Another McDonald's commercial
You might be asking, "What's up with all the McDonald's commercial references?" Or you might not. But I am wondering a little bit about my apparent obsession, and I have no idea where it comes from - although I'm sure, like most issues and obsessions, it's deeply rooted in my childhood. Either that, or it has to do with my being a breech birth baby (sorry 'bout that, Mom). Anyway, I just saw a McDonald's commercial where there's a dorky guy who's doing some strange contortions that I assume are supposed to pass for stretching as he's apparently preparing to go for a run. And then there's a person who's eating a quarter pounder with cheese, and the dorky guy who's stretching is eyeballing the QPWC while the voiceover says something like, "If the quarter pounder with cheese were to run a marathon, it wouldn't even train. It would just show up on the day of the race wearing tiny shorts and give it a go. And it wouldn't even stretch. Just to mess with you." Okay, there are so many things wrong with this that it boggles the mind. How do I point out the errors? Let me count the ways.
1) Dorky guys don't run marathons - everybody knows that only really cool, awesomely athletic, handsome and well-balanced people run marathons. Right?
2) You're not supposed to stretch before you run - yes, we were all taught to stretch before exercising way back in the Stone Age, but that was way back in the Stone Age and we all know better than that now.
3) Lots of people run without wearing "tiny shorts." Personally, I hate "tiny shorts" and would never wear "tiny shorts" and am much more comfortable in my "baggy shorts." Not to mention all the women (and quite a few men) who now wear running skirts - which is, oddly enough, something that has stirred up quite a bit of controversy - enough so that a major running magazine dedicated an issue to the pros and cons surrounding the issue. Personally, I kind of like the skirts (not for me - or for other guys - but for the women). But what do I know?
4) Why would someone not stretching mess with you? As mentioned before, you shouldn't be stretching before the race, but that doesn't mean people don't stretch before races, because they often do, and personally, whenever I see someone stretching before a race, I'm thinking something like, "Dude, that's a pretty stupid thing to be doing, don't you know you're not supposed to be stretching before a race?" As you can see from this internal monologue, I'm definitely not intimidated. On the other hand, I have to admit that I am a little bit intimidated by people who jog to warm up before the race, mainly because I'm always thinking, "Man, I've got to run ____ miles - the last thing I want to do is add anything to it." So what they should say in the commercial is that the QPWC is going to jog around to warm up before the race just to intimidate you. Or maybe not.
5) Anyone who "just shows up" for a marathon without training at all is, in my opinion, pretty crazy. I'm sure there are people out there that have done this and finished it successfully, but I'll bet they're few and far between, and many more of those misguided souls were either unable to finish or barely crossed the finish line and suffered for days/weeks afterward. It's just not the kind of thing you can show up for and be successful. And why would you want to? Half the fun is the training. Stupid QPWC.
6) This is the big one. How on earth could a QPWC run? It doesn't have any legs. Or feet. Or toes. Or arms, for that matter, so it couldn't compete as a wheelchair athlete either. I mean, it's a QPWC, McDonald's advertising department people. Don't you know anything?
I can't believe I just went on like that about a McDonald's commercial. There is something seriously wrong with my brain.
If a tree falls in a forest…
Or in this case: if a person is writing an entry on what most people refer to as a blog, but what this person refuses to admit is a blog, what does one call what one is doing? This came up because Katie just came in and asked if I was "blogging," and I really didn't know how to reply, because if I said, "Yes," that would be admitting that this is a blog, which I refuse to do, and if I said, "No," then she would say, "What are you doing, then," and I'd have to say something like, "I'm not blogging," and we'd be right back where we started. As you can see, this is quite a conundrum (that's wrapped up in an enigma and enmeshed in a mystery) and I'm going to have to continue to puzzle over what to do about it - which is a lot of energy going into something that's completely pointless. Oh well. At least I'm not obsessing over McDonald's commercials.
Good news, bad news
Bad news first. As many of you may be aware, the economy is, shall we say, not so great. Companies are going bankrupt, people are losing their jobs, foreclosures are on the rise, retirement funds are vanishing, and it's all just kind of depressing and discouraging. There is, however, some good news that comes out of this (as reported in our newspaper over the past week). For one thing, shark attacks are down - and are predicted to continue to go down. Apparently, this is believed to be due to fewer tourists visiting oceanside beaches, which means fewer people in the water, which means fewer chances for sharks to grab a quick snack. And the second piece of good news is that they're predicting a better flu season - this time because people aren't venturing out as much (to restaurants, malls, etc.) and so they don't come into contact with as many people (who harbor germs) and so they aren't as likely to catch the flu. It seems like I should have something clever and meaningful to say about all of this, but I don't. Darn.
With that, I'll wrap up this edition of whatever this is and hope that your commercials make at least a little bit of sense, your conundrums remain soluble, and your good news outweighs any bad news by a hefty and substantial margin.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Flomax, Gatorade Baths, and an Update
Commercials are real
As I was riding my bike home the other day, I was passed by the guys from the Flomax commercial (you know the ones, those four senior-citizenish-but-still-active dudes who attend basketball games, and go fishing on a boat and drive through the countryside in a red convertible). I swear it was actually those guys, and they were actually in their actual red convertible driving along with the top down - just like in the commercial(!). Anyway, I thought this was pretty strange, because I'd always assumed that the people we see on commercials are fictional creations used for advertising purposes. In fact, I remember when I was a kid and my younger sister used to watch the McDonalds commercials and say things like, "I wish I could be on a commercial like that, look how much fun they're having," and I would say, "What are you talking about? They're actors. They're acting. They're not actually having fun." And she would say, "Well, I think they are having fun." And I would say, "That's stupid," which pretty much serves as a microcosm of our entire relationship. Anyway, I never expected to see commercial characters in real life, so when I spotted the Flomax guys, I was pretty surprised. I mean, imagine if you were walking or driving along, and happened to look up and see Harry Potter go flying by on a broomstick? Or Eragon soaring through the sky on a dragon? Or Jack Bauer jump out of a helicopter? Wouldn't that freak you out? Of course it would. So it got me to thinking, what if all the people we see in commercials are actually real. Take a moment to consider the implications. For example, what about the really cute brunette girl who goes to McDonald's with her nerdy boyfriend who is blathering on about paintball while she's eyeing a Quarter Pounder with Cheese that some other nerdy guy is eating across the restaurant? What if she's a real person who really has a nerdy boyfriend and dreams about Quarter Pounders? Or (to stay on the fast-food theme) what about that other really cute blonde girl who gets all dressed up because her nerdy boyfriend told her they're going out for steak, but when she gets to his apartment, he's dressed like a nerdy slob because he meant they're going to Carl's Jr.? Do you see a pattern here? Apparently, there's a whole slew of really beautiful girls out there who are dating nerdy, clueless guys who do stupid things, but the nerdy, clueless guys are so endearingly normal and average that these really beautiful girls continue to go out with them. I'd always figured that this was some kind of advertising gimmick designed to appeal to a "target audience" carefully selected through demographic surveys - but now I'm thinking it's real life. Wow.
Sublime to Ridiculous
The journal prompt for my classes this week is to write about something sublime, but to make it seem ridiculous. Which got me thinking that just about everything can be seen as ridiculous if you start to really examine it carefully. For example, I love running, and I think running a marathon is a life-changing, enriching, unbelievable achievement, but really, it's just kind of weird. Thousands of people dressed in skimpy outfits with numbers pinned to their chests gather together in some random spot in the pre-dawn dark and cold, then spend the next hour or more shivering and fidgeting and waiting in line for the port-a-potties. Next they cram together in "corrals" that each hold about a thousand people and stand/shiver/fidget for another half hour or so until finally some person who they can't even see (because there are thousands of people in the corrals ahead of them) shoots off a gun, and the entire herd slowly shuffles forward (towards the guy who shot the gun, not away from him, which is what most sane people would do) for ten minutes or so until finally the crowd eases enough that they can actually run. Then they spend the next 26.2 miles following thousands of other people without really knowing where they're going - like lemmings going over the cliff, they scamper along. Along the way, they obsess over their "splits", try to get into the "zone", repeat their mantras, hydrate according to some master plan, and swallow gels that have the consistency of mucous according to some other master plan. At some point, it becomes tiresome and painful, and most people experience cramps and aches that they fight through as well as they can, struggling with exhaustion and mental fatigue until finally, several hours later, they come to the finish line (set in another random spot) where they abruptly stop and receive a medal for their efforts (which is the same for everyone regardless of how long they took) and spend the next thirty minutes (or more) feeling as if an alien has taken over their body. No wonder I love it so. I think you could do this for just about any sport. How about football? A bunch of guys running into each other, then every once in awhile one of them breaks free and gets chased until he crosses a line, at which point everyone stops chasing him, and he performs a crazy dance and is slapped on his head (and other parts). Then at the end, when time finally runs out, several people pick up a big bucket full of ice and gatorade and dump it on one of the leaders, and instead of getting mad, like any normal person would do, he seems to enjoy the experience. Or how about writing an entry like this one on an internet website? Pouring out your heart and soul, agonizing over every word/phrase/sentence to make sure they convey exactly what you're going for, rereading and adjusting, fine-tuning and tweaking until you finally take a deep breath and hit the "publish post" button, and then… that's it. Does anybody read it? Does anybody care? Does it have any kind of impact at all, or is all just a pointless exercise in futility? Definitely questions to ponder.
Speaking of running…
Even though running is pretty ridiculous (see above), I'm still thrilled to be able to run once again (after spending several weeks in the land of injury). I'm not going very far or very fast, but it feels really good to get out on the road again and off the elliptical. Along with that, our new TNT season has started up, and we've got people training for events in Nashville, San Diego, and Seattle. Right now, I'm planning on coaching in San Diego and Seattle, and if everything goes well, I'll run in the Estes Park Marathon (the highest-elevation paved course) between those two. And I've got a half-marathon scheduled for the end of March. Hopefully, all goes well.
That's all for this edition, so until next time, may your fictional characters remain firmly imbedded in imaginary worlds, may your pursuits remain sublime, and may your aches and pains remain manageable.
As I was riding my bike home the other day, I was passed by the guys from the Flomax commercial (you know the ones, those four senior-citizenish-but-still-active dudes who attend basketball games, and go fishing on a boat and drive through the countryside in a red convertible). I swear it was actually those guys, and they were actually in their actual red convertible driving along with the top down - just like in the commercial(!). Anyway, I thought this was pretty strange, because I'd always assumed that the people we see on commercials are fictional creations used for advertising purposes. In fact, I remember when I was a kid and my younger sister used to watch the McDonalds commercials and say things like, "I wish I could be on a commercial like that, look how much fun they're having," and I would say, "What are you talking about? They're actors. They're acting. They're not actually having fun." And she would say, "Well, I think they are having fun." And I would say, "That's stupid," which pretty much serves as a microcosm of our entire relationship. Anyway, I never expected to see commercial characters in real life, so when I spotted the Flomax guys, I was pretty surprised. I mean, imagine if you were walking or driving along, and happened to look up and see Harry Potter go flying by on a broomstick? Or Eragon soaring through the sky on a dragon? Or Jack Bauer jump out of a helicopter? Wouldn't that freak you out? Of course it would. So it got me to thinking, what if all the people we see in commercials are actually real. Take a moment to consider the implications. For example, what about the really cute brunette girl who goes to McDonald's with her nerdy boyfriend who is blathering on about paintball while she's eyeing a Quarter Pounder with Cheese that some other nerdy guy is eating across the restaurant? What if she's a real person who really has a nerdy boyfriend and dreams about Quarter Pounders? Or (to stay on the fast-food theme) what about that other really cute blonde girl who gets all dressed up because her nerdy boyfriend told her they're going out for steak, but when she gets to his apartment, he's dressed like a nerdy slob because he meant they're going to Carl's Jr.? Do you see a pattern here? Apparently, there's a whole slew of really beautiful girls out there who are dating nerdy, clueless guys who do stupid things, but the nerdy, clueless guys are so endearingly normal and average that these really beautiful girls continue to go out with them. I'd always figured that this was some kind of advertising gimmick designed to appeal to a "target audience" carefully selected through demographic surveys - but now I'm thinking it's real life. Wow.
Sublime to Ridiculous
The journal prompt for my classes this week is to write about something sublime, but to make it seem ridiculous. Which got me thinking that just about everything can be seen as ridiculous if you start to really examine it carefully. For example, I love running, and I think running a marathon is a life-changing, enriching, unbelievable achievement, but really, it's just kind of weird. Thousands of people dressed in skimpy outfits with numbers pinned to their chests gather together in some random spot in the pre-dawn dark and cold, then spend the next hour or more shivering and fidgeting and waiting in line for the port-a-potties. Next they cram together in "corrals" that each hold about a thousand people and stand/shiver/fidget for another half hour or so until finally some person who they can't even see (because there are thousands of people in the corrals ahead of them) shoots off a gun, and the entire herd slowly shuffles forward (towards the guy who shot the gun, not away from him, which is what most sane people would do) for ten minutes or so until finally the crowd eases enough that they can actually run. Then they spend the next 26.2 miles following thousands of other people without really knowing where they're going - like lemmings going over the cliff, they scamper along. Along the way, they obsess over their "splits", try to get into the "zone", repeat their mantras, hydrate according to some master plan, and swallow gels that have the consistency of mucous according to some other master plan. At some point, it becomes tiresome and painful, and most people experience cramps and aches that they fight through as well as they can, struggling with exhaustion and mental fatigue until finally, several hours later, they come to the finish line (set in another random spot) where they abruptly stop and receive a medal for their efforts (which is the same for everyone regardless of how long they took) and spend the next thirty minutes (or more) feeling as if an alien has taken over their body. No wonder I love it so. I think you could do this for just about any sport. How about football? A bunch of guys running into each other, then every once in awhile one of them breaks free and gets chased until he crosses a line, at which point everyone stops chasing him, and he performs a crazy dance and is slapped on his head (and other parts). Then at the end, when time finally runs out, several people pick up a big bucket full of ice and gatorade and dump it on one of the leaders, and instead of getting mad, like any normal person would do, he seems to enjoy the experience. Or how about writing an entry like this one on an internet website? Pouring out your heart and soul, agonizing over every word/phrase/sentence to make sure they convey exactly what you're going for, rereading and adjusting, fine-tuning and tweaking until you finally take a deep breath and hit the "publish post" button, and then… that's it. Does anybody read it? Does anybody care? Does it have any kind of impact at all, or is all just a pointless exercise in futility? Definitely questions to ponder.
Speaking of running…
Even though running is pretty ridiculous (see above), I'm still thrilled to be able to run once again (after spending several weeks in the land of injury). I'm not going very far or very fast, but it feels really good to get out on the road again and off the elliptical. Along with that, our new TNT season has started up, and we've got people training for events in Nashville, San Diego, and Seattle. Right now, I'm planning on coaching in San Diego and Seattle, and if everything goes well, I'll run in the Estes Park Marathon (the highest-elevation paved course) between those two. And I've got a half-marathon scheduled for the end of March. Hopefully, all goes well.
That's all for this edition, so until next time, may your fictional characters remain firmly imbedded in imaginary worlds, may your pursuits remain sublime, and may your aches and pains remain manageable.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Matinees, Cuticles, and a List
Kindred Spirits
I believe I've mentioned before on this site that I'm cheap. Partly because of that, and partly because I'm a curmudgeonly homebody, we rarely go to the movies. However, I received a gift card for the theater recently, so Katie and I have gone to a couple of movies in the past month. When we do this, though, I make sure that we go to the first showing because it's only $5 apiece, and even though I've got a gift card, I still feel cheated somehow if we don't go to the bargain show (this, by the way, is totally my issue - Kate doesn't think twice about paying full price to go to a movie). Anyway, we decided to go see "Gran Torino" last weekend (which is a pretty powerful movie that makes you laugh, makes you cry, blah, blah, blah) and because I'm cheap and refuse to pay full price, we went to the first showing on Sunday afternoon. Well, as we entered the theater and got in line to buy tickets, I couldn't help but notice that the crowd was on the, shall we say, mature side. As in, we were (by about thirty years) the youngest people in the joint (other than the concessionaires and ticket takers - the typical collection of pimply-faced whippersnappers). Seriously, though, everyone was really old, and I'm sure it wasn't just because we were at the Oro Valley Cineplex. No, I'm going to hypothesize that they (like me) were swayed by the bargain prices. As you might imagine, I wasn't exactly sure how to feel about this. On the one hand, it made me feel kind of old and out of touch - and cheap (but then, I figured hey, I am kind of old and out of touch - and cheap - so what?). On the other hand, it made me feel kind of proud, like I was part of a savvy group who could reminisce about the "good-old-days" when we trudged through snowdrifts for ten miles to get to school and reused tinfoil and turned out the lights when we left the room and knew the value of a dollar (when a dollar had some value). It was like I'd finally found my kindred spirits. But then I noticed that just about every one of my kindred spirits was also buying popcorn before going into the movie ($4 for a small bag, $7.50 for the jumbo) and I was like, people, what's up with that? Four bucks for a bag of popped corn? What happened to smuggling in your snacks? Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway) I was sorely disappointed by their flippant attitudes and wasteful behaviors. But what are you going to do?
A story too weird not to share
As I was skimming through today's paper, a headline about fingernails caught my eye. Apparently, the woman who holds the record for the world's longest fingernails (total length of over 28 feet - the longest single nail 2 feet 11 inches long) was in a car crash. She suffered minor injuries, but her fingernails weren't so fortunate. Paramedics did all they could, but it sounded like they didn't pull through. Bummer for her.
These are a few of my least favorite things
In honor of my 5 a.m. wake-up call this morning, here's a list of ten things I'm tired of (oddly enough, getting up at 5 a.m. is not on the list)
•A. Rod - apparently, he's a cheater (in more than one way), a liar ("Did you ever take performance enhancing drugs?" "No, I did not."), and he's making 100's of millions of dollars to play baseball - and people are still going to be willing to pay him thousands of dollars for his autograph
•Michael Phelps - he's a great swimmer and he did some stupid things - time to move on, media
•Chris Brown - before this week I thought he was annoying - now he's on this list
•Valentine's Day - and it's not until tomorrow - can't we just call the whole thing off?
•Bad attitudes - if you choose your attitude, what does it say when you choose to have a bad one?
•Whiners - why is it that the people who seem to have the most to complain about actually complain the least - and vice-versa?
•Being injured - I seem to be on the mend, so hopefully I can stop whining about this soon
•The elliptical trainer - on the one hand, I'm glad I can still work up a sweat - on the other hand, it's really tedious and boring (and it always makes the bottoms of my feet and the tips of my toes tingle)
•The economy
•People who attempt to be clever by making negative lists
Clearly, I should be thoroughly ashamed of myself, so I'll slap myself silly before slinking off into the sunset. Until next time, may you discover you have many things in common with your kindred spirits, may your fingernails grow quickly, and may any hypocritical tendencies you might be harboring confine themselves to private quarters.
I believe I've mentioned before on this site that I'm cheap. Partly because of that, and partly because I'm a curmudgeonly homebody, we rarely go to the movies. However, I received a gift card for the theater recently, so Katie and I have gone to a couple of movies in the past month. When we do this, though, I make sure that we go to the first showing because it's only $5 apiece, and even though I've got a gift card, I still feel cheated somehow if we don't go to the bargain show (this, by the way, is totally my issue - Kate doesn't think twice about paying full price to go to a movie). Anyway, we decided to go see "Gran Torino" last weekend (which is a pretty powerful movie that makes you laugh, makes you cry, blah, blah, blah) and because I'm cheap and refuse to pay full price, we went to the first showing on Sunday afternoon. Well, as we entered the theater and got in line to buy tickets, I couldn't help but notice that the crowd was on the, shall we say, mature side. As in, we were (by about thirty years) the youngest people in the joint (other than the concessionaires and ticket takers - the typical collection of pimply-faced whippersnappers). Seriously, though, everyone was really old, and I'm sure it wasn't just because we were at the Oro Valley Cineplex. No, I'm going to hypothesize that they (like me) were swayed by the bargain prices. As you might imagine, I wasn't exactly sure how to feel about this. On the one hand, it made me feel kind of old and out of touch - and cheap (but then, I figured hey, I am kind of old and out of touch - and cheap - so what?). On the other hand, it made me feel kind of proud, like I was part of a savvy group who could reminisce about the "good-old-days" when we trudged through snowdrifts for ten miles to get to school and reused tinfoil and turned out the lights when we left the room and knew the value of a dollar (when a dollar had some value). It was like I'd finally found my kindred spirits. But then I noticed that just about every one of my kindred spirits was also buying popcorn before going into the movie ($4 for a small bag, $7.50 for the jumbo) and I was like, people, what's up with that? Four bucks for a bag of popped corn? What happened to smuggling in your snacks? Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway) I was sorely disappointed by their flippant attitudes and wasteful behaviors. But what are you going to do?
A story too weird not to share
As I was skimming through today's paper, a headline about fingernails caught my eye. Apparently, the woman who holds the record for the world's longest fingernails (total length of over 28 feet - the longest single nail 2 feet 11 inches long) was in a car crash. She suffered minor injuries, but her fingernails weren't so fortunate. Paramedics did all they could, but it sounded like they didn't pull through. Bummer for her.
These are a few of my least favorite things
In honor of my 5 a.m. wake-up call this morning, here's a list of ten things I'm tired of (oddly enough, getting up at 5 a.m. is not on the list)
•A. Rod - apparently, he's a cheater (in more than one way), a liar ("Did you ever take performance enhancing drugs?" "No, I did not."), and he's making 100's of millions of dollars to play baseball - and people are still going to be willing to pay him thousands of dollars for his autograph
•Michael Phelps - he's a great swimmer and he did some stupid things - time to move on, media
•Chris Brown - before this week I thought he was annoying - now he's on this list
•Valentine's Day - and it's not until tomorrow - can't we just call the whole thing off?
•Bad attitudes - if you choose your attitude, what does it say when you choose to have a bad one?
•Whiners - why is it that the people who seem to have the most to complain about actually complain the least - and vice-versa?
•Being injured - I seem to be on the mend, so hopefully I can stop whining about this soon
•The elliptical trainer - on the one hand, I'm glad I can still work up a sweat - on the other hand, it's really tedious and boring (and it always makes the bottoms of my feet and the tips of my toes tingle)
•The economy
•People who attempt to be clever by making negative lists
Clearly, I should be thoroughly ashamed of myself, so I'll slap myself silly before slinking off into the sunset. Until next time, may you discover you have many things in common with your kindred spirits, may your fingernails grow quickly, and may any hypocritical tendencies you might be harboring confine themselves to private quarters.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Doorknobs, Mysterious Maladies, Clocks, and Birthday Cakes
I'm stuck in the bedroom and can't get out
Last weekend, Carrie sequestered herself in the room formerly known as Caitlyn's bedroom to talk on the phone with one of her friends. Time passed, and I didn't hear anything from her, which isn't all that unusual, but then I heard a muffled call for help accompanied by the sound of a doorknob turning, over and over again. Katie went to investigate, and I listened as the two of them called out to each other through the door. "Is the door locked, Carrie?" "No." "Try turning the knob." "I tried that." "Try again." Twisting sound. "It's still not working." Jiggling sound. "How about now?" Twisting, jiggling, thumping sound. "Still doesn't work." Nervous laughter. "Am I going to be stuck in here forever?" Exasperated sigh. Jiggling, twisting, thumping, bumping. "The doorknob must be broken." At this point, I figured I might as well see if I could help. More back and forths through the door, more jiggling, more thumping and twisting, but the stupid door wouldn't work. "Guess I'll need a screwdriver," I muttered. Of course, my screwdriver wasn't in the toolshed where it belonged, and of course, no one had used it, so when I asked, "Who took my screwdriver and didn't put it back?" which is one of those questions you are taught to ask when you go to fatherhood school (where they teach you how to be a father) all I got in response was a bunch of blank stares (actually, only two - one from Katie and one from Connor since Carrie was still stuck in what was formerly known as Caitlyn's bedroom). Which made me even more frustrated, so I started grumbling and grabbed a different screwdriver that would work but wasn't going to be nearly as effective as the one I wanted, then proceeded to remove the knob from the door. This led to some tinkering and jiggling, and having Carrie try the knob again. Then I told her to remove her half, but she said she couldn't, so I told her to pull hard, and she said it was stuck, so I gave up and told her to climb out the window so I could climb in and see what I could see. Which she did, and I did, and I pulled the knob off (it was stuck because of the paint on the door) and once I did that, it was pretty easy to open the door and remove all the rest of the hardware. So now we have a knobless door, which I'm in no big rush to fix because I just don't feel a strong sense of urgency about it, plus Connor likes having the peephole so he can spy on his sister.
How dry I am
You would think that someone who was born in one of the hottest spots in the United States of America (Yuma, AZ) and who had spent her entire life (18+ years) living in a desert environment would know that it's important to drink water. And yet, my adorable, charming, and intelligent oldest daughter called us up complaining about feeling dizzy and light-headed and having tingling sensations in her fingers and toes. Of course, Katie immediately asked her about her diet, as in - "Are you eating and drinking enough?" - and was assured that Caitlyn was, indeed, eating and drinking well. So Katie drove down to the University to rescue poor li'l Caitlyn and brought her home, where Caitlyn proceeded to spend the next 24 hours moping around and looking pitiful and continuing to feel dizzy and light-headed. But she decided to soldier on and returned to her home away from home, but she didn't feel better so she went to Student Health, where they discovered that she was - can you see what's coming, because it's pretty darned obvious - dehydrated. Go figure.
A Miracle on Orange Grove Road
About two or three weeks ago, the clock in my classroom suddenly stopped working. I didn't particularly care, because I wear a watch, so I didn't do anything about it. One of the students running in the election simulation my 8th graders were participating in, though, decided to use it to her advantage and posted a sign saying, "Ellie will fix this clock if elected" on the clock, which I thought was pretty clever. Time passed (yes, time continues to pass even when a clock is broken, which seems pretty deep and philosophical, doesn't it?) and someone would occasionally mention the clock, but I didn't really give it much thought. And then today, because it was election day, I took down all the signs and posters, including the one covering the clock, and lo and behold, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a fully functional clock. And what's more, the time was correct. Now that is a tale for the ages.
A classic headline
Every once in awhile, I run across a headline that catches my eye. The best one I saw this week read: "Man's Pocketknife Kills Dog." I just hate it when pocketknives go all crazy and start stabbing man's best friend without provocation.
A boy named Adolph
Speaking of the newspaper, did you happen to see the story about a month ago where a family got upset because the bakery wouldn't make a birthday cake for their son? Pretty horrible of the bakery, wouldn't you say? Apparently, they had a problem with writing, "Happy Birthday, Adolph Hitler" on one of the cakes. I kid you not, these people named their kid (who looked like a pretty adorable little tyke, and not at all like a monstrous villain-of-the-ages) after a monstrous villain-of-the-ages. Just imagine if he someday became a superstar basketball player and made it to the NBA Finals, and after the big dramatic build-up, the announcer would say, "And starting at point guard, Adolph Hitler!" and the crowd would go wild and cheer like crazy. Or what if he grew up and did something heroic like pulled someone out of a burning building and was featured on the news and they would have to say, "Today, an ordinary man turned into a hero when Adolph Hitler of Spokane, Washington risked his life by…" Or what if he grew up and won the Nobel Prize in physics for some amazing discovery, and all the headlines would read "Hitler is a Hit in Physics." It just don't seem right.
Okay, that's all I've got for this edition, so until next time may your doorknobs continue to function, may your sons/daughters/siblings/significant others/distant acquaintances maintain adequate hydration, and may your clocks continue to tock (and tick).
Last weekend, Carrie sequestered herself in the room formerly known as Caitlyn's bedroom to talk on the phone with one of her friends. Time passed, and I didn't hear anything from her, which isn't all that unusual, but then I heard a muffled call for help accompanied by the sound of a doorknob turning, over and over again. Katie went to investigate, and I listened as the two of them called out to each other through the door. "Is the door locked, Carrie?" "No." "Try turning the knob." "I tried that." "Try again." Twisting sound. "It's still not working." Jiggling sound. "How about now?" Twisting, jiggling, thumping sound. "Still doesn't work." Nervous laughter. "Am I going to be stuck in here forever?" Exasperated sigh. Jiggling, twisting, thumping, bumping. "The doorknob must be broken." At this point, I figured I might as well see if I could help. More back and forths through the door, more jiggling, more thumping and twisting, but the stupid door wouldn't work. "Guess I'll need a screwdriver," I muttered. Of course, my screwdriver wasn't in the toolshed where it belonged, and of course, no one had used it, so when I asked, "Who took my screwdriver and didn't put it back?" which is one of those questions you are taught to ask when you go to fatherhood school (where they teach you how to be a father) all I got in response was a bunch of blank stares (actually, only two - one from Katie and one from Connor since Carrie was still stuck in what was formerly known as Caitlyn's bedroom). Which made me even more frustrated, so I started grumbling and grabbed a different screwdriver that would work but wasn't going to be nearly as effective as the one I wanted, then proceeded to remove the knob from the door. This led to some tinkering and jiggling, and having Carrie try the knob again. Then I told her to remove her half, but she said she couldn't, so I told her to pull hard, and she said it was stuck, so I gave up and told her to climb out the window so I could climb in and see what I could see. Which she did, and I did, and I pulled the knob off (it was stuck because of the paint on the door) and once I did that, it was pretty easy to open the door and remove all the rest of the hardware. So now we have a knobless door, which I'm in no big rush to fix because I just don't feel a strong sense of urgency about it, plus Connor likes having the peephole so he can spy on his sister.
How dry I am
You would think that someone who was born in one of the hottest spots in the United States of America (Yuma, AZ) and who had spent her entire life (18+ years) living in a desert environment would know that it's important to drink water. And yet, my adorable, charming, and intelligent oldest daughter called us up complaining about feeling dizzy and light-headed and having tingling sensations in her fingers and toes. Of course, Katie immediately asked her about her diet, as in - "Are you eating and drinking enough?" - and was assured that Caitlyn was, indeed, eating and drinking well. So Katie drove down to the University to rescue poor li'l Caitlyn and brought her home, where Caitlyn proceeded to spend the next 24 hours moping around and looking pitiful and continuing to feel dizzy and light-headed. But she decided to soldier on and returned to her home away from home, but she didn't feel better so she went to Student Health, where they discovered that she was - can you see what's coming, because it's pretty darned obvious - dehydrated. Go figure.
A Miracle on Orange Grove Road
About two or three weeks ago, the clock in my classroom suddenly stopped working. I didn't particularly care, because I wear a watch, so I didn't do anything about it. One of the students running in the election simulation my 8th graders were participating in, though, decided to use it to her advantage and posted a sign saying, "Ellie will fix this clock if elected" on the clock, which I thought was pretty clever. Time passed (yes, time continues to pass even when a clock is broken, which seems pretty deep and philosophical, doesn't it?) and someone would occasionally mention the clock, but I didn't really give it much thought. And then today, because it was election day, I took down all the signs and posters, including the one covering the clock, and lo and behold, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a fully functional clock. And what's more, the time was correct. Now that is a tale for the ages.
A classic headline
Every once in awhile, I run across a headline that catches my eye. The best one I saw this week read: "Man's Pocketknife Kills Dog." I just hate it when pocketknives go all crazy and start stabbing man's best friend without provocation.
A boy named Adolph
Speaking of the newspaper, did you happen to see the story about a month ago where a family got upset because the bakery wouldn't make a birthday cake for their son? Pretty horrible of the bakery, wouldn't you say? Apparently, they had a problem with writing, "Happy Birthday, Adolph Hitler" on one of the cakes. I kid you not, these people named their kid (who looked like a pretty adorable little tyke, and not at all like a monstrous villain-of-the-ages) after a monstrous villain-of-the-ages. Just imagine if he someday became a superstar basketball player and made it to the NBA Finals, and after the big dramatic build-up, the announcer would say, "And starting at point guard, Adolph Hitler!" and the crowd would go wild and cheer like crazy. Or what if he grew up and did something heroic like pulled someone out of a burning building and was featured on the news and they would have to say, "Today, an ordinary man turned into a hero when Adolph Hitler of Spokane, Washington risked his life by…" Or what if he grew up and won the Nobel Prize in physics for some amazing discovery, and all the headlines would read "Hitler is a Hit in Physics." It just don't seem right.
Okay, that's all I've got for this edition, so until next time may your doorknobs continue to function, may your sons/daughters/siblings/significant others/distant acquaintances maintain adequate hydration, and may your clocks continue to tock (and tick).
Monday, February 2, 2009
Spandex and a Couple of Kickoffs
Awkward attire
It may be inevitable that at some point in your life as a parent, you realize that you are, at some level, an embarrassment to one or more of your children. For whatever reason, I hadn't ever seen myself that way. I knew that they (and their friends) thought I was kind of strange for various reasons (some justified, some not so much), but I also believed I was seen as kind of cool (for a parent) and somewhat amusing - or scary, depending on their experience(s) with me. Anyhow, my view of myself through my children's eyes changed slightly last weekend when I came home from a bike ride. Carrie had a group of friends over for her birthday, and they were watching a movie in the living room when I came in, and since I was coming back from a bike ride, I was wearing bike shorts, which are made of - as you may or may not be aware - 87% nylon and 13% lycra/spandex. So what's the problem, you ask? Apparently, according to at least one of her friends, it's "awkward" when someone's dad comes into the house (which he owns, I might mention, and which the aforementioned friend was visiting as a guest who was only there because of the gracious nature of the owner of the house, which in this case, was and is me) wearing spandex. Carrie thought the whole thing was mildly amusing, because she's so used to seeing her parents attired in various types of exercise garb that she doesn't think anything about it. I, however, am deeply scarred by this callous comment, and I'm not sure if I'll ever recover my lost self-esteem. O woeful day, callooh, callay.
Summer season kickoff
We kicked off our latest TNT season this Saturday, and as always it was highly inspirational. It's amazing to hear people's stories and to see so many who are willing to commit to raising funds that go towards eliminating blood cancers. For the next few months, I'll be helping to coach a group of runners and walkers as they prepare for marathons (or half-marathons) in Nashville, San Diego, and Seattle.
Speaking of kickoffs
There were a couple of minutes, there, when I actually thought the impossible, the inconceivable, the absolutely incomprehensible was going to happen. The Cardinals had the lead, momentum was on their side, and all they had to do was keep the Steelers from moving the ball within field goal range. And then it all fell apart. Hopes were dashed, dreams deferred, and once again, I was left shaking my head in disappointment. Every year since the Cardinals moved to Arizona, I've tried to root for them - partly because of the whole regional thing and partly because their games often superseded the national game of interest being shown on Sunday afternoons - and there's not much worse than watching two 5-10 teams going through the motions in their final game of the season. So I'm not a rabid fan, but I've still suffered through Buddy Ryan and Joe Bugel, Emmit Smith creaking through his twilight years, Jake the Snake tossing yet another bone-headed interception, that epic collapse against the Bears on Monday Night ("they are who we thought they were!"), and all the other times when I was left shaking my head in disappointment. And then, somehow, magically, miraculously, the team manages to make it to the Super Bowl, where they fight back from a 13-point deficit in the fourth quarter and take the lead - but with too much time left on the clock. As soon as Larry Fitzgerald broke into the clear for that final touchdown, even while I was cheering and yelling, I was also thinking, "Oh no." If only he could have run around for another couple of minutes before diving across the goal line while the final seconds ticked off the clock. If only the blitz had arrived a split second earlier. If only the defensive back hadn't slipped. If only Santonio Holmes hadn't been able to tap his right toe down. If only… Crud.
Sorry about that - it's more depressing than mildly amusing - but it's all I've got. So until next time, may your attire be appropriate at all times and in all situations, may your causes be furthered, and may the team you're rooting for finish with a final flourish.
It may be inevitable that at some point in your life as a parent, you realize that you are, at some level, an embarrassment to one or more of your children. For whatever reason, I hadn't ever seen myself that way. I knew that they (and their friends) thought I was kind of strange for various reasons (some justified, some not so much), but I also believed I was seen as kind of cool (for a parent) and somewhat amusing - or scary, depending on their experience(s) with me. Anyhow, my view of myself through my children's eyes changed slightly last weekend when I came home from a bike ride. Carrie had a group of friends over for her birthday, and they were watching a movie in the living room when I came in, and since I was coming back from a bike ride, I was wearing bike shorts, which are made of - as you may or may not be aware - 87% nylon and 13% lycra/spandex. So what's the problem, you ask? Apparently, according to at least one of her friends, it's "awkward" when someone's dad comes into the house (which he owns, I might mention, and which the aforementioned friend was visiting as a guest who was only there because of the gracious nature of the owner of the house, which in this case, was and is me) wearing spandex. Carrie thought the whole thing was mildly amusing, because she's so used to seeing her parents attired in various types of exercise garb that she doesn't think anything about it. I, however, am deeply scarred by this callous comment, and I'm not sure if I'll ever recover my lost self-esteem. O woeful day, callooh, callay.
Summer season kickoff
We kicked off our latest TNT season this Saturday, and as always it was highly inspirational. It's amazing to hear people's stories and to see so many who are willing to commit to raising funds that go towards eliminating blood cancers. For the next few months, I'll be helping to coach a group of runners and walkers as they prepare for marathons (or half-marathons) in Nashville, San Diego, and Seattle.
Speaking of kickoffs
There were a couple of minutes, there, when I actually thought the impossible, the inconceivable, the absolutely incomprehensible was going to happen. The Cardinals had the lead, momentum was on their side, and all they had to do was keep the Steelers from moving the ball within field goal range. And then it all fell apart. Hopes were dashed, dreams deferred, and once again, I was left shaking my head in disappointment. Every year since the Cardinals moved to Arizona, I've tried to root for them - partly because of the whole regional thing and partly because their games often superseded the national game of interest being shown on Sunday afternoons - and there's not much worse than watching two 5-10 teams going through the motions in their final game of the season. So I'm not a rabid fan, but I've still suffered through Buddy Ryan and Joe Bugel, Emmit Smith creaking through his twilight years, Jake the Snake tossing yet another bone-headed interception, that epic collapse against the Bears on Monday Night ("they are who we thought they were!"), and all the other times when I was left shaking my head in disappointment. And then, somehow, magically, miraculously, the team manages to make it to the Super Bowl, where they fight back from a 13-point deficit in the fourth quarter and take the lead - but with too much time left on the clock. As soon as Larry Fitzgerald broke into the clear for that final touchdown, even while I was cheering and yelling, I was also thinking, "Oh no." If only he could have run around for another couple of minutes before diving across the goal line while the final seconds ticked off the clock. If only the blitz had arrived a split second earlier. If only the defensive back hadn't slipped. If only Santonio Holmes hadn't been able to tap his right toe down. If only… Crud.
Sorry about that - it's more depressing than mildly amusing - but it's all I've got. So until next time, may your attire be appropriate at all times and in all situations, may your causes be furthered, and may the team you're rooting for finish with a final flourish.
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