You bet. To quote those masters of linguistics, AC/DC, “Have A Drink On Me”.

Yesterday, after watching my Vikings hold on for a 27-22 win over the hated Bears in HDTV with my brother and his wife, I sat down to watch all three Star Wars movies back home. The DVD set came out this week, and this was the first block of time I had with no plans all week, so what better time?
In all honesty, I had never watched all three back-to-back-to-back. I enjoy the movies, they’re among my favorites, but I’m not a SW junkie like so many people of my generation (post-1978). I never had a toy lightsaber, and only saw the movies occasionally, like when USA would show them over Thanksgiving. So this geeking out would be a first.
The DVD set is awesome, if you buy it for the movies themselves, which 99% of America will. As a designer though, I look at the packaging as well; and, well, the packaging is terrible. Awful, even. Whatever do I mean, you ask?
They use four (4) art styles in the set. The box itself is a very cool minimalist style, embossed in silver for the Widescreen version, or gold for the Full Screen. But the individual DVD cases use the same modern collage style as Episodes I and II, and the VHS re-release of IV, V and VI two years ago. The discs themselves have the original movie poster wallpapered onto them. And, horrifyingly, the chapter inlay card has the ugliest piece of abstract artwork I’ve seen since I made the mistake of looking into the toilet bowl following my last spell of diarrhea after eating spaghetti.
The box, the cases, the discs; all look great. Its the clashing of three styles that is jarring. Other three-movie sets, like Indiana Jones, The Godfather, and Back To The Future, use one style throughout, and the stuff looks fantastic. My guess is, since Star Wars has such rabid fans, they tried to appease everyone by using the original art, the style used on I and II so it matches, and a new design for the box. That’s allowing too many cooks in the kitchen, and its bad design.

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As we milled around the putting green Saturday morning, preparing to tee off in the company golf outing, an announcement went over the speaker that Tom was drinking Gatorade, whilst other golfers had already busted into the beer. Yes, I was wussing out, drinking Gatorade Frost, and the special ESPN25 edition, no less. It had been a rough week.
Monday and Tuesday, I was in Chicago. Beer at the ballpark, beer at Bud’s bar, beer at Harry Caray’s in the airport. Wednesday, beer at Pepperjax Grill with dinner, $1.50 Busch Light at the bar.
As a side note, that bar on Wednesday had an armwrestling table. Competitve Arm Wrestling. You bet. I challenged anyone at our table with $10 if they would slap a quarter on the table and yell, “I Got Next!”. My brother, god bless him, said he would if he had a ball cap on, so that he could utter the famous line from Over The Top:
(flipping hat backwards) “Time for a little switch.”

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Notes from my Chicago business trip, where I engaged in more manual labor than the previous year combined:
The trip started inauspiciously, with a 4am wakeup to get around for my 6:55 flight. I found out McDonald’s does not serve breakfast until 5am — a problem since I had to meet my carpool at that time. So at 4:50am, this is what I was told: “We can’t serve breakfast for another 8 minutes. Sorry.” So, needing food, I wolfed down two cheeseburgers and fries. At 4:55 in the AM. You know, that faint toothpastey aftertaste you have in the morning seems to mesh better with breakfast food. With burger and fries, its just gross.
There’s no good way to say this, so I won’t beat around the bush: our plane into Chicago almost crashed. The pilot steps on the gas, the plane starts forward, lifts off the ground — and stalls. Good news is, I got reacquainted with my burger and fries from an hour earlier. Between you and me, they hadn’t exactly aged well. I literally said, “What’s up, Burger and Fries?” and they replied, “Us!”. OK, so I didn’t say that. I was too busy thanking God I had cleaned my bathroom before leaving, so at least when my Mom came to my apartment posthumously she wouldn’t think I lived in squalor.
The plane had only been about 2 feet off the ground when the electrical system caused it to stall. Southwest cleared us off the jet, got us another one, and 2 hours later, we were headed for Chicago…sans breakfast, which had introduced itself to my lap earlier…

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In the ongoing struggle to cede my title of Last Single Man in Omaha to another man, this weekend marked another setback. The story actually begins one week prior, when I spent the better part of my Saturday watching football and sharing the couch with a girl who hails originally from a town not far from my own hometown of Fort Dodge, Iowa. She kicked my butt in Tecmo Bowl on Nintendo, which gets her 1 point. She watched football and drank beer with the guys all Saturday, 2 points. She cheered when Nebraska lost, 2 more points. She was very hot, and had the sense of humor not only to laugh at jokes, but to know why they’re funny — how many girls know 80s movies as well as me? 6 points.
Unfortunately, when we were hanging out at the bar that night, this absolute tool started obnoxiously hitting on her. As this was happening, my friend talked me into leaving for another bar. Seemed right, as I didn’t have the energy or the intestinal fortitude to continue the battle.
Flash forward to this weekend. As football time rolled around, the party was kicking off. She was on her way over. I was ready to make a move. It would not be denied.
Until her best friend, who also happens to be married to a relative of my sister-in-law, and who is one hell of a nice girl, caught wind of my intentions. She pulled me aside and talked me out of it.

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