May 2007 Archives

Ordinarily, playing sand volleyball during the rain against a team with several people you know would be fun. But our team had one of those where everyone had their worst night at the same time -- we were Yankee-esque in our futility. (How's last place treatin' ya, Yankees? What are ya, 15 games out? You bet.)

One of the girls didn't want to be there and complained incessantly about the rain. The other two guys just had one of those bad nights that we all have from time to time. Me, I was actually playing really well...until.

Midway through the first game, someone in the front row set the ball in the air, only it went to the back row. A person in the back row set it in the air, but it went right above her head. It was that kinda night. But me, never giving up on a ball or a potential point, charged like a linebacker for the ball and dove head-first, swinging wildly and hoping to hit the ball high enough in the direction of the net to give it a chance of making it over. The net was directly behind me, making the degree of difficulty somewhere around a 7.8 out of 10. But I got there, and I hit the ball. Not over the net, but I hit the ball.

I'm a big fan of animal crackers. Surprising, I know. A ziploc bag of between 31 and 35 crackers has been my breakfast for a long time. They're low fat, low calorie, and they give me the energy I need to sit at a desk all morning and be creative. No, seriously, I swear by these things.

If it wasn't for animal crackers, I would probably never shop at Wal-Mart. The home of low prices always sells a two-pound bag of animal crackers for $1.34, which is almost three weeks' breakfasts. Eight cents a day. You bet. Super Target sells only one brand of animal crackers -- the name brand Nabisco ones branded with the circus -- and they're nearly three bucks for one pound. For something I eat so regularly, I can't afford NOT to get them at Wal-Mart.

Come on, Archer Farms, make a generic brand of animal crackers! Please?

Anyway, because I refuse to spend any more money at Wal-Mart than I have to, I usually get the big two-pound bag of animal crackers and nothing else. And with the self-checkout lanes, I can be in and out of the store in under five minutes. Theoretically.

One of the great joys of my life when I was about 11 years old was Mad-Libs. I got a perverse pleasure out of plugging inappropriate words into the blanks and then reading the resulting literary melange out loud to anyone within an earshot. Sad, isn't it?

While my fascination with Mad-Libs waned around the time I was old enough to know better -- say, when I was 14 -- from time to time I get a kick out of auto-text-generators on the internets that use technology inspired by the decidedly low-tech Mad-Libs. For instance, I've been obsessed lately with something called the "Band Bio Generator". Plug in the band's name, title of a hit song, and few other details, and it writes up a fake bio for your fake band.

As the site says, "You could use info from a real band, but its a whole lot more fun to simply make stuff up." You bet it is. I love coming up with band names. I've even helped a local producer whose day job is at my office to name two real actual bands. But that's not important here. On to the fake bios!

For example, years ago I was in an (fake) alternative rock band named "International Grape". Always loved that name, incidentally. Our bio, as it might read in the iTunes Music Store, were we an actual band:

Originally formed in suburban Omaha, International Grape broke into the indie rock scene in 2000 with their debut album, Frumpty Maze. The band's latest album, Malicious of the Previous, merges Max Univers's unapologetic lyrics with shoe-gazing Brit-Pop to generate a bevy of chart-topping creations. With standout tracks like "Lamp," already certified platinum in Europe, International Grape can count on loads of future success.

That sounds like a good band, actually...but what about Max's new band, "Robo Plumber"?

After polishing their musical chops for years in the smokey bars of Omaha as the front man for International Grape, Max Univers' side project Robo Plumber soared to the top of the rock scene in 2004 with their debut album, Doubting Fear of the Guilty Rooster. The band's latest album, Faithful Burrito Delirium Juice, joins together Max Univers's dynamic lyrics with soaring power chords to churn out a record full of heart-pounding post-punk. With standout tracks like "Velcro Revolution," don't be surprised if you find Robo Plumber at the top of the rock charts and beyond.

Because I just can't stop, one more. This time, lets see the bio for Max Univers' folk trio.

After playing shows in the many art houses of Omaha, Flannel Engine rose to the top of the folk scene in 2006 with their debut album, Resentful Solstice. The band's latest album, Eating Saturn, mixes Max Univers's muted lyrics with rustic string section to evoke simply beautiful compositions. With standout tracks like "Happy Salad," already certified platinum in Europe, Flannel Engine can count on loads of future success.

Now, you tell me why there wasn't a Seattle grunge band named Flannel Engine. Or an industrial-rock band named Robo Plumber. Either of those Max-invented names would be dominant. Feel free to use them if you're in need of a sweet name for an actual band.

You bet.

You know that song "Cupid's Chokehold" by Gym Class Heroes? "Da da da da! Da da da da!"...that one. Right. Freaking terrible song, but if you have the misfortune of hearing it, the repetitiveness gets stuck in your head like peanut butter in braces. Which brings me to Wednesday. I'm in Subway for lunch, and at this particular Subway they have flat screen plasmas and music...its really a high-class operation. Still not as good as Jimmy Johns but I digress.

Anyway, we sit down to enjoy our subs, and Cupid's Chokehold is on the in-restaurant sound system. Annoying, right? It gets better: Fox News was on the plasma by our table. Not sure what was worse, "Da da da da!" or Fox News. There are no winners there, really.

The song gets almost to the end and it began skipping. Then the most horrifying thing you can possibly imagine happened -- it repeated. "Da da da da!" And again. And again. Five times this song repeated itself. That's a full 25 minutes of "Da da da da!", which if its not an admissible defense for homicide, should be.

I've never been a huge raving fan of Chinese food. I'll eat it if that's where the group is going -- like in San Francisco where I ordered a plate of dung with a side of crap -- but overall, the experience usually leaves me still hungry. The only thing I like is the fortune cookies. Man, I could eat those all day.

Take Monday for example. At a meeting that night, there was a bowl of fortune cookies in the middle of the table -- left over from a previous meeting where chinese food had been ordered in -- and I was encouraged to take the entire batch with me to get them out of the conference room. So I obliged.

Wednesday, I discovered that these cookies were still stashed in my glove box, so I opened one up in the car on my way back into the office. The fortune on the inside was most peculiar.

That's just weird. I don't even know what it means. Usually, fortune cookies' wisdom is fairly nebulous but that's like...a galactic supernova of ignorance. I don't get it.

You bet.

***

Deodorant advertisements, for whatever reason, seem to me to be some of the most directly targeted ads to one gender or the other. Maybe I'm just exaggerating, but I don't think I am. Seriously, if you're watching soap operas, Lifetime or any Queen Latifah movie on cable, the chances of seeing "Secret" ads are about 100%. Similarly, if you're watching sports, SpikeTV or any Bruce Campbell movie, the chances of seeing "Right Guard" ads are right around, well, 100%.

Not even beer, flowers or puppies are targeted this directly. If you watch programming that gets a more 50/50 audience, something like "30 Rock" or "The Office", you won't see deodorant ads. Why? Because you can better spend your money on something where half the audience would never buy your product -- or your competitors' for that matter.

Now, I'm in the latter group -- a guy with upwards of 85% of my TV viewing in a given week safely in the "guy programming" niche. So I see a lot of these deodorant ads, and most of them are forgettable. They're like nipples on a chicken...utterly worthless.

I'm at a bit of a loss, here.

When I moved to Omaha a decade ago, I came to Creighton and Omaha specifically because I didn't know anyone at the school or in the city. It was a fresh start. The first six years I was here, I made a lot of friends, got a great job that I love. Then four years ago, my brother and his new wife moved here, and I really enjoyed having them here. I never got the impression they wanted to stay here forever like I do; they like being close to home, whereas I prefer living a distance away. But I sure enjoyed the four years they were here, having forgotten over the previous six years what its like to have family in town.

--

Often times, you'll hear someone say, "We're like brothers". People who say that usually don't have an actual brother that they've been best friends with for their whole life. I do. Which is what makes it so tough to grasp the fact that he and his wife told me this weekend that they are moving away from Omaha.

Over the three years of this blog, there have been too many classic stories involving me and my brother to recount here. Just two weeks ago, we tackled the Blazin' Challenge and tried to eat Blazin' wings in record time. Even when I didn't write about them, those kind of moments and stories happened every week. Now that they're moving away, those moments will happen a lot less frequently.

---

A buddy of mine was recently in Chicago, and while he was down on Rush Street, he saw this billboard and sent me a quick text message about it (albeit with a really grainy cell phone photo, hence the usage of the AP photo below):

Maybe I'm out of line here, but I find this rather hilarious. Using sexily-clad models  alongside a ridiculous-to-the-point-of-awesome tagline ("Life's short. Get a divorce.") to "sell" divorce lawyer services? Nice.

Saturday, I woke up around noon. After my ritual 7-mile stationary bike ride-slash-PS2 marathon, I made myself a sandwich and opened up my email.

From Continental Frutiger: "What time is the party tonight? Is it BYOB?"

My response: "I'm operating under the assumption that it is BYOB. I will be there shortly after 9, and Dick Herculanuum will be there around the same time. Sadly, Glypha won't be there, as he is triple booked tonight."

Continental's quick-witted and nearly instantaneous reply: "Heroes, Taxi and painting his fingernails?"

Ouch. Hilarious though. See, I promised no more Taxi jokes -- and I've pretty much kept my word -- but Continental made no such bargain, fortunately (or unfortunately depending on your point of view).

What's cheaper...3 tacos or 1 beer? Answer: They're both $1.50! Its really too bad Glypha couldn't join us that night for cheap PBR and cheaper tacos. Gilby was there, Dick Herculanuum was there, the list goes on and on. Ah well. You have to admit that's a helluva impressive document of Act I of my birthday party, though.

Tomorrow, my summary of this weekend's loco Cinco De Mayo Extravaganza Fiesta! Featuring lots of liquor! Lego-like figurines of Einstein from Back to the Future! Beer pong! Flooded basements!

Plus... is it Gilby's yard, or Woodstock '94? You be the judge!

And much, much more! So stop back tomorrow for that.

You bet.

What the heck was going on Wednesday? On the way into the office, I was zooming along a good 10 miles per hour over the speed limit as usual, when I noticed a line of cars going slower than I deemed acceptable. So I quickly changed lanes to the right, possibly cutting someone off in the process (its hard to tell when you're driving that quick).

I wasn't in that lane for more than a block before the cars in front of me came to a screeching halt. Cherries flashing, cars in a wreak, brilliant. Put the blinker on, move back into the left lane where I had been before, giving a wave to the car that let me in -- the same one I'd possibly cut off just moments before. The cop who had been handling the accident was finished, and he followed me into the lane. Half a block later, the cars in front of me came to a screeching halt. Another wreak!

Cherries flashing, cars in a wreak, more brilliant than before. Same cop gets to handle this one too. I flip the blinker on, moved BACK into the right lane, and drove another block. And once again, the cars in front of me came to a screeching halt. You have GOT to be kidding me!

Flip the signal, move back into the left lane. Its Omaha public works guys trimming trees. Nice, those trees were overgrown and needed to be trimmed. I get past the trucks, and quickly veer back to the right because the onramp to the interstate was fast approaching -- like 150 yards close. And about 85 yards down the road, screeching halt again. Now this is becoming ridiculous.

Nebraska DOT trucks fixing a pothole on the onramp. Needed to be done. Swerve around the trucks and...finally, 9000 lane changes later, free sailing on I-680. What the hell is going on?