August 2006 Archives

Both statements are false. Who said which? Read on.

Tuesday night, I was in Lincoln at the Nebraska State Fair, where we attended the Pat Benatar concert -- once again putting on the line the notion that free entertainment is always a good time. Foreigner, Styx, REO Speedwagon, and Joan Jett did not disappoint at previous shows. Benatar nearly did before saving face with an epic three-song finale: Heartbreaker, Promises In The Dark, and Love is a Battlefield.

She'd very nearly lost me when she introduced "Invincable" as being a song from "the worst movie ever made". When she said that, Dick asked me what movie she was talking about. I drew a blank, assuming it was some obscure '80s flick. A Google search turned up just one movie that features that song. The Legend Of Billie Jean. Starring not one but two Slaters: Helen and Christian!

(Maybe she did lose me: initially I remembered the "worst movie" introduction as taking place before she played "We Belong". And which movie is that featured in? Talladega Nights. Not the worst movie ever, not by far. But that's what I wrote. When Donovan corrected me, I changed this post to reflect my mistake. I don't lie to my readers.)

The night had started in the parking lot, where we tailgated out of the trunk of the Mach V. Bud Light, outdoors in 70 degree weather, tailgating in a parking lot...how does it get any better than that? It doesn't.

Last Sunday, Dick and I went to Des Moines for the Iowa State Fair. It was the last day of the fair, or "Extreme Sunday" as they call it. And, take it from me, it was an EXXXTREEEME Fair Experience. (Oh, right. Post-BIPTO Era, I don't get to yell that anymore. Sorry.)

So "Extreme Sunday" at the fair means three things. One, gate admission is half price. Two, lots of food is on special so they can sell it out. And three, lots of EXXX, oop sorry, extreme entertainment is available. Entertainment like CannonLady, who shoots herself at 35MPH out of a cannon custom-mounted onto a pickup truck into a net some 200 feet away. Entertainment like Raven (you know her from Disney, or for people my age, from the Cosby Show), although we did not attend this show. And mostly, entertainment like Joan Jett and The Blackhearts. We most definitely attended this show.

The Iowa State Fair is known world-wide as one of the best fairs anywhere -- every year, in excess of 1 million people come through the turnstiles. Once inside, everyone pretty much does the same thing: eat food, walk around burning said food off, rinse, repeat. I've only missed the fair 4 times in my 28 years. When I was a little guy, my grandpa used to work the fair at his company's booth. He sold grain bins, and would spend the entire 10 days answering questions in front of prototype grain bins out in the ag section of the fair. I'd hang out, and the best part was when you're a cute little kid with flirty eyes AND your grampa works at the fair, you get to ride around on a golf cart. Imagine being three years old, riding around amidst 100,000 people on a golf cart. You're pretty sure that the world is your oyster, even though you have no idea what an oyster is, and have only vague notions of why you'd covet one so.

Thursday night, Dick and I made the 52-minute trek to Lincoln for Third Thursday. Yes, 52 minutes -- the GPS navigation system in the Mach V told me so.

(Mach because its badass fast, V because the "V" in the new Civic logo is the biggest letterform. Maybe? I'm trying it out. Not saying it will end up as the name.)

This being the first real road trip in the Mach V, 1000 miles into its life, I was excited. We programmed the navigation system to guide us, took off about 5:15 and were into Lincoln just after 6. When we got there, we discovered $82 of the $100 sponsored money was already gone -- damn you, expensive hotel bar! Dick's Guiness cost him $7.50; my Bud Light was $6. Good lord, those are San Francisco prices without the San Francisco ambience.

So after an hour of sitting around with the likes of Nielsen, Sockrider and others, we made the executive decision to move TT to a cheaper bar. Namely, Yia Yia's, where pizza is cheap and beer is even cheaper. $2 Old Style tall boys -- 16 oz! -- in commenorative Chicago Cubs jersey cans. "The Cubs jersey is not just a uniform. Its an honor we're proud to share during this 2006 season." Ahem, this 2006 last place season. They forgot that part.

When I went with the pepperoni/hamburger slice of pizza, I was roundly ridiculed -- Dick manned up and ordered potato and corn pizza. Which sounds disgusting, looks edible, and probably tastes better than expected. But I enjoyed my hamburger and pepperoni just the same.

Late in the evening, we convinced Nielsen to go see the free Pat Benatar show at the Nebraska fair in a couple weeks, even though we're pretty sure he has no idea who Pat Benatar is -- just that the chance to get cheap beer at a free outdoor concert sounds like a good time so why not? So at least there will be one guy from that office at the show...which is nice.

At the end of the evening, it was time to program the navigation system, which turned into quite a battle. Dick tried for several minutes to program it to find Omaha. I tried for several more, at one point exclaiming "Dammit, we've made the drive back and forth a million times without navigation!" But still, having the computer lady tell you when to turn is pretty cool. So we persisted. Eventually we got it figured out, and navigation lady ("Navi") guided us out of Lincoln and into Omaha.

You bet.

Motherfuckin' Snakes on a Motherfuckin' Plane! Damn!

Wednesday night after we got back from a delicious feast at Godfather's, Gilby played for us a message left on his phone. A personalized voice mail from Samuel L. Jackson imploring him to go see Snakes on a Plane. Brilliant.

We immediately jumped online and found the website it had been sent from -- the official movie site, as it turns out -- and spent the next half-hour sending personalized messages out to everyone we thought would dig it. Dick sent one to his brother. I sent one to my brother (telling him to stop picking the lint out of his navel), and another to Continental (to stop showing off his prison tattoos). When I got home I sent out several more to other people that I knew would appreciate it. Some people just wouldn't get it. To me, a personalized (if computer generated) voice mail from The Man would be DOMINANT. Not everyone shares my opinion, and I respect that. Nice of me, isn't it? You bet.

You got to hand it to them, really. This is very likely the worst movie ever made, and yet with the kind of brilliant marketing they're masterfully orchestrating, it will be a blockbuster. Only in America.

So how about those new Vikings uni's, eh?

Ugliest. Damn. Things. Ever.

Call me old, call me a traditionalist, but I like the old-time uniform style. The Raiders, the Cowboys, the Browns, the (shudder) Packers. The rocket ship stripe infested logo ridden monstrosities that Denver, New England, and especially Arizona now wear are terrible. That Minnesota has now joined the latter group very nearly makes me homicidal.

My brother and I were watching the first preseason game on Monday night, and the entire night we kept making fun of those ridiculous looking uniforms. And we're fans of the team. Imagine what other people think.

My biggest problem with them -- not that there aren't several design problems with them, this is just the biggest -- is the thick white stripe down the side of the jersey, extending from the armpit down to the tail. Its weird looking on skill-position guys in shape; its utterly atrocious on fat out-of-shape linemen. It streches and becomes nearly 1/3 of the shirt on the "big uglies", as Lee Corso would call them, who at least now have a jersey worthy of that name, I suppose.

Sure, the circular stripes are absurd, the "Vikings" script under the neckline is questionable, the redesigned horn on the helmets (don't get me started) is a "why?", the presence of the Nordic Man on the back of the jerseys is unforgiveable -- this is all bad stuff. But surprisingly, none of it is as bad as those wide stripes on the sides. That's how bad they are.

I'm almost hoping they go 1-15 this year so they'll get rid of these things forever. I'm very nearly dead serious. You know I am.

You bet.

I remember when I was growing up and in school, I HATED pencils. That's a high-maintenance writing utensil, isn't it? If its the #2 variety, its constantly needing sharpening, and if its the Mechanical variety, the lead is always breaking or needing adjustment.

The pen is so much more authoritative. When you write something in pen, you're saying "I will never have to erase this -- for it is good and correct and I am wise! Ha ha ha!" When you write something in pencil, you're reserving the right to erase all or part of it at a later point in time, should new information surface that changes your answer.

That's not me. I do not think, I do not change, I do not look back with regret. I'm a pen guy.

Up until the point that I graduated from high school, I looked at teachers with some degree of jealousy. Teachers and their fancy pens, while I'm sitting here with this stupid, silly pencil. Someday, I'll be the authority, I'll be the king, I'll be the one singing Van Morrison's "Domino" and writing what small pieces of the lyrics I actually know down on paper -- and in pen! Yeah ha! You bet.

The Omaha City Prosecutor's office worked a two-hour shift on Friday (10-11, 1-2) due to staff shortages, and thus they were closed when I got there to get my registration ticket dismissed. This left me with the afternoon off and business I couldn't attend to. Now I have to spend Monday's lunchhour driving all the way downtown to get it taken care of. Omaha City Prosecutor, You're On Notice!

Grizzly Adams, your beard has inspired many jokes over the years, but I'm tired of getting called "Grizzly Adams" every time I don't shave for a day. Grizzly Adams, You're On Notice!

Grizzly Bears are not as adorable as Panda Bears. Plus they share a first name with Grizzly Adams, who I am already clearly on the record as putting on notice. Therefore, Grizzly Bears, You're On Notice!

The Chicago White Sox continue to torment the Twins. After taking a .5 game lead in the Wild Card standings, the Twins are 2-1/2 back four days later, trailing the Sox, who come to the Dome this weekend. Chicago White Sox, You're On Notice!

Glenn Frey, The H is O. Even though you recorded Smuggler's Blues, one of my top-five favorite songs, you once made out (well, Will Ferrell playing you) with Jimmy Fallon after just three lines. Glenn Frey, You're On Notice!

Kung Fu the NES video game kicked my ass in 52" High Definition yesterday. I took a repeated beating by the final boss until I could take no more. Kung Fu, You're On Notice!

The Transformers Movie. I'm already on record as stating this will be the worst movie in the history of anything. Transformers Movie, You're On Notice!

The Diff'rent Strokes Movie. Did you know NBC is filming a Diff'rent Strokes movie, with Todd Bridges and Gary Coleman in cameo roles? Its true, its sad, and its making my brain hemorrhage all over my desk. Diff'rent Strokes Movie, You're On Notice!

You bet.

Reading about the screwed up status of immigration in America is one thing; you're somewhat detached from the whole thing when its just an article in a newspaper or in a magazine. But I've recently acquired a more acute appreciation for the mess of laws and regulations regarding foreigners, and how when you play by the rules, the wrong people get to stay while others are sent home.

I met her at volleyball a couple of weeks back, and we've been out a few times since. A native of Columbia, she's been in the US on a student visa for almost 7 years. Fluent in two languages and learning a third, I've scarcely met a person with such a fascinating knowledge of global politics and issues. After earning an engineering degree, she will earn her MBA in December. This, unfortunately, means she will be forced to return as soon as she is no longer a student, and gaining permanent visas from Columbia is difficult if not impossible.

That is my luck, though, isn't it? Except for the whole "pink polo shirt" episode, a shirt I'm wearing right now, I might add, she's great. An absolutely charming girl, but as she's told me several times, each time more sad than the last, global politics prevent us from being anything other than friends. I mean, there's as much chance nothing long-term would happen as there is anything else more Awesome, but to never even have to opportunity to know, that's just weak.

You know what stinks even more than that, though? People who want to work, who want to contribute to society, get sent home while people who do nothing but sit on their ass all day get to hang out and sometimes even get paid to do it. That's just really, really stupid.

Anyway, I'll get off my soapbox now. No one comes here to read about politics.

You bet.

Every month, our Safety guy sends out his monthly memo, which always includes a trivia question at the bottom. I usually don't answer the questions, because they're not all that challenging. But this one was different.

Who is Jervis Tetch? (it was actually spelled "Tesch" on the memo, but that's a minor quibble)

Gah, I should know that name, I said to myself. For some reason I was pretty sure it was a cartoon character, or a comic book, or something along those lines. I could have gone to Wikipedia and found out, but I knew it would come to me. And that moment of revelation when you finally remember something like that is so fantastic, its worth not looking it up on the Internet.

Friday, I spent my lunchhour at the courthouse; as you'll recall, I had been charged with "No Proof Of Insurance" and "Ficticious Plates".

Based on what I had heard from my buddy Chop about his experience with the No Proof of Insurance charge, I was slightly curious what would happen. He said that when he went to the courthouse, he had to sit in this room on church pews alongside "actual criminals!", waiting for his time to appear. A clerk eventually called out his name, he appeared in front of the judge, and was given the same fine as the previous defendant, who was charged with various and sundry drug offenses.

When I went to the courthouse, I found a much different scenario. I walked into the City Prosecutor's Office, which is a wall with three windows, a clerk behind each one, in an office on the west side of the main floor. I showed my ticket, and my proof that I was insured at the time of the citation. The lady behind the counter could not have been nicer; we chatted at some length about my new car and how it gets such better gas mileage than The Colorado. She looked at my insurance card, and dismissed the charge -- initialling my ticket, running a hole punch through it to invalidate it, and writing up a note for their records indicating it had been dismissed.

Here's how my week has gone: on Wednesday, having finally received my new Insurance cards, I spent my lunchhour waiting in line at the DMV to get my registration, and pay my $2000+ in sales tax on my as-yet-unnamed Civic. After waiting twenty minutes in line, I was told that the dealership had not yet submitted the proper paperwork to apply for a title. No title, no registration. Nice. A call to the dealer informed me that it had just been sent on Monday, and should be processed by early next week.

So that's one wasted lunchhour. Thursday, I drove all the way downtown to the Douglas County Courthouse to get the Omaha City Prosecutor to dismiss the charges of "No Proof of Insurance" against me. But when I got there, not only did I not have enough change for the meter, thus running the very real risk of a parking ticket, I forgot to remove the pocket knife from my pants and set off the alarms and by extension, the dogs, at the security checkpoint. Finally making it through, sans pocket knife (which was confiscated), I discovered the Prosecutor took an early lunch. That's super. Super duper!

I decided to try the DMV again, on the odd chance the title had come through, so this wouldn't be a total wasted trip. The paperwork had not come yet. But they did inform me that Superior Honda had forgotten to sign the Sales Tax form, so even if the title was cleared, I wouldn't have been able to register. That means another lunchhour trip next week. Fabtabular.

I left the courthouse and saw a parking cop near my vehicle. I sprinted the two blocks in quite dramatic fashion, not unlike one of the purported superheroes on the ridiculous "Who Wants To Be A Superhero?" show, and got to my car just as he was about to examine the meter. I laughed manaically, jumped in, and drove off before he could write a ticket. Squealed my tires as I accelerated away, for dramatic effect.

Still though, that's two lunchhours where I could have taken a 45 minute nap and been more productive. Hell, I could have stuck a banana up the tailpipe of my car, attempted to drive, stalled and gone nowhere, and still been more productive than driving all over town in a failed attempt to A) give the county $2300 and B) get my no insurance claim dismissed.

As one guy at the office told me, you'd think they'd be happy to take your $2300 check, and not be so hung up on paperwork technicalities. That's government for you though. Long lunchhours, more red tape than the 3M factory, and some of the friendliest people around. You bet.

Tuesday night, the heat -- and the prospects of sure defeat -- kept our volleyball opponents from showing up. 104 degree heat is extreme. But you should still show up.

After we got warmed up, I had a good lather going already. When it became clear the team wasn't showing, we sent someone inside to claim our "forfeit" prize: a $25 gift card. I still wanted to play. So did one other guy. No one else from our team did, even though we had enough to go 4-on-4. So the two of us decided to go at it, one on one, mano a mano.

One on one volleyball is tough, man. Not a lot of volleys in that competition, just lots of running, diving, serving. And sweating. Lots of sweating.

Put it this way: Jordan vs Bird, NBA One on One was a great Nintendo game, because one on one basketball is fun. One on One Sand Volleyball will never be a Nintendo game, because it sucks. Hell, it shouldn't even be attempted in real life. But there we were.

Early in the game, I chased after a ball out of bounds, only to come smack against a picnic table. Jumping onto and subsequently over said table, I landed on the other side, ball in hand, face in the sand. The sweatyness of my face was like Elmer's Glue to that sand, and it was stuck everywhere. Awesome. I looked like a bad Halloween costume version of George Michael, sand on my face substituting for his permanent five-oclock shadow.