Public Embarrassment No. 235

During my last year in the rare five year program at Cedarville I had the pleasure of taking a cake class called History of Rock Music or Modern Music or something like that. Maybe it was just History of music because I'm pretty sure they covered more than rock n roll and Cedarville would never allow a class called History of Rock n Roll. I think it was the first time the class was offered. Anyway, my thinking was that a class where all you did was listen and talk about music seemed like the perfect class to boost my grade point average up to the Mendoza line. Also, the professor once toured as the trumpet player for Three Dog Night. That clearly put him in the top five professors at Cedarville.

It was a great class except for one thing. The final project you had the option to either write a paper or give a speech. Because I'm a master at public speaking *cough* I decided to do a speech. Yeah, I have no idea what I was thinking. We had our choice of any subject to choose from. I chose to give a speech on the history of the rock band Journey. Yes, go back and read that last sentence. Are we finished laughing? Good. Let us proceed. I had recently bought the Journey box set. I'll wait again. The problem is this isn't the embarrassing part. Let me remind you I was still in my infancy in learning about music. In that box set was a booklet detailing the history of Journey. I was thinking this was perfect. I just change some words around and I can just recite the bullet points of this booklet.

The night before my presentation I wrote out my notes, and practiced my speech in the mirror. I pictured exactly how the classroom was set up and rehearsed and rehearsed. I would say I was pretty confident that I was going to nail this speech. As you can tell it all went horribly wrong. Most would point that it all went wrong when I decided to do a speech or when I chose Journey as my subject. At that moment though it all went wrong when I walked into class and saw the classroom was completely rearranged. It was no longer as I pictured it in my head while practicing. That was the moment I really started sweating. The second thing that went wrong was the speech I had to follow. Before me a student's speech was on how to line dance. What the hell? First off, why didn't I think of something that easy? Half of her speech time was taken up with teaching us the electric slide. Why didn't I think of doing a speech on something like the running man or the New Kids Dance? Second, how can I follow up a class participation speech with just me talking about Journey and playing a few songs? I was so screwed. Then the CD player didn't work right. Then my eyes were blurring. Then I just kept my eyes on my paper and read straight from that. I refused to make eye contact with anyone in the class. Realizing how bad I was tanking, I decided to try to save it. To pull this awful display out of the gutter and rescue it. On the last few lines I decided to say it like I meant it, like I believed it. The last line went something along the lines of blah and blah "shows that Journey belongs in the annals of rock and roll." Unfortunately, what came out of mouth was, "shows that Journey belongs in the anals of rock and roll." Yeah. Brilliant. I then scurried to my chair and hung my head. Eric and Adam, who had the pleasure of being in the class, still take joy in reminding me of public embarrassment No. 235.

I Miss Him Already

In Honor Of

A little late, but this goes to recently departed Brad Delp. Mr. Delp is/was the lead singer of Boston. Boston's debut album was the first secular rock album I bought, not counting Weird Al. Here's to Brad Delp may you soar as high as your ridiculous vocals when you sing "AWAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"

Musical Memory Recall

I'm five chapters into the memoir by Rob Sheffield called Love is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time. I came across the book by reading an interview with Mr. Sheffield on Fluxblog.org. Because of my early stunted growth into music I never had the pleasure of reading fanzines or other rock n roll criticisms. That's why I get a little jealous watching Almost Famous. I never got the pleasure of growing up at a time when I could spend afternoons reading music journalists like Lester Bangs. It wasn't till college that I gathered up the nerve to contradict my fundamentalist upbringing and get a subscription to Rolling Stone and Spin. The fear and disappointment I felt when I opened my school mailbox to find the infamous Janet Jackson RollingStone cover glaring at me with stickers covering the hands covering her breasts. I knew I was on Cedarville's blacklist now. It was like your Mom finding your Playboy only instead of throwing it away she ripped all the pictures out and left it back where she found it. I still went back to my room and removed the stickers. Anyway, between Spin and RollingStone the only writers I remember were Rob Sheffield and Jancee Dunn. I remember falling in love with Jancee Dunn once I saw her on 120 Minutes. I pictured her as one of those women that knew a lot about a lot of things and refused to take shit from anyone. It intrigued me and scared me. Rob Sheffield was who I identified with. He seemed like a geek that some how lucked into a job writing about music. He also didn't seem to have a snob approach that some music journalists do. Anyway, that lead me to reading the interview which lead me to picking up his book.

Each chapter begins with a mix tape the he or his wife made. The chapter then covers the time in his life when that tape was made. Most of the book (that I've read so far) deals with his meeting and falling in love, (This happened simultaneously which I understand can occur.) marrying, and living with his wife.

Reading this book caused me to think about two things. First is that the mix tape is basically dead. Sheffield in his book talks about how the iPod playlist and mix CD still keep the spirit of the mix tape. I agree but I think the magic of the mix tape is gone. A playlist or mix CD has a beginning and an end. A mix tape has the magic of a middle where you have to switch sides. That middle gives you another end and beginning. It gives you two acts to play with. You can still pull off the same with a mix CD, but it doesn't create the physical middle that a tape does. A mix CD is still one side, a tape is still two sides. The ease of playlists and creating CD's takes away some of the magic as well. Making a mix tape required perfect timing and physically listening as you created the mix. A mix tape would require at least 90 minutes of your time. That time taken is part of what makes a mix tape special. It's like cooking dinner for someone instead of getting take out. I could go on with the sequencing of albums and the changes caused by the format change to CD from vinyl and tape. But we will stick to mix tapes because this is what I know.

Back in the day I used to be the king of mix tapes even with my extremely limited musical knowledge. The first true endeavor into mix tapes was early in my second year of college. During that year I cranked out five volumes of Love Song tapes. They contained the love song range from the obscure to the cliche love song. It never worked with the ladies, but that was before I realized it was better to create a tape that would move her feet rather than remind her of a former boyfriend. I eventually graduated to mix tapes that dealt more with introducing people to music I'd think they'd like or songs that remind you of time spent with that person. The greatest mix tape I've ever made was for Stace at the end of my last year at Cedarville. I had a crush on her big time but we worked through it and became close friends. I remember during the last days of my college years a group of us were going to see Braveheart. Somehow, I ended up driving alone. At a stop light, Stace got out of the car behind me and hopped in my car. She cared, and that's all I needed. The mix tape I gave her the last day tried to wrap that last year of memories into a 90 minute magnetic tape. From the parties, to the concerts, to the fights, to the alone times I always craved, it all returns when I hear those songs. I think the "I'm Leaving Town. Don't Forget Me" mix tapes were always my best. This bring me up to my second thought: music and memories.

Music is great for so many reasons. It can match your mood. It can change your mood. It can inspire you to act. It can bring complete strangers together in one room to sing along. For me the real magic is those songs that help create those memories. "Hound Dog" is when I'd sit in the bathroom as a kid making the shadow puppet of a dog that sang along with me. Kenny Loggins' "Danger Zone" reminds me of sitting in Jill's room in South Carolina and wondering what it'd take to be the guy in the love letters she was showing me. Kevin McKee and I used to rap "Fight For Your Right to Party" or "Wipeout" in the high school entrance. I knew one more thing I didn't want in a girl when she started crying at the Michael W. Smith concert as he closed with "Friends." John Lee Hooker's "It Serves You Right To Suffer"joined me while I sat in my dorm room in the dark with a Santa's hat on, and wallowed in the fact that Marne didn't like me in that way. There's Eric and I sitting in his apartment while we listen to one the greatest hurtin' songs of all time: George Jones' "He Stopped Loving Her Today." I tried my best to introduce little Anne Marie to what I thought was punk by jumping on the bed with her to One Bad Pig. Any Violent Femmes' song sparks the memory of me driving Melissa to the Boathouse in order to catch their concert before it ended. We were in such a rush she had to change in the back seat, and it took a lot of will power to keep my eyes on the road. On the drive to and from Boston, Bob and I played Elvis' cover of "Always on My Mind" about thirty times. The road trip mix tape comes in a very close second to "I'm Leaving Town. Don't Forget Me" mix tape. Gaia!
Junior Senior will always be me and my sisters driving from Maine to Ohio for Mom's funeral. Boston would always accompany Bobby and I coming home from work during the first season of CSI: Miami. It always seemed to come on while we exited off the 101. The point is we have a history of songs to go with our own history. That's one the reason I become frustrated when people try to hide or play off the musical embarrassments of their past because it wasn't "cool" or "hip" music. That music show where you've been, and how you've become who you are. Music has powers, and its soundtrack to your life is one of my favorite. My last girlfriend Kathie once said that The Beach Boys' "God Only Knows" will always remind her of me. Sure that was a big signal to the lack of a future our relationship held, but I had one of the greatest songs ever written linked to a memory of me. How cool is that?

Regret #239

Back in 1986, my father, brother, and I moved back to Columbus from South Carolina. My father got a job teaching, so we were finally moving out of Bob Jones country. The day we moved was a fairly memorable day. Everybody we knew was there helping us load up the truck. I walked the woods one last time. Jill kissed me goodbye in the storage closet in the back of the house. But we also left something behind. I remember making one quick walk through the house to see if I forgot anything. The first thing I noticed sitting there in the living room was the stereo console. I asked my father why we hadn't packed it yet. He said there wasn't any room, so we were leaving it. What?! This has been with us forever. This is what I listened to The Music Machine on. What about the Manheim Steamroller LP's Dad always listened to? We're taking the lawnmower but not the stereo? Even with all my questions I should have fought more to take it with us. I miss that old console stereo and the warm sound that would come from the speakers. Why didn't we keep it?

This regret has lead to me browsing craigslist every now and then to see if someone is selling one. Unfortunately we are in the day where Antique Roadshow and other programs have made everyone scared that they are going to make a mistake and sell something for the fraction of the cost. This means the cheapest solid build consoles are going for $400 at least out here. When you factor in the repairs and upkeep that will be needed it just isn't in my budget yet. Besides I sold all my LP's to afford to move out here. (Regret #361-Selling the LP's. Not the moving out here). Some day though it will happen. Maybe when I have kids, I can buy one. Then we can sit and listen to The Music Machine together, while we look at the pictures.

Born Scarlet and Grey

For most sports fans and even for some that aren't there is a sports team that you are born into. It's a team that you have no choice in rooting for. The team that while a kid your father, mother, or both points out that they are the "good guys" on the TV. The fact that they are the good guys is only reinforced when you see the joy on your parents' faces when they do well. You smile too even though you have no concept of the sport. Your parents throw parties surrounding these "good guys." You get to eat the stuff your Mom usually won't allow when these "good guys" are on the TV. You really had no choice in the matter. This is your team. I love my Cubs, but the team in my blood is The Ohio State Buckeyes.

I think it all began when my grandfather went to OSU and played clarinet (or was it the oboe) for The Best Damn Band In The Land. I pretty sure this was the only time you were allowed to use the word "damn" in my family. Before I could even speak I was being initiated into becoming a Buckeye.Clearly, I had no choice. This began when my family lived in Georgia. Once we moved to Columbus when I was two, it was all over. I was a Buckeye. In the early years your education begins. You learn to say "Buckeye." "Hang on Sloopy" is the song you first learn. Screw "YMCA" you learn to sign O-H-I-O. Maize and blue are the colors the "bad guys" wear. Michigan is where the "bad guys" come from. Your friends all love the Buckeyes. Their parents love the Buckeyes. You get to play with all your friends when the Buckeyes play. The Buckeyes happen after cartoons. And that The Ohio State Buckeyes T-shirt becomes your favorite shirt.Look at that joy on my face. It's the shirt, and I wore that shirt all the time.

The thing is my parents deserve credit equally in training me to be a Buckeye. My father is the one that taught me the game. He taught me the players names. He taught my that you are a Buckeye no matter where you live. This was demonstrated to me when we moved to South Carolina after my parents divorced. The first thing he did when we moved into our new house was paint it. What did he paint it?Yes, he painted it grey with scarlet colored doors. The thing is he painted it in like 1981, and it was still this color in 1993. This is in the heart of Clemson country too.

My Mom on the other hand I think instilled my passion for the Buckeyes. My Mom didn't really care about sports as a whole except for the Buckeyes. There was nothing like listening to my Mom shout "Go! Go! Go!" as a player would make a big play. That would be quickly followed by a gleeful laugh, followed by an "Alright!" or a "Wow!" How many people get to call their mothers and talk football? Well, I could when it came to the Buckeyes. Before I moved out here to California, I spent the winter at my Mom's. My job at the time was working at one of The Buckeye Corner stores. You can imagine my Mom's excitement that she could now get 20% of Buckeye apparel.

So, I was born to be a Buckeye which leads up to perhaps the biggest game in my life as a Buckeye. The current top two are the 1997 Rose Bowl against Arizona State (There was a jewelery box at the Buckeye Corner that played the radio calls of famous plays in Buckeye History. I would keep opening and closing it till it played the game winning play in that Rose Bowl.) and of course the 2003 Fiesta Bowl where the Buckeyes won the National Championship in double OT.

The game this weekend though is one of the biggest game's in the history of sports greatest rivalry. You can try right now to come up with a better rivalry but you will come up with one that are either too short or too one sided. Simply known as "The Game," Ohio State and Michigan will meet for the first time ranked #1 and #2 in the nation. In many experts opinions this is basically the game that will decide the National Champion. All the ridiculous hype (Game of the Century? Please.) and the general consensus that the Buckeyes will win has had me nervous since Sunday about this game. You see the history of this rivalry shows that usually the team with less to lose usually wins this game. The problem is that they are both undefeated and both are playing for the right to play for the National Championship. So they both have the exact same thing to lose. How can anyone make a guess on how this will turn out? I'm too superstitious to make any claims about this game.

What I will say is: Please don't call me between 12:00 and 4:00pm. If the Buckeyes happen to lose, you probably want to wait till Sunday.

Happy Birthday Ben!

Has it really been 28 years? It seems not too long ago you were the pudgy cheeked kid who always got stuck playing the baby in our home movies or the baby horse to Jennie's momma horse. How you actually survived being our little brother I don't know, but somehow you survived it all only slightly scathed. Now you have little girl, an Irish wife, and a great house. I would like to remind you that none of this would've been possible if I hadn't saved you from accidentally hanging yourself in the old farm house. I'm still expecting your first born son.

Just Because...

I don't think it's till right now that I realize how much Bill Cosby has shaped my childhood.

In a Lame Attempt to Inspire Bob's Mets to Pull it Together and Beat the Cardinals I Offer This Video. I Hope It Helps.

You Tube: The Cure For Blogging Block

Once a Week I Get This Stuck in My Head.

CSI: Miami, 100 Episodes

Tonight. CSI: Miami celebrates its 100th episode. 100 episodes is quite a lot in the TV world, particularly for an hour drama that is a spinoff. Since I've been here for all 100 episodes I thought I'd take you down the inner workings and offer up some memories.

First, I thought you might find this interesting. Making a quick scan of the show bible, I counted that Horatio Caine has shot and killed 15 people in 4 seasons. Fifteen! He's never been reprimanded or gone into counseling...nothing. I just find it suspect that a character who plays the head of a CSI lab has killed 15 people in four years.

1. Looks Like I Made It! - During the chaos of season 1, I had the opportunity to contribute to the show by suggesting a "button" for the teaser of episode 10. A button is a line of dialogue that neatly ends a scene. If you've seen the show, you know how corny these lines can be. Well, my suggestion made the cut, and the big wigs even liked it. So the line became the first thing I've written that was aired on national television. The real highlight wouldn't come till a couple days later when Television Without Pity had a sidebar about my line in their review of the episode: '"So where does this leave us now?' Bernstein asks. Skirting the edges of necrophiliac bondage porn, if you ask me. He's not asking me, though, so he'll have to settle for Horatio's retort: 'Up a tree.' Shut up, Horatio!" I thought I could die a happy man now. "Up a tree!" How did I come up with that brilliant line. Pure genius.

The funny thing is that through the years, there are little instances that the assistants have shown up. Bobby's hands are used for an insert shot of typing at a keyboard. Krystal's photo was used in a counterfeit driver's license. All out names have been used for characters. I wrote notes for props that contained friends and family members names. My blog is used in a shot.

2. Her Kiss, Her Kiss Is On My Lips. Does Anyone Have Some Disinfectant? - You try to be a gentleman, and this is what happens. Like all wrap parties, there end up being a lot of people getting hammered. Sometimes, celebrities like Vince Vaughn show up hammered. The wrap party for season one was no exception. One of the people that partook of a bit too much was one of our story editors. Late into the night, the party people were relocating to The House of Blues. The story editor was completely wasted out of her gourd, and was in no shape to drive. Being the gentleman that I am, I offered to drive her home, with gentleman bobby following in his car. She, though, wanted to go to the House of Blues. So, I drove her there with the hopes that someone else could take her home. There's nothing like driving a drunk co-worker who wants to get into a deep discussion about religion. Arriving there, I dropped her off and told her to make sure someone there can give her a ride home. I went to hug her goodbye and do the LA kiss on the cheek thing, but she didn't go for my cheek she went for my lips. I quickly backed away. Her eyes were kind of glazed, and she kind of looked like a new born kitten looking for its mother's teet. She then moved in again. I pushed her back, and said "This is Brad." I think that helped her regain some sense.

Realizing there was no way she was going to find someone by herself to take her home, I went in to make sure she got home. This led to a very awkward dancing moment in which she kept imitating moves from MTV's The Grind. Eventually, she got home safely, but not without the rest of the writer's office thinking I scored. It's still brought up at least twice a year.

3. Vince Vaughn Crashes the Party (literally): At the same party that the above took place, our party was joined by Vince Vaughn. To say he was hammered would be an understatement. He didn't talk to anyone except for Speedle, who brought him. He accidentally knocked over a stack of glasses. Later I saw him standing, alone smoking a cigarette, and just staring off at the people partying. I kept thinking, "Not so money, baby. Not so money."

4. Making the Cut: Year one was chaotic. In the writer's department alone we went through 2 show runners, 7 writers, and one David Savage. Yet, all the assistants survived. The show on a whole you can count how many have been here all 100 episodes on two hands.

This post is clearly going no where. I've been trying to write it since the 17th of August. Let's just end this early with some pictures. Because the job's great, but it's the people below that keep me here.

Because It's Understood

As of 5:54pm today, it was confirmed that I will be moving in a months time to the wonderful town of El Segundo. No more hour long searches for a parking space. No more fire hazard by plugging twenty plugs into a two prong outlet. No more having my computer desk in the kitchen. No more driving on the freeway to get to work. No more street people. No more pipe bombs across the street.

I will miss you dirty pretty girl who keeps offering me weed. I will miss quiet French girl. You accent hypnotized me. I will miss you Dave Baldwin look alike. At some point I hope you can come in sober. I will miss you Pizza Place across the street. You made my unwillingness to give up my parking spot mean I didn't have to go hungry. Your house specialty sandwich is one of the greatest sandwiches ever. Ditto to you Thai eatery that I still can't remember your name. I will miss you Gong's Market. But I will not miss you that much. (Except maybe the House Special sandwich. It's fantastic!)

You see I'm moving on to a better place. Not only is it better area, but I will once again be neighbor's with this guy. To make things even better, I will also have Megan and her husband Eric as neighbors. Which means one great thing...brownies, brownies, brownies!

Ramblings

This is what happens when I read: nothing. I don't play video games. I don't blog. Nothing. A book tends to take over my life when I read it. I honestly considered calling in sick today so I could finish the book. This is one of the reasons I don't read books often. The other is that I read so much during work that I get a little exhausted putting letters together to form words which then form sentences. Anyway, I highly recommend The Boy Detective Fails by Joe Meno. It's a little mix of Encyclopedia Brown, Royal Tenenbaums, and Eternal Sunshine. It even has a cutout decoder so you can help the boy detective.

I wish some people at work would realize there is a difference between fear and respect when it comes to how you treat someone.

Speaking of work, I'm often asked what my educational background is that prepared me to be a researcher for TV. Here's what you need to do: Barely pass high school chemistry, study up to Algebra II in high school and no higher, get a D in Biology at the college of your choice, and take basic Algebra at the same college. If you can somehow manage all that, you too can research such things as atomic absorption spectrology of tannins in leather. Clearly, I've been bluffing my way through three years on this job.

My fantasy baseball team's lead has dropped from 20 to 6.5. I hope I pull a '05 White Sox and not a '69 Cubs.

On the other hand, the Cubs are currently 58-88. They have to lose 12 of the last 16 games to reach 100 losses. It's completely possible the Cubs could pull that off. I'm almost hoping they do. The Cubs committed 6 errors last night and were down 7 runs and still won the game. That clearly wasted any good karma the Cubs had left this season.

I have been slightly tempted by the 8GB Nano.

I'm very hesitantly excited about the movie "The Black Dahlia." It's adapted from a James Ellroy novel that is definitely in my Top Ten all time favorite books. Ellroy is also in my Top Five of authors. It has a solid cast. I don't even mind Josh Hartnett because he kind of fits the character he plays. Visually it looks good. Then you get to the director, De Palma. When the commercials advertise that this movie is from the director that brought you "Scarface," that's not a good sign. That movie is 23 years old, and you haven't done anything else of note? Please don't suck. Please don't suck.

Who knew Star Wars and Legos would make such an enjoyable video game?

Is it completely absurd that I've seriously considered hiring a maid to clean my studio apartment once a month? Yes, I believe it is.

It turns out the HBO documentary on the Cubs woes is going to be narrated by Dennis Farina. That is so much better than the Red Sox doc being narrated by Ben Affleck, isn't it? Come on! Crime Story, Midnight Run, Out of Sight, etc. The guy was even a real Chicago cop before he became an actor.

It's recently come to my attention that I have cornered the market on slightly inebriated and desperate women in their mid-thirties. One other stipulation is that it must be the first time we've met. From college on the women the meet that criteria have been drawn to me much like a moth to a flame. Unfortunately, they are usually sober the second time I meet them.

A little over fifteen years ago, I once sneezed, belched, and passed gas at the exact same time. It's the most harrowing experience in my life. I'm amazed to this day that I'm still alive.

This seems like a good time to stop.

Ramblings

You may have noticed I changed the template...again. I don't know how long this will last. It will probably change once Blogger has it so you can alter the html on the new Blogger beta. I'm intrigued by the tags you can add, and other things that won't fit in this template. Till Blogger makes html editing available there's this.

This blog has recently passed the 7,000 hit mark. I want to do something for all you regular readers out there, but don't know what. I'm taking any suggestions.

The next book I'm going to read: The Boy Detective Fails.

Why hasn't Rhymefest's debut album "Blue Collar" become a hit? There are at least 4 radio hits on that record. It's received solid reviews. It has Kanye West collaborations. Yet, I still haven't seen a video. The album isn't in the Billboard Top 100. There's been absolutely no radio play. I'm completely baffled by this. Has it simply not been promoted well? It's the second best hip-hop album of the year behind Ghostface Killah's "Fishscale."

Rhymefest - "Devil's Pie"

This past Saturday I woke up at 7:00 am to watch my Tottenham Hotspurs take on Everton. 7:00 am! On a Saturday! Spurs lost 2-0, and yet it still seemed worth it. It's scary how well I've taken to this whole soccer thing. I'm actually bummed that I have to wait two weeks till the next match. I also got my official jersey in the mail today. It's just sheer enough to show off my nipples. Begin your taunts...now.

When I was kid, I once went to a petting zoo or something in South Carolina. It might have been simply a farm that let you pet dirty animals. The point is that there was a goat who clearly didn't like me. Every time I turned my back on him he tried to ram me (mark it). Twice he got me. Once he actually sent me to the ground. I kept trying to avoid him but he'd always find me. I'd go to the other side of the lake thinking I'd lost him, and then "baaaa!" I'd turn around to see that stupid goat charging straight toward me. I've never wanted to kill an animal more in my life, well except for the dog that attacked Anne Marie.

Have you experienced The Sound and The Fury yet? I highly suggest you look, listen, and read.

I was easily persuaded to join some friends for a little fantasy football. I of course missed the draft because of work. It's one of the problems you have when everyone else lives on the east coast. The fantasy football gods shined down on me though. For missing the draft my team isn't that bad...as long as nobody gets hurt.

I saw Invincible, and enjoyed it. It's another solid sports movie. I thinks it's more of an accomplishment to screw up a sports movie. You hear me Oliver Stone?

Apparently, the Afghan Whigs are getting together for four songs that will be on their upcoming retrospective released by Rhino records. I normally would be very hesitant any time a band gets back together to record songs for a "best of." Yet, I'm pretty certain it will work out this time. Why shouldn' t it? It's still Dulli writing songs in the same vein he always has. Maybe they are just reworking some old songs. I guess this means the Sept. release date has been pushed back.

In the debate (?) between loft or house, I've always voted loft. After seeing some of the writer's houses though, I've maybe changed my mind. Naah. Loft.

I saw a promo on HBO for a special about the cursed history of the Cubs. I'm so excited! Soon everyone will as sick of hearing about the Cubs woes as they were about the Red Sox. Ben Affleck narrated HBO's Red Sox special. I've been trying to think who could be Chicago's Ben Affleck. I'll watch this special, but I will feel dirty afterwards.

What Might Have Been...

If my Mom would've had her way, I'd be married by now. In fact by the time I was 3, she already had a wife picked out for me. Her name was Molly and she was born to my family's close friends the Wards. Our families were close in way that we called Molly's father Uncle Paul. They were part of a circle of friends that formed together and started a church in Columbus. There was something great about being a kid among these friends that joined together to start something they believed in. We always hung out together, and they were all in fact family. Any celebrations, birthdays, cookouts, we'd all be together. We were in fact one large family. I still miss that community feeling, and wonder if it even exists these days. Among this group the Wards and the Itens were the closest. I can't remember a week that we didn't get together. I still remember us learning to ride bikes together, and putting on plays for the family.

So Molly and I grew up together. I was a little over a week older than her. Since our families did everything together we were forced to hang out together. I didn't really mind even if she was a girl. Clearly, we went to the same Sunday school. We also went to the same school. We learned to ride bikes at the same time. I tried to learn to swim in her pool. We put on plays for our parents. Yes, I even played with her...ehm...cough...Barbies. Little did I know that this was all going according to my Mom's plan. Maybe she saw this as a holy union of the Wards and Itens. Maybe she just believed this was some sort of providence and it was destined to happen.

Well the holy union never happened. It probably began around second grade. She was in a different class than me. She was becoming interested in boys. I thought girls still had cooties. Plus, I was busy playing soccer and fending off those girls that wanted be to be the Luke to their Leia. There was also when my parents divorced and we moved to South Carolina. As one last hurrah my Dad, little brother, and I lived with the Wards while the whole divorce thing was ironed out.

After my tormentuous time in South Carolina we moved back to Ohio, and maybe I was given a second chance. We ended up going to the same high school for awhile, and even went to the same college. She eventually ended up marrying the other guy we grew up with: Kevin King.

It wasn't till my Mom and I heard about them getting married that she actually vocalized to me her wish that Molly and I would eventually marry. I sort of felt I perhaps let her down a little. Clearly, I had my opportunities. There was a time I was attracted to her. She found this out when I admitted my attraction under the interrogation of her little sisters. So I wonder sometimes what would've happened. Would the group of families still be together? Would I be working some office job where I have to wear a suit? Would I have kids? Would I be happier than I am now? Would I listen to the music I listen to? Would I have loved Superman Returns? Who knows? I'm sure my Mom had some ideas in her head.

I would also like to point out that even after years there is still a connection between the families that worked to start that church. More of the families than I expected showed up at either the wake for my Mom and her funeral service.

One more thing, I'd like to point out in the Halloween picture that there was a time that make up was required to make me look that white.

Ramblings

I think it's now at the point where I'm the one a little scared of the neighbor. She has that whole anger of youth going on, but it's not even that. I think she's a "black widow" in training. I think she has that power to wrap certain men around her finger and have them do her bidding. Luckily, I'm old enough not to be drawn by her web of charm. Still, if I end up on the run for "Body Heat" type crime, you know what happened.

At Bob Jones one of my favorite things was when they tried to explain that when "wine" was mentioned in the Bible it was really grape juice. So Jesus wasn't really drinking alcoholic beverages, and therefore their rules against drinking were Biblical. Did they really expect people to fall for that?

Current Man Crushes:

Denis Leary

















Buster Olney: The next Peter Gammons
















Greg Dulli














As a Cubs fan I think I can speak for all of us: Why can't we play the Cardinals all season? Seriously, how can we suck so bad yet beat the Cardinals (second best team in the NL) 10 out of 13. Also, I realize Itzuris is an upgrade on defense and has some speed, but we couldn't perhaps get a pitching prospect for Maddux? Do we need another player with a long list of injuries? We kind of need pitching. Prior is clearly done, and yes I mean career done. He's mentally shot. You can see it in his face.

For some reason I still get a kick out of this commercial. I wish they would still play this long version.






Would you say Jon Lovitz is overrated or underrated?













I got my retro Tottenham Hotspurs shirt yesterday. The problem was that I was in the shower when it came. I apologize to the old mail carrier lady. Nobody should ever have to see me with my shirt off. The shirt is pretty sweet though. 17 days till the season begins.

I saw Miami Vice over the weekend. It doesn't really come close to "Heat," but it has it's moments. The audience I saw it with clearly hated it. The second the credits rolled the audience started yelling how awful it was. I was rather surprised, and couldn't really figure out why. It was a little slow to get rolling, but it had enough action moments once it started. The story was wafer thin and cliche, but I don't think this audience hated it for that reason. It looked great. I figure they either hated Colin Farrell, or they expected a spoof on the TV show rather than a straight forward reworking. The Farrell story line was pretty awful.

The Movies I'm Looking Forward to in the Fall:

The Black Dahlia: Adapted from Ellroy novel: Plus. Directed by De Palma: ugh minus
Science of Sleep: I like the Gondry
The Departed: ditto Scorsese
The Prestige: ditto Nolan
Invincible: I'm always a sucker for a sports movie.

The Day My Music Died or How Bob Jones Ruined My Chances to Become a Famous Bass Player

I mentioned this event briefly, and Jamie mentioned it when blogging about her hesitation in visiting South Carolina, so I thought I would flesh out the whole event.

Like most kids the first musical instrument I ever played was the piano. It's the gateway drug of musical instruments. My first piano teacher was a chain smoking old lady. She'd sit there and listen to me play. She'd take a drag from her cigarette and say in her smoke stained voice, "Not bad, kid, not bad."
In fifth grade I was able to actually pick the instrument I wanted to play. For some reason I was drawn to the double bass. Maybe it was that low end sound, or the whole manliness of playing such a big instrument (mark it), but I think I chose it because it seemed easy to play.

The one main drawback of the bass was that it was huge. It became quite a chore carrying the thing from one end of campus to the other. I imagined I looked very much like an ant carrying something five times it's size. Actually, I probably looked more like a stick bug, but you get the point. Four years I hauled that monstrosity around.

For the most part I stunk. Every year I was "last chair." In eighth grade I made the jump to "first chair," but that was because I was the only chair. Since this was Bob Jones, the only music we played was orchestra music. Every now and then we got the chance to play a movie's theme. You might ask, how is it we weren't allowed to go see movies, but we could play their music? My only explanation is, "It's Bob Jones."

While enjoying my reign as the only person who had the balls to play bass, our teacher through us for loop by including the spiritual "Down by the Riverside." I was thrilled for a few reasons. First of all I got to pluck through the whole song. I hated using that damn bow. Also, there was a part that I loved to play. I called it the "Buh dup bump" part. "I'm gonna lay down my sword and shield" Buh dup bump "Down by the riverside!" Buh dup bump. "Down by the riverside!" It was like having a solo after every line. For the first time in my life I really had fun playing an instrument. I actually looked forward to practice.

Every few months our school would throw a concert where the orchestra would put on a concert so parents could gush and little siblings could complain that they had to sit still and listen to music that was nothing like Patch the Pirate. This was going to be my time to shine. I scooted up on my stool and sleep walked through the boring songs. Tonight was all about "Down by the Riverside." Finally the time came. I was in the zone during the whole song. I plucked the hell out of that bass. After it was over I had that rush of publicly performing a fun song. I loved it. Apparently, I loved it too much.

After the concert, I was approached by a few students and parents, and a teacher. They had a big problem with my performance...I danced. How could someone sitting on a stool during the whole song be accused of dancing. Again, "It's Bob Jones." You see I was in fact bobbing my head and moving my torso to the "Buh dup bump." This was deemed dancing in many people's eyes and I was rebuked for it. I was punished for having fun.

All the wind was taken out of my sails that night. Of course the one song that I really enjoyed playing was wrong because it caused me to "dance." I was stuck playing songs that I had no fun playing. So, the second I got a chance I bailed. If I hadn't had been brainwashed into thinking rock n' roll, jazz, or other "secular" music was wrong I might have stuck with it. I might have become a mediocre bass player with a small drug habit. I wouldn't have to rely on my good looks to get sleazy groupies. Oh the life I missed out on.

For a short time I dabbled in playing the trombone simply because I wanted to play the Star Wars theme. That's right. At one point I could actually play three musical instruments. The trombone didn't take. This is probably a good thing. If I had stuck with it, I'd probably have wasted my years in a ska band. Shudder. Anyway, thank you Bob Jones for ruining my musical career.

This Old Duplex

I've reached that point in the blogging where it's a bit of struggle to come up with stuff to write. Racking my brain for stories to tell, I've often reminded myself of the right side of this duplex on Wyandotte Ave. in Columbus, Ohio. This is the first home of my youth. I have a few faint memories of an apartment, and a house before this one, but nothing concrete. I've seen the pictures of the first two years of my existence in Georgia, but no memories. I don't even remember moving in to this duplex. I just remember being there.

It was nice cool old building with hardwood floors. It didn't have much of a yard, but it did have a sandbox and a cherry tree that I could reach from the back porch. My room was the attic at the top. I had the whole attic to myself. It was my domain. The only entrance was up the winding steps from the bathroom. It had one small window that you could see the city skyline from or launch Evel Knievel and his stunt cycle to thier death. It was the greatest bedroom any little boy could have.

Anyway, here are some of the remaining memories surrounding that duplex in my forgetful mind.

Our neighbor was an elderly lady named Margorie, I think. She often had some old guy visiting, I want to say his name was George. Every time we saw him he always made the same offer. "Would you like a rubber duck? What color would you like?" You might think "every time" would be an exageration, but he did ask every time. And every time he never had any rubber ducks. Never. In this day and age it would seem really creepy, but back then it was simply annoying. Why would he ask us for something he would never have? Why did he recieve joy out of this? Why did we consistently humor him?

One afternoon I went digging in our side yard with the dream of finding a fossil. To my suprise I actually found a human tooth. At first I thought perhaps I found a cavaman's tooth. I eventually came to my senses and realized that perhaps someone was murdered and once buried there. I kept digging and digging hoping to be able to find more teeth or maybe even a skull! I didn't find anything except my mother's anger for digging up her yard.

You know kids in the 70's you could trade in glass soda pop bottles for candy or baseball cards. There was many a weekend or summer day spent collecting bottles, taking them down to one of the stores and trading them for gobstoppers or baseball cards or Star Wars trading cards. Sure you can turn cans and bottles into recycling center and get cash these days. Back then there was no middle man. Those were good days when glass bottles could be used as currency. I found out much later that my Dad used to follow me each time to make sure I wasn't mugged.


There was time I learned that buttermilk was not the same as regular milk. Eating my cereal that morning I thought for sure I had poisoned myself on spoiled milk.

Making a shadow puppet of a dog on the wall, while singing "Hound Dog."

There were a couple kids that I played with on the block. The one constant kid lived next door in a hige white house. He was kind of an ass, and my parents didn't really like him. Heck, I didn't really like him. The thing was that his parents were one of the early adopters of HBO, so I made that sacrifice to see that old HBO opening with the cowboy hat and red shoe.

Only once did we ever have enough of a fear of a tornado that we actually holed up in the basement. Perhaps I should've been a little more frightened, but come on. We were camping in the basement. How cool is that?

I can't remember who gave it to us, but for a short time we had a stalk of sugar cane near the doorway to the kitchen. My parents would carve off a piece for our instant sugar rush. I was such a mild mannered kid, I guess they pumped sugar in me to see if I could ever become the crazy loud kid.

For a reason I can't remember I wanted to run away. I stuck a goodbye note in a metal tin on the dinner table. I walked about five blocks, came back, took the note out of the tin, and went upstairs to play with my Death Star.

Those are just a handful of a few. There's still the holidays celebrated there. The numerous dinners. The winter days helping Dad shovel snow. So on and so on. I think this house even beats the woods.

Ramblings

Fourth of July makes me thankful for many things:

I still have all my fingers, both eyes, and most of my hearing.

I didn't burn down the woods or our house.

That I didn't blow off my brother's fingers, eyes, or deafen him.

So I've been getting my fill of the World Cup. It's been fantastic. My problem has been who to cheer for since the US is always out of it. I could cheer for Brazil since my grandparents and aunt and uncle were/are missionaries in Brazil. I still miss the old Brazil T-shirt I had as a kid. But Brazil is also like the Yankees of the World Cup. I can't cheer for the Yankees of the World Cup. Germany was an underdog, so I was slightly intrigued to root for them. But then it's Germany. Which brings up another question: Are there so curses in soccer? Doesn't the Holocaust beat out something like selling Babe Ruth or kicking a goat out of the stadium in things likely to curse a team? Maybe since it's not sports related it doesn't count. But these teams all represent their country. It is Germany against Italy. Maybe each country has had it's own share of atrocities that they all somehow cancel each other out. Anyway, I had a difficult time cheering for Germany. Then there's the whole France thing. There's no way I'm cheering for a France team. No way. I could've gone the Switzerland route since I'm part Swiss. But then they lost to Ukraine. This basically left me with cheering on a game by game basis. I was behind Ghana and Australia as underdogs. They both lost. I wanted Italy, the lesser of former Axis powers, and they won. If Portugal beats France then I'm kind of stuck. I don't know who I'll cheer for in the final match. I guess I'll lean toward the smaller country in terms of square kilometers. That means Portugal! For those non soccer fans, I apologize for this. At least the World Cup only comes around every four years.

Could you imagine if spiders also had wings? They would be unstoppable.

Hmm. The Cubs still suck. They perhaps suck even more than last month. Apparently, nobody on the team can hit left handers. That makes me wonder why teams don't just call up any lefthanders they have to pitch the Cubs all series. They also can't hit the cut off man, smartly run the bases in an aggressive manner, or really do anything well. It seems that Baker is on his way out. There have been some names floating around for who will replace Baker like Lou Piniella, Tom Kelly, Jimy Williams, Gene Lamont and Fredi Gonzalez. I will quit if it ends up being Jimy Williams. Jimy Williams! Are you kidding me? My vote is for Fredi Gonzalez of the Atlanta Braves. Yes, part of the reason is that we would have a manager named Fredi. At least my NL only fantasy team is kicking ass. I probably just cursed them by saying that.

I'm pretty sure that "Ghost Rider" is going to be the movie that kills comic book adaptations. At least it should be the movie that kills comic book adaptations.

Did the Wayans have to buy the story rights to the Bugs Bunny cartoon "Baby Buggy Bunny" to do their movie "Little Man?"

Can they make a First Person Shooter video game that can't be beat in a weekend? I had Call of Duty 2 sitting on my shelf while I was immersed in Oblivion. I cracked it open on Sunday and finished it last night. It's still a solid game with some great moments, but can't they make such a game last a little longer? I don't mean this as bragging. There are plenty of twelve year olds that kick my ass on Xbox live. I'm mediocre at best.

I almost wore shorts the other day, but wisely came to my senses.

To follow up on my fear of creeping out the neighbor, I offer this story. Last week, I was up late last writing till about 3am. I went out to have a cigarette before bed. Sure enough her door opens and she's standing in her underwear letting her boyfriend out. There was that awkward eye contact, and then I quickly scurried away. I can't win.

Ramblings

It's been awhile since I've done a "real" post. I apologize and offer these ramblings as my offering for forgiveness.

I've got myself becoming more and more like my father. I'm talking about little quirks here. I've begun doing that little "there's nothing on TV" frustration sigh while I stare at my remote to make something good come on. I've caught myself reading the newspaper in the same fashion. I've had enough people say I look just like my father that I came to terms a long time ago with that. That fact that I'm now imitating his quirks has me a little concerned.

Speaking of my father, with the NBA making a big comeback this season I've thought my Dad must be enjoying this postseason. One thing I remember growing up is my father's notebooks. Inside the notebooks were his teaching notes, some semblance of a schedule, and his student's grades. Among all that stuff would be pages of NBA players and their stats. I could never make sense of their order or why he wrote them down. Maybe he was being his own GM? I should ask him about that.

I meant to include this story awhile ago in my birthday post for Ben I. For some reason it slipped my mind. After my parents divorced, my Dad moved us down to South Carolina. On holidays and during the summer we would drive up to Columbus to spend time with our Mom. It's a ten hour trip so my Mom and Dad would meet halfway in Kentucky. While riding with Mom to Columbus, Ben was tired and kept asking how much longer. One time he asked, and Mom said it would be another 45 minutes. Fifteen minutes later he asked again. Mom said it'd be "half an hour." Ben suddenly got really frustrated, and we didn't know why. Then Ben said, "You said we were minutes away and now it's hours!" Maybe you had to be there. There's also the time that Ben kept calling condominiums, "condoms."

Baseball has taken another hit with this whole Jason Grimsley HGH investigation. The interesting thing is the names that were blacked out in the affidavit. This guy pitched for 7 teams since 1989 including the Phillies, Yankees, and Indians. That's a lot of players whose names could be hidden behind that black ink. Of course these names will eventually be leaked. This will most likely trump Canseco's "tell all" book because it deals with active players and Human Growth Hormones. No major league sport currently tests for HGH. Most likely the MLB will start testing because they've been forced into a corner once again. Does this mean the NFL or NBA will then be forced to follow suit, or is baseball held to a higher standard?

I'm putting up a fight in both of my fantasy leagues this season. Considering both teams have Aramis Ramirez that's pretty good. My best waiver wire grab is Marlins' shortstop Hanley Ramirez with his .302 average and 17 stolen bases. My best draft pick is probably Reds' pitcher Harang, who I scooped up off the bottom of the draft pool.

There should be an online dating site where you create the questionaire for potential dates.

Are kids not getting their asses kicked anymore? For the past few years there seems to be more and more smart mouth kids talking trash. Every time I run into one of them I wonder how they've survived without getting a beating. I don't mean by their parents but by their peers.

I haven't felt this lethargic in years.

When will toilet paper companies realize that more absorbency and more plys will not keep us from using a lot of toilet paper? We use a lot of toilet paper because we want to create as much of a barrier as we can between our hand and our ass.