January 2007 Archives

I'm a huge fan of the old ESPN Classic -- the one that showed replays of old games all day, not the new one that shows boring original programs talking about how great the old games were. Why, you ask, would I want to watch old games when I already know who wins?

The biggest reason is that I'm fascinated by the graphics. I get a kick out of watching an old USFL game from a 1982 ESPN broadcast, especially for the early-CGI animation opening and bad music. I find this amusing. I also love any old NFL broadcast -- CBS' late-eighties and early-nineties CGI openings were hilarious in an "Inspired by Commdore 64" kind of way. And 70s Monday Night Football? I'm not old enough to remember these, but the clips I've seen make me come to the conclusion that they are the most dominant in the history of the genre. Problem is, the NFL doesn't allow re-airing of old telecasts, so you never see them.

The NBA has no such rule, and their old games are on all the time, both on NBATV and ESPN Classic. I love watching old NBA on NBC games, because I miss John Tesh's "Roundball Rock" (better known as the "NBA on NBC Theme", and the dramatic voice-over guy. "THIS is the NBA...on NBC!"

Like most people, I've got a "list" of bands and/or artists I would pay any price under the sun to see live. John Mayer is most decidedly NOT on this list, but in no particular order, here is the people who ARE on the list:

1) Van Halen with David Lee Roth

2) Led Zeppelin

3) Guns N Roses (the Axl, Slash, Izzy version)

4) The Police

And you can add Hendrix to that list if someday they find that he's been frozen for decades and has come back to life.

Anyway, you can see my quandary here. Two of the four bands on my list are indeed getting back together and touring this summer. My buddy Dick Herculanuum has already mentioned that Van Halen is one of the bands he would actually pay exorbitant amounts to see, so that makes two of us. Personally, I'm willing to pony up in excess of $200 to see this show. Seriously. I'll eat Mac N Cheese so many days in a row that my skin turns yellow just to afford to go to a VH show. That's the sort of sacrifice I'm willing to make.

I was watching an old episode of My Name Is Earl on Thursday, the one that shows Randy's many breakups over the years, and the resulting sing-along to "Time After Time" that is his mourning process. To keep from laughing hysterically, I tried to think about other things. Time seemed like as good a subject as anything. Ah yea, time.

Its been six months since I traded in the bitchin' awesomeness of The Colorado for the practicality of the civic coupe. Six months! That's absurd! I really don't know where time goes anymore. Hell, its been six weeks since we went to the Rocky Balboa premiere and that seems like it was yesterday.

Its been five months since we saw Joan Jett and the Blackhearts in Des Moines. Its been three months since our buddy Cliff got married. Its been 3-1/2 months since I became an uncle. Its been seven months since my calves doubled in size in just five days from walking up and down the hills of San Francisco. Its been 8 months since Vosstag. And its been 19 months since I've tasted an Iron City beer, and by connection, 19 months since I've enjoyed a Primanti Bros. sandwich. That's too long. I can still taste the meat, fries, and slaw on a bun awesomeness, though.

You remember Vosstag, don't you? Five months of planning, scheming, and secretive behind-the-scenes stuff led up to the big moment when we "kidnapped" Cliff Glypha from his office for a four-day, two-state surprise bachelor party. Well, it was a surprise to him, anyway. Everyone from his co-workers to his fiance knew about it before he did. To Des Moines, then to Minneapolis, five guys in The Colorado. That was good times. And unbelievably, it was 8 months ago already.

Here's the first 50 seconds of Vosstag, captured on video and preserved on YouTube for posterity. That's me behind the wheel. And that's the Theme From S.W.A.T. playing over the truck speakers. Listen and watch for Cliff have not one but two moments of complete and utter despair inside of 20 seconds! Hear him make the catch phrases "F&$% a duck!" and "I'm not giving up this project!" popular!

Nice. You bet.

Saturday, as you probably heard, Creighton lost to their heated rival Southern Illinois 58-57. As usual, my thoughts on the game are over at the Polyfro Basketball Blog.

I should have known what sort of night it would be when we came out of the Qwest Center to find a parking ticket on the windshield. When you have had season tickets for a long time, like I have, you learn things about an arena. For instance, you learn which parking lots give you the quickest exit. I've been to the Qwest Center over 60 times in just over 3 years, and what I've found is the parking lots south of the arena are best.

If you park in the Qwest lots west or north of the arena, not only is it $6, the parking attendants are so slow that it takes you 10-15 minutes to get into the lot. After the game? Yeah, there's a reason so many people leave games early.

But in between the Qwest and the Holland Center, there are three privately owned lots that are $5, and you get in and out quickly. Actually, after the game, you can go pretty much avoid game traffic entirely. Plus, you're close to the southwest entrance of the arena, which is where my seats are anyway.

Holy schneikees, that is cold. Among other high-tech gadgets in my car such as the touch screen navigation system, XM satellite radio, and Digital Maintenance Readout (which routinely checks everything from chemical makeup of the oil to tire pressure -- my oil life is currently sitting at 80%, incidentally), an outside temperature gauge is featured.

When I pull out of my garage in the morning, the temperature gauge reads as it always does, somewhere between 40-55 degrees. Then it quickly raises or drops as it adjusts to the actual temp. This week's subzero temps have caused it to go berserk.

-10 degrees! That's what it actually read last night about 11:30 pm when I was leaving the bar. You know, honestly, it was cold enough without the knowledge of exactly HOW cold it was. Somehow, knowing its -10 below makes it feel much colder.

Have you seen those supremely annoying promo spots for David Spade's new show on CBS? Seriously, they must have pimped it once an hour during football this weekend, if not more often. The best was when Greg Gumbel commented during the game to Dan Dierdorf, "That show has Puddy in it." Dierdorf responded, "Is that a person? Who is Puddy?" Gumbel tried to explain its a character from Seinfeld, and the actor who played Puddy is also in this new show, but Dierdorf is too engrossed in the gridiron to know such pop culture trivia.

This show debuts the first week of February, and will be canceled by the first week of March (or at least be on hiatus), but there is one or two good lines in the promos -- there always are. The setup for the show is David Spade is a single guy who has one married friend and one newly engaged friend.

Puddy says to David Spade, "Marriage is about compromise. For instance, my wife wanted a cat. But I hate cats. So we compromised and got a cat." Spade responds, smarmy as ever, "Yeah. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to leave and go do...whatever I want, all of the time."

On a related note, Friday night, after spending a couple three hours in the smoke-infested environs of the Fox & Hound bar at a retirement party for a co-worker, I was off to a party to watch Creighton take on UNI. This promised to be amusing because the party was split almost 50/50 between CU and UNI grads. Godfather's Pizza, beer, and 9 people watching a basketball game. Good times.

Dick Herculanuum, The Mighty Thor, and Max Univers

I had no idea who Thor was six months ago. Then my buddy Dick Herculanuum coerced me into going to Thor In Concert in September, and I knew who Thor was.

Hell, it was so over-the-top, so awful-in-an-awesome-way, that I shot several video clips of the show, and then threw them up on YouTube for my friends to enjoy (because, frankly, they thought we were nuts for not only going to the show, but for talking so glowingly about it afterward, so perhaps seeing video of the show could persuade them).

It didn't really, but it did gain me a bit of a following among the Thor Fanboy Community. 

It started, as these things generally do, rather innocuously. A single email from a fan trickled in, then another, then another. One guy emailed me four times in a single day. Comments on the YouTube videos were close behind, and I got emails notifying me of those too.

The universal question from almost all of them: did I have the entire show on video, and would I be willing to sell them a copy? I didn't have the heart to tell them I only shot 45 second clips, and only that because still photos weren't doing the experience justice.

It gets better: the photo of Dick, Thor and myself is one of the highest-trafficked images on this site. Who knew Thor had such a loyal, rabid fanbase? Frankly, I'm thrilled, because it makes it easier to digest the fact that I enjoyed what should have been a terrible show. His showmanship, his willingness to go so far over the top that you forget he passed the peak four songs ago, and surrounding himself with supremely talented musicians make up for, what are in all honesty, pretty run-of-the-mill metal songs.

Devastation of Musculation. How can you not root for a guy with that for a catch phrase? I mean, you have to. Rock on, Thor.

You bet.

This note was in my inbox not 15 minutes after Monday night's ridiculous thrashing in which heavy underdog Florida beat Ohio State 41-14:

Dude. If it wasn't bad enough that Florida's win meant I go from winning the pool and a really, really ridiculously big purse down to third place and a really, really ridiculously small purse, now I also have to shovel snow and buy lunch for that S.O.B. from Ohio. Not cool.

I was THIS close to getting a Nintendo Wii. I mean, my PS2 is now a previous-gen system, so I need something new. And the prospect of playing classic games like Super Tecmo Bowl without the cartridge hassles of the NES was very tempting. But before I plunk down $300 on a system, I wanted to know a little more about it.

So I asked some friends who've forgotten way more about video games than I ever knew what their opinion on the Wii is. They recommended the system itself, but what I was really curious about was whether Super Tecmo Bowl would be available for download. And what they told me was like a sharp knife stabbed into my heart.

Tecmo Super Bowl will not now, or ever, be available on the Wii. The reason? Last year, the NFL signed an exclusive video game licensing agreement with EA Sports. The contract gives EA exclusive licensing rights for producing and selling NFL games, mainly Madden, for 7 years. Apparently EA persued such an agreement after being undercut on prices by competitors last year (989 and Sega both offered NFL games for $20, less than half of Madden). This is why all competitors have disappeared this year.

It also means Tecmo can not produce a licensed NFL product, like Super Tecmo Bowl. Oh, they could release one with generic teams and players, but who wants that?

Now, apparently Nintendo is trying feverishly to find a loophole to allow the download of STB, undoubtedly because they know there's at least a half-dozen people like me who will refuse to buy a system with no Super Tecmo Bowl available.

No Super Tecmo Bowl, No Wii. Simple as that.

You bet.

(Now, if there's a hacker out there among my Millions of readers who knows how to play ROMs on the Wii -- that is, loading your own game files instead of having to download them -- we may have something here. Otherwise, no dice.)

Thursday night I had the potentially terrifying, likely horrible, yet distinct privilege of meeting an ex-girlfriend from 10 years ago for dinner. In town from Portland on business, she looked me up and got in touch. Lord knows why.

In years gone by, you could go to a strange town, find a phone book, and instantly find contact information -- address and phone number -- for pretty much anybody, provided they didn't ask to be unlisted. There was a certain old-school coolness about that, you know? I remember the time when I was in college and my Great Aunt and Uncle were in Omaha, looked me up and called me to meet them for dinner, and it was flattering they thought to do so. You couldn't do that anymore.

Because many people, myself included, no longer have land phones, and therefore aren't listed in phone books. I haven't had a land phone for almost 5 years. So where once upon a time, a long-lost acquaintance who happened to pass through town could spontaneously look you up, nowadays it takes some premeditated digging and sleuthing. What once was spontaneous is now stalkerish.

When you get a call like that now, its no longer a "hey, how about that?" moment, but a "wow, that's messed up" moment.

Bono is this generation's Neil Diamond. Think about it.

Master showman, every song sounds exactly the same, the proportion of female to male fans skews slightly female, need I go on?

I must admit though, this line was not my idea. When Dick Herculanuum sent me a link to an article that off-hand mentions this comparison, my first thought was, "That's harsh." My second thought was, "Cliff Glypha is going to flip out all the time like a ninja when he hears this."

All of which made who originated the line even better: None other than Cliff's design crush, one Debbie Millman, host of the Design Matters radio program and principal of Sterling Brands in NYC.

From her blog:

I used to really like U2, and part of me still wants to, but Bono is just too ridiculous to take seriously anymore -- and he makes their music utterly unlistenable. I even find myself turning the XM to another channel whenever a U2 song comes on anymore. Since Cliff is a HUGE U2 fan, hearing his design idol say his rock idol is this generations King Of Cheese has to sting.

I haven't spent New Years Eve at home in a long time. Since the millennium, actually -- and even that wasn't technically at home. I was deathly sick, with perhaps the worst virus in the history of my life. Vertigo, diarrhea, stomach cramps, sweaty kneecaps, and perhaps worst of all, a strange desire to watch Peter Jennings introduce Billy Joel on ABC's Millennium Special as "perhaps America's greatest performer of the last century". Your basic run-of-the-mill nasty-ass virus.

This year, I had planned on going down to the Old Market area of Omaha for a two-kegger in a loft apartment. Good times. Then the ice and the snow came.

Now, weather doesn't usually stop me from doing anything. That millennium New Years when I was incapacitated? I woke up the next day groggy, perhaps 60% with-it, and mustered together the strength and the courage to drive hundreds of miles up I-35 in a blizzard to get to a Vikings game in Minneapolis.

I'm serious. Earlier that semester, a buddy of mine told me at the bar that he had two tickets for the Vikings-Lions game on New Years Day, but since he had no car, he had no way to get there. If I'd drive us both there, I could have one of the tickets free of charge. I said YES immediately.

Trick was, he lived in Des Moines, 90 miles south of Fort Dodge. So I woke up still not totally healthy, drove 90 miles which took 2-1/2 hours south to Des Moines, and then drove the 246 miles to Minneapolis. Usually you can do that in just over 4 hours -- but when there's 16 inches of snow on the ground already, and more still falling heavily, it takes a bit longer. Almost 7 hours, to be precise.