So the National Hockey League cancels an entire season, becoming the first "major" sport to ever do so, losing most of their fans in the process. And now that they're back, of course, one of the first things they do is change their logo.
Great, now I need to buy all new gear, since my "I Love the NHL" shirt is outdated.
You bet.
Lets continue where I left off earlier this morning in my 6am post, shall we? Yes, lets!
After a few moments of watching the shuttle footage in awe, one guy broke the silence. He asked me a perfectly legitimate set-up. Did I have the new Coldplay CD, and could he copy it?
Sidebar: I was always really really good in high school at debate. Because I could argue the most ridiculous point and be convincing enough to maybe still win. Some would call this bullshit. Others call it a gift. I call it a good time. The rest of this post is not necessarily my opinion -- just things I said to make a convincing argument for a ridiculous point.
No, I don't have X&Y. But I don't mind Coldplay. They're sorta kinda OK. Don't do much for me. But I don't object to them. They're no Franz Ferdinand, no Jet, certainly no Transplants, my favorite band right now ("Gangsters and thugs...Criminals and hoods...Some of my friends sell records...some of my friends sell drugs.")
Enchiladas is tasty. That's what my brother told me when he invited me over to his brother in law's place for dinner. Since sitting at home and watching the Twins get beat by The House would just drive me closer to reading that "Don't Jump!" book, I headed over. Enchiladas indeed.
And if you must know, they were tasty. But the problem with visiting Josh and Steph is that their guest bathroom has this ridiculously thick lush carpeted toilet seat cover. The thread pile is seriously an inch deep. Why is this a problem, you ask?
Imagine if you will, going into the bathroom to go number one. You lift up the lid, and then lift up the seat, resting it against the lid. But because of the thickness of the carpet pile, the seat never totally rests safely. Instead, it verrrrrrry sloooooowly lets gravity take it down, until it eventually falls fall enough to crash through the stream. Unless you're quick enough to catch it, and steady enough to do so without misfiring.
Its really quite a trick. Imagine doing this after a couple six beers. Hell, imagine doing this after a couple six Pepsi's.
The latter was the dilemma last night. The caffeine gave me the jimmy arms. And I knew it was going to happen. So I was so nervous that the results were more percolation -- like a Mr Coffee machine -- than a faucet, as you would prefer. Just a sad, disappointing mess. The "War of the Worlds" of bathroom relief.
Yesterday morning, the cool guys in the office took a break at 9:30 to huddle around the dish to watch CNN's live coverage of the space shuttle launch. First one since Columbia 'sploded a couple years ago, you know. We drew straws to see who had BK duty -- who had to trek next door to Burger King for a managerie of breakfast 'wiches. Good stuff, the BK. But anyway, while we're watching the amazing footage -- the tan booster tank was equipped with a camera so NASA could examine the jettison of the tanks in case damage to the shuttle occurred, and they made the live feed available to the media -- six grown men stand in front of the TV in awe. Silent. I mean, how many shuttle launches have their been? A lot many. And the footage is always the same boring ground shot, with the shuttle getting smaller and smaller as it approaches the atmosphere, while you imagine what it must look like up close.
This camera filled in that blank. When the two smaller tanks were jettisoned into the Indian Ocean, we saw it live -- just the most sensational thing ever. I mean, it was not computer animation, it was the actual shuttle tanks being jettisoned, live! And then a few minutes later, the camera captured the shuttle itself, now out of the atmosphere and in space, lifting away from the large booster tank. I'm not speechless very often, as you know. But this was one of those times. I mean, how do you even describe LIVE footage like that?
A person who psychoanalyzes beloved movies or TV shows from their youth with the perspective of adulthood is, in my opinion, a prime example of a serious dullard. Am I the only one that believes there is an "off" switch on the adult switch? (Beware. I'm really worked up here. Shoes will fly.)
Why does this come up today? Well, Friday night I went to see one of my childhood faves, Goonies, at the midnight movie at the Dundee here in Omaha. And apparently several people in our group were preoccupied with doing just that -- psychoanalyzing Goonies from the perspective of a 25+ year old.
Come on. I'll argue until I'm blue in the face that Goonies is just an enjoyable flick about a group of kids on an exciting adventure looking for the pirate treasure that might save their childhood neighborhood. Feel free to argue the "one-eyed willie" point about sexual innuendo and what not. You'll be talking to a brick wall. And I might throw a shoe at you.
The feedback from my ridiculous "Chasing Down A Logo" article over on BeA Design Group keeps rolling in. One daily reader of this site mentioned to me last night at the bar that he wishes The Reader had local writers doing this kind of writing for them.
"They should just give you some space to tell whatever funny story happened to you the past week. All the crazy stuff that happens to you, it would be a huge hit I'm sure. Plus It would be local content, which I know they always want more of. Seriously, they pay to run syndicated generic national stories now. You telling me they wouldn't rather have something local? Hell, they might even pay you to do it."
I shouldn't say this, but I'd do it for free. The thrill of writing a weekly column in a printed newspaper is fun as hell. I used to have a column back when I was Editor of my college newspaper, and the thrill of holding a printed version -- and seeing it distributed all over campus -- far trumps whatever satisfaction I get from writing electronic articles on this site. The constraints of print media would be a welcome challenge that I'd very much like to tackle again someday.
I really doubt anything I write is good enough for such a wide audience as The Reader gets, but I appreciate the fact that someone thinks I should give them a call to offer my services. If I get brave enough someday, maybe.
True story, what I wrote over there on BE A DESIGN GROUP today. We get a lot more traffic over there -- something like 50,000 visitors a month or something, or twice as many people as live in the town I grew up in -- so I have to tone things down a little bit. But that's OK. Its actually kind of fun, having to invent a way of saying "I had to take a piss so bad for most of the chase that I was in pain like Daniel-San when he gets his ass kicked by the Cobra Kai in Karate Kid". Can't say that over there. Wouldn't be appropriate.
But I can whatever the hell I want here. So I'll publish the "alternate ending" that was left on the cutting room floor. Here now, enjoy this "Deleted Scene" from "Chasing After A Logo".
This is a night in the life of me.
I left the office at 5:30, dragging and sluggish from a long day at work. Got home at 5:45, laid down in front of the TV with VH1 Classic on, and took a nap.
At 6, I got up and drove out to volleyball. It was brutal, looking straight into a hot bright sun. Easy to lose the ball. And that's as good an excuse as any for why we lost all three games. But the beer was cold. So that was good.
After our match was over at 7:30, I drove back north to shower and get ready to go out. Got home, turned on the Twins game, saw that they once again couldn't score any runs, and turned it off. Too maddening. Showered, and left at 8 for the bars.
At 8:30 I got to Marks for Continental's birthday party, out in the beer garden (or is it called a wine garden there? I don't know, that place was fancy and stuff.) Ordered a Michelob Ultra, because just like in the commercial, I'd just exerted myself physically on the court and people of my calibre drink low calorie brew. Plus it was the only beer on the menu that I recognized.
After a Friday night of fun that for the purposes of this post I do not remember, painting day at my brother and his wife's new house came. Which of course meant I spent most of the day in the basement playing Sorry! with her 9-year old sister. This was my job, to keep her occupied and thus out of the way of people doing actual work. This was a tough job.
I learned a long time ago that her sister is the absolute authority on all board games, card games, and any other games you might engage her in. And she will change the rules during the game to make it impossible to beat her. Like sliding on her own color, or having three of her own pawns on the same space, or jumping her own pawn. All against the rules. All things she did multiple times when it benefitted her cause -- after telling me previously I couldn't do these things.
You bet.
Life is like a hurricane
Here in Deck - burg
Race cars, lasers, aeroplanes
It's a deck - blur!
Might solve a mystery,
Or rewrite history!
Decktales! (a - whooh ooh)
Every day they're out there making
Decktales! (a - whooh ooh)
Tales of daring do bad and good
Decktales!
D - D - D - Danger!
(Watch behind you)
There's a stranger,
(out to find you!)
What to do?
Just grab on to some...
Decktales! (a - whooh ooh)
Every day they're out there making
Decktales! (a - whooh ooh)
Tales of daring do bad and good
Decktales!
Not pony tales or cotton tales, no
Decktales!
(a - whooh ooh)
-The Ducktales, I mean, Decktales Theme
My grill has been in various states of disrepair for months. Brand-new just last Memorial Day, it worked fantastically well for the first few months. Last August, I hosted a big all-day AIGA Board retreat at my apartment and the damn thing wouldn't light. After threatening it with my shoe, it started up.
From that point forward, however, it needed serious coaxing and caring nurturing things said to it before it would start. And after I moved it to the house? Lets just say three flights of stairs and 15 miles in the back of a truck were not kind to it.
Musical selections from the iPod at work can be troublesome. Countless times over the years I've been jamming out to Public Enemy or Guns N'Roses, laying out some sick text box action in Quark, and had a co-worker walk up to my desk to talk -- only to be accosted full-frontally with the timeless (no pun intended) raps of Flava Flav. Its not pretty.
Just yesterday, I was listening to '911 is a Joke' and the Prez walks up. Hears Flav say that, sees me sing along to it, and he just turned around and walked away. Hilarious. Railing against 911 is not exactly a value shared by my Bible Belt co-worker, apparently.
Later in the day I was jamming to Vanilla Ice's Ninja Rap. Go Ninja, Go Ninja, Go! And this same guy walks up and was impressed at the fact I had such a song on the iPod.
That actually happened, so shut up. What a great terrible song. I'm not joking, so stop laughing. I mean it.
Sunday night after I got back into town from KC, I stopped off at the ol' SuperTarget to pick up a few things. I grabbed a cart because I've made the mistake before of trying to carry everything, with disastrous results.
The cart I grabbed was one of those ones with the bum wheel. I half expected an aged wise knight to be standing there saying, "You have chosen poorly." like when whats-her-name choose the false grail in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. I chose false cart. Or something.
Anyway, this thing was Awesome Infinity. Possessing Infinite Awesomeness. I didn't have a decibel meter handy -- I'd left my travel size meter in The Colorado, in an unfortunate oversight -- but I'd bet a bridge I don't even own that the cart was 80, 90 decibels. This thing was LOUD. So loud that even spelling the word LOUD to describe it, I have to CAPITALIZE it just to attempt in vain to convey some semblance of the majestic loudness of that cart.
At Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City before the Twins/Royals game on Sunday. This photo cracks me up, it looks so phony, like I drove all the way to Kansas City and forgot my camera, but I needed a photo to use on the site so I took a stock photo of the stadium and Photoshopped my photo in on top of it. When in reality, the concourse overhang was just shadowing me enough to make the lighting appear strange. This is what you get for asking an usher to take a photo with high-tech equipment, like a camera. You bet.
I like to plan my own schedule, rather than let someone else do it for me. I'm just an independant kind of guy. But I don't usually make plans until my feet hit the floor in the morning, and then whatever idea comes into my head, I run with. Like going to KC on a whim.
You f*n bet.
This morning, when I went to put on my pants which had just come out of the dryer -- hadn't even bothered to fold them or anything, that's such a waste of time -- it felt like the pocket was rolled up inside the back of the them, which sometimes happens if the dryer had given it a good beating. So I stuck my hand in the back pocket and, so I thought, straightened it out. Good times.
Went about my business of getting ready for the day. Got downstairs into the garage and wheeled the garbage can out to the street. Sat down in The Colorado, and I stood up immediately because it felt as though I'd sat down on something. I examined the seat. Nothing there. Hmm. Must be stuck to the ass cheek of my pants. Felt the pants...(I interrupt this regularly scheduled reading of Polyfro with this important note. I'm really bad about leaving stuff in my pockets. I bet I've washed my wallet at least a half dozen times, and that's just the times I can remember -- and just with my current wallet, which is two years old. Its a running tragedy. It happens so much, I've stopped getting mad about it and just laugh it off that I'm "laundering money". You bet. Now back to your regularly scheduled reading of Polyfro already in progress.) and the flaming inferno was out of control! I quickly grabbed the jaws of life from under the back seat of The Colorado and tore the vehicle apart, saving the occupant from near certain death.
"When you get up in the morning and the light is hurt your head
The first thing you do when you get up out of bed
Is hit that streets a-runnin’ and try to beat the masses
And go get yourself some cheap sunglasses
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah"
-ZZ Top, "Cheap Sunglasses"
Last Friday, I accidentally left my sunglasses at a friend's house after a party. See, we'd been out on the deck, and it was still pretty early and therefore sunny when we started drinking from the keg on their deck. I set them down, and forgot to grab them when I left.
The next day, he was getting ready to drive around town with his wife, and having misplaced his own sunglasses, he put on mine.
His wife exclaimed, "Oh my god, you look like Max!"
On the way back to the office from my lunchtime slumbers -- taking a nap on my deck, back at my house -- I stopped off at the Hy-Vee Gas to get a 20. Continuing to overdo the "overcompensation macho man" theme of the week brought on by my voluntary watching of The Girl in the Cafe on Sunday night, I refused to buy a Diet Coke, lest I be seen as less macho for drinking a girly ass drink like that. No sir.
So I went with the Coke Zero. And I gotta tell ya.
Its so good when it hits your lips!!
Seriously! Its good stuff!
Yesterday, I was taking a break from working on a video project and watching some music videos on VH1 Classic, while eating a hot dog. A crappy video from Christopher Cross came on, so I started browsing the on-screen guide to see what I could be watching if I wasn't alternately hatin' on Cross while singing along to "Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do)". I got to HBO and saw a movie I'd never heard of, so I did what I always do -- click "INFO" do find out what it is.
Standard Sunday-afternoon fare, a romantic movie for the ladies to enjoy while guys watch sports or something else cool. But something caught my eye. The lead actress shared her name with someone I'd met a week before in Pittsburgh. I laughed out loud at the coincidence, and kept going through the guide until Cross was done singing and a cool video came on -- in this case, INXS.
But my mind kept wandering back to that movie on HBO. Never in my life had I come across a movie starring an actor/actress with the same name as a person I know. I mean, if there was ever a movie starring a dude named Max Univers, it could be the worst movie ever -- for instance, a Broadway Showtunes version of Michael Bay's Pearl Harbor -- and it would still be my favorite movie ever, purely because my name would be in the credits. So part of me wanted to watch a snippet of the movie, just to see what it was, if the actress was hot, etc. But I resisted the urge, and took a nap on the couch just as a Hall & Oates video came on.
As I was sitting down with a bowl of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese to watch Old School on the big screen in my basement at about 8pm Thursday night, it occurred to me that it was exactly one week ago that I was preparing to go on stage in Pittsburgh to make a complete ass of myself. And that absolutely blew my mind. One week ago already!
On the opening night of the AIGA Leadership Retreat, each chapter gets one minute to present something about the past year. In the years before I was on the board and went to the conference, the Nebraska board usually opted out, because everyone on the board was too shy to go on stage. Not me. My first conference, when I got to Austin TX and discovered that we got to go on stage but our president had opted out -- well, I was pissed. I vowed right then and there that we would have the funniest and best presentation the next year. Dammit.
.
