So I guess that answers that question...
February 2005 Archives
On my way back from lunch I see that the infamous Bourbon Street at 114th and Dodge is changing their name to "The Drink". This is the worst name ever. Good thing I do not frequent this establishment. In fact, if it wasn't a block from our office, there's a great likelyhood it would never enter my mind. Its the worst bar ever. Clientele are, dare I say, frightening? And the beer is not particularly cheap either.
The Drink, huh? See, this is why I should be in charge of naming all watering holes in Omaha. I would never allow this kind of horridousness.
If you are going to name a bar, the big thing is to pick out an inanimate object, slap a color or other descriptive term in front of it, and quicker than a blue hair with a lucky troll doll wins at bingo, you got yourself a great bar name.
Blue Ninja. Club Gnarly. Orange Fro Pik. Beer City. Boozin' Phil's. Drinks'r on That Guy. Awesome Inn. Limozeens'n'hottubs. I mean, these are all great names. Feel free to use them. Just give me a free drink when I stop in.
So, quite a weekend for the idiot, I mean, me. Friday night, I get a message from a girl I've known for a while but who is newly single. She wants me to come out to the bar with her and her friends, and then go back to their place to play games of a drinking variety. Something about needing a partner. Three drunk girls, their apartment, drinking games, one guy: me.
But I was in the middle of a righteous game of ping-pong! So I hit ignore. And lost track of time, and totally never called her back. Now she won't return my calls.
Proof positive that I am still the undisputed king of idiotville.
But wait wait wait it gets worse!
There, I said it. I hate Sunfire Unicorn.
What is Sunfire Unicorn, you say? Its a student illustration that was entered in the 2004 AIGA Nebraska Show. It has kind of a cult following among board members. Honestly, though, the name is really all its got going for it, and now that the coolness of the name has worn off, so has the novelty.
I want to kill the Unicorn.
Nice to know that third digit on the scoreboard works!
In college hoops, scoring 100 points in a game doesn't happen very often. Perhaps once or twice a season even for good teams. If you figure that the game lasts 40 minutes, to score 100 points means you have to get a least one basket per minute, and mix in a few times where you score twice in a minute. Even that will barely get you over the century mark. In my eight years in Omaha watching Creighton play, I've personally seen them accomplish the feat just twice.
To put it further in perspective, if Creighton scores 70 points in a game, season ticket holders get free Godfather's Pizza with their ticket stub. The threshhold is set at 70 because that's a pretty good median -- they'll have about half their games over 70, and some under 70. When they do get over 70, it usually happens late in the game. Saturday, Creighton passed 70 at the 11-minute mark of the second half.
You know what's really bugging me right now? The sloppy ID tags on songs on my XM Satellite Radio's digital display. The inconsistancies (and sometimes downright errors) drive me absolutely nuts.
I mean, when the '90s on 9 (music from the '90s on channel 9 -- clever, eh?) plays "U Can't Touch This", the display reads this:
MC Hammer/Vanilla Ice
You Can't Touch This
Right...umm, You bet.
And when Top Tracks, XM46, plays Ozzy, every song is different. "Crazy Train" is credited to Ozzy Osbourne, while "Bark At The Moon" is credited to simply "Ozzy". Worse yet, "Paranoid" is credited to "Ozzy", when its actually Black Sabbath (with Ozzy singing vocals, of course).
Come on, guys.
This morning, while I was listening to the '80s on 8, the display actually said this:
Your in the 80s again!
With Bruce Kelly on XM8
I damn near crashed The Colorado. They broke my pet peeve by using the wrong "your/you're". Arrgh.
The worst part, so far, of buying a house?
Being forced to get my hair cut before meeting with the loan officer this afternoon. I've been lectured three ways to Sunday about how I have to look presentable so that my appearance doesn't negatively influence the officer's decision.
This is horseshit.
I've gone since before the playoffs -- the BASEBALL PLAYOFFS -- without a haircut, and it was out to 4 or 5 inches long. Now my grand plans of growing it until my birthday in April are gone, all because I decided to buy a house.
Friday, 5pm to 10pm
Karaoke by Zac
"If you didn't meet your sweetie on Valentine's Day, maybe you can meet them Friday night, right in your backyard!"
That very sign was posted on my apartment door just now when I was home for lunch. Apparently they're throwing a big keg party with free pizza, hot wings, keg beer and karaoke in the clubhouse. As if that weren't tempting enough, they tug at the heartstrings with the whole "lonely on Valentines Day? -- come find ladies here!" line. Like THATS gonna work. You bet.
That sounds pretty good actually. Soooo, I guess I'm going to this party. OK then!
It sounds silly as all hell, but Creighton is now 4-0 in games where I've worn one of my "retro" Jays shirts from their salad days of 1998-2003. Warrants mentioning.
In 14 home games this year, I've gone to 13 -- I gave away my tickets to the Iona game. (You could rip me for giving away tickets to the worst opponent on the schedule, but last year I gave up my Southern Illinois tickets, when the Salukis were ranked in the top 20 and the game was on ESPN, so think about that before you throw stones.). In those 13 games, I have worn a retro shirt like the one I am modeling above to 4 of them. The Jays are 4-0 in those games; they're a hideous 4-5 when I do not. That's the power of the Rodney Buford/Ryan Sears/Ben Walker/Kyle Korver days and the mojo that still exists in the memories those shirts evoke. Two Wednesdays in a row, the power of the retro shirt has propelled an overmatched CU squad over better opponents.
It wasn't quite New Orleans, but last night we went out to the casino for a big ol' Fat Tuesday feast. The buffet at the Ameristar is good stuff. But we bypassed that for the sports bar, because the beer is cheaper in there, and there were lots of basketball games on.
Sadly, those bastards from Illinois with their old Creighton nemesis coach, Brucie Boy Weber, ran their perfect record to 24-0 with a comeback win over Michigan. Who is going to beat them, seriously? They blow damn near everyone out, and when they have a close game, they have the depth and the experience to pull it out. They are good. Also sadly, the other unbeaten team, Boston College, got upended by Notre Dame.
Of course, Nebraska lost again, this time to Iowa State, at home. This morning I'm in the breakroom and one of our company auditors says to me as I'm reading the sports section, "Anything good in the sports today?" My response: "Well, Nebraska lost again in hoops. Its a good day."
Five years ago, I was a junior in college, and Mardi Gras happened to fall over Spring Break. So of course, we had to go. If you went to college and never took a spring break trip, well, why did you bother going to college? I weep for your soul.
Anyway, it started as a few of us intending to drive down to New Orleans. One of the guys had a friend who worked at the University of New Orleans, who was willing to allow us to crash in their student center at nights (really just a place to stash your stuff and grab a shower -- who needs sleep when there is partying to do?). As word spread, the group swelled to 15 and necessitated the renting of a giant conversion van -- that guy you see above -- to drive the 16-hours to the bayou. Luckily, this being Creighton, one of the guys' dad owned a rental car business and cut us a deal on the van.
Total cost for transportation and shelter: $80 per person. I am not shitting you.
Now of course, beer is not a cheap commodity at Mardi Gras. So we spent upwards of $500 a piece, or more, by the time you figured in beverage consumption.
Wrapping up The Weekend Of Five Posts, here's an entry on the Members Party. Enjoy, and if you missed any of them, use the "things i've said lately" links on the right to find the 5000 words I've penned the last two days. I need to write another book, I think. Or stop living a life full of such awesome stories that I have to tell them. The latter isn't happening, so maybe the former will have to. We shall see. Until then, enjoy...
Left to Right: Kit, Bennett, Heidi, Some Jackass Staring At The Camera Instead of the Living Legend Talking, and Drew
When I was assigned the task of planning the 2005 AIGA Nebraska Members Party, I wanted to do better than we had the year before. Modest goals, certainly, considering we had 30 people show up last year.
I knew that I needed someone to design the materials -- I just do not the confidence to do that, not for an audience of designers. Good Lord, I would never be able to pull that off. I worried forever. Then I asked a recent college graduate who always complains about not getting to do any cool design at her job at a sign shop to be my assistant. I would be "Creative Director" which basically means I come up with the idea, and someone else has to figure out how to execute it.
What a workout the Colorado got this weekend! The two stories I am about to recount could not be more different, or belong together less. I'm just telling you now. Cool?
Friday, I chauffeured Kit Hinrichs, AIGA Medalist, around Omaha. The AIGA Medal is the highest honor a graphic designer can be awarded. The list of winners is a who's-who of the industry, and most of them are dead -- to win the award you need a body of work so robust, its often awarded late in life or posthumously. So to drive such an individual around is quite a responsibility.
For the event Kit was speaking at, which I was in charge of, I purchased 8 cases of beer and 4 cases of pop, plus snacks galore. The backseat was filled with beer and chips for two days. Coolest thing you've ever seen. Schlitz, Pabst, Bud Light, Bud Heavy, and lots of chips. Needless to say, I took The Colorado and had it washed and detailed inside and out before picking him up.
On the way to the airport, Donovan and I ran into an unexpected crisis. The stupid President was speaking downtown at the Qwest Center, so the streets around the arena were barricaded off. As if I didn't hate Bush enough, now he was going to make me late to pick up Zeus. Way to go, Dubya, now there is absolutely no chance you'll ever move up into the Polyfro "indifferent" category of Presidents alongside Taft and Coolidge. Too bad for you.
Saturday night, I couldn't find anyone who was willing to go with me to the Creighton game. It was pretty much my own fault -- I wagered a bet that I could ask someone Friday night at my big event, The Members Party, to go to the game with me. Unfortunately, most of the ladies in the huge crowd were students. That's not happening. So...
I went by myself, and had a great time. I've had the same seats since the Qwest Center opened, so I know the people who sit around me -- its really not a big deal to go it alone, except its kind of a waste. Plus when the place is sold out, my other seat is the only open seat in the whole place. You bet.
My buddy Jamar Howard gets stuffed by Jeffrey "Don't Call Me Jeff" Day.
"I don't know," Creighton Coach Dana Altman said. "They haven't been able to light a fire, get a spark going. It's a funny team. They're good guys. But we have a hard time building on a game. I hope we can.
"I told the guys this: It's February, and somebody always makes a run in February. There's no reason it can't be us. We're disappointed in our December and January. The only way to get it fixed is to have a good February."
That about sums it up. After a game in which they showed new life, playing with an urgency and hustle not seen in, oh, about two years, Creighton has an opportunity to surge in February and get hot before Arch Madness in St. Louis.
Check out this great excerpt from "Marketing Outrageously: How to Increase Your Revenue by Staggering Amounts!", a book which I found laying on our VP's desk:
When I was President of the New Jersey Nets, our General Manager drafted a player from Nigeria. His name was Yinka Dare. In his rookie year, he played only three minutes and took only one shot. It was an airball. It took him one and a half seasons to get his first assist in the NBA. Think about that for a minute. If you placed a dead man on the court during an NBA game, he would probably get an assist before Yinka got one. After all, a ball might bounce off of the body into the hands of a teammate for an easy score.
Early in Yinka's rookie season, he was warming up with the team before a game against the Minnesota Timberwolves. Yinka asked our second string center, Jayson Williams, a question. Yinka pointed to Christian Laettner, the 6-11 forward of the Timberwolves. "What does the 'C' stand for on Christian Laettner's jersey?" Dare asked in British style English. He was referring, of course, to the letter 'C' that is stitched onto the jersey of the player who is the team Captain. "Caucasian," Williams answered. Laettner was one of the few white players in the NBA. Yinka nodded his head; it made sense to him.
Benoit Benjamin, our big 7-foot center overheard this. After Yinka ran off to take his turn in the lay-up drill, Benoit said to Jayson, "That Dare is really stupid. He thinks Caucasian begins with a 'C' instead of a 'K'."
And this guy played for my Creighton Bluejays back in the 80's. Nice.
Tonight, the Wichita State Shockers make their annual trip to Omaha to take on my Bluejays. Now that Southern Illinois coach Bruce Weber and his incessant bitching have left for #1 Illinois, the biggest villian in the MoValley is easily Wichita State forward Jamar Howard. He's in town tonight, and I can barely wait for 7pm so I can scream bloody murder at the man for two hours.