn't offer HD service...(and you thought my family was behind the times). A cable company not offering HD is like the Vikings without Brett Favre. Both give you illusions of grandeur, but as far as reaching the pinnacle it's merely wishful thinking.
Nonetheless, my cable provider likes to put all its cards on the table a couple times a year offering FCP, in hopes the temptation is tough enough that you'll be enticed to at least order the Starz/Encore package and throw in the Fox Sports package for good measure.
The bad thing about FCP is my family is so "Pavlov"-ed into our current line of channels that straying off course by accidentally clicking on one of the "forbidden" channels (the one's not on our plan, not the naughty ones offered by Showtime and Skin-A-Max) rarely happens. There have been times when we didn't realize we were in the midst of FCP until the last night leaving us feeling cheated and betrayed.
This week Noah and I discovered we were in FCP by pure accident once again, only this time it was on the first night which we reacted to as if the Twins had won the World Series or the Vikings had won the Super Bowl.
We've done our best to enjoy it as much as possible. However, much to my chagrin, I haven't been able to take advantage as much as I would like as I've been away from the house a good portion of every evening this week.
Nonetheless, when the kiddies have gone to bed and Teresa has had her fill of the local news, I get to take over the remote control and spend at least 15 minutes gushing over the plethora of viewing riches at my disposal by scrolling up and down the listings.
It's enough to almost cause sensory overload all the while in the back of my mind I resist those "naughty" channels knowing full well I'm only a thirsty child with cottonmouth away from trying to explain to a half-sleeping child, "Daddy? Why is that guy wrestling with that girl without any clothes on?"
That'd be 'risky business' which begs the question, "is there a Tom Cruise marathon on any of these channels?".
I envision the feeling of euphoria I get whenever we're blessed with FCP must be similar to what an addict gets when they know there's a good time 'bout to happen.
I do realize it's about time the Hildebrandt family stepped out of the 1990s in the world of home entertainment, but making the leap from cable to beaming in a signal from outer space is low on the priority list right now. The minute we buy an HD TV we'll have to make the conversion because our current cable provider doesn't offer HD service...(and you thought my family was behind the times). A cable company not offering HD is like the Vikings without Brett Favre. Both give you illusions of grandeur, but as far as reaching the pinnacle it's merely wishful thinking.
Nonetheless, my cable provider likes to put all its cards on the table a couple times a year offering FCP, in hopes the temptation is tough enough that you'll be enticed to at least order the Starz/Encore package and throw in the Fox Sports package for good measure.
The bad thing about FCP is my family is so "Pavlov"-ed into our current line of channels that straying off course by accidentally clicking on one of the "forbidden" channels (the one's not on our plan, not the naughty ones offered by Showtime and Skin-A-Max) rarely happens. There have been times when we didn't realize we were in the midst of FCP until the last night leaving us feeling cheated and betrayed.
This week Noah and I discovered we were in FCP by pure accident once again, only this time it was on the first night which we reacted to as if the Twins had won the World Series or the Vikings had won the Super Bowl.
We've done our best to enjoy it as much as possible. However, much to my chagrin, I haven't been able to take advantage as much as I would like as I've been away from the house a good portion of every evening this week.
Nonetheless, when the kiddies have gone to bed and Teresa has had her fill of the local news, I get to take over the remote control and spend at least 15 minutes gushing over the plethora of viewing riches at my disposal by scrolling up and down the listings.
It's enough to almost cause sensory overload all the while in the back of my mind I resist those "naughty" channels knowing full well I'm only a thirsty child with cottonmouth away from trying to explain to a half-sleeping child, "Daddy? Why is that guy wrestling with that girl without any clothes on?"
That'd be 'risky business' which begs the question, "is there a Tom Cruise marathon on any of these channels?".
Monday, February 22, 2010
Miracle on Ice...30 years later
It's hard to believe it was 30 years ago today...or was it yesterday...or perhaps it's tomorrow, well nonetheless it was approximately three decades ago the US hockey team knocked off the then-feared Soviets in a thriller at Lake Placid endearing a group of young men, who were wearing hockey mullets before they were fashionable, into the hearts of people through this great country.
Because of that, the phrase "Do you believe in miracles?! Yes!!!" and chants of "U-S-A! U-S-A!" were thrust into our sporting/pop culture vernacular and the minute anyone says them with any sort of exhuberance most immediately conjure up a memorable time not just in this country's sporting history but history in general.
I remember exactly where I was the night the Americans beat the Russians...sitting in the bleachers in the old Blue Earth High School gymnasium, still recovering from my "big" brother Mikey's heart-breaking loss in the regional wrestling tournament semifinals costing him a trip to state and me a long weekend of hotel fun up in "the Cities." It was a devastating loss one of which my bro more than made up for by qualifying the next three years for the state meet.
I still remember the gym full of wrestlers, coaches, cheerleaders, wrestling enthusiasts and those who had nothing better to do in the Blue Earth area that late February evening. It was sensory overload to the n-th degree with all those people jammed into that old building, but when the announcer's voice crackled over the loudspeaker..."Final score in Olympic hockey...Russia 3...the United States...4!" the place shook as fans of all these different schools who were pitted against each other at some time during the grappling festivities found a common bond...a bond so strong the only way to recognize it was to let the emotions pour out.
I'm willing to be at least 50 percent of the people in that gym didn't know what icing was or what offsides was in the sport of hockey, but they didn't care. We had defeated the dreaded Russians and it was time to burst at the seams with a patriotic pride I had never witnessed up to that point of my first 13-and-a-half years of life and I haven't witnessed since then.
It truly turned out to be a "Miracle on Ice" and when the Americans stayed true to the Hollywood plot line by knocking off Finland to earn Olympic gold, the storybook tale had its perfect ending.
It really is hard to believe that was 30 years ago and to think how my life has transpired since then is equally amazing, but that's for another time and another blog.
Because of that, the phrase "Do you believe in miracles?! Yes!!!" and chants of "U-S-A! U-S-A!" were thrust into our sporting/pop culture vernacular and the minute anyone says them with any sort of exhuberance most immediately conjure up a memorable time not just in this country's sporting history but history in general.
I remember exactly where I was the night the Americans beat the Russians...sitting in the bleachers in the old Blue Earth High School gymnasium, still recovering from my "big" brother Mikey's heart-breaking loss in the regional wrestling tournament semifinals costing him a trip to state and me a long weekend of hotel fun up in "the Cities." It was a devastating loss one of which my bro more than made up for by qualifying the next three years for the state meet.
I still remember the gym full of wrestlers, coaches, cheerleaders, wrestling enthusiasts and those who had nothing better to do in the Blue Earth area that late February evening. It was sensory overload to the n-th degree with all those people jammed into that old building, but when the announcer's voice crackled over the loudspeaker..."Final score in Olympic hockey...Russia 3...the United States...4!" the place shook as fans of all these different schools who were pitted against each other at some time during the grappling festivities found a common bond...a bond so strong the only way to recognize it was to let the emotions pour out.
I'm willing to be at least 50 percent of the people in that gym didn't know what icing was or what offsides was in the sport of hockey, but they didn't care. We had defeated the dreaded Russians and it was time to burst at the seams with a patriotic pride I had never witnessed up to that point of my first 13-and-a-half years of life and I haven't witnessed since then.
It truly turned out to be a "Miracle on Ice" and when the Americans stayed true to the Hollywood plot line by knocking off Finland to earn Olympic gold, the storybook tale had its perfect ending.
It really is hard to believe that was 30 years ago and to think how my life has transpired since then is equally amazing, but that's for another time and another blog.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Tired of the heavy 'pet'ting
When I was a kid, my family had a handful of dogs as pets at various moments of my childhood since the time I was a wee little one until I moved out on my own. The last dog we had, a toy terrier affectionately known as Elliot, was more than a family pet, he was as much a member of the family as any of us.
Despite his propensity to get a little too excited about one of us coming home on even the most average of days or the daily taunts of "squirrel" by one of us or one of the bored the neighborhood kids which tossed him into a whirlwind spaz attack that fatigued a person just watching him, Elliot was very well loved and returned that love ten-fold.
If you were feeling blue, good ol' Elliot was at your side giving you someone to cry to or if two siblings were getting into a argument he was there to bring a sense of calm because there's no sense yelling at each other when you can't hear what the other is saying over a barking dog. If you were the fortunate one he chose to sleep with on a cold winter's night, his body cranked out warmth that rivaled those Nipco heaters my dad used to use to keep the temps up on some of the out buildings on the family farm.
Elliot just had a certain sense of connectivity to all of us that we all cherished and really didn't have with the other siblings. Oh sure, us siblings have grown somewhat closer as we've aged but I couldn't tell any of them some of the things I used to spill to that four-legged therapist. I still get misty-eyed thinking about how he took off, never to return to my father's home, shortly after the last of my siblings moved away from home.
One of the most devastating phone calls I've ever gotten was the one from my dad telling me "Elliot's gone and I have no idea where he is" and that idea still lurks out there. Deep down, a part of me wants some bit of closure with the desire to find out what happened to him, but my better senses tell me to just leave it alone and respect the good memories.
For the past year or so, the pressure to get a dog has become greater as my own children have cranked up their efforts in convincing Teresa and I of our need for a family pet. We've been able to hold them off with reasoning like "winter's not a good time" or "this house is still too new" or "summer's too hot", but I gotta give the persistent little buggers credit for their perseverance.
I suspect we can only hold them off so long before they take matters into their own hands, pool up their money and buy a dog themselves. And, it doesn't help when that dang Sarah McLachlan gets on the TV screen during that PA announcement which comes on almost nightly showing the most helpless-looking animals accompanied by "In the Arms of an Angel," which gets my kids misty-eyed and my body bombarded with pangs of guilt coursing through it. (Which does beg the question, "did they rough the animals before filming, or did they really find them that way?")
I have come to the realization there isn't better motivation for my significant other and I to wean the kids off TV.
Anyway, I keep searching for more excuses as to why we shouldn't get a dog and as my kids get smarter their responses getting more insightful and painful.
"Who'll clean up after it," I ask them.
"Same people who'll clean up after you when you get old," my oldest will say.
Anyway, I'll keep my guard up as long as I can but it looks like Operation Hildebrandt Family Pet might finally be drawing closer to "Mission Accomplished" status...unless I can scrounge up some fresh new excuses.
Despite his propensity to get a little too excited about one of us coming home on even the most average of days or the daily taunts of "squirrel" by one of us or one of the bored the neighborhood kids which tossed him into a whirlwind spaz attack that fatigued a person just watching him, Elliot was very well loved and returned that love ten-fold.
If you were feeling blue, good ol' Elliot was at your side giving you someone to cry to or if two siblings were getting into a argument he was there to bring a sense of calm because there's no sense yelling at each other when you can't hear what the other is saying over a barking dog. If you were the fortunate one he chose to sleep with on a cold winter's night, his body cranked out warmth that rivaled those Nipco heaters my dad used to use to keep the temps up on some of the out buildings on the family farm.
Elliot just had a certain sense of connectivity to all of us that we all cherished and really didn't have with the other siblings. Oh sure, us siblings have grown somewhat closer as we've aged but I couldn't tell any of them some of the things I used to spill to that four-legged therapist. I still get misty-eyed thinking about how he took off, never to return to my father's home, shortly after the last of my siblings moved away from home.
One of the most devastating phone calls I've ever gotten was the one from my dad telling me "Elliot's gone and I have no idea where he is" and that idea still lurks out there. Deep down, a part of me wants some bit of closure with the desire to find out what happened to him, but my better senses tell me to just leave it alone and respect the good memories.
For the past year or so, the pressure to get a dog has become greater as my own children have cranked up their efforts in convincing Teresa and I of our need for a family pet. We've been able to hold them off with reasoning like "winter's not a good time" or "this house is still too new" or "summer's too hot", but I gotta give the persistent little buggers credit for their perseverance.
I suspect we can only hold them off so long before they take matters into their own hands, pool up their money and buy a dog themselves. And, it doesn't help when that dang Sarah McLachlan gets on the TV screen during that PA announcement which comes on almost nightly showing the most helpless-looking animals accompanied by "In the Arms of an Angel," which gets my kids misty-eyed and my body bombarded with pangs of guilt coursing through it. (Which does beg the question, "did they rough the animals before filming, or did they really find them that way?")
I have come to the realization there isn't better motivation for my significant other and I to wean the kids off TV.
Anyway, I keep searching for more excuses as to why we shouldn't get a dog and as my kids get smarter their responses getting more insightful and painful.
"Who'll clean up after it," I ask them.
"Same people who'll clean up after you when you get old," my oldest will say.
Anyway, I'll keep my guard up as long as I can but it looks like Operation Hildebrandt Family Pet might finally be drawing closer to "Mission Accomplished" status...unless I can scrounge up some fresh new excuses.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Time to grrrr... and brrrrr... it
It's now been about 48 hours since our chronic case of hearts-ripped-out-of-us flared up again at the hands of the Minnesota franchise of the National Football League. Just when it seemed like more than three decades of suffering might come to an end we get face planted into the concrete of reality while at the same time taking one in the ol' breadbasket and/or nether region. It was both for me.
I'm vowing from this day forward that my official time of mourning is over and it's time to move on to bigger and hopefully better things like gazing out over the piles of snow and ice that have conglomerated in my yard. Is it just me or does there seem to be some petrification taking place in those banks of the permanent variety. Maybe we are entering a new Ice Age.
One good thing to hang my hat on is the fact as I was leaving work last night I noticed my path on the way home was now being lit naturally instead of the artificial glow from the street lights as sunset inches its way back to a more acceptable time. Nothing more depressing than going into work with the sun barely up and driving home with it nothing but a distant memory in the western sky.
Hopefully we've only got two more months of walking gingerly over every inch of ice covered surface, not knowing if/when the laws of physics will suddenly be broken all at once. And at that moment, one misstep will lead to a cartoon-like tumble in some back alley where I've fallen and can't get up and no one can hear me until it's too late and my backside has become one with the frozen mass that covers what I suspect contains asphalt or concrete in the depths below that.
More good news, someone reported pitchers and catchers report in about a month, meaning the boys of summer will be at it again and there's nothing that warms my heart more knowing that a bunch of multi-millionaires playing a kids' game will be basking under the hot Florida sun while I sit here contemplating fleece or extra hoodie in my daily preparation for grinning and bearing the elements.
Maybe it would be easier for me to reconsider putting that Vikings game behind me ... stupid 12 men on the field!
I'm vowing from this day forward that my official time of mourning is over and it's time to move on to bigger and hopefully better things like gazing out over the piles of snow and ice that have conglomerated in my yard. Is it just me or does there seem to be some petrification taking place in those banks of the permanent variety. Maybe we are entering a new Ice Age.
One good thing to hang my hat on is the fact as I was leaving work last night I noticed my path on the way home was now being lit naturally instead of the artificial glow from the street lights as sunset inches its way back to a more acceptable time. Nothing more depressing than going into work with the sun barely up and driving home with it nothing but a distant memory in the western sky.
Hopefully we've only got two more months of walking gingerly over every inch of ice covered surface, not knowing if/when the laws of physics will suddenly be broken all at once. And at that moment, one misstep will lead to a cartoon-like tumble in some back alley where I've fallen and can't get up and no one can hear me until it's too late and my backside has become one with the frozen mass that covers what I suspect contains asphalt or concrete in the depths below that.
More good news, someone reported pitchers and catchers report in about a month, meaning the boys of summer will be at it again and there's nothing that warms my heart more knowing that a bunch of multi-millionaires playing a kids' game will be basking under the hot Florida sun while I sit here contemplating fleece or extra hoodie in my daily preparation for grinning and bearing the elements.
Maybe it would be easier for me to reconsider putting that Vikings game behind me ... stupid 12 men on the field!
Monday, January 25, 2010
A new twist on an old blog...
Here is an updated version of a blog I wrote back in October after a bad weekend of football. This one has been tweaked with last night's heart-wrenching loss in mind:
Top 10 things about being a Vikings' fan:
10. Constant disappointments during playoffs always make other little achievements (like remembering to take both the garbage AND recycling out or successfully getting all of the lint out of the screen in the dryer before each load) seem much more significant.
9. "Wait until next year!" is much easier to get excited about after each season than "Can we repeat?"
8. Those of us with allergies to the material they use in the covers of the Sports Illustrated "championship" special issues never have to worry about that embarrassing rash.
7. Another disappointing season gives us something other than the meteorologists to gripe about during the winter months.
6. Super Bowl Sunday parties are so much better here than elsewhere because we can focus all of our time and energy on food/drink preparation and setting up the numbers board instead of worrying about the game.
5. We never have to experience the "dark period" that comes the week after losing another Super Bowl. Our "blackout" takes place long before then.
4. We never have to listen to that annoying Queen song over and over.
3. Don't have to worry about dangers of contracting frostbite during Super Bowl victory parade although, should we ever win one of those games with a Roman numeral, there is the risk of hell actually freezing over.
2. Ice fishing house owners on our 10,000 lakes never have to worry about getting them tipped over during post-Super Bowl riots.
1. We'll never have to fret about our team get sucked into any lengthy, meaningless debate about about the greatest NFL team of all time.
Top 10 things about being a Vikings' fan:
10. Constant disappointments during playoffs always make other little achievements (like remembering to take both the garbage AND recycling out or successfully getting all of the lint out of the screen in the dryer before each load) seem much more significant.
9. "Wait until next year!" is much easier to get excited about after each season than "Can we repeat?"
8. Those of us with allergies to the material they use in the covers of the Sports Illustrated "championship" special issues never have to worry about that embarrassing rash.
7. Another disappointing season gives us something other than the meteorologists to gripe about during the winter months.
6. Super Bowl Sunday parties are so much better here than elsewhere because we can focus all of our time and energy on food/drink preparation and setting up the numbers board instead of worrying about the game.
5. We never have to experience the "dark period" that comes the week after losing another Super Bowl. Our "blackout" takes place long before then.
4. We never have to listen to that annoying Queen song over and over.
3. Don't have to worry about dangers of contracting frostbite during Super Bowl victory parade although, should we ever win one of those games with a Roman numeral, there is the risk of hell actually freezing over.
2. Ice fishing house owners on our 10,000 lakes never have to worry about getting them tipped over during post-Super Bowl riots.
1. We'll never have to fret about our team get sucked into any lengthy, meaningless debate about about the greatest NFL team of all time.
Monday, January 18, 2010
How do you trash talk a Saint?
This Sunday, the football team we Minnesooootans like to claim as our own, even though I don't think there's a player on the team who claims Minnesota as his home state, gets a shot at the pinnacle of pigskin perfection -- the Super Bowl.
Unfortunately for us Vikings fans, the one obstacle in our way for punching our tickets to Miami for the 44th annual Super Bowl is a team called, of all things, the Saints.
How in the world can you get fired up to play a team called the Saints. Only thing worse would be the Fighting Pontifs, but the Vatican City's bid for an NFL expansion team is still under consideration, so that's a few years off at best.
Nonetheless, we are faced with the task of trying to trash talk a team that claims a fleur-de-lis as its logo. And why the heck does anything called a fleur-de-lis have any association with football? Perhaps it might fit in with...say... a Canadian hockey team.
Toss in the fact the Big Easy is still stinging from the devastation from Hurricane Katrina, and it's hard to get amped up to stomp the living daylights out of a team whose city had its spirit dealt such a serious blow, and is still on the long road to recovery. You want to give folks down there an encouraging pat on the back, not a verbal slap in the forehead.
It would be much easier if say we were playing those dreaded, turpentine slurping Cheeseheads, or perhaps those ego-maniacal Cowboys or even the Arizona Cardinals (whose home state keeps stealing our elderly for 5 to 6 months a year!) as opposed to the Saints with their classy, but funny-looking logo.
Throw in another fact like they play in a building (the Superdome) which sounds more like a haven for those with the ability to leap tall buildings with a single bound, and what's not to like?
Also, Coach Chilly likes to tout our kick ass offensive scheme, while N'awlins likes to tout its kick ass party scene (Mardi Gras!)
Oh well, I guess there's always that Drew Brees fella who used to shred the favored collegiate team of many a Viking fans, our beloved Golden Gophers. However, so many other college QBs over the years have done the same thing and we Minnesotans don't like to be mad at too many folks.
Maybe Reggie Bush could be a target since he's dating one of those annoying Kardashians and we have to feel somewhat sorry for him since he had to take a pay cut going from USC to play football professionally. Nah, Gov. T-Paw would more than likely veto any ill will toward anyone with the last name of Bush, so there goes that.
How 'bout their coach, yeah that Sean Payton guy! Walter Payton used to drive Viking fans nuts, and even though they obviously aren't related, it could give us something to at least get our blood above room temperature. Of course, Walter's brother Eddie used to be one of us, so scratch that off the list.
You search the Saints' history and there's really nothing there to get the blood a boilin'.
Iconic QB - Archie Manning?...we loved the guy because he was one of us for a couple years taking multiple beatings on our behalf from the then-powerful Chicago Bears defense.
Iconic kicker - Tom Dempsey?...he didn't let a disability get in the way of him setting an NFL record! What's not to love about that guy.
I know, I know... there was one ex-Saints coach, the late Hank Stram, who just might be a rallying cry with all those memories of that smug little son of a gun cackling up and down the sidelines as his Chiefs ran roughshod over the Purple People Eaters during the fourth annual Super Bowl gathering. But, I doubt many of the new generation(s) of Vikings fans would even recognize his picture, so that shoots that all to heck.
That safety of their's, that Darren Sharper fella has been getting kind of lippy lately, but we all remember how good he looked in Purple (look at me now! look at me now!).
I guess I'm just going to have to keep racking my brain for some good ol' trash-talkin' fodder. In the meantime let me offer that another former Saints' kicking legend, Morten Andersen, was the one who booted our beloved 1998 squad out of the playoffs in that heart-wrenching OT loss to the Dirty Birds. I know he wasn't with the Saints at the time, but it's the best rallying cry I can think of at this point.
Kind of weak, I know, but the week is still young.
Unfortunately for us Vikings fans, the one obstacle in our way for punching our tickets to Miami for the 44th annual Super Bowl is a team called, of all things, the Saints.
How in the world can you get fired up to play a team called the Saints. Only thing worse would be the Fighting Pontifs, but the Vatican City's bid for an NFL expansion team is still under consideration, so that's a few years off at best.
Nonetheless, we are faced with the task of trying to trash talk a team that claims a fleur-de-lis as its logo. And why the heck does anything called a fleur-de-lis have any association with football? Perhaps it might fit in with...say... a Canadian hockey team.
Toss in the fact the Big Easy is still stinging from the devastation from Hurricane Katrina, and it's hard to get amped up to stomp the living daylights out of a team whose city had its spirit dealt such a serious blow, and is still on the long road to recovery. You want to give folks down there an encouraging pat on the back, not a verbal slap in the forehead.
It would be much easier if say we were playing those dreaded, turpentine slurping Cheeseheads, or perhaps those ego-maniacal Cowboys or even the Arizona Cardinals (whose home state keeps stealing our elderly for 5 to 6 months a year!) as opposed to the Saints with their classy, but funny-looking logo.
Throw in another fact like they play in a building (the Superdome) which sounds more like a haven for those with the ability to leap tall buildings with a single bound, and what's not to like?
Also, Coach Chilly likes to tout our kick ass offensive scheme, while N'awlins likes to tout its kick ass party scene (Mardi Gras!)
Oh well, I guess there's always that Drew Brees fella who used to shred the favored collegiate team of many a Viking fans, our beloved Golden Gophers. However, so many other college QBs over the years have done the same thing and we Minnesotans don't like to be mad at too many folks.
Maybe Reggie Bush could be a target since he's dating one of those annoying Kardashians and we have to feel somewhat sorry for him since he had to take a pay cut going from USC to play football professionally. Nah, Gov. T-Paw would more than likely veto any ill will toward anyone with the last name of Bush, so there goes that.
How 'bout their coach, yeah that Sean Payton guy! Walter Payton used to drive Viking fans nuts, and even though they obviously aren't related, it could give us something to at least get our blood above room temperature. Of course, Walter's brother Eddie used to be one of us, so scratch that off the list.
You search the Saints' history and there's really nothing there to get the blood a boilin'.
Iconic QB - Archie Manning?...we loved the guy because he was one of us for a couple years taking multiple beatings on our behalf from the then-powerful Chicago Bears defense.
Iconic kicker - Tom Dempsey?...he didn't let a disability get in the way of him setting an NFL record! What's not to love about that guy.
I know, I know... there was one ex-Saints coach, the late Hank Stram, who just might be a rallying cry with all those memories of that smug little son of a gun cackling up and down the sidelines as his Chiefs ran roughshod over the Purple People Eaters during the fourth annual Super Bowl gathering. But, I doubt many of the new generation(s) of Vikings fans would even recognize his picture, so that shoots that all to heck.
That safety of their's, that Darren Sharper fella has been getting kind of lippy lately, but we all remember how good he looked in Purple (look at me now! look at me now!).
I guess I'm just going to have to keep racking my brain for some good ol' trash-talkin' fodder. In the meantime let me offer that another former Saints' kicking legend, Morten Andersen, was the one who booted our beloved 1998 squad out of the playoffs in that heart-wrenching OT loss to the Dirty Birds. I know he wasn't with the Saints at the time, but it's the best rallying cry I can think of at this point.
Kind of weak, I know, but the week is still young.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Think, thank, thunk...
A few weeks ago, while my wife and I were sitting at a local restaurant enjoying an evening out over a nice meal, I couldn't help overhearing a conversation taking place at a table near ours.
It wasn't that I was trying to eavesdrop, it's just that someone wasn't exercising his inside voice like he perhaps should have been. The loud, outspoken younger man (I'm guessing mid-to-late 20s) was dominating a conversation he was having with what appeared to be his wife and her parents. About all the words the other three could get in were one- and two-word responses.
Anyway, as the Man-Who-Loved-His-Own-Voice continued his oration at his table a shot of President Obama speaking at a podium appeared on one of the overhead TVs.
This young man snickered at the sight of Mr. President and then mumbled something incomprehensible, but obviously against our Commander-In-Chief which I couldn't make out exactly despite my now best attempts at maximizing my eavesdropping position but his body English said a lot. He then threw up his arms and spewed forth, "I know I didn't vote for him and none of my friends did either."
It was at that moment that I sort of felt pity for that young man. Not for the fact he didn't vote for Obama, because to each their own I say.
It was for the fact he claimed that out of all the people he knew, not one person voted for the President who won an actual nation-wide election. While I definitely think the young man was exaggerating, and I hope he was, it did bring up a particular interesting thought: If you surround yourself with only people who think and believe like you, wouldn't life be pretty damned dull and boring?
While I tend to lean to the left (although I've become a tad more upright as I've aged), my life wouldn't be nearly as colorful or fulfilling if I didn't have some friends/colleagues who tilted the other way. It helps you maintain some balance, and let's face it, some sense of reality in the fact neither side is always right, despite their claims and campaign ads to the contrary.
One of my absolutely best and long-time friends is as conservative as they come, but our differences in that aspect have never come even close to the point where it's ruined our relationship. Sure we have fun at each other's expense from time to time, and rubbed it in when "America has spoken" toward one side or the other after a November election (we've both had our time in the sun, so to speak).
In all the years I've known him, which dates back to our childhood, this friend has remained strong and consistent in his beliefs and convictions and that's one of his most endearing qualities for which I have the utmost admiration. Even more so is we've gotten to the point in our lives where, despite our differences, we share a mutual respect for each other that has made our friendship probably even stronger than it was when we were teens.
I have several others in my life I care about a lot who have differing views ideologically and politically, but without them my life would have a huge void. And besides, I like to think we learn a little something from each other from time to time.
I guess you could say the moral of this story is to surround yourself with people in your life who respect you for how you think, not what you think. Because in the end those attending your funeral won't be the ones who think like you, it's the ones who want to thank you.
It wasn't that I was trying to eavesdrop, it's just that someone wasn't exercising his inside voice like he perhaps should have been. The loud, outspoken younger man (I'm guessing mid-to-late 20s) was dominating a conversation he was having with what appeared to be his wife and her parents. About all the words the other three could get in were one- and two-word responses.
Anyway, as the Man-Who-Loved-His-Own-Voice continued his oration at his table a shot of President Obama speaking at a podium appeared on one of the overhead TVs.
This young man snickered at the sight of Mr. President and then mumbled something incomprehensible, but obviously against our Commander-In-Chief which I couldn't make out exactly despite my now best attempts at maximizing my eavesdropping position but his body English said a lot. He then threw up his arms and spewed forth, "I know I didn't vote for him and none of my friends did either."
It was at that moment that I sort of felt pity for that young man. Not for the fact he didn't vote for Obama, because to each their own I say.
It was for the fact he claimed that out of all the people he knew, not one person voted for the President who won an actual nation-wide election. While I definitely think the young man was exaggerating, and I hope he was, it did bring up a particular interesting thought: If you surround yourself with only people who think and believe like you, wouldn't life be pretty damned dull and boring?
While I tend to lean to the left (although I've become a tad more upright as I've aged), my life wouldn't be nearly as colorful or fulfilling if I didn't have some friends/colleagues who tilted the other way. It helps you maintain some balance, and let's face it, some sense of reality in the fact neither side is always right, despite their claims and campaign ads to the contrary.
One of my absolutely best and long-time friends is as conservative as they come, but our differences in that aspect have never come even close to the point where it's ruined our relationship. Sure we have fun at each other's expense from time to time, and rubbed it in when "America has spoken" toward one side or the other after a November election (we've both had our time in the sun, so to speak).
In all the years I've known him, which dates back to our childhood, this friend has remained strong and consistent in his beliefs and convictions and that's one of his most endearing qualities for which I have the utmost admiration. Even more so is we've gotten to the point in our lives where, despite our differences, we share a mutual respect for each other that has made our friendship probably even stronger than it was when we were teens.
I have several others in my life I care about a lot who have differing views ideologically and politically, but without them my life would have a huge void. And besides, I like to think we learn a little something from each other from time to time.
I guess you could say the moral of this story is to surround yourself with people in your life who respect you for how you think, not what you think. Because in the end those attending your funeral won't be the ones who think like you, it's the ones who want to thank you.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
I can be such a prick sometimes...
Today was one of those days where hopefully I'll get a lot more out of what went into me. This afternoon I had a regularly scheduled appointment to get some blood drawn to get tested for a thyroid condition I have developed (turns out I'm not fat, just swollen!) in my middle stage of life.
For years I thought my relative inactivity and poor diet were to blame for all those class reunion gasps and snickers I get, but this whole hypo-thyroid condition/excuse is way better. Of course, being of the underachieving variety, I would have a hypo-active thyroid which slows down my metabolism. Couldn't I have at least had the hyper-thyroid where it speeds up your metabolism or at least one with ADHD? Nonetheless I trudge forward with hopes my doc can find the right combo of meds to take the hype out of my thyroid for good. We're getting close.
Anyway, after the nurse was done taking out a withdrawal from my blood account, she asked me the question, "Can I do anything else for you today?" Now right away I thought about my salt-encrusted pickup truck out in the parking lot and thought about gauging her interest in taking it through a car-wash for me, but I figured that might be out of line.
It was then I remembered up to that point I neglected the warnings all those agencies with acronyms had been tossing out about the importance of getting an H1N1 shot, so I had the nurse put in an order for one of those for me.
After being directed to a waiting area, a nurse armed with a needle just itching to plunge itself into someone's pasty white upper arm appeared with a smile on her face and redirected me to an exam room.
"Have you had your regular flu shot yet?" were the first words out of her mouth the minute she closed the exam room door and when I told her "no" she asked if I wanted to get that taken care of as well and I quickly shot back, "Sure! Shots for everyone!" and then almost had the gumption to direct her to my medical charts to see if maybe my measles, mumps and rubella vaccinations weren't up-to-date and to direct the folks to load up a couple more syringes for launch.
I'm happy to report my cooler head prevailed and I settled for just the two flu shots to increase my odds of getting through this winter without any of those major illness that has shut down several others I know for weeks at a time.
I'm sure I've been burden enough on my wife already this winter season, and whenever I've go down for the count via sickness since we got married more than 13 years ago, it's at that time my wife gets the Yellow Pages out and lets her fingers do the walking to the section on "Divorce Attorneys" just in case.
Nonetheless, after three new pinholes in this pinhead, I'm now safe I'm ready to take these flu bugs on head on and hope for the best.
Stay tuned.
For years I thought my relative inactivity and poor diet were to blame for all those class reunion gasps and snickers I get, but this whole hypo-thyroid condition/excuse is way better. Of course, being of the underachieving variety, I would have a hypo-active thyroid which slows down my metabolism. Couldn't I have at least had the hyper-thyroid where it speeds up your metabolism or at least one with ADHD? Nonetheless I trudge forward with hopes my doc can find the right combo of meds to take the hype out of my thyroid for good. We're getting close.
Anyway, after the nurse was done taking out a withdrawal from my blood account, she asked me the question, "Can I do anything else for you today?" Now right away I thought about my salt-encrusted pickup truck out in the parking lot and thought about gauging her interest in taking it through a car-wash for me, but I figured that might be out of line.
It was then I remembered up to that point I neglected the warnings all those agencies with acronyms had been tossing out about the importance of getting an H1N1 shot, so I had the nurse put in an order for one of those for me.
After being directed to a waiting area, a nurse armed with a needle just itching to plunge itself into someone's pasty white upper arm appeared with a smile on her face and redirected me to an exam room.
"Have you had your regular flu shot yet?" were the first words out of her mouth the minute she closed the exam room door and when I told her "no" she asked if I wanted to get that taken care of as well and I quickly shot back, "Sure! Shots for everyone!" and then almost had the gumption to direct her to my medical charts to see if maybe my measles, mumps and rubella vaccinations weren't up-to-date and to direct the folks to load up a couple more syringes for launch.
I'm happy to report my cooler head prevailed and I settled for just the two flu shots to increase my odds of getting through this winter without any of those major illness that has shut down several others I know for weeks at a time.
I'm sure I've been burden enough on my wife already this winter season, and whenever I've go down for the count via sickness since we got married more than 13 years ago, it's at that time my wife gets the Yellow Pages out and lets her fingers do the walking to the section on "Divorce Attorneys" just in case.
Nonetheless, after three new pinholes in this pinhead, I'm now safe I'm ready to take these flu bugs on head on and hope for the best.
Stay tuned.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
What in the tar nation...
As I was walking from my parked vehicle to the entrance at my office this morning, I came across a familiar sight, but one I hadn't seen in what seemed like ages...a patch of asphalt below my feet offering solid footing for a change.
We haven't had a winter like this in Minnesota in quite some time and it was such a welcome sight to know that under those piles of snow, sand, salt and whatever else is covering our ground at this time there is life, albeit of the bituminous variety, but it offered a glimmer of hope for those of us allergic to winter.
For the past month or so my thighs have been using muscles they haven't used in years as I make the trek across the snow/ice covered parking lots, alleyways, roadways and sidewalks with my butt muscles and upper legs puckered up on full alert to prevent a spill. Underneath every little innocent-looking little clump of slush or coating of snow looms the potential for disaster and the way you contort your legs, feet and hips to counter a potential wipeout sometimes leads to your body to wave the white flag from time to time.
Last week I was playing a pick-up poker game, yes, I said it, a pick-up poker game much like a pick-up basketball game only instead of my opponents scoring at will over, around and through me, it's my money they're taking...at will.
Anyway, back to the point at hand or rather at foot. About halfway through my three-hour session of charitable contributions I had reached down to the floor to pick up a rare chip of mine that had fallen to the ground when my left thigh's anti-lock brakes system kicked in (aka, I was overcome by a cramp). I can't recall ever having a cramp in that area and I'm blaming the frozen chunk of ice that has caked our state for that.
At first I thought straightening it out might do the trick, but it only made matters worse so much so that the only word that came to me was "Midol" but I didn't want to show any weakness, 'cause I was at the poker table after all.
Eventually the pain subsided and I was able to continue to absorb the financial thrashing which allowed me to leave with my wallet empty but thankfully my quad was somewhat relaxed.
Today's sign of life beneath the thick, frosty coating has given me a renewed sense of hope that spring will eventually get here and perhaps put an end to the train of thought I've been having that perhaps we have in reality hit a new Ice Age and grass will cease to exist here in the North Star State.
April can't get here soon enough.
We haven't had a winter like this in Minnesota in quite some time and it was such a welcome sight to know that under those piles of snow, sand, salt and whatever else is covering our ground at this time there is life, albeit of the bituminous variety, but it offered a glimmer of hope for those of us allergic to winter.
For the past month or so my thighs have been using muscles they haven't used in years as I make the trek across the snow/ice covered parking lots, alleyways, roadways and sidewalks with my butt muscles and upper legs puckered up on full alert to prevent a spill. Underneath every little innocent-looking little clump of slush or coating of snow looms the potential for disaster and the way you contort your legs, feet and hips to counter a potential wipeout sometimes leads to your body to wave the white flag from time to time.
Last week I was playing a pick-up poker game, yes, I said it, a pick-up poker game much like a pick-up basketball game only instead of my opponents scoring at will over, around and through me, it's my money they're taking...at will.
Anyway, back to the point at hand or rather at foot. About halfway through my three-hour session of charitable contributions I had reached down to the floor to pick up a rare chip of mine that had fallen to the ground when my left thigh's anti-lock brakes system kicked in (aka, I was overcome by a cramp). I can't recall ever having a cramp in that area and I'm blaming the frozen chunk of ice that has caked our state for that.
At first I thought straightening it out might do the trick, but it only made matters worse so much so that the only word that came to me was "Midol" but I didn't want to show any weakness, 'cause I was at the poker table after all.
Eventually the pain subsided and I was able to continue to absorb the financial thrashing which allowed me to leave with my wallet empty but thankfully my quad was somewhat relaxed.
Today's sign of life beneath the thick, frosty coating has given me a renewed sense of hope that spring will eventually get here and perhaps put an end to the train of thought I've been having that perhaps we have in reality hit a new Ice Age and grass will cease to exist here in the North Star State.
April can't get here soon enough.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Vikings Vaudeville, Vol. III
How 'bout (ways to beat) them Cowboys...
While Vikings coach Brad Childress and his coaching staff have holed themselves up looking at ways to beat the Dallas Cowboys on the field this Sunday in the NFC Divisional Playoffs, I've been doing a little thinking myself to help the Purple Squad off the field.
Here are 10 things I've come up with to help the Vikings beat the Cowboys (all in good fun, of course):
• Hire Jessica Simpson to sing the National Anthem in a Vikings' cheerleaders outfit with her arm around Ragnar, clad in a Brett Favre jersey. That ought to throw that Romo guy off his game.
• Check the statute of limitations to see if an arrest warrant can be issued for Jerry Jones on 13 felony counts of theft for each of the 8 draft choices and 5 players given up in the Herschel Walker trade (circa 1989) and nab that J.R. Ewing-wannabe the second he sets foot in our 'Dome. We can use the 5 players as plea bargain bait since they weren't worth much anyway. In a two-birds-with-one-stone kind of thing, fine Jones' about a half billion bucks and more than half the new stadium is paid for right there!
• While Viking's lawyers are at it, see what the statute of limitations are on assault and robbery for Drew Pearson's push off on Nate Wright and the Cowboys stealing the win in that 1975 NFC playoff game. Might get enough fine money here to assure we get a roof for new stadium.
• For this game only, sneak into Metrodome with a pair of really big Fiskars and cut off the roof. Trump up bunko charges, blame the Cowboys for this, too, and fine them for this enough to pay for an extension for Brett Favre. If the previous two fines didn't push Jerry Jones over the revenue-sharing edge, this one will for certain.
• Tell the Cowboys upon check-in time at their Minneapolis hotel, "we're on Northern Time up here fellas so be sure to set your clocks back 4 hours." They show up late, forfeit and it's onto the NFC Championship game for the Purple!
• Find Herb Meed (the original Vikings' mascot) and get him to do a public exorcism of the Vikings' NFC playoff demons at midfield of Mall O'merica Field right before the coin toss at Sunday's game and, if necessary, sacrifice a live chicken if necessary because, like the Cowboys, they wear white at home and on the road!
• See if Roger Staubach or Troy Aikman are interested in inking a short-term deal to be our backup QB. We swept 2 from the Packers after signing their legendary QB. Couldn't hurt to try that formula again.
• Hire ex-Vikes Keith Millard and Koren Robinson to drive the Cowboys charter buses when they're in town and alert the Minnesota State Patrol.
• Have T-Paw issue a mandate to remove all fiddles from the state, because you know folks from Texas can't play without one.
• Have Minnesota Congressional delegates fast-track legislation granting some Texans their wish to secede and then boot the Pokes out of the "National" Football League!
While Vikings coach Brad Childress and his coaching staff have holed themselves up looking at ways to beat the Dallas Cowboys on the field this Sunday in the NFC Divisional Playoffs, I've been doing a little thinking myself to help the Purple Squad off the field.
Here are 10 things I've come up with to help the Vikings beat the Cowboys (all in good fun, of course):
• Hire Jessica Simpson to sing the National Anthem in a Vikings' cheerleaders outfit with her arm around Ragnar, clad in a Brett Favre jersey. That ought to throw that Romo guy off his game.
• Check the statute of limitations to see if an arrest warrant can be issued for Jerry Jones on 13 felony counts of theft for each of the 8 draft choices and 5 players given up in the Herschel Walker trade (circa 1989) and nab that J.R. Ewing-wannabe the second he sets foot in our 'Dome. We can use the 5 players as plea bargain bait since they weren't worth much anyway. In a two-birds-with-one-stone kind of thing, fine Jones' about a half billion bucks and more than half the new stadium is paid for right there!
• While Viking's lawyers are at it, see what the statute of limitations are on assault and robbery for Drew Pearson's push off on Nate Wright and the Cowboys stealing the win in that 1975 NFC playoff game. Might get enough fine money here to assure we get a roof for new stadium.
• For this game only, sneak into Metrodome with a pair of really big Fiskars and cut off the roof. Trump up bunko charges, blame the Cowboys for this, too, and fine them for this enough to pay for an extension for Brett Favre. If the previous two fines didn't push Jerry Jones over the revenue-sharing edge, this one will for certain.
• Tell the Cowboys upon check-in time at their Minneapolis hotel, "we're on Northern Time up here fellas so be sure to set your clocks back 4 hours." They show up late, forfeit and it's onto the NFC Championship game for the Purple!
• Find Herb Meed (the original Vikings' mascot) and get him to do a public exorcism of the Vikings' NFC playoff demons at midfield of Mall O'merica Field right before the coin toss at Sunday's game and, if necessary, sacrifice a live chicken if necessary because, like the Cowboys, they wear white at home and on the road!
• See if Roger Staubach or Troy Aikman are interested in inking a short-term deal to be our backup QB. We swept 2 from the Packers after signing their legendary QB. Couldn't hurt to try that formula again.
• Hire ex-Vikes Keith Millard and Koren Robinson to drive the Cowboys charter buses when they're in town and alert the Minnesota State Patrol.
• Have T-Paw issue a mandate to remove all fiddles from the state, because you know folks from Texas can't play without one.
• Have Minnesota Congressional delegates fast-track legislation granting some Texans their wish to secede and then boot the Pokes out of the "National" Football League!
Friday, January 8, 2010
Getting to the "meat" of the issue...
A recent friend's Facebook post touting her completion of one week as a vegetarian got me first into a "congratulatory" mood and then into one of concern as it's quite obvious the Meat-Eating Intervention Network (or as I like to call them Chow MEIN) has yet to "sink their teeth" into her.
Personally I'm of the omnivorous type who has bandied about the idea of coming out to the alternative food style, but you know once you're out you have to stay out and there's just something about the taste of a particularly good piece of beef that keeps me from turning those thoughts into reality. Besides, I feel I've made it this long why quit now.
One thing I've noticed about people who have "outed" themselves as a vegetarian is the immediate defense mechanisms they have to put up to fight off the herd-eating homos (of the sapien variety).
Many people seem offended when they learn someone has given up the flesh to eat the fresh and it's like a natural instinct kicks in as they try to bring said offender back to the well-done side of the food chain.
How do I know this? I used to be that way until my sister announced her preference for eating tofurkey over actual turkey and tof*&k ourselves if we didn't like it.
It was then I did a bit of self analysis and realized the need to understand "why?" should be well overshadowed by the realization that it means more for the rest of us!
I'm sure there are cases out there where gay vegetarians had an easier time coming out of the closet instead of out of the meat locker because how personal some people take it that one of what they thought was their own has abandoned the ship.
Anyway, hopefully my friend's change in lifestyle brings plenty of rewards and in many ways I'm "green" with envy.
P.S. -- A new joke just came to mind: Q: What did one cannibal say to another cannibal who decided to become a vegetarian? A: "Don't you like me anymore?"
Personally I'm of the omnivorous type who has bandied about the idea of coming out to the alternative food style, but you know once you're out you have to stay out and there's just something about the taste of a particularly good piece of beef that keeps me from turning those thoughts into reality. Besides, I feel I've made it this long why quit now.
One thing I've noticed about people who have "outed" themselves as a vegetarian is the immediate defense mechanisms they have to put up to fight off the herd-eating homos (of the sapien variety).
Many people seem offended when they learn someone has given up the flesh to eat the fresh and it's like a natural instinct kicks in as they try to bring said offender back to the well-done side of the food chain.
How do I know this? I used to be that way until my sister announced her preference for eating tofurkey over actual turkey and tof*&k ourselves if we didn't like it.
It was then I did a bit of self analysis and realized the need to understand "why?" should be well overshadowed by the realization that it means more for the rest of us!
I'm sure there are cases out there where gay vegetarians had an easier time coming out of the closet instead of out of the meat locker because how personal some people take it that one of what they thought was their own has abandoned the ship.
Anyway, hopefully my friend's change in lifestyle brings plenty of rewards and in many ways I'm "green" with envy.
P.S. -- A new joke just came to mind: Q: What did one cannibal say to another cannibal who decided to become a vegetarian? A: "Don't you like me anymore?"
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Some hit the pause button, please...
In the movie "Click", Adam Sandler's character (Michael Newman) is "gifted" with a universal remote control that allows him to fast-forward and rewind through tough stretches in life, but somehow the remote gets a mind of its own and makes those choices for him.
While that Hollywood plot is a bit far-fetched, I'm in a part of my life where it seems like the fast forward button is stuck as I rapidly roll through my middle years. Now this is great for someone like me who hates winters, but when you have three kids you love spending time with it can be somewhat of a downhill ride on the Bummer Slide.
Just the other night, the family was spending a rare evening together watching a movie in the living room and at one point where the on-screen plot got a little slow I slowly scanned over to the couch where my kids were sitting. I was struck with a moment of harsh reality how far the three little ones Teresa and I uprooted a little more than five years ago to move here to St. Peter have come in that time.
It's easy to understand why life seems to be flying by at a jackrabbit's pace as you get older. When you're a kid, a year seems like such a long time because, let's face it, 365 days is a significant portion of your lifetime. As you age, years fly by like months used to and days...pfft...there goes one now!
I hear it progresses even quicker from here on out.
If someone has a way to slow time down, let me know, otherwise I'll continue on the treadmill of life with the speed and incline going up a notch with each passing year.
When my oldest was born (March 11, 1998), I had numerous parents of teens come up and tell me, "Enjoy it, because they they grow up fast,". Unfortunately that concept is hard to grasp when you're sitting there with this helpless little bundle of joy in your arms trying to fathom all the diaper changing, bottle feedings, burpings, bath times that await you on the trek down Parent Parkway in the years ahead. Making it even more difficult at that time was the fact we knew we wanted more than one child, so I kind of just dismissed their words with a smile and a "Whatever" under my breath.
Little did I realize how right they were. I haven't changed a diaper in nearly 4 years or mixed a bottle of formula in longer than that and for a period of time there it seemed as if there was no end in sight for either.
But, without much fanfare, except maybe a collective sigh when the youngest got weaned off the bottle and then potty trained, the feedings and changings stopped. I'd be a glutton for punishment if I said I missed them, but every once in a while I still wish the kids were still that small.
Nonetheless, I'm still in my early 40s and have a lot more time ahead of me yet to worry about the pace of life. Hopefully I don't get preoccupied with time passing me so much that I forget about the time right in front of me.
Such is life for a early middle-aged man.
While that Hollywood plot is a bit far-fetched, I'm in a part of my life where it seems like the fast forward button is stuck as I rapidly roll through my middle years. Now this is great for someone like me who hates winters, but when you have three kids you love spending time with it can be somewhat of a downhill ride on the Bummer Slide.
Just the other night, the family was spending a rare evening together watching a movie in the living room and at one point where the on-screen plot got a little slow I slowly scanned over to the couch where my kids were sitting. I was struck with a moment of harsh reality how far the three little ones Teresa and I uprooted a little more than five years ago to move here to St. Peter have come in that time.
It's easy to understand why life seems to be flying by at a jackrabbit's pace as you get older. When you're a kid, a year seems like such a long time because, let's face it, 365 days is a significant portion of your lifetime. As you age, years fly by like months used to and days...pfft...there goes one now!
I hear it progresses even quicker from here on out.
If someone has a way to slow time down, let me know, otherwise I'll continue on the treadmill of life with the speed and incline going up a notch with each passing year.
When my oldest was born (March 11, 1998), I had numerous parents of teens come up and tell me, "Enjoy it, because they they grow up fast,". Unfortunately that concept is hard to grasp when you're sitting there with this helpless little bundle of joy in your arms trying to fathom all the diaper changing, bottle feedings, burpings, bath times that await you on the trek down Parent Parkway in the years ahead. Making it even more difficult at that time was the fact we knew we wanted more than one child, so I kind of just dismissed their words with a smile and a "Whatever" under my breath.
Little did I realize how right they were. I haven't changed a diaper in nearly 4 years or mixed a bottle of formula in longer than that and for a period of time there it seemed as if there was no end in sight for either.
But, without much fanfare, except maybe a collective sigh when the youngest got weaned off the bottle and then potty trained, the feedings and changings stopped. I'd be a glutton for punishment if I said I missed them, but every once in a while I still wish the kids were still that small.
Nonetheless, I'm still in my early 40s and have a lot more time ahead of me yet to worry about the pace of life. Hopefully I don't get preoccupied with time passing me so much that I forget about the time right in front of me.
Such is life for a early middle-aged man.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
I don't know how the AAA folks do it...
It's been well documented that my mechanical skills, especially when it comes to automobiles, would grade out very poorly even on a steep curve. In the past, I've successfully been able to change the oil in a few of my vehicles, can change a flat on my tire given I'm not under any deadline and even change out a battery but that's about it.
Given the opportunity to put those limited skills to work, I'd prefer the cozy warmth of a heated shop, but twice in the last year or so I've had to showcase my remedial automobile knowledge, I had to do it on Mother Nature's terms and today I chalked up a third time, which was anything but a charm.
During the first blizzard of the 2008-09 winter season, as Teresa was off buying groceries for us to hunker down, I got the call many men with my lack of car repair acumen dread..."Honey, I have a flat," which I hoped were followed by the words "bread I'm hoping to try out for supper tonight," but they never came.
Cursing under my breath all the while I got my layer on to head out into the belly of the snow beast and all the drive down to the local grocery store where my better half was stranded with an ailing van, it eventually took me about an hour to get the tire changed. Forty-five minutes of that was spent just figuring out how to set the spare free and how to use her complicated jack. All the while fighting off snowflakes nearly as big as snowballs.
Earlier that winter, with much less snow but still rather frigid temps, I also had a flat on my pickup and had to change that in the downtown Mankato area, again taking an hour with most of that time devoted to spare and jack removal. A pathetic call was made to my brother, who worked just a couple blocks away, to ask him what he knew about under-the-back, spare-tire systems, hoping to sound desperate enough for him to say, "I'll be right down" like a big brother should, right? However, that attempt was unsuccessful, so I flew that trip solo.
Now changing the tire is no problem, I used to do it few times a year as a teen serving as my dad and big brother's pit crew during planting and harvest seasons back on the family farm. You loosen the lug nuts before you jack the tire up, quickly get the spare up and lined up, put the lug nuts on alternating sides...never one right next to the other. Hand tighten them as snug as you can, lower the jack, spinner wrench engaged and you're on your way.
It's getting the tire out that befuddles me, especially in the newer vehicles. You almost need to take a full semester course on how to read the section in owner's manual that covers bum wheels in order to prep you for that task of removing the spare. Every vehicle is different in the most confusing of ways.
Getting back to my motivation for writing this post. On my way to work this morning I stopped to pump some gas into my fuel-deprived pickup, and after a quick jaunt inside the local Holiday Station store for my 20 oz. Diet Pepsi and a couple of Granola bars (the breakfast of champion-wannabes!), I came out to learn my vehicle had decided to take the morning off right at the gas pump...or at least it's power source did as the battery was stone cold dead. A Good Samaritan tried in vain to jump start (red on positive! black on negative! is ingrained in my head) the ol' beast, but every time he "undid" the jumper cables my truck would reject the power transplant and flatline.
The minus-12 degree temperatures withstanding, I was fortunate there was a CarQuest nearby and the guys there went out of their way to get me a new battery, provide me with the proper tools (from the guy-behind-the-counter's own collection) and a ride back to my truck so I could bring it back to life. All the while Holiday cashiers were peering out the window in my direction wondering when this cash-stream dam was going get unblocked.
I'm proud to report after the CarQuest guy pointed out which tools to use, I had that battery swapped in and out in what probably was no time at all, but it felt a lot longer. Turning wrenches and ratchets in sub-zero temperatures means your margin for error in avoiding some pain is very low. A couple of times, I cussed out loud, but thankfully it was so cold the lady next to me ignored all posted warnings and prior 10 o'clock news special reports about the dangers of pumping gas while your car is running. I was thankful for that or I might have gotten a citation for unlawful use of expletives and/or dropping F-bombs in public.
At that temperature, which is the antithesis of hell, hand tightening bolts and screws is almost impossible as well. If they measured the pounds per square inch my fingers and hands were cranking out trying to squeeze together I would have gotten a reading of "Stop Tickling Me".
Eventually the battery was changed out and the tools and old battery were given back to the fine folks at our local CarQuest, when a new dilemma reared its ugly head. All of the warning lights and gauges on my dash were lighting up and going off like I had just won a huge jackpot playing a Mystic Lake slot machine. To top it all off, my car was sputtering like a kid with sand in his mouth.
So I sputtered a couple hundred feet over from the CarQuest store to my local mechanic, the guy who has the Midas touch without the hefty franchise fee. He could have siphoned big bucks off me by admitting my vehicle, because I had no clue what to do or what the prognosis was. He could have said "your blinker fluid needs changing" and I would have gladly paid hundreds if it meant a smoother running truck.
To make a long story from becoming a novella, after telling Mike the Mechanic my ordeal that morning he informed me that sometimes after a new battery is put in it takes the engine's computer system some time to reset itself and recommended taking a little jaunt down the 4-lane to get the truck's biorhythms back on track.
You know what? It worked like a charm as I was able to return to work with the truck I remembered so well, prior to its blacking out.
Such is life up here in the tundra and thank God we've got people like the CarQuest crew and Mike the Mechanic to gets us through it.
Given the opportunity to put those limited skills to work, I'd prefer the cozy warmth of a heated shop, but twice in the last year or so I've had to showcase my remedial automobile knowledge, I had to do it on Mother Nature's terms and today I chalked up a third time, which was anything but a charm.
During the first blizzard of the 2008-09 winter season, as Teresa was off buying groceries for us to hunker down, I got the call many men with my lack of car repair acumen dread..."Honey, I have a flat," which I hoped were followed by the words "bread I'm hoping to try out for supper tonight," but they never came.
Cursing under my breath all the while I got my layer on to head out into the belly of the snow beast and all the drive down to the local grocery store where my better half was stranded with an ailing van, it eventually took me about an hour to get the tire changed. Forty-five minutes of that was spent just figuring out how to set the spare free and how to use her complicated jack. All the while fighting off snowflakes nearly as big as snowballs.
Earlier that winter, with much less snow but still rather frigid temps, I also had a flat on my pickup and had to change that in the downtown Mankato area, again taking an hour with most of that time devoted to spare and jack removal. A pathetic call was made to my brother, who worked just a couple blocks away, to ask him what he knew about under-the-back, spare-tire systems, hoping to sound desperate enough for him to say, "I'll be right down" like a big brother should, right? However, that attempt was unsuccessful, so I flew that trip solo.
Now changing the tire is no problem, I used to do it few times a year as a teen serving as my dad and big brother's pit crew during planting and harvest seasons back on the family farm. You loosen the lug nuts before you jack the tire up, quickly get the spare up and lined up, put the lug nuts on alternating sides...never one right next to the other. Hand tighten them as snug as you can, lower the jack, spinner wrench engaged and you're on your way.
It's getting the tire out that befuddles me, especially in the newer vehicles. You almost need to take a full semester course on how to read the section in owner's manual that covers bum wheels in order to prep you for that task of removing the spare. Every vehicle is different in the most confusing of ways.
Getting back to my motivation for writing this post. On my way to work this morning I stopped to pump some gas into my fuel-deprived pickup, and after a quick jaunt inside the local Holiday Station store for my 20 oz. Diet Pepsi and a couple of Granola bars (the breakfast of champion-wannabes!), I came out to learn my vehicle had decided to take the morning off right at the gas pump...or at least it's power source did as the battery was stone cold dead. A Good Samaritan tried in vain to jump start (red on positive! black on negative! is ingrained in my head) the ol' beast, but every time he "undid" the jumper cables my truck would reject the power transplant and flatline.
The minus-12 degree temperatures withstanding, I was fortunate there was a CarQuest nearby and the guys there went out of their way to get me a new battery, provide me with the proper tools (from the guy-behind-the-counter's own collection) and a ride back to my truck so I could bring it back to life. All the while Holiday cashiers were peering out the window in my direction wondering when this cash-stream dam was going get unblocked.
I'm proud to report after the CarQuest guy pointed out which tools to use, I had that battery swapped in and out in what probably was no time at all, but it felt a lot longer. Turning wrenches and ratchets in sub-zero temperatures means your margin for error in avoiding some pain is very low. A couple of times, I cussed out loud, but thankfully it was so cold the lady next to me ignored all posted warnings and prior 10 o'clock news special reports about the dangers of pumping gas while your car is running. I was thankful for that or I might have gotten a citation for unlawful use of expletives and/or dropping F-bombs in public.
At that temperature, which is the antithesis of hell, hand tightening bolts and screws is almost impossible as well. If they measured the pounds per square inch my fingers and hands were cranking out trying to squeeze together I would have gotten a reading of "Stop Tickling Me".
Eventually the battery was changed out and the tools and old battery were given back to the fine folks at our local CarQuest, when a new dilemma reared its ugly head. All of the warning lights and gauges on my dash were lighting up and going off like I had just won a huge jackpot playing a Mystic Lake slot machine. To top it all off, my car was sputtering like a kid with sand in his mouth.
So I sputtered a couple hundred feet over from the CarQuest store to my local mechanic, the guy who has the Midas touch without the hefty franchise fee. He could have siphoned big bucks off me by admitting my vehicle, because I had no clue what to do or what the prognosis was. He could have said "your blinker fluid needs changing" and I would have gladly paid hundreds if it meant a smoother running truck.
To make a long story from becoming a novella, after telling Mike the Mechanic my ordeal that morning he informed me that sometimes after a new battery is put in it takes the engine's computer system some time to reset itself and recommended taking a little jaunt down the 4-lane to get the truck's biorhythms back on track.
You know what? It worked like a charm as I was able to return to work with the truck I remembered so well, prior to its blacking out.
Such is life up here in the tundra and thank God we've got people like the CarQuest crew and Mike the Mechanic to gets us through it.
Monday, January 4, 2010
This cold really sucks...
the air right out of your lungs if you're not careful. A wise old man, or perhaps he was middle-aged, I simply don't recall...anyway, this man of wisdom once told me the only good thing about weather like this (around -20) is that it makes you appreciate 20 degrees above zero more than ever.
It's so freaking cold out that even my usually well-insulated body, which has become less insulated in the past few months through semi-regular exercise, has transitioned from regular shiver spells and gone into full-blown convulsions at times.
As I sit here pondering why on God's green Earth are we living on God's white earth with the frozen underbelly, I get a chuckle out of those who validate our presence here in the Sun Shun State that it's a "quality of life" issue. As I've gotten older, and hopefully wiser, I fail to see how quality can be accomplished with outdoor temperatures hovering around 100 degrees cooler than what your body's interior temperature is.
While I'm proud of my Minnesota heritage, it's times like this that don't make me want to brag about being God's country. Instead, they make me want to print up T-shirts proclaiming Minnesota as "God's Meat Locker" so I can make a little money on the side while suffering on the inside.
What's a bit depressing is my body's inner core is unintentionally slowly adapting to these temps, although I'm not happy about it, and I'm still shying away from going Full Monty even indoors anytime soon. Shower time, despite the balmy 67 to 69 degree conditions inside the house (gotta save money ya' know), can be a chore as the minute the water shuts off, I put my towel into overdrive clearing any chance of icicles developing. Maybe one of those ShamWow's might be a good investment at this time, provided they actually work like that guy says they do.
Nonetheless, we as Minnesotans will plow ahead like we always do, knowing that it could be much worse. The mosquitoes could be out, too.
It's so freaking cold out that even my usually well-insulated body, which has become less insulated in the past few months through semi-regular exercise, has transitioned from regular shiver spells and gone into full-blown convulsions at times.
As I sit here pondering why on God's green Earth are we living on God's white earth with the frozen underbelly, I get a chuckle out of those who validate our presence here in the Sun Shun State that it's a "quality of life" issue. As I've gotten older, and hopefully wiser, I fail to see how quality can be accomplished with outdoor temperatures hovering around 100 degrees cooler than what your body's interior temperature is.
While I'm proud of my Minnesota heritage, it's times like this that don't make me want to brag about being God's country. Instead, they make me want to print up T-shirts proclaiming Minnesota as "God's Meat Locker" so I can make a little money on the side while suffering on the inside.
What's a bit depressing is my body's inner core is unintentionally slowly adapting to these temps, although I'm not happy about it, and I'm still shying away from going Full Monty even indoors anytime soon. Shower time, despite the balmy 67 to 69 degree conditions inside the house (gotta save money ya' know), can be a chore as the minute the water shuts off, I put my towel into overdrive clearing any chance of icicles developing. Maybe one of those ShamWow's might be a good investment at this time, provided they actually work like that guy says they do.
Nonetheless, we as Minnesotans will plow ahead like we always do, knowing that it could be much worse. The mosquitoes could be out, too.
Vikings Vaudeville, Vol. II
Vikings Vaudeville (Vol. II)
You don't think after a big win yesterday that the 'Ville would fade away now, did you? After 38 years of following this team, keeping a sense of humor is vital to maintain any sense of sanity.
As I strive for fairness in my quest to remain aboard on the Vikings' bandwagon and take the good with the bad, and after last week's attempts at poking fun at the purple-helmeted warriors after an embarrassing loss, I offer some new "funnies" after watching the latest installment of "As the Metrodome (Mall of America Field) Turns"
I know a lot of these are directed at Coach Chilly, but after his "if you're going to kick some ass, you've got to bring some ass" comment yesterday I figure I fit the bill after mine has expanded after all the holiday treats I've enjoyed the past couple weeks.
So here we go:
• Did you hear that Brad Childress isn't allowed to cook the Thanksgiving Day turkey at his own home? His wife is afraid he won't know when to take it out.
• The Vikings accomplished an NFL first by becoming the first team to have an official corporate sponsor for the actual season after reaching a deal with Valley Fair to secure official naming rights for this roller coaster of a ride.
• What does "most wedding nights" and "yesterday's Vikings' opponent" have in common? All are Giant Disappointments.
• How many Vikings does it take to screw in a little bulb? Not sure, but I know it only takes one head coach to screw it up.
• The Giants were arrested on their way out of the Metrodome yesterday for "Falsely Impersonating an NFL team" but were later released on their own recognizance because the Vikings didn't want to press charges after they were threatened with three similar counts for their last three road games.
• Favres' own version of the Vikings offensive scheme is called "the Gulf Coast Audible".
• I see Brad Childress has now scrapped his "Kick Ass Offense" for the "Kiss Ass Offense."
You don't think after a big win yesterday that the 'Ville would fade away now, did you? After 38 years of following this team, keeping a sense of humor is vital to maintain any sense of sanity.
As I strive for fairness in my quest to remain aboard on the Vikings' bandwagon and take the good with the bad, and after last week's attempts at poking fun at the purple-helmeted warriors after an embarrassing loss, I offer some new "funnies" after watching the latest installment of "As the Metrodome (Mall of America Field) Turns"
I know a lot of these are directed at Coach Chilly, but after his "if you're going to kick some ass, you've got to bring some ass" comment yesterday I figure I fit the bill after mine has expanded after all the holiday treats I've enjoyed the past couple weeks.
So here we go:
• Did you hear that Brad Childress isn't allowed to cook the Thanksgiving Day turkey at his own home? His wife is afraid he won't know when to take it out.
• The Vikings accomplished an NFL first by becoming the first team to have an official corporate sponsor for the actual season after reaching a deal with Valley Fair to secure official naming rights for this roller coaster of a ride.
• What does "most wedding nights" and "yesterday's Vikings' opponent" have in common? All are Giant Disappointments.
• How many Vikings does it take to screw in a little bulb? Not sure, but I know it only takes one head coach to screw it up.
• The Giants were arrested on their way out of the Metrodome yesterday for "Falsely Impersonating an NFL team" but were later released on their own recognizance because the Vikings didn't want to press charges after they were threatened with three similar counts for their last three road games.
• Favres' own version of the Vikings offensive scheme is called "the Gulf Coast Audible".
• I see Brad Childress has now scrapped his "Kick Ass Offense" for the "Kiss Ass Offense."
Friday, January 1, 2010
More clearing of the creative pipes...
I know, I know, the following are a little bit on the lazy end from a creative standpoint and some are just plain bad, but I've found this kind of exercise helps get the creative juices flowing...by simply sitting down in front of the keyboard and hammering away.
Hope the following jokes, anecdotes, thoughts, etc. at least force you to crack a smile:
* If serial killers' club kicked someone out are they dismembered?
* If you get kicked out of a tavern or pub, are you disbarred?
* A policeman who has to go really bad stops his vehicle, gets out and takes a leak on the side of the road. Meanwhile, a passerby sees this, reaches in his pocket, pulls out a quarter and tosses it at the officer hitting him in the head to which the officer responds, "Owww, what was that for?" to which the man replied, "Well, I'm not sure about here, but at Kinko's it's 25 cents a Cop pee!"
* Whiny Boy says "You can't have common sense without common courtesy!"
* Am I the only one who's suspicious that Osama Bin Laden's real name just might be Cotton-Eye Joe!
* I'm starting a new drive to name December 23 "Christmas Adam" and Dec. 30 "New Year's Adam" because after all, didn't he come before Eve?
80s fun
* What did Marty McFly's girlfriend wear to their senior prom, after a round trip to 2009 and back? Vera Wang Chung.
* Did you hear about the DJ who got fired for playing "Born in the USA" over and over? The owner said he was too "Boss'y".
Tech stuff
Hope the following jokes, anecdotes, thoughts, etc. at least force you to crack a smile:
* If serial killers' club kicked someone out are they dismembered?
* If you get kicked out of a tavern or pub, are you disbarred?
* A policeman who has to go really bad stops his vehicle, gets out and takes a leak on the side of the road. Meanwhile, a passerby sees this, reaches in his pocket, pulls out a quarter and tosses it at the officer hitting him in the head to which the officer responds, "Owww, what was that for?" to which the man replied, "Well, I'm not sure about here, but at Kinko's it's 25 cents a Cop pee!"
* Whiny Boy says "You can't have common sense without common courtesy!"
* Am I the only one who's suspicious that Osama Bin Laden's real name just might be Cotton-Eye Joe!
* I'm starting a new drive to name December 23 "Christmas Adam" and Dec. 30 "New Year's Adam" because after all, didn't he come before Eve?
80s fun
* What did Marty McFly's girlfriend wear to their senior prom, after a round trip to 2009 and back? Vera Wang Chung.
* Did you hear about the DJ who got fired for playing "Born in the USA" over and over? The owner said he was too "Boss'y".
Tech stuff
* I have a sneaking suspicion that Blackberry phones were created by the fine folks at Shasta!
* Isn't it quite obvious that a blueberry popsicle company's slogan should be "Free Blue Tooth with every bite!"
New Year's resolutions I'd like to make...
Every year, there are those tortured souls who go through the trouble of making New Year's resolutions and, in a sense, if I'm not their poster boy, then I'm at least a candidate for serious consideration.
Over the years I've vowed to do (or stop doing) several different things to varying degrees of success, but often they're for some pretty mundane things and lack any real creativity. This year I'm doing something different. Since I'm always belly-aching to the better half about what I don't have in life, instead of focusing on what I do have, I thought I'd go a step further and pretend I'm a citizen of the Have Nation instead of the Have-Not Third World Country.
I know it's too late to make these resolutions for this new year, but to give you a sneak preview of what my 2011 New Year's resolutions (provided 2010 is a fruitful and financially beneficial year) might look like, I offer you these:
* to ignore my good buddy Tiger's constant pleas to be his "wing" man when my family is visiting our Florida vacation home.
* to, at least for one month during the year, not laugh all the way to the bank or if I do, not to snort during the process.
* to resist the urge, despite having the money to do so, to actually hire the cast from the movie "The Hangover", fly them to Vegas to try and recreate the entire movie, only this time I get to play the Zach Galifianakis role. I have to always remember when this debate rages on internally that I have a family to think about.
* to no longer have to pursue legal action against one Ms. Megan Denise Fox of Hollywood, Cal., for her persistent insistence I escort her to red-carpet events.
* to have more patience with the Vikings head coach, despite the fact that 51-percent controlling interest I now own in the team gives me the right to drop the hatchet.
* to finally read one of those books my good friend Oprah keeps mentioning to me during dinner parties at her crib but I always put off.
* to stop cold calling dentist's offices trying to get a fifth one to give in and recommend Trident to their patients who chew gum 'cause that's the kind of thing "eccentric" rich people do and I could do without the eccentric part of that equation.
* to become more patriotic and pay more attention to my domestic automobiles when making the daily choice from my fleet of which one my chauffeur will drive me to work in that day.
* to not keep using the cliche "if I had a dollar (or quarter, dime or nickel) for everytime (fill in the blank)..." because I already have enough of all of those.
* to get to the point in my life where if I do someday "buy the farm" I'll have enough to pay for it all up front and not have to "borrow" any of it.
Over the years I've vowed to do (or stop doing) several different things to varying degrees of success, but often they're for some pretty mundane things and lack any real creativity. This year I'm doing something different. Since I'm always belly-aching to the better half about what I don't have in life, instead of focusing on what I do have, I thought I'd go a step further and pretend I'm a citizen of the Have Nation instead of the Have-Not Third World Country.
I know it's too late to make these resolutions for this new year, but to give you a sneak preview of what my 2011 New Year's resolutions (provided 2010 is a fruitful and financially beneficial year) might look like, I offer you these:
* to ignore my good buddy Tiger's constant pleas to be his "wing" man when my family is visiting our Florida vacation home.
* to, at least for one month during the year, not laugh all the way to the bank or if I do, not to snort during the process.
* to resist the urge, despite having the money to do so, to actually hire the cast from the movie "The Hangover", fly them to Vegas to try and recreate the entire movie, only this time I get to play the Zach Galifianakis role. I have to always remember when this debate rages on internally that I have a family to think about.
* to no longer have to pursue legal action against one Ms. Megan Denise Fox of Hollywood, Cal., for her persistent insistence I escort her to red-carpet events.
* to have more patience with the Vikings head coach, despite the fact that 51-percent controlling interest I now own in the team gives me the right to drop the hatchet.
* to finally read one of those books my good friend Oprah keeps mentioning to me during dinner parties at her crib but I always put off.
* to stop cold calling dentist's offices trying to get a fifth one to give in and recommend Trident to their patients who chew gum 'cause that's the kind of thing "eccentric" rich people do and I could do without the eccentric part of that equation.
* to become more patriotic and pay more attention to my domestic automobiles when making the daily choice from my fleet of which one my chauffeur will drive me to work in that day.
* to not keep using the cliche "if I had a dollar (or quarter, dime or nickel) for everytime (fill in the blank)..." because I already have enough of all of those.
* to get to the point in my life where if I do someday "buy the farm" I'll have enough to pay for it all up front and not have to "borrow" any of it.
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