Blackhawks

As I am sure you are sick of hearing by now, the Chicago Blackhawks just won the Stanley Cup. The Goddamn Chicago BLACKHAWKS won the Cup. The Stanley Cup. Its been a week, I am still in awe. My mom and my little sister went to the Cubs-Sox game Sunday night (the dueling no-hitter game that ended with no hitters) and got to see the Cup. In all its glory. Its amazing.

I have been a hockey fan for most of my life. Sure it helped that Eddie the Eagle Belfour broke into the league when I was 8, and Jeremy Roenick was the most electric player in the league when I was 10, and Dirk Graham was the first partial african american captain in the league (not that I knew that of course. He was Dirk Graham. He had a kick-ass mustache. He ate glass for breakfast. And he was the captain. The reverence given to the hockey captain is something that will never be understood by the masses). Roenick and the Eagle, along with Cheli, lead the Hawks to the Stanley Cup Finals in 1992. I was 11. I was excited. This was to be the greatest moment of my life.

At least until Mario Lemiuex and Jaromir Jagr swept the Hawks out of the building. The games were so close. I always thought we had a chance. Even in game 4. Hey we are down 3-0? What of that? We are the team that will be the first to come back from that deficit to win the Cup! How can we not? We are so damn good!

But fucking Barrasso would be better (and he had to be American too. Bitch).

Then I walked out of my wide-eyed, in awe of professional sports phase, and saw the Hawks for what they were. Or really, who they were. Bill Wirtz, aka, Dollar Bill. I am sure you heard he kept home games off of local TV.

My love for hockey never waned, though my love for the Hawks did. In 1996 I would decide I wanted to play hockey. I took some beginner courses, and played on the JV hockey team in my Sophomore through Senior years (yeah, I was never that good, but hey, good enough to win some trophies!). And through all this time, and numerous hockey games, I would see one or two games a year live, get irrationally excited when a Hawks home game aired on Fox (hell yeah glowpuck), and sink into misery when Eric Daze got injured yet again (though Pat Foley's assurances that Mark Bell would one day be Captain material is hilarious in hindsight).

I went to college, and played intramurals there (even took a class in ice hockey. I got an A (though some jack ass took a slap shot four feet away from me and I thought I broke my ankle blocking it. Seriously, it was class. You would never take a slapper from inside the hash marks on your own goalie during warm-ups).

I cannot say I thought much about the Hawks during this time. I would usually get tickets to a Hawks game for Christmas, but really, the hawks sucked. We had pinned our hopes on the ABC line--Tyler Arnason, Mark Bell, and Kyle Calder. They had moments, but looking at them through non-fan eyes reveals that they sucked. (in doing some research just now, I realized I blocked out the Doug Gilmour as captain, Tony Amonte as captain (he was good, never great, but given the shit Hawks fan had seen, we made Tony Amonte out to be great, and he never was, nor could he ever handle that role as team leader), and Alexi Zhamnov as captain (holy hell, this guy was so smooth on skates, but he didn't have the hands. I completely forgot about him as I was thinking about the writing of this post. Shit. I feel bad. I mean, I remembered Alpo Suhonen. (Upon secondary reflection, Zhamnov could skate like Kane, as if it were easy, but Kaner has skills beyond what Zhamnov had)).

I would be remiss if I didn't throw a few words in here about my dad. He had been a hockey fan forever. He remembered the teams with Hull and Mikita and Magnuson. He was 12 the last time the Hawks won the Cup. Old enough to remember. Young enough to revere. The intervening years had crippled his fandom. But he was excited as anyone when I started to play hockey. He and my mom, collectively, never missed a game I played. They saw many of the practices too (once I bought a car, not much need for them driving me 30 minutes away to late night practices). He is the one that bought me all the Hawks tickets as Christmas Gifts. (And I have a memory of going to a Hawks-Flames postseason game where the hawks lost. But according to history, that would have been, at the earliest, in 1989. And I never went to the conference finals. Maybe it was 96, and the Hawks loss in the next round clouded my judgment. Whatever, the Hawks sucked for a long time.)

I do not want keep yammering on here. I continued to go to one game a year after college. One day, my dad ended up with first row tickets and I took my good friend from college, and it was awesome. Sadly, it was the year after the lockout and the Hawks had signed Dynamos like Martin Lapointe and Adrian Aucoin (though we did see Aucoin punch some dude twice in the face, out of sight from the refs as he drove him into the boards. Classy. Shows why he is still playing in the "New" NHL (No really, he is! Plays for the "Yotes!)).

So then Bill Wirtz died. And the rest is history.

2 Million people showed up to the Hawks Victory parade. I felt a pang of . . . something. I was actually in Chicago, but decided not to go (and this was before I realized that many people would attend). A parade is nice. Seeing the cup is nice. But more important things were going on. Its not like I was going to get to touch the cup or anything.

But more importantly, 2 million people showed up. The metro area is estimated at 10 million people living there. One out of five people in the entire Chicago area showed up.

Seriously?

Look, I am not gonna rip on bandwagon fans, but seriously? Hockey was virtually dead in Chicago before Dollar Bill died. I was hardly contributing to the teams bottom line, but at least I knew who some of the players were. I saw Duncan Kieth when he was a skinny motherfucker who made terrible blind passes in his own zone. And then he learned. And he evolved. And now, he is gonna win the Norris trophy this year (Norris Trophy goes to best defenseman, fyi).

I am not bitter. A championship is meant to be a party. I wish I could have watched the Cup clinching game with my father or my girlfriend. But it didn't happen. I watched it alone, which really sucks some of the joy out of it. Do not get me wrong, I am ecstatic, but there was no one to high five/hug/kiss/dance with after we realized that Kane had actually scored.

But I have invested a lot of time and a lot of heart, and even some tears in this team. Fels said it well, over at his site. (And as a season and a half subscriber to the Committed Indian, I am pumped for the Commemorative issue).

Alright, so what does all this yammering mean. The Hawks won the cup. I cannot believe it. I already have a hat and a shirt and am probably gonna buy some more stupid crap from shop.nhl.com before the week is through. And, well, i am still in shock. This was mostly rambles. More in depth thoughts will have to wait a couple days (like you will get them, because I never write).

Is God Laughing at Me? Most Likely

After completing 90 minutes of P90X Yoga, I was treated to this conversation with the girlfriend:

Girlfriend: also im bummed you havent blogged in AGES
me: sorry babe
Girlfriend: are you gonna write one?
me: not tonight
Girlfriend: why not?
me: nothing to write about
Girlfriend: what???
me: do i have something to write about?
Girlfriend: umm me leaving, us maybe moving in together
the hawks
your p90x/healthy routine
me: well writing about you will make me sad
Girlfriend: you moved your office!
youll be fine
me: baby, when i feel like writing i will, i promise
Girlfriend: you neeeeeeeeeeeeever feel like writing

So I was successfully talked into writing something. Here is what was rattling around my brain today.

_____________

I believe that it was the Immortal Jerry Seinfeld (as he will live forever through syndication) who said that more people fear public speaking than fear death. Thus, at a funeral, one would rather be the corpse than the one delivering the eulogy. I do not know what I fear the most, but I am well aware of what causes me the most anxiety. The one thing I hate to do more than anything. I cannot say I would rather be dead than do this, because it was one thing that must be done. Everyday, around 11:30 am, I get that rumbling in my belly. Oh yes, it is time to take a shit.

I absolutely hate dropping a deuce in public.

I even know when it started (roughly). It was probably in the 3rd or 4th grade or so when I had my first bout of diarrhea (that I can recall. I am sure I had the runs as a baby in diapers and possibly even a helping of the squirts in the privacy of my own home). I was at school, and my bowels decided to unleash holy hell. As a wide-eyed student in the Blue (read Smartest) Reading Group, I thought I knew everything, that my shit didn't stink so to speak. Well this day it did, repeatedly. And as everyone knows, in elementary school, you have to go get the giant wooden beatin' stick/hall pass when excretion is necessary. Getting that stick a couple times in a hour might be excusable, but when your asshole is a slow moving and selective St. Peter, it seems like only a little bit wants to get out every ten minutes.

Add this to the fact that I had no clue what was going on. I felt like I was dying. Utterly embarrassed I did my best to hide my shame and hold as long as possible between bathroom breaks, but the damage was done.

With rare exceptions (hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go) I successfully avoided public restrooms when reporting for doodie for about a decade. Then came college. And more specifically, Dorm Rooms. I lived on a floor with about 15 guys sharing a pisser/shitter/shower room. And that is when it became a running joke about avoiding the bathroom after I used it. (But hey, according to this website, its healthy!) To my credit, this is when I was able to put myself on a cycle where the kids only had to be dropped off at the pool late at night.

Combine my leper poops with my already ingrained fear of public restrooms and there was but one thing left to do. I moved off campus for my sophomore year (though not entirely for a poop-related reasons of course). Sharing a bathroom with one other person, who also a friend and not a raging douchebag, made taking a shit much more comfortable. Especially cause it was college and I could shower whenever I wanted, so I just showered after pinching a loaf giving the smell time to dissipate. Life was good. And I would stay there for three years.

Then came the inevitable "Places You Will Go" moment and I had to go get a job. Had to start working the 9-5. My poop experience at work was pretty miserable. I had started drinking coffee at this point, so at times, work shits were inevitable. I am sure the architect of this building patted himself on the back several times for picking out the perfect location for the bathroom, where it was conveniently located to 100s of workers. This was not a bathroom where you could expect privacy. This would be the time when I tried to become a morning shitter, chopping a log before heading to work. Sometimes successful, sometimes not. And this may or may not have resulted in a hemorrhoid one time (now that is a learning experience. I hear. . .).

With shitting at work not working out, I decided I should go to law school. And my first year, I lived alone. For the first time ever. And it was a shitting bliss. Crapping with the door open! What a concept! The next two years, I lived in a house with people, so I went back to the shit-shower routine (you don't have to shower in law school either. Or, at least I didn't).

But as the world turns, I eventually ended up back in the working world, realizing that yeah, this is gonna be my life. Time to man up and start taking shits at work. And I did. When necessary. Assuming there was no else in the bathroom. If someone walked in, that was it, I was done, that turtle got scared.

Then, I met the woman (wonder if she wants me linking her?). And suddenly, I was in a real relationship. And wholly crap, I might spend an entire day at her place. And I am gonna have to take a crap at her place. And she is gonna dump me when she realizes what comes out of me. But eventually, I did (probably while drunk). And now, she keeps plenty of glade on hand. And through her understanding, and rare snide comments, I gained more self-confidence to crap at work. That, and in the beginning I was so scared of crapping at her place, I had to shit (sorry having trouble coming up with more euphemisms for taking a dump. Oh wait, Google exists. This looks like a good site. Back to taking care of business) at work.

Then, Revelation. A while back I had ass surgery. In order to facilitate baking a hot icicle (?!) afterwords (wait, icicle sounds too hard, lets go with making a half-melted Baby Ruth), the doc suggested Metamucil. And holy glorious duking. As if Mozart himself had composed shits. (This guy agrees!) Scrapes the colon clean of any little devils that may want to create cancer.

And by taking Metamucil everyday, I cannot avoid crapping at work. It has to be done. So I have now come full circle. I am back to shitting in public. Though I prefer not to have anyone in there with me, I can still launch a scud. And yes, I do seek out the most rarely trafficked bathroom in the building, but I am still in there baking brownies. And with the Metamucil, I am healthier (in addition to my new healthy diet). I am making waves with the logs I am dropping (I recently noticed that my preferred crapping bathroom added a new Bad Air Sponge).

But the anxiety is not completely gone. And the Metamucil is still powerful. So even though I have made great strides, I now regularly have to crap twice at work. Twice! As if the 11:30 organic depth charge is not enough, my bowels now whistle at me that they want to sing with Michael Bolton. But hey, whatever doesn't kill you . . .

One day, as I am walking out of the stall, franctically buckling my belt after composing a majestic poopmyphony, my boss will walk in and our eyes will meet, and his nose will twitch, and I will wish that I was dead (or reading this post at my alma mater's convocation).

As a post script, I want to be this dude one day.

And finally, could this post really be complete without this?:

I am no MLK Jr

I had a dream. I woke up to my phone dinging, rolled over and looked at it to see what it said. It was a text message from the girlfriend saying that I should not read the comments on the latest south park episode because they were very depressing. I had missed a couple other messages from her in my sleep. The first prior one was a brief synopsis of the actual south park show (something about the letter N I believe) and a link to watch it. The message prior to that was of Grandma Simpson (of the tv show) having one very exaggerated breast (as if it was being pulled. Yes, its weird. Its a fucking dream)

Then I woke up and The Girlfriend was in bed next to me, which made me happy. Then I slid off the bed, which woke The Girlfriend up. I said hello to her, then told her I slid off the bed. She asked why. I said I didnt know, I just slid off. She told me to get back into bed, which I tried to do. But I couldnt forces were working against me. I said I could not get into bed. She said that is crazy talk. Then my entire apartment started shaking. Like rocking back and forth violently. The Girlfriend looked at me and understood why I could not get back into bed. Oh shit I thought, a fucking earthquake. I grabbed her off the bed and pulled her into my archway. As if this would help I thought, we are on the ninth fucking floor. The rumbling and shaking got worse as car alarms started going off. We sat on the floor clutching each other as we looked out the window. Then we saw it. A hollywood type blast, like the one in Independence day, was coming towards us, fast. This is it I thought. A second, maybe two to live. One chance to make sure I know she knows how I feel before we die. I turned towards her, pulled her close, looked right at her and screamed, "I LOOOOOOVVVEE YOOOUUU!!!!" as loud as I could to make sure she could hear it over the blast. The fiery blast hit us, and I could feel myself being pulled apart, and screamed that I loved her again, tears evaporating off my face as fast as I could form them. In this moment, my last thoughts were that I hope Jesus is real, I hope there is an afterlife, and I hope that I get to see The Girlfriend there.

And then I woke up. Laying in bed, nothing shaking but me. Furiously clutching The Girlfriend's stuffed bear that she left for me when she left last summer. My heart racing at who knows what rate. I laid there for five minutes.

Then I got up and wrote it down. Beats going back to sleep.

[ed. note: I dreamed this a while ago, Apr. 3 to be exact. I know because I freaked out and wrote it down after the tremors stopped. I then emailed it to myself. I share it with you now because I never write anything, I feel shame for that, and think that exposing my inner most fears will allow you to accept me.]

Laziness

I really suck at this blogging thing. It seems like every other post I mention how I do not write that much, and how I should write more, and yet, I never do. Even sadder is that the every other post comes two months apart. It is a damn good thing I was not an astrophysicist in the '60s. We never would have made it to the moon.

But since I never blog anymore, I figure I should tell y'all all the other shit I never do anymore. Because it will be fun. And make you feel good about yourself for not being a lazy sack of crap like me.

I never read anymore. I try to read, but it just seems like I never get around to it. I will look at my book and say, I am gonna read some of that sumbitch tonight, then get distracted by blinking lights and dirty dishes and before you know it, its one in the morning and bedtime. And it sucks. I have a ton of books that I am really looking forward to reading. I am currently reading Parting the Waters: America in the [ML] King Years by Taylor Branch. Awesome, awesome book. But I am only on page 330 or so (and I have been reading it for at least the last three weeks. Pathetic, I know). Need to refocus. I will try to finish it by Sunday. I am also looking forward to reading all the other books I have bought in the last few months but haven't read. In no particular order: The Last Don by Mario Puzo, Autobiography of Malcolm X, Traitor to His Class: The Privileged Life and Radical Presidency of Franklin Delano Roosevelt by HW Brands, What Hath God Wrought: The Transformation of America, 1815-1848 by Daniel Walker Howe, and The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable by Nassim Taleb. All extremely interesting looking books. At least based on the cover. I am excited to get to reading them . . . eventually.

I never drink anymore. That has been covered. Thanks to the stupid bet. Only about 40 days to go. And hey, a character played by Josh Hartnett did the the same thing, but with sex. And if he could do that . . . well . . .

I never watch Netflix movies on the computer anymore. I watch them on the motherfucking TV! Through the motherfucking Wii! Damn, someones mom is getting wore out by all this netflix awesomeness. But I have to say, netflix for wii is freaking great. The quality is astoundingly good, both on my sort of not small TV screen and the girlfriend's small, but HD, screen. Granted I am no expert on TV pictures or colors (most certainly not on colors, as a quote from Above the Law rang particularly true for me today: “Khakis were invented for men who can’t match clothes” ) but I enjoy it. My computer sucks balls (only $55 more dollars and I own it finally!) so it doesn't handle streaming video very well. Now thanks to this, my computer can go back to its primary purpose, fucking up streaming video from redtube (that is a porn site, fyi).

I never seem to sleep in my own bed anymore. But that is ok, I have found a much better alternative.

I never listen to new music. Seriously, it is getting bad. I need to sack up and find some new bands. Some days it seems like I never hear anything from after 2000 on my iPod. Its kind of depressing. Meaning, now I know what it feels like to get old. I was thinking the other day about how my parents had their first kids when they were my age. I would come along a few years later. And by the time I reached an age where memory began to function (such that I can remember shit now), my parents seemed pretty old. But now I realize they were not that old. And that makes me feel old. And I think typing this paragraph just gave me arthritis and a few more grey hairs. Fuck. Thats it, I am going to the 930 Club this weekend. Who is playing? . . .



Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Sat Night?????



Um . . . A dude rapping about Vietnam. VIETNAM!!!! Holy shit. The entire world is conspiring against me.

At least I still have my young, sexy, and gorgeous girlfriend. She keeps me on my toes. Makes me do shit. Try new things. I guess not doing some things aint all that bad.

Update on the Stupidest Bet of All-Time

Stupid in that, why the hell did I enter into the bet. Not stupid like betting on which ant will cross the crack in the sidewalk first.

Just to refresh your memories, the bet, between my girlfriend and myself, was this: I give up beer for three months and I get a Kindle; She gives up chocolate for three months and she gets a baby computer.

So, two weeks in, and I have yet to have a beer. Who knew I would make it this long? Especially with the girl out of town partying it up on spring break (she watched Free Willy tonight, that crazy party animal (hehehehe, love you babe!)). So I made it through the weekend without her, so I think I should be ok. 'Course, now I probably have carpel tunnel from obsessively playing Madden all weekend. Such is life.

But there is good news in all this (never mind all the rejoicing in the background, that is just my liver). First, my weight, of which I have been trying to shed a bit of, has finally started in a downward arc on the Wii Fit rather than staying at relatively the same place. Stupid delicious empty calories. The lack of drinking has really provided the kick in the ass I needed to get going on the working out. I ride the bike everyday at work and have imported my Wii from my place to the woman's place since we spend all our time there anyway.

Second set of good news I suppose is that I have fallen in love with edamame. Apparently it is good for you. They way things are going, in six months I will be living off edamame, hummus, pita bread, and farm fresh chicken. MMmmm, mmm good.

Bad news--got my scrotum poked with a needle today. Several times. By a doctor. And it was intentional. And beneficial. But still, scrotum poked by needle. Could have used a beer after that.

Not much else to say. Though most people I have talked to about the bet seem to think it would be harder to give up chocolate than alcohol. I should broaden the people polled beyond chocolate loving teetotalers.

Cheap Cheap Fun Fun Quiz

Taken from the last refuge of the persecuted crack smoker. I suppose these are the rules: 1. If you read this, I want to know 36 things about you. I don't care if we never talk, or if we already know everything about each other. Short and sweet or long and detailed, all is good.2. Comment here with your answers and repost the questionnaire on your own journal if you wish.

01) Are you currently in a serious relationship? Yes
02) What was your dream growing up? Play shortstop for the Baltimore Orioles (better than Ripken. Ahh, dreams).
03) What talent do you wish you had? Picking lottery numbers. Or maybe having any sort of rhythm/musical talent. Or possibly being able to tell the difference between green and red.
04) If I bought you a drink what would it be? Usually a Bud Light, but if you are paying, the house draft (assuming it is not too heavy)
05) Favorite vegetable? Have to go with Broccoli, particularly if it is surrounded by beef and delivered from a Chinese Restaurant.
06) What was the last book you read? Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman
07) What zodiac sign are you? This one yo:



08) Any Tattoos and/or Piercings? Explain where. None
09) Worst Habit? Probably biting my nails. Though if you ask the girlfriend, leaving the toilet seat up.
10) If you saw me walking down the street would you offer me a ride? Assuming I am driving a car, sure.
11) What is your favorite sport? Hockey
12) Do you have a Pessimistic or Optimistic attitude? More pessimistic, though I like to think I have been trending towards optimistic in the last year.
13) What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator with me? Sing show tunes.
14) Worst thing to ever happen to you? Umm, not sure. Pretty charmed life. I think I will say "fistula" I recommend not googling that.
15) Tell me one weird fact about you. Occasionally when I went out drinking back in the day, I would decide I had to purchase Simpsons stickers from a sticker vending machine. My favorite one is Ralph with the heading "I'm Special"
16) Do you have any pets? A cat that lives with my folks.
17) What if I showed up at your house unexpectedly? I would be stoked that I owned a house. HOUSE PARTY!!!
18) What was your first impression of me? Law student seeking outlet
19) Do you think clowns are cute or scary? Cute I guess. Once helped a friend procure clown porn for another friends birthday present. It was scary.
20) If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be? Less doughy
21) Would you be my crime partner or my conscience? Conscience. Unless Bud Light is involved.
22) What color eyes do you have? Brown
23) Ever been arrested? Yup
24) Bottle or can soda? Glass bottle if they still made them that way. But plastic at work, aluminum at home. I swing with my soda containers.
25) If you won $10,000 today, what would you do with it? Be amused that it would not pay off 10% of my student loan debt. Then blow it on pop rocks and pixies.
26) What's your favorite place to hang out at? The Front Page (though not during the douche fest happy hours).
27) Do you believe in ghosts? Sure
28) Favorite thing to do in your spare time? Snuggle.
29) Do you swear a lot? Never at work. Often elsewhere. Though certain company I know keep keeps the cursing down. I have gone from sailor to kid from Stand by Me.
30) Biggest pet peeve? People who take an elevator to go one floor.
31) In one word, how would you describe yourself? Nice.
32) Do you believe/appreciate romance? Yes. I try to be.
33) Favourite and least favourite food? Most anything on a Jose Andres restaurant menu (even little fishes!). Unless it includes tomatoes
34) Do you believe in God? Not yet, working on it.
35) Will you repost this so I can fill it out and do the same for you? Hells Yes.
36) Favourite band(s) of ALL time: Our lady peace, Lucky Boys confusion, Brand New.

30 before 30

I just turned 29 a couple days ago. I was sitting at work dicking around, and by that I mean staring at my work, but not actually doing work, when I realized that I never set out a list of accomplishments to achieve before I turned 30. So I am gonna do that right here and now. Some may seem more like goals for the next 360-odd days, but it is my list and I can make it anyway I want.

1. Make list of things to do before turning 30.

2. Make list of things to do before turning 40.

3. Make list of things . . . Ok, ok, no more of these.

3. Buckle down and become manager of the softball team. Someone has to do it. Plus, mini-power trip! (And guaranteed aggravation).

4. Go to several museums, see more of the parks, and visit the lesser known monuments of semi-relevant folks who are largely forgotten now. And take pictures.

5. Tell my girlfriend that she is the most beautiful thing in the world. Because she is, and I do not do it nearly often enough.

6. Prove to above gf that my IQ just may be 135 by doing smart things like reading, becoming informed about events and politics in countries that do not start with U (sorry uraguay, have to focus my attention elsewhere), get a better handle on geography, and watching more olbermann and madow.

7. Drink less.

8. A lot less.

9. Become a more productive and efficient worker. Just cause there is a deadline doesn't mean I have until then to get my shit finished.

10. See a play.

11. Become more ambitious.

12. See three plays.

13. Invest myself in learning about my gf's culture, ie, learning the language.

14. Learn a foreign language (it is tough to get 30 things).

15. Help people if they look like they need it.

16. Talk to my parents and sisters more often.

17. Play less farmville/cafe world/mafia wars.

18. Read at least one journal article that I have no hope of comprehending each week (like something from the journal of applied physics)

19. Learn how to dance. Wait, I should just learn how to get rhythm first.

20. Write more.

21. Set up a pandora station and listen to new music. I am so out of touch. Now I know how parents feel. I also feel old.

22. Save some money.

23. Take a random half day to surprise the gf with flowers dinner and the best damned backrub ever.

24. Learn how to think two moves ahead in checkers.

25. Buy a new hockey stick.

26. Sheesh, 30 is a lot. Ummmm, get a passport.

27. Go to a nationals game.

28. Go to a capitals game.

29. Buy rogaine.

30. Don't worry about making my life too complicated. This is the only one I get.

All right, one down. Only 29 left!
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The lonely last seat

I am standing on a fairly crowded metro train, observing the last available seat, but really using my peripheral vision to check out the man sitting on that joining seat. He seems pretty normal, on the hefty side, but his ass is not spilling over onto the other cushion, much. Hardly noticeable. I am sure he is friendly, though he appears to be indian (dot type). Certainly not a terrorist looking person.

I wonder if he realizes that he is the only sitter on this train with out a warm body next to him (though one old lady looks like she could die any second, but the body will remain lukewarm; for a while anyway). He has a sad little expression on his face. It almost makes me want to sit next to him. Not chat him up of course, but just so we can uncomfortably rub legs, letting him know that he is not a freak. That society has not completely rejected him and left him out to dry.

Or he could have a family, kids, and be the happiest man on earth, only now he is a little pissed because some lady just sat next to him and now he is jammed up against the side like every other window seater. He is no longer special or noticeable. And he is pissed that his leg room has been lessened.


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Drying Out, Shaping Up

Ahhh, what a week. Thanks to the snow, I have worked 4 hours since Friday. Last Friday. All work done on that Friday. Hence, this was a week of vacation, essentially. And now, it is heading into a three day weekend. So, come Tuesday morn, I will have not worked in 11 days. I know sweet right? And though it may sound like I am all important and shit, I do not think next Tuesday is gonna be a barn burner of a day (fingers crossed though!).

Anyway, the lady and I went out shopping today (despite my numerous protestations of cluster-fuckery on the metro rails, which, not so bad at 2 pm, shitshow at 6-7) to the Pentagon City Mall. Close to where I live in the Virgina-land, but the lady and I have hunkered down at her pad in the Cleveland Park neighborhood of DC to ride out the storm, which meant a fairly long subway ride, or at least, a transfer. So we shop and whateve's, look at nice shit we cannot buy, she buys me some stuff for my upcoming Birthday, and we grab some lunch at Harry's Tap Room, and let me say, that shit was good. Had me some sort of Creole sandwich (in support of New Orleans of course, if you did not notice my pseudo fan-yet exuberant twitters on the Super Bowl). And, its all organic, which is important to the woman.

So we be eating and talking and I am making some funny faces and she is trying to steal my food (cause my Creole samwich was much better than her boring burger (she should have gone with the Bison Burger)), and the subject of Lent comes up. The woman, being Greek Orthodox, has lent starting next Monday. Not sure when all you Catholics lent start, could be the same day, but on this subject, I know not dates, nor times, nor understanding of why.

She becomes disappointed that she has to stop eating meat for two months. She then turns to me, and starts talking about how I should give up beer with her. Me, being not religious, laugh, and say hell no. She starts talking all about how it is important test of will power, if you can do this you can do anything. All to no avail. You cannot tempt me with that kind of self-empowerment shit. I am the man. I know it. I don't need to give up beer to verify that (though it is when drinking beer, such as now, that I feel most like the king of the world).

She keeps on with her gibber jabber, and finally, to get her to stop, I suggest that if she gives up chocolate, in addition to meat, I will give up beer. Which she shockingly agreed to. And beer somehow became booze. And two months became three months. And it became Chocolate v. Booze. And if I make it three months, she is going to get me a kindle, and if she makes it three months, I have to get her one of the tiny laptops that weigh 4 ounces (or something). Regardless, first one to cave treats the other to dinner at Komi.

So this somehow got real fucking serious. But wish me luck.

Note: I think the going over/under on how long I stay dry is two weeks. If I were me, and I am, I would bet the under.

Note #2: The contest does not start today. It begins Tuesday. For several reasons that are really two. One: I saved a couple bucks by getting chocolates delivered on Monday, so I turned it into a weekend of Valentine's Day. Flowers today, special dinner tomorrow, secret surprise on Sunday (cause she reads this), and chocolates on Monday. Two: My Birthday is on Monday. And I have no work. Seems like a fittin' day to get plastered-ish one last time. For three months.

Note #3: As to the shaping up, the women insists when I give up booze, I will lose some weight. I think that is true. Before snowmageddon hit, I was doing well with the whole gym thing. Well quasi-well. But anyway, hitting the gym more after the booze goes bye bye.

Day Whatever

OK, so this whole get me to write everyday 30 Day meme thing did not turn out like I planned. It started out well, with Day 1, Day 2, and Day 3, then devolved into doing the least possible work, and posting merely for the sake of keeping my Cal Ripken Jr. like streak going, that finally concluded after an exhausting 10 days in row. I roared back with the laziest post of all time, ripping through days 11-14. Redemption, of sorts, came a couple days later, when (after skipping Day 15) I wrote up something fairly decent for Day 16. I say of sorts because, unfortunately, that same day I caught my girlfriend up on her 30 day meme, and what I wrote on her blog, was better than what I wrote on mine.

So, it is technically Day 23, and I am going to try to get caught up, in a most entertaining fashion, but most of these topics suck. I will do my best though. Well, not my best. I cannot promise I will try to do my best. But I will try to try. Maybe. Depending on how many more drinks I have before starting the next paragraph:

Day 17--An Art Piece

I think it is fair to say, that only one art piece has ever truly moved me to tears. It shows the frailty of the human condition, the emptiness of a lonely person's soul, the weakness and desperation of the human form. And of course, very small genitalia. I am speaking of course, of Marge Simpson's Famous Painting of C. Montgomery Burns:


So, I may have only chosen this because there is no screenshot of Marge's also nearly famous, "Bald Adonis." Which is unfortunate. It is almost as disappointing as the fact that my girlfriend has never called me Bald Adonis. Because it would be hilarious.

Speaking of the woman, someday soon, I am sure, one of her pictures will surpass Marge's ghost-painted works. Just yesterday, we went to an art store, where she drooled over everything (in a cute way). She used to paint and draw and stuff, but has not in quite sometime (at least since she met me, I am guessing well before as well). But we went to an art store and she picked up some drawing pencils and some pastels, and even drew a little something last night. She would not let me look at it, but it looked pretty good to me, before she ripped it up and threw it away. But anyway, baby, I am looking forward to seeing some of your art.

Day 18--Whatever Tickles Your Fancy

Again? Seriously, there is too much of this whatever tickles your fancy shit. So if what I am about to write gets me in trouble, I am gonna track you down Mr. or Ms. whoever wrote the 30 day meme, and strap you to a chair and make you listen to Cher's Believe over and over and over and over . . .

So I work pretty much everyday. The girlfriend used to have class pretty much everyday. We will look at this at the tail end of the year, when I was working from home once a week and she had no class on Friday. Thus, four days a week, I had to get up for work. Her classes were all in the afternoon. So I would get up in the morning (eventually, ugh, waking up sucks), and get ready, all the while, my girlfriend is just laying there in bed, sleeping. And, before I left, I would reset the alarm for her, usually about an hour (never less, sometimes more), for her to get up. On a random occasion she would get up shortly after I left, but usually (or so I assume), she would sleep the early part of the morning away until the alarm went off.

Now, because we both live in studio apartments, it is highly unfeasible that we go to sleep at different times (unless I pass out wasted; or she does). Thus, we go to bed at the same time. I wake up an hour early.

However, on the weekends, the girlfriend expects me to get up at the same time as her, and go "do stuff." I believe, that I should get to sleep in at least 90 minutes after she gets up on both Sat. and Sun. I am already behind four hours after the week, so I should get to make up some of it on the weekend. Right? So instead of doing stuff, I should get an extra 180 minutes of sleep. Right? Does anyone agree with me?

C'mon; please?

Fine. Whatever. She is getting up 15 minutes before me on Wed. now anyway, so the whole thing is moot.

Day 19--A Talent of Yours

I pretty much lack talent. I cannot sing, but when I start to sing the opening part of Single Ladies by Beyonce, I can crack my girlfriend up.

Not sure why, but when I start singing "All the single ladies; All the single ladies" she cannot help but laugh. Not sure if that is a talent, but, whatever. At the very least, it distracts her from the part of the song about "if you like it, put a ring on it."

Day 20--A Hobby of Yours

Sadly, my main hobby right now, is Farmville. I will now go light myself on fire.

Day 21--A Recipe

HA. I am not a cook. Just tonight, my girlfriend was baking cookies and she called me into the kitchen to taste her dough and tell her "what was missing." Oh, how I laughed and laughed and laughed. I am not gonna know. But she insisted, so I tasted. Here is what happened:

Her: Does it need more sugar?

Me: Definitely. [Tastes good to me, but how can you go wrong with more sugar?]

Her: OK [pours in sugar. Mixes it around. Starts shaking something into it.]

Me: [In response to the shaking] Oh, I think there was plenty of nutmeg in there.

Her: Oh, there was no nutmeg. Right now I am putting in the nutmeg.

Me: Ahh. See, told you I had no clue what I am talking about.

And that is just tonight. Doesn't even get into all the other nights, or even the other events of tonight. Trust me, I love food, and will eat as much or more than the next guy, but when it comes to the technical aspects of fancy cooking, I am like King Triton trying to take over Death Valley.

However, as luck would have it, I made dessert for the pre-thanksgiving thanksgiving that my girlfriend threw for me. I got the recipe from my mom. We call it Apple Crisp. Best part: I made it with apple the the girlfriend and I had picked a week or so prior. Yeah, we had a cute apple picking date. Anyway; if I can make it, so can you:

• grease 8 x 8 square pan; preheat oven to 350 degrees
• peel, core and slice 5-6 cups of apples (usually at least 4 good sized tart apples, could use 6), preferably Granny Smith; fill pan with slices
• mix and sift (if you don't have a sifter, you will need to mix well with a spoon, but you really need a sifter):
  1 c flour
  1 tsp baking powder
  1 c sugar
  3/4 tsp salt
• break one egg and stir well, then add to dry ingredients and mix well with a fork; sprinkle over apples
• melt 1/3 c butter (margarine) and drizzle over apples and crumbs
• sprinkle with cinnamon
• bake 30-40 minutes (top should be slightly browned and apples tender)
• cool. serve warm or at room temperature, topped with vanilla ice cream if desired.

It is fattening, and Delicious. Even my food critic girlfriend loved it. Or, at least liked it. So she said to me. Now that I am disseminating the recipe to the world at large, she may feel a responsibility to let her true feelings known.

Day 22--A Website

Shiiiiiiiiiit. Most of the websites I visit are located on the right of this here webpage. I highly recommend all of the sites still listed there. A couple are out of date, but I will let you click the links to figure out which ones they are.

But I cannot just recommend A website. Its gonna be several. But I am gonna do it in a way that seems like I am recommending only one.

The Blackhawks revival over the last couple years has been nothing short of remarkable. The dollar pinching, tight-assed owner dies; the eldest son in line for succession decides he wants to focus on the alcohol importing business, leaving the youngest son, the black sheep of the family (obvious Rick Morrissey retarded hyperbole), comes in, changes everything, and suddenly, Hawks are great, fans are digging it, nary a grey cloud to be seen above the UC.

In terms of timing it is true, but Toews and Kane and Keith were all drafted under Dollar Bill's Watch. The Hawks would have been about as good (though would they have kept all three guys like they are gonna do? that is the question?). Unquestionably, home games on TV is very important. I once wrote that Bill Wirtz dying was the closest I have ever been to being happy that someone in my lifetime died. Completely changed the attitude of the franchise. They were on their way though. Rocky Wirtz just ensured that it was coming.

Think those last couple paragraphs were confusing? That is why I do not write about hockey. As far as blackhawk blogs go, Fifth Feather and Third Man In are first rate (Both are also excellent in keeping tabs on the 'Hawks. However, Chris Block, of Third Man In, should write more and do less radio shit (and I cannot get the RSS feed to work, I should e-mail him)).

However, the place to be is Second City Hockey. Their game threads are epic. Reaching the point where they are gonna have to do overflow threads for games like Bleed Cubbie Blue. However, like BCB, they have the weight of SB Nation behind them. I remember when I first checked out SCH, there was no one around. I am certainly not a trendsetter, so I checked in now again. Not sure who wrote it first, but when they ditched the original writer, and brought in Sam Fels and Matt Dirt, and later added McClure [Another Matt] things clicked. They also present the Committed Indian, a fan program that is sold outside the UC, but jackholes who are stuck in foreign lands can subscribe to [like me!]. Alright, so that is my shout out to the SCH crew. Read them. They are awesome; no homo.

Day 23--A Youtube Video

Oddly enough, I am not really a youtuber. Usually when I want a video, I search it on youtube, find what I want, and post it on the blog. I am not really much for dicking around on youtube. I mean, I stumbled on a backdoor at work that allows me to watch videos that are supposed to be blocked by the firewall. But I am Smart.

However, I am also stupid. Still debating that whole law school thing. Sure it got me a job, and if it likely got me my future wife, but still; $120,000 in debt that has to be serviced for the next 20 years (yeah, little did I know in law school, i was not just a whore for the legal profession, but also my debt provider; sucky sucky, five dollar). Anyway, here is a video about how shitty law school is. It did not come out until I was out of law school. Ah well, wouldn't have changed my mind anyway. Probably wont change yours. But, here it is:

So, FYI, you may have to wait awhile for a decent post from me. But I hope that it is usually worth it.

Day 16

Went to the grocery store today, my cart loaded up with goodies, and began unloading my tasty treats and frozen dinners (to the tune of $175, but I saved 38 bucks with my Giant card!), while the checker was trying to figure out how to input the gift card of the lady in front me. It took forever, in that I had taken over the entire conveyor belt, and was restlessly drumming my fingers on the metal pre-conveyor overload way station, when he turned to me and said, "This is the express lane." Still went through it, but hey, anytime you get a chance to say "awww shit" in front of the lady-in-front-of-you-at-the-checkout-counter's four year old kid is a win in my book.

That is neither here nor there, so back to the meme. Yesterday was fanfic, and as I mentioned, I do not read fanfic. Of course, as luck would have it, Deadspin posted something about a Kobe Bryant murdering people fanfic, and as I was about to click through, I realized that if I had read it, I would have had to post about it. So I did not. I am lazy. I would apologize, but, meh.

Day 16--A Song That Makes You Cry (or nearly)

During my cross-midwest jaunts that I frequently took back in the days of college and law school (heading back to the Chicago Suburbs from Ohio or vice versa), I would frequently end up in a radio deadzone, where the only thing that comes through is Christian music and AM stations. Usually I went with the AM stations because, come on, hearing one topic in sports debated endlessly on various ESPNRadio affiliates is the only thing more mind-numbing thing than driving through middle america (imagine listening to five hours of people talk about Gilbert Arenas and his guns, with no new information mind you, just crazy speculation, half-cocked opinion, and cheesy fireworks commercials). So when I would get sick of that, I would flip over to FM, hit the scan button, and watch the radio (err, road too) scroll through 94 point something reach 107.9, and roll back to 88.1, where I knew I would shortly get some kick-ass christian shit.

On this particular trip (I have no clue when, where, or how this trip existed, but I am 89.5 percent certain it did exist as a road trip and not an LSD trip. Cause I have never done LSD. That I am aware of), I stumbled across a song that eloquently combined piano and lyrics in a haunting, upbeat, scary, hopeful, and unknowing sort of way (when you see the subject matter of the song, it should make sense). It rocked my socks off. When the song ended, I stayed on the christian station, anxiously hoping I could get the name of the song before I went out the stations range. It must have been divine intervention, because in 4 minutes of the song, and the five miles I drove, left me with static as the song ended. I stayed with it, hoping against hope that I would hear who had done this majesty of a song, but it never came through. And I was very sad.

Since I have no music ear, and worse memory, so that when I finally got in front of a computer my Googling (it is a search using the Search Engine Google, Avoid Genericide!) revealed nothing to the lyricist and composer of the song. Alas, I though all was lost.

Then!, as luck would have it, the lyrics started coming back to me a few weeks later, and with better keywords Google's search algorithm was able to guide me to the song makes me cry. Sometimes. Usually when drunk. I mean always when drunk.

*note: the runner-up is my eventual first dance song with the girl of dreams. I did not really want to use that here. But that song makes me cry ligo too.

*ex post note: there is no official video for this other than some crappy remixes. So I had to go with the best sounding one. I do apologize for the anime pictures.

Day 14

Catching up a bit here:

Day 11--A photo of you taken recently

Not doing it. This is anonymous for a reason.

Day 12--Whatever tickles your fancy

Come on. I did this solely so I would not have to come up original ideas.

Day 13--A Fictional Book

Easy Enough:

Day 14--A Nonfictional Book

Ooooo. Now here is a more fun topic. But I am lazy, so I am just gonna pic a random book.

Also, tomorrow is fanfic. I have never read a fanfic, so probably wont be back tomorrow.

Day 10

Day 10--A Photo of You Taken over Ten Years Ago

Ok, I swear that I have in my possession exactly one picture of me taken over ten years ago. I cannot seem to find it. My better half can attest to the fact that this picture does exist, as she has seen it.

It is a picture of me at around 8 or 9 years of age, wearing my Superman PJs, with my best friend at the time, who happened to be a girl, who was also wearing her Superman PJs, though hers had a skirt, so I guess they were Supergirl. But I was a little jealous of the skirt. OK, not really, but I think it is hilarious that she had a skirt on because she was a huge tomboy.

Also in the picture, we were holding up He-Man figurines (or possibly G.I. Joe, I cannot recall). We used to play a game called Guys, which was really just a battle royale between He-Man, GI Joe, and whatever other action figures we had. Good times. Simple times. Oh well.

So, here is a picture of what I probably looked like exactly 29 years ago:

If I had been a girl of course.

Happy new year everyone!

Day 9

Day 9--A Photo That You Took

Well, I am not much of a shutterbug, but here is a picture of an ominous DC sky I took a while back. It was taken with my phone, so quality sucks.

Notice the framing of the Capitol Building in the background, as well as how the sky gets darker as it looks to be directly above the Capitol.

Bonus Picture!!!!!

This is my car about halfway through the DC snowstorm. By the end, the entire thing would be covered.

Day 8

Day 8--A Photo That Makes You Angry/Sad

I am going to go with sad here:

That is Reagan National Airport. That is where my girlfriend flies out of when she leaves for christmas/spring/summer break. So I am not a fan. My girlfriend by the way, has a fantastic blog that you should check out because it is great.

And because that picture makes me sad, I am gonna do another one that makes me happy:

She went home for thanksgiving. I stayed in DC and spent thanksgiving alone. So the weekend before she left, she made me a turkey. A deliciously delectable turkey. I got to carve it, and she put on the finishing touches and made the turkey arrangement you see above. It was so good, my mouth is watering as I am typing this.

So that picture makes me happy, and I am now in a slightly better mood than I was when I started writing this post.