Ted Was here

30

2012-01-16T00:02:00.001-06:00

It is an odd number in the life of the human. For many in my family it would mark the halfway point in their lives. But today I realize that I don’t “feel” thirty. In many ways I feel much older. My body is wracked by the pains of youthful athletic pursuits. Yet, in other ways I don’t feel any older than I was 10 years ago.

My mind is still growing and my hopes and dreams remain unchanged, if not more deeply understood. The mind continues to grow which betrays the concept of aging and death; the growth not towards an end but away from childish ignorance. This leads me to believe that 30 is not something to be felt but rather something that is, clouded by the variety of feelings the conscience can experience. Much like the death of fall being clouded over by the wash of vibrant colors or in the way the cool autumn breeze only makes the sun’s rays feel that much the warmer.

As much as age seems to wear on our body, our minds understand better the concept of time not as limiting in its gift towards us but in its indifference to our presence. Time doesn’t really slow down when we hurt, nor speed up to make the good flash by in an instant. It is reluctant to acknowledge emotion or hope. It is cold and yet giving, distant and ever with us.

I have lived thirty years on this planet and in the scheme of things I haven’t accomplished what we are lead to believe is required of a thirty year old, in the traditional sense. I am not firmly in my chosen profession. I have simply come back in from the cold and started to grind my way towards it. I don’t have any children yet, despite loving kids. I am a married 30 year old husband who is back in school chasing his dream job with the admiration for dreams of a 5 year old and the dedication of a grown man.

For thirty trips around the sun this mass of carbon based living organic matter has loved and laughed, tried and failed, and smiled in the warmth of the sun. I have had good days and bad. Been misunderstood, not understood and overlooked. I have been appreciated and disregarded. And for all of these things I am grateful.

Today I am thirty years old. And tomorrow I will be…

A project from first semester

2012-01-09T08:48:00.004-06:00

Premise: Imagine that a building has died and you have to create a eulogy and a tombstone for the building. The eulogy should be a critical and architectural evaluation of the building. The tombstone should be representative of the building but not an exact model of it.

My building was the Purcell-Cutts House.

Here is the Eulogy I came up with:

As I Was

To be read in the event of my death:

I have often wondered what my legacy would be or perhaps more directly what it should be. If the course remained unchanged I have no doubt that the house that I truly am would be lost to an idealistic vision of what Purcell has attempted to accomplish in me. He would rant, Purcell, about the houses of the time, filled with wasted spaces which were included only because society seemed to require them. Cluttered, he would explain that these spaces were thoughtlessly designed. I was to be the answer to them, the “breaking out of the box” as Frank (Lloyd Wright) described me. What I accomplished was socially transformative and unless I am able to break the veil of romanticism about me, what I achieved will be overwritten by idealistic and fabricated interpretations. I was good at what I was intended to accomplish and wish to be remembered justly and accurately.

Elmslie always called me the little joker, because my design laughed at social customs. When Purcell placed me on the plot, he put me further back than the other houses, which line up against the street in a continuous row. My side windows overlook the rear gardens of other houses, my rear view captures the lake and out front a garden was designed with a reflecting pool. All of this added up to me being an oasis for those who lived with me. I offered a life worth living, unrestrained and open to the world around me. It appears no one else could break out of the mold, still setting next to one another with small side windows, if any. Why do we have to be so rigid in where we are placed amongst each other? Instead I explore the land, offering views and light everywhere. Even though others haven’t followed, it is beyond doubt that they are unable to offer the depth and richness that I provide from my panoramic vistas.

Much is made of my living space on the first floor, often times the poetic tone ignoring the reality of what exists there. Purcell kept copious notes on his intentions for me, calling for “an open space where living can happen all over”. Elmslie thought he was a bit off when constituting my plan to have one grand room that encompassed many different functions, but that was the goal. Many times occupants of other houses sat facing the same center of the same room every day, never looking out of windows or changing their regiment. I was Purcell’s design retort to these cultural phenomena. But as time went on my plan continued to change and the once continuous floor morphed into two separated floor spaces that still held conversation with each other. The vaulted ceiling runs across the interior cosmos with the wall continuing unfettered, uniting the segmented living area. This maintained formality when social situations demanded it, while still showing the way forward to the truly open floor plans of the future. When tours were given, often times the guide would mistakenly call me an open floor plan, which while it may be the easier explanation, it is not true. Although there is no wall separating the living and dining room spaces, I am there. Do they not see my prow shape, forcing the visitor from the dining room down through the entryway to the living room? It is easy to claim the space is one, yet it isn’t just one space. I am both one space and two, allowing for the slow decay of those social constructs that Purcell found so infuriating. If I had been merely one space for living on the first level I would have been discarded as merely pedestrian and rudimentary. Instead, I was complex, profound in my response to being both multifunctional and adaptive while maintaining social understanding of space. That is what I need to be remembered for. Not the eventuality of completely open space that I do not possess.

Purcell complained that houses were thoughtlessly designed. Yet he wasn’t completely void of his own predispositions when designing me. One look at me and you can tell that I am a prairie style house. Many cast aspersions at me saying that my flat roof style is ill suited for the Minneapolis winters. They have a point, as my front cantilever had to be stabilized by the addition of steel reinforcements as indeed much of my roof had to be supported by steel. But looking at the roof detracts you from what is there. Consider my detail, the thought, time and effort that went into every aspect of the interior. Elmslie designed 80 unique windows for me, having uniformity in design but distinction and individuality throughout. Purcell carefully worked out the various colors, artwork and finishes to be used throughout me. Consider the quality of life achieved by those various details. To live with me was to have a quality, a richness of life where every experience is luxurious. These details add so much to life, with generous areas yet an economy of space creating luxury without waste. Life became no longer frivolous, but rather cultivated a depth and fullness to existence which elevated mere normalcy to exquisite. By design I was space transcending meager existence by making every aspect of life celebrated and joyous.

It is no small oddity to be spoken of as a masterpiece, a work of art; to be told that you are worth more than your contemporaries amidst a host of them. Then, while praising those qualities they claim make you great, they do not discuss attributes you possess, but rather those ideals and ideas you were intended to address. Is there anything more frustrating to the integrity of a legacy than when attributes, hard fought for and won, are displaced by mediations recorded and viewed oftentimes under the sole lends of the art critic? There is more to me than ascetics, more than simple artistic expression. I, as all, wish to be remembered, not in poetry and abstract terms for hopes and aspirations of my architect, but as I am. Remember me as I am, if what I truly am is of note.

I excluded the pictures, eulogy and bibliography because it isn't necessary to the example.

Here is the format I created for the final turn in of the eulogy:

Each page had one of the above windows over the front of it with a square cut out revealing the key point from the following page. This created two separate ways to read the eulogy.

Here is my tombstone:

And the winner is...

2011-07-19T11:06:00.004-05:00

Some good specs. Mine will be slightly different.

No neon glowing lights. This is for school not for gaming.

Laptop for Architecture

2011-07-13T13:15:00.003-05:00

I am starting up at the University of Minnesota in the fall and need input on what laptop to get (they require each student to have a laptop).

Here are the two top of the list for me.

The Dell Precision M6600

or

MSI GT780R-057US

Thoughts, comments, feedback?

Paying for College

2011-06-29T08:45:00.001-05:00

I am not independently wealthy, despite promises from my wife to become so before we got married. (I think she may have thought the whole conversation was in jest) So that means paying for college is going to be a challenge. I am going to be retiring from my job and going to school full time. The University of Minnesota’s architecture program requires you to be a full time student so there isn't much of a choice there. It’s very exciting to get the opportunity but also very scary, as I will be unemployed for the first time in a long time.

The whole process of returning to school is a very scary thing and it provides an ample opportunity to trust God, not as if trust is an easy thing.

Just because we are trusting in God doesn’t mean that we aren’t actively pursuing every available dollar. Aside from the FASFA, which won’t get us much help because of the bracket we are in, I have been running down every scholarship that I can apply for. I have filled out at least 30 so far and have a couple more with later deadlines that I am still working on. Please pray that some of them come back with some funding because it is going to be a hard road for Gina and I. We need all the assistance that is available and some additional blessing.

Architectural Influence

2011-06-22T09:50:00.003-05:00

My dad loves architecture. His first degree was in drafting and we used to drive around the suburbs of Chicago, looking at the architecture in residential areas. I am pretty sure this is where my love of Architecture started. His job was in downtown Chicago and the buildings there only served to further spark my imagination.

Being from Northern Illinois one of the most notable architectural influences for me has been Frank Lloyd Wright. Despite being a morally defunct individual, FLW was a master of design and revolutionized Architecture in the Mid-West. By pouring over his works and reading at great length about his life and architectural philosophies, I can say that many of my ideas on design are shaped by his work.

Form Must Follow Function. Frank Lloyd Wright’s biggest influence on me is directly related to the “form must follow function” viewpoint. Have you ever been in a building that looks amazing, but has a bunch of space this is unusable? I remember going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and thinking basically that the building would be better served as something else. It is interestingly designed and has some great spaces, but as a place to display memorabilia and learn about the history of Rock and Roll, it just didn’t work for me. There were so many spaces that were unusable for what the museum was attempting to accomplish (mostly being a museum). One of the things that I have always been conscientious of is having spaces that meet the needs of their intended purposes. I believe that this is the fundamental purpose and responsibility of an Architect: Create a space that assists in the intended use.

My parents took our family camping when we were young. We camped and hiked and fished. Our lives were constantly spent outdoors and I have a great kinship with nature as a result. Another key thing that I focus on is the relationship between the world around us and the spaces we construct to divide it up. Another thing that bothered me about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is for being on the lake the side that faces that water has almost no windows. I can understand that this is a personal preference but why would you turn you back on such a powerful visual aid? That I don’t understand. Instead of blocking out nature, I tend toward finding ways to invite it in. Windows and spaces that are intended for looking outside or feeling as though you were outdoors are key elements that I prefer to include in what I design.

When I was in high school I was working for an architect named W. Bruce Meltmar in Rockford Illinois. The time I spent there was an amazing blessing. I learned a great deal about architecture in practice. He introduced me to Jazz and spent a great deal of time helping me understand everything that went into being an architect. Unfortunately I only got one summer with him, but while I was there I learned another valuable lesson, how to work in tight spaces. Bruce owned a property on the river in Rockford and wanted to redo the kitchen before either renting or selling the house. The only problem was that the space was very tight. It is harder to create a space that meets the needs when you are limited to what already exists, which in this case was very, very small. His main assistant came up with an idea (which Bruce mistook for my idea and somehow I got the credit. His assistant never corrected him that it was her idea on not mine. She was an incredible team player) that was way outside the box and it not only made the space great but was way less expensive than my idea. Needless to say we went with her idea and I learned a valuable lesson in the process: Just because you haven’t seen it done before doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done (It also doesn’t mean it should be by the way. This one works both ways.)

Everybody has heard the phrase “The customer is always right”. No they aren’t, at least not in architecture. When I was working for Contry Homes I learned the importance of helping the customer get what they want even when it isn’t possible. If it were up to the average Joe, his house would be missing key structural beams and support columns, oh and have a beer tap in every room. That is because the average person, although spending most of their time inside their house, has absolutely no idea how the structural stuff works. When a client would come in with one of our plans doodled on. It was my job to try and figure out a way to get what they wanted while having the house still stand and not be missing import pieces of structure. You might think this isn’t a big deal but there is more to it than just fitting what they had in mind into the current plan. After you accomplish that, figure out how it’s going to be built so it doesn’t fall down, then you have to check the elevations and roof plan to make sure you haven’t killed the “curb appeal” with what you just added. You need the elevations, floor plan, structural plan and roof plan to all work in harmony to get what they wanted to work and look good. My time with Contry Homes was very much like architecture and design 101 for me. I learned a ton and worked with some great people who made it all an amazing experience.

The last great influence is myself. I have been drawing buildings and designing various things for fun since I can remember. I have spent an immense amount of time exploring my own design preferences, testing my own dexterity and limits for visual ascetics and sharpening my problem solving skills. I have been working at this my whole life and that is why it not only comes naturally but is something that I am passionate about and excited to do.

Oh, and all my boring teachers for giving me a reason to doodle. You helped too.

Blogging: What to do

2011-06-21T13:44:00.003-05:00

I was considering taking down the blog of late, because I realized that I don't have that much to say which I would consider worth putting down. I have had my fun with funny, tried my hand at serious only to find the effort unrewarding and by far to laborious, so I was thinking it was time to say adieu.

But then I got this crazy idea to go for my dream of becoming an Architect. One semester of Community college later and boom, I got into the University of Minnesota.

How does that relate to the blog you might ask. Well, I am going to use this to vet my work and ideas for architecture school, keep you up to date on my pursuit of a dream and showcase some of my concepts.

You may have noticed a slight change in design over the past couple of days. Its all a part of the plan. Whatever blog becomes Architecture Student blog. If you have ideas for content let me know.

MS150 Musings

2011-06-13T08:48:00.003-05:00

I am borrowing this idea from my friend Kevin’s blog. His Monday Musings are one of the few things on the internet that I think are worth a regular read.

Lets muse.

There are only 4 types of people who ride in something like this.

1. The masochist

2.The schizophrenic sadist

3. The naturally padded

4. The stubborn

This is sort of unfair because everyone was really nice but when I hurt I don’t really care about fair.

I road 144 miles in two days. Yeah I know they call it the MS150 but… what do you mean it doesn’t count. You shut up! Shut up right now.

Its seems like a really weird deal that they have an event to fight MS 150 that naturally would preclude the participation of most people with MS. Then I realized that they do this because after about 55 miles in one day on a bike you start to feel some of the symptoms that a person with MS deals with daily.

I lost fine motor skills, could barely walk. And yes, I did this voluntarily.

John Brenne came up and let us sleep at his cabin. This was the only way we were going to get a real bed. He saved the day. It is not an understatement that if we had to camp I would not have made the whole ride. I would have also probably hurt someone.

After riding 70 miles in a day, I don’t want some chipper person, fresh off the sofa, to tell me I did a good job. I want the sofa.

I can only assume that MS is now vanquished. That was the deal right? If I ride 150(ish) miles in a day, MS has to die?

Pray for my wife. She is talking about doing this again next year. I am afraid we may have to check her into a mental hospital. When you can’t move because you hurt so much, you didn’t have fun. This is a general rule for life people.

Cycling is the only sport I know that when you “uniform” highlights every unflattering aspect of your body, you know if fits correctly.

The correct response when asked, “Hey do you want to ride in the MS 150?” is “I would love to donate. Who should I make the check out to?”

I am too tired to keep musing. Lets sleepppppppppppppppp………………..

The Princes of Duvy

2011-03-29T16:02:00.001-05:00

Dirt hung in the air as the door to the tavern swung inward. It was a hot summer day in the outskirts of Paris. The day was more than half-spent when the brightly polished boots beat their path across the rotting floorboards and stopped at the counter.

The jingle of a coin on the counter brought the barkeep around to find it was a well-dressed lord who had entered. The richly colored houppelande with silk-lined sleeves fell gracefully down to the floor; a small belt with a golden dagger fitted about his waist, and the full-plumed blue hat was not as common a sight as it had once been in this establishment. The pained expression and formal attire related to the bartender that his guest had returned from a funeral and stopped to refresh himself.

Stray rays of light seeped into the parched room from high windows on either wall so that little of the countryside, thirsty and scorched, was visible. The lifeless grey wood clung to the building’s frame with disparity, contrasting with the bold presence of the guest.

“Not many a lordly character has come across my threshold. What name should one call you, Master?”

“I am the last Prince of Duvy,” the lordly figure responded.

A scoffing jeer was offered by a heaped shadow that was riding the far end of the bar.

“Prince of Duvy? There’s no prince of Duvy. It cannot be big enough to have a prince. I might as well say I am the prince of the stool that holds me.”

“And perhaps you would be right about your stool, but seeing as you are a drunk and a pauper and here is a lordly gentleman, I might take his word over yours.”

The tapster was not happy to have his less-than-savory regular pushing such a fine and undoubtedly wealthy lord out the door sooner than he might wish for.

“Thank you,” the prince said to the barkeep before alighting onto the stool before him. “A fool may scoff at truth, but had this man knowledge of my misfortunes, he would weep for me. Now before I must continue on my path, please offer me a drink and a rest from this accursed heat. I am almost lost!”

This request sent the host scurrying off to the cellars to find a bottle that did not bear the heat of the day, that his guest might be refreshed. When the keep was out of sight, the figure at the end of the bar dragged himself down a few more stools until he was but one stool away from the prince.

“Now that I am the prince of a new stool and not the prince who offended you earlier, might we not drink together, and I shall share the burden of your woes with you?”

The prince extended no objection to this but rather started in to his own story.

“I am the Prince of Duvy, as I have said, and I can so call myself for it is my place to claim what I will, and it is the place of others to try and take it from me. Thus is my fortune and fate, the curse that I have borne now since I was but on the brink of becoming a man.

“This whole story of evil and fate started back many generations ago with a peasant who, on a day not unlike this one, was wandering down the road to Duvy. He was bickering with his luck and destiny when he chanced upon a beggar sitting by the side of the road.

“‘Have ye anything to spare for a starving man?’ the beggar beseeched the passerby. ‘I have naught to eat myself, for luck has grinned at me with the same ravenous smile he has shown you,’ replied the wanderer. Yet the pauper felt compelled to sit with the beggar and share his water and sorrows. The beggar began to weep. ‘There has never been a man to face the morning sun who bears such weights as I do. For though I am a beggar, richness and wealth I have at my disposal. Yet none of it shall avail me.’

“This stranger shared his curse with the foolish pauper who had happened across his path. The beggar related how he was now poor but had once been rich, and so greedy was he that he took every cent from everyone in the countryside, causing many to die of want for food. Now his punishment forced him to roam the earth until someone would take from him this curse to try his own luck. One life that would endure until the man so desired death, for four generations spent without.

“Greed sparkled in the wanderer’s eye at the mention of what the beggar had to offer. Instantly the man thought of the riches that could be gathered by a man who could choose his own death, for he could also not choose it. Surely with no fear of death he could acquire enough wealth that the next four generations could have the poorest of luck and still he would be able to provide for them. For fools always look for luck instead of working to make their own.”

The keep had returned and poured a glass of the cooler liquor for his wealthy patron, who readily lifted the bottom skyward. “So what did the man do? Did he take the beggar’s offer?” the liquor-soaked patron asked.

“A handshake set the fate of the fool and lifted the curse from the beggar and bound it to wanderer and his offspring. Then the beggar became the wanderer and left with a fit of laughter.”

Another glass was emptied.

“Well then what?” The shadow on the bar began to sit more upright at the chance to hear a proper tale.

“The fool went to find his fortune, and readily he did. In battles and conquests, both by truth and with deceit, he gathered to himself more money than one man ought to have. And love found him, for he fell in love with the most beautiful and devilish woman in many lands.

“No sooner would he return with greater riches and more treasures than she would send him out again after far loftier and more outrageous gains. There was no content to be found in her heart, for she was as a sea is to the sailor, a love more fair than all others and as foul as might take one’s life.

“Over the course of a few years, among more bloodshed and the gains so vast that lesser treasure was abandoned, the accursed man fathered two boys. The oldest, Isaac, was two years in this world before being joined by his brother Adrian. Isaac was a proper and upright boy. It seemed odd that one born of two unrepentant sinners took to schooling and to the church, but their eldest set aside his body for the church, devoting himself to the life of a priest. His brother, in contrast, took more after his mother with a cruel vein that wound in him like a spring. Never was he pleased unless foul deeds ran their courses unhindered.

“When Isaac was 18 years old, he returned to visit his father and ask that he give all his wealth to the poor to follow in the footsteps of the Savior. Ah, the foolish man would have done so and ended the afflicted lineage; perhaps the suffering might then have been only set to him. Yet as the father considered his eldest’s pleas, the younger son grew bitter at this brother’s attempts to sever him from his future fortune.

“Although no proof could ever be found, there is little doubt that it was Adrian who laid his brother’s body into the pond after giving him a drink which rendered him senseless. He went with a smile to tell his father of the ill fate that found his eldest, not even attempting to mask his satisfaction.

“The father, who had claimed the title of Prince of Duvy, grew furious, suspecting, nay knowing, that the youngest was the executioner. The young Adrian was expelled from his father’s house with nothing but the cloth on his back. His mother tried to bind herself to her son, but before she could wrap the cords about her waist; the prince had carried her off to their chambers. A few days later she was found in the pond, having drank the same drink he eldest had been given.

“The Prince drank deep from the sins his first born had instigated. His hands touched the flesh of many women of various tones and races. Yet his conquests left him the more bitter. He ran back to the sword, but the blood that bathed his face offered no consolation. He hoarded the more his riches and withdrew into the back of a bottle, keeping some women about that would at a moments notice attend to his burning passions. Yet in all things he was drowned in misery and otherwise unable to save himself.

“The whores of his house gave him many more children but each one he had killed at the age of one and their body tossed into the pond. Life continued as such for him for many years, until one day upon returning from the slave markets with new women for his house, the Prince found a beggar at the entry to his estates.

“He sent his soldiers, who had just finished beheading the Prince’s now unwanted women, to fetch the beggar who dared to sit at his gate. The heap of rags was thrown down in the midst of the blood and naked bodies. ‘How dare you set your rags upon the edifice of my house?’ the Prince declared in disgust. ‘Is not the face of the father the face of the son?’ the mangled heap retorted insubordinately. The murderous son had returned to confess his crimes and seek for forgiveness or more likely to say what he could in hopes of finding a share of riches.

“The Prince had lost his anger towards his son, having shouldered the burden of the son’s sins himself years ago. So the heir had returned, and he was not cast out into the pond where he had sent his brother to stew. And as the father had become as the son, a murderer, so the son became as the father and took to women, bottle and sword, killing his offspring when they turned one and taking for himself the title of Prince of Duvy as was his birthright.”

“It is true, Messieurs, that your family must bear a curse after such murdering and debauchery,” the bobbing shadow retorted as the prince drained his cup again. “But what else have they earned?”

The prince mostly ignored his company and seemed to hear little of that which was said to him.

“Adrian, unlike his father, never married; for he fancied no woman his equal but rather as a mere pleasure such as a bottle of wine or the thrill of a blade tearing flesh asunder. The women of whom he had grown bored were killed and sent to the lake. Then he would replace them with new and exotic women as was tradition. He spent his whole life without ever knowing of love. This was the inheritance the first prince conferred to his son.

“Yet, one of the women escaped the grasp of the second prince. She fled not only for her own life but also for the life of the one she bore inside. Then, after she gave birth, she was found hiding in a convent, and the prince had her abducted and returned to him. She lived only for a few more weeks at the castle, spent tied up to a bed in the Prince’s chamber, left unclothed and unfed until she had taken her swim in the pond. Yet the child, unwanted, remained unknown to the prince.

“The unfound child, named Benedetto after the saint, was a son and heir to the wealth of the Prince of Duvy, and although he was raised by the nuns of the convent, his heart kept account for the wrongs his father had waged against his mother. Passions, the nuns said, burned from behind his eyes, and unless he could detach himself from them, they would surely end him.

“While Adrian grew old, his son grew stronger. The boy flourished and became a man, and his resentment became hatred. Then after some years, the young man could no longer stay his wrath and stole into the Prince’s house in the middle of the night and struck the sleeping form. Yet the misfortune of his family found him then, for he struck not the father of his discontent but rather two women who had found themselves in a similar predicament as his mother. The blow had been dealt and the frail women breathed their last.

“It was in that moment that clarity came. For in his actions he had become his father.

“Upon hearing the announcement of the returning self-declared lord with his new fold of women, the son’s passions flamed anew. Upon the steps of the house, the second prince’s body was crushed and then was bound to the two forms from his chamber. In the pond he set them to float.

“The man took the title which his cursed family bore and abandoned his saintly namesake and his moral guide. He did not take to women and wine at first but rather spent his days wandering the halls of the estate looking at each stone and asking them individually for forgiveness. Yet none ever offered what the third prince requested. The days passed and his feminine companionship began to bore him, but rather than resigning to the barbaric ways of his father, he simply sent the women away from his house in order to make room for the new. In telling truth one would be right to say that he rather hated the faces of the women for they reminded him of his failures. So in sending them away he rent from himself his past sins in order to afford new.

“After many years, the priest of the parish in which the former Benedetto had been raised came to the man, for the church was in great need of money. The priest also brought a young ward of his who was altogether a beautiful woman but had already been given in marriage to the Lord, as it is said of nuns. Yet Benedetto’s eyes began to burn for her, and he gave sparingly to the Father as to mandate further visits. He was paying for indulgences and absolution, but his heart cared for neither but was wholly bent on the pursuit of the young nun who came each journey with the Father.

“The third prince would often whimsically ponder on the hardships of such sacrifice when the two came to visit. ‘It is lonely and bitter in the service of the Almighty,’ he would murmur. ‘Yet it is a worthy one,” the father would sharply answer. This retort always brought a bitter glance from the prince but the father showed no signs of noticing.

“Further and further the desire to have this woman fell into the prince’s heart and mind. He would rant and pace the night through until he finally hatched a plan. The next time the father and the nun came to visit he offered them some wine and bread, a meager meal but one easily accepted after a long journey. The wine had been mixed with herbs that, upon drinking it, caused the Father and the nun to fall fast asleep. Instantly the damned prince fell upon the lifeless form, for he was no longer in control of his mind.

“Yet the priest was much larger than the nun and had not drunk greatly. He quickly aroused from his slumber to find the prince at his dastardly work upon the nun. This poor father’s heart fell, as did his hand, for he struck with all his force, which was considerable. Yet he was unable to knock the Prince from his endeavors, only succeeding in rousing the slumbering woman. Upon grasping her predicament the nun cried out in horror, ‘Madre de Dios, Holy Mother save me!’ Yet her cry fell limply to the halls without notice.

“The father struck again and again but with his efforts changed nothing. When the prince had completed his evil task he gathered the shattered woman and bound her to his bed as his father had to many a woman before him. Then the rage the father had roused in the prince spurred him to blows upon the priest, killing him in short order. The prince then dragged the heavy man to the pond and set him next to it to feed the birds in the midday sun, afterwards returning to his captive.”

A gasp fell from the lips of the drunk that had pulled himself to the prince’s side. He had never heard of such horror in his whole life and the thought of it was as much as he could bear.

“Surely this cannot be, for no one raised in a parish could have done such a thing.”

“Yet it is so,” the prince answered. The glass dropped to the bar empty again.

“Benedetto kept the former nun sedated with the same toxin he first supplied her. For many months she stayed on the bed, only allowed short walks as was necessary and never without a guard present. Eventually she was allowed around the house, but she was never alone. Gradually this horrible life settled into a routine and the nun had resigned herself to her lot in life and even gave of herself willingly to Benedetto.

“Yet Benedetto began to see the evil that he had done and to despise his own actions. But his stubborn heart refused to give the woman her freedom. Instead he began to send large donations to the cloister every month. Inevitably he would find his gift scattered on the steps of his estate the next morning with a note demanding first the woman’s freedom and then for him to bring the gift himself. Benedetto began to grow angry with the priests and feared that they would try to steal the nun away in the night. He again had her tied down to his bed and guards posted at each corner of the bed.

“Yet he persisted in his giving and still the gifts were returned, accompanied by threats of eternal damnation. So angry did the prince grow that he sent a small group of mercenaries to lay siege to the abbey and nothing, not a single soul was allowed in or out save the prince’s bags of gold. But every morning of the siege the bags would be hurled from the cloister and pronounced unclean.

“Finally the last of the prince’s patience wore to its end and he attacked the parish to bring the father before himself. ‘Why will you not take these kingly gifts and offer me the absolution I desire,” he questioned of the priest. ‘I cannot forgive those who are not penitent and do not humble themselves before the Lord.’ The Prince was staring with a sweet face at the priest, trying to hide his malice. ‘What then must I do to earn eternal peace? Tell me what I must do to prove that I am penitent.’ The priest drew his hands across his breast in the form of a cross before responding. ‘Firstly, set free her whom you have captive here and have taken from her the innocence and love which she had promised in her marriage to Christ and the church. Then remove the siege on our abbey that our parishioners may come and pray. Lastly, give all that you have to God and submit yourself in person to that holy calling. For you there will be no salvation in anything less.’ But his words only embittered the prince.

“Dragging the priest by his collar into his private chamber he displayed the naked form bound to the bed. ‘Look upon her this last time, Father, for if you had simply asked for all save her I would have given it, but in her your request will never be answered. She will not leave this house while I am alive.’

“The father looked with pity upon the poor soul whose eyes no longer conveyed the terror of her existence but rather the distant dulling of her spirit. The father asked to offer the woman mass, and the prince consented and covered the shivering form. No tear rolled down her eye, and her only response to the comforting words offered her were, ‘Escape, for this is the house the devil dwells in.’ The priest took his leave and the siege was lifted. Neither the parish nor the prince made any further overtures towards the other.”

“Ave Marie!” exclaimed the barkeep, holding to his breast a crucifix he had retrieved from the wall.

“The life fell from her eyes, and she became nothing but a husk, human in form only. She was again given reign to wander about the grounds, save for when she was called to lie with the prince. The torment of her soul ravaged her body until the Prince no longer looked on her with favor, preferring the company of others to her whom he had defied the church to possess. Still he would periodically desire her. One day upon being called she did not come, but she was found to have taken her turn in the waters. But she did not take that turn alone, for in her she bore the final prince of Duvy.

“The evil veil had been savagely ripped from the heart of the prince. Upon seeing the malevolent work his hands had toiled for, he bore his grief upon a sword and fell to his own end in the shallow water’s edge.

“Thus had it come to pass that all the fortune and prosperity in the world could not find sway over iniquity, death and the sins of the father passed on for four generations.”

Then turning to the man who had crawled from the shadows to greet him, the prince spoke. “Do you not weep that I should know such sorrow and misery? Will you not weep with me?”

“It is true that to hear such a story a man is driven to tears. Yet it is clear that the beggar who met the first prince could be none other than the devil himself. Blame must first be set upon the evil one.”

The guest quickly answered, “Then he met his equal, for the first prince not only sought out sin but gave it as part of his inheritance, and thus his lineage was that of the devil’s.”

“True,” the owner of the establishment joined in the conversation, “the whole of the tale is bitterness and deceit. There can be no doubt.”

“Yes!” The drunk chimed in “But who are you who weeps so fervently? For all your tears you have not tied yourself to this ill-fated tale! Surely you are a relative standing to inherit a fortune from the last prince. Soon your tears shall be transformed into gold and you shall weep no more.”

The proud guest drew himself to his feet and fell another glass. “You may take all the money and I hope you drown with it for I am the first of the princes of Duvy, and now I am the last. Here I choose my death!”

A flash of gold crossed the faces of the two on-looking men as the form in front of them fell to the ground.

Rags for Riches

2011-03-14T14:24:00.001-05:00

Imagine if you will for a moment that you are a young man. Not only are you young, but you come from a poor family. All your life your family has struggled for the funds to feed, clothe and shelter themselves. But you have a talent. This talent makes you a commodity.

Now imagine that you have an opportunity to use this talent to make your life better, and eventually make the lives of your family better. This talent is basketball and you are a pro-bound player at the age of 17, but in the USA you can’t play professional basketball because the NBA won’t let you until you have been out of high school for a year. So you go and play basketball for a college team.

While you are at college you family is back at home, still struggling as they always have to find the money to exist. You are being charted around the country and never miss a meal. Then you notice that the stadiums are filled, people are buying jerseys with your number on them; in short, there is money being made off of your talent. But you aren’t getting any of it.

Instead you are told that you are being rewarded with a free education that you have no intention of finishing, because if you could have, you be playing pro ball right now. So your “reward” is something you don’t want.

Then you look up into the stands and see one of the many vendors selling food at the game. It is a college student who got the job to help pay for his bills and that is when you realize, he is making more than you are. The question is, how is any of that fair, or right?

The NCAA has been trading rags for riches off of student athletes for a long time, forcing them to play for a year by convincing the NBA to make a rule prohibiting players coming directly from high school to the NBA. Then when a player finds the means to make money while playing ball they crucify them for breaking the NCAA’s honor code. It’s hard to imagine telling someone they don’t have honor while you take advantage of their talent to line your pockets, while they have no money for themselves or their families to live on.

Solution?

There are going to be many. I have a simple one. A percentage of endorsements for the team goes into a pot where all the student athletes get an equal portion. They won’t get rich but they should get something for all the revenue they are bringing in.

Cody Alexander Larsen

2011-02-09T15:55:00.001-06:00

It comes in bursts. You think you have it under control, that the emotion is bottled up and stored for darker, private moments. Then something brings down the barrier and the flood of emotions breaks over you, overwhelming your control. You cry.
For me, today it was reading the eulogy. How do you boil down 17 years of life into 100 words? How can you capture what was there, lying just beneath the surface waiting for time and opportunity to blossom into something great? How do you surmise potential and unrealized talents?
I can’t do it in 100 words.
Cody Larsen
He was a loner in the most inconsistent sense of the term. At times he needed no one but himself yet he always seemed to need people. Cody had fire and a brilliance that came so naturally I often thought that he didn’t see it.
Cody was passionate and brash. He could feel so deeply, joy in one moment and anger in another. It was astonishing to see how he juggled the world around him; quite aware that he was different yet unable to decide if being unique was desirable.
At an early age he learned how to control his own environment, using obscurity, sympathy and humor as effortlessly as if they were innate traits to his being. When he wanted to he could defuse, compound or command nearly any situation. I wish I could have helped him see this talent in himself.
Cody was also in pain, through no fault of his own. He battled aliments which he readily admitted he could control if he put his mind to it. But he was a kid at heart. He had to grow up so fast, so young and he wanted the chance to experience some of the chaos of youth, allowing himself reign at times to experience life anew and in ways he wasn’t afforded previously.
Cody was investing in the stock market before he turned 16, watching CNN for tips. Constantly casting outlandish statements left and right, pining for a laugh and getting scores of them. He wanted to be seen and hear. He wanted to live and love and taste all the world could offer and now Cody is a memory; A sought after smile, the word to cut the tension that will not come. A man who was a boy, now will always be.

Cody, you were seen. Still sought after, never forgotten, ever missed.

remembering the bridge

2010-09-02T16:51:00.001-05:00

It was hot, more so in my memories, a dried and crumbling landscape reminisce of a apocalyptic movie. Realistically it had only topped 90 a couples of times in the past week but the stifling humidity made Minnesota feel like a rainforest. It had been a week of cumbersome warmth, akin to wearing a wet blanket in 90 degree weather.

She packed a cooler full of snacks and frozen water bottles, preparation for a day spent in the car driving around the twin cities. Going from house to house, mostly supervisor duties now as she met with one of her team and their clients. The water and snacks were previsions for the commutes in the hot weather, preparations that her active lifestyle accustomed her too.

I hadn’t seen him in a while. I was the best man in his wedding and in a few months time he was standing up in mine. It’s sad to say that being 30 minutes away made us so distant but it was the truth. He was married with a kid, which absorbed a majority of his time.

Today we were going to get together to watch a movie. We had been planning it for a while and I rushed home from work to make sure that I had everything set up and turned the oven on for a frozen pizza.

She was going to meet her cousins that night for dinner, one of whom was my fiancé. That is how I got the chance to meet up with my friend. The heat was oppressive, traffic was bad and she had one more appointment for that day.

We didn’t start the movie right away. We wanted to catch up and just enjoy the air conditioning for a while. I had changed clothes since work and was sitting in my shorts and a t-shirt with “College” written across the front of it. I don’t even remember if we turned the movie on or not.

She finished with her last meeting. It was a good end to the work day. The client was moving on having really made some strides and it was the reward for social work. She wanted to jet out of there but her social worker that she was supervising wanted to chat. She took the time and left a few minutes later; those few minutes meaning more than she could possibly imagine.

Traffic was choked by road construction on the bridge and practically everywhere else. She was going to be late for dinner with her cousins. She called to let them know and then began calling her friend to chat. She preferred to pass the time in her car on the phone.

The phone calls were dropping. She kept calling back and finally resolved to just leave a message as her car approached the bridge, traffic backing up into a near standstill. She doesn’t remember if she saw the construction workers but the effect was impossible to miss, each inch creeping her closer to a ledge she knew about but went unnoticed.

We rarely truly recognize our surroundings. She didn’t notice the cars around her, the people in them or the cars behind her. She saw them but she couldn’t tell you who was in each car. She didn’t notice much until she felt something, a stirring in her stomach that let her know something wasn’t right. She was swaying, if only slightly. Looking ahead she saw the cars waving from side to side, not great movements but perceivable as if the heat rising from the road was causing a mirage.

Instinct took over, her hands gripping the wheel, adrenaline pumping through her veins as her heart called out to God, praying for a situation she couldn’t yet understand.

Her horizon cleared as cars dropped as if of a shelf and were lost to her field of vision. The road was rising above her as she felt her stomach drop. “Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh!” Her voice raised as the beep began the message she was leaving, but it was cut short as her phone again disconnected.

Too much came to her mind. It was like reliving her life in a neatly organized and sorted fashion; a parade of family, friends and memories rushed by in that never ending moment. A realization and peace was there too. She was ready for this, for death, now staring perpendicularly at the rising road piece.

The dust settled on the hood of her silver Grand Prix. The fall had felt surprisingly gentle, her car still running. She sat there for a brief moment unsure of what to do. She hadn’t landed in the water, a small consolation after having fallen 85 feet onto a seldom used road. Rolling down the window she yelled to a man nearby who had ventured from his car. “Is it okay for me to get out of my car?” She coughed, dust falling in the open window. “Oh yeah. We’ve landed.” Not something you expect to hear from your car.

I don’t remember thinking something was wrong, but I don’t remember being anxious. I am not sure about what or perhaps that is just my way of dealing with it. Her family, close friends also reported know that she was in danger and some called almost instantly after hearing the news, claiming they knew she was on the bridge.

Maybe it was the calming influence of her faith, the silent prayers offered or maybe it was her training as a social worker but she wasn’t alarmed yet. She called 911 on her phone and tried to explain what had happened. Already the disorientation of the trauma had effected her as she struggled to relate where she was, continually giving the name of a bridge that did not exist. She also called her cousins to let them know that she wouldn’t be making it for dinner.

My fiancé called me sounding more confused than anything. “She said that part of the bridge she was on collapsed and that she was on the Washington Ave Bridge. Can you turn on the news and see what is going on.” We could only watch movies at our house at the time and since I couldn’t find anyone around who had a TV for me to watch, my friend and I hopped in my car and started to drive toward the area my wife had thought she meant. “She said that a part of the bridge she was on had collapsed and then she said she had to go and hung up.” My fiancé had related.

There was crying coming from some of the other cars. Next to her a woman named Danielle had exited her car. The man in the SUV in front of her wasn’t able to exit his as his back hurt and he was unable to move his legs. The isolated platform where she landed limited her view of the span of the incident. The enormity not able to overtake her, she stood there taking in a small dusty section of an overwhelming and tragic situation. She viewed dusty cars amidst slabs of broken concrete pierced by green steel. Everything was wrong but she was unable to piece it together yet.

People appeared over the ledge having scrambled up a wooden ladder, wanted to evacuate people. She didn’t know if she wanted to leave. There were still people there who needed help. She could help.

One of these men asked Erica is she had any extra clothes and water. She had blankets and water in the trunk of here car but that had been smashed by the large section of road that had fallen behind her. The car had been so close to either being crushed or flipping during the fall, but she didn’t have time to consider it. They got the water and blankets through the back seat for those who needed them.

She had done what she could and now it was time to get off this concrete island. She took her bag and went to the wall where people were waiting to help. “You had better watch out because I might give you a show.” She said to someone standing at the bottom of the ladder. She had worn a skirt that day and tried to use humor to make herself feel more comfortable with what needed to happen as if comfort were achievable. The man politely turned away but she couldn’t have that either. “You can’t look away because you can’t help me if you look away.” There was truth and exasperation in that statement.

Erica put what she had brought with her by the river and started to take in what the rising wall of road had hidden from her. The Bridge was gone.

We were driving down to the river when a cop car turned in front of us. I decided that the cop probably knew where he was going so we followed and parked when we got down to the river road. Scrambling along the road wearing inadequate footwear, I was struck by the chaos that greeted me.

In my mind I had relegated certain imagery to 3rd world, war-torn countries. To see people helping crying and bloody children down the street and set them next to the black metal fence stopped me in my tracks. There was confusion everywhere and I still didn’t know really what was happening.

The police had showed up and were starting to set up a perimeter so they asked us to move back, but the asking was only politeness. In truth if I had known where she was or even what was happening I doubt I could have been convinced to retreat but I was in shock, confused by what my fiancé had told me and what I was nose to nose with.

It hadn’t completely connected with her yet that she had been on this bridge that she was now looking at, sitting water level on the Mississippi River. She wouldn’t address that for a while yet. One of the first responders started giving orders to people who had come to help. She got caught up in the tide of helping and received orders to grab equipment from the truck and bring it down to the bridge.

I needed a vantage point where I could see the whole of what was going on. My head was spinning a mixture of confusion and horror, trying to make sense of what I was looking at. I saw a few people standing on a parking garage nearby. My friend and I made our way over there. “It looks like one whole side of the bridge has collapsed.” I sputtered out of shock. “That’s a different bridge. Both sides are in the water.” Someone answered. “Did you know someone who was on it?” I pulled the phone from my pocket. I had tried to call her a couple of times but got the “All circuits are busy” message. “My fiancés cousin was on it. She called them right before it went down.” At that time I thought she had hung up when her part of the bridge was collapsing.

“You need to go home.” I told my fiancé. “Why, what’s going on?” I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want her to have to drive home dealing with what was going on and not having me there. “I said go home. You need to go home right now.” We argued until I told her “The whole bridge is in the water. Go home now and I will come home when I can.”

She was standing there when they pulled the first body from the water. The body was mostly covered but she could tell that the person had died. “I can’t be here.” She told herself as the realization of what she had been through finally started to reach her. Her emotions tried to overwhelm her but she held out and called the friend who she had been leaving the message for, thankfully they hadn’t heard the message yet. “All I see is a school bus and truck on fire.” She wondered what else was going on because she hadn’t seen the bus yet. The sheer magnanimity of the situation was still rushing past her too fast to recognize.

I kept trying to call her and at the same time I was upset that I had work sandals. I asked my friend to drive my car home and I would stay down at the site but he suggested we wait until we had a better plan. His thinking was much more solid at the moment so he stayed with me for a while. We were back down on the river road looking to see if we could see her car but she was on the other side of the river. Calling, we hoped to figure out where she was and get her out of there and to a hospital.

She got a hold of my fiancés mom, her aunt, and filled her in on what was happening, hoping they would contact her parents. Her adrenaline finally subsiding allowed the pain and emotions to slam against her. She felt small, tired and unequal to the moment. Finally she had become overwhelmed with the full weight of the tragedy. But she could give up and rest yet. She still had to get out of there.

She asked an EMT what to do. “If you can walk out of here, go find someone to take you to a hospital. If you don’t, you’ll be waiting here for hours for us to take you there. She grabbed the girl who had fallen next to her and together they lugged what they had pulled from their cars up a hill in search of a way out.

The police kept moving the perimeter further back in order to make room for the swell of emergency responders who had flooded the area. I remember thinking that every fireman and EMT from the metro area must have been there. It was then that a cameraman asked me if I knew someone on the bridge. “My fiancés cousin was on it. We don’t know where she is.” He interviewed me for the news. I don’t remember word for word what I said but it was something to the extent of “You want to stay out of the police and firefighters way but at the same time you want to know… is my loved one okay.”

The line kept getting pushed back. My fiancé called me to let me know her mother had talked with the cousin that was on the bridge. That let me know she wasn’t in the water and that I needed to find out where she was. But I couldn’t do anything there and my fiancé was now sitting at the apartment alone. I had called my mother, a nurse, and she was on her way down, weaving to get to my house not 2 miles from the bridge amidst the rush hour traffic and emergency vehicles. It was time for me to get back to the house.

She was stumbling, emotionally and physically exhausted. “Lord, show me a patch of grass that I can sit down at.” She prayed still walking with Danielle. Tears streaming down her phone ran, this time it was me. “Give me street names and we will come and get you.”

My mom wasn’t there yet so we called her and told her to just wait when she got to the house. My fiancé, my friend and I got into the car and drove across another packed bridge and made our way down to the area that she was waiting.

She spotted a condominium at the street corner that she had directed me to. Under it was a small patch of grass. “Danielle, that’s where we’re going.” The phone rang again her father in the manor only a father can asked “Where are you?” Her aunt had called them. Erica fell to pieces. She didn’t need to be strong anymore. Not right now and she just wanted to be her father’s little girl again, to be held and told it was going to be alright. “We’re coming. We’re packing the car and coming.” He told his daughter but she negotiated for them to come the next day.

We pulled down the cobblestone road that led down toward the bridge. There were masses of people moving toward the bridge, masses struggling away from it and masses standing and staring in bewilderment. The cannonade of sirens and flashing lights from emergency buildings bounced off of tear streamed faces, reflecting the fear in reds and blues. How were we going to find her down here? It was a disaster zone and the flood of human pain and triumph was overwhelming. But I was determined. I couldn’t do anything else, but I was going to find her and get her to a hospital. That I could do.

“Where are you at?” I don’t remember if we texted the message or if I got a hold of her. “I don’t know.” She didn’t have anything left and the confusion around her only bombarded her more. Someone spotted her and I help her and Danielle to the car and put their bags in the trunk. After taking Danielle to her sister we brought Erica back to my fiancé’s parent’s house where she lived.

Each sob was also a gasp for air as her exhaustion overtook her grief. My mom impressed upon her that it was important for her to go and get checked out so we decided to head for a hospital that was less likely to be busy.

It felt like we hadn’t even sat down in the ER before they took her back and the rest of us were left to watch the news of what we had just endured. The figures seemed false on the TV. All the captured imagery couldn’t relate the emotions, the true sights, smells and sounds of being there.

She felt overwhelmingly alone, having finally been removed from the swell of faces. She found herself unable to contain her emotions and broke down when the x-ray tech left the room for a brief moment. Her parent’s friends who were pastors and her boyfriend took up post at her side and the rest of us moved to a private waiting room. “Never do I want to feel that alone again.” She remembers.

At this point in time I started getting text messages and phone calls from people. The interview that I had on the river road had been picked up by CNN and people were checking in to see if everybody was okay. I was glad to report that she was found and at a hospital.

She was released at 11 o’clock from the hospital about 6 hours after she fell. We spent the rest of the night watching the news from the event, trying to grasp what had happened. Eventually we had to force ourselves to sleep.

Tired, frustrated and most of all blessed that Erica was okay we went to sleep. The story only having just begun.

We Hiked, We Ran Out of Water, We Almost Died...

2010-07-07T13:26:00.002-05:00

Excerpt from my journaling

July 4th 2010 - North of Grand Marais, MN

Recover

Yesterday we got ourselves into a bad situation. We set out around noon to do a seven and a half mile hike. It was beautiful to hike up in the boundary waters within sight of Canada. The views were spectacular, the nature pristine, the water we had for drinking... insufficient. My hydration pack sprung a leak, so halfway on the way out I ran out of water. We got to our destination, realizing that the trail guide gave the wrong length. Before starting back we checked our water supplies and realized that everybody was below half full. We all made it back with only dehydration and heat sickness, but the last few miles and over an hour nobody had water. The hike took us about 6 to 7 hours and we went over 9 miles. The terrain was consistently in motion with no flat spots. Lesson Learned, always take the water filter with you.

A Commissioner is to be…

2010-06-04T14:08:00.001-05:00

com•mis•sion•er (k-msh-nr)
n. Abbr. Com. or Comr.
1. A member of a commission.
2. A person authorized by a commission to perform certain duties.
3. A governmental official in charge of a department: a police commissioner.
4. Sports An official selected by an athletic association or league to exercise administrative or regulatory powers over it: a baseball commissioner.

David Stern is the commissioner of the NBA. He is also the face of it (sorry Lebron, Kobe and D-Wade). Stern is the lingering image of what the NBA has become and the trendsetter in the increasingly visible corporate structure of professional sports.

But is Stern’s influence on the visibility bordering on star status of professional sports professionals a good thing.

Clearly the role of a commissioner has grown over the years. With increased public access and need to image management, the NBA, NFL and other major sports leagues need to have a robust system for addressing the many public relations nightmares that are faced on a yearly basis. But has Stern pushed the envelope to far where he is too recognizable?

When you think of the NBA you are going to think of the dunks, the last second shots and the players collapsing on the field of victory and sometimes defeat, but you also picture David Stern, chest puffed out, head raised and gut sucked in, standing next to someone nearly twice his height.

Stern inherited the NBA in the middle of the Magic/Bird Era which lead into the Jordan Era and then into the Shaq/Kobe Era with a brief interlude which we will call the pre-Kobe/Shaq Era. He didn’t exactly make the league and I don’t think it is quite as popular as it was during the first 15 years of his reign. But all in all the league has been successful with him as a commissioner, so why complain.

Because I don’t want to think of a short guy in a grey suit with that weird smile when I think of basketball. And I don’t want to think of a slightly balding redhead who squints when I think of football or of Bud Selig ever! To me the commissioner should be someone who handles the game like the wizard of Oz; from behind the curtain.

I don’t need a slowly delivered, carefully worded response that doesn’t address the question. I need more dunks and more of Charles Barkly telling me why something is terrible. Sorry Stern but I think the less we see of you the more we are going to see of your sport.

Until June 24th it is Elton Brand’s League

2010-06-03T14:35:00.001-05:00

Speculation abounds as to where Lebron will take the assumed title he will be winning over the next few years. Few believe, after the loss to the Celtics, that he will be remaining a Cavalier. So, everyone one, including owners and GMs, are wondering aloud what plans the star has for himself.

But all the speculation on Lebron has one major hurdle to get over. The NBA draft has a clear cut top 2 and it could become a free for all with teams who are less likely to get Lebron to secure some young talent.

I can’t image anyone talking the number one pick from Washington unless they are looking to take on Gilbert Arenas’ contract and making a real honey pot deal. But the 76ers are looking to lighten their load financially. They are looking to get out from underneath the less than comfortable bulk of the Elton Brand contract (he is set to make 17 and 18 million over the next two years respectively).

The Timberwolves need to move up and get a future franchise player and since they already have a stable of point guards, including some that seem reluctant to cross the pond, John Wall seems like a poor choice.

Minnesota has a stacking problem at power forward. Jefferson and Love turn in essentially the same game and it is hard to find a way to play them together.

A trade up for a number 2 where they take on the Elton Brand contract seems unlikely unless the Timberwolves can find a new team for Jefferson’s contract. So unless a 3 team deal or 2 trades get taken care of I don’t know how the Timberwolves work their way up for the Turner pick.

The Nets and new owner Mikhail Prokhorov is a complete wild card. Now one knows just yet what type of owner he is going to be. He might be a crazy throw money at every problem type of an owner or he might be a more reserved throw money at every problem type of an owner so speculation as to trades with that team are hard to figure out.

Until the 24th the question of what is going to happen at the top of the draft class is contingent upon Elton Brand (and possibly Gilbert Arenas if a GM decides he wants to one up the Timberwolves’ last draft aka Point Guard Fest 2009).

The best chance of that happening? Probably a 3 way trade with Phili, Detroit and Minnesota. Then again, maybe New Jersey will just buy the top 3 picks.

Legacy: An NBA Myth

2010-05-26T14:57:00.000-05:00

Everybody is talking and getting fined over Lebron James’ summer. People are trying to factor in as many variables as possible that they claim Lebron will use to decipher where he is going to go.

My personal favorite for humor is his legacy.

“Lebron will go to the Knicks so his Legacy can be returning them to former glory.”

“Lebron is as concerned with his Legacy as he is with the money. He wants to know what his legacy will be.”

I am sorry, but what? Do you really think that Lebron cares about all that? If you do then you are only fooling yourself in an attempt to work out a scenario that puts him on your favorite team.

Here is the simple equation for where Lebron goes that should help clear things up.

(Salary + potential plus/minus in endorsement deals + team mates and winning potential (as it relates to potential plus/minus in endorsement deals)) * if he wants to go and play in that city = chance Lebron will end up on that team.

That is it. You might notice how much of a role money is playing in the whole thing. That is because Lebron has stated with no small amount of certainty that he wants to be a global icon.

That is Lebron’s legacy and he hasn’t really made any secret of it. He plays the game for the money and the fame. No surprise but that is what 98.9% of the league does it for.

Wilt Chamberlain would have never said anything like that or even have been able to dream of the salaries and fame the current NBA touts for its players. That is why his legacy is all about someone sacrificing everything for the win.

Lebron has been compared to Jordan over and over again and do you want to know what Jordan thinks his legacy is? HE DOESN’T YET! That’s right, up until his hall of fame speech he was still pondering another comeback.

Lebron hasn’t thought that far ahead yet and he really shouldn’t. He is doing what he wants to do with his life right now and we will find out what his legacy is when it is all said and done.

I don’t think we are going to see Lebron winning 6 titles. It seems like he is reaching the point in his career where such lofty goals are slipping away. Maybe that will be his legacy.

Don’t think that Dominic Wilkins set out to never win a championship. He played in a different era of the NBA where players stayed on a team for their whole career and he never really had the greatest shot at a championship.

So before you think of talking Lebron onto you team with the tantalizing prospects of saving a franchise and restoring former glory make sure that you have a really big check with his name on it. Otherwise you are going to be playing out the various trade scenarios that could have happened over the next 10 years.

NBA: At the Game Vs. On the Couch.

2010-05-03T11:33:00.000-05:00

The NBA has a real challenge when it comes to bringing people to their games. Their biggest rival is my couch. Soft, comfortable, at my house; this formidable opponent is not something the NBA can take lightly.

I live in Minnesota so we are going to compare my couch to the Target Center but the general concepts apply.

Seating

At my house I have my couch with my coffee table (my grandfathers WWII war chest) for a foot stool. My couch is a sectional with loads of pillows that I use to create a bucket style seat with lower back support at a slightly reclined angle.

The “at arena” equivalent is a plastic seat that is uncomfortably close to the person sitting next to you. With my broad shoulders it is not comfortable to go to a stadium and be constantly attempting to avoid the elbows of the person next to you. With the Timberwolves attendance this is not an issue but you can imagine the non-draw.

The only plus for the “at arena” seating is the cup holder. No worries about knocking over you 6 dollar coke (I will touch on food next). At my house the cup on the coffee table is in constant danger but I have become used to it.

Food

There is no comparison here. The food at my house has no limits and it much less expensive. The argument of not having to make it myself doesn’t hold water either because of take out. Nearly limitless refills and any food I can preplan for.

There is no “at arena” benefit from the food side. And if you consider the swarms of people who attend the happy hours within walking distance of the stadium it is mind boggling that they haven’t figured this out yet. People will begrudgingly pay the 6 dollars for a coke or happily pay 8 dollars for 2 cokes and a fries. Cheap food is a way to bring people in. First Quarter Happy Hours anyone?

Mark Cuban is the most likely to adopt this because he is intelligent and knows what it takes to make money.

Other Entertainment

At my house I can switch channels during commercial breaks, check the other scores, check my email, do almost anything during the lulls of the game.

At the arena I am pretty much forced to watch the dancers, see some elderly lady air ball a free-throw, buy overpriced food or talk with the people around me.

Why the NBA stadiums don’t have big screens with all the other NBA games going on is beyond me. Also Mascots and dancers do not count as entertaining. Mascots are mostly creepy and except for the Bucks’ mascot ladder dunk, never entertain. Dancers/cheerleaders neither lead cheers nor inspire anything except for drunk and creepy men to make fools of themselves. We need to rethink this one.

Give me something I can’t get at home… All the games. Give me the TNT halftime show with Charles and Kenny. Give me something that is at least entertaining.

Also why don’t stadiums have free WiFi when you are at the game?

Seeing the game

HD is the saving force of the NBA as well as what is going to kill going to the game. I can go to a game and never get the quality or variety of sight lines, close ups and pan shots that HD TV can offer. HD is as accurate as real life.

Announcing

For as good as the announcing is there is a chasm when it comes to quality color commentators. I understand that their job is to talk incessantly about the game to fill in the dead air but outside of Charles Barkley no one does it more compellingly or entertainingly.

Here is what sets him apart. He doesn’t placate. If Chuck thinks you stink he is going to say it. Other announcers tell you that everyone everywhere is great. Reggie Miller is the closest second to this (he is still a mile away) but he just doesn’t have the voice for it.

The greatest color commentator duo was Walton and Stephen A Smith. Walton loved everything and Smith loved to push Walton’s buttons.

Okay, Imagine this. Tirico as the announcer with Walton and Barkley doing commentary. That game would go down as legend even if the game was horrible. I get chills just thinking about it.

At home I get relatively good announcing and half time commentary that is awesome when it’s on TNT.

At the game I get almost nothing.

Atmosphere

This is the hardest one of all. My house I made to be exactly the way I want it. I can invite the people I want over to watch the game with me. I have complete and entire control over everything.

The key for the NBA here is to offer me something I can’t get at home. I guess I can’t get a huge empty stadium that is dark and uninviting at home but that really isn’t a draw.

Let’s take a quick look at the atmosphere of a Football game. Every game is very important. Any and every loss are devastating. A football game can have a retractable dome so you can use the mood around the stadium to give the stadium itself a better atmosphere.

My solution is to use the surroundings of a basketball stadium. Not a retractable roof but an atrium like roof. Let me watch a basketball game in downtown while I can see downtown. I have my tentative plans for this stadium drawn up. Also make it so when I go get one of the 6 dollar cokes that I don’t have to leave the stadium and go to a hallway to get it. Open the stadium up and make it more enjoyable and a less dark atmosphere. Don’t be afraid of people enjoying more than just the basketball game.

In short, give me a good reason to get off my couch and go to a game.

It’s a tough fight to win, but one that the NBA hasn’t even publicly recognized yet. I expect Mark Cuban to set the curve on this.

NBA Playoffs: Team Profiles

2010-04-29T16:33:00.001-05:00

Admittedly I haven’t seen enough of the playoffs to comment on all the teams so I am just going to give the profiles for the teams that I have seen play.

Cleveland Cavaliers

This is the Playground All Stars. One superb player that is leaps and bounds about anyone else around him, an old guy who thinks he is still the best, a least 2 creepy guys that you let play because they are either tall or fast, a couple of streaky shooters and the guy who moved in from another city. They rely way too heavily on their star player as all the other players are riding him for a championship and stardom. You are also not certain how seriously they are all taking this.

Chicago Bulls

The very young high school team. There are a couple of players who are good and bordering on great but there is a huge fall of from your top 3 players and the rest are only serviceable if you are feeling generous with the term.

Boston Celtics

The Rolling Stones. They look old, they are old, but their style of play is something that apparently you can do and still rock at even when half of your players are corpses. Fill in every now and then with a new drummer and viola a comeback tour. They might be trading on past accomplishments though and nobody is dying for the new stuff.

Miami Heat

Playing at the park. One really good player and his buddies take on all new comers. The one player is responsible for 100% of the wins and the rest of the guys are responsible for 100% of the losses. The good kid is trying to find a way to get to AAU basketball.

Orlando Magic

I should have a thought on them but I don’t.

Atlanta Hawks

Dominique Wilkins. They have all the talent in the world but can’t pull it together to win something substantial. They shoot threes when they should be driving for the dunk, dunk when they are down by 3 with 1 second left. Generally amazing and confusing at the same time.

Milwaukee Bucks

1985-86 Jordan. Have you ever played a game of basketball, looked at the team that is coming on next and thought to yourself “That is a tough team.”. That is this team. They have talent and team chemistry oozing out of every pore. They haven’t won yet but it is just a matter of time.

This is with Bogut. I can’t give you a real feel for the team without Bogut other than to say Branding Jennings is faster than whoever is guarding him.

Los Angeles Lakers

My 1992 Bonneville SSEi Supercharged. The car was awesome; spacious and fast with leather interior and loads of speakers. It was awesome. It also chewed through transmissions and was not reliable ever. I got ride of it for a Mazada because I was sick of worrying when it was going to fail me next. Also it got old.

OKC Thunder

The first generation I-Phone. Cool, sexy and so far advanced it doesn’t even make sense. Tools and apps that you hadn’t even thought of yet. Downside? Doesn’t always work. Too new to be as perfect as you know it is going to be down the road. Intermittent service, functions that you don’t even use, but man if it isn’t the coolest thing right now.

Denver Nuggets

Dr. Richard Kimble. (google it). They are victims of a series of events that were out of their control. They know what they need to do but can’t do it. George Karl fighting cancer, K-mart’s knee and facing the Utah Jazz in the first round. Its an uphill battle for them every step of the way and I don’t think they are going to get their freedom (escape first round) to find the answers they are looking for. (answers = championship in the last sentence)

Utah Jazz

Emmit Smith. You get the same performance, a little bit of show, a little bit of power and a little bit of finesse, every night. You remember the game you saw yesterday. You are going to see the same thing tonight and tomorrow night and the next night. This is a good quality when every round is a 7 game series.

Dallas Mavericks

Prolonged Sexual tension on a TV show. I am going to use Bones as an example. You have Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth who are constantly starring longingly into each others eyes only to come up with a stupid excuse for not being in a relationship. That is the way Dallas is with a championship. Every year they stare into each others eyes and come up with another dumb reason to not be together.

San Antonio Spurs

The old guys at the Y. They have been playing together for the past, I don’t know, 80 years and they can anticipate the needs and movements of the players around them. Unfortunately they also suffer from arthritis, an enlarged prostate and ED. They are good and fundamentally sound. Its not that they are old, its that the were old 5 years ago.

Phoenix Suns

King of the playground. The one guy who has been around for ever at the playground and makes everyone who plays with him better but never makes it off the playground. He is fun to watch and there is a way higher premium put on scoring then defending but its really hard to imagine him anywhere else and that is a problem when he hasn’t every been holding the trophy.

Portland Trailblazers

I don’t really know much about them except that Brandon Roy is nuts/all man.

KFC: Double Down

2010-04-27T13:38:00.003-05:00

First of all I ordered it with original recipe. I had KFC ten years ago. NOT THE ORIGINAL RECIPE. Remember when the breading was crunchy and kinda think? Apparently KFC doesn’t remember that.

Grease. I know it was to be expected but honestly you cannot begin to imagine how much. It was bordering on swimming levels.

Bacon… I know that its supposed to be fatty but there should be something other than fat on the bacon. Bacon is not white.

The cheese was fine. It was your standard non-descript flavored cheese.

The Coronals special sauce… first of all, is that not the worst name ever and I do mean ever. I am pretty sure it was just to add color and had no actual flavor related role.

Oh so my overall review is mixed. A single sandwich costs you $5.48. It isn’t supper filling because it is all meat.

I would give it a 3 out of 5 stars. Tastes good, not filling, expensive and essentially a one way ticket to a funeral home. But on the upside it did slow my heart down.

NBA: Timberwolves

2010-04-23T08:42:00.003-05:00

First off big kudos to Chris Wright, President of the Timberwolves for taking my email and responding. Didn't know that the NBA Front Office was like that.

He decided to go with the current uniforms that the Timberwolves have over my recommended version. see below

But in talking with him briefly I came across the greatest single challenge I think the NBA and the Timberwolves have to face. At my house I have an HD projector, a large and comfortable couch, Tivo and inexpensive food at every turn. I have been to the target center. They have a dark and rather uninviting atmosphere alongside expensive food.

You can see the problem. Why go to a game when I have it at home and under way more favorable condition. The NBA wants you to believe that the atmosphere of proffessional basketball is something that you have to be there to appreciate. I would argue that with HD you are more there than if you were at a game. You get up close and personal with the players, watching their expressions and frustrations and you get instant replay at a whim.

So I tried to think of what it would take to make people my age want to go to a professional basketball game.

The first and most obvious step is to have an explosive player. If you aren't sure if this works please see Allen Iverson and the 76ers. People want to see a dynamic player with a dynamic character. The wolves have some potentially dynamic players but no dynamic character.

Next is changing the Atmosphere of the Stadium. For some reason when you go into an NBA stadium they want there to be nothing else to even look at outside of the basketball game. But pursing that ideal the stadiums often feel a little like a prison. They are dark places where the upper level seats are under a shroud.

The NBA needs to look toward other sports to see why their stadiums are successful. The answer is of course that they let you see the city around them, or the sky. They are more open to their surroundings. Now I am not suggesting a retractable dome basketball stadium but why couldn't it have a glass top. Why could you be sitting at a Timberwolves game and be able to look up and see the city around you. Imagine that with snow falling and you have an atmosphere that I can't get at home.

Also cheap food. You need to run the NBA games like a happy hour. Cheap beer and hot appetizers. That is how you put butts in the seats. A bar + happy hour = crowded.

The NBA faces a real challenge in bringing fans in. The other line of conversation in my emails was the Timberwolves getting more involved in the park leagues. But that conversation is for another day.

More little known facts about David Duchovny.

2010-04-07T12:15:00.001-05:00

DD is funny. So funny in fact that he accidently made people think Carrot Top was funny just by standing beside him at a party. Carrot Top is not funny.

DD sometimes dresses as Spike Lee and goes to the Knicks games when Spike is unable to attend.

DD Once sold a dollar bill for $325.00 at auction.

DD owns a majority share of the word awesome. Whenever someone uses it commercially he gets paid.

Newton’s often overlooked 4th Law of Motion is that DD cannot fight Chuck Norris because their opposing forces would splinter time itself.

DD is a lover not a fighter, but sometimes he loves to fight.

Last night DD made a cameo in your dreams.

DD spends hours at a time trying to make sense of The Twilight Series. He came close once.

Barack Obama did his best DD impersonation during the presidential campaign. That is how he won.

DD’s humor is so dry he secretes a Chardonnay that sells for 85 dollars a bottle.

Women who stand too close to DD will get a killer tan in about 15 minutes.

DD snuck into your house and moved your keys last week. He is still laughing about that one.

DD doesn’t believe in vampires and werewolves. He eliminated the last of them years ago.

*Note: All DD facts are verified by a dedicated panel of fictional characters and should in no way be challenged or disputed.

Also, David Duchovny would like for you to watch his hit Showtime series Californication. Do it.

Truth and Consequences.

2010-02-18T15:49:00.001-06:00

You’ve heard of the Butterfly Effect, where the butterfly’s beating wings cause a hurricane halfway across the world. In essence, Small things can have monumental implications. How much more so an attitude can effect, if not the world around you, your perception of the world.

I am not making humans out to be super-powered world changers by mere though. Rather that we change our own worlds by it.

People who are happy at their core better endure the trials that life tends to hurl at us in rapid succession. The real truth about truth and consequences are that they both exist. There is such a thing as truth and knowing that, or not knowing that, has consequences.

I am going to briefly cover this with a first-tier example. Gravity, say you didn’t know about gravity or you just forgot. You are standing at the top of a canyon and you want to get to the other side of the canyon. Lets say you are compelled to hurry because it is hot and there is an ice cream cone on the other side of the canyon melting. (I know, you forgot about gravity but remember ice cream, it’s a stretch but you see where I am going) If you don’t know about gravity you are going to run off the edge of the cliff and have Wylie Coyote type consequences.

We all get that but do we understand the other side of the equation. If you know about gravity in our little example then you know there is no way to get to the ice cream in time. Not the biggest loss in the world to you but to the “you” in our example it is everything.

There are two sides to truth and where as most people say ignorance is bliss, what they really mean is ignoring is bliss. They know the both sides of it but where one side of the truth is incredibly liberating, the other side is altogether damning. At least it can be.

Now to my point, if you believe there is a heaven then you should be able to reason there is a hell. How can you have a perfect being who doesn’t have any standards? You have standards, why shouldn’t God. And if he has standards then some people aren’t going to make the cut.

I know, you have thought of this before but to what level. Look at the guy next to you on the way home today. In the car next to you or on the bus or walking on the sidewalk, that guy could be going to hell. Not that he might not be a nice guy but God has standards. What if this guy is just one good thing below the line before he dies? He gets on the scale (not a real scale but a metaphorical one) and he doesn’t have enough good to get him in.

That is my problem with spirituality. You want God to exist and you want heaven but you don’t want to feel like you might not be good enough and you don’t want people judging you. That’s the hard side to truth I am talking about. And do you want some more truth?

Suck it up. We all have to deal with that. You can stick your head in the sand and hope that the whole “I didn’t know” defense works, but you know that it doesn’t work for you. Sure God has more compassion than you do but he also has more of everything else, like standards and expectations and rights.

So before you get upset about what I just said, ask yourself. Why am I so upset? If what I said didn’t make any sense you would just shrug it off and move on. But if you get upset, you might have to look at that side of truth you have been ignoring for a while now. Yeah there is truth and these are the consequences. Just because you want life to be convenient don’t expect it to be. It isn’t

Batman 3 Movie

2010-01-25T14:24:00.001-06:00

We know that Christian Bale is signed for 3 movies under the Nolan Batman franchise. The internet is rife with speculation about what the next movie entails. The only thing that can be agreed upon is that Nolan is looking for a story that peaks his interest.

Here is my take on what the next movie should be.

The movie opens with Batman taking on one of the lesser criminals he faces (I would like it to be The Ventriloquist & Scarface. A personal choice) Batman asks why he came to Gotham and the villains says something to the effect of we all come for you.

Batman returns and expresses his frustration with the amount of criminals who are coming to Gotham just to fight him. He is beginning to think that Batman has become less of a deterrent and more of an attraction for criminals. Either Alfred or Fox can be the confident.

Bruce Wayne receives an invitation to the opening of a new club called the Iceberg Lounge. The owner is new Gotham resident Oswald Cobblepot. The name of Cobblepot is well known to Bruce Wayne but he wants to know why such a predominant socialite left Metropolis and moved to Gotham. Also there is a connection with the Luther Family, which Bruce Wayne suspects of criminal activity.

Wayne shows up to the party and notes its odd location, quite near the narrows and within short distance to Arkham. At the party a new reporter, Vicki Vale, approaches Bruce Wayne for an article she is doing entitled “A Batman Free Gotham: What our city would look like if Batman wasn’t around any longer.” Wayne says it has been on his mind lately and that she should come by his office and they could talk about it.

Bruce asks Cobblepot why he moved to Gotham. “A new town, a new start and a new business investment.” Cobblepot, a short rather rotund man with a pointy nose also notes that despite money and the best of clothing (mostly tuxedos) that some are not so lucky in their looks as Bruce Wayne.

Batman starts catching wind of a new crime lord in town called the Penguin who seems somewhat more refined. He is fencing stolen artwork from around the world and using Gotham as his home base. But there aren’t any deaths or mugging associated with it. The white collar crimes escalate as Batman (used to beating his opponents up) has his hands full with the psychopaths that he himself is drawing to Gotham.

While looking into Cobblepot’s background Batman begins tracking the stolen artwork and finds it is coming into a dock in the narrows. He goes and finds Cobblepot at the dock. When he confronts Cobblepot, Oswald says that he is just enjoying the birds that live near the water. Batman doesn’t by it but Oswald simply points out that all he has is conjecture and that Batman cannot testify in court so his intimidation tactics are worthless.

Batman begins harassing the Penguins criminal activity and even shows up at his club once or twice. This inconvenience drives the Penguin to bring in every assassin and lunatic he can to battle batman. During this time he has been seeing Vicki Vale socially.

The Penguin has decided the best bet is to saturate the city with lunatics and while the whole town is turned upside down, to rob the Gotham Museum of Art. He is going to make one big take of the town and then leave.

By this time Bruce Wayne has vowed to retire Batman once he has ride Gotham of the penguin. Batman also realizes that relying on a car in a city that has gone mad is not a good idea and commissions an ultra light single person plane to get around the city.

The heist is foiled but Alfred is killing while helping Batman. Also Cobblepot dies.

The next morning the paper headlines “Batman Retires” and underneath socialite Oswald Cobblepot killed in Riotous night. The city complains that Batman failed to protect Cobblepot and that he made their town a mess and now has abandoned it. Commissioner Gordon is taking heat for not having captured Batman and saved the town.

Fox and Wayne are the only two at the funeral for Alfred. “Did Batman kill him? Did I kill Alfred” Wayne asks. “No, we all killed him. But he wasn’t the only one.” Fox asks “What will you do now?”

Are Performance Enhancing Drugs only for Enhancing Performance?

2010-01-12T15:48:00.001-06:00

Mark McGwire used steroids. Surprised? No, of course you aren’t. But if he hadn’t he would have ended up like Ken Griffey Jr., another sad story in the history of professional talent in a sub-par body.

Everyone keeps saying that using performance enhancing drugs to get an edge is wrong, but let me ask you a question; If you went to the doctor and he wanted to put you on steroids to help you get better faster, wouldn’t you take the steroids? Of course you would, so why shouldn’t athletes?

Now I am not saying that football linemen should take them throughout their career but if you hurt yourself you can take them to get better. Why can’t professional athletes?

The argument has been put forward that it gives them an advantage that previous generations of professionals didn’t have. Yeah, so does the advancements in medicine and clothing but I don’t see anyone clamoring for football players to go back to wearing the leather helmet because that is how it is was done in the old days.

Or how about Tommy John surgery? It used to be the kiss of death but now guys come back from it on a regular basis. Are we going to start relegating our professional athletes to 1930s health care for the integrity of the game?

We ask these athletes to destroy their bodies all in the name of our entertainment but don’t afford them the latest medicine to help them heal quicker because it can also be used to get really, really big fast? Really, we are going to do that?

I understand that we are worried that kids are going to get on steroids at an early age. I was a student athlete in high school and I had asthma. There isn’t a cure for asthma but when it gets really bad there is a special inhaler to help improve my breathing. It has steroids in it. I didn’t use it in high school but I ended up using it later in life. Did it help improve my performance? Yes it did. I was able to breathe. I can’t tell you how much that helps.

So why is there this armistice on steroids in any form? Can’t they play a role in helping players heal and maintain their bodies for a longer period of time? Who didn’t feel a little bit bad for Ken Griffey Jr. when we realized that every time he swings he breaks at least 2 bones and rips a tendon? We demand so much from these athletes, can’t we give them the tools to heal their bodies.

The Proliferation of “Great”

2010-01-06T16:20:00.001-06:00

What is it with today’s announcers calling everyone the Great so and so. I am just waiting for somebody to be doing a piece and reference “the Great and under-appreciated contributor, Jud Buechler”. Okay, so now that Bill Walton is no longer announcing it might not happen, but suddenly there are no bad players anymore.

It has to do with announcing, I think. The announcers have become conciliatory to a fault. Bill Walton actually compared Boris Diaw to a Beethoven piece in the sense that they are both classical? ESPN announcers reference everyone as either legendary, great, or my own personal hero.

Case in point is Jim Rome. He made his chops by dissing Jim Evert. Since then he has done nothing but complement people in a choppy cadence. This is a guy who literally made his name by insulting people and then as soon as Jim Evert tosses him like a body double in a Don Johnson clip he becomes the biggest proponent of pro-athletes’ skills since every woman Wilt has ever met.

What they need to do more of is pair these conciliatory announcers with people who will call them on it. When Walton was with Stephen A. Smith they had the match made in heaven. Bill Walton was waxing poetic about the way new sneakers were not only fantastic fashion but also revolutionized the way players were running and how fast, or some such nonsense and Smith would be flailing in apparent pain in the background only to challenge him on just how crazy he sounded.

Enter the ultimate call-your-bluff announcer, Charles Barkley. We need to get Bill Walton out of retirement and pair him with Charles Barkley. Please. Please. Seriously, please. Now that would be

My top 5 Basketball players of all Time

2009-12-29T11:13:00.001-06:00

My wife got me The Book of Basketball by Bill Simmons for Christmas. I can’t recommend this book enough. Even in setting it down I can feel it call out to me. If you ever have enjoyed basketball, this book is a must read.

When I was growing up near Chicago the Jordan Era was happening. We didn’t have season tickets, but we made it to some games. But for the majority of the Bulls’ games, both regular season and post season the lights of our house were dimmed and the bulls game was on.

Watching Jordan dunk and the slew of short white guys that accompanied the teams hit threes was a family tradition. Pippen running the point and launching threes or driving and creating his own style of dunking or dishing to Horace Grant for the exact same two-handed dunk every time are memories that I cherish.

Reading Bill Simmons’ book has thrown into contrast the vast knowledge I have over a very short time frame of the NBA. From the late 80s to late 90s I watched as much basketball as I could absorb and hardly ever missed a play off game. Then, after Jordan retired, so did I. Kobe’s unwavering selfishness, Shaq lowing his shoulder and hitting someone, anyone before he would dunk the ball from about 4 inches away, and Allen Iverson chastising his teammates for taking open shots when he only had 2 people on him drove me from the sport I grew up loving. My heroes had moved on and so did I.

Enter HD television and Charles Barkley announcing. Love affair rekindled.

Now you have stars like Lebron (6-8, 250 lbs – Star or Freak of Nature? Maybe Both) and Dwight Howard (who is coached by a cave troll). The League is exciting and the Baby Bulls are back in the heat. Or at least they were before they let their most exciting player go.

Now on to my list.

1.) Michael Jordon. What? Didn’t you read the first couple of paragraphs? I grew up a Bulls fan during the Jordan Era. And a legtimite Bulls fan not some guy from Charlotte who wanted to be “Part of the Winning Team”. Jordan wanted to win and wouldn’t let anyone stop him from doing it. I have so many memories of Jordan playing that I don’t think I can even begin to relate them all. One of the most endearing is Jordan and Pippen in the post season, hands on their knees from exhaustion, exhaustion on their faces but also determination; two Champions spending themselves in the pursuit of victory.
2.) Larry Bird. I didn’t get to see much of Larry Bird’s career so most of this rating is based off of video games. You could take any shot from any where with Larry Bird and it would go in. And you cannot underestimate how cool a hook shot 3-pointer is.
3.) Magic Johnson. I hate him. He beat the Bulls early on. I didn’t like him because of that but I have to admit that he was electric. He could pass the ball to anyone on the court even if it was physically impossible that he could have seen them. He was possibly the most versatile basketball player ever. He could play any position on the court at a professional level.
4.) Dominic Wilkins. Watching him and Jordan trade dunks for an entire game was a highlight of my youth. The games where Dominic played against Jordon were always highlighted on the schedule for me. You knew it was going to be a show. It was sad to me that he was a great player that was always on a bad team. I don’t remember them ever make an attempt with him to get a title. It was always a “You’ve got Dominic. What else do you want?” approach from ownership.
5.) David Robinson. I could have gone a lot of different routes with this pick and don’t think that there weren’t a lot of other people who came to mind but The Admiral not only had an awesome nickname but he was strong and graceful. He baseline turn around jumper, falling out of bounds was unstoppable. He was always exciting to watch.

I only have one thing to say in parting to the NBA. Why did you sell all your good games to TNT? When you had the games on local TV you were encouraging fan base. Do you really think that putting it on cable is going to drive more people to see games? Don’t think so.

Also what have you done with dunking in games? Nobody over 6’11 does it constantly anymore. Now every games is a three point contest.

garden

2009-10-13T16:16:00.001-05:00

I hold the garden.
The growth of hope
That turns to decay in its season

Efforts made in early and at last
Find empty their graces
Inside the folds of time I possess

I give fruit
And dismay
With my whims

Far from the reality
Grows the truth
That seeking men cannot find

Yet seeking
Is not amiss
For in seeking on found another

Be not dismayed
For I hold the garden
And growth, life will come in season

A more obvious lull.

2009-10-13T11:54:00.002-05:00

Its painfully obvious that I haven't been posting anything at all in a while. Not because I haven't been writing but rather that I have been working on my good stuff, trying to finish a couple of things and get published. I have sent one story out and got turned down but they gave me positive feedback, which was nice. I am trying another place that specializes in sorta what I do. We will see. If it gets published then I will tell all of you about it. If it doesn't, I am considering putting it up on the blog. It will have to be an attached PDF.

But I am also writing in the big story I am working on and the short story that I think will be really, very solid. Hope to have something to report soon, one way or another.

Ted

Detroit Lions need a new name

2009-09-21T09:49:00.003-05:00

I was watching the game yesterday with Benny when the truth became obvious. The Detroit Lions will never win the super bowl. So aside from leaving the state and really pissing off all the fans, Detroit will need a name change.

Benny and I, being the solution oriented men that we are came up with a couple of apt names for the state.

Detroit Vacancies
Detroit Exodus
Detroit Unemployment Checks
Detroit Anquish
Detroit Crime Rate
Detroit Vagrancy

You got any?

Dear Public,

2009-08-25T09:34:00.001-05:00

It was a rather peculiar thought that brought me to where I am today. Most people would call it disturbing, bordering on crazy and definitely evil. But I have set aside the perspective of humanity for the perspective of truth. No one can argue against its fundamental truth.

People are never more ready to accept God then in the face of tragedy, where their fears and frailty are laid before them. In short, it is easier to believe in God when you can clearly see the Devil.

This has been my life’s work.

It was hard, the first time I took a life. I started with an individual who was deserving of death; a drug dealing pedophile. It was a simple cut across his neck as he lay passed out from the drugs he pedaled on children.

It wasn’t so much that he hadn’t earned death, but rather that I didn’t have the heart to do it. Even in the case of such an unsavory character. I am by all accounts a man of morals and a fierce believer of God.

I have since a young age been passionately devoted to my firm belief in a higher power. It was that belief that drove me toward a parish in my more formidable years, despite my parents’ aversion to organized religion.

But I knew I wasn’t meant for the priesthood. I wanted to do something so great that it startled the world into recognition of the presence of God. So I study history in order to find out what was the driving force in the existence of humanity that turned the masses to faith.

The answer was so simplistically sweet that I couldn’t believe it when I stumbled upon it, death. Humans fear death. Even when we act like we don’t, it is constantly driving our decisions.

And more so than just any death but the horrific and unexplainable deaths and tragedies fueled rivers of converts to the understanding of God. It was in the quiet discovery of this phenomenon that I decided that I would be the damn that released that flood.

At first I started out killing people who had by any right earned death. But even when I would mutilate the bodies in a public forum the floods would not commence.

It was in this quintessential moment that I gained further insight into human nature. Even when we don’t think we have, we place a value on every life. The life of those we love we value the most followed by those we have met. Then it is children who have not yet had a chance at life. Next comes productive society, or those we deem to be valued inside our accepted social constraints. After that come the elderly and mentally ill, whom we mourn but are quick to point out that their life was without the joy we experience. Finally, the leeches of society; those who do nothing and take everything: the criminals, habitually unemployed and homeless, lazy self serving people who have it coming.

I had started, from my own moral apprehensions, in the lowest cast of perceived society. It wasn’t until I stepped outside of the morals of our culture that I was able to ascertain the greater truth of my own failed attempts. I had to make the horror be accompanied with a cost.

It was then that I started working my way up the levels. I needed to see which level best removed the blinders from the public eye and forced them to turn in their misery into the loving arms of a creator.

You might think of me a horrible maniacal person, but the results are not to be argued with. At most I have taken a few hundred lives that would have ended up going to hell anyway and have in the process saved the souls of thousands.

I had to let the world see the Devil face to face in order to fill the streets of heaven.

My work isn’t done yet, until that final day when we are all called home. I will know unequivocally that I have been used to save thousands from eternal torment. It is my hope that my story will incite others to act and pursue the glory of God by compelling the lost into his arms.

Altruistically Devoted,
He whom the Media has dubbed
The Bloody Priest

- This is the backbone of another story idea I had. I am trying to finish something completely and then post it.

Ascend No More

2009-08-05T14:12:00.001-05:00

I looked upon these things
Weighed them on the scales of my heart
They are without merit
And try as I might I cannot bear them anymore

How can I pose myself in such a fashion?
As a manikin, a smile born façade of the empty vessel
The lie and pretentiousness that even I despise
I am not what I would be and cannot become otherwise

There is a weight to life
We are not told of it before
Yet we commence none the less ignorant
Pain swipes from side to side of our intended paths

Can I change the course or outcome
Affect my own escape from a false reality
Bear the broken heart of existence
From apex to apex until
I ascend no more

A late though for Dusty Jorgensen

2009-07-24T15:59:00.001-05:00

A Place on the Couch

There’s a place on the couch where he liked to sit
With a smile spread from ear to ear
And talk about trucks, his boy, and John Deere

There’s a place on the couch where he’d bounce his young boy
They would laugh, he’d be silly, his heart filled with joy

There’s a place on the couch where he liked to relax
Kick up his feet watch a movie or two
Catch a sponge bob or watch the game
Spend the afternoon through

There’s a place on the couch where he liked to lay
And have a cool drink on a hot summer’s day.

There’s a place on the couch where he drew his last breath
Not really there as he drifted toward death.

And there’s a place on the couch where his boy sits alone
Forced to try and figure out what it is he did wrong

Because there’s a place on the couch where his dad used to be
And it’s cold and it bare, a too vivid memory…

Of who should still be there

I hope that the loss of Dusty will awaken those who could have easily been in his place.

The House Of Two Pillars continued…

2009-07-09T16:47:00.001-05:00

Success had avoided the Wainsworth family as a whole for many generations. Bertram’s company had continued on as he had left it with no real direction or purpose that is until Clark had been born. He had that spark of ingenuity and drive that had eluded his forefathers save Bertram. It had been assumed that one day Clark would take over the paper company.

The company had remained in paper with no deviation from the simple plan to turn trees into paper and sell the paper. They had diversified the paper portfolio over the generations but the company had never dealt with the advent of the internet.

The big “going paperless” movement had hurt business. With more information being pushed to the World Wide Web, the paper industry had tanked. Wainsworth Paper had only stayed afloat by Bert’s decision to completely automate the production. A lot of people lost their jobs but it would have been more than triple as much if they had to close down. It was a tough decision but it breathed some life back into the old business.

But the automation project was small scale from what he envisioned for his family’s company. “The world is going paperless, why can’t a paper company go paperless with it?” He asked in a board meeting. “What’s a paper company without paper?” His uncle Carl had asked scoffing at the young upstart. Clark was used to people not getting his ideas. “That is what we need to figure out!” He had passion, intellect and a touch of daring, which was what his family’s company needed more than ever.

Clark’s uncle enjoyed his nephew’s vigor and enthusiasm but believe that he lacked discipline and experience. That limited Clark’s abilities from harming him before he was ready to take the reigns of the company. Carl wanted his nephew to succeed and made sure that his eagerness wasn’t given a chance to turn on the young man.

Some of the older Wainsworth factories had been sitting empty for a couple of years now and Clark had gained board approval to re-appropriate a few to a pet project of his. “A solution to the question” he told his uncle who was glad that Clark wasn’t demanding immediate overhauling of the entire company as he had in years past.

It hadn’t been more than a couple months since the beginning of his project that Clark returned to extol the virtues of his newest project. “We are a paper company in a paperless world. I asked a few months ago why we couldn’t accomidate this new climate. Well, I think that not only can we accomidate it we can grow stronger than ever.

My team has taken 6 of the old warehouses and transformed them into state of the art data warehouses with the highest level of security for today’s demanding paperless world. This new section of Wainsworth Solutions is already posting profits that rivaled the days of Bertram Wainsworth himself. With a combined paper and paperless solutions approach we can meet the needs of any customer.”

Clark sat down with a smile stretching across his face. He had done it. While this board had sat ideally by he had made a move that would push his family’s company into the 21st century and back into the height of industry. Wainsworth Solutions, as he now called it, would be a force to be reckoned with.

Clark’s phone ran.

“Hey dad, what’s up?”

“It’s your cousin James. He died this morning.”

“Really? How?”

“Got electrocuted at work. His boss said it was a very freak accident, not even sure how it happened.”

“What a horrible tragedy for Uncle Carl’s family.” Clark remarked seating himself on a nearby chair. “What is he going to do?”

“I suspect your uncle will retire. It is no secret that he has been considering it for some time now. With the loss of his son I think he will consider it time to move along. The company will be yours.”

“Stop with that dad. Now is hardly the time to talk about such matters. I was more referring to the arrangements.”

“I understand but there is one more issue that I need to bring up. The old house, the estate in the valley, the house of two pillars.” There was a brief pause as if Clark’s father was waiting for a confirmation that his son recognized what he was referencing. “It will be yours now. You are the youngest.”

“Dad, I don’t want to talk about the house.”

“You must promise me that you will not under any circumstances move into the house.”

“Really father, this is quite inappropriate.”

“You must promise.”

The phone call dropped and Clark dismissed his father’s reference to the house as grief related and did not give it another moments consideration.

The Gap Widens

2009-07-07T16:45:00.001-05:00

“I am hated by people I have never met because they assume that I hate them, but they have never met me, never talked to me, never asked me my opinion… they just assume I hate them. I don’t make my decisions or choose my beliefs because I think they are the easy ones, the ones that most people will agree with or even the ones that will be received as the most well thought out. I do what I believe is right and it is hard. I struggle with the making sense of it all.

So why am I hated? Because I believe in God? I look at the wonderful and breathtaking world around me and I cannot conceive of it without God. I have tried the path of science but they offer thin answers that are predicated on blind belief whereas when I look at the world about me I see God evident in everything.

Am I hated because you think I disapprove of who you are or what you do? I don’t approve of who I am or what I do. Do you really think I have time to judge you? I am trying to love you because my God commands that I love. It can be hard and I most certainly fail but I try. If we were to truly measure ourselves I am certain I would hold any wrong I did lower than anything you could have done. I feel my shortcomings in the morning. I remember them in daylight and they accompany my thoughts as I dream. My sins are evident to me in all things. Can you forgive me for all I have done that is wrong? I have to deal with me first. Can’t I just work on loving and work on me?

Do you hate me because you think me unwise? I know that there are men smarter than I will ever be, but I cannot simply take them at their word. They are men and men are fallible. I have a need to know for myself. Just because I want to know or disagree doesn’t mean that I don’t think they are smart. It simply means I disagree. Isn’t it alright if we just disagree?

Or is it because the gap has widened and you have come to hate the gap? Humanity seems more divided than ever. Our hatred of one another is no longer held on our shirtsleeves but bottled up and spewed as rhetoric and division. We cannot listen to the others ideas and strive for a world we can all be happy in. Instead we point fingers and call names in hopes of a fight.

You can hate me. There is nothing I can do about it. But you cannot make me hate you. And maybe, with the aid of my God, I can learn to love you.”

The House of Two Pillars

2009-06-18T13:56:00.002-05:00

Two pillars remained on either side of the drive. Weather and time had worn them to wavy pitted forms accenting where the road and drive collided. The pillars had once held the gate the stood across the drive. The gates had been taken down years ago and sold and the wooden fences that ran up on each side of the pillars had decayed so that there was not even a hint of them among the tangles of grass and tree roots.

The pitch of the roof was barely visible above the treetops in the distance. The drive, now nearly overrun with growth, wound its way back along the willows to the clearing where the immense house sat.

The fog rolled down from the mountains to settle upon the bogs of the lowlands, among which the house was set. The stone façade had spent more than half its life wallowing in the darkness and fog, under the shadow of the mountains. It had been built to stand the test of time and thus far the builders had achieved just that. The House of Two Pillars had stood against the cold biting winds of the valley for more than 300 years.

The house had never left the Wainesworth family. It had been built for Bertram Wainesworth and passed along from generation to generation as a sort of heirloom, some thinking it shouldn’t be sold, others knowing that it could not be.

The Wainesworth’s had carried on the tradition of giving the house, along with all its furniture and contents along to the youngest son, a tradition that had started with Bertram Wainesworth. Bertram had given the house to his youngest son Charleston, passing over his eldest 3 son’s Garret, Matthew, and Philmore. The youngest son’s had originally taken the house to be a great heirloom but through years and the general dilution of the Wainesworth fortune, the youngest sons had come to view the house as less of a cherished heirloom and more of a burden.

None of the son’s had lived in the house since the early 1800’s and the reasons given had dwindled overtime to nothing more than the house being inconveniently old and in need of too much work. Yet there was also a fear of the house. An unspoken rule that whoever inherited the house should never move into it, but the reason for this was never discussed.

Paper had been the avenue in which Bertram Wainesworth had made his fortune. It was a grand some and he had hoped it would be enough to sustain his family for 1000 years. He had found a vast sum of land and bought it for a very small price considering the size of the land. The House of Two Pillars was to be a haven for his family for many generations to come. It had been all but abandoned now for many generations.

Noises

2009-06-12T12:27:00.000-05:00

“What was that noise?” Sarah thought to herself as she slid into her familiar spot on the oversized chair, one leg slung over an armrest.

The TV was working its way through one of the Myth Busters episodes she had dvr’ed as she began to slurp the noodles of her soup. It was a perfect day for soup and TV. It had rained/snowed for about 2 days straight and even though she was dry now she still felt the cold lingering in her bones.

Sarah pulled on her socks and grabbed the blanket that was flung over the chair, pulling it across her body. “A nice lazy evening.” She said to the cocker spaniel that sat at the foot of the chair. “You had better not need to go outside again tonight because I am not taking you out.”

The dog didn’t even lift its head. They had just gotten back from a run about a half hour ago and the normally chipper Mr. Kowalski was too tired to entertain Sarah right now.

Thump.

A definite noise that time. Sarah pulled herself up on her shoulder to look behind into the kitchen. The darkness beyond the door frame was all consuming, but the noise had stopped. More noodles slurped into Sarah’s mouth and the smacking of her lips aroused some faint interest from Mr. K.

The TV show worked on as with the Myth Busters taking on urban legends. “The Discovery Channel is the only thing really worth watching.” Sarah noted to the dog who was intently watching her bowl. “And I think Grant is cute.” Sarah however thought a great many men were cute.

Scrap.

“What in the blazes?” Sarah noted getting up from the chair and switching on the table lamp. “Can’t a girl just watch some TV and eat some noodles in peace?” Even having to get out of the chair frustrated her to no end. She stormed off into the kitchen.

The darkness swallowed her.

My Take on: Money

2009-05-29T13:49:00.001-05:00

I want you to name something that you can do that doesn’t cost any money. Since you cannot tell me what you came up with I see if I can guess. Did you think sit in your house and read a book? Exactly how did you get the book? Also having a house costs a handsome sum without considering electricity. Perhaps you thought of a walk to the park. You aren’t going naked are you? Clothes cost money and the food you would need to eat to get yourself there isn’t free. You cannot hunt for free anymore and harvesting would mean you have to trespass on someone’s land.

My point is that we have become enslaved by money. You might not be feeling as free as you had been a moment ago. There is no part of your life that isn’t dictated by money. The homeless don’t ask if you have spare housing, clothing or food. They ask if you have spare change, or some money that you could give to them. Money is the web we wove then subsequently ensnared ourselves in. You are a slave to money.

It probably takes a person who was either poor once or relatively poor now to view money as a trap or slavery and likely I would fit most people’s definition of both. My wife and I live comfortably in our apartment, but we have debt and it dictates what we can and cannot do. Still, I think I began to view money in this fashion when I was younger.

There is a frustration with money when you feel it holding you back. I might not be able to see the other side of the argument having never lived on that side of the fence but when you look at those who have I don’t see any indication that they themselves are experiencing freedom either. They buy expensive things which cost more to maintain and thereby the cycle of slavery is perpetuated to every social class.

Money, however, is a purely self inflicted wound. We created our vast societies and standards so that money can effectively govern over all of us without any deviation. We have carefully crafted the web so that none may slip past, if I may be so bold as to continue the metaphor. This is what aggravates me to no end.

I wonder if we could look at humanity from moneys’ perspective if we would then be able to see it for the vial act that it is.

I long to be free of it yet I know that I cannot be. Perhaps, if the so called chance favors me, I can have enough that I can ignore it. Yet I think I shall always hate it, because it robs me of my freedom.

Ticket To Ride: Great Lakes

2009-05-28T11:43:00.009-05:00

I have been playing the Ticket to Ride games for over two years now. It is easily my favorite game. So I was looking at some of the expansions and various versions (I have 3 versions and 1 expansion) and stumbled upon a website that had non-sanctioned expansion sets. I had to make my own. I had too. I could go through how I made it and how long it took but rather I am going to put some of the images of what I came up with so you can see it.

I know that this is a departure from what I wanted to do on my blog but I wanted to share this.

Falling in Love Again

2009-05-19T13:59:00.001-05:00

I have been meaning to write about this for a while so I apologize for the aged relevancy you are about to experience.

When I was growing up my family ate dinner together around the dinning room table. There was no TV, no radio and only our own participation in the conversation to occupy ourselves with. A lot of you might think that it was a different world that I grew up in but the truth is my parents made few exceptions when it came to eating dinner together without any distractions. But there was one distraction in particular that we seemed to almost always allow for, Chicago Bulls basketball.

I grew up in northern Illinois during the nineties when Jordan and Pippin lead the Bulls to their 6 championships. During the first three championships there were only a handful of games that I did not watch. As I progressed in the high school years my schedule began to fill with sports that I was participating in rather than watching. Still, I would make what time I could to watch the Bulls, maintaining a near perfect viewing record of the playoffs.

Then Jordan retired, a second and final time from the Bulls. In the shadow of that, I began to hold onto a feeling that the era of the league was diminishing for me. The influx of European ball players meant more steps (traveling) and a great proliferation of flopping. What ever happened to players who would rather put the other team on their butts rather than end up on their own? It just wasn’t the same game that I grew up loving to watch and play.

Then there was the silent era. I would watch some basketball, mostly playoffs, but the rules kept changing. The defensive 3 seconds, a couple extra steps for everyone, among other rule changes made me feel like all the stats and games I had watched couldn’t be compared to the new game that was being played. I began to dislike the pro game more and more.

Fast forward to this years first round of the Chicago Bulls against the defending champions. It was like life had been breathed back into my passion for the game. Players challenging each other and every shot seemed to be bigger and more clutch than the last. Finally, basketball that was something like what I had remembered. One team, scrambling to maintain their championship status, was trading blows with a young upstart and neither backed down. The flopping was happening but the refs seemed uninterested. The walking was overshadowed by the blocks. The game flowed like a suspense novel with every twist and turn pulling you to the edge of your seat.

Now, mind you that HD helps a great deal when it comes to making sports must see TV but the drama unfolding on the court was so intense that I found myself unable and unwilling to miss even a minute of it. My only two complaints for the series was the Rondo face slap on Miller which cost the bulls the game and possibly the series and the fact that Glenn Davis is called “Big Baby”. Aside from that the series was what the league needed to get me back.

Everyone wants to talk about the potential of a Lebron/Kobe match up but I don’t see it being nearly as compelling as the first round match up. I will take my Ray Allen 3 pointers and Ben Gordon’s domination, please. While it is nice to remember the memories of watching the games with my family growing up, I am excited to watch basketball with my own kids someday, now that I am watching it again.

Re-Vicked

2009-05-13T14:18:00.002-05:00

Anyone writing anything about Michael Vick these days a required to start off with something similar to this, so here it goes. I am a dog person. I had a dog all growing up that I still miss some times even today. I don’t condone what he did nor do I condone any dog fighting at all.

Okay now I can get to talking about what I wanted to talk about.

How does the league approach reintroducing Michael Vick?

First off, what exactly did he do? He ran a dog fighting ring which is against the law. There was gambling which is against the law. That is what he was tried and convicted of. He paid the price by doing the time and now there is a real question about what to do with him after being out of the league for a while.

As for the crime, the league needs to understand that this is a cultural issue. To be completely honest, at the time when it all came out I didn’t even realize that dog fighting actually occurred on such a large scale. In part because it is so far from the culture I live in. The league needs to understand that Michael Vick grew up and lived in a cultural setting that permitted and probably encouraged this. Whomever he plays for needs to help Michael Vick better understand every aspect of why this is illegal and also make sure that the culture Michael Vick is in does not allow for or tolerate such actions.

Truth be told, the NFL needs to understand that it has a culture problem. If you take young kids and hand them large sums of easily expendable cash they are going to get themselves into trouble unless they are in a cultural climate that can help them make good and sound decisions. Their high school friends are not likely to help them make great decisions about how to spend a few million dollars.

That is why the NFL needs a big brother program. Retired NFL players who made it through are given a paid position to mentor the younger athletes and help them develop quality decision making skills. The mentorship program can also help the players association deal with a serious question they already face; what to do with retired players?

Another step the NFL should consider looking into is a finance class for the NFL youth, a mandatory class. The finances of the average NFL rookie are not going to be finances that most people have ever tried to balance. They need to understand the issues facing the average NFL player and how decisions they make now can drastically affect their own future once football is over.

Until the NFL faces up to the underlying issues that face a young athlete when getting that first big check and working with them to create an atmosphere conducive to a functioning member of society and up to the standards the Roger Goodell has set forth they can expect many more helicopter shots of players’ houses.

Before I set this topic to the side for a moment I do want to address Michael Vick’s return to the league. Many sports commentators view him as a toxic asset right now and that is their right to do so, but I hope that the fans won’t. His crime was against us as humans, his teammates and the owners of the Falcons, but not against us as fans. He made a mistake in part because of his social setting and completely out of poor judgment. I think it would only serve to extend that poor judgment by not permitting him to use his talents and grow from his mistakes. He is a great player and hopefully he can learn to be a great person, but not if we don’t give him the chance. Lets get a number 7 back on him.

BF Forever?

2009-05-11T09:39:00.002-05:00

What is retirement? An interesting question and probably something that if you asked a wide variety of people what they thought you would get a wide variety of answers. If you asked Barbara Streisand… well, I don’t think she would talk to you. There are also people in the professional world who are forced to retire because the company no longer wants them. Neither Barbera nor those forced to retire have a good view of those experiences or at least I think they wouldn’t.

Brett Favre. There, I said it. The only two word phrase which has become as bad as a four letter word in certain circles. But truthfully I am not sure that he has been treated as we would hope to be treated.

The Green Bay Packers got 16 years of his life and a Super Bowl Championship out of this man. They got one of the greatest quarterbacks to ever play the game and a gunslinger that hated to loose. In a word the Green Bay Packers got a Legend in Brett Favre, someone to tell their children about. Then after sixteen years of blood, sweat and tears the Green Bay Packers no longer wanted him.

Green Bay had a new young quarterback and they thought they would be better off without the man who had given himself to and become the face of the organization. Now you might argue that he retired and he did. But doesn’t he have the right to continue playing? Doesn’t Brett Favre have the right to change his mind? In his last year with Green Bay he led them to the threshold of the Super Bowl again. Well, it appears that for someone of Brett Favre’s status the only person who doesn’t get a say in what he should do is himself. Or at least that is the way that everybody has treated him.

The organization that he had spearheaded for a while pushed him out. What more does one man have to do in order to keep his job? The Packers didn’t want him. The fans that he had thrilled for so long didn’t want to see him run off the field, jumping in the air after a touch down any longer. So he went to the Jets.

Brett Favre left the team he had played for over the past 16 years for a team that had finished 4 and 12 the year before. The team couldn’t run the ball, had poor pass protection and we in dire need of a quarterback to lift them up. The team started off the season 8 and 3 before an arm injury limited Brett’s abilities and the interceptions that had followed the gunslinger’s career returned. You would think that doubling the previous years wins would be a feet that would make the team happy. Instead his teammates who couldn’t win without him blamed him for the 1 and 4 finish. Brett admitted it was his fault. No one mentioned the enormous burden he had to carry throwing 40 times a game for the team.

Again number 4 retired. Not as publicly and without the raw emotion he had exhibited before. Who would want to go back to a team that showed so little appreciation for what he had attributed to the team. He got all the blame for their losses and nothing for their victories after the season. Again he was unwanted.

At least he would still have those die hard Green Bay fans to cheer for him. Or at least you think he would because while he was wearing the Green and Gold they revered him like a saint. But as soon as he stated he still wanted to play after first retiring in 2007 the fans abandoned him like a fire wreathed ship. Instead of chanting the name, calls poured into the Wisconsin talk radio condemning the legend for wanting to still play the game he loved. The talk of giving Rogers his turn and that Brett should just stay retired became the rally cry for the same people who cheered for Brett the season before as he led them deep into the playoffs. What more could one man do to deserve the loyalty of his fans?

Well once again the talk of Brett Favre coming out of retirement had surfaced, this time to play for the Minnesota Vikings; a team with a great running back, a solid defense and good receivers. The Vikings need a quarterback to complete a team that could make another playoff run. They have 2 quarterbacks that have not produced to any level. If Brett Favre decides to play for the Vikings isn’t that his right?

The whole of all the conversations seem to miss one point. Who is looking out for Brett Favre? The Packers weren’t when the kicked him to the curb. The fans aren’t when they are calling for him to remain retired. The Jets weren’t when they leveled all the blame and none of the praise for a turn around season on him. If Brett Favre still wants to play and still can why shouldn’t he? Because the sports world says he shouldn’t? Most of us dream of playing in some professional sport. Brett Favre was and still is good enough too. Should he pursue that until he no longer has that desire?

You may not have to like who he plays for and you won’t like what he can do to apposing teams but we all should revel in a man doing what he needs to do for himself while he still can. I doubt any of us will relate the stories of how we treated him in the past few years to our children. It is time we stopped treating Brett Favre like a problem and started treating number 4 like the legend he is.

Race

2009-04-14T13:59:00.001-05:00

“I am really tired today.”

“Hello young man. Tired? Well, what time did you go to sleep?”

“A bit after 8.”

“That’s early.”

“Yeah. I just woke up.”

“You slept that long and you are still tired?”

“Yep.”

“That is pretty normal around here. Are you sick to your stomach?”

“Not anymore than usual.”

“That is a good thing. Was years before I was not throwing up after every meal. I think I just had to get so tired that my body didn’t have enough energy to convulse.”

“Are you scared?”

“Not really. Had a long time to think about it. You?”

“Sometimes yeah. I feel like I am pulled between wanting to fight and wanting the symptoms to stop. But I never want it to end.”

“You will get there. We all get to know the worst parts of ourselves here.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I am setting some records. You?”

“A week ago I had an upset stomach. Today I am here.”

“No wonder you are scared.”

“I heard there is only one way out of this place.”

“You looking for hope kid? I have never seen anybody leave out the front, but there stuff like that cannot last forever and it hasn’t happened for sure in a really long time.”

“Thanks for trying.”

“Why don’t you lie down for a while?”

“I can’t. I can’t sleep unless my dad sings me a song. He always sings me a song so I can go to sleep.”

“You wait up for him then. Keep doing that sort of stuff. It might be the only thing that reminds you that you are still alive.”

“Yeah. I am still alive, but for how long.”

“Nobody can say that for certain.”

“My doctor gave me 4 to 6 weeks.”

“That is tough. Mine told me 2 to 3 weeks.”

“I’ll race you?”

“What?”

“I will race you. First one out of here wins.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I always used to race my friends. You want to be my friend.”

“Sure.”

“Then I’ll race you.”

“I don’t know if I am comfortable with that.”

“What do we have to loose? Come on. I’ll race you.”

“Okay kid. I’ll race you. What are we wagering?”

“I will wager my Dwayne Wade basketball card. You?”

“I have a baseball card from when I was a kid. I will wager that.”

“Sweet. First one out of this place gives his card to the other. I will make sure to tell my dad. Who can you tell?”

“I don’t have anyone to tell son. Maybe you should hold on to both of them just in case.”

The old man stumbled away and shortly returned carrying a wooden box in his hands.

“Here you are son. Don’t keep it here though. Send it home with your dad.”

“Why?”

“Look at the card.”

The box’s hinges creaked.

“Who is Babe Ruth?”

“Well, how would you like it if I told you a story?”

“I would like that a lot.”

“Good. Now climb into your bed and I will tell you about the birth of baseball and the greatest player who ever played the game.”

Run Away

2009-04-08T13:52:00.001-05:00

“Where will you go?

You don’t have any money. You can barely take care of a dog let alone yourself.”

“There where only has to be not here.”

“I admit I am jealous of your fight but I just don’t think it is prudent.”

“Is it any less prudent then staying somewhere you don’t want to be?”

“I know it can be bad here, maybe even hell at times but I don’t think that is a sound reason to jump ship. Nobody voluntarily dives overboard during a storm.”

“Unless the boat is sinking and they think they have a shot at land. I know you don’t see it but I am dying here. I have to make a run for it. I have to try.”

“I know but…”

“Yeah. Nothing makes much sense. I guess that to me this is the thing that makes the most sense. Or maybe it is just the only shot at sense I can see.”

“I can’t go with you.”

“I am not asking you to.”

“But you know I cannot stand this place without you. And if you didn’t want me to go why did you tell me so far in advance.”

“Because you need to leave just as badly as I need to. You just cannot see it. I am hoping that you can work up the courage before its time.”

“How does someone like me work up courage?”

“By seeing everything there is to leave from and realizing that there is no limit to where leaving can take us.”

“You are asking me to look at the worst of this place and the best of leaving. What about looking at the best of this place and the worst of leaving?”

“I always figured you did enough of that for the both of us.”

“I am scared.”

“Of what?”

“Making a wrong decision.”

Freedoms

2009-04-01T14:50:00.001-05:00

“Do you remember why we are together?” he said as he looked intently at the blank wall.

“We are a smart fit dear. Both of us are heads of our own companies in the literary field.” She quickly answered her phone.

“A smart fit? That seems so depressing. Who wants to be smart when it comes to love?”

“Who wants to be a fool when it comes to anything? And please don’t start again with that melodramatic “there’s more to life” speech. You gave it to me last week so this should be my week off.”

“We should go somewhere. Just take off for a while and do something random and completely stupid.” His eyes sparkled with the thought of adventure.

“You mean stupid other than entertaining these ideas? You know we cannot go anywhere. I have two important launch dates and you have a board session to prepare for.”

“Why did we start our own businesses?”

“Because everyone else was doing it wrong and we could do it better.”

“I thought I started it so I could afford to do things I wanted to do.”

“And you can afford to do anything you want to do but just not today.”

His gaze lifted for a moment to the woman standing next to him. She was very attractive physically, thin with ample curves to entice a second stare but he could barely stomach looking at her. She summed up the captivity of his own life. His eyes shot out of the window and across the street.

“You’re selling this place?” he said to a woman as she placed a small for sale sign in the window of a small street level apartment in the river district. It had only been one day since he ran into her.

“Yeah. You interested in buying it?” she asked in a friendly tone.

“I don’t know. I am kind of interested and kind of not.”

“Well don’t jerk me around about it or anything.” She laughed as she pulled her hair back into a pony tail.

She was intoxicatingly beautiful and not just her slender figure. There was a wildness in her eyes, a passion that stirred even his wearied soul.

“What could possibly make you give up this place?” It reminded him of the dreams he once harbored as a boy of living the wanderers’ life.

“I know. It seems foolish to give up something good but maybe there is something better out there, a horizon I haven’t seen yet that could offer me hopes I could never have otherwise had.”

Who talked like that he wondered.

“So you are going to give up a little slice of heaven for a chance at something mystical and unseen? That doesn’t seem to make much sense.”

“Why doesn’t it?” She asked almost defensively. “Why does it need to?”

“I don’t know.”

He started to walk away then turned to find her watching him as he left.

“Can I ask you one thing?”

“By all means.” She responded with a slight blush.

“What do you think you will find?”

“I don’t have any idea. That’s the point. But maybe if I can peel back the cover that stretches across my own horizon I could finally see.”

“See what.”

“Everything.”

“Get up and get ready to go.”

The voice was harsh and it drew him back from the quite recess of his memory.

“If you don’t get up and get ready you are going to be late for your board conference.”

She was met with only a blank stare. He hadn’t returned from the river district yet, not wholly returned at least.

“You have two choices. You can either keep setting there or get up. You can either live your life or not.”

With that she turned and left the room.

She was right. He had the choice.

He got up from his chair and pulled on a pair of pants and a jacket. He was going to live his life. Just not this one.

As his feet hit the pavement he knew he would never see her again. She would hate him, but he just needed a horizon that he could peel away.

Burnt.

2009-03-27T14:08:00.002-05:00

His hand slid into his pocket and shook it. There was only the occasional sound of colliding metal. There wasn’t much there.

The hand returned from the pockets carrying the contents: a piece of paper and two shiny nickels.

“At a nickel a thought I can only afford two, but I do have two nickels to rub together.” These idioms were humorous and depressing at the same time. They offered a verbal poetry to his scene of dismay.

Just yesterday it seemed like he was on top of the world. Things were going swimmingly financially and he had made every right move. He was able to fully enjoy the fruits of his labor and today he couldn’t afford the thought of ending his own misery.

His life, whole world had become rubble and ash, along with his hopes and dreams. How could someone go from indescribable joy to immeasurable distress over night?

From home owner to homeless, steak dinner to starving and well groomed to well… even he was disgusted by the thought of what he was wearing, sweat soaked and covered in soot.

“The pain is still too near.” He told himself. “Can’t allow myself to make rash decisions right now.”

“You cannot afford to have any decisions. You are broke.” His subconscious retorted, sending him back into the flames of his own grief. The burning in his chest returned.

His head sunk back into his hands, smearing the dirt on his face again.

“Just sleep and let this all fade away.”

He curled up into a ball amidst the smoldering ruins of his own life. He never woke.

College Roommates: The Conspiracy Theorist and the Psychology Major

2009-03-26T14:00:00.001-05:00

“I don’t know why we are writing these.” He said as the pen danced across his paper.

“They are for us.”

“See, that is my point. Why are we writing letters that we are never going to send? It’s kinda crazy.”

“They are supposed to help us. They are an exercise.”

“They’re dumb.”

“You’re upset. The letter will help you express your anger and work through it.”

“You’re darn right I am upset. Aren’t you?”

“I am writing a letter too.”

“I guess it wouldn’t do us any good to send it anyway, the fascists.”

“Here you go.”

“I am being serious. You have seen what has been going on. How else can you explain it?”

“You’re unlucky?”

“Fifteen tickets in the past month. That’s more than just unlucky.”

“You were parked in no parking zones for like 12 of those.”

“Yeah but the people around me weren’t ticketed, just me.”

“Okay, you’re not unlucky. The people who park around you are lucky and you are just dumb. There, is that better?”

“But this last time you were parked next to me.”

“You weren’t guilty this last time. We were parked where we were supposed to be.”

“I know what is going on here. They think I don’t but I do.”

“Here we go again.”

“They are targeting me.”

“No they are not.”

“Yes they are.”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

“Maybe not. 15 is not a coincidence. It’s a pattern.”

“It’s unfortunate. I will give you that, but you are just being paranoid.”

“I am being reasonable.”

“You are still parked in that same illegal spot!”

“You bet I am. I am not going to take this hostile treatment.”

“But you have earned the hostile treatment.”

“You know who I am man? I am Rosa Parks.”

“You are not Rosa Parks.”

“Yeah I am man, peaceful protest.”

“Saying a tenant of a person’s belief doesn’t make you that person.”

“I am not literally her. I am like the modern day Rosa Parks.”

“She was fighting the remnants of slavery and discrimination. You are fighting to park in a no parking zone.”

“Among other things.”

“You don’t think the comparison is a bit much. She fought injustice. You are essentially fighting justice.”

“How is it justice that I am being singled out.”

“You aren’t. I got a ticket the last time too.”

“You are a last ditch attempt at a cover up. I am too clever to let that fool me.”

“You are too much of a fool to let that clever you.”

“What?”

“Yeah. That didn’t work out quite as well as I thought it was going to.”

“Okay. I am done with my letter. What do I do with it now?”

“You can either keep it or burn it or throw it away. Do whatever you want with it, whatever makes you feel better.”

“Can I post it on a blog?”

“I guess. There isn’t really a wrong move here.”

“Will you post it for me?”

“No.”

“Why not, man? You know I cannot type that well.”

“And you are not going to get better at it if I do all of your typing.”

“You suck.”

“Yeah, I guess sometimes I do.”

“Yeah, me too. I guess it wasn’t cool to say you suck, cause you mostly don’t.”

“Yeah. I think I am going to grab some dinner from the DC. You coming?”

“Seriously, the DC? Dude I have told you like a thousand times that you shouldn’t eat there. Remember?”

“Yeah but it is covered by my room and board and I am broke.”

“Me too. Guess I will have to risk it for tonight.”

Kidd's Treasure

2009-03-24T11:52:00.000-05:00

I have done some preliminary research for a concept of a pirate story. I am thinking of using Captain Kidd, primarily because he is a notable Scottish Pirate with a legendary buried treasure. My main concern with that is he has been to overdone. Or maybe that is just because I tend to read classic books like they are going out of style.

I really want a Scottish pirate because I want to write in that voice. Also, I have picked a port in Scotland that I think can coincide with the whole story line but I am apprehensive about using Kidd. I guess the truth of the situation is that I need to talk with Ben R about it. He has become my literary conscience. I am not sure if he wants that. He may have accidentally fallen into that one.

Okay so here is the concept, or at least as much as I am willing to share right now. The port is a known place for pirates to go when they retire, those who made it. Practically everyone has either been on a pirate ship one way or the other. Recently Britain put out a law in that town that if anyone talks about committing a crime they are punished for the crime they confessed to. So the whole situation is hush - hush.

The local who is the enforcer of said law is the son of a man who only went out to sea for a very brief time. Didn’t have the legs for it everyone says, but nobody really talks about it. The dad doesn’t talk much about it and just relies on what other people say about him.

That is the set up. Pretty mundane but there is a good foundation there.

Here is the stressor. Captain Kidd gets taken into custody and now there is talk of his treasure. Some one blurts out that the dad sailed on the Adventure Galley (Kidd’s Ship).

There is a bit more to it than that but I don’t want to give the story away.

Needless to say that there is a hunt for the treasure. That is where the whole intrigue lies, but there is something different standing in their way. I may have shared too much but I would appreciate some feedback about wither or not Kidd is too over done.

The truth is I like to use lore and existing Myth and rework them into something more hashed out or perhaps just something more interesting to me.

Also has the whole Pirates of the Caribbean killed the pirate story for a while. I am thinking it either made it more popular or killed it. I am leaning towards killed it after the last movie. But who knows. Maybe it can be revived.

purpose

2009-03-23T13:32:00.001-05:00

I have been considering of late what I want from or for this blog. I have been doing it for a couple of years now and realize that whatever my original intention I have stopped carrying about blogging a while ago. So do I continue with it in a new direction or do I shelve the TWH project and move on to something different.

I remember starting the blog. I had some friends who blogged, a majority of them for a creative outlet to their one-of humor. Others used it to work on and out their beliefs and others I am not even know certain why they were doing it, perhaps to try their hand at writing.

For me it was mostly the humor aspect. I thought I could offer something funny and in my own voice, unadulterated by the self imposed and situational guidelines that life tends to offer. Yet, with everything I wrote I would find myself worrying about what people might think. I have never really written a complete humor blog with disregard for its reception.

Over time I began to turn the whole thing into a tidbit blog consisting of things that struck me on a given day or ideas that turned my fancy, never giving purpose or a goal to the whole masquerade. I would take small political jabs, safe for me and relatively ambiguous and then some generic completely dissonant chatter. None of which was in the very least satisfying creatively.

It all comes back to what I wanted from the blog. A small part of me thought it might be a venue to write and express myself all while using the whole thing like a homework assignment for me, bettering my writing and working on my own style and voice. To that end I think the blog has been a great success.

I enjoy writing and not just the meaningless banter of a blog but stories. I really like to tell a story and weave the plot and characters. I have done a few short sorties into the world of storytelling on my blog and a many more than that off of the blog-o-sphere.

It turns out I want to be a storyteller, a novelist. That is the goal that if I had come to years ago it would be hard to fathom what exactly this life would look like. But Ted Was Here might be a great deal different, if in fact it would be at all.

The name was something weird that came from my head. I thought it would be funny to have a name like what one might find in the stall of a road side gas station’s bathroom. I have come to believe it isn’t a title but a hope. That people will know that I was here. That my life might have some purpose or story that in and of itself was worth remembering; that I might have a legacy.

It is with that in mind that I am going to attempt a switch in direction and purpose for my blog. I am going to work on my stories, a few of the short ones at first, and have them posted up here. I am also going to be trying to get them published in Literary Journals. I have decided to make the fledgling attempts to move myself into the world of the author. The posts will be less frequent but I hope longer and of more enjoyable substance.

As always thanks for reading, thanks for allowing me to work on myself and in the end find what it was that I was looking for.

Me.

Unwritten books

2009-03-18T09:52:00.001-05:00

It might be more accurate to say his whole economic team.

Peace by the Pint

2009-03-17T09:24:00.001-05:00

Happy Saint Patty's Day. Take that Saint Valentine.

I got your Blarney Stones right here.

New Yankee Stadium

2009-03-16T09:52:00.002-05:00

If you were think how cool it would be to get some front row seats for the new Yankee stadium when it opens you had better make sure that you leave you legs at home. Otherwise you have better be a free floating vapor apparition.

The union guy installing seats should probably be forced to go back to school and do a little more training.

Nestle Mortar

2009-03-04T13:07:00.002-06:00

New From Nestle its the Nestle Mortar. Attack your taste buds but with a short range and high-arcing delicious trajectory.

The Nestle Mortar is relatively simple and easy to operate. The mortar consists of a tube of cookie dough which the "Taste Gunner" drops into the barrel. A firing pin at the base of the barrel detonates the explosives that fires the tube of dough while dispersing and cooking the small cookie dough shrapnel globs. The barrel is generally set at between 45 and 85 degrees angle to the ground, with the higher angle giving shorter firing distances.

The mortar barrel will be able to launch cookie dough, cookie dough ice cream tubes, pre-cooked cookie tubes and grenades.

Nestle Mortar: Launch Some Flavor

Shaqtastic.

2009-03-02T10:01:00.001-06:00

If you don't find this funny you are dead inside.

Aside from his overwhelming charity, Shaq's commercials make him hard not to like. He acts the way we all want to.

New Precident

2009-02-26T15:52:00.001-06:00

Obama has been in office for 34 days.

He has introduced 1090 Billion in new spending.

He has spent 32.05 Billion dollars a day since he has been in office.

At this rate he will surpass the total spending for the Iraq war in less than 4 months in office.

Please stop.

3rd Annual Bosco Awards

2009-02-25T14:08:00.003-06:00

Joan Rivers Free, Guaranteed.
People acted and people watched. Kick it.

The Nominees for Actor in a Leading Role
Richard Jenkins in THE VISITOR
Frank Langella in FROST/NIXON
Sean Penn in MILK
Brad Pitt inTHE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON
Mickey Rourke in THE WRESTLER

Mickey Rourke looks like a series of lost wagers poured into a sports jacket. With that being said I here he did a phenomenal job. Sean Penn is always his most likable in roles where he is least Sean Penn like and not ranting against anything he doesn’t believe in. Richard Jenkins is an unknown and Frank Lagella was too Nixon like to be likeable.

The Bosco Goes to Kevin Sawyer for his role as Jack Von Trousner in the Jack Von Trousner Show. Take that Nixon.

Actress in a Leading Role
Anne Hathaway in RACHEL GETTING MARRIED
Angelina Jolie in CHANGELING
Melissa Leo in FROZEN RIVER
Meryl Streep in DOUBT
Kate Winslet in THE READER

Anne Hathaway is a very beautiful woman with a ridiculously joker like smile. When she grins she can lick her ears. That is creepy. Angelina Jolie… don’t know but just never carried for her acting. I will probably see the movie because it is an Eastwood movie but… Melissa Leo and Kate Winslet I cannot say anything about. They seem like good people. Meryl Streep is a celebrated actress by everyone but me. Sorry Meryl but I am not interested in the movie Doubt.

The Bosco Goes to Christine “Grue” Scholfield. Christine gets back to back titles with Todd Luker playing the only other legitimate female lead in Rock TVs and I cannot think of any movie that really got me. Good work Christine!

Actor in a Supporting Role
Josh Brolin in MILK
Robert Downey Jr. in TROPIC THUNDER
Philip Seymour Hoffman in DOUBT
Heath Ledger in THE DARK KNIGHT
Michael Shannon in REVOLUTIONARY ROAD

No Conversation.

The Bosco goes to Heath Ledger in the Dark Knight. Unbelievable performance. Robert Downey Jr. Deserves a nod because his role in Tropic Thunder made the movie funny and bearable. Another mention to Jordon Monson in The Superhero Politics Rock TV.

Actress in a Supporting Role
Amy Adams - DOUBT
Penelope Cruz - VICKY CRISTINA BARCELONA
Viola Davis – DOUBT
Taraji P. Henson - THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON
Marisa Tomei - THE WRESTLER

I have seen none of these movies and don’t have a gigantic urge to see any of them. So next year the winner will get both this years and next years Bosco for Actress in a Supporting Role. Something to work for people.

The Bosco goes to Someone at a later date.

Best Picture
THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON
FROST/NIXON
MILK
THE READER
SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

None of these are really begging to be watched. It is so rare that truly great movies make it onto this list. So…

The Bosco goes to The Dark Knight. Truly the movie of the year and a reinvention of the Batman franchise that has it dark and more entertaining than normal.

Another Year of Boscos handed out to some well deserving performers. To those of you who didn’t get any… get off your duff and get to work.

Lyric Critic: I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight

2009-02-18T16:07:00.000-06:00

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight

It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight

Exactly what was it that you said? I think we are all dying to know that.

I keep looking for something I can't get
Broken hearts, they're all around me
And I don't see an easier way, to get out of this
Her diary sits by the bedside table
The curtains are closed, the cat's in the cradle
Who would have thought that a boy like me could come to this

In descript and blatantly stalk-y. Nice touch with the weird cats in the cradle reference. The weird vibe you are putting out is something special.

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away

Did you die pre or post kiss. I think we need a little clarification on this. And I thought you just told us it was what she said.

Is there any just cause for feeling like this?
On the surface I'm a name on a list
I try to be discreet, but then blow it again
I've lost and found it's my final mistake
She's loving by proxy, no give and all take
'Cause I've been thrilled to fantasy, one too many times

There is a fine line between discreet love and a restraining order. I think you may have walked past that line. What is loving by proxy? And does the Fantasy line mean this is all fake?

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away

I should have commented on this last chorus. Yes, walking away is better than death. Thanks for the insight. Although you had it coming, Creeper.

It was a long hot night, she made it easy
She made it feel right
But now it's over, the moment has gone
I followed my hands to my head, I know I was wrong

And exactly what made it feel right? I followed my hands to my head? I don’t want to touch that one.

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away

Aside from the stalking and complete absurdity this song sucked. But you already knew that one.

My New Wallpaper

2009-02-12T13:53:00.002-06:00

I made myself a new desktop wallpaper.

I makes me feel smart.

New Recipe - Pulled Pork Pizza on Cornbread crust

2009-02-11T09:19:00.002-06:00

Okay so calling it a recipe is a bit over the top, but last night I wanted to try something new so I went to the store with the a fore mentioned dish in mind.

Get:
2 boxes of cornbread mix (the blue ones - require 1 egg and 1/3 cup of milk each)
1 container of pre-made pulled pork with BBQ Sauce
1 package of real bacon bits
1 package of pizza cheese.
1 Onion (Optional)
1 Pepper (optional)

Making:
-Set oven to 400 degrees
- Make cornbread mix
- Grease 8x13 inch cookie sheet with raised sides. (Make sure that there is a good covering because you need the bottom to brown up to a crispy shell in order for the cornbread to hold its form.
- Pour cornbread mix onto sheet and spread out to each corner and place in oven.
- while cornbread is in oven use microwave to heat up pre-made pulled pork adding bacon bits so they warm up as well.
-Cut up onion and pepper.
- When the cornbread is cooked pull out of oven and move rack to top of oven.
- Spread the pulled pork and bacon bits over the top of the cornbread
- Put onion and pepper on top of pulled pork and spread cheese on top.
-Place back into oven until cheese is melted.

It is a delicious and easy to make meal. If I have time at lunch I will post a picture of it. I brought some to work to eat.

I am not on the list

2009-02-09T14:18:00.001-06:00

This weekend a list of 102 baseball players who tested positive for Steroids in 2003 was leaked. I just want to reiterate that I am not on this list and there is no reason to believe that I will ever be on any list.

On a completely unrelated note, I got angry at my car and bit the engine in half... so could anybody give me a ride home?

You got a little something red on your...

2009-02-04T12:08:00.003-06:00

You might find your self wondering what nebulous image have you found here? Well the answer is far more sinister than reality, it seems, would permit.

Lake Natron is unequivocally weird and undoubtedly the world,s brain matter oozing all over our pants or vast African plains as the case may very well prove to be.

Lake Natron has, by forces unknown to human understanding, taken over control of the United Nations and is demanding that fish be fed to it on a daily basis. In trade for the scaled sacrifices Lake Natron has offered up its well of knowledge which contains what some scients hope could prove the orgins of the earth, which according to Lake Natron, dates as far back as 50,000 years ago.

Scientist are claiming that the lake is a woman and lying about its age. No further comment could be reached as the scientist making the claims were swollowed by the earth in an unexplained phenominia.

Lake Natorn has lived through some of the most timualtuous times in our worlds history and infact, every time in our worlds history, and remains undaunted in the resolve to consume more fish.

Lake Natron be praised.

Movies for the next year

2009-01-30T15:23:00.002-06:00

For those of you who know me... which is none of you really. I am very complex.

But for those of you who are imaginary and know me, know that it is all about the story for me. I love a good story and am basically waiting for the next big story to hit so I can get my fix.

Here is the upcoming movies this year that I am going to use, like a used needle from a junkie, to get my fix.

January 16th 2009 - Paul Blart: Mall Cop - Funny is a good thing. Kevin James delivers the funny.

January 23rd 2009 - Inkheart - the premise is interesting but hard to pull off without being incredibly cheesy. Kevin will undoubtably ridicule this movie but I like the somewhat cheesy movies. At least it is original... or as original as a writer can be when admittingly sampling every book ever.

Underworld: Rise of the Lycans - I saw the first two movies. This is a prequil. I am prepared for disapointment. I am certain they will deliver.

March 6th 2009 -Watchmen - this is the cannot miss movie of the year. The story is epic, the acting looks strong, the cinematography is breathtaking... dealing with the nerds at the movie who will be unable to control their squeals of delight out to make me angry.

March 27th 2009 - Monsters vs. Aliens - For great writing it seems that you have to include animation in your movies. I am really looking forward to this after a disapointment in Wall-E. Sorry, I wasn't looking for a feal good movie about robots.

April 3rd 2009 - Fast and Furious - I have no excuse. I might miss this one but I do really like cars.

April 24th 2009 - The Soloist - Ring up the Oscar nod for both the actors in this movie (robert downey Jr and Fox). This movie was made for awards but the story line looks good.

May 1st 2009 - X-Men Origins: Wolverine - I may have never feared a single movie so much in a long time. I have to see it. The x-men were my favorite but after the last movie I am hesitant. Also the fact that the Wolverine was supposed to be this muscular monstrosity.

May 8th 2009 - Star Trek - A serously high teck look at the future, now... pause free... This one is on the fence.

May 22nd 2009 - Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian - also known as Jumangi 3 this movie could be a bust but it will be interesting to see if they can do it.

Terminator Salvation - Christian Bale is Batman... and don't you forget it. but this movie looks seriously intense. I am guessing another big hit for this big time actor.

May 29th 2009 - Up - Grumpy old men are funny. Add in something like one billion ballons and a fat boy scout and you have animation gold.

June 19th 2009 - Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen - The first movie was good but they make the classic movie mistake. They killed the bad guy right away. I hate that in movies. It will be interesting to see what they do next.

July 10th 2009 - 2012 - I like john cusack but I have heard bad things about the script.

July 17th 2009 - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - The story lines are basic but creative. I like creative but don't want to spend the time reading the books.

August 7th 2009 - G.I. Joe: Rise of the Cobra - I have seen the pictures for the movie and it looks like another "Doom". I wouldn't be suprised if this falls flat on its face. (On a side note I read that the script for Heman is amazing. Hard to believe but I can hope so.)

October 16th 2009 - Where the Wild Things Are - a Classic childrens book but hard to see where they would go with this for a movie. Poster looks like an oscar bid movie.

November 6th 2009 - A Christmas Carol - The muppets have done this, which makes me wonder why Jim Carey would want to take a stab at it considering the over the top has been done... but he is good.

The Wolfman - Don't really know on this one. Wonder if there will be a ridiculous basketball dunking sequence.

November 20th 2009 - Planet 51 - Funny Aliens with a lost Astronuat. Good times.

Sherlock Holmes - Robert Downey Jr has proven that he can pull off almost anything. The real question is can Guy Richie make a movie that doesn't feature guns, drugs, sex, and alcohol as a mainstay. I am hoping for a good movie.

Narnian Weightloss Centers

2009-01-27T13:05:00.002-06:00

Are you feeling a little thick around the middle? Do you have some extra weight packed in? Are you packing an extra White Witch around your waste?

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Our workouts take no time at all and even if you were to stay for years, when you stepped out of our Wardrobe Workout Portals NO TIME WILL HAVE PASSED. That is right work out without loosing any of your precious time!

So stop by on of our conveniently located Wardrobe Portals and let us get you into “fawn” shape. Seriously, when is the last time you saw a fat fawn. Think about it.

Obamalincoln

2009-01-20T09:04:00.002-06:00

I was surprised today to find out that Barrack Obama would not be sworn into office today. Instead it would be the Undead Lincoln highbred known as Obamalincoln. Okay, actually it is only every media outlet in the world that wants you to believe that Obama and Lincoln are exactly the same and that Obama will emancipate us from the slavery of war and banks and big bad republicans.

On a slight side note I heard people on the radio this morning discussing wither or not they were taking the day off of work for Inauguration Day. I don’t remember that being a holiday.

But more to my point it that were there are very small similarities to Barack Obama and Lincoln, they do not run very deep.

Barack Obama has already received a very large swell of support. Lincoln was even the favorite in his party when the convention came to Chicago where Lincoln was nominated for his first term. In fact Lincoln’s greatest show of support came just after his assassination. Booth popularized Lincoln as a martyr for the country that in many regards felt he had mismanaged the war.

Lincoln started a civil war. He could have abdicated his position and allowed the southern states to continue with slavery and succeed from The Union but he refused and instead gathered troops to fight against their fellow countrymen, not a popular move at the time but in retrospect clearly the right one. If he holds to his campaigning, Barack Obama will stop war. Two polar opposites for men who are being compared to each other.

There are more contrasts and I haven’t taken the time to indulge in the similarities. Other outlets have covered those thoroughly enough, but here is my point. Barack Obama is not Abraham Lincoln. We need to let him be his own President and leave the comparisons for a later time.

Besides, the last thing this country needs is anything to happen to this man. So let’s not connect him to a man who was martyred for his cause.

I don’t agree with his politics but he is now responsible for trying to fix a failing system. My prayers go out to him and his family that he might have wisdom, insight and health.

The New Stimulus Plan

2009-01-16T14:24:00.000-06:00

Is it just me or does the stimulus package look a lot like a plane partly submerged in water?

The Older I Get

2009-01-14T13:59:00.002-06:00

I trek yet again to the same solar synopsis as I had the year before seen and it is the more clear that nothing can become as crystal clear as I might hope for. I am aged. I feel it slipping into the fabric of my own desires. It, as a tide of pain and frailty, has ascended the sandy shores of my hopes and landed upon my heart as well as my body. How many more trips can I expect, if expectations are at all to be trusted?

I have cried and buried. I have laughed and loved. I have yawned and slumbered. I have stared into the core of things. I have seen nothing.

As each of us ambles towards that distant and indistinct shore we are not the courageous victors that our childlike aspirations would paint us to be. I myself have spent a quarter of a century pursing vain attempts at glory that I would distain with my whole heart, for wealth that would imprison me as quickly as I would have it sent me free. Yet there is no hope of grace in my desires, little had for the hopeful and companionship for the hapless.

I am squandered of my own devices, torn from my own dreams by the utter disillusionment of my own desires.

But furthermore I have come to grasp the need for a deeper purpose than I can of myself aspire. Some calling that goes beyond the short breathe of my own existence. Without it melancholy is the only recourse and the murmur of disappointment the beacon call.

Yet as another year springs upon me, I am yet still and steadfast. Perhaps I can will impunity move towards those goals which humanity is unable to attain and unknowing of. Perhaps, or sadly I may be complacent with another year.

Saddest Sunset - Lili Haydn

Dan Gerberry

2009-01-07T15:05:00.001-06:00

I would like to take a moment to introduce you to the starting center for Ball State. He is awesome.

He plays with such tenacity and passion that most people cannot bear to stand in his presence. When he extends his powerful phalanges, the strongest of men tremble for they know that death is near. He is the only college athlete to average 15 kills per game.

With his tasseled curly locks and rippling muscles he routinely rips defensive linemen in half and feast upon whole lambs that he keeps on spits on the sideline, next to his golden throng. Cheerleaders are offered to him after each touchdown.

You might wonder if he is going to play for one of the NFL teams. No. He will become his own NFL team known as the Kansas Gerberry. He will win every Lombardi Trophy until he retires to rule the galatic confederation. He is also immortal.

Suck on that Tebow. Gerberry Owns you.

Have some Tea

2009-01-06T14:54:00.002-06:00

Come in my friend and have some tea with me. Let the hot liqour heal your fractured soul and replace your animosity with a general milaze of joy.

What? You want to know if I have milk. What for?

You want to put some in your tea?

Get out.

Sad Day for Minnesota

2008-12-23T13:57:00.008-06:00

Here are some of the challanged ballots from the Senate Race. Challenged is the most appropriate term.

These are all real ballots. Here is the link for the complete listing of challenged ballots.

So sad.

Sleep Please!

2008-12-19T04:04:00.003-06:00

It's 4 o'clock in the morning and I cannot sleep. Why? because of some crazy reaction dealing somehow with my acid reflux meds. Every square inch of my body is itching so badly that I cannot sleep. I have showered twice tonight and that didn't make a difference. The perfect ending to a rather disappointing and somewhat frustrating day.

Please, please let me sleep.

A Virtual Christmas

2008-12-16T08:54:00.006-06:00

It’s this time of year I like to open up the Cyber gift bag and hand out virtual gifts to my acquaintances. This year my bag has a direct pipeline to BustedTees.com so all of my gifts are t-shirts.

Let’s kick this off.

For Thom I got this lovely shirt. He spells his name Thom not Tom.

This one has multiple applications. However since Kevin has been talking the most about his love for the game of Scrabble he gets this shirt.

You might say to yourself that a Kevin t-shirt spelled with bacon would be better for Kevin but I am giving this to Peter. He likes bacon and Kevin, not necessarily in that order, and it is about time people knew of his loves.

Roger will be taking home the gun in the shirt award. I don't know why he is getting it but it struck my fancy as something that might strike his.

The Die hard is a tough one to give away but Christine gets this one. If I remember correctly she likes Mario.

I had other t-shirts to give out but I don't know where I placed them. I will see if I can award the rest tomorrow.

Farewell Dan Marino

2008-12-11T12:57:00.000-06:00

The Death of Faith, the Death of Hope

2008-12-10T11:16:00.001-06:00

Religion is the dirty word of the 21st century. It is true that Churches and the people in them have vastly failed the standards they would claim as their guiding principles but the people are not the religion. The religion is rather the principles. And rather that finding one religion that might have a chance at being right, religion has been shunned by the masses.

Why? Because it is un-cool? Don’t flatter people that much. They claim it is because that all religions are man made so they would rather make up their own and call it spirituality. Guess what though, spirituality is just a personalized completely made up religion.

Now science wants to tell you that this is all by accident but they cannot even come up with how we existed. And before you tell me that evolution is the way we have come to pass, save it. Evolution within a species is evident but evolution from nothing to a single celled organism to the vast variety of species on the planet doesn’t hold water. Not with the science of today. Sorry, but I cannot buy into that myth without some proof.

You might argue that I bought into God without any proof. Fact is the same proof that you would have for evolution is to me more than enough for God. How could this world happen by accident? How could trees turn sunlight into power more efficiently than we can after decades of work spent trying too?

But that isn’t my point. Faith is under a great deal of scrutiny, or faith in God at least. It has become so unpopular that even people who believe in God have abandoned their beliefs for unfounded and loose theories about God. It is more acceptable to believe in a world and life as we know it belching from nothingness (which all theories pertaining to spontaneous life have been roundly disproved) than a creator.

Believe what you will. We are in a country and a time where that is afforded to everyone, but please don’t judge me for what I believe. And if you think there is a God, seek him. Don’t just play with the idea that there is a God. If you have standards, chances are the One who created you does as well. Make sure you have a good idea about what they are.

Nothing is never worth believing in.

Weak

2008-12-03T14:42:00.002-06:00

Today and tomorrow I say goodbye to a friend. I don't feel strong enough for this. I am hollowed by my fears and sorrow. What else can I offer?

Jason Petersen

2008-12-01T12:25:00.002-06:00

For over three years I worked at my uncle’s tire shop. I was a tire monkey and a basic mechanic and I learned a lot. I gain a large amount of knowledge about cars and met some great people, among which were Steve and Jason Petersen.

Together they were a couple of cousins out for a good laugh and separate two men how fought to provide for their families. Today there is only one and the laughter remains but it labored. Steve lost a cousin, a brother and a friend.

Jason worked. I don’t remember the last time I saw him doing anything other than working. Even when he was done working he was still selling and trading snowmobiles and cars like so many cards I used to trade in my youth.

Yet even in his work he was happy, always with the quick wit to crack a joke or work out the makings of some more elaborate trick. No one can attest to this more than Steve who found himself at the receiving end of some of Jason’s best.

Along with the smiles Jason bore his children with pride, another Petersen trait. After I had moved on from the shop I still returned to visit and upon one return Jason greeted me with his normal care and concern. Then he asked if I had heard that he had another child on the way. That was what he most wanted to share. It is a little story and poorly told yet it is telling none the less.

There is much more to share and many better than I to do so, but I would offer this. Many tears will be shed and they will not be enough. Many words will be shared and they will fall short. But in the laughter that will continue we will best remember Jason Petersen, for that may be his greatest offering. He loved with a reckless abandon and taught those who knew him to love and laugh as he did.

My only pictures of Jason are in my memories but they are fond memories and for the life of me I cannot think of a time that I saw him when he didn’t smile. I hope that we will meet again in heaven.

Your smile and laugh linger, but you are missed my friend.

Welcome to the World v3.0

2008-11-21T16:09:00.001-06:00

Why is it exactly that our world has all the stability of a new Microsoft release? Kevin would probably tell you that it has something to do with too few people experiencing the overwhelming joy of being saved by zero. He might be right. After all, he was right about June 26th. I think we were all pretty shocked.

I have my own opinions, none of which are funny. Here are some opinions that no one has expressed.

~ Too many movies about outer space. People are spending all their mental energy on preparing for the eventual move to space and have spent no time on our own planet.

~ Global warming. People have blamed lots of stuff on Global warming but I think I might be the first to blame the crumbling world economy on it.

~ Dick Cheney… Oh, no wait everything has already been blamed on him.

~ Carrot Top. Did anyone else notice that when his comedy specials stopped so did the housing market… like 8 years later. On a side note, why does he spend so much time building his biceps and so much time on making his face look like a woman’s but no time on anything that could be mistaken as an act?

~ The last two brain cells in Gallagher brain collided and sent him into a tail spin of pure insane ecstasy. Did the watermelon get a restraining order on this man or did he just collapse under the raw power of the humor void created by his own act.

~ Reality TV. Now I know that TV has been taking much of the brunt of our social ills for about 10 years now but Reality TV takes the lowest level of life, which is clearly absorbing more than contributing and zips it into our home. For what reason you might ask? Keeping these idiots from ruining the work the rest of us are doing. Could you imagine the setbacks our economy would have suffered if the cast of any of these TV shows played an actual role in society? If we had more reality TV shows we could clean up these human waste lands from the streets.

~ Britney Spears. Why is it that the craziest of what our celebrities have to offer get the most coverage. How about a little less time with Gary “I will rip out your endocrine system” Busey and a little more time with Gary “I support our troops and common sense” Sinise.

Found Myself

2008-11-13T13:58:00.001-06:00

The undergrowth is withdrawn into is wintering state
Every leaf laden trail beckoning an excursion
The chance of a new breath never touched by lips
Adventures that are uniquely my own
The calling that I cannot resist lures me
To share with me its secrets, places
The cooling unwavering grip of confidence
The unforgiving challenge of complete acceptance
As natural as the urges that drives us there
The hope of freedom, promise of the steadfast
To nature I run. You will find me there
For there I found myself

The New Rubber Stamp

2008-11-05T14:55:00.001-06:00

Firstly, I am proud to be an American today. Not because my candidate won but rather because of the strides that we have made as a culture over the past century and even over the past few decades in the way of race equality. Where as I don’t think that is a reason to elect a person as President, and it is not my intention to say that is the only reason he was elected but at the least a part of it, it is a mental obstacle that we have struggled to surmount.

I don’t understand racism. We are physically all the same outside of a small shade of the covering our bodies are adorned with. And if I am to be quite far some perceived shortcomings have been perpetrated by the egregious actions of white Americans. You would not have a Harvard graduated African-American who was a well renown lawyer run for office because they were not afforded those opportunities in the past.

For that monumental step in the betterment of humanity I am proud. I completely disagree with much of Obama’s voting record and find some of it morally deplorable but I am proud that he was not encumbered in his pursuit of the highest office in the land. It is my hope that a woman will also be in that office soon, although I must be forthright in my hopes that she would not share the same political views as our President Elect.

Before I leave the topic there is one admonishment that I would like to wager on the American public, the people who vote liberal directly. You hated, by your own words, when President Bush had both the House and the Senate in his same party. You complained about corruption and “the rubber stamp”. Well, guess what you did in this election. You gave the rubber stamp to Obama who isn’t even the leader of his party. Do you really think that Nancy Pelosi will listen to what “the kid” has to say? And she has and even lower approval rating the President Bush, who is worse than Hitler if we are to take you all at your word.

Obama wants to spend 700 billion dollars on new “Green” technologies. In case you weren’t aware the Government gets its money from taxes. So unless they are going to cut the Defense department completely then that means more taxes, which is what you want in a down economy. I am just saying you might want to start saving money.

Last Second Political Pitch

2008-11-03T09:44:00.002-06:00

In a day or possibly in a few minutes (depending on when you are reading this) you are going to vote for some people to take your money and spend it on stuff that you would never dream of spending it on.

The most important thing to remember is that anyone who is on that ballot is unfit to bear the moniker of humanity. No matter who you vote for they have done some things that are considered inhuman and are probably stealing from someone right at this moment.

So fill in your circles and then go home and mail a blank check to the scum you just voted for so they can easily access your bank accounts and continue in their diabolical ways.

Oh, and don’t smile while you vote. Politicians hate that.

Here is the lasted Rock TV. You will notice a bit of a political twinge to it.

I am Voting for the Death/Tickles ticket!

If You Could… Part 4

2008-10-29T10:30:00.001-05:00

If You Could… Part 1
If You Could… Part 2
If You Could… Part 3

It had taken a great deal of strength to push the door aside which I let my friend accomplish. I kept reminding him that this wasn’t war and there were rules here that he wasn’t aware of. When we were both inside and the door had been closed I explained the first rule.

Has a room ever seemed to dim for a second then regain its brightness when you were in it? Yes. Then you have been in the room with someone who was stepping outside of time. With no passage of time it means the light you have is the light you get so we need to conserve it.

I pointed towards on side of the bar. There she was, in the act of falling, with a man reaching from behind to catch her. About fifteen feet towards the bathroom doors and the rear exit stood a man with his arm outstretched. Smoke was suspended above the barrel of the pistol he held in his hand. There were tears streaking his checks.

Can you see the bullet? He didn’t respond but kept peering for a moment before he drew himself stiffly upright. It’s going to hit her. He had spotted it. No, it won’t hit her if the man catches her. The bullet isn’t meant for her.

Well then it seems as though she is already saved. We don’t have anything to do. No quite. He was beginning to jump to conclusions. We don’t know anything about that man. What do you mean? He wasn’t following where I was trying to lead him.

You have to look into his past to see her future. It is a simple enough concept. You sister is very impressionable. Screw you. An expected although immature response. Look into his past and you will see it. His eyes focused and he grew so quite that I had to strain to hear him breath. The fire in his eyes began to slowly dwindle until he became a cold shell of himself.

He is a monster. I watched this war weathered man shake in light of what he had seen. He will seduce her and then after he has had his fill of her, he will destroy her. It might be more merciful to let her take the bullet now rather than the beatings later. Either way she will end up dead.

That is why we have to think. We cannot altogether stop the bullet but we don’t want him and your sister leaving together tonight. Could we make the bullet hit him? He would just play it off like he took the bullet for your sister. Make no mistake it is his intent to go home with your sister tonight. He has been watching her for a couple of weeks.

Not just a scratch. What if we had the bullet go through his brain and kill him? I don’t deal out death. Some who walk outside of time do but I don’t subscribe to vigilante justice. You have seen his past. He has earned his death. Many who deserve to die live and many who deserve life die. I wonder, can you give it to them? I recognize the quote. I am just saying he doesn’t deserve life. I agree but I am not going to be the one to take if from him.

What now? We have to figure out a way to keep your sister from leaving with him tonight. Not to change the topic but what is the story with the bullet? You see the glow of the end of the gun? His name is Simon and the woman behind your sister is his wife. The man she is sitting with is the man she will leave Simon for, her adulterous lover. Simon and the woman were married last year. His first and her 3rd marriage, a little fact she failed to share with him.

That is messed up. Why did she even marry Simon if she was going to leave him so soon after that? She thought he had money. Simon has always lived below his means, but what she didn’t realize is that he gave most of his money away to charity. Poor guy. Yes, but he did make the decision to come here tonight. She may have destroyed the man that he was but he could have simply let her go. He decided to come here tonight.

I have it! I was honestly surprised at the ejaculation from my friend.

Varios Artists' Depictions of Hell

2008-10-21T08:39:00.004-05:00

Lessons we can learn from the Rays

2008-10-20T09:12:00.001-05:00

1.) When you final renounce your association from the Devil you will triumph.
2.) If you shorten your name you will go to the championships.

How can we apply these lessons to everyday life?

Firstly renounce the devil and all of his devilish ways.

Secondly, cut your name down to the lowest common denominator.

Some examples.

The Minnesota Twins could become the Minnesota Wins. It works on so many levels.

The Minnesota Vikings could become the Minnesota Kings. Finally the choice of purple and gold would make sense.

The Minnesota Timber Wolves could become either the Bur Wolves (its cold up here) or simple the Wolves.

The Detroit Lions could become the Detroit Ions because I am pretty sure I will never see a headline reading Detroit Lions Win Superbowl, but the Ions have a shot.

Perhaps I could think of more but I am already board with this.

Arthritis

2008-10-16T09:17:00.000-05:00

I have arthritis. Is there anything more dismal for a 26 year old man to say? Mine is however very painful on some occasions and completely unnoticeable on others.

Now it isn’t my intent to be bitter but rather to explain that I have been unable, or at the very least unmotivated as typing hurts to some extent, to write currently on the blog.

My arthritis is in my spine and when it acts up the right side of my chest cavity and sometimes my right arm are in pain. Right now it has felt as though I have a needle pushed threw my chest. It has felt that way since Sunday.

I currently only occasionally have pain that radiates into my arm and none of the alarming numbness that first sent me to the doctor to get a diagnosis. I have, however, concluded that the pain and numbness in the arm is a welcome distraction from the pain in my chest and have decided that it is preferable to have the combined pain of chest and arm then the singular unyielding pain by itself.

The contrast helps.

Do you know of any good specialists? I am really getting tired of periodically hurting to the point that I cannot but barely function.

Unapologetically dark

2008-10-13T12:02:00.001-05:00

Here is a short story I have been working on. I keep ending up rewriting everything past this point and haven't really touched this in a while. Thought I might share.

Suicide Pact

Fear. It’s a driving force sure enough, an emotion but what exactly is this thing called fear? It has often been said that death is the second fear of most people. This I will never believe. When awoken in a cold sweat, it is the icy relentless pursuit by the faceless apparition that wields the sharpened metal every time. The uncaring, unwavering reminder of the frailty of life, the frailty of the human condition, is what bears down upon you until you stumble and eventually succumb, crumbling under the weight of its truth. Death yields to no one and in its path even the mightiest are found wanting. Fear is a whisper, a gripping reminder, a prickly nudge to remove any doubt as to where we stand. We are ashes looking to avoid being scattered by the pressing wind and there is nothing we can do to change it.

Sunlight always finds a way in. A crack barely big enough for wind to exploit but the sun casts its rays through the crevice and onto the bed, creeping their way across the sheets and onto his face. Yet another Saturday’s sleeping in opportunity ruined. “Oh no, I’ve over slept!” had become his calling card over the past few years. But he knew they would call. They always called on a Saturday morning to make sure that he was awake. The day would simply go better if he would be able to tell them he was almost there when he answered the phone. His feet hit the carpet before his eyes had opened.

“Another day of being you.” His disgust was unmasked and the utter contempt poured from his eyes as he splashed water on his face. The water was careening from the faucet and slamming into the pooling water below. He took his time, carefully inspecting as he went, to make sure that every speck of black was shaved from his face. He pulled the dark green polo over his head and tucked it into the khaki pants. He resented the outfit all the more when he slowly slid the pin through the shirt that bore the name tag displaying proudly “My name is CALVIN. Is there something I can help you find?” His keys slipped quickly into his pocket and cell phone clipped onto his belt. His right hand slide across his back pocket to let him know his wallet was where it should be.

The faucet for the tub began to spew as Calvin turned the knob and plugged the drain. He returned to the sink, beside which sat his class ring, polished to a shine and a black marker. The marker’s smell permeated Calvin’s nostrils as he clipped the cap onto the back of the marker and began to write on the mirror. He hesitated, hearing a voice that sounded like his conscience, reminding him of all he had to live for. The words seemed so trite and each word stung him with bitterness. Annoyed, Calvin slammed his hand back onto the mirror and a line struck through the words he had written thus far.

“You’ve managed to deface your own defacing.” His scolding words quietly admonished his own efforts. His brow tightened and eyes darkened. He was determined to finish this, no matter what.

When the marker finally dropped from his hand, he stumbled back to observe his work. He needed to make sure that it said everything he wanted and needed it to. In satisfaction for his work he perched himself on the edge of the tub to tighten his shoe laces. The cranking of the handle brought the water in the tub to an eerie stillness. The quite was disheartening. Calvin’s arm reached for the CD player that hung from the shower faucet. The soft and mournful tones of Moonlight Sonata feel gently upon the scene. If he didn’t get out on the road soon he wouldn’t be able to say he was almost there when they called.

As he pushed up on his knees a long sighed slipped from his lips. He took one more look into the mirror and for a second he though he saw something in the mirror. It looked like him only he was happy. The anger from his face had faded and the light from his eyes was engulfing. But as suddenly as the image appeared it faded and the reminder of his own shortcomings even in comparison to this visioned reflection drove to his core. He spun about and stepped into the filled tub.

His strength or perhaps it was his will that left him and his body dropped as though life had flown from it into the water below. As he fell his elbow bounced the edge of the tub and the shooting pain almost brought Calvin out of the water again. He wanted to cry out but more than that he wanted to be brave, whatever that meant. With his knees protruding from the water and a sizeable pool already on the floor, he sat with the rest of his body submerged in the water waiting, but he did not know what for.

Clink, Clink, Clink, Clunk, Clank. Calvin recognized the change falling from his pocket. Eighty – something if he remembered right. Next a very subdued jingle followed by a clank-clank thud. The keys had slid from his pocket and onto the bottom of the tub. Next his cell phone’s archaic clip failed and it struck the bottom of the tub with a thump. Thankfully the thing was about the oldest phone still in use anywhere. Its death was more merciful than anything else. Bump. The loud noise startled Calvin a bit. He wasn’t quite sure what it was.

His hand scrounged around the bottom of the tub beside him and eventually came to rest on a tube-ish shaped object about 3 inches long. He instantly remembered what it was. He was never able to explain, even to himself, why he bought the thing or why he never left the apartment without it. In fact he barely ever used it. Seemed like such a waste for someone like him to have. Perhaps he bought it because a man feels more powerful, more like a real man when he has got a knife on him. Maybe he just got it because the sale was pretty much one that he couldn’t pass up. At the very least he wasn’t able too. But still, maybe, just maybe he bought it because all along he knew this day would come and he would need it then.

The burning in his lungs started as his head came bursting out from underneath the once again calmed surface, sending another wave over the tub’s side and onto the floor. A short burst of gasps provided the necessary air to relieve the burning in his lungs. Despite the overwhelming belief that he had been under for quite some time, the lingering notes of Moonlight Sonata let Calvin know that he had only retreated for a few brief moments.

He sat in silence pondering what next to do. To retreat from this precipice seemed impossible but to go forward was… well, forward. His hand emerged from the water and opened to reveal the knife still held by the fingers. One finger swung the blade from the housing. It was one of those flip out knifes that were sold at outdoor sports places. In fact it was on the way home from work one day that a sign claiming year end sale on such a store that had brought him and the blade together. He gently laid the knife on the side of the tub, content to inspect it from a distance.

The blade, after 3 years of wear and tear under his command, was in the same condition it had been the day he bought it. It had been designed for survival in the wild. It had ended up with him, resigned to the occasional run in with packing tap and the even more rare battle with duct tape. Small droplets of water began to bead and work their way off the knife. Man, he had gotten such a great deal on that thing. The craftsmanship was impeccable

In the silence, while Calvin visually inspected his knife the voice returned. The arguments and reasoning it posed didn’t bother Calvin this time. In fact it made a great deal of sense but there was a nagging shame in the pit of Calvin’s stomach that would not afford him the retreat. He drew the knife up in his hand and placed it on the inside of his arm just below the elbow.

The knife slid down his arm to his wrist with little effort. It seemed the knife was eager to be about cutting something other than tape and leapt from on hand to the other. A similar cut was made on the other arm but two smaller cuts were made to accent the larger near the wrist. Again the knife leapt and copied the cuts from one arm to another. Calvin didn’t want to be found with no symmetrical cuts.

Already the blood had enveloped his arms and was lunging into the tub, yet he was not in much pain. After the initial cut his endorphins had kicked in and left him in a state of near-euphoria. The blade slid back into the waters as Calvin’s strength quickly faded. The edge of his field of vision seemed to be framed in an ever-growing darkness.

These effects had descended on Calvin quicker than he had assumed they would, the darkness, the weakening laying hold of him with speed and precision. Perhaps the cuts had driven deeper than his convictions had in his mind. Yet there was little that could be done now. From his wrists the red tide ran quickly but even now time had lost its fervor to him. Were it not for the flecks of red that dashed from the veil, Calvin would have thought the blood was moving at a pace for molasses. Calvin had told himself that the process would likely take hours and now, less then a minute into it, he was already to the point of fading.

The black outer frame was surging across his sight, devouring the room around him. His gaze, weak and dark, landing on the door handle across the room. It wasn’t proximity or any interest in the item itself that drew his gaze but rather the light that was relecting off of the handle made it the brightest thing he could see. The handle wasn’t ornate by any means, just a simple golden globe with an inset ring for contrast. Yet in this fleeting moment, the last he would endure on this plane, it had become Calvin’s whole world.

The steadfast gleam momentarily flickered and Calvin sighed, preparing for the last of anything and everything in this life. Little thought could he afford to what lie ahead this late. Rather he sat waiting for the darkness to consume him. Yet he continue on here for a brief moment seeing the gleaming handle move to the side as the door began to open. Golden gleams faded to fields of dulled orange. “At last the end.” Fell from his lips.

The first movement of the sonata was coming to its close and Calvin felt honored that it had timed its demise with his own, a final right thing to escort his soul from this world. The tones faded in strength as the darkness grew. Something, just above a whisper, crept into his ear and into his conscious. “Dad?” Then darkness.