April 2005 Archives

Emerging from the darkness in front of a painting of O.J. The Juice Simpson, Tom prepares to attack* with the knife of his Leatherman. However, the knife is dull...

...but his fists are strong*. Like the greatest, Muhammad Ali, Tom prepares to attack with his fists.

...but in the end, he ends up breaking down in tears* at the realization that one of his pieces has won an award and shares a museum with several original Andy Warhol paintings.

*These photos are entirely posed; the emotion completely phony. No anger was unleashed and no tears were shed in the making of these photographs.

They planted trees at my house this week. I now have a tree in the front yard, and another in the back. When I tell people this, the obvious follow-up question is: what kind?

Well, I'm no horticulturist, and have absolutely no idea what kind they are, OK? I know a lot about popular culture, graphic design and being awesome. I know nothing about plants. I admit that.

So what kind? I dunno, they're freaking trees!

Pic of my tree. Rain drops on the lens are real. Rain sucks.

Good news is that my underground sprinkler system also went in this week. This means that my sod cannot be far behind. Good, because with all the rain we've had, my dirt yard has been reduced to an intricate system of canals and rivers, all flowing into my driveway making a mess. The Colorado is a muddy mess inside...

The first battle damage has occurred on The Colorado. Last night I'm in the drivethru ATM and I go to get my card out of my wallet and it tumbled out, onto the ground below.

This requires a bit of explanation. See, my wallet has really seen better days, and the plastic accordion sleeves that hold my cards is ripped to shreds. I've taped it up more times than I care to count. Still, it tears again. I even used tear-proof tape for the last surgical procedure, and still it rips. This makes it very difficult to slide the card into the sleeve during the six seconds or so that you have at the store while you wait for the receipt and a thank you from the cashier. So I usually just toss it in the wallet, in between the sleeves, just loosey-goosey.

The falling out was bound to happen. And last night it did. I pull the wallet out of my back pocket, and as I open it up, the card flies out and plummets to the ground. Immediately I open my door to retrieve it, only to discover I don't have enough room to get out. Ironic, because ten seconds earlier I was giving myself a high five for actually pulling in close enough to the machine for once -- usually I'm so far away I can scarcely reach the keypad.

So as I'm trying to get out, the door bangs into the machine and gets nicked up a bit. Nothing I can't buff out, thankfully. The story does have a happy ending, though, as I retrieved my card and got my money. Wallet is still not good, though, so hopefully there won't be a sequel...

Editors Note: The following post was originally published on BeA Design Group on April 27, 2005, as a parody of THIS post.

My good buddy and esteemed colleague Bennett's post a few days ago about Sin City and its design or lack thereof got me to thinking.

What if there are other movies with design worth talking about? And if so, is anyone talking about them? And if not, why not? And if double not, should I? And if double deuce not, which movie should I crack wise about?

The answer to the first four questions was a resounding "yes". And the answer to the fifth question?

I have a new post over at the BE A DESIGN GROUP site today...my buddy BH ripped Sin City a while back for being poorly designed (always so serious, that Bennett. God bless him.) so to kind of needle him in the ribs, I've posted a review of the design of "Cocktail". The way I see it, if you're gonna write a ridiculous article on the design of a movie, you might as well pick a ridiculous movie!

According to my crack research team (read: Dick), 12% of audiences at Rotten Tomatoes like Cocktail. 78% like Sin City. And BH has the audacity to argue that Cocktail is actually good?

(Truth be told, its decent. I enjoy it. But its funnier for the purposes of the character I'm asked to be on that site -- the class clown -- to rip it in order to make fun of Bennett's serious take on Sin City. Sometimes you gotta do things you don't want to, like bash a decent 80s movie.)

I always thought you just went to movies to escape life, to have a good time. Going to movies to think, to dissect minute details, generate discussion? What's up with that?

Yesterday afternoon I had to go run some errands for work, so I got to drive The Kiln. This vehicle, a Toyota 4-Runner on the bad side of 115,000 miles, is so beat up its not even funny. The interior is always pitted out. The radio is usually stuck tuned to the Christian Talk Radio station. The engine runs good, but the seat is not adjustible and when it broke a lady with short legs was driving meaning the seat is pushed WAYYY forward. Problematic. Of course, having driven a car with a busted radio for years in high school, I know the tricks. In The Kiln, if you start the truck, turn the radio off, then shut the truck off, start it up again, rev the engine up, smack the front of the radio, and then turn it on, you will be able to tune for about 8 seconds before it gets stuck again. Today I got lucky and was able to get to 89.7 The River for my drive. Sometimes you get screwed and end up with Lite 96 where you're guaranteed to hear at least one Michael Bolton or Kenny G song every ten minutes. Fine, so I can dial the radio. But you may still be asking yourself, why do I affectionately call the 4-Runner "The Kiln"?

If Daniel-san had those shades, he wouldn't have needed the windmill kick. I do have those shades, but I don't know karate. So I need the windmill kick.

Last night I was at the mall, and I bought a new jacket at this one store. Original price was 56 bucks. Marked down to $19.50. Also bought a pair of pants at the same store, which were supposed to be $20 but for some reason had a price tag that said $12.99. So of course they rang up at $20. I pointed out the mistake, and they fixed it.

They also "accidentally" took the extra $8 off the jacket too, making it $12. I pointed it out, but it was 10 minutes to closing and they didn't care. I win.

This is the life when you are cool like me. People at checkouts give you discounts just for being awesome.

"I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can watch you weave then breath your story lines. And I wear my sunglasses at night so I can keep track of the visions in my eyes. While she's deceiving me, it cuts my security. Has she got control of me? - I turn to her and say: Don't switch the blade on the guy in shades, oh no. Don't masquerade with the guy in shades, oh no. I can't believe it! You got it made with the guy in shades, oh no. And I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can forget my name while you collect your claim. And I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can see the light that's right before my eyes. While she's deceiving me she cuts my security. She gots control of me, I turn to her and say, don't switch the blade on the guy in shades, oh no. Don't masquerade with the guy in shades, oh no. I can't believe it! Don't be afraid of the guy in shades, oh no. It can't escape you cause you got it made with the guy in shades, oh no. I said: I wear my sunglasses at night..." -Corey Hart, but it might as well have been me

Thanks to everyone who made it out to my birthday party at The Homy Inn on Saturday night. Some good beer was downed, some good laughs were had. But how can you not have a good time at the Homy? I mean, is that even possible? We had two pitchers of Champagne, which has to be some kind of record -- no one EVER goes back for more after finishing the first one. But its my damn birthday, we're gonna go for two. And I'll be dammed if we didn't do it.

Another cool thing: I got a parking spot right in front of the door -- rock star parking. If you've ever been to the Homy, you know how impossible that is. Usually you end up parking at Pfeffers across the street and hoping you don't get towed, or parking on the street.

Apparently I also have a secret admirer among the patrons of the Homy. I hope to meet the writer of The Quiznos Papers (codename for the mysterious note left on my truck Saturday night by a girl who was too shy to come up and say hi, penned on the back of a Quiznos takeout menu) next time I'm there. People with the good taste to enjoy this site are, by definition, cool and awesome. So you rock, whoever you are!

Anyway, all of my Homys had a good time at the Homy, as usual. After all, its the Official Bar of Polyfro.

Thanks again to everyone. You're all good peoples. You bet.

Me preparing to play "Super Tecmo Bowl" on my new 51" HDTV. You can tell its brand-new because of the random box crappings all over my floor, indicated by the orange arrow.

I don't know if I told you, but last week I celebrated a birthday. My 27th birthday to be exact. And how did I celebrate? You mean, other than eating lots of baked goodies that people brought to me at the office, like cinnamon rolls and cookies and stuff? Other than reading the cards? Well...

I bought myself the birthday present to top all other birthday presents: a 51" big screen HDTV. Its a miracle of widescreen awesomeness, and probably the largest HDTV ever. I know its the best, because I only judge on the "is it in my basement?" scale of awesomeness. And since it is in my basement, it is awesome.

A mere two hours after its glorious unveiling, The Lionel Richie Poster was no longer funny. The official explanation from the press release follows.

That IS my cubicle wall. And that IS a Lionel Richie poster hanging there. Plus some poster illustration of a lady with deer in her hair. And a PC/Mac double play.

Now, the Lionel Richie poster. You want to know about it. You want to know why I have it hanging there, when he's easily the sappiest balladeer of the 1980's.

The answer is simple, people. I was looking around on eBay at 2am one night a couple of weeks ago after getting back from the bars, and I saw this poster. The seller wanted 60 cents for it. It cracked me up, Lionel and his jheri-curl mullet, plus its in some foreign language. Spanish probably. So I put in a bid. Paid immediately with PayPal when the auction ended a few minutes later.

And I forgot about it.

Falco camps it up as Amadeus in his video for "Rock Me Amadeus"

Its 1984, and Milos Foreman directs the critically acclaimed movie "Amadeus" on the life of Mozart. The movie is a critical and box office hit, and inspires a renaissance of popularity for the classical composer. The next summer, Austrian rock singer Falco capitalized on the popularity with his own classic, "Rock Me Amadeus".

And it is classic indeed. If you haven't heard it, go immediately to a music store on the internet, and buy it, and listen to it, right, now.

Seriously though, humor me here. Falco's "Rock Me Amadeus" is one of the seminal moments in 80's popular music. It may have been cheap to capitalize on a trend, such as Karl Douglas with his 70's hit "Kung fu Fighting", but in its own way, it was highly educational. I mean, most of the lyrics are in German, so if you wanted to sing along, you had to learn German. And if you wanted to know what it was you were singing, you had to translate that German into English.

I was out of town all weekend, and when you do that, your mail piles up. But not like this weekend. I return last night to find a ginormous stack of rubber-band'd mail in my box. Stamped on the top piece was this friendly message from my postal carrier, in red ink:

"Found in supposedly empty machine"

No shit. There was like 8 or 9 letters in this stack, some with postmarks as old as March 14. How outragious is this? One of them was a bill from Cox that is now late, of course. Sorry guys, not my fault (this time).

Well folks, Secret Santa has struck again. In December, I ran a story talking about our office Secret Santa week, and how two years in a row my person was no longer around -- they had either died or been fired.

Make it three years in a row. This past years' recipient of my gifts put in her two weeks and today is her last day.

So for the record:

2002: Fired
2003: Dead
2004: Resigned

What will happen in 2005? We were laughing about it today, and we decided that next year my gifts need to go as such:

Remember how I did a little experiment in the interest of the greater good by consuming a whole package of Cheese on Cheese earlier this week? Yeah, talk about suffering for your art. I totally spent the last two days with something doctors call "rumbling intestines". That's a technical term.

It was bad enough to make a trek to the boys room five times during work hours. Our bathrooms here in the new building are more luxurious than our old place certainly, but for one day, I was no better than the smokers who take six breaks a day outside. I hate not being productive. But what are you gonna do? Crap.

Then I get home. Forgetting my master bathroom is fresh out of toilet tissue, well, you know the end to this story.

Wait, it gets better!

Its really quite amusing to me, this whole deal with Target closing their midtown store here in Omaha as they open a new one down the street 30 blocks west. The neighborhood is organizing a petition to convince Target not to close the store. For those of you not up on the news, or not from Omaha, here's the story:

Target has a store on Saddle Creek Road, roughly 50th and Dodge, which is right about in the middle of Omaha's traditional city boundary. Its the only "big box" discount retailer (Target, Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Shop-Ko, et al) in the entire eastern half of the city -- east of 72nd street. Every other store of this kind is west of 72nd. That in and of itself is amusing to me; its well known that midtown and downtown retail is dominated by locally owned businesses. From restaurants to shops, you'll be hard pressed to find a chain of any kind east of 72nd street. There's one or two McDonalds, but that's about it.

So the population east of 72nd all shops at this one Target. You get everything from college students to doctors to middle class folks. Outsiders, and even some people in the neighborhood, derisively refer to it as "Targhetto". Its not the nicest store, but its theirs, dammit. So the thought of not having the store is dreadful. Worth fighting for, even.

Yep. While neighborhoods fight to keep Wal-Mart out, going to court or to the polls to stop them, people fight just as hard to keep Target in. Am I the only one amused by this?

Of course, this just proves my point that Target is the greatest retailer ever, and Wal-Mart just sucks. I hate Wal-Mart. I'm not going to get into their business practices and how they singlehandedly drive working conditions in third-world countries to below poverty levels, because that's a serious subject that I have no intent on defending or delving into. More Kadavy's style...

The danger of me getting more than 6 hours of sleep, is I have thoughts like this, and actually tell them to people:

"You know what'd be great? If XM had a channel that played nothing but 80's era Starship all day."

I mean, how weird is that? Starship? I mean, their 80's era music is definitely guilty pleasure tunes of the highest order. Cheesy as all hell. Kinda enjoyable in short doses, like two songs in a row. But all day? Man, that's the last time I can ever sleep for 8 hours. Dangerous. I'm telling you.

Next time I'll want an all-DeBarge station. And that will test my house painters' theory that you can never have too much DeBarge...

I'm at Subway at lunch today, and I got totally busted checking out this girl who was in line in front of me. So I attempted to talk my way out of trouble. "I'm sorry, I was just trying to see what kind of chips you were holding, I'd never seen that kind before."

She showed me a bag of Fritos. Man, it couldn't have been some nasty off brand I'd never heard of, could it. Cos there's lots of ways to get a made-up story going off that. But Fritos? Well...

"What are they called? Fritos? I think I've heard of those. They're supposed to be pretty good, I think. I'll have to try 'em sometime!"

Yep. Just another day in Polyfroland, I mean, Paradise.

I think my new favorite show is Robot Chicken on Adult Swim. I laugh out loud three or four times every 10-minute episode. For those of you who don't know, Robot Chicken is a stop motion show purportedly shot using action figures. But lots of shots are clearly computer generated. No matter.

The episode this past Sunday was a classic. First, "The Real World" starring the Justice League of America, also known as the Super Friends. Hilarious, because Superman is a rude obnoxious bully; Batman is a clueless wanna-be ladies man trying to get Wonder Woman; and Aquaman is a wimp on the verge of a nervous breakdown. And The Hulk is, well, you have to see it for yourself. The best scene is The Hulk banging on the occupied bathroom door yelling, "Hulk need take crap! ArrrrgH!" He busts his fists through, throws out pants-around-the-ankles Aquaman, and goes in to drop a deuce.

Wow, I mean, its been a long time since I accidentally made liquid go up into my nose, but the Hulk banging on that bathroom door, well, that did it. Funny stuff.

Cheese On Cheese. I hadn't eaten those things since I last found them in my lunchbox, presumably back when I was about 8 years old. You know the ones: cheese crackers with highly processed and tasteless cheese spread, in an easy-to-consume pack of six.

Should be hard to screw up. But they're always gross. All of which is why, when I found a pack of them in the "snack box" in our lunchroom, well, I just HAD to eat them. And document the experience for my readers. Enjoy my agony.

Friday night we were at a birthday party at the 1507, this trendy upscale club downtown that will so totally be out of business in six months. (Not because its a bad place, but because that's how trendy clubs work. You can only be trendy for a finite period before something else is the newest, trendiest hangout. And then what are you? Just an overpriced nightspot. And your days are numbered at that point. Its a treacherous perch to occupy.) Anyway, I'm wearing my "Top Gun" t-shirt, right. And the waitress says to me and my buddy Donovan, "Two Bud Lights?"

It must have looked pretty funny to the neighbors.

Here's the new guy, moving a giant couch in by himself. I don't mind telling you, it was a struggle.

The story begins at Big Lots on 132nd & Center. I bought the denim blue corduroy couch at a good price -- Big Lots is the overstock deal kingdom, after all -- and as I expected, they loaded it into my truck and offered no way of securing it. Now, when you pony up and pay a lot more at the Nebraska Furniture Mart, they tie your purchase in all nice and tight. But when you save $300, they just plop it in the truck and send you on your way. Not a problem if you think ahead and bring along some nice strong rope. I did not.

No, it was Sunday around noon, and I was not thinking, I guess. I mean, there are some basic principles involved when you buy new furniture.

I was in the toy aisle at Super Target yesterday (don't ask) and I saw the new Batman toys. First of all, apparently he's now called "The Batman" -- totally gypping my style of prose, slapping a "The" in front of everything, they are -- but the logo looks a hell of a lot like the one from the old TV show. This got me to pick up the box. But of course, the actual figure looks all modern and sleek, not retro and cool like the 60s Batman. I would buy that toy. Not the new muscley The Batman.

When I was done shopping, I was standing in the checkout, and the guy in front of me in line is this middle age guy in a "Star Trek Enterprise" shirt. He's a fairly normally built guy, not skinny but not fat either. But he had the most unbelievably huge beer gut EVER. I mean, EVER. He looked pregnant with twins, or perhaps, being a Star Trek guy, with alien babies. The thing appeared rock solid too. I was amazed. How does that particular anatomical feature come to be? I mean, I suppose its genetic, but generally when you get big enough to have a gut, everything else gets bigger in proportion. You know, arms, man-breasts, legs, butt. Not this guy. It was amazing.

I don't really have a point here, I just, well, you should have seen it, that's all.

So here's how much of a cool guy/dork I am: I'm out driving around in The Colorado, wearing a "Top Gun" t-shirt, when the theme from "Whos The Boss" comes on the XM. Oh boy. Why on earth do I know the words to that, 15 years from that last time I saw it?

See, this is the curse of my life. I hear something, particularly a song, one time and I know the lyrics. Sometimes, I'll hear a song for the first time ever and be singing the chorus before that first listen is complete. It would be a license to print money if I weren't tone deaf.

Ooh, that's hott! I told you as I went through my old stuff from the attic, I would post some of it here. And the first entry is this vintage photo of me and the Hawaiian Punch guy, known to his friends as Punchy. Taken in 1994 when I was 16 and working in the Hy-Vee Deli, you'll note the stylin' baseball cap with "Hy-Vee" embroidered on it, sitting slightly askew on my noggin, the apron just dirty enough to prove I was working, and the fashionable baseball logo tie. Oh, and the Sipowicz shirt is something too. (My brother and I call short sleeve dress shirts "Sipowicz's" when worn with a tie, partly because they look ridiculous but mostly because of the cop on NYPD Blue who always wears them. You got to wear a long sleeve shirt with a tie. Or you will be lookin' bad. Trust me on this one.)

Yes, I do have manual labor in my work history. I worked in the Deli there for almost three years, doing dishes, scrubbing floors, busing tables, and eventually cooking breakfast. It was hard work but it was a paycheck. Those were the good old days too, when you actually had to interview for a job like that -- because there were more applicants than openings. Not like now, where pretty much any kid wanting a job like that can say the word and get it.

So many stories, so few of them I will tell. None, actually. You bet. There is a really good back story to the Punchy photo, but I've been told my friends that I shouldn't write that kind of thing here or sooner or later I'll get in trouble. So you'll have to use your imagination, folks. Hey, blame them, not me! If it were up to me I'd tell you all about the girl in the costume!

I know, its hard to believe, but the house paint looks phenomenal. Dark gray -- with the vertical siding on the side of the house, it looks like the Twins road jerseys, all gray and pinstripey in its awesomeness.

Truth be told, I would have been happy with any color except "Celebrity Yellow" -- that ugly yellow color that the builder uses on some houses. You don't get to pick the color, you know -- they decide what will look best with the neighborhood. So you could totally get stuck with that nasty ass yellow. The tan is OK. Peach is not bad. Gray is fairly awesome. Yellow is gross. I guess I got lucky that I got the color I would have picked had I been given the choice.

One gripe is that the DeBarge Painters hung the house numbers crooked. I will have to remedy this.

But they also totally left a bucket on my deck, and a hose connected to my faucet. I have already taken these items. So if the DeBarge Gang comes back for them, they can't have 'em -- they mine now. I needed a bucket, and a hose, so its a nice coincidence. Not sure what I need them for, but they're free, so I'm sure I'll find something.

You can never have too much DeBarge.

Sorry.

I love it when the Twins play out on the west coast, as they are this week. The game times are so much more conducive to my viewing habits. I mean, first pitch at 9:05 pm is awesome -- I'm a night owl anyway, and for the most part, if I'm gonna watch TV, its between the hours of 9 and midnight. So its perfect when the Twins play in Seattle, Oakland, Anaheim, etc. Hell, since the advent of TiVo, I record their games in other time zones and end up watching them during those hours anyway half the time. This way I get to watch live!

Its hell when your legs keep cramping up. You can't sit still. I keep jumping up, nearly screaming in pain.

See, volleyball started up last night, and we were short a guy. Unable to find a sub, despite calling around, I was the only hitter (the other guy was more of a scrapper, diving for balls). This means jumping to spike literally about 40 times. Ordinarily you would rotate it around, easing the burden, sharing the fun. Not so on this night.

Now, it was great while we were playing. I was painting the corners of the court, spiking it at people's feet, and generally kicking ass. We won all three games, and the biggest challenge they could offer us was a 15-8 nailbiter. Just an all-around ass kicking buffet. Pretty impressive considering we played 5-on-6 with 3 women and just 2 guys.

I kick ass. A lot.

But you already knew that. Unlike the football bowl game pool, which I totally did a bellyflop in, I took second place in our office March Madness pool. That's phenomenal. How did I do it? By successfully picking that North Carolina would play Illinois in the final, with UNC winning, that's how!

Well, they are painting my house today. I was awakened rudely this morning by the sound of ambient DeBarge music and ladders clanging against the pavement of my driveway. What's worse, DeBarge or ladders at 6:30?

They had everything taped over and such, so it was freaking dominant when I backed The Colorado out of the driveway, tearing through the paper like the Miami Hurricanes ripping through the banner on the way to the field in the '80s. All I needed was a smoke machine and you wouldn't have been able to even tell the difference.

You're imagining things if you think there was something else here earlier. There was not another post, one that was deleted. Take your medication. You are hallucinating. Good lord.

--

The thought had occurred to me that not everyone who reads this site cares about sports like I do. So maybe I'll write about my personal life here. Its certainly funnier, more interesting, to some folks. But after giving it some thought, and on the advice of a trusted confidant, you get this blathering article about baseball and how my Twins are going to kick everyone's asses instead. It is written with tongue firmly in cheek, so keep that in mind before you think I'm ass viewing the world through rose-colored glasses. Enjoy.

--

Its opening day, which means its only 162 games away from the Twins starting their majestic trek through October to the Championship. Since the AL Central is obviously the best division is all of the land, mainly because the Twins call it home, this preview will only detail the four teams who will be beaten by a certain team from a certain upper midwestern town known simply as The Twins. All other teams are simply playing for the right to experience such greatness in person. Consider yourselves lucky, other four teams of the central. You haven't been this close to true greatness since that time the Elvis impostor sang the national anthem at your game last May.

In order of awesomeness or suckitude:

Its April Fools Day, my least favorite holiday. Why? Cos practical jokes should happen every day, and they're better when people don't expect 'em, which they totally do on April 1.

Like last year, my best bro lost his job on April 1, and we all thought he was joking. Instead of giving the man sympathy we gave grief. I still feel bad about it. That's why April Fools Day sucks.

He sends this email first thing in the morning saying he was no longer employed by Devil Women Inc. from a new email addy that we'd never seen before. Hotmail I think. I replied to his work email, and it bounced back with some junk about how he didn't work there anymore but to contact Mrs. Devil #1 or Ms. Devil #4 instead. I remember thinking, man, he's carrying this joke a little too far.

Only it wasn't a joke. See, because it was April Fools Day, we left a man down. Its a stupid holiday.

I want to get it on the record my living will wishes. This is not a legal document but its better than nothing.

Number I:
If I should ever lay comatose for a period longer than one month, auction off all of my worldly possessions, aside from my Saturday Night Fever CD, so that I may die free from Affluenza. Then kill me.

Number II:
If I should ever become incapacitated and living off a tube, bring me a greasy cheeseburger and stuff it down my throat so I can choke on its sweet juicy tastyness and die.

Number III:
If you ever catch me watching a Queen Latifah movie, for example, Taxi, instead of going out with friends, pull the plug on me immediately and terminate my life. Please. That's a life not worth living, friends.

Signed,
Max Univers