Because I know you're dying to hear all about it, I want to assure you that, so far, my softball team is performing at least as horribly as expected this season. We've managed to loose every game, we've had an on-field collision that resulted in a concussion, we've had a season ending ankle injury and we've cleared out the entire supply of Icy Hot patches at our local Target store.
We suck.
You should come watch us play sometime, it's a real hoot.
Here are our individual stats for the season. Keep in mind that this is Rec League, Slow Pitch Softball before you start thinking to yourself, "Oh, a .400 batting average isn't so bad."
Trust me, it is.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Consider the Source
Dear Jennifer Lopez,
Congrats on your "come back". But let's be honest, do "party people in the club" (her words, not mine) really want advice on how to get down from a 41-year-old-mother-of-two?
Maybe you should release a single titled "Middle of the Night Feedings" or "Everybody Get on the Swing Set".
Maybe "Can't Get Enough of that Menopause Cooldown Spray".
Congrats on your "come back". But let's be honest, do "party people in the club" (her words, not mine) really want advice on how to get down from a 41-year-old-mother-of-two?
Maybe you should release a single titled "Middle of the Night Feedings" or "Everybody Get on the Swing Set".
Maybe "Can't Get Enough of that Menopause Cooldown Spray".
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
You Can't Say That...Ever: Vol. 8
In light of the deteriorating contract negotiations between the NFL Players Union and NFL team owners, Adrian Peterson of the Minnesota Vikings recently described the relationship between players and owners as modern day slavery and has received a lot of hell for it.
But, I say he's got a point. I remember reading that the negotiations between the slave union and slave owners got real ugly in 1852, just as this more recent set of negotions has done. In fact, Uncle Tom even compared their situation to that of the Jewish Slaves building paramids in Egypt, and the press gave him hell for it.
Ultimately, the season was suspended, and Frederick Douglass and Harriet Tubman both decided to retire from slavery, marring their carrers forever and causing fans to wonder, "What if?".
I only hope things will turn out better this time around, but only time will tell.
And give Adrian some props for noticing that history does, in fact, repeat itself.
But, I say he's got a point. I remember reading that the negotiations between the slave union and slave owners got real ugly in 1852, just as this more recent set of negotions has done. In fact, Uncle Tom even compared their situation to that of the Jewish Slaves building paramids in Egypt, and the press gave him hell for it.
Ultimately, the season was suspended, and Frederick Douglass and Harriet Tubman both decided to retire from slavery, marring their carrers forever and causing fans to wonder, "What if?".
I only hope things will turn out better this time around, but only time will tell.
And give Adrian some props for noticing that history does, in fact, repeat itself.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
I can't figure out why, but I am currently obsessed with this video.
Maybe it's her incredible voice, maybe it's human fascination with the vulnerability of standing alone in front of an arena full of people, maybe it's the evocative and relatable lyrics, or the goosebumps I get at the 2:00 minute mark every time I watch.
Or maybe it's the cankles. Who knows. Either way, here's Adele live at The BRIT Awards 2011. Enjoy.
Monday, February 28, 2011
You Can't Say That...Ever: Vol. 7
C and I live in a really nice part of Dallas. I'm not trying to brag (for once), but it's really nice. To get a handle on what I'm talking about, think of the nicest part of your town. If you're not sure where that is, it probably ends in "Heights" or "Hills" or it is so nice that its just been abbreviated down to its initials (think O.C.). Yeah, I told you it was nice.
So, here we are, living in our nice part of town. But here's the problem with the nice parts of any town: rich people live there. "What's the problem with rich people?" you ask?
They're assholes.
Example:
In our very nice, very small, four unit apartment building there are only five parking spots. Being in the nice part of town, space is at a premium. One parking spot belongs to us, one belongs to the neighbor next door, one belongs to the neighbor in the unit above the garage and the other two belong to the unit downstairs. If you're following along and doing the math at home you've probably realized that there is no place for me to park. C gets the spot and I park on the street. What can I say, I'm a gentleman.
When a new rich (read: asshole) neighbor moved in downstairs, we immediately starting having problems with people parking in a way that blocked our only parking spot. "I'm sure it was an accident," you say. No. No one accidentally blocks in a car that is surrounded on three sides by two fences and a brick wall.
After experiencing this outrage multiple times and trying to eloquently point out that only an asshole would do something like that to another human being, C and I thought for sure that the message had been conveyed.
Until tonight.
We arrived home from Italian class (we're learning the language, not how to be Italian. Although that would be cool.) to find a Range Rover parked diagonally across our parking spot. Infuriated, I knocked on the door downstairs and said, "We're trying to park in our parking spot out back and there is a car blocking it. Again." The Asshole stared blankly at me. "Could you move it? So we can park in our spot?"
Blank stare. And then, "I guess I can go see what's going on."
I know what's going on, you self-centered megalomaniac. You're blocking our spot.
I get out back to find The Asshole looking at the Range Rover and looking at the six inch gap between the Range Rover and the fence and she says, "What's the problem?"
"The problem is that either I'm going to hit that fence or I'm going to hit that car." Maybe I'll hit your face, but that would just be for fun.
"I don't need your attitude. I'm not in the mood." Not in the mood? What the hell do I care about your mood?! Move your fucking car!
"Sorry if I sound a little upset, we just want to park in our only parking space and we can't." Because you blocked it, asshole.
"I guess you guys don't like me very much because you always have an attitude whenever..." Whenever...? Whenever you block our spot with your giant gas-guzzling asshole mobile?!
"Look, it's nothing personal. We just want to be able to park in our only spot." I'll kill you.
"Well, what am I supposed to do? There's not enough room back here." Not enough room? With your two car garage? Not enough room? Your two parking spaces have more combined square footage than our apartment.
"I've been parking on the street for three years now. Also, your lease clearly outlines where it is and is not OK to park." Learn to read, idiot.
"I don't feel comfortable parking on the street with all the break-ins recently." What? This is where I knew I could not possibly continue a civil conversation with this asshole. Remember that nice part of town you thought of a little while ago? Good. Now think about how often "break-ins" are a problem in that particular part of town. That's right, they're not! Why? Because nice, wealthy parts of town can afford so many police officers that no one would dare break into cars for fear of serious reprisal.
Fed up and unable to continue to hide my displeasure with the situation, I looked at The Asshole right in the eyes and said, "You're a horrible person. And you need to scale back on the amount of animal print in your apartment. It's tacky."
I'm afraid things might be a little awkward the next time I bump into her at the mailbox.
So, here we are, living in our nice part of town. But here's the problem with the nice parts of any town: rich people live there. "What's the problem with rich people?" you ask?
They're assholes.
Example:
In our very nice, very small, four unit apartment building there are only five parking spots. Being in the nice part of town, space is at a premium. One parking spot belongs to us, one belongs to the neighbor next door, one belongs to the neighbor in the unit above the garage and the other two belong to the unit downstairs. If you're following along and doing the math at home you've probably realized that there is no place for me to park. C gets the spot and I park on the street. What can I say, I'm a gentleman.
When a new rich (read: asshole) neighbor moved in downstairs, we immediately starting having problems with people parking in a way that blocked our only parking spot. "I'm sure it was an accident," you say. No. No one accidentally blocks in a car that is surrounded on three sides by two fences and a brick wall.
After experiencing this outrage multiple times and trying to eloquently point out that only an asshole would do something like that to another human being, C and I thought for sure that the message had been conveyed.
Until tonight.
We arrived home from Italian class (we're learning the language, not how to be Italian. Although that would be cool.) to find a Range Rover parked diagonally across our parking spot. Infuriated, I knocked on the door downstairs and said, "We're trying to park in our parking spot out back and there is a car blocking it. Again." The Asshole stared blankly at me. "Could you move it? So we can park in our spot?"
Blank stare. And then, "I guess I can go see what's going on."
I know what's going on, you self-centered megalomaniac. You're blocking our spot.
I get out back to find The Asshole looking at the Range Rover and looking at the six inch gap between the Range Rover and the fence and she says, "What's the problem?"
"The problem is that either I'm going to hit that fence or I'm going to hit that car." Maybe I'll hit your face, but that would just be for fun.
"I don't need your attitude. I'm not in the mood." Not in the mood? What the hell do I care about your mood?! Move your fucking car!
"Sorry if I sound a little upset, we just want to park in our only parking space and we can't." Because you blocked it, asshole.
"I guess you guys don't like me very much because you always have an attitude whenever..." Whenever...? Whenever you block our spot with your giant gas-guzzling asshole mobile?!
"Look, it's nothing personal. We just want to be able to park in our only spot." I'll kill you.
"Well, what am I supposed to do? There's not enough room back here." Not enough room? With your two car garage? Not enough room? Your two parking spaces have more combined square footage than our apartment.
"I've been parking on the street for three years now. Also, your lease clearly outlines where it is and is not OK to park." Learn to read, idiot.
"I don't feel comfortable parking on the street with all the break-ins recently." What? This is where I knew I could not possibly continue a civil conversation with this asshole. Remember that nice part of town you thought of a little while ago? Good. Now think about how often "break-ins" are a problem in that particular part of town. That's right, they're not! Why? Because nice, wealthy parts of town can afford so many police officers that no one would dare break into cars for fear of serious reprisal.
Fed up and unable to continue to hide my displeasure with the situation, I looked at The Asshole right in the eyes and said, "You're a horrible person. And you need to scale back on the amount of animal print in your apartment. It's tacky."
I'm afraid things might be a little awkward the next time I bump into her at the mailbox.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
That Can Be Arranged
Col. Gaddafi,
So, you want to fight to the "last drop of blood" and "die a martyr in the end," do you? Well, be careful what you wish for, big guy.
You remember what we did to your old neighbor Saddam a few years ago, right? Let me refresh your memory:
Gruesome. Now, let's consider some similarities and some differences between Mr. Mustard-Gas and yourself to get a feel for your chances of having that martyrdom wish granted:
1. Saddam didn't really do a whole lot to provoke us, or anyone else, and we still managed to wage two successful wars against him based solely on the idea that he was a "cruel dictator." You, by comparison, are currently dropping heavy artillery from fighter jets onto crowds of your own civilians who are participating in a peaceful protest. "Cruel dictator" would be a compliment.
2. Iraq is sitting on a modest oil supply that (some say) would be a far more likely motive for those aforementioned Gulf Wars I and II. (Whether or not that is true, click here to compare oil consumption rates around the world and tell me that you wouldn't off a few "cruel dictators" too, if you had the kind of crude oil addiction problem that we, as a country, have.) Libya has the largest proven oil reserves on the African continent, which already makes it look like the house down the street that has lots of nice stuff worth stealing, but now the social unrest and your indefensible decision to continue clinging to power have left the door unlocked and hanging wide open. We are a nation of oil addicts and what do addicts love to do? Give yourself ten points if you said, "home invasion and burglary to feed our addiction."
3. Saddam never had to deal with a broad-based, legitimate political uprising. You, on the other hand, have hoards of normal, everyday people who are are sick of your nonsense and willing to risk their lives to make sure that you know it. And it seems that firing on unarmed protesters has just made them more committed to being rid of you. There's a good chance that, eventually, they will get to you and who knows how peaceful they will be feeling when they do.
So, in summation, I would recommend dusting off your martyr pants and making sure that your last will and testament are up-to-date because if your own people don't finish you off when they storm your castle carrying their torches and pitchforks, there's a good that chance we will.
So, you want to fight to the "last drop of blood" and "die a martyr in the end," do you? Well, be careful what you wish for, big guy.
You remember what we did to your old neighbor Saddam a few years ago, right? Let me refresh your memory:
Gruesome. Now, let's consider some similarities and some differences between Mr. Mustard-Gas and yourself to get a feel for your chances of having that martyrdom wish granted:
1. Saddam didn't really do a whole lot to provoke us, or anyone else, and we still managed to wage two successful wars against him based solely on the idea that he was a "cruel dictator." You, by comparison, are currently dropping heavy artillery from fighter jets onto crowds of your own civilians who are participating in a peaceful protest. "Cruel dictator" would be a compliment.
2. Iraq is sitting on a modest oil supply that (some say) would be a far more likely motive for those aforementioned Gulf Wars I and II. (Whether or not that is true, click here to compare oil consumption rates around the world and tell me that you wouldn't off a few "cruel dictators" too, if you had the kind of crude oil addiction problem that we, as a country, have.) Libya has the largest proven oil reserves on the African continent, which already makes it look like the house down the street that has lots of nice stuff worth stealing, but now the social unrest and your indefensible decision to continue clinging to power have left the door unlocked and hanging wide open. We are a nation of oil addicts and what do addicts love to do? Give yourself ten points if you said, "home invasion and burglary to feed our addiction."
3. Saddam never had to deal with a broad-based, legitimate political uprising. You, on the other hand, have hoards of normal, everyday people who are are sick of your nonsense and willing to risk their lives to make sure that you know it. And it seems that firing on unarmed protesters has just made them more committed to being rid of you. There's a good chance that, eventually, they will get to you and who knows how peaceful they will be feeling when they do.
So, in summation, I would recommend dusting off your martyr pants and making sure that your last will and testament are up-to-date because if your own people don't finish you off when they storm your castle carrying their torches and pitchforks, there's a good that chance we will.
Monday, February 21, 2011
When in Rome
C and I are taking Italian language classes in preparation for our (twice postponed) trip to Italy. To help me with my foreign language skills, I downloaded an app for my phone that allows me to listen to live streams of radio stations from all around the world. It's called Tunein Radio and it's very cool. You should check it out.
But be careful.
While listening to an Italian pop station, I was exposed to the most offensive musical assault my ears have ever experienced. It was like Katy Perry, Fergie (with and without the rest of The Blackeyed Peas) and Cher had all vomited on the same CD and then the DJ said, "Well, let's take a listen and see what this sounds like."
It's called "Ogni Tanto" by Gianni Nannini and you can listen to it here...if you dare.
You've been warned!
But be careful.
While listening to an Italian pop station, I was exposed to the most offensive musical assault my ears have ever experienced. It was like Katy Perry, Fergie (with and without the rest of The Blackeyed Peas) and Cher had all vomited on the same CD and then the DJ said, "Well, let's take a listen and see what this sounds like."
It's called "Ogni Tanto" by Gianni Nannini and you can listen to it here...if you dare.
You've been warned!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Romance is Undead
For Valentine's Day, I bought my lovely wife some flowers as a way to say, "I love you and thank you for being the most important person in my life."
She returned the favor by getting me two zombie-killing video games. Clearly, she feels the same.
Or she thinks I should start preparing for the impending zombie apocalypse.
Either way, I can't stop smiling...or imagining my co-workers are hordes of undead intent on eating my flesh.
She returned the favor by getting me two zombie-killing video games. Clearly, she feels the same.
Or she thinks I should start preparing for the impending zombie apocalypse.
Either way, I can't stop smiling...or imagining my co-workers are hordes of undead intent on eating my flesh.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
You Can't Say That...Ever: Vol. 6
When this guy appeared on the TV screen during a commercial:
C: "I thought that guy committed suicide."
Me: "Why would you think that?"
C: "Wishful thinking, I guess."
Saturday, January 22, 2011
It's the Little Things
I am currently sitting on the couch eating Taco Bell and watching "The Big Lebowski". I know what you're thinking: "So?"
So, this is something that pre-married me would not have been excited about at all. This is something that pre-married me would have done almost daily, with a rotating selection of fast foods and cinematic masterpieces. But married me noticed today that this is something exciting.
Just because the things we used to do when we were younger are not age appropriate now, doesn't necessarily make them any less enjoyable. Just because we have to be responsible now, eat right so we don't have a heart-attack at 40, exercise so our spouse will continue to think we're attractive and go to work everyday without being under the influence of any controlled substances doesn't mean that we can't take a little time out every once in a while to remind ourselves of the selves we used to be. Not to recapture it, but to compare it to the selves we are now and to admire how far we've come.
So, while C is in DC this weekend interviewing for a very prestigious position within the Federal Government, I will continue to compare my current self to my former self by going out with my buddies tonight to a bar that serves beer in plastic cups and playing foosball at $1.00 a game all night without thinking even once about other and more productive ways I could have spent that money. And when I'm back at work on Monday, sober and wondering why I have to be so responsible all the time, I'll remind myself that being an adult isn't always fun, but it's an important part of growing up.
So, this is something that pre-married me would not have been excited about at all. This is something that pre-married me would have done almost daily, with a rotating selection of fast foods and cinematic masterpieces. But married me noticed today that this is something exciting.
Just because the things we used to do when we were younger are not age appropriate now, doesn't necessarily make them any less enjoyable. Just because we have to be responsible now, eat right so we don't have a heart-attack at 40, exercise so our spouse will continue to think we're attractive and go to work everyday without being under the influence of any controlled substances doesn't mean that we can't take a little time out every once in a while to remind ourselves of the selves we used to be. Not to recapture it, but to compare it to the selves we are now and to admire how far we've come.
So, while C is in DC this weekend interviewing for a very prestigious position within the Federal Government, I will continue to compare my current self to my former self by going out with my buddies tonight to a bar that serves beer in plastic cups and playing foosball at $1.00 a game all night without thinking even once about other and more productive ways I could have spent that money. And when I'm back at work on Monday, sober and wondering why I have to be so responsible all the time, I'll remind myself that being an adult isn't always fun, but it's an important part of growing up.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
What to do When Lethal Injection is too Lenient
I've been watching the news coverage of this repulsive act of violence in Arizona and I can't help but think about all the things that haven't changed since the last time something like this happened. And all the things that didn't change the time before. How is that we as a nation can watch these atrocious and possibly preventable tragedies unfold time after time and take absolutely no steps to prevent them from happening again?
This asswipe in Tuscon is just the latest in a string of asswipes who will be allowed to have free and easy access to firearms and will choose to use that freedom to kill innocent people for no other reason than their own mental instability.
I know it's shocking, but the answer is not MORE guns. That line of thinking is akin to, "Holy crap, the kitchen is on fire!! Quick, get the matches before it spreads!!" The only people who believe that a more heavily armed populace is the solution to the problem of gun violence in this country are the people profiting from the sale of guns; and let's be honest, do we really care what they, or their political wing (The NRA), have to say on the matter?
And while it's not a solution to the problem, there is a civic need for this guy and others like him to be disposed of quickly and publicly. Lethal injection is a joke. Why waste our collective time and tax dollars on a person so devoid of any value? Walk him to the nearest dumpster, shoot him once for every one of his victims and leave him there until the next regularly scheduled trash collection.
Even as I say this, I know that it's nothing more than an unsatisfying and disturbing fantasy. Americans as a group would not allow that kind of blatant disregard for even the most despised of human lives. The acts of heroism and selflessness of last Saturday demonstrate clearly that people are mostly good. After wrestling this armed psycho to the ground, the good men responsible for subduing him could have very well used his own gun to finish him off. After all, they would have any number of justifications: self defense, fear, retaliation, etc. But they didn't. Even in a situation that must have been very emotionally charged, while the murder is subdued and yet continued to try to reload his weapon, these men did what was right, and waited for the authorities to arrive.
That is much more heroic than any vigilante justice or grotesque public retribution.
This asswipe in Tuscon is just the latest in a string of asswipes who will be allowed to have free and easy access to firearms and will choose to use that freedom to kill innocent people for no other reason than their own mental instability.
I know it's shocking, but the answer is not MORE guns. That line of thinking is akin to, "Holy crap, the kitchen is on fire!! Quick, get the matches before it spreads!!" The only people who believe that a more heavily armed populace is the solution to the problem of gun violence in this country are the people profiting from the sale of guns; and let's be honest, do we really care what they, or their political wing (The NRA), have to say on the matter?
And while it's not a solution to the problem, there is a civic need for this guy and others like him to be disposed of quickly and publicly. Lethal injection is a joke. Why waste our collective time and tax dollars on a person so devoid of any value? Walk him to the nearest dumpster, shoot him once for every one of his victims and leave him there until the next regularly scheduled trash collection.
Even as I say this, I know that it's nothing more than an unsatisfying and disturbing fantasy. Americans as a group would not allow that kind of blatant disregard for even the most despised of human lives. The acts of heroism and selflessness of last Saturday demonstrate clearly that people are mostly good. After wrestling this armed psycho to the ground, the good men responsible for subduing him could have very well used his own gun to finish him off. After all, they would have any number of justifications: self defense, fear, retaliation, etc. But they didn't. Even in a situation that must have been very emotionally charged, while the murder is subdued and yet continued to try to reload his weapon, these men did what was right, and waited for the authorities to arrive.
That is much more heroic than any vigilante justice or grotesque public retribution.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Hahahahahahahahaha!
It's like some sort of brain teaser: "If a million hipster iTards oversleep on the same day, will anyone notice?"
Sunday, January 2, 2011
The Holidays: 2010 Edition
Well, it's finally over. It's the time of year where I tend to eat too much, sleep too little and start drinking each afternoon. I am, of course, talking about The Holidays.
For your reading pleasure, I will now hit the highlights of a season so filled with familial drama, gift buying deception and intrigue, and boozy eggnog that it's a blessing that it only comes around once a year.
Thanksgiving:
I have the honor of sharing the week of my birthday each year with Thanksgiving. In the grand scheme of things, the holiday of over indulgence is not a bad one to be saddled with. Also, conveniently, C's birthday is a few days before Christmas, so the post-nuptial "How do we do parse out holiday time with the in-laws?" conversation ended up being a no-brainer.
So as expected, we ate far too much and drank cocktails all afternoon. I fried a turkey and spilled oil all over my brand new pants, but that was the only casualty of the day; except, of course, my recommended daily allowance of calories.
Christmas:
The in-laws have a very nice house on a lake in central Texas that we use as a gathering point for family events. They are a pretty far-flung bunch, spread from Washington state, to New Mexico, to New York City, so it is nice to a have a place large enough for everyone. The only problem is that no place is large enough for a family of five adults plus two husbands, except maybe the Grand Canyon. Although everyone has their own place to sleep, coexistence is a very real aspect of every other room in the house. And while family time is ostensibly the reason for the season, anyone born after 1975 knows that the real reason for the season is Nintendo. Getting new games as gifts and playing them for hours and hours a day is a holiday tradition that I take very seriously. The in-laws, however, would rather shear some sheep and make their own holiday sweaters. Or churn butter by hand. Or read by candle light. So after a week of installing new sinks, faucets, and drains, followed by hand washing the dishes after every meal, I was ready to get back to civilization.
Christmas eve, C's sister convinced us to attend services at the local Unitarian Church. Being Catholic my whole life, I'd never been to religious services at any non-Catholic institution, but I figured that all Christian services were all pretty much the same. My assumption was incorrect. In principle, I have no problem with the Unitarian views of religion: everyone is equal, everyone has the right to explore their own religious path, everyone deserves justice, peace and liberty, etc. But all this freedom and liberty creates a relaxed religious environment that I was very uncomfortable in. Children ran free while the minister told the story of the Unitarian church member who wrote "'twas the Night Before Christmas", some guy set up a camcorder to video tape the event, it was all very loose and unstructured. And that's fine for some people, I don't want to deprive them of that. My personal belief, though, is that like your cranky great-uncle Bob, God loves us, but doesn't particularly like us messing with his stuff. That's why there are so many rules governing your behavior when you are in his house.
New Year's Eve:
I got drunk at a concert and fell on my head trying to climb over a railing at the train station. The rest of the night is a blur, literally and figuratively, although I do distinctly remember my lovely wife laughing at me while I lay confused on the floor. Thanks, honey.
New Year's Day:
The wife and I have a tradition of stockpiling supplies in the week leading up to the 1st of January so that we will have no cause to leave the house for the entire day. Like preparing for a zombie attack, or a blizzard, we fill the fridge with any food item that we might possibly feel like eating during the 24 hour stretch between December 31 and January 2. We did pretty well this year. We certainly didn't leave the house, not even to take me to the hospital to have me examined for a concussion. Late in the day, we wanted to make a chocolate cake, but didn't have enough sugar.
Make a note for next year.
For your reading pleasure, I will now hit the highlights of a season so filled with familial drama, gift buying deception and intrigue, and boozy eggnog that it's a blessing that it only comes around once a year.
Thanksgiving:
I have the honor of sharing the week of my birthday each year with Thanksgiving. In the grand scheme of things, the holiday of over indulgence is not a bad one to be saddled with. Also, conveniently, C's birthday is a few days before Christmas, so the post-nuptial "How do we do parse out holiday time with the in-laws?" conversation ended up being a no-brainer.
So as expected, we ate far too much and drank cocktails all afternoon. I fried a turkey and spilled oil all over my brand new pants, but that was the only casualty of the day; except, of course, my recommended daily allowance of calories.
Christmas:
The in-laws have a very nice house on a lake in central Texas that we use as a gathering point for family events. They are a pretty far-flung bunch, spread from Washington state, to New Mexico, to New York City, so it is nice to a have a place large enough for everyone. The only problem is that no place is large enough for a family of five adults plus two husbands, except maybe the Grand Canyon. Although everyone has their own place to sleep, coexistence is a very real aspect of every other room in the house. And while family time is ostensibly the reason for the season, anyone born after 1975 knows that the real reason for the season is Nintendo. Getting new games as gifts and playing them for hours and hours a day is a holiday tradition that I take very seriously. The in-laws, however, would rather shear some sheep and make their own holiday sweaters. Or churn butter by hand. Or read by candle light. So after a week of installing new sinks, faucets, and drains, followed by hand washing the dishes after every meal, I was ready to get back to civilization.
Christmas eve, C's sister convinced us to attend services at the local Unitarian Church. Being Catholic my whole life, I'd never been to religious services at any non-Catholic institution, but I figured that all Christian services were all pretty much the same. My assumption was incorrect. In principle, I have no problem with the Unitarian views of religion: everyone is equal, everyone has the right to explore their own religious path, everyone deserves justice, peace and liberty, etc. But all this freedom and liberty creates a relaxed religious environment that I was very uncomfortable in. Children ran free while the minister told the story of the Unitarian church member who wrote "'twas the Night Before Christmas", some guy set up a camcorder to video tape the event, it was all very loose and unstructured. And that's fine for some people, I don't want to deprive them of that. My personal belief, though, is that like your cranky great-uncle Bob, God loves us, but doesn't particularly like us messing with his stuff. That's why there are so many rules governing your behavior when you are in his house.
New Year's Eve:
I got drunk at a concert and fell on my head trying to climb over a railing at the train station. The rest of the night is a blur, literally and figuratively, although I do distinctly remember my lovely wife laughing at me while I lay confused on the floor. Thanks, honey.
New Year's Day:
The wife and I have a tradition of stockpiling supplies in the week leading up to the 1st of January so that we will have no cause to leave the house for the entire day. Like preparing for a zombie attack, or a blizzard, we fill the fridge with any food item that we might possibly feel like eating during the 24 hour stretch between December 31 and January 2. We did pretty well this year. We certainly didn't leave the house, not even to take me to the hospital to have me examined for a concussion. Late in the day, we wanted to make a chocolate cake, but didn't have enough sugar.
Make a note for next year.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Some dude here in the office is wearing his sunglasses...indoors.
I'm finding it hard to resist the urge to choke him.
In fairness, it looks as though there is a medical explaination for this slice of ridiculousness; I saw some swelling and discoloration peeking out from around the edges of his Gucci shades.
But let's be serious -- indoors? It's a pretty mild environment here indoors, what with the climate control, carpet, and soft fluorescent lighting.
I know what you're thinking: "Dude, chill out, it's not that big of a deal", etc.
Fine, but you don't have to look at this all damn day while you're trying to do insurancey type things in a semi-professional environment:
I'm finding it hard to resist the urge to choke him.
In fairness, it looks as though there is a medical explaination for this slice of ridiculousness; I saw some swelling and discoloration peeking out from around the edges of his Gucci shades.
But let's be serious -- indoors? It's a pretty mild environment here indoors, what with the climate control, carpet, and soft fluorescent lighting.
I know what you're thinking: "Dude, chill out, it's not that big of a deal", etc.
Fine, but you don't have to look at this all damn day while you're trying to do insurancey type things in a semi-professional environment:
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