June 2005 Archives

When you go to a Steven Spielberg movie, you can expect to be entertained. So last night, when we went to see War of the Worlds, I expected that my $8 would be well spent. And, it was, just not for the actual movie itself. Because outside of some decent f.x, the movie was pretty terrible.

I arrived a little early and waited inside. Everyone else decided to meet outside, because it was nice outside, obviously. So as I came outside to get them, I noticed our friend Nicole was wearing a bright orange shirt -- and so was I. So in one of those couldn't-be-funnier-if-it-was-scripted moments, I snuck up and the first words out of my mouth were not "hey" or "what's up" but "I like your style" with a wink and a point at her. This caused Nate to laugh hysterically and award me the gold star, and perhaps embarrassed Nicole a bit. I mean, its difficult to handicap the projected winner between "couple dressed alike at the movies" and "friends of opposite sexes dressed alike at the movies". There are no winners here.

I know I swore not to tell any stories from Pittsburgh, but I do want to tell this one.

Of all the things I've longed for over the years, a tattoo has never been one of them. But I have to tell you, they are an attention getter.

Monday night, my brother and his wife stopped by my house for a visit. Somewhere during their stay, my sleeve slid up ever so slightly, revealing the bottom third of my new tattoo. And Janell freaked. "Whoa, did you get a tattoo?" she exclaimed.

I told her yes indeed, I'd gotten really drunk on Saturday night, and this cute girl I'd met earlier in the trip somehow coaxed me into getting matching heart tattoos. I woke up Sunday morning and went, whoa, when did that happen?? They were both speechless.

The leadership conference, where board of directors members from all 52 chapters nationwide of the design organization of which I am a member gather for four days each year, was in Pittsburgh this year -- that's why I was out there in the Steel City, representing for the Nebraska chapter.

I think my friend Kelly from Jacksonville described it the best I've ever heard in an email conversation we had today:

"it was like summer camp for adults. The debauchery was quite memorable."

The thing is, everyone at the conference does the same thing for a living. We're all designers, we all have the same basic interests, so we're all like family, whether you know everyone or not. And by the end of the weekend, you do know everyone, and you do some fairly crazy things with them that you wouldn't do any other time. Its a great time. But reiterating what I said yesterday, I can't tell you the stories.

There is one story I want to tell. Stop back later today to hear it.

Ah, Pittsburgh. I wish I was still there. You cannot underestimate how difficult it is to wind down from five days of being a rock star. This year I took the day after we returned off work, just to attempt to come down to earth.

I could tell you stories of 200 people taking over a bar, forcing the lone bartender to call in three buddies to help out; of drinking Iron City beer out of Aluminum Bottles while eating a Primanti Brothers sandwich (Meat of your choice, Cheese, Fries, Slaw, and Tomatoes all between two pieces of bread); of dancing in a church-converted-into-Techno club named "The Sanctuary"; or wearing a feather boa at a party held in an old jail. But I won't tell you those stories.

I'm headed for Pittsburgh momentarily, and will be out there on the east coast until next Tuesday. Sorry, but I don't anticipate having time to post anything until I get back. While it would be cool to post from Pittsburgh PA like the dudes over at BE A DESIGN GROUP did from the HOW Design Conference in Chicago last week, I figure to be spending too much time at the parties and the bars with the ladies to do that...

You bet.

Look forward to next week, when I'll have the biggest most ginormous post ever detailing everything I'm at liberty to discuss about the events and happenings of the trip. Lots of photos of me with people you don't recognize, likely. So, you bet.

Last night on the way home from work, I glanced down at the dashboard of The Colorado and noticed that it was nearing the 10,000 mile mark. This was the last moments EVER that there would be four digits on the odometer! How sad!

It was a moment. And on the XM? "Respect Yourself" by Bruce Willis.

Seems about right. Actually, it was awful, but the irony of that song playing during this classic moment was too rich, so I resisted the temptation to reach for the remote control. Left it play, and during the chorus, this happened:

The majestic mile 10,000! Honest to Cameo, that photo is unaltered. Really. If you don't believe me, come take a look at it on my camera phone -- that's exactly what the lens viewed at the moment of exposure! From the heavens, an angelic glow of majestic proportions! The Colorado is blessed! I almost wrecked the truck after snapping the photo when I saw the light. But apparently the truck angel saved me. Thank you truck angel!

You bet.

Leaving work early at about 3:30, my brother and I set out to attend the College World Series on someone else's dime. With dinner, drinks, and tickets paid for, the goal was simple: spend as little money as possible.

We rolled off the interstate about 4:35, having beaten most of the evening traffic. Most people leave the office at 4:30 and won't arrive at the park until close to 5, so we're already ahead. We found a suitable parking spot on 16th and Deer Park Blvd, just blocks from the ballpark, free of charge -- parking on public streets is always free!

As we walked toward the ballpark, a group of people offered us free bottled water. My brother gladly accepted. "That's the right price, I'll take one!" he told them. Of course the bottle was a Christian recruiting tool, proclaiming in giant letters "Are you thirsty for Christ?". The entire bottle was covered in bible verses and stuff. But it was free, meeting our monetary requirements.

From there, we headed to the Wells Fargo Hospitality Tent. On the way, we walked past the ESPN SportsCenter on location set -- just moments before Steve Levy went on-air live from Omaha. Levy came walking past us, but we didn't realize who he was until he went on the stage. Not that I would have said anything even if I had noticed him. Not a big Steve Levy fan. (Don't ask)

You know, I was watching the NBA Finals last night, and I was wondering during the extravagent starting lineup ceremony how Larry Bird or Magic would have reacted to that. I mean, there were 10 foot flames of fire shooting out of the top of the baskets! The players stepped out from behind a giant Finals Trophy and onto a stage as their name was called! The enthusiastic Mason emceed the ceremony! The Pistons were introduced to Europe's The Final Countdown! Just sheer ridiculousness.

What made it all worth it was hearing Al Michaels come on just as it concluded, and say as he chuckled uneasily, "Hubie, I dunno, its like the 4th of July in here!"

Over the weekend, I went to not one but two birthday parties. First up, Cliff (or "StarchBoy" as he was derisively called by my brother, because of his overly-starched collar shirt) girlfriend's 25th. Good time. Always thoroughly enjoy conversations with a drunk guy trying to rationalize getting a hooker. That's great fun. "No, seriously man, if its a threesome, right? And the dude's paying? Then she's not a hooker to you, cos you didn't pay! She's just a slut!"

My response?

"But then you're gay." (Because of the presence of the dude and all)

Just weirdness. I wish I hadn't told you that. But I did. Oh well.

I think I also saw Robert Goulet at the party, but I can't be sure...

"St. Louis is the greatest town in america. Goulet!"

--

Other party was my buddy Continental's wife, who turned 30. Not much exciting to report from this one.

Other than the bottle-chucking contest me and Continental engaged in. Off the back of the deck, throwing empty beer bottles into the woods some 100 feet away.

You bet.

So last week, I get this letter in the mail at work:

Max-

All of us here at {OFFICE NAME REMOVED} love your blog. It cracks us up every day, reading your exploits.

Enclosed are two passes to the {OFFICE NAME REMOVED} hospitality tent at the College World Series next Monday, including complimentary beverages and dinner before the game, and tickets to the evening session. We hope you'll enjoy them.

Thanks for the laughs!

-Joe Doe

So that's kinda cool, right? I mean, hospitality tent passes to the World Series? Free dinner? Free tickets? Very awesome.

Thank you, whoever!

Tonight's big matchup, a winners bracket game pitting the Tulane Green Wave against the Texas Longhorns, should be a good one. Much as I want to wear my TEXAS shirt just to spite all the Husker fans, and do the hook 'em horns thing with my fingers all night, I just can't bring myself to root for Texas. I mean, they are Texas after all. So Tulane it is. Not having any Green Wave gear, my green Eleven19 shirt will have to do. Free advertising for Donovan!

Look for photos of the awesomeness tomorow.

So Donovan and I roll over to Lincoln for Third Thursday as we do every time its in Lincoln, representing for the board which is comprised at the moment solely of Omaha residents. We make good time in The Colorado, and get to Lincoln and begin the tedious task of finding somewhere to park in the Haymarket. We spy an open spot, but I've already driven past it. What did I do? Slam the brakes right in the middle of 15th street, and put it in reverse, cars-behind-me be damned!

Little did I know the car behind me was a cop.

Lucky for us, the cop was too busy talking to his pal out the window, a bicycle cop. Never saw it. Whew! That was a close one.

To the bar! After driving around for another five minutes! You bet!

We're at the bar for, I don't know, maybe an hour and Donovan walks up to me saying "Come on dude, we're riding in the limousine."

I'm taken aback. First of all, I'm enjoying a pint of Boulevard that I have just purchased, and he wants me to leave? Secondly, in a limozeen? Whose limozeen? Where are we going? Will my beer still be here when we get back?

Never mind answering all of those questions, when this is the Awesomeness that awaits:

Saw Batman Begins last night on opening night. We made liberal use of the AMC's policy of allowing outside food and beverages in the theater, and stopped by Hy-Vee next door to get stuff on the cheap. One extra large Nestle Crunch, one 20 oz soda. I was hoping the ticket guy would at least give me a dirty look as I smuggled them in, but I got nothing. Oh well.

I have to say something about the Dukes of Hazzard movie, because they showed the preview before Batman. I think might possibly be the best comedy of the summer. I mean that! Seann William Scott as Luke Duke is crummy casting, I'll grant you. But Johnny Knoxville as Bo Duke and Jessica Simpson as Daisy Duke are probably pretty good.

I make a point of not researching movies before they come out, because I think it makes your expectations tough to meet. I'd much rather go into a movie knowing nothing, and then decide for myself based on seeing it whether its Awesome or Nahsome.

Year two of Polyfro starts with this story:

Tuesday morning, I'm sitting in traffic as I do every morning, and as I do every day, I was observing the drivers around me. Generally nothing too exciting, sometimes you see a hottie but other than that, nothing to write about.

And I'm not really sure why this time is even worth writing about, either, but bear with me. Through the rearview mirror on my windshield, I spy a middle-aged guy, thick glasses, monk-bald, and he's just lighting into somebody on the cell phone. I mean, really giving the other person the business.

In fact, the first thing I thought of was how, in Madden 97, you could hit somebody after the whistle, but you'd get flagged 15 yards -- and the second time you did it in a game, the ref would say "Personal Foul...He's Giving Him the Business."

Anyway, so this dude is screaming, pointing, waving, its incredible. As if that wasn't funny enough, my eyes panned back to the guy behind him. He's in a truck, so he sits higher up, and was therefore visible to me. This guy is cleaning the inside of his windshield with a napkin. While smoking a PalMal, and blowing smoke all over his work.

Honest to Moses Malone. Giant guy with a beard and scraggly hair, driving an early 80's Toyota pickup, cleaning the inside of his windshield while he smoked. Maybe its only funny to me, I don't know.

Its hard to believe that this damn thing has been running strong for an entire year! Over 250 entries, most pretty bad but some good stuff sprinkled in. When I started this thing last summer, it was in response to Kadavy always talking about his blog at the Homy Inn, or the Old Dundee, or whatever bar we were at. I thought, "I majored in Journalism and Graphic Design. Why shouldn't I have one of these things?"

So right then and there, I jumped in. It was a slow start, at first just an outlet for me to write and I never intended -- or necessarily wanted -- anyone else to read it.

But slowly my friends discovered the existance of Polyfro.com, and the awesomeness, and became addicted to it to the point where I started getting nasty emails if I hadn't written anything yet that day.

As readership grew, I hesitated to write about sports or music, thinking the chance of offending people was pretty high with those two topics. Eventually I remembered why I had started this thing in the first place -- to write whatever I wanted, uncensored, no editors -- and started getting obnoxious about Creighton, the Twins, 80's music, guilty pleasure movies, classic TV, and pretty much anything I feel like talking about.

Now at the end of its 12th month, Polyfro.com averages just over 200 unique visitors a day. I only know a few of them, so its kinda cool that people I don't even know keep stopping by. Thanks.

You bet.

Last Monday, I wrote 2500 words on my weekend, and if you just skimmed over it because it looked too long, well, you missed out on some good stuff. I'm warning you, this is going to be just as long. So the same caveat applies. Enjoy yourself, its a celebration. -PF

Videocameras at wedding receptions should be outlawed. I'm serious. I've been captured on still film in some compromizing positions, most notably in Austin TX with a male stripper (don't ask) and St. Louis with a girl at a party, as we emerged from a secret hiding place where we sought "privacy" (do ask). Damn bastard cameras. But still photos can be explained away. There's lots of excuses. You can always claim the photo is taken out of context, that the actual event was not what it appears to be in the photo. You can claim its the work of some skilled Photoshop artist changing the image. But videotape doesn't lie. The actual events are right there for everyone to watch, taking them to the events, just like they were there. Its DAMN EVIL.

All I'm saying there's some real INCRIMINATING video of me from Saturday night. And some really EMBARRASSING video of me from later in the night.

So of course, if I get ahold of these videos, I'll be posting some of them here on the site...

All day, I've been getting the dirtiest looks from people. The "you killed my son" or "you broke my daughter's heart" look. Crazy because I've done neither of those things, at least not recently.

Some people wouldn't even talk to me. I couldn't figure it out. Had everyone figured out I watched Vanilla Ice's comeback last night, and decided I was now a societal parasite?

Perhaps. But not likely.

Then I was out running errands for work, and it hit me:

I was wearing an orange polo shirt with a lime green tee underneath. And Nebraska is playing Miami in the Super Regional today in Lincoln. And according to the entire city, I was now a Miami fan.

Come on, have some more sense than that. I'm not rooting for Nebraska, but I'm certainly not rooting for Miami. Seriously.

In the words of the immortal Rick James, "That is absurd."

First things first. If I ever come across the punk kid that wrote the Trojan Horse that spelled the ruin of my computer at work, I will beat you. At a game of Scrabble. Or Chutes & Ladders. Or Connect Four. All I know for sure is, I will beat you.

--

For those of us in the know, Trojan Horses were invented by King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. In the olde times, they once came across a vile and foul-mouthed gang of obnoxious French types in a castle, who not only refused to assist them in their quest for the Holy Grail, they mocked them by telling the Knights that they already had a grail. So King Arthur and his Knights constructed a giant Trojan Horse shaped like a giant bunny, and pushed it up to the door of the castle. You know the rest.

In these more moderne times, punk asses, social miscreants, computer hackers, and Charles In Charge fans are faced with a similar quandary. King Dorkface and his Knights of the Lunchroom Table, you see, cannot stand that society has cast them out as the puke stains that they are. So King Dorkface programmed a rogue Trojan Horse in the form of a computer file, and sent it around the internet. Again, you know the rest.

I was the recipient of one of these Trojan Horses at work. It bored itself into my system files, and slowly replicated itself into damn near every essential system component until the machine would no longer run. It destroyed my computer to the point that it took two technicians EIGHT HOURS to fix it.

I should note at this point that it was a Windows machine. My Mac was working the whole time. Of course. Because Macs are better. I hear you laughing. But listen up, fool. Here's the straight dope, and I'm only gonna tell you once, so bookmark this page, or better yet, print it out so when you stupid Windows machine crashes, you can still refer back to it and remember that I was right.

1) I do not have Virus software on my Mac. Don't need it. Viruses are for pussies. And Windows.

2) I do not have Anti-Spyware programs. Don't need them. Spyware is impossible to sneak onto a Mac, because underneath its awesomeness is Linux. Ever try installing something on Linux without the Administrator password? You bet. Only I have that shit, and you gotta get through me to install anything on my Mac. I dare you to try it, punk ass.

3) I haven't restarted my Mac in a month. Don't need to. Unlike crappy Windows boxes that are so inefficient they slowly lose memory resources as you work on them -- my Windows box at work is so slow by lunch that its unbearable -- the Linux core that comprises the Mac OS is rock solid and doesn't steal system memory.

4) I run all the same programs as you do on Windows, only mine run better. Microsoft Office, Firefox, LimeWire, iTunes, Photoshop, InDesign, you name it. And once Macs are running on Intel Pentium Processors by the end of 2006, check this shit out: you will be able to launch any Windows program simply by double-clicking it, and it will run just as fast as it does on your crappy Windows box. And it probably won't crash eight times a day.

5) You suck.

--

I better not run into you, punk ass kid who wrote that Trojan Horse. I will give you the wedgie of your life. And then force you to tour the country as a traveling Barrie Cunningham impersonator. That's right, you will tour the countryside impersonating the world's greatest Neil Diamond impersonator. It will be hell for you. So pray to whatever Demon you worship that I never find you.

This morning I went to get up out of bed, and I couldn't move my leg. Seems the leg that suffered the muscle contusion was "dead" -- the muscles were shut down to fight the bruise. I rolled out of bed and fell to the floor. Let me tell you, that's a hell of a way to wake up.

Had to go to the bathroom real bad too. I won't describe what I went through to make that happen.

Almost broke down and took some Advil this morning. But I hate taking pills. So I decided to tough it out.

--

I've been playing in a sand volleyball league for five years, year-round. That's about 250 matches -- with three games a night, about 750 games. And never once have I been injured. Sure, I've suffered the occasional scrapes and scratches, sliding across the ropes and cutting my foot, or that one time that I went up for a spike and got my fingers tangled in the net and sliced open my index. But nothing terribly serious.

Tonight, well, I guess this proves even I'm not infallible. Here's the story of how I got hurt, and nearly trapped in my basement when I couldn't hobble up the stairs of my own house.

--

It was blistering hot, 90 degrees, and the first time this year that we've played in that kind of heat. I was beading up during warmups. And lets just say beer is good for many things, but hydration is not one of them!

First game, we're up 9-2 and I take off running for a ball out of bounds. I'm trying to watch the ball and the oncoming picnic table, and just as I go to hit the ball, BOOM! At full speed, I crash directly into the wooden table, which gives like a concrete wall, and my upper legs take the brunt of the force being right at the height of the benches. Knocked me square on my arse. The most immense charley horse I've had in quite some time, let me tell ya.

450 miles on The Colorado in two days, the result of a weekend trip into Marshalltown, Iowa for a wedding. But when piling up a bunch of miles in a relatively short period of time is the worst thing you can say for a trip, well my friends, you've done alright.

--

I've only been to Marshalltown a few times in my life, but it was always in the back of a yellow school bus en route to play basketball or run track. I had one of two of the most memorable games of my rather mediocre career in Marshalltown.

The first was a game in which I started at point guard when our starter came down with an injury during warmups. I was always a catch-and-shoot shooting guard (the "2", for my non-sports fan readers), and occasionally played small forward (the "3"). But on this night I was pressed into duty as the 1 -- the catalyst, the point guard. Good lord. If this was a movie pitch, the synopsis would go a little something like this:

So I'm watching the Season 2 DVD of Chappelle's Show. And the third disc is entirely extra material. Really funny stuff.

The entire unedited Rick James interview session, complete with the interviewers' questions, in included. Nearly twenty minutes in length, its at times funnier than the sketch itself. Rick has an absolutely god-awful impression of Charlie Murphy that he busts out every time he's telling his side of the story. What had me laughing the hardest was when Rick tells a story about Charlie being, in his words, "a gigantic pussy", and getting schooled in basketball by an "androgenous midget human being whose name I won't tell. Actually he doesn't even have a name anyway, so it doesn't matter. Just a symbol or some shit...Charlie and his boys get beat and then the androgenous person made them pancakes." This of course would be Prince, and apparently this confirms the validity of the basketball game story shown later in the season. Even the pancakes part. I lost it at that point. Rick James is just hilarious. The DVD is worth $25 just for that.

You cannot underestimate my level of disappointment at the debut of Hit Me Baby 1 More Time. All you need to know about this show can be summed up in two succinct statements.

1) The show is hosted by an overly-eager Brit with an accent thicker than the Thames in winter

2) The artists are forced to play 2 minute truncated versions of their songs

Although it was pretty hilarious to see Arrested Development get all riled up, dancing around, singing, imploring the crowd to sing along, and then having to abruptly end the song midstream as the 2-minute limit approached. Awkward to say the least.

By 8:30 I was out the door and headed to Super Target. No way I was going to watch Loverboy cover Enrique Iglesias' "Hero". If I wanted to hear someone butcher a song I hate to begin with, I'd go to Buffalo Wild Wings for Karaoke night.

Dude, I've got Yankee fans giving me hell today because they're playing my Twins tonight. And I've got Husker fans giving me crap because the Jays play in the NCAA baseball regional in Lincoln this weekend. I'm a man without a country. They're coming at me from all sides. The following will be my official statement on the situation.

The Yankees, eh? Nice job getting swept by the worst team in baseball this week.

Huskers? Come talk to me when you guys actually win a game in the College World Series.

Oh, snap.

That Eagles special was pretty damn good for a bunch of fogies. Don Henley cracks me up. Have you ever seen him play drums? He sits there in flannel, as bad a choice for a drummer to wear as drinking milk is on a hot day, but its OK because he barely moves. What few movements he does make are so stiff its like he's a muppet. Actually, that's insulting. As I recall Animal played mean drum kit. That dude was crazy.

And Glenn Frey was hunched over like he had a bad back. Joe Walsh was talking in tongues. And Timothy B Schmidt, well, I never quite figured out what he does.

My sister in law has been trying in vain to convince me to watch American Idol for years. She finally convinced her husband to watch it this year, and for some reason he got hooked and they both watched it religiously all season. My brother, I thought I knew you. Good lord.

I've never trusted her word when she tells me repeatedly how great the show is. She watches every reality show. Loves the two worst television programs of our generation -- The Bachelor/The Bachelorette. Likes The Apprentice. Enjoys Fear Factor. I hate all of these programs.

But last night I was watching The Eagles special on NBC -- in High Definition and Dolby 5.1, so their old-man wrinkles were even more defined! -- and I see a commercial for this new show called "Hit Me Baby One More Time". Aside from the awful Britney-inspired title, this has the quite serious potential to become an Officially Sanctioned TV Program by Polyfro. You all probably know about this show already, since it premiers tonight, but remember I don't watch much network TV (never, actually) so its news to me. (My remote might as well only have a handful of channels programmed into it, and I could mostly do without the networks. FSN for Twins games, ESPN, ESPN2, VH1 Classic for 80s videos, ESPN Classic because one of these times the Vikings are going to win in those old Super Bowl highlight films, Comedy Central, and Cartoon Network.)

A couple of weeks ago I had Best Buy install my XM Roady2, so that it looked a little more professional than the "sling the antenna wire in through the door and wad the excess up under the front seat" method I used. And while I was in there I figured I might as well spend the extra $200 and get a CD deck with a front auxiliary input for my iPod. You bet.

And it looks phenomenal. All the crazy moving animated lights on the deck, the mounted-under-the-dash awesomeness of the XM, its great.

Then it rained last night. I mean, it POURED. And guess what? Where they installed the antenna wire and brought it into the truck, through the rear brake light above the cab, they forgot to seal the hole. So guess what? Water. In The Colorado.

I have no idea if this is true. It certainly sounds like it could be. I mean, the story is certainly feasible. All I know is, one of our Vice Presidents sent this out to a bunch of us in the office, and now we're all walking around saying "Pluck Yew". So really, whether its true or not is irrelevant. Giving us an excuse to flip each other off and swear without really swearing is all that matters.