The Writings of Derek Larson

The Writings are dead... Long live The Writings

2012-02-04T21:18:00.003-06:00

In short, The Writings are moving and being rebranded.

Why? It was time for something new, I suppose. If you're reading this, you're aware that things have been slow lately. I'm hoping to get back to writing more and it seems like the new host-site has a few more toys that can keep things interesting.

The Writings live on (as "Change for a button") at www.dereklarson.wordpress.com.

As always, thank you for reading. My life has a blogger has been a fun one so far, and (God willing) there are plenty of pointless writings left to post.

A quick rant

2012-01-11T19:46:00.001-06:00

As the basketball rolled toward midcourt and the final buzzer sounded, my first reaction was to look over to my brother and say, "What the hell was that?" The answer, of course, was "periods of decent basketball largely overshadowed by lousy basketball that led to great disappointment," but the question still rattled in my head. The 75-73 loss to Baylor - the fourth-ranked team in the nation - was that sort of game; one that had fans jumping in celebration when Jordan Henriquez was on the receiving end of yet another lob pass and shouting in exasperation when the Wildcats, once again, passed the ball directly to a Baylor defender as if it was a Mama's Family DVD that they were trying to regift.

The Wildcats seemingly had the game in-hand late, simply needing to have a few good offensive possessions in order to protect a four-point lead. Instead, K-State handled the basketball the way my three-year-old niece treats balloons, batting it around with no real regard for where it ends up. In no time (not literally... best I can tell, there were no tears in the space-time continuum during the game), the Bears had eliminated the Wildcats' lead, pushing K-State from a sense of protection to a sense of urgency.

The response to said urgency? Somehow it involved ignoring the best player on the team. Rodney McGruder had scored 30 points on the evening, showing both the ability to attack the basket and to hit from long-range. With the team trailing by 2 with 20+ seconds remaining, it seemed obvious that McGruder might get a chance to tie the game... Apparently it was a little too obvious. The K-State possession never put the ball in the hands of McGruder. Instead, freshman Angel Rodriguez ended up with a chance to drive to the basket. It looked as if he had a wide-open lane, but a Baylor defender caught up with him to knock the ball away.

Now inbounding the ball from the baseline, the Wildcats had 3.4 seconds to put the ball in the hoop, tying the game or - should the intestinal fortitude of the team be great - taking the lead. It was a good opportunity to get McGruder a look at the basket after coming off a screen. As the ball arced toward the hoop, the silence of anticipation would have enveloped the Octagon of Doom. Good or not, the shot would have provided the most suspenseful moment of the Wildcats' season so far... Instead, the Wildcats attempted to lob a pass from out of bounds to get a dunk or tip-in. Yes, this lob pass was attempted against Baylor, who sports a front line of unbelievable athletes who stand 6-7, 6-9, 6-11. All three were in the lane with a chance to anticipate the pass, meaning the odds of successfully completing said lob were slightly worse than my odds of having a date on a given Friday night. That, friends, is not good.

The pass was knocked away and, as the ball rolled toward midcourt, the Wildcats' chance at picking up a home victory over the nation's No. 4 team expired. What the hell was that?

-----

Epilogue:
I just spent 500+ words complaining about a basketball game that had no ill-effect on my life (other than a mild case of potty mouth). At no point during my shouting at the refs to "be consistent" and "c'mon, that's horrible" (Copyright Derek D. Larson, 2012) was my life in any sort of danger (that I'm aware of... If you were stalking me and had a rifle aimed at me at any time, please let me know). Fact is, I'm lucky to have the chance to have season tickets to watch a Top 25 college basketball team, and I'm not saying that just because I've had season tickets to watch plenty of horrible basketball teams. File the aforementioned rant under the hashtag #FirstWorldProblems, then take a quick moment to be thankful for what you have.

Fine, if you want to take a quick moment to be thankful that I don't get on a soapbox very often, that works, too.

Lousy Mayans

2012-01-05T22:57:00.001-06:00

It has become tradition at The Writings to take a chance at the end of each calendar year to look back at significant events. After all, if we don't commemorate the fact that Jesse Chavez gave up three home runs while pitching less than eight innings* for the 2011 Royals, who will?

*Illustration to help those who do not find entertainment in baseball (you poor souls) realize the ineptitude of this stat: If you drank nothing but bottled water for a week, it would be pretty unlikely that you would attempt to take a drink only to completely miss your mouth and ram the bottle directly into your retina. Imagine doing that three times in a week.

The 2011 year-in-review is coming, but something odd happened lately: life.

Weird. I'm definitely not used to that. If that becomes a habit, we're all doomed.

Ah, yes. As for the title of this quick Writing, I'm simply following my only New Year's resolution. In 2012, anything that goes awry (such as not writing) is the fault of the Mayans and their short-sighted calendar. If any of you know a Mayan, please ask if they'll consider printing an addendum that runs through 2082. They can decorate said calendar however they like; pictures of dalmatian puppies, Dilbert cartoons, quotes from Pog collectors (Fact: Mayans loved Pogs*), whatever works. Just have them adjust it so that folks aren't losing their minds in December thinking the world might end or that Wheel of Fortune will be cancelled (which might be the end of the world for some). Thanks in advance.

*Fact: Not a real fact.

Just (-2) Shopping Days Til Christmas

2011-12-27T17:48:00.001-06:00

As Christmas approaches, I'd like to take this opportunity to revisit a Writing concept I've addressed before: horrible gifts available on eBay. Yes, the online home to everything auctions contains some legitimately useful items, some great things you might not find anywhere else, and some... -Wait, what's that? Christmas was two days ago? Gifts have already been opened? Thousands have already consumed enough eggnog to embarrass their families? I haven't composed a Writing since December 5? And I still have not ordered a replacement handle for my oven? Good grief.

It seems that the month of December has snuck by me in a manner typically reserved for underlying messages from the fairer gender (e.g., "You are not funny. Never speak to me again."). I feel like I should blame this on something. I could lay it on the Grinch, but - as I understand it - he's having some sort of medical procedure completed to help resolve some health issues related to exponential enlargement of his heart. I'd go after Father Time, but his son - Hammer - seems a bit aggressive when it comes to contact with his family.

Jokes aside, a recent hospital stay for my mom did seem to accelerate the holiday season. An infection in an arm left on antibiotics for days and added a new event to plug into the Christmas letter. Thankfully, things cleared up and she made it home the day before we celebrated our family Christmas. In her life, she's jumped some incredible hurdles, including a car accident that left her in traction for two months, multiple bouts with cancer, and having to tote around my obese toddler form 27 years ago, so there was confidence that she'd leave this infection in her tracks, as well. But, as with any hospital stay, even the slightest hint of uncertainty can be terrifying. It's good to have her home... It's also good that the folks at the hospital have yet to set up an automatic withdrawal from my parents' bank account every month.

With Mom back at home, the holidays moved forward, all underlined by the unrelenting excitement of a three-year-old mind. From naming the nativity camels (Blueberry, Buzz Lightyear, and Woody, if you're curious) to refusing to watch any movies that did not involve a snow-adorned setting, my sister's daughter approached the holiday season like a kid waiting for Christmas. (Note to self: This is why you need to write more. Your simile-crafting has eroded to a tear-drawingly pathetic point.) Though just three, she became college-roommate-familiar with the phrase "Santa's watching," and left out cookies and milk for Mr. Kringle and food for the reindeer the night before their family celebration. She may still have some things to learn (at one point she told her Dad that he could not sleep outdoors because the reindeer would eat him), but - from patiently waiting for her next turn to open gifts to kindly thanking the gifter of each present - she seems to have a good grasp on the holiday. Alas, I did not receive any Legos from Santa, as she said I would. I suppose there's always next year.

With Santa now in the midst of his annual post-toy-delivery bender (so I assume), the holiday season will soon close with the arrival of the year 2012. I suppose this is notable, since some folks believe it's the last year that our world will exist. Whether the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse ride down our streets at 12:01 a.m. on Jan. 1 (which will be tricky, even with separate times zones across the country) or the whole Mayan calendar issue was just a mix-up since the folks making it were too lazy to go further than 2012, only time can tell.

Sorry, time AND Miss Cleo.*

*This Writing brought to you by The Foundation Determined to Make Miss Cleo Relevant Again. Call her now for vague predictions for your future that might seem kind of correct in the distant future!

The Junk Drawer

2011-12-05T20:46:00.001-06:00

So much to do, so little time.*

*Please note: For the author's purposes, items in the "much to do" category include watching shows on the MLB Network that would put even casual baseball fans to sleep, watching clips of live footage from Ben Folds concerts on YouTube, tracking down some tree sap that is apparently extra special on Skyrim, wondering why so many bugs die in my basement, and watching the handle fall off of my oven door. Yes, I'm swamped.

With all that's gone on in the world of sports lately, there's certainly plenty to write about. Alas, certain topics certainly deserve due diligence, rather than something hastily tossed together with a few cheap jokes mixed in. (AKA, The Writings' Special.) Thus, we won't touch on K-State football and the team's bowl bid in this Writing, other than to say that the match up with Arkansas has the potential to be the best bowl game of the year.

We won't yet dive into the fact that bowls are, in reality, a bit of a joke anyway, other than to say that the way college football determines a champion has to be something that Russian judges everywhere applaud.

We certainly will not yet dive into the ridiculous nature of the entire BCS, as my computer should not be subjected to keystrokes that pointed and angry on a Monday.

Instead, we'll do a bit to empty out the junk drawer, touching on topics that need some attention, but - due to important time constraints detailed above* - have not garnered any recently from The Writings.

*If there's a hotline for addiction to video games that happen to embellish Scandinavian accents to a near comical extent, please pass the number my way.

- The Chiefs -
If I ever have less confidence in a quarterback than I do in Tyler Palko, I'm going to personally call the head coach and ask him to consider kneeling the ball every single play. Yes, he's that bad. It's a shame, too. As his story is one of those great underdog pieces that local media could beat into the ground until it popped up through an anthill on the other side of the globe. He was undrafted. He's played all over. He was even cut by a team in a league whose acronym half the country would probably mistake for a cable television channel. He had something, though; something coaches saw and appreciated enough to consider him good enough to be a quarterback in a league that contains some of the greatest athletes on the planet... I wish I knew what that something was, as Palko does not seem to have a clue.

While Palko has been busy trying to decipher which team he is supposed to throw the ball to, the Chiefs' defense has been playing strikingly well. Despite the fact that they've been without safety/best-defensive-player-on-the-team Eric Berry since the season opener, the Chiefs held the Pittsburgh Steelers to just 13 points two weeks ago and then allowed just a lonely field goal* to the Chicago Bears on Sunday. With Tamba Hali attacking quarterbacks and Derrick Johnson making plays all over the field, the Chiefs defense has looked like a playoff-caliber unit recently.

*Fact: Lonely field goals often try to mask depression. If you know a lonely field goal, please encourage it to seek help.

Alas, then there's that whole offensive problem. With starter Matt Cassell out for the season, the Chiefs seemingly tried to address the issue at quarterback by recently signing Kyle Orton, who was cut by Denver once Tim Tebow began his quest for global domination. (Heaven help us.) Orton saw his first action as a Chief on Sunday, entering the game in the second quarter and flinging a pass on flea-flicker (hand-off to running back, who pitches back to the QB*). The pass fell incomplete and Orton fell to the ground paying an odd amount of attention to his finger. Turns out he dislocated it on the play and did not return to the game. Ladies and gentlemen, your 2011 Chiefs!

*Aptly named play? I've never seen a football leave someone itching for days.

Palko returned after Orton's extensive playing time, avoiding handing the football - in a nicely wrapped gift basket - to the Bears, and even had the luck of every Irishman who has ever lived smile upon him when he threw a hail-mary touchdown pass at the end of the first half. The Chiefs scored 10 points to the Bears' three, earning a victory in a game that they probably had no business winning.

What does it mean?

I assume it means we'll see more Palko... Does anyone have Todd Haley's phone number?

- The Royals -
On the player acquisition side of things, I love what the Royals have done so far this off-season. They traded outfield Melky Cabrera who, coming of a career-year, will never be valued higher by opposing team, and landed Jonathan Sanchez - a starting pitcher with immense talent (he threw a no-hitter in 2009) in return. They brought back starter Bruce Chen who (oddly, considering his mediocre career prior to arriving in KC) has been the team's most consistent pitcher over the last two seasons. Just last week they signed relief pitcher Jonathan Broxton, who was a multiple-time All-Star for the Dodgers before suffering an injury. The Broxton signing further boosts an already-strong bullpen, giving the Royals flexibility and possibly the opportunity to deal strength for weakness (e.g., relief pitching for starters). The lineup is young and potentially dangerous meaning that the Royals bandwagon I've been attempting to steer for 20 years might finally pick up a few passengers.

Alas, those passengers will not be impressed by the PR side of the KC ball club. The Royals managed to turn genuine excitement into outright hatred when they recently fired 8-time Gold Glove-winner Frank White from his position as television color analyst. Whether the move was justified or not is not my call. I have virtually no knowledge of the situation, other than what I've heard on the radio, read on Twitter and in a Sam Mellinger column. I have no clue who made the decision. I don't know why the broadcast producer Kevin Shank was also fired. I don't even know if play-by-play man Ryan Lebfevre will now be forced to chuckle at his own jokes. What I do know is that KC botch the announcement of it all. If you're canning a team legend, you ought to be prepared for backlash. Offer to move him to a different position with the team. Release information that supports the decision. Show up on Frank White's doorstep with a box of chocolates and a stereo playing "Why Can't We Be Friends." Hand out puppies downtown the day after the news breaks. Whatever you do, just don't (allegedly) tell the guy he's jobless because he offered constructive criticism of the team on occasion during his time in the job* and then let the situation fester. The man is a team legend. His number is retired and is plastered on the team's Hall of Fame. He even has an annual team award that bears his name. Unless he's involved in something truly scandalous in nature, he should not just be told goodbye and good luck. Fans could be outraged.

*I watched many, many, many of those games. There was plenty to be critical of. They want the guy to lie?

... Oh, wait. Too late. Fans are ticked. Your move, Royals. (I'm not sure whether or not it's too late for the puppy thing to work.)

More Thanks Than A Sensical Person Can Handle

2011-11-28T19:56:00.001-06:00

Each November, those in our country pause to celebrate that for which they're thankful. While it's a bit disturbing that things like Kardashian-laden television programs or banana-free banana splits might populate such lists, it's still nice to see folks expressing appreciation for what they have, rather than complaining about what they don't.

It's become a mini-tradition for me to post many of the things I'm thankful for to The Writings when Thanksgiving rolls around. More accurately, it's become a mini-tradition for me to realize I've forgotten to post such a blog until days after the holiday, at which point I scramble to get it published... At least I'm consistent.

As always, I'm thankful for extraordinary family and great friends and their health and safety. Whether it's giving up a free Saturday to help paint my (then-future) home, or simply exchanging (what we deem) witty banter during a football game these people are always there, and it's always appreciated.

I'm thankful that said family and base of friends continues to grow. Through marriage and new life, the folks that mean the most in my life are bringing more people to the table. This means that more people have to tolerate me, simply by association. Jackpot.

I'm thankful that my three-year-old niece has some great ideas for what I should ask for this Christmas season. "Legos to build a robot" will be something to look forward to.

I'm thankful that at least one person who reads all this discussion about family will wonder when I'm going to pull my weight by bringing someone new into the fold. This means I'm not a lost cause... yet.

I'm also thankful for patience. (Translation: Sorry, keep waiting.)

I'm thankful for the opportunity and good fortune that allowed me to become a home-owner this year.

I'm also thankful that my home has yet to burn down, blow away, sink to the bottom of a previously undiscovered sinkhole, or be warped to another dimension. Every day that I arrive home to a still-standing house is a good one.

I'm thankful that I had the sense to stay away from any super-shopper, bargain-hunting-crazed, pepper-spray-toting women on Black Friday.

Check that, I'm thankful that I've had the sense to stay away from any super-shopper, bargain-hunting-crazed, pepper-spray-toting women in general.

I'm thankful for employment. In transitioning through a business merger, there were times where my work future seemed as certain as KU football success, but all has worked out to this point.

I'm thankful for the opportunities presented by part-time endeavors, as well. Sports writing can be a cynical business, and often I don't really grasp how great of a part-time gig I really have. Seats on the 50-yard-line in a climate-controlled environment? Check. Free admission to every game? Check. Free meals every game? Check. Parking pass? Check. the opportunity to be on the field at the end of the game? Check. The opportunity to speak to those involved following the game? Check. A paycheck, as long as I can detail said game in a manner that can be deemed semi-sensical? Check.

I'm thankful for the fact that, though you might hate me right now after reading that last paragraph, through the kindness of your heart, you will forgive me... Eventually. I think.

I'm thankful for many other things that I'm certain to have neglected mentioning. This list includes, but is not limited to: hope for the Royals, success for K-State, the fact that Tyler Palko will not start for the Chiefs next season, Twitter followers that find a comment of mine amusing enough to retweet it, the Angry Birds bomb-bird, all six seasons of Lost on DVD, rain, the fact that I have not encountered any more snakes in my basement, Netflix ditching the name Qwikster, triple-letter spots in WordFeud, the Vista Burger combo, the fact that no one noticed that my shirt was missing a button the other day, a working furnace, and my health.

And, finally, I'm once again thankful for the opportunity to commit my thoughts to writing without fear of reprisal, uprising, or scorn more severe than the rolling of eyes. I've always maintained that I mainly keep this rolling to entertain myself; should anyone else find it good for a chuckle, that's all the better. Thank you for reading.

9 Angry Wins

2011-11-20T13:35:00.001-06:00

Last night, Bill Snyder was the angriest nine-win coach in America. His Kansas State Wildcats - underdogs once again, continuing a trend that makes one wonder whether folks in Las Vegas think Manhattan, Kan., is actually a fictional town - topped the Texas Longhorns, pushing their season win total to nine... Not bad for a team whom many predicted would not earn the six wins necessary for bowl eligibility.

With the NCAA's broken postseason system*, the Wildcat win won't push them toward better postseason seeding, but it does give them a chance to share the Big 12 championship - this in the Big 12's first season of round-robin conference play. With scheduling quirks no longer affecting week-to-week action and the lack of divisional play eliminating the opportunity for a conference championship game ups (see: 2003), K-State was not supposed to be able to compete for conference championships anymore. This point was so clear, it may have even been printed in Dan Beebe's book of daily affirmations.

*Bowl System Logic: You had a borderline-good-to-great season, how about you go play in one more game, but this one will be in a random city. No, you won't ultimately have a chance at the NCAA Championship, but you can win a trophy that bears the name of a corporate sponsor that may very well be bankrupt in three years. Hooray!

The fact that the Wildcats are here - chasing a piece of a championship - surprises pretty much anyone who is not directly associated with the Kansas State football program. It's been the sort of season that many coaches might dream about. So, why was Bill Snyder so mad?

As Snyder put it, Texas "beat the tar out of us." The Longhorns out-gained the Wildcats 310-121. The Wildcats averaged a meager 1 yard per rush attempt - a total they might have matched if they had just lined up in a goal-line formation and run quarterback sneaks every single play. The passing game was not much better, with the Wildcats completing barely half of their attempts, gaining just 83 yards through the air, and getting sacked five times. Essentially, if you gave your dog a Playstation controller and turned on Madden Football, the mutt's team might have a chance of topping K-State's offensive output.

With a week off prior to their final game of the season, the Wildcats have a chance to rest - good news, since news came out that quarterback/walking-bruise Collin Klein had not really participated in practice over the last two weeks - and also a chance to shore up on any misgivings. Asked what the Wildcats need to focus on during the bye week, Snyder quipped something along the lines of "We need to learn to play offense." ... He's nothing if he's not subtle.

Once again, the Wildcats won. It was a fairly big win; one many coaches would accept with wide smiles on their faces. As the last Kansas State coach repeated after every single game (and as he exhibited during his time on the sidelines), "It's tough to win football games." The Wildcats have already exceeded expectations. They've won games they "shouldn't" have won. They've even surprised the most optimistic fans, yet Snyder isn't happy. He wants more... And that's probably why they're competing for a piece of a championship in the first place.

Stay angry, Bill.

The Comeback

2011-11-09T20:00:00.001-06:00

It seems as if social media has my blog in some sort of submission hold. Whether it's your standard sleeper hold, the Million Dollar Dream, or Ric Flair's figure-four, I'm not sure, but I fear that The Writings are in danger of tapping out. If this were a 1980s wrestling match, this would be about the time that the crowd started chanting "Wry-Tings, Wry-Tings!" as the persistent referee continually asked whether the face (wrestling speak for good guy) was ready to give up.* That cannot happen.

*Knowledge of professional wrestling submission holds and terminology brought to you by the Derek Really Needs a Life Foundation. The DRNLF, gathering pointless knowledge since 1982.

Though The Writings began simply as a way to cure boredom when I was living in central Kansas (originally I intended to only post - possibly illegally - things I had written for classes or my jobs, mainly as a way for me to keep track of my work. The blog evolved however, and I soon discovered that it served as a good place to compose thoughts, riff on random observations, practice writing fiction, and attempt to make jokes. Yes, I may be the only one who found any of it entertaining, but that did not matter. Many people view writing as the work of an underworldly demon, but I enjoy it. Blogging, it was fun.

Today, however, things have changed. I check Twitter more often than I check the time. Now that I have a phone that may be smarter than I am (I certainly can't predict the weather), Twitter's 140-character limit is never more than one tap of a touch screen away. With that, the humorous* observations that once called The Writings home are now Tweetized. It's quick. It's easy. And, frankly, a heck of a lot more people read it. Essentially, it all serves as a mini-blog. It's the "Wr-" without the "-itings."

*Term subject to interpretation.

The tweets are great, but the downside - again - comes in the fact that they are stealing blog material. Yesterday, I got news that my car has a fairly costly issue with its engine. That evening, rather than having time to curl up in the fetal position, fretting the check that will be needed to cover the expense, I had to dig a small trench - in the midst of pelting, frigid rain - in attempt to end the little fountain of water that was making its way into my basement. It all was good blog material. Alas, it all found Twitter first, at which point I felt there was no reason to delve deeper into the subjects.

That, dear friends (or acquaintances, or impartial observers, if you prefer) is just wrong. I need to delve! Part of writing (and life, for that matter) that I enjoy the most is finding humor in hidden details. Making observations about observations. Picking up on one thing - any thing - that might be just a bit askew and bringing it to light. Delving is great, and it needs to return.

Twitter is not going away anytime soon, but that doesn't mean The Writings will, either. It's not time to tap out. It's just about time for a comeback.

Wry-Tings!

Underdogs... again

2011-10-26T18:19:00.000-05:00

The Kansas State Wildcats enter Saturday’s game against Oklahoma ranked ahead of the Sooners in the Associated Press poll. They sit higher in the Bowl Championship Series standings. They’re undefeated, with their seven victories including one over Texas Tech, the sole team to defeat OU this season. To top things off, the contest will take place on K-State’s home field. With so many factors seemingly in favor of those adorned in purple, it’s only natural that the Sooners are favored to win the game by 13.5 points.

… Wait, what?

It’s been that sort of season for Kansas State. The Wildcats entered the season expected by most to have as much impact on the Big 12 championship race as Bob Krause’s mustache comb. The season opener did little to build expectations, as the Wildcats squeaked past an Eastern Kentucky squad so obscure that most fans were not even aware that it was not the Kentucky school with the Grimace-like Hilltopper mascot. K-State followed with a 37-0 drubbing of Kent State (“NOT KENT,” as the team’s media packet not-so-subtly reminded), but game three brought a legitimate challenge. The Miami Hurricanes entered fresh off an upset of the Ohio State Buckeyes. The game was the sort that coach Bill Snyder had specifically tried to avoid scheduling in his first run as the face of Kansas State football – an early season road matchup against a historically strong program. The Wildcats entered as underdogs, but left the city of Will Smith’s affection with a win, thanks in large part to a defense that exhibited a stout ability to come up with big stops.

One week later, the Wildcats played host to the Baylor Bears, a squad with a high-powered offense led by a multidimensional quarterback whose success had brought adoration from sports journalists around the country and from NFL scouts. The task? Large. The odds? Not good, according to the folks in Las Vegas. The result? The slimmest of victories for Kansas State, as the Wildcats won 36-35.

As for games 5 and 6? Different opponents, but the games brought more of the same. Few thought the Wildcats would top a Missouri team pining for southern living or a Texas Tech squad that played a Texas Tech squad (hello, insane offensive numbers). Alas, Kansas State beat point spreads, beat opponents, and basically beat down the doors of the national polls.

Week after week (aside from the matchup with the University of Kansas’ intramural squad… Wait, that was their D-1 team?), the Wildcats have been underdogs, and week after week, Snyder’s youngsters have prevailed. This is a team that was picked to finish 8th out of 10 conference teams in the preseason. Today, they are the eighth-best team in the country according to the (for better or worse) goulash of football evaluation that is the BCS. Despite pollsters taking notice of the success emanating out of Manhattan, the sports-betting overlords have refused to consider K-State anything but an overachiever. Chances are that they see a team with no overwhelming strengths, an underwhelming passing game, and a run-game that is far too reliant on its quarterback. They have an argument, but opposing head coaches whose scouting yielded the same results have had no luck in seizing a victory against the Wildcats. For whatever reason (cough*BILLSNYDER*cough), each week K-State has been able accomplish just enough (or - in the case of the game against the Kansas LastLaughHawks - much more than enough) to walk off the field as winners.

The season has already had a “Rudy” feel (sans inspirational soundtrack), with all in purple playing the role of the hobbit-like walk-on. With upcoming contests against Oklahoma and BCS No. 3 Oklahoma State, the season could potentially attempt to infringe on the “Rocky” series’ copyright. The Sooners are your arrogant Apollo Creed-like crew who, though strong, are not invincible. The Cowboys can be Clubber Lang – knocking opponents out with a high-powered offense and led by a coach whose rant a few years back sounded a lot like something Clubber might have spouted. After the Oklahoma double-dip, the Wildcats will welcome the SEC-bound Texas A&M Aggies… I should probably refrain from making any comparisons between them and Cold War Russia’s Ivan Drago.

With seven wins, the Wildcats have already eclipsed the total that most “experts” had them pegged for in the preseason. No matter what happens from here, whether it involves losing every game left or announcing the football team has disbanded to form an a capella singing group (my guess is they’d be light on sopranos), K-State is the conference’s surprise team of 2011. Can the Wildcats keep the wins coming? Could this team potentially win the Big 12 and/or find its way to a BCS Bowl Game?

The odds certainly aren’t in their favor.

… which may be precisely what Snyder and the Wildcats want to hear.

Of heat, grass, and gridiron

2011-10-17T20:30:00.000-05:00

It happened. I caved.

No, dear readers, I did not do anything extremely rash; I still haven't seen a Twilight film, begun a pilates workout, or started using the term "bro" on a regular basis. I did, however, turn on the furnace at my home. With temperatures expected to dip below the freezing point of our most basic beverage this week and my thermostat already reading a somewhat brisk 60 degrees when I arrived home from work today, I figured it might be time to take the plunge. After all, a friend put in an awful lot of working making sure that all the ductwork would be completed in time for my house to close, so it would probably be rude not to give the heater a run. (That's what I'll tell myself to avoid extreme guilt, anyway.)

The good news is that the furnace works without faults (that I'm aware of... I'm obviously no heating-and-air specialist. I can barely spell HVAC). As I sit typing this Writing, the furnace hums to keep my home at a comfortable 64 degrees (hey, propane ain't free). Life, it's good.

-----

Of course, even good days have challenges. One such hiccup presented itself on Saturday. Alas, deeming the issue "hiccup" is a fairly kind gesture. If that's the case, it was certainly the loudest hiccup that I've ever heard.

Saturday marked my first ever opportunity to mow the lawn at my new house. (Don't worry, someday I'll quit referring to it as "new." That's a promise to you... Also, someday I'll avoid immature rhymes like that one. One step at a time...) The mowing marathon was one that taught many lessons.

Lesson #1 - My yard is anything but flat.

Lesson #2 - I'm unbelievably out of shape.

Lesson #3 - Lawnmower blades are no match for the metal water meters that one might find embedded in his or her lawn.

Lesson #4 - Oops.

Yes, I rendered my mower useless by allowing the whirling blade to strike the water meter. The results? An unbelievably loud clang, a mower that quit running immediately, a semi-loud utterance of something the author should not make a habit of saying in public, and a blade mangled in the sort of way my hand might be if I stuck it in my garbage disposal. Good times.

After attempts to fix said blade proved futile (What do I even own you for, hammer and pliers? Weak effort on your part.), I had to run to my parents' home to kidnap my dad's lawnmower to finish my lawn's inaugural buzzcut. Luckily for me, at no point did my dad's mower attempt to escape and call the mower abuse hotline.

-----

The mower incident was pretty frustrating and served as yet another bit of proof that I should not be allowed to have nice things, but all was nearly forgotten later that day. Good football can have that effect.

Yes, the Kansas State Wildcats are off to their best start on the gridiron since 1999, and all of the success has come with nary a mention on The Writings. In the past, I've made a point to provide some sort of coverage and/or analysis and/or lame jokes (okay, mostly lame jokes) concerning Wildcat football, but this year I've lagged.

Inexcusable.

It's Sunflower Showdown week, meaning that Saturday Bill Snyder and the crew have the opportunity to declare KU's home Bill Snyder Vacation Home Stadium and push their record to 7-0 before facing a national powerhouse in Oklahoma. Come Hell or high water... err, I mean, come broken furnaces or spirit-possessed-mowers-seeking-revenge, this team is going to finally get some love from The Writings.

Stay tuned. (Or whatever the blog-following equivalent of staying tuned might be.)

The Home-Buyer's Chronicles - What we've learned

2011-10-06T20:05:00.000-05:00

If the title of this Writing fails to explain the gist of its content, well, it's time for me to give up and attempt to teach myself to play Parcheesi. I have a home. I have a mortgage. I have much more time on my hands now that I'm no longer playing "Will there be more paint on my home or on my shirt?" every night. Here's a bit of what I learned along the way...

Waiting for a credit report while applying for a loan is a nerve-throttling experience.
Essentially, your entire credit history floats through your mind. In the 30 seconds I waited to hear whether or not my credit was good enough to be approved for said loan, I managed to worry about everything from paying an electrical bill two days late to poor investment decisions. (The autographed 8x10 of Angel Berroa seemed like a really good idea in 2003.)

Negotiating with home sellers is not easy, either.
Baseball cards are not typically viewed as proper currency in a home transaction... Who knew? Beyond that, I generally fall into the "pushover" category in life. If my niece can convince me to watch a Disney film for the 433rd time instead of a live football game, what chance do I stand when someone asks me to pony up a little more money? Answer: none.

Home inspectors... They can be a pain
I had to paint my home in order to be approved for my home. That was no problem, as the old paint was peeling in a manner that gave the place a "recently condemned" feel. Today, thanks to the paint job, the place looks great... Well, good... Well, better... Well, you get the idea.
Unfortunately, I then had to make the most of tools at hand (razor, flat-head screwdriver, pocket knife) to cut through layers of paint to ensure that all my windows could still be opened. Sure, I'll probably appreciate that if I ever want a nice breeze from the outdoors or if I need to escape through a window and I don't fancy diving through glass, I'm just not sure the whole sale of the house should have been dependent on whether or not my third living room window might budge.
I had to have air duct work completed to receive said loan. That was not a major issue, as it provided a good opportunity to go ahead and have central air-conditioning installed. Something tells me that I'll appreciate that next summer when I'm not wearing a scuba mask to bed to avoid drowning in a pool of my own sweat.
Unfortunately, I then had to pay to have propane put in my tank so that the inspector could test the heater. Obviously this was going to happen at some point, but I needed something to complain about here and it was not much fun writing that check.
I had to have ground fault interrupters installed to get the house. No worries. I don't fancy the idea of being electrocuted.
Unfortunately, I then had to have more ground-fault interrupters installed. The reasoning? I never got a real great answer. I just assume the inspector enjoys redundancies.

If you have no clue what you’re doing when it comes to general home improvement, make sure you have friends that do.
If not for friends and family, I’m fairly certain that I would have fallen off a 20-foot ladder, been stung by a bevy of angry wasps, been electrocuted, and probably would have been in danger of suffering many other fates that one typically only associates with Wile E. Coyote by now. Thanks, friends.

Collecting is okay. Hording is not.
While packing things at my old apartment, I found many, many items that serve no practical purpose, but that I keep anyway. Sentimental value is not something to be ignored, after all. Then I found a Blockbuster Video coupon that expired in 2003, four years before I even lived in that apartment. Yes, I am seeking help.

Home ownership leads to the disease of wanting more.
I bought a new ottoman for my living room. And a new couch cover. And I paid far too much to have a poster of Bramlage Coliseum framed to serve as a wall decoration. Now, I want to get a recliner. And a new table set. And a shed for the backyard. Oh, and I could probably use some new shelves around this place. Did I mention that my television seems smaller in here? I think I'm going to need a third job.

You should never judge a book by its cover.
When my house hunt began, I happened upon an online listing for a former schoolhouse. The text mentioned that the interior had been renovated, but the website had only one picture of the place: an exterior shot that was not flattering. After one quick glance, I moved on.

Weeks later, at a new website I came across an exterior picture I had seen before, but this shot was accompanied by pictures of an interior that stood out. Wood floors, stainless-steel appliances and slick cabinetry caught the eye. True, it was small, but small meant affordable. The asking price was much more reasonable than many other places I’d seen that I hadn’t been impressed with.

After showing the listing to family, I decided it was a place that I needed to check out. From here, you can guess what happened: the place was hit by a meteorite and the search continued… Wait, sorry, wrong story. I visited the home, liked it, and (eventually) made it my own. Had I dismissed the house as forgettable again due to the outdoor pic, odds are quite strong that I'd still be paying rent at an apartment and dealing with a neighbor who enjoyed strumming the guitar but refused to take requests that I attempted to pass telepathically. Jerk.

With that, my home-buying adventure is done, and I better not be back in the housing market for years. What's next? Unpacking would probably be a good start. Note to self: Quit putting that off.

The Home-Buyer's Chronicle - Wrapping Up

2011-10-03T20:31:00.001-05:00

I have a mortgage.

The phrase is exciting and terrifying; bursting with possibilities and
laden with responsibility. I now own a home (well, the bank does, but let’s
refrain from picking nits), meaning I can do whatever I wish with it. Do I want
to embrace my inner Tony Hawk and build a skate ramp in the basement (despite
the fact that you regularly exhibit the balance of an inebriated octogenarian)?
Done. Do I wish to devote an area in my backyard for nothing but creating grass
angels (snow angels itchy cousins)? Just post the sign. Do I think the
crawlspace would make a really cozy reading area? I’ve got extra pillows.

Though possibilities are endless, the lofty stack of papers that now
bear my signature could be a heavy burden. I’m legally bound to these payments
for 30 years, meaning I could potentially be writing checks for this home when
I’m 59. I’m responsible for everything in the home, meaning that if the water
heater ever bursts like a water balloon, I don’t have the luxury of simply
calling the landlord. In a nod to Vanilla Ice, if there’s a problem, yo, I HAVE
to solve it. The snake that has been playing hide-and-seek (thankfully it has
just been hiding so far… once it starts seeking, I have a problem) in my
basement won’t be hunted like an escaped felon by any maintenance guy. Either I’m
taking care of it (removing it from my home) or I’m taking care of it (adopting
it as a new pet, naming it after a sports figure, and patiently feeding it
crickets every night). It’s on me.

Now that papers have been signed, the For Sale sign has been removed
from my yard, and I no longer have to worry about a home inspector entering my
home while I shower (yes, these are the types of things I worry about), it
seems like a good time to look back at the things I learned throughout this
whole process; like a good time to pass on tips to future home buyers; like a good time to actually populate this blog with the sort of writing the title might convey... Novel idea, no?

Whatever the case, I know one thing: I have a mortgage.*

*No, this does not mean I'll be charging admission for reading.

Hey, I have a blog

2011-09-28T19:58:00.001-05:00

The idea of a hiatus is not one that I am particularly fond of. In the world of television, it happens at the end of a broadcast season, meaning I'm left waiting eight months to find out what in the flippin' world happened to the island when it disappeared.*

*Sincere apologies if I just spoiled a piece of Lost for anyone... But seriously, watch the full series. Start now. I can wait.

In sports, we hit hiatus at the end of the post-season. A champion is crowned and the off-season arrives, meaning the only option is sitting back and wishing that the Kansas City would sign some players to provide team depth, just in case the team's two top players are hurt early in the season.

In blogging, it seems that hiatus arrives when one buys a house. Even though the break from compiling thoughts into web-published form may not be intentional, the simple task seems exceedingly difficult when non-working hours are consumed by painting, packing, cleaning, moving, unpacking, prying windows open, and trying to determine where various bits of trivia should go in one's new home. The last few weeks have proven that, for me, getting good* work done at The Writings in the midst of being overloaded with work at my new home is slightly more difficult than convincing a date that writing blogs about strangers encountered at a convenience store is cool.

*Yes, "good" is a relative term.

Nonetheless, it seems as if the schedule may soon be slowing. I've completed all tasks that the appraisal inspector could conjure, from embracing the redundancy of having multiple ground fault interrupters installed on the same circuit*, to paying out the nose (not literally... eww) for propane so that the inspector can test my heater. Hoop-hopping is (hopefully) complete, meaning that there should be more time to give this neglected blog some attention... I hope it's still on speaking terms with me.

*No, I would not have understood that statement prior to pursuing home ownership.

The Home-Buyer's Chronicles - The 2-Minute Drill

2011-09-09T07:36:00.001-05:00

Yes, it has been ages since the last Writing was posted.

Yes, I am still breathing.

Yes, buying a house is still a lot of work.

No, I'm not having any regrets.

Yes, I will do my best not to drown in house paint this weekend.

Yes, I am pretty excited about the idea of adding central air to the home.

Yes, I did see a small snake in my new basement yesterday.

Yes, he's still down there somewhere, since he himself once I went upstairs to find something to catch him with.

Yes, I actually ran upstairs to get my phone so I could take and send out pictures my "new roommate."

No, that probably was not the smartest way to approach the situation.

Yes, I will someday be chronicling much of this in more detail at The Writings.

...

...

...

No, it won't be really soon.

The Home-Buyer's Chronicles - Part... I don't even know anymore

2011-08-30T19:03:00.000-05:00

October 1.

October 1.

October 1.

No, I am not going through my collection of One-Day-a-Year calendars, I'm soothingly reminding myself that my life may once again resemble something normal on October 1. On that date, I'll have been in my new home for two weeks, allowing time to complete some light painting, quick handy-work*, and generally make the new (and by "new" I mean "very old") house mine. October 1 will also mean that my busiest season at work is complete and that the sort of heat that even islanders despise will be a thing of the past. C'mon, unaptly named 10th month of the year!

*Note to self: Learn how to be handy.

Until October 1, I'll continue wondering how hectic my work days might end up, pondering whether I'm going to be notified that I need to move out of my apartment as soon as possible, contemplating how much of a pain scraping old paint off my home is going to be, and speculating where my next unexpected home expense might pop up. On top of that, I'll regretfully probably continue treating my blog like my George Foreman grill: enjoying it when I actually take the time to make the most of it, but neglecting it far too much... This worries me, as I'm not really sure where the grease drained from the blog ends up.

Oh dear.

When I was 29

2011-08-20T20:22:00.001-05:00

I woke up this morning with a song in my head. Strange, no doubt. Stranger still was the fact that said song was "Goin' Down the Bayou" from the animated Disney film "The Princess and the Frog." That's right, my 30th year on this planet began with a song from one of my niece's favorite films. As a result, I'm not really sure what to expect in the coming months.*

*I should probably take a quick moment to explain the "Princess and the Frog" thing. Believe it or not, the DVD does not sit on my shelf. Instead, it lies on the hard drive of my parents' Dish DVR. As a result, my niece suggests watching it nearly every time she's at the home of Grandpa Kevin and Grandma Mary. Naturally, by "suggests" I mean "insists on." I'm not saying that she has her uncle wrapped around her finger, but I've watched the motion picture with her approximately 418 times, including twice in one day on multiple occasions. If I ever craft a Writing concerning the correlation between Voodoo magic and frog prevalence, you know I've officially lost my mind. Please send help.

It's true. Today is the anniversary of my birth. (Or so I'm told... I don't really remember the event.) I've officially been around for 29 years- a fact that may surprise many who probably feel that no one could put up with me for that long. (My family is - thankfully - very patient.) The number 29 doesn't mean much in regard to age, other than the fact that it means I'm starting my 30th year. On Aug. 20, 2012, I'll officially be in my 30s.

Yikes.

With such an idea in mind, it seems obvious that I should have really celebrated today, making it quite the party, one that all might envy.

Then again, partying is a lot of work, and - as I've already proven with solid, unbudging numbers - I'm old.

Instead of revelry or party games, my day began (once I'd cleared all Disney songs from my mind) with a trip to Waldenbooks. The bookstore chain is going out of business and, as a result, all books are currently discounted 40-60% off normal prices. That's right: thriftiness seems to be an inherent trait once one turns 29.

Eight books and an awkward conversation with the 60-year-old clerk later, I was out of the store and well on my way to the next adventure: buying toiletries at Target. (Wooooo!) Think of your most nondescript trip to Target... This one mirrored it. The closest thing to an interesting observation that came out of this turn as a consumer was the fact that the clerk who manned the check out counter said "See ya later," as I departed. I nearly turned around and asked him "Will you really?", but fought off such notions... I do hope he wasn't serious, though. I can't afford a stalker.

After Target, I ate lunch at Sonic (where the employee did not note which stall I had ordered from, leading a poor carhop to tote my Sonic burger combo from one vehicle to another, asking if said driver has ordered it... Mmmm. Cold tater tots) and then walked from my apartment down through Aggieville to get a quick taste of the choas that is the first weekend of the summer that all students are back to campus. (Cars and people everywhere... Despite my courtesy wave, I was almost run down while crossing at a crosswalk in the shopping district... Yes, I'm ready to be a small-towner again.)8

*Please free to use this description of a day's events as a sleep aid in the future.

This evening brought K-State's fan appreciation event (there's a reason that schools don't sell tickets to practices) and dinner with two great family members who are gracious enough to tolerate my pointless observations. Now, I sit on my couch with the Royals one television. No, it has not been a day of anything resembling wild parties, but it has been a pretty nice little birthday. I like 29.

Looking back, I've realized that the last month has been about as eventful as any in my life. I've searched for a house, found a house, agreed to buy a house, signed 486 papers relating to said house, been curious about the future of my company, been curious about the future of my job, been acquired - along with my company - by a much larger company, been working long days with no lunch breaks, been picking up more freelance work than I've ever done before, been enjoying the company of friends and family on a basis more frequent than any time since I graduated from college, been seconds away from a head-on collision and perhaps inches away from rolling my car as a result, been fortunate enough to have my health and great people around me, and now... now I'm officially older.

What will life as a 29er bring?

Beyond a new home, new bosses, and new awkward encounters each and every day (guaranteed), I really have no clue.

That said, I'm looking forward to finding out.*

*A decent football season would be a nice start.

The Home-Buyer's Chronicles - Part Three

2011-08-15T17:13:00.001-05:00

"The waiting is the hardest part." - Tom Petty (and/or Heartbreakers)

If there's one thing I've learned throughout the home-buying process, it's that you should never offer to pay for a home with your baseball card collection. If there's a second thing I've learned, it's that attempting to buy a home involves an awful lot of waiting.

That's been the theme since my last Writing: waiting. We knocked out the official home inspection; then it was time to wait for results. (Official verdict: not bad.) We then waited longer for results from the radon test. (Official result: not great.) Now, we wait for the official report from the official appraiser. Said report was supposed to be completed today so that I could officially make a post-inspection response, but I was informed upon meeting with the realtor that the report is officially not done. As a result, I'm officially waiting even longer. This is officially painstaking.

Nonetheless, the waiting has not been a completely horrible thing. After all - as previously mentioned in this depository of written thought - August tends to be the busiest time of year around my office. (Now you realize why I did not date much in college*; Timing is not my thing.) Beyond that, I've had a chance recently to pick up some more freelance work (yes, I realize that the idea of people using things I write to actually generate money is absurd). This all means that my line of thinking cannot afford to be 100-percent consumed by all that's involved with buying a home, which means that the waiting cannot drive me completely insane and the lack of activity has allowed me to maintain my current status as a competent employee. (Note: "Competent" is a relative term.)

*Clarification: That's one (of many) reason(s) I did not date much in college that doesn't involved NCAA Football on the Gamecube.

As things currently stand, I wait to hear what the appraiser thinks of the place. From there, it's time to jump back into more meetings, more negotiation, and - potentially - more waiting.

Hmmm. Now I guess I know what it feels like when people wait for me to actually post some new content. D'oh.

"Ah, the waiting game sucks! Let's play Hungry, Hungry Hippos." - Homer Simpson

The Home-Buyer's Chronicles - Part Two

2011-08-08T21:13:00.001-05:00

Note to self: Next time you decide to cannonball into the pool of obligation that is house-hunting, make sure that you are not in the midst of your busiest season at work. You'll thank me later.

When we last left our story's hero, he was fending off the advances of women who wanted him for his home-purchasing power*. Since that time, his life has been consumed by meetings. Lots and lots of meetings.

*Raise your hand if you just responded, "Take what you can get."

First, there was a meeting to be preapproved for a loan. As far as meetings go, this one was fairly painless. One simply listens to the bank employee explain things, provides financial information, and then learns what sort of loan he-or-she might be preapproved for. Ah yes, there's also a short period of silent-prayer that one takes part in when the man behind the desk checks one's credit.

Next up, I checked out a house and met with a realtor. Taking full advantage of my multitasking (/lazy) nature, I combined my realtor meet-and-greet with my first home viewing. Did things go well? I'd like to think so. Was the experience endlessly awkward? I can confirm that to be true. You see, when it comes to spur-of-the-moment questions, I'm pretty horrible at generating them. It's for this reason that I'm a horrible reporter, a horrible first date, and a horrible house-hunter. Are there an abundance of questions that one should ask when viewing a potential home for the first time? Absolutely. Did my mind generate any of those questions? Certainly not. Luckily for me, I had backup. Like a rich-beyond-comprehension rapper, I showed up to the house-viewing with a posse in tow: my parents, my brother, and his wife. The realtor may have thought we were a lost tour group at first, but she was soon answering questions from all members of the party. Whew.

Days after checking it out, I decided it would be worthwhile to make an offer on the home. Enter: another meeting. This time around, I had the chance to practice my signature... Plenty of chances to do so, in fact. Like a professional athlete at a trading card show, I jotted the letters that comprise my name endlessly. There were papers to make the offer, papers to seek a warranty, and papers to choose a pest inspector. At some point I went cross-eyed and my signature began to resemble little more than two horizontal lines. I attempted to keep up with all the sheets of paper that the realtor explained as I was signing, but the task proved to be a bit like driving while building a medieval castle out of toothpicks. Can I be certain that I did not sign anything that might donate my first born to the Malevolent Order of Slack-Jawed Yokels? No. No I can't.

Once the seller had my offer, negotiations ensued. He demanded I pay more money. I demanded that a Mercedes come with the home. (I drive a hard bargain.) He demanded that I send chocolate cupcakes every Thursday of the Lenten season. I demanded that a professional wrestler perform a puppet show in the backyard on closing day. The game went back and forth, but eventually a deal was struck. We were in agreement. Once I made the offer official, I'd be that much closer to owning a home. Alas, you know what that meant: more meetings, more signatures. And I'm only just beginning.

The Home-Buyer's Chronicles - Part 1

2011-08-01T20:27:00.001-05:00

When you're looking to buy a home, everyone wants to help. Such is the lesson I learned recently.

As I mentioned a couple weeks back, I've decided to enter the housing market for the first time in my near-29 years. It's a fairly big decision, but after 10 years of paying rent/housing fees for dorms, apartments, and condemned structures that a "landlord" attempts to pass of as an apartment*, it's time to own. It's time to have a yard to mow, home projects to think about, and solicitors to turn away. It's time.

*If you read ill-will in that statement, dear reader, congratulations, you're perceptive! Here's a lesson kids: don't sublease for an old friend if the building looks like it might fall over as the result of an ill-timed sneeze.

In attempt to share the news that I now consider myself a prospective home-buyer, I recently posted something about it* to Twitter (and, thanks to the wonder of importing, Facebook). I didn't really expect much of a response. Naturally, my best guess was wrong. Within minutes of posting, I had comments wishing me luck, telling me to enjoy house-hunting, and offering tips on homes to check out. Alas, the strangest response was yet to come.

*Odds are strong that I deemed the comment clever, as I often set that as criteria for anything I post to Twitter... Odds are also strong that - since it came from my head - it really wasn't clever at all.

When I checked Twitter that afternoon, I noticed that a follower had sent me a comment. A female follower.

An admirer?

Not exactly.

The comment was from a girl I once went on a date with. Said date lives in infamy as the strangest I've been on. You see, we met for ice cream and shared awkward conversation (an area of which I'm well-experienced). I did not feel as if things were proceeding horribly (aside from the fact that she mentioned that she had read this very blog, but then outright admitted that she could not even remember the subject of the post she'd read), but after just 45 minutes, she not-so-subtly mentioned that she had to leave soon to let out some hounds that she was dog-sitting. "Soon" can be a relative term, so I figured she might mean after another 20 or 30 minutes... Not five minutes later, she was thanking me for a dish of overpriced ice cream and bolting for the door. Being the gentleman that I am, I caught up and walked her to her car, wading through a stream of confusion with each step. Had I said something offensive? Did these dogs really exist, and - if so - did they suffer from night-blindness? Had I forgotten to wear pants? Was I simply repulsive?

I chose to give her the benefit of the doubt and emailed the date later that week. A response never came. It was a strange turn of events, but there's little about dating that I might deem "normal" or "expected." I've used the situation as an anecdote of dates gone awry since that time.

And now? Well, now she's offered her realty services in helping me find a home.

The moral? Guys, women are only interested in you for your ability to net them commission on the sale of a small home in a rural area.

What, no good? Offensive? Dang it.

Okay, let's try this:

When you're looking to buy a home, EVERYONE wants to help. MOST of it is appreciated.

The Writings' Summer Sports Update

2011-07-26T20:27:00.001-05:00

Introductions are overrated... Okay, maybe they aren't, but still... Whatever the case, whether people actually read intros word-for-word or if they just skim them in order to get to the meat of a Writing, I think we can all agree on one thing: This particular introduction has been fairly pointless thus far. Yet, you're still reading it... Weird. Anyway, my lackadaisical attitude toward writing this summer has led me to neglect covering sports on the whole. That's completely unfair to those who rely on The Writings for their sports news (we call those people "the lost"). It's time to catch up. Here's a quick look at the areas of sports that truly matter (Royals, Chiefs, and Wildcats, of course) and what's ahead...

The Royals
Where we're at:
In the cellar. The Royals currently sit in last place in the American League Central, trailing the division leading Detroit Tigers by 11 games.

What you've missed:
Though the record may not paint a clear picture of it, this team is improved. The major talking point coming into the season was talent at the minor league level. Now a handful of those top prospects have ascended to the Majors. Results have been mixed, but each youngster has at least shown a flash or two of the promise that helped them build such hype. First baseman Eric Hosmer, despite being barely of legal drinking age, already looks like one of the team's top hitters (he leads the squad in game-winning RBI) and exhibits Gold Glove-caliber defense on a nightly basis. On the opposite side of the diamond, Mike Moustakas has seen big struggles at the plate - recently suffering through an 0-19 slump - but has strung together some quality games recently. At shortstop, Alcides Escobar - a piece of Zack Greinke trade - has proven to be one of the most exciting defensive players in all of baseball. The second-year player has yet to throw out a baserunner by kicking the ball soccer style, but he has seemingly made every other play imaginable.

What's ahead:
Look for trades and more prospects. KC is out of the race this season, but is attempting to piece together a contending team for 2012. Don't be surprised to see and outfielder or two jettisoned, along with some pitchers hitting the road. Don't get me wrong, the games this year matter... Just not for typical reasons. Sure, it may sound like my typical hokey optimism (Go Royals!), but there's hope ahead.

The Chiefs
Where we're at:
The NFL lockout ended just one day ago, meaning most Chiefs have to put down their nachos and attempt to remember how to get back to KC. Vacation time is over.

What you've missed:
Constant discussions on television and sports radio about labor negotations between the NFL owners and the players. Yes, it was mind-numbingly boring. So boring that I actually dozed off typing that last sentence.

What's ahead:
A frenzied period of action where teams try to fit five months of off-season free-agent negotiations and transactions into about two weeks. Frankly, I'm not sure how it can all work, what with the legal details that go into NFL contracts. Will the Chiefs sign a player with a contract written on a bar napkin at 1 a.m.? Hey, it's possible. Look for KC to try to sign a linebacker, a speedy wide receiver, and help along both the offensive and defensive lines. And hope that the locked out players did more training during the lockout than building their own dynasty on Madden football.

The NBA
Where we're at:
The NBA players are locked out. Unlike the work stoppage in the NFL, all indications are that the NBA's labor issues will result in an abbreviated season.

What you've missed:
Nothing, really.

What's ahead:
Nothing, really. Maybe we'll at least get some decent commercials out of the whole deal. Remember the last lockout?

K-State Basketball
Where we're at:
It's the off-season. We're reading Tweets about Coach Frank Martin missing connecting flights. Hurry, November. Hurry.

What you've missed:
Jacob Pullen - the Wildcats' all-time leading scorer - did not get drafted into the NBA and has signed to play in Italy. I have yet to discover whether Italians fear beards in the same manner that we do stateside. Wally Judge, the former McDonalds' All-American who left the squad in the midst of last season, transferred to Rutgers. Guard Nick Russell has also transferred, with Southern Methodist his destination.

What's ahead:
God only knows. The Cats enter 2011-2012 short Pullen and fellow departed senior Curtis Kelly. Junior Rodney McGruder and sophomore Will Spradling will be relied upon to play major roles. Where will the rest of the points come from? An optimist would start by pointing to senior Jamar Samuels, saying that he will find consistency this season. The pessimist would say that the Wildcats will average 45 points per game. Good thing I'm an optimist.

K-State Football
Where we're at:
Close, oh so close, to the start of fall practice. Coach Bill Snyder spoke at Big 12 Media Day earlier and inside sources say that Wildcat Cushion (comfy and waterproof... Wow!) leases are on pace to eclipse last year's total. (The Writings: Your home for shameless shills.)

What you've missed:
K-State's Wagner Field has new turf, meaning that folks catching games on television will no longer wonder why K-State plays it's home games on a black rubber mat that has been hastily painted green.

What's ahead:
A season where the Wildcats may very well be a better team that the 2010 version, but sport a worse record. K-State will feature some new big-time talent on the field, beginning with linebacker Arthur Brown and running back Bryce Brown. Are they brothers? No.... Yessssss! (The Writings: Your source to references to somewhat obscure films based on Saturday Night Live sketches.) Alas, while the talent may be greater, the competition will be, as well. With Nebraska and Colorado having left the conference, this season marks the first that will involve each Big 12(-2) school playing a round-robin regular season schedule. Gone are the days where the Wildcats might avoid a match up against Oklahoma or Texas A&M. Now there's no hiding for anyone in the league. This could be interesting. With my history of having the accuracy of Robin Hood's glaucoma-ridden third-cousin when it comes to predictions, I'm laying off the temptation to predict how the Wildcats might fare this season. Instead, I'll leave you with this...
Happy thoughts.

Of Potter, Princesses, and Procrastination

2011-07-24T14:08:00.001-05:00

Apologies to those who read the title of this Writing and immediately assumed that I had undertaken a hybrid fantasy story involving wizardry, royalty, and doing-little-ry. That epic tale must wait for another day. (Spoiler: in the end, it was all the dream of a coma-ridden marmoset.) Instead, the aforementioned title covers a bit of my life as of late, and the lessons to be learned from such things.
-----

As recently as a couple years ago, I refused to acknowledge anything involving the world of Harry Potter. I would not read the books, I shunned the films, and I strayed far from any conversations about quidditch, Hogwarts, or persons who shall not be named. Most of my family and many close friends had embraced the fictional world like the great aunt who hugs for awkwardly long periods of time, so why did I harbor such an aversion? Honestly, I'm not sure of the reason. Perhaps I did it to be different, but I think writing lengthy soliloquies about the folks one encounters as Wal-Mart probably covered that. Whatever the case, I have since moved beyond such faults. In the two weeks leading up to the release of the seventh movie of the series, I watched the first six on DVD. I've now read the first two books of the series and on Saturday went with friends and family to see the final movie about the bespectacled wizard. Long story short, all things Potter are pretty entertaining. No, I don't think the series is the greatest thing ever (rest easy, Tecmo Super Bowl), but I fully intend to read the rest of the books and the films are no waste of time.

Moral: Be open to trying new things (... unless that new thing involves Twilight. Vampires and werewolves should not be wrapped up in sappy love stories.)
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Saturday also brought the celebration of my niece's third birthday. Yes, it's been three years since the toddler formerly known as "Niecephew" came into the world and - among other things - gave the author of this blog an awful lot of great (and cute) material. The third birthday was no exception. Though she's just turning three, the little girl is already one of the world's most knowledgeable experts in the field of Disney princesses, and her gift-wrap dismantling marathon certainly reflected her interest. There were princess toys, princess books, and princess shoes, and each gift was met with a similar exclamation: "It's a Jasmine toy!", "It's princess shoes! There's Belle! And Snow White! And..." Not all of these gifts will be appreciated in the same manner in a week. Not all of these gifts will even be remembered tomorrow. Yet, the initial excitement about each and every item unwrapped was accompanied by the sort of joy one typically sees on a Publisher's Clearing House commercial. The excitement carried throughout the evening, from watching an 18-year-old video from a Disney trip (That's Mickey Mouse!) to an impromptu, music-less dance party as the evening wrapped up.

Moral: Enjoy life and all that comes with it. Sure, hollering excitedly about everything that goes your way might be extreme, but it's that sort of mindset that keeps one from taking things for granted.
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The summer has been a lazy one around The Writings, and that's something I want to absolve. There's plenty I can, and should*, write about in this space, but I've been ignoring some and pushing back others. Things have gotten so lax around here that I'm fairly certain that the cyberspace equivalent of cobwebs may not be seen on each corner of my blog.

*Arguments that I cannot write and should never do it are duly noted.

It's time to return to a blogging routine that involves more than one update a week. After all, I enjoy writing. I should probably do it.

Moral: You have talents; make the most of them.
... Unless your talents somehow involve prolonging this summer. If that's the case, I recommend you find a nice book to read. Can I recommend Harry Potter?

Always anti-summer

2011-07-18T19:25:00.001-05:00

Here's a tip for everyone: name-dropping is never a good idea. The idea of using the reputation of a person whom you are not to attempt to gain something for yourself is an absurd one. More often than not, if you attempt to name-drop, you'll accomplish little more than sounding arrogant or pompous, and quite possibly coming off like an ass. Furthermore, if you attempt to drop a name that is obscure enough that the listening party has no clue of whom you are referring... well, then you will come off like an ass.

Now that we have the public service announcement out of the way, I'd like to provide a little breaking news: it's hot outside.

I'm fairly certain that I've written of my dislike of the summer's triple-digit temperatures every year of The Writings' existence, but this summer Mother Nature seems to getting a bit carried away. The term Excessive Heat Warning has become a routine part of my day, as if I'm reading that oxygen will be readily available or that I'll encounter road construction in Manhattan. I've tried to handle the heat with a smile on my face, utilizing more "How hot is it?" jokes than any person should ever attempt to conjure. I'm fairly certain that my sense of humor is now suffering from heat exhaustion as a result.

It's hot.

How hot is it?

So hot that folks everywhere are setting bonfires in order to cool down.

Ugh... That hurt.

Yes, you're safe in betting that my anti-summer stance is still very firm. As a result, I'm left dreaming of falling leaves (which is as boring as it sounds) and attempting to find ways to take my mind off the mind-melting heat. Alas, the two things at the forefront of thought parade at the moment - baseball and eventually buying a home - both steer my mind back to summer. Yes, even my brain is betraying me.

The correlation between baseball and summer seems pretty obvious. Despite the fact that the Major League season begins in April and ends in November, baseball is widely considered a summer sport. Perhaps I should just blame all the Royals' woes over the last 20 years on warmth of the season. Is that a valid excuse for, at times, comically bad baseball?

The other notion currently running laps in my head involves home ownership. I've lived in my current apartment for over four years, and my encounters with neighbors have been fairly well documented courtesy The Writings - from the neighbor who fancied himself the second-coming of Busta Rhymes to the kid with boxes upon boxes of skateboard magazines. This apartment has served me well, and I'd recommend it to anyone (and will, if I end up needing a subleaser... Interested?), but the truth is that I'm getting a little old for life in an apartment next to a university. I no longer work next door, I no longer feel the need to live in Manhattan, and I no longer can consider asking a neighbor out without feeling like the creepy old guy. It may be time to move on.

Alas, bundled with the idea of buying a house is the idea of having to move... again. I've moved five times in my 28 years and that already seems like far too many. I consider few things to be greater hindrances that the process of moving. From sorting and packing (and wondering why in the world you would want to move item X to your new place) to unsorting and unpacking (and realizing that you moved item X to your new place for no good reason), moving is painstaking. It's horrible. It's almost as bad as oppressive heat. (Yes, we've come full-circle, friends.)

What's the time line for the house-hunting process? Honestly, if I had one-third of a clue I'd be far more knowledgeable than I am now. Whatever happens, it will be interesting. It may be exciting. And it will most certainly provide some good blog material.

Are you free to help me move? What if I drop the name of a mutual acquaintance?
(Nevermind. NOW we've come full-circle.)

Quick Thoughts - The July 12 Rendition

2011-07-12T21:36:00.001-05:00

The Major League Baseball All Star Game is taking place tonight, meaning that my evening contains little more than sitting on my couch and watching baseball... Yes, this is a situation that I'm somewhat familiar with. The Royals have just one representative in the game - relief pitcher Aaron Crow - and word is that he won't pitch due to illness. Crow's specific ailment has not been divulged, but many Royals fans are set to assume that it's the fault of Kyle Davies and his 1-win, 8-loss record. Yes, it's been that sort of season for Davies.

---

The phrase "Fear the Beard" is tossed around often, but I think I am actually legitimately afraid of the one that Giants' reliever Brian Wilson sports. It looks like some combination of a costume beard and hair from King Kong's left elbow. If I saw him walking toward me, I think I'd take a defensive stance upon first sight of that beard.

---

The journalism school at my alma mater sends out a short magazine called "Update" to its alums on a quarterly basis. As an intelligent reader might guess (and I know all my readers are of the intelligent variety*), the publication contains articles on events around the school of journalism and feature stories about alumni. Unfortunately, the most recent issue also features a typo on the magazine's cover. Yes, that's right... The magazine published by the School of Journalism has a typo. Worse yet, the typo lies in the name of the University's mascot. Oh well. You win some, you lose some. Go Wlidcats!

*Suck up to readers... Check!

---

Some folks say that a person should make lemonade when life hands them lemons. My thought: ask life how it suddenly has hands, plus ready access to lemon trees.

---

Have you noticed that whenever someone asks how old a child is, they always follow the answer to said question with "Oh, that's a fun age"? Am I wrong to wish to someday hear someone respond by saying "Oh mercy, I'm sorry. That age is horrendous"?

---

Yes, my good friend "Dear Daryl" is still MIA. He mentioned something about not writing until he has adequate material to work with, but I think he's holding out for better pay. Who knew that seven kernels of corn and a crippled mule might be deemed subpar wages in 2011? Thus if you have a chance, send a question... Or some kernels of corn.

Time flies

2011-07-05T18:32:00.001-05:00

Time flies.

No, this is not the punch line to some horrible joke involving news magazines and airplanes. It’s the simple, figurative truth; truth that was hammered home over the weekend when celebrating my 10-year high school reunion.

Ten years… that’s a daunting number. I’ve officially been a high school graduate for over 1/3 of my life. My days eating cafeteria food? Long gone. My afternoons spent imitating a very life-like tackling dummy on the practice football field? Nothing but memories. My time spent composing immature school newspaper writings that would ultimately be read by few people? Well, cross out “school newspaper” and you still have an accurate depiction of my life, but I think you’re getting the point. High school was long ago, yet when talking to a number of my former classmates on Saturday it seemed like little more than a day had gone by since our post-RCHS days began.

Sure, a few classmates had picked up some extra pounds over the years; a few had seen their hairlines recede like a beach’s low tide; several had begun families of their own. Yes, most everyone’s lives had seen some dramatic changes over the last 10 years, but – once the necessary “catching up” questions* were out of the way – conversations trended back to reminiscing about old classes and classmates. I entered the weekend braced for the sort of awkwardness only witnessed in Ben Stiller movies (and every first date I’ve been on), but – beyond the afternoon’s first five minutes – the event did not approach such heights.

*I’ve never asked “Where are you at now?” so many times in my life. Not only was I mindlessly repetitive with the question, but I constructed it in a horrible manner; a manner that made it sound like I was checking to see if they were recently concussed. I really wish someone would have answered me by saying “I’m here talking to you, moron.”

Time flies.

Yes, observant readers, you are picking up on a theme. After all, if the last ten years have seemed to transpire in quick fashion, it seems to make logical sense that the year 2011 would have seemed to move forward in similar quick fashion. (Please don’t get used to things proceeding in logical fashion here at The Writings… That’s a lofty assumption to live up to.)

Though I’m fairly certain that I was setting unrealistic April 1 expectations for the 2011 Kansas City Royals no more than a week ago, it seems that our nation (assuming you are reading this Writing on American soil) celebrated its birthday over the weekend. July 4 has come and gone, yet I’m still occasionally writing 2010 on checks.

The holiday brought some quality time with friends and family. It also brought some time to truly ponder what “independence” means. After all, if America was not a free country, it’s highly likely that some of the plus-sized folks I saw in downtown Wamego would not have been able to declare independence from their apparently stifling shirts. Though it may not been my first thought upon seeing those bulbous bellies, they actually provided a good representation of our freedom. (No, that’s not an America-has-a-weight-problem joke… Well, unless you find that funny. I’ll take what I can get.)

Beyond the opportunity to provide rather disturbing physical representation of the effect “The Whopper Diet” can have on a shirtless, middle-aged man, July 4 also gives us a chance to celebrate our freedom through the wonder of parades. Sure, it’s a little strange to celebrate something by sitting uninvited in a neighbor’s yard to watch cars, tractors and horses idle down the street. Sure, I could probably set a lawn chair next to a busy street and have a similar experience. And, sure, it’s weird to suddenly encourage small children to run into the street and accept candy from strangers, but – again – such things represent the freedom that many great folks have fought for and the freedom that makes our country great. We, as Americans, are free to spend insane amounts of money on tattoos and iPhone apps and then complain about the price of gasoline. We’re free to eat foods that can clog arteries via osmosis. We’re even free to pass along hundreds of horrible attempts at jokes in our blogs.

Did I say bad jokes?

What’s the biggest worry when having a picnic inside a grandfather clock?

Time flies.

… I told you there were no jokes involving magazines and airplanes.

---
On a final note, I’m feeling nostalgic. No, I don’t plan on digging out a fanny pack or sporting a bowl cut, but I do plan on bringing an old “Riley Rumor” high school newspaper shtick to the Writings for (most likely) one time only. It’s called “Dear Daryl,” and it’s basically a spoof on Ann Landers, Dear Abby, and any other advice column where common sense is extolled in print.
You can help this happen. I need advice-seeking questions. Get creative and send some my way. Remember, “Dear Daryl” is here to help.*

*Legal disclaimer: “Dear Daryl” is not here to help. He is not a licensed psychologist, psychiatrist, or bus driver. His advice is not meant to be taken seriously in any way, shape, or form. The Writings accept no responsibility for any consequences or side effects that result from following his “advice”; consequences may include: headaches, nausea, disowning by family, the breakup of your Men At Work cover band, onset of scurvy, repeated hedgehog attacks, achy breaky pelvis, hallucinations involving Emmanuel Lewis, an inability to recall the starting lineup for the 1983 Montreal Expos, gingivitis, struggles with parallel parking, severe intolerance of anything involving Barry Manilow, and tennis elbow.

Gone Country

2011-06-28T20:53:00.001-05:00

The weekend came and went (as most tend to do) and I managed to neglect writing the Country Stampede-themed blog I promised. I’d like to blame something rational for such an omission (I did spend 10 minutes at a drive-thru on Saturday… Where does the time go?), but it’s much more entertaining for me to fabricate an absurd excuse. Thus, I didn’t get any writing in over the weekend because I was called away at the last minute to attend a meeting of the secret society that dictates which greetings are considered cool. (Spoiler alert: the three-step-handshake/man-hug will soon give way to the double-wet-willie… Be prepared.)

With my 10-year high school reunion set for Saturday, I decided that I should look back at my experience working at the Country Stampede; the only job from my high school life that did not involve a lawnmower or weeds. Let’s hope this is more entertaining than pulling said weeds.

The decision to join the Stampede labor force came about as an effort to raise funds for a high school class trip to New York. Each student in our Entrepreneurship class was tasked with raising a certain amount of funds to make said trip. As an awkward high school junior-to-be, my most marketable skills were serving as a tackling dummy during football practice and stammering around cute girls. Oddly, such traits did not translate well to fundraising efforts. (Alas, if it had been six years later, I probably could have had Michael Cera’s acting career.)

Because folks weren’t willing to pay good money to see how quickly I could avert my gaze after making eye contact with someone, I was forced to pursue jobs that actually “existed.” Through one route or another, I wound up filling out an application to work as a Country Stampede laborer. At the time, I despised country music and had never been to the event. Frankly, the only real knowledge I had about the boot-scootin’ blowout was that a fatal stabbing had occurred during the inaugural concert. Win-win, this was not.

I arrived for my “orientation” session at the Stampede grounds a few days before the event began. Embracing my introverted nature, I’m not sure that I spoke more the four words the entire time. Instead, I just listened as a nondescript* middle-aged man explained my duty as an “ice runner.”

*Writer’s code for: It was 12 years ago and I respect you far too much to attempt to fictionalize this guy’s appearance.

Luckily, my job involved no actual running. Luckily, my job involved repeated trips into a refrigerated semi-trailer (to retrieve bags of ice) during one of the hottest stretches of the summer. Luckily, fellow ice runner and I got to cruise the Stampede grounds in a road-ready Gator vehicle

Unluckily, as I quickly learned, the Country Stampede brings thousands of people to Tuttle Creek Park, and many of them, when inebriated, are as kind and accommodating and pit bulls.

Backed with a soundtrack that my ears found quite grating, my days involved loading 20-pound bags of ice onto the gator, toting them to various concession locations around the grounds, and continually being cursed at by Stampede-folk because I would not compromise my integrity and rob my employer to give them free ice. Had I been an exchange student working on picking up the language of the American Midwest, I probably would have gathered that the “f-bomb” was the most versatile word in the vernacular. (I also might have assumed that the natural accent of folks from the area involved slurred speech.)

Granted, the Stampede was/is more than cursing drunks. I was witness to an all-out wrestling match in a pit of mud. I regularly participated in recreational people-watching. (Yes, some people do have their entire backs covered by tattoos of the Confederate flag.) I saw plenty of cute girls (with whom I, naturally, avoided eye contact). And, from what I understand, there was even some good music played. Imagine that… Some folks actually attend for the music.

The People's Blog

2011-06-23T20:59:00.001-05:00

What’s a guy to do when he’s been struggling for blog topics? Naturally, he seeks the opinion of the people.

I put out a call for topic ideas today via Twitter and Facebook. My faithfully devoted followers and friends (read: people who tolerate me, I assume because they are being paid off by someone) responded quickly and in quality fashion. Below you’ll find the topic ideas provided, with my immediate reactions, as well. Yes, we will be revisiting some of these ideas in the future.

Cheese
Behold the power of cheese. I’ll admit, I’m a fan of most varieties (even in cake form). Alas, I’m not I can bring a new take on the dairy product. I assume the cheese stands alone for good reason.

Lace Dunn
As far as I know, this is referring to the former Baylor basketball player and not anything with doilies. At Baylor, Dunn was best known for being one heck of a scorer, but also for taking the sort of shots that made one wonder if he’d forgotten that passing the ball was legal… Oh yeah, and he was allegedly involved in a domestic dispute that resulted in his girlfriend’s broken jaw. At this point, I’m afraid to write anything that might be considered a joke.

Niles
The dachshund belonging to a couple good friends. Deemed my “godson” years ago. His favorite hobby? Barking to wake up their toddler.

Benjamin
The toddler. A joyful tike who has recently become exceedingly mobile. Seemingly a big fan of mine… I assume this is because we have similar mental capacities.

Milky Cabana
A pretty funny mispronunciation for current Royal Melky Cabrera. A suggestion for a blog covering the best names in sports? This has potential…

High school reunions
My 10-year reunion is just over one week away. This is a disturbing fact, but it remains true. I hope we hand out awards. I think I’m a shoo-in for best-looking “Derek L.” in attendance.

Country Stampede
An event that brings hordes of inebriated wannabe cowboys to my neighborhood? Yes, this will be covered.

Getting a dog
Does watching that new “Wilfred” show that stars Frodo count?

Best/worst college courses
This would take some careful consideration. By “careful consideration” I mean that I’ll actually have to attempt to remember what classes I took in college.

Best/worst bible school memories
The idea of a “worst” bible school memory seems like it could be sacrilegious.

Best/worst 4-H memories
For me, the idea of a “best” 4-H memory might also be sacrilegious.

Fashion commentary
Yes, I do need to bring back “Things I don’t understand.” Duly noted.

Most boring sports
Definite potential here.

Best vacations
Note to self: take a vacation.

We have some good ideas here, but where to begin?

What's that you say, out-of-towners who have never seen a traffic roundabout? You want more booze and you've been wearing the same shirt for three days?

Country Stampede, it is.

Good news, better news

2011-06-19T09:07:00.002-05:00

There's good news and there's better news.

The good news is that Saturday evening's wedding and reception ended up being as near to picture-perfect as a person can expect. The ceremony was very nice. There were no on-the-job meltdowns from either the flower girl or the ring bearer. I avoided using my handkerchief to wipe sweat from my brow through the entire ceremony, and no cameras were broken despite the fact that I was involved in more pictures than most Hollywood stars. Also, despite ominous reports of impending storms earlier in the day, foul weather steered clear of Vintage Gardens*. Beyond all that, my family still avoided scaring off my brother's bride-to-be, meaning I have a new sister. Life is good.

*No, this area was not full of well-aged (read: dead) plants, though the name might suggest it. It was actually about the perfect area for a wedding reception on a not-blazing-hot day.

The better news is that I no long have to attempt to live up to any titles that contain the word "best." I performed my duties during the wedding*, and even avoided sprinting away in terror when it was time to give my toast. It's like a weight off one's shoulders, knowing he can go back to being referred to as "anything but the best man."**

*A couple people told me I did a good job with my ceremonial duties, which basically involved standing next to my brother and breaking in my ridiculously uncomfortable shoes. My response? "Thanks. I'm pretty good when it comes to standing around and not talking."

**Truth: I have never actually been called "anything but the best man"... to my face, anyway.

Was my toast any good? If "good" can be judged by the fact that I did not - at any point - fall to the ground and curl up in the fetal position, then yes. If "good" takes into account the actual content and delivery of the speech, then I really have no idea. I did get some compliments from folks afterward, but I'm never one to discount the value of pity.*

*Note to self: learn how to take a compliment.

Whatever the case, a couple of family members asked me to give the written form of the toast a home here, so I've reproduced it to the best of my ability below. (I actually made it through the speech without having to look at my notes once... Apparently there is something to that whole "practice" idea. Luckily for my car, I will no longer best testing how many times I can recite the speech on a drive from Manhattan to Riley.)

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For those that don't know, I'm Derek; Jared's brother and the best they could do at short notice.

It’s great to see so many people here tonight. I know that some of you traveled miles and miles; some even traveled across the country, just to be here. I think that says quite a bit about these two. Of course, the thing it probably says the loudest is that apparently it‘s pretty hard to imagine a Larson finding a girl willing to put up with him. As the last single Larson male standing, I have to say that’s not very encouraging... but I'm getting off topic.

Jared and Michaela, I went through a lot of ideas when trying to find a topic for this toast; most were bad. Many involved inside jokes that few would understand. Inside jokes involving things like
- “special friends”
- “bringing some excitement to the Larson family”
- Jared nearly setting my car battery on fire
- and Michaela making my niece cry the first time she met her.

Through all the bad ideas, one thing kept coming back to mind. It was a text message that Jared sent to me early in the relationship. Now, before I get to what the text actually said, I better explain something:

Whether Jared likes to admit it or not, we’re an awful lot alike.

- We read the same books.
- We quote the same movies.
- We are both undeniably handsome ---[After laughter... perhaps too much laughter] Good, people are paying attention.
- We both love K-State.
- Thanks to some incredible influences, we both know the true value of faith, family and friends.
- And, finally, we’re stoic.

Typical reactions when encountering and exciting situation usually involve some combination of jumping up and down, yelling, high fives and hugs. The typical Larson male reaction, on the other hand, involves one of us saying “Oh, really? That’s good.”

I bring this point up because Jared’s text message that night seemed to advance a bit beyond the typical stoic Larsonese. I asked him how date #2 went. His reply?

“She might be around for awhile.”

That may not sound like much to some folks, but in the stoic Larson vernacular, it’s high, high praise. It was then that I knew that the relationship might be something special.

“She might be around for awhile.”

Jared, I think I speak for everyone here when I say, I’m glad you were right.

Michaela, Welcome to the family.

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There you have it. Good or bad, that's not for me to decide. Mostly, I'm just glad that I was able to be a part of things... And I'm also glad that it's over.

That's good news.

LeBron was right

2011-06-13T18:32:00.001-05:00

When I woke up this morning, I came to a frightening realization: my life was the same as it was the day before… LeBron was right! (Cue dramatic music.)

You see, following Sunday night’s game six of the NBA Finals – a game in which the Dallas Mavericks secured their spot in NBA history as champions, and the Miami Heat secured its spot in NBA history as… well, a basketball team that was once on TV – Miami’s LeBron James said the following in response to a question about folks that were rooting against his team:

“All the people that were rooting on me to fail, at the end of the day, they have to wake up tomorrow and have the same life that they had before they woke up today. They have the same personal problems they had today. I’m going to continue to live the way I want to live and continue to do the things that I want to do with me and my family and be happy with that. They can get a few days or a few months or whatever the case may be on being happy about not only myself, but the Miami Heat not accomplishing their goal. But they have to get back to the real world at some point.”

Response to LeBron’s comment has already run rampant, and it seems that each person who encounters the diatribe interprets it in one of two ways.

Translation 1 (LeBron’s a regular guy):
“It’s unfortunate that some folks find happiness by rooting for people to fail at their chosen professions; cheering for folks to miss out on their lifelong dreams. Alas, anyone who might do such a thing probably has worries greater than basketball in the grand scheme of things*. While my detractors may feel good now, problems don’t typically disappear. I wish them all the best in making the most of life. God bless.”

*So, I shouldn’t have bought a Bucknell t-shirt in 2005? Whoops… Sorry, Jayhawks.**

**Note: I’m not really sorry.

Translation 2 (LeBron’s an elitist):
“Sure, my team lost, but I still have money… oodles and oodles of money. Once I’m done talking to you yokels, I’m going to drive my Benz home and watch movies in my home theater, which – by the way - is larger than your house. Oh yeah, good luck with your mortgage payment, let alone feeding your homely children. Later this week I might take a private jet to some exotic location where folks will wait on me hand-and-foot. Don’t people say “happiness is buying whatever you want”? No? You say that sounds pretty arrogant? Oh well, they SHOULD say it. At no point during the next few months that these putzes are celebrating a championship (that they did nothing to earn) will I even consider mowing a lawn or washing a dish. Did I mention that I get paid absurd amounts of money to PLAY A GAME? Ka-CHING!”

The translations may or may not have merit. The only thing we can really be sure of is that LeBron should practice that whole “think before you speak” thing. While I can’t be sure of his true intentions with the comment, I would like to offer up my own guess…

If we’re really going to sit back and examine things, I have to admit that the waking realization that my life is the same as it was yesterday was not frightening. After all, I enjoy my life and all the awkward stories that come with it. The frightening part comes from the fact that LeBron predicted the future: my life didn’t change overnight! His nickname – pushed by his teams, the NBA, and even James himself – has been “King James*” to this point in his career; however, after the wisdom he spewed last night, I think “The Oracle” may be more fitting.

*Note to self: Did LeBron translate the Bible? Research this.

What do I think? I think LeBron is already thinking about life after basketball. What career will he move on to? …Fortune telling of the so-obvious-it’s-stupid variety. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t seen a commercial featuring fortune-teller Miss Cleo in a long time. LeBron can fill the void. In fact, I have a strong desire to call Mr. Bron right now for my free psychic reading. Can I expect a free meal in the future? Should I let sleeping dogs lie? Will I wake up to the same life tomorrow as I did today?

To date, LeBron is 100-percent on predicting my future.

Here's to some semblance of intelligent thought

2011-06-10T19:56:00.001-05:00

In just over one week, my brother is getting married. It’s an exciting time and it’s an event that provides my family with plenty to think about. How many people will show up? Will it rain? How will Derek respond to countless mentions that he’s nearly the last single guy left standing in all of his extended family? Whatever the answers to those questions may be*, it’s bound to be a great evening. Well, except for maybe one part…

*My best guesses: 1. Plenty; 2. No rain; 3. An awkward combination of fidgeting, saying “some day” and attempting to change the subject. (Beautiful evening, isn’t it?)

As the “best* man” in the ceremony, I’m tasked with giving a toast at the wedding reception. It is an honor to have the opportunity and there’s no shortage of good things to say about the new couple… It’s just that I have established a pretty solid reputation of despising public speaking. I’m not really sure where or when this aversion began, but I know that it certainly evolved over time. What began as simple nerves became a fear of actually being nervous ABOUT being nervous.**

*Term used as loosely as possible. I tried to get them to list it as “Best We Could Do On Short Notice” in the program, but to no avail.

**Which makes about as much sense as devouring three-pounds of fudge in attempt to mask depression after you realize you’ve gained a couple pounds.

Truth told, I know I’ll be nervous when dropping my profound wisdom (translation: jokes recited from Laffy Taffy wrappers) on those in attendance, but I’ve learned that such things are not worth dwelling. The content of my toast, however, is. This is my chance to share my thoughts of what a successful marriage involves*, relay embarrassing stories about my brother**, or to hone my stand-up comedy act comprised completely of chicken jokes that don’t really make sense.***

*Two televisions.

**No chance, as I’d be opening myself up to ridiculous ridicule some day in the future. Tales of my donut-induced tantrums have no place at wedding receptions.

***Why did the chicken cross the road? Because the road had it coming.

By this point, the speech has a pretty good foundation, meaning there have been plenty of ideas that have been tossed aside. In the spirit of transparency, I think it’s only fair that I share the ideas that won’t make it into the toast.

-    Interpretive dance.
-    A mimed reenactment of the family’s reaction to news of the engagement.
-    A diorama of the basement where my brother and I staged many epic battles in the NES classic Baseball Stars 2.
-    Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me”
-    A reception-wide staring contest.
-    An attempt to see how many times I can utter “dude” in two minutes.
-    A surprise appearance by a guy who used to cut former K-State basketball coach Tom Asbury’s hair.
-    Live updates from the Royals-Cardinals game that evening.
-    An auction for my autographed photo of Bob Barker. (This item is priceless.)
-    Any semblance of intelligent thought.*

*Actually, I’m still working on fitting this in. Good luck, Derek.

Being Derek Larson

2011-06-04T18:47:00.001-05:00

What's it like to be a 20-something male with no particular plans on a summer Saturday? Peek through this secret doorway for a look at my morning.

After sleeping in until 8:30 a.m., consuming more coffee than the Folgers family and completing an abundance of important work online (translation: checking fantasy baseball lineups and reading up on new movies) I determine that it's time to actually be productive. Alas, my own incompetence attempts to halt things. When dressing after my shower (please note: I do dress after my shower, not before or during... I find that lifestyle choice to be an important one) a grab a pair of socks, only to discover that said pair does not match. It seems that, on occasion, the tedious nature of matching socks renders my mind to a barely-functional state. Thus, I end up with socks paired despite their non-matching nature. I am not yet worried about this boredom-inspired brain flubbing, however I might grow concerned if such carelessness carries into the realm of walking down long flights of stairs or driving on straight roads.

The first stopping after leaving my apartment is the ATM just outside. For some reason, I feel compelled to have cash in my pocket today. It's as if my conscience really wants to have something to frighteningly rip out of my pocket if I get mugged on the mean streets of MHK... That or I'll consider stopping by a friendly garage sale if I happen upon one. The ATM sits next to a laundromat, where I have to circle around a group of six middle-aged women sitting just outside the door. A normal person might assume that these ladies are simply waiting for their laundry to wash and/or dry and decided to enjoy the not-yet-blistering temperatures of this Saturday morning. On the other hand, as I punch in my pin number at the ATM I wonder to myself whether these women are actually in some sort of Oprah-inspired gang. I know her show is now off the air, but did she start some sort of movement among the moms of the world as she signed off? Am I going to be beaten with hardbound editions of her favorite books once I get my cash? Not even Dr. Phil's hokey advice can help me at this point.

I escape from the threatening horde of women with no injuries and make it to my car. It's at this point that I'm reminded about a quirk with my vehicle that has become all too apparent lately. You see, when it rains, the rear door on the passenger side of my car literally holds water, which later drips out of the door at the pace of some sort of water-torture device. It's an odd experience to open my car door after a rain storm and hear water sloshing as if Big Van Vader had just belly-flopped into my bathtub.

My destination, after setting off in the SS Minnow, is Best Buy. It's there that I am privileged to take part in the standard conversation one always falls into when they are shopping for nothing in particular.
Employee: Hi. How are you?
Derek: I'm fine. How are you doing?
Employee: Good. Can I help you find anything.
Derek: Nope. Just looking around.
Employee: Okay. Well let me know if I can help.
Derek: You bet.
This one-act play is not an unusual one. Again, it's one I take part in nearly every time I go to Best Buy. What made today different was that I played the role of Derek* three different times, each with the same overanxious employee opposite me. Whether this guy considered the first two interactions rehearsals for the grand finale, I'll never know. I do know, however, that I should have decided to mess with the guy a bit by the third time. "Yes, you can help. Where's the Betamax section?"

*I do a pretty stellar imitation of myself.

I walk away from the electronics store with nothing new to my name, as I've become rather good at talking myself out of impulse purchases in recent years. Yes, Blazing Saddles is a classic film, but the fact that I already own it on DVD probably means I don't need to add it to my Blu-Ray library. With my watch reading 11:30 and my stomach rumbling (apparently coffee and vitamins are not a complete breakfast... weird) I decide to check out a Chinese restaurant that opened recently. The restaurant features "Express" as part of it's name, so I figure that the drive-thru might be the way to go, meaning I can then eat my lunch at the park. Alas, I soon discover that this eatery must be train-themed on the inside, as the drive-thru service certainly does not bring the word express to mind. As I wait, and wait, and wait for my food, I begin to wonder whether my food is actually being delivered from China. Whatever the case, it arrives and I head to the park, where I intend to eat in my pirate ship of a car with the windows rolled down.

I don't know about you, but when I eat Chinese food, I avoid chopsticks and stick to a fork. Alas, those who prepped my order did not include a fork when they passed it through the drive-thru window. Time for chopsticks. I can probably handle the chunks of sweet-and-sour pork with them. Unfortunately, chopsticks aren't included, either. There's no fork, no spoon, no spork, no knife, no chopsticks, nothing but a napkin. Being the absent-minded person I am, I forgot to shove any cutlery or flatware into my pockets as I left my apartment, meaning I am face with the choice of eating with my hands in the middle of the public park or driving home to eat in a civilized fashion.* With fear of being arrested for public indecency (I would have made that much of a mess), I choose the latter.

*Term used loosely. I'm not sure eating on my couch while watching ESPNews can be considered civilized by many.

As I prepare to eat, I realize that this restaurant already has two strikes against it: slow service and inability to provide utensils essential to the eating process. If the food is no good, the place has struck out. Luckily, the pork comes through. It's good. Very good. Sure, there are too many onions included, but I've become quite accustomed to picking around those in several dishes. I eat my fill, stuffing myself to the point where I'm unsure that I can move off my couch. At that point, it's fortune cookie time.

My fortune: Good ideas will spring forth naturally from your mind in the coming week.

... I think there might be something to that fortune. I did fit in a nap this afternoon, after all.

Quick observation - June 1

2011-06-01T20:49:00.001-05:00

In recent months I have developed a bit of a Twitter addiction. What’s not to love about the web phenomenon, after all? (Well, other than the name… And the 140-character limit per tweet… And the folks that tweet things like “Just went to Wal-Mart. Tired.”) In an age where seemingly everyone has some sort of device that can access the Internet (“What? Janie sneezed? Let’s check WebMD… Just let me access the web browser on my Chapstick tube), it’s a great way to keep up with news as it is very literally happening. (Granted, I have yet to see a tweet tweeted in the midst of someone’s fall down the stairs, but it’s probably coming soon.) Case in point, I knew that Eric Hosmer had earned a promotion to the Major Leagues two minutes before it was first mentioned on the radio. Thanks Twitter.

Alas, there’s a current Twitter trend out there that I can’t commit to. Whether through their own volition or automated pedometer-like devices, folks tweet the distance they run and the amount of time it takes them. I understand that this could serve as motivation for some, but for me, well, it mostly feeds my cynical side. I’m thisclose to continually tweeting things like “Considered running two miles… then fell into a fit of deep laughter. Time: 00:00:17.”

Twitter: Feeding my desire to make smartass remarks each and every day.

People in your neighborhood - The No One Edition

2011-05-29T08:38:00.002-05:00

When one lives just two blocks from a bar district in a college town, he learns to appreciate the sort of tranquility that comes with silence. With that in mind, I stray from the norm today, writing an edition of People In Your Neighborhood about my neighborhood sans people.

Here it is, May 29, and a large chunk of the collegiate population that inhabits this town for 10 months each year has left with the speed of a first-timer in a fire drill. As a result, the streets are empty, lines are short, and I can actually hear the birds outside my window as I type (rather than the continual drone of motors on Anderson Ave).

Do I sound antisocial to be taking such joy in the fact that there are fewer people to drive behind, scoot around, or painstakingly listen to on a daily basis over the summer? Perhaps. Then again, I might not be conditioned in such a manner if folks gave courtesy waves at crosswalks* and refrained from horrible attempts at freestyle rapping at all hours of the day.

*Note to any kid preparing for college. The courtesy wave is your friend. Consider: there's a two-ton vehicle bearing down the street at 33-mph. It skids to a stop, all because it sees you standing at the side of the road, next to a path of white stripes. Had the driver of said vehicle not taken note of you, you might be enjoying the finest dining that a tube can offer for months. You want to at least lift your arm in some sort of manner to acknowledge said driver? I thought so.

Gone from town are the packs of fraternity folks making their nightly journeys to Aggieville, seemingly thinking that "Woooooooo! I'm wasted!" is a good conversation starter. Gone are the folks that have been in town for 10 months, but still don't know how to properly navigate a roundabout. (COUNTERclockwise? What?) And gone are the neighbors who refuse to acknowledge you, know matter how many times you hold a door open for them. (Speaking from experience? Me?)

It's true, Manhattan would not be Manhattan without K-State and the energy that the students bring. That said, I can live with calling the town New Boston for a couple months each year. Now excuse me. I have some silence to enjoy.

Void

2011-05-20T07:55:00.001-05:00

Well, my poor blog has become the picture of neglect over the past month. For this, I apologize. I also realize that if things proceed in this fashion for too long, said blog will soon be shown on commercials that feature the sort of music that makes a person begin to tear up immediately and that ask for donations to benefit those less fortunate.

I can't let that happen.

I won't let that happen.

While I work on getting back to a more regular (read: sporadic) posting schedule, you should probably check out www.thescoopmanhattan.com in the mean time. It's a great site, and I hear that some ruggedly handsome, semi-writer has posts over there on occasion.

The Writings: Your home for the author's shameless self-promotion.

Salinity Now

2011-05-11T17:27:00.000-05:00

This just in: I don’t drink the saline solution that one typically stores contact lenses in.

Nor do I bathe in it, nor swim in it in recreational fashion.

I also refrain from using it to create very hygienic dioramas of ocean life.

Alas, none of this seems to matter to the young woman who gathered my contact lens materials at the eye doctor yesterday. She sent me home with a back packed so full of bottles of contact solution that – had I been sporting red clothes and a white beard – people might have been wondering if Santa Claus had finally lost his bearings and forgotten how to read a calendar. As I stumbled through the door, lugging the bag like a toddler carrying a bowling ball, I realized that a visit to the optometrist’s office is a situation that this blog needs to delve into. Read on… Feel free to cover your right eye while you do so.

The waiting is the hardest part… - Tom Petty, with or without accompanying heartbreakers
If you have ever heard any 1980’s stand-up comedy, you are familiar with the notion that waiting rooms of doctors’ offices tend to feature outdated magazines. The optometrist does not disappoint in the aspect, providing me with a Sports Illustrated from six months ago. While it’s true that I do enjoy reading through back issues of SI (my old bedroom at my parents’ home is littered with them as if they hold clues for surviving the Apocalypse), I don’t necessarily the old woman staring me down from across the way. Via my peripheral vision, I notice that the senior is looking at me as if I have been leading a mole immigration effort that ends in her yard. Uncomfortable. Luckily, her attempts to telepathically cripple my mind end when my name is called.

Ow, my eye! I’m not supposed to get pudding in it! – Lenny Leonard
As a sports fan, many of the tests I’m put through at an annual eye exam seem like drills at the NFL Draft Combine.
“Quickly, cover one eye and read the bottom row.”
“A, R, T, G, S, L, 8”
“Good.” (brings up a different line on chart.) “Now cover the other eye and read the bottom line.”
“O, P, S, D, M, Egyptian hieroglyph that looks like a bird, Pepsi logo, and drawing of an obese hamster.”
“Uhh… good…”
Yes, I am one of those people that will try to guess what a letter on the eye chart is rather than simply admitting that I can’t read it. Weird? Absolutely, since the eye-loving folks are just trying to ensure that my vision is as sharp as possible, but apparently the childhood fear of drawing poor marks in school has transcended to the world of eye exams… At least I’ve never been in the position of having to test said personally quirk in a sobriety test. Slapping oneself in the forehead whilst trying to touch one’s nose and then attempting to convince an officer of the law that you meant to do it probably wouldn’t go over well.

I have many leather-bound books and my home smells of rich mahogany. – Ron Burgandy
Events at the optometrist reach a climax when my actual eye doctor enters the exam room. Doc (name omitted to protect the innocent) has been dealing with my peepers for about 18 years, so it’s fair to say that we have crossed paths a few times. That said, for some reason I’m always surprised when he remembers that I write part-time. After all, judging by the (lack of) frequency of updates to The Writings recently, I have a difficult time remembering that I write part-time. I’m not saying that my writing seems insignificant at times, but… well… my writing seems insignificant at times.
Enough about me, back to the doc. His fingers deftly speed through switches and dials while attempting to correctly prescribe the correct lenses for my eyes, all while carrying an all-too-familiar refrain, “One… or two… or one…. Three … or four…) If it was not for my indecision and lack of trust in my own judgment (“Wait, was six really better than seven? Can we rewind?”) I think the examination would last approximately two minutes and nine seconds. Even the blinding attempts to peer into my eye with a microscope and flash light (personally, I think it would be a lot cooler if they wore miners’ helmets for this) go by in a jiffy. Before I know it, I have a new contact lens prescription (each eye “bumped up a quarter” whatever that might mean… I’m fairly certain that no Washington-adorned currency was actually involved), a free pair of sunglasses (which are slightly more stylish than wrapping my head in tinted film and provide enough pressure that my medulla may shoot out my nose), and a bag packed with so many fluid filled bottles that I’m surprised it didn’t come loaded on an oxen-pulled wagon.

A day at the optometrist is an eventful one, indeed.

Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a lifetime supply of contact solution to attempt to sell on eBay.

Happy Mothers'... D'oh!

2011-05-06T17:05:00.001-05:00

As I type this, I find myself up a creek with no paddle, tentatively teetering in the current while on a raft made of generic brand of cotton swabs. Did I mention that the creek serves as home to schools of piranhas that love nothing more than tearing into the flesh of wannabe-writers who have one ear that sticks out further than the other? No? Forgive the omission.

What did I do to find myself in such a predicament?

I scheduled a bachelor party on Mothers’ Day weekend.

And every person attending said party – other than myself – is married or engaged.

And 76.9-percent of those attendees have wives who are - or will soon be - mothers.

… Yes, “D’oh!” is right.

Such an error in judgment could have been avoided fairly easily, it seems. After all, I’ve heard that many people use things called “calendars” to track daily schedules and note annual events. Practicing such responsibility would have probably been a good move, but wouldn’t that require moving through life in an organized manner? (Note to self: look into this.)

I should probably just wrap this note with a picture that shows how red my forehead is from the repeated, self-inflicted slapping it received once I realized that how these dates fell on the calendar, but at this point I afraid that any pictures I post of myself will ultimately serve as dartboards (or worse). Frankly, I’d prefer that we keep games of “Pin the razor-sharp railroad spike to Derek’s throat” limited to girls that I’ve dated. Instead, a quick note to moms out there:

The work that you do is unbelievable;
It’s tireless, endless, and tough;
Chances are strong that your family,
Will never be able to thank you enough.

Someday a fool may foul up your weekend;
Forgetting about the second Sunday in May;
Please know he means no harm, he’s just a fool;
Have an undeniably great Mothers’ Day!

AI

2011-05-01T13:54:00.001-05:00

If you have ever watched much science fiction on television or in film, you know that there has been plenty of thought put into the idea of what might happen as our society continues to advance technologically. From droids to cylons to homes too smart for their own good, it seems that creations with intelligence of the artificial variety always seem to find some way to go awry. Luckily, it seems that those crafting such stories are paying far too much credence to the programming that goes with such intelligence. Simply put, they're wrong; we're safe. Why don't I fear the uprising of artificial intelligence leading to the collapse and enslavement of the human race?

According
to "personalized" emails I have recently received, I am both a Democrat
and a Republican*; I am an avid NBA bettor; I am a plus-sized woman who
enjoys buying clothes online; I am always looking for bargain prices on prescription pain meds; and I am gullible enough to believe that I can buy an iPad for $23.74.

*Unfortunately I have yet to receive anything from the whigs.

According to iTunes' "genius feature, I should be buying an album by Sum 41, despite the fact that it's no longer 2001 and I don't own a skateboard.

According to Netflix's movie suggestions, I'd really enjoy a Nova special about "social robots," all because I gave the NBC comedy "Parks and Recreation" a high rating.*

*Connect those dots... I'd enjoy a science special because I enjoy laughing during a show where the main characters think that all library employees are evil. Nice try, artificial intelligence!

After thorough review of the above, I'm fairly certain that we all can feel safe. Artificial intelligence has a long way to go before it is posing any major threats, so don't feel threatened by any "smartphones" you see.

Armies of uber-intelligent nanobots won't soon be invading my home... But if they do, there's no way I'm buying any plus-sized women's clothing from them.

An Easter thought...

2011-04-24T13:45:00.001-05:00

Which potential lesson that a child might take away from Easter is more dangerous:

A. All eggs are gifts from a friendly bunny who likes nothing more than to see children smile as they fill baskets up with candy?

... or...

B. The Easter Bunny is an evil minion of the Big Alliance of Dentists (B.A.D.) who puts on a happy face, but is really passing out candy in order to promote the rotting of teeth and visits to the dentist office?

Ponder, won't you?

(This Writing composed by Derek's 8-year-old, dentist-fearing self.)

People in your Neighborhood - The Frogurt Edition

2011-04-16T22:17:00.001-05:00

I have never gone water-skiing. I have never whittled a woodwind instrument. I have never eaten at a frozen yogurt place... One of those statements in no longer true. Apologies who love the sweet tunes that come from a home-fashioned pan flute, but the item I can cross off that list involves frozen yogurt (which I, along with many others, call frogurt). I had some reservations about giving the place a chance, but it turns out that it's not bad dining. Beyond that, the crop of customers available for observation was one of the bumper variety. Read on to learn about a few of the people at your local frozen yogurt shop.

The Dancer
In the land where frozen yogurt cascades like congested waterfalls, club music is king - at least it was on this night. As I waited in a horseshoe-shaped line to populate a bowl with fro-yo* and enough toppings to cripple one's mind, bass beats that sounded eerily techno-ish provided a very strange take on background noise. This may come as a shock to any and all reading this, but I'm fairly sarcastic and cynical by nature. (GASP!) As a result, once I noticed the music playing I prepared to make some sort of snarky comment about it to my brother; something along the lines of "Where do we pick up the glowsticks?"^^ Alas, when I turned to speak, I noticed the guy about 10 people ahead of us in line. He wore a navy blue t-shirt, which was at least one size too small if you asked his belly, and had hair caked with more grease than most items on the Long John Silver's menu. His look was one thing, but I barely had a chance to let the ridiculousness settle in when I noticed that he was pigeon-necking to the beat of the music. Yes, he was into it. Surely he's doing that as a joke, I thought, but he did not seem to be attempting to catch anyone's eye as he did it. The story was the same when I saw him reclining back on one of the establishment's couches later. He was simply grooving to, and enjoying, the beat. Apparently the Frogurt place needs a cover charge.

*This is my attempt to connect with the youth of America... I'm hip. I'm with it...

^^Hey, it was funny in my head.

Crocs'n'Socks
I have never worn, nor do I ever intend to wear, a pair of Crocs. I understand that they're very comfortable, but there's something about wearing "shoes" that look much more like bath sponges that I am just not comfortable with. That said, if I did ever wear Crocs, I would not wear them with socks. No, I'm not one to keep tabs on styles or fashion (What do you mean my Homer Simpson t-shirt isn't "in"?), but wearing glorified sandals along with socks pulled up to one's knees seems like a curious move even to me. I guess this guy's lower legs could incredibly prone to insect bites or he might have once made the unfortunate mistake of having socks surgically attached to his legs; perhaps the explanation is that easy... Whatever the case, I'm concerned.

*Would I, could I, in a house? Would I, could I, with a blouse? I could not, would not in a house. I could not, would not, with a blouse.

Pajama Patty
Locations where the donning of one's pajamas is appropriate: one's home; someone else's home, should one be invited for an overnight stay or to a pajama party there.
Locations where the donning of one's pajamas is NOT appropriate: anywhere else. (Note to the lady with the weird tattoo on her neck: "anywhere else" includes the frogurt shop. I'll admit, I was rather confused when I walked through the door and saw you standing in line... I thought I'd wandered into someone's home kitchen.)

The Writings' guide to the Royals

2011-04-10T15:37:00.000-05:00

If you have read/heard/interpreted-through-a-form-of-telepathy-that-is-beyond-my-comprehension anything about the Kansas City Royals this year, odds are strong that such details involved "the future." You see, the Royals currently have a collection of talent in the minor leagues that - according to some experts - rivals any farm system* in history. The potential for future success is great, but it's just that: potential. I've heard many folks comment that they've heard all this before; that the Royals have had good young players in the past and KC has either ruined them or traded them away for beans that weren't even advertised as magic. "How will things be different this time?" people ask. The answer: It looks like ownership is finally willing to part with some money to support a winning team.

*Note for those unfamiliar with Major League Baseball: "Farm system" refers to a Major League club's minor league affiliates. It has nothing to do with irrigation or eliminating pesky boll weevils.

The youth is on the way, with top prospects Mike Moustakas and Eric Hosmer expected to debut at some point this season, and several young pitchers already on the big league club. While many look to the future, we at The Writings are enjoying the present. Since it's been far too long since we've written anything about the KC club, let's take a quick look at the 2011 Royals.*

*Note: "Quick" is a relative term.

We'll start in the outfield, where one of the season's biggest question marks tracks fly balls. Alex Gordon - once one of the top prospects in baseball; once subject of a Sports Illustrated article oozing more fluff than fan letters to Justin Bieber; once touted as the next George Brett; once prophecized as the person that will one day lead humanity to galactic dominance* - enters 2011 searching, yet again, for a breakout season. Gordon has dominated the minor leagues in the same manner that a video gamer handles a video game after entering a cheat code, but injuries and holes in his swing have never allowed that success to translate to the Major League level. Gordon arrived at Kansas City as a third baseman, but moved off the position last season, perhaps in anticipation of Moustakas' anticipated arrival. Through a handful of games this season, Gordon seems to finally be in his happy place (whether he sees grannies winning the lotto and little people on tricycles, we may never know). His defense in left field has been above average and he has been one of the hottest hitters in baseball. Can he keep it going? That's a question that puzzles more folks than those mind-benders involving trains leaving stations at different times only to eventually wreck into each other because neither is one of Doc Brown's time machines. (Sorry if that's not quite accurate... I haven't taken a standardized test in awhile.)

*I only made one of those up.

Joining Gordon in the outfield are centerfielder Melky Cabrera, the former-Yankee who played for Atlanta last season while attempting to prove that chubby kids can be outfielders (the results were not good, hence his signing with KC on just a one-year deal), and rightfielder Jeff Francoeur, another one-time top prospect, who was once featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated despite the fact that he was barely old enough to legally consume any of the alcoholic beverages featured in the issues ads. Backup Jarrod Dyson is not a hitter, but his speed alone makes him a rather valuable member of the roster.

In the infield, KC should see significant improvement defensively thanks to the addition of shortstop Alcides Escobar. Escobar, who came to the Royals as part of the Zack Greinke trade, has shown the sort of range at shortstop that makes one think the Royals would be safe with a hippopotamus playing next to him at third. (No, I am not calling Wilson Betemit and Mike Aviles hippos... Placeholders for Moustakas, perhaps... Hippos, no.) Escobar's double-play partner is second baseman Chris Getz, another player who brings plenty to the table defensively, but isn't exactly setting fine china on offense. Billy Butler and Kila Ka'aihue share duties at first base and designated hitter. Butler is just 24, but has been the team's best hitter for the past two seasons. Ka'aihue is a Hawaiian slugger who is finally getting the opportunity to prove himself as an everyday player... My guess is that he also enjoys hearing people attempt to pronounce his last name and butcher it slaughterhouse fashion. Matt Treanor and Brayan Pena share catching duties until 83-year old Jason Kendall (What do you mean he's only 36?) returns from injury.

The Royals have a bevy of young, left-handed starting pitchers, but all are young enough that they will begin the season in the minor leagues. The names of KC's big league starters (Luke Hochevar, Bruce Chen, Jeff Francis, Kyle Davies, Vin Mazarro) may not strike fear in the hearts of opposing hitters, but they possess the ability to keep the team in games long enough to pass along to a strong bullpen - a bullpen led by closer Joakim Soria. Soria, who declared he no longer wanted to be referred to as "The Mexicutioner" in the offseason, is one of the best relief pitchers in all of baseball. He is joined in the bullpen by a lot of young talent, from the 21-year-old, hobbit-sized Tim Collins (or Timbo Collgins, in Tolkienese) to Aaron Crow, a Topeka-native who pitched collegiately for the University of Missouri. In previous seasons, the thought of handing a game off to a KC relief pitcher brought feelings of dread and/or despair (plus far too many frustrated mutterings from my couch). This season, a call to the 'pen is accompanied by an unfamiliar feeling... I think some call it optimism. Weird.

Will the Royals be contenders in 2011? The odds are certainly not overwhelming, but, for the first time in many, many years the club has mixed a fine cocktail of potential and direction... I like it.

Ending the madness

2011-04-04T22:32:00.001-05:00

It's the first Monday in April and the last night of the 2010-2011 college basketball season. Seems like a good opportunity to force you to read all the random thoughts that wade through my mind, no? Joining me for the festivities, we have a half-finished strawberry shake from Coldstone Creamery (when you're paying for ice cream, make sure you pay plenty), my next door neighbor's voice that I can hear through my wall (note to self: buy a home), and a degree of snarkiness that increases with every minute of unnecessary pregame coverage (23 minutes total... Look out!)

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I've been told that I look a bit like Butler coach Brad Stevens, and - frighteningly enough - I can see a bit of resemblance. This is horrible news for Stevens, but good news for me... I can put that on a resume, right?

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Has any film franchise ever had more unnecessary sequels than "The Fast and the Furious"? Vin Diesel's character likes to drive fast cars... I get it. That's not really a plot that requires five films worth of exploration.

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Charles Barkley has the be the greatest college basketball analyst who ever threw someone through a plate-glass window, doesn't he? (Note: This is not a rhetorical question... If you really do know of a better one, I really do want to know.)

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At the first media timeout, Butler and UConn have combined to shoot 3-for-18 from the field. "Defense wins championships!" ... True, but horrendous shooting loses them, as well.

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Is it safe to say that the folks working for HP in 1996 could not have predicted that Dr. Dre would be one of their company ad spokesmen 15 years later?

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Hey, it's a basketball game... and the score is 16-15 with fewer than seven minutes left in the first half. This is the sort of offense that only a mother could love. A mother who hates basketball.

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This just in: I have a horrible "multitasking" habit, meaning I am continually looking at thinks online even while watching a basketball game. This means that I'm subjected to reading rumors of potential college basketball changes (some concerning my alma mater) as I watch this game. So, not only am I continually reminded that K-State lost to Brad "not Derek" Stevens' Butler squad last season, but now I must digest rumors that there could be another coaching search in the future... I need to find something less depressing.

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... Hey, Ken Burns' Civil War documentary is on PBS!

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Butler guard Shelvin Mack sinks a buzzer-beating three to give the Bulldogs a 22-19 lead at the half. It's a beautiful shot and a great moment... Until the broadcaster fouls it up by saying "Mack is back!" Note to broadcasters: Dr. Seuss wrote children's books. He did not provide play-by-play for college basketball games. Don't cross the streams!

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Butler's up, they lead by three, but never count out a UConn Huskie.
20 minutes done, 20 remain. Such little time with so much to gain.

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Please forgive the Seuss vibe.

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Barkley at halftime: "Both teams need to play better."

And people wonder why I find halftime analysis worthless.

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After a UConn turnover, with the Huskies leading 26-25, coach Jim Calhoun shakes his head in disgust. If any college basketball coach were to be cast to play a grouchy old neighbor in a motion picture, I think Calhoun would have the role hands down. The simple sight of him standing with his arms crossed causes me to check my feet to make sure I'm not standing on his lawn.

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With 10 minutes left, UConn leads 39-28. I keep waiting to hear the broadcasters mention that this is actually a scrimmage and the real game will take place next... Thus far, they have failed to mention this fact.

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Seven minutes left, and Butler is shooting 2-for-24 in the second half. 2-for-24!

To put this in perspective, I succeed in making jokes 3 times out of every 24 attempts. Poor Butler.

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With two minutes left, Butler is on track to break the record for lowest shooting percentage EVER in a championship game. Hey, a record! Congratulations!

... Oh, nevermind.

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Aaaaaaaaand, that's the game. UConn is your champ, winning 53-41. Congrats to the Huskies for winning, to the Bulldogs for making it to the championship game two years in a row, and to you for making it through the written summation of such an ugly game. Eeesh.

The Heard

2011-04-02T09:39:00.001-05:00

Communication, if you really sit down and ponder it, is a mind-boggling thing. Consider that it’s possible to convey the message “Did you hear that? What the hell is this guy thinking?” with nothing more than a raised eyebrow.* From a quick wink (which is almost always creepy) to a rambling soliloquy spoken in effort to express one’s true appreciation for oven mitts, thoughts can be conveyed in a myriad of ways. Because there are so many dynamics that come with communication (or because I have been hurting for blog topics lately… I really need something awkward to happen to me soon), I think it’s time that we analyze some of the things that I hear (or read) every day (figuratively). Perhaps we’ll unearth a better understanding of communication… More likely, we’ll discover that I should really keep my thoughts to myself.

*Yes, I know this from experience.

A speaker amplified voice recently asked me if I’d like to add cheese sticks or ice cream to my lunch order…
For the 432nd time, the answer is no. I operate by a simple premise: if I want to purchase something, I’ll ask for it. I don’t tiptoe around ordering ice cream like the person who doesn’t want to ask another person how they got a scar*, and I’m also not going to succumb to any sort of peer pressure that involves fried foods. Sorry.

*Fell in the bathtub. Thanks.

A voice on the radio recently told me far too many things about car racing…
I do not intend to become a racing fan, nor will I ever test my 2004 Impala’s engine in any sort of fast and/or furious manner. Thus, “The Racing Boys” segment on sports radio is one that I have no interest in. If you require an illustration of the precise amount of interest I have in hearing folks discuss advertisements disguised as race cars, consider the amount of interest your pet has in reading Stephen Hawking’s “A Brief History of Time”… Now cut that level of interest in half.

A friend recently told me that I can’t take a compliment…
I’m not sure that this is true. I’ll gladly take compliments on the rare occasions that they come my way… I just have a tendency of responding to them with the sort of self-deprecating remark that might make a person wish to enroll me in a self-affirmation course taught by Stuart Smalley. Rest assured, readers, I don’t suffer from any crippling personality disorders (that I’m aware of). The self-loathing nature is just part of a continued effort to make sure my head doesn’t get big in the figurative sense (since it’s already too large for my body in the physical sense).

I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and – gosh darn it – people like me… sometimes.

A former boss gave me advice via email, saying “The only constant in life is change”…
I can’t argue with this, since pennies seem to sprout about my car like dandelions on a summer lawn… Wrong sort of change? Nevertheless, there is credence to these words. Jobs change. People change. Even your opinion concerning that shirt you bought two months ago changes. (What were you thinking?) And when you really think you might have things figured out, things change with the velocity, ferocity and atrocity of a rabid-dog-wielding tornado.

With all of this potentially life-altering change, what can a person do? Keep reading…

When my niece recently ate an extra piece of chocolate, despite me telling her not to, I told her that I was sad, completing the façade with the sort of look a kid gives when he’s told he can’t have cotton candy at the fair. Her response? “You don’t have to be sad. You can be happy if you want to.”
How can a person argue with that sort of wisdom?*

*If her two-year-old mind is that keen when it comes to philosophy, does that mean she’s a genius in other subjects, too? Maybe I should really take heed when she tells me that monsters and snakes live in my walls.

A look back

2011-03-26T11:27:00.001-05:00

This wasn't supposed to happen.

No, I'm not referring to the fact that K-State lost in the second round of the 2011 NCAA Tournament (though there is credence to that argument). Instead, I'm referring to the posting of this season wrap to The Writings. It was actually intended for another web site. (GASP!)

Never fear, dear readers. I'm not turning my back on The Writings, nor cheating on them with another blog. I have, however, signed on to do some writing for www.thescoopmanhattan.com. (You should probably bookmark it/favorite it/make it your homepage if The Writings don't currently hold that honor.) It's a site intended to bring light to all the great things that Manhattan has to offer. Alas, there have been some issues on the development end; issues covered eloquently in the placeholder text that currently appears at the website. (If you don't understand it, go rent Billy Madison immediately and then watch it twice... I can wait.) As a result, the return of The Scoop has been delayed to a point where my K-State hoops piece will no longer be "timely." Thus, I'm bringing it to The Writings. Enjoy. (Or don't. Who am I to tell you what to do?)

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With the publication of this post, K-State’s basketball season has been finished for over 24 hours. The season capped with a nail-biter of a contest fueled by an extraordinary effort from one of the greatest players in the history of the program. Alas, that game is all you’re reading about at every other website with even a loose connection to Manhattan or sports in general. (Well, maybe not www.joyofbocce.com, but you get the idea.) Instead of a quick game recap, we at The Scoop want to take the opportunity to look back on the season as a whole. (Well, truthfully, we wanted to plan a trip to New Orleans for the Sweet 16, but one has to make lemonade with lemons thrown maliciously his way, right?)

How does one properly summarize the 2010-2011 K-State basketball season? The highs and lows seem so extreme that any sort of roller coaster analogy may not do justice. (Roller coasters are, after all, constricted by the laws of physics.) Handing out postseason awards is overplayed and far too predictable. (If you can’t determine this team’s MVP without our help, basketball might not be your sport. Have you considered jai alai?) The “predicted champ falls on hard times, but then bests its rival on its way to possible redemption” storyline could be one destined for film, but the budget here is low and we lack directors’ chairs. It seems the best way to look back at the season is to simply look back. (Original idea, no?) Here’s an examination of key points in K-State’s season, detailed in effort to accurately illustrate how remarkable/strange/mind-boggling the campaign has been.

*Please note: “Fan confidence level” ratings were determined through a very scientific process utilizing retrospective surveys, ink blot illustrations and polygraph tests… That, or the author simply tried to remember how encouraged (or frustrated) the majority of the fan base seemed at that particular point in time. As a point of reference, the final season of the Tom Asbury era scored a -6 (of 10) on the scale.

Date: Early Nov., 2010
Event: Preseason love
K-State record: 0-0
Fan confidence level: 10 (of 10)
After years of receiving Sports Illustrated college basketball preview magazines featuring random Jayhawks on the cover, Wildcat fans all over Kansas rejoiced to see Jacob Pullen gracing the regional issue. The nod from SI not only eliminated ritualistic mass burnings of the annual issue in Manhattan, but also gave national credence to the expectations surrounding the 2010-2011 team. K-State saw national rankings as high as No. 3 in the preseason and was predicted to be league champ by Big 12 coaches. There was even talk that the K-State frontcourt might be the best in the nation. At no point in the modern era had so much been expected of a K-State basketball team.

Date: Nov. 23, 2010
Event: Cats fall to Duke; Kyrie Irving proves that he’s really quick
K-State record: 4-1
Fan confidence level: 9 (of 10)
K-State’s first loss of the season came at the hands of Duke, the nation’s No. 1 team and defending National Champion. Losing to the best was nothing to fret about, but the manner in which the Wildcats lost did raise concerns. Pullen finished with just four points, shooting 1-12 from the field. Meanwhile, Duke freshman guard Kyrie Irving torched KSU, finishing with 17 points and six assists, seemingly revealing a glaring hole in the K-State defense. It was clear that the Wildcats were not at the level of Duke, but few teams could claim that they were.

Date: Dec. 21, 2010
Event: K-State seniors suspended; Cats fall to Runnin’ Rebels; KSU fans contemplate boycotting all department stores in Manhattan
K-State record: 9-3
Fan confidence level: 7 (of 10)
If one wanted to get under a K-State fan’s skin at midseason, one good way was to repeatedly mention “impermissible benefits.” News that Pullen and Curtis Kelly had been suspended began to leak in the hours leading to tip-off of the night’s game at the Sprint Center, and fans that hadn’t heard the news became fully aware when the pair was not seen in KC. The Wildcats had struggled finding leadership to that point, and such an error in judgment by the team’s elder statesmen seemed to provide a glowing illustration of that fact. The Wildcats, playing without Pullen for the first time since Bob Huggins called Manhattan home, had four players finish in double-figures, but lost to UNLV by four points. With both seniors facing multi-game suspensions and Kansas State yet to find an identity as a team, fans were given a couple reasons for worry as conference play approached.

Date: Jan. 29, 2011
Event: KU decimates KSU; Wally Judge leaves team
K-State record: 14-8, 2-5 (Big 12)
Fan confidence level: 4 (of 10)
Think January is a slow month? Think again. In a span of 23 days, the Wildcats:
-    Lost to Oklahoma State and Colorado with Kelly on the sideline;
-    Drew criticism when Pullen said he would not play in the NIT;
-    Saw Kelly return to the lineup, but had Freddy Asprilla quit the same week;
-    Beat Texas Tech and Baylor at home, but fell to Missouri, Texas A&M and Kansas on the road by a combined 48 points;
-    Suffered their second mid-season departure when Judge, a former McDonald’s All-American, left the squad one day after the loss to KU.
The drama, tribulations, and sudden departures rivaled those reality television shows. Near the end of this stretch, some K-State fans were fully expecting starting lineups to be determined by cooking challenges or sing-offs judged by Randy Jackson. If backup point guard Juevol Myles had announced he was leaving the team at that point to join Canadian alt-rock group Barenaked Ladies, it would not have seemed out of the ordinary. Frustrations and struggles peaked in the midst of a 24-point loss to Kansas; a game where the Wildcats shot just 19-percent in the first half and Kelly sat benched for the final 20 minutes.

Date: Feb. 14, 2011
Event: Wildcats celebrate Valentine’s day, stomp KU, and prove college hoops “experts” do not exist
K-State record: 17-9, 5-6 (Big 12)
Fan confidence level: 7 (of 10)
Who predicted that K-State might topple No. 1 Kansas that Big Monday? Answering “no one” almost seems generous. Two days earlier, the Wildcats suffered a soul-fracturing, now-you-have-it-now-you-don’t loss to the Colorado Buffalos and the week prior had been filled with rumors that Kelly’s days as a Wildcat were through after he had allegedly violated a university rule. Many fans entered Bramlage in purple, but expected to leave feeling black-and-blue. Instead, something happened – something many call “quality basketball.” The Wildcats pushed their defense to a level not seen since the 2010 postseason and showed that a midseason change in offensive philosophy by the K-State coaching staff was near brilliant. The Wildcats built a substantial lead early and – in a manner never before practiced against KU at Bramlage – piled on until the Jayhawks tapped out. It’s amazing what a win over the nation’s No. 1 (especially when it’s a rival) can do in relation to confidence.

Date: 3/17/11
Event: March Madness begins
K-State record: 22-10
Fan confidence level: 8 (of 10)
On the heels of the victory over KU, K-State rattled off five more wins to close the season before falling to Colorado in their first game of the Big 12 Tournament. After 130+ days, thousands of practice free throws, 497 cold and wordless stares by Frank Martin, ten different starters, two player departures, and one major change to the team’s offensive scheme, the Wildcats entered the NCAA Tournament as one of the scariest match-ups in college basketball. It’s a spot many expected K-State to be in from the start of the season, but the road to it was littered with Bramlage-sized potholes. Now, Kansas State appeared to be near strength and match-up against No. 12-seed Utah State would be the start of the postseason journey.

Date: Today
Event: Game over; K-State’s season ended with a 70-65 loss to Wisconsin
K-State record: 23-11
Fan confidence level: ?

Forgive the question mark denoting the fan confidence level, but it is a ponder-worthy subject at this point. If life was a comic strip, you would see that question mark above a K-State fan’s head when they’re presented with the question, “How will the Cats do next season?“ With the loss in the NCAA Tournament’s quasi-third round, there’s credence to the argument that the Wildcats failed to live up to the preseason expectations of the media, the Big 12 coaches, and of fans in general. But, in games against some of the nation’s best, the Wildcats showed that they could compete at that level. They showed a remarkable ability to bounce back from suspensions and departures that could have crippled the team. And they showed that their star player could take over a game as well as any player in the nation.

The Wildcats should have all but two players returning next season… Unfortunately, one graduating senior is the basketball program’s all-time leading scorer and the other is a wildly talented post. Neither will be easy to replace, but the Wildcats have been tasked with such a burden before. Two seasons after All-American Michael Beasley and uber-skilled Bill Walker took their brand of bucketization to the NBA, K-State put together its most successful season in 20+ years, led by players who were question marks when they arrived. As a freshman, Pullen was mainly known as the little point guard who Frank Martin yelled at incessantly. No one was predicting that he might one day have his No. 0 in the rafters. Kelly arrived in Manhattan as an underperforming transfer from UConn. He leaves K-State owning the record for blocked shots in a season and possessing one of the most picturesque high-post spin moves that you will ever see. While there are reasons for worry as Pullen and Kelly exit, thoughts of Rodney McGruder’s long-range shooting and Jordan Henriquez-Robert’s continued progression provide ample hope for the future.

What happens in the next chapter of this story? There will be plenty of time to pitch storylines as next season approaches. That said, after the twists 2010-2011 provided, little - beyond Frank Martin quitting to train for a fight against Clubber Lang - may come as a shock to K-State fans.

Spring Breakin'

2011-03-22T19:22:00.001-05:00

We’ll start with an apology. This Writing has nothing to do with break-dancing, though the apostrophized title might lead on to assume it does. For those unaware, the popular* break-dancing movie “Breakin’” shares the same construction of the word. Alas, I have never seen the film and I possess as much rhythm as a plastic spork. Please forgive the lack of electric boogaloos in this Writing.

*Term used as loosely as possible.

Now, on to the subject that this log will cover: spring break. It’s the annual week that I anticipate more than most as little as six years ago. After all, it meant a break from classes, a break from study, and a break from everyday inconveniences like bathing. (Scratch that last one.) Spring break was like a mandatory vacation, and it was great. Today, spring break mainly serves as a reason to be jealous of my friends and family members that teach. Sure, they’re underpaid and they have to deal with hellion kids and clueless parents alike, but they get one week off every spring. Unfair!

While spring break now affects my work-life in the same way that dinner menus in Panama affect my slumber, I will admit that there are some perks that come with the annual holiday. For one, it means that college students skip town like sane folks flee any home airing “Jersey Shore.” I have nothing against college students – after all, I was once one of them – but I must say that life is a little less hectic when they leave in droves. Traffic clears up, finding a parking spot is no longer akin to the late stages of a Chubby Bunny contest, and the number of inebriated shouts of “wooooo!” I hear through my apartment windows in the evening hours reduces significantly. For one week, the town I call home regains the feel of a quiet place in the Midwest.

How does one appreciate such a state? Thus far the wind (which seems to currently gusting at the speed of a military aircraft) has limited the opportunities to take in much of the outdoors. I ventured to the park yesterday to sit on a bench and read*, but the wind continually threatened to confiscate my paperback and swiftly deliver it to someone up north. (Do Nebraskans like Stephen King?)

*Is it possible that I’m actually 68 years old? I’m looking into it.

As a result, my spring break involves sitting in an office, driving home while hoping the wind does not cause my car to take flight, and then crafting prose about spring break. It may not sound like much, but it’s not bad.

… I guess I could always rent Breakin’.

Writing Feverishly

2011-03-17T15:42:00.001-05:00

First things first, I better get one thing straight: being sick is horrible. I had the pleasure of waking up at 3 this morning soaked with sweat and generally feeling as if my head was near a low flame. I tried to put the general lousiness behind me and return to my slumber, but such a task was akin to learning Latin during "The Price is Right." After an undetermined period of time (I don't track well when generally confounded by sleep deprivation), I made my way to my thermometer to take my temperature. When three digital digits appeared prior to the decimal, I had confirmation that one of those flu bugs that have been making the rounds had stopped by my place. I also had the sort of headache that makes a person check the sides of his head to ensure that he is not currently in the grasp of a medieval torture device. Back to bed!

From that early morning hour through 9 a.m., I probably slept for an hour-and-a-half. Believe it or not, that schedule does not meet my typical quota. Alas, where there's bad, there's often good. You see, today is the first TRUE day of the NCAA Tournament (sorry, opening round... you're dead to me), meaning that my television will be airing little other than hoops from 11 a.m. onward.

You know what they say: When life hands you lemons, stay on your couch and watch basketball.*

*The Writings: We really have no insight into popular vernacular.

With my day's schedule now cleared, there's plenty of time to keep updates coming on the day as it proceeds. If you only read one running account of a sick day this week, make it this one.

10:24 a.m. - While trying to get through NCAA pregame without falling asleep (note to self: record some studio shows to watch next time you can't sleep), I realize that today is St. Patrick's Day. I have no Irish luck, I'm not wearing green, and I don't see a pint of Guiness in my future... Apparently I'm the Grinch of St. Patty's.

10:34 a.m. - Pregame includes a short interview with Jimmer Fredette, the BYU guard who leads the nation in scoring. I cannot watch a Jimmer interview without expecting some sort of pitch to drink milk or visit the library at the end.

10:42 a.m. - Good news: we're just 18 minutes away from the start of the first game. Better news: we're just ten hours and 15 minutes from the start of K-State's game against Utah State. I have of goal of being able to sit up by that point without my head feeling like someone is jabbing my brain with the pokey end of a compass. It's good to have goals.

10:47 a.m. - Within a span of three minutes, the pregame show aired highlights of KU's loss to Northern Iowa in 2010 and of Kansas falling to Bucknell in 2005. Have I mentioned that I love March?

11:06 a.m. - Charles Barkley calls the Big East the most overrated basketball conference in the country. If you disagree, you're wrong. Just ask Chuck. Sure, Sir Charles may have once thrown a guy through a bar window, but he's undeniably entertaining on television. I don't think there's any correlation there, but I could be wrong.

11:24 a.m. - Four minutes into the first game of the day, West Virginia - coached by former K-Stater Bob Huggins - is shooting slightly less accurately than a blind, vertigo-stricken marksman. Remember, their opponent - Clemson - is the team that just competed in a "first round" game 38 hours ago. Lesson: sports make no sense.

11:43 a.m. - The second game of the day - Butler-Old Dominion - has begun and now my thumb will get a workout. For the first time ever, four networks are broadcasting the NCAA Tournament, meaning all games can be viewed in their entirety. I'd say that my head hurts just thinking about all that basketball, but we've already established that it hurts and I don't condone beating horses in any state of being.

11:53 a.m. - If Mario (of Super Mario Bros. fame) was a real person that wore suits, I am fairly certain that he would look identical to Old Dominion's coach. This update brought to you by the Council for Pointless Observations.

12:47 p.m. - Through fastidious research, I discovered that "rest" is a recommended remedy to things like the flu. Thus, I gave that a go, along with a healthy dose of off-brand Dayquil. (We'll call it Fakequil.) Have I made a miraculous recovery? Not exactly, but I'm no longer daydreaming about video game characters becoming basketball coaches... That's progress, right?

12:58 p.m. - Ever feel like you'd be better off letting a Latvian hobo make your bracket picks than deciding the winners yourself? Welcome to my world, as Louisville - one of my Final Four picks - is losing to Morehead State (a school seemingly named after a common phrase at cannibal dinners) 8-0 early on.

1:36 p.m. - Game one of the day wraps with West Virginia reigning as the victors. Broadcasters credit the Mountaineers' defense down the stretch. I credit their bright yellow shoes. How the opposing team can concentrate while continually asking "It's possible to make shoes that shade? Does that color even exist naturally in nature?" is beyond my comprehension.

1:50 p.m. - Like buzzer beaters? Butler wins with one, causing me to sit up so quickly that my brain seemingly stayed back on my pillow. Note to self: don't do that again.

2:55 p.m. - I've never had one of my Final Four picks lose in the 64-team round of the NCAA Tournament... Apparently there's a first time for everything. Morehead State just topped Louisville and I now know that there are a ton of people out there who feel a whole lot worse than I do... On that note, I've been sitting upright for 30 minutes now and my head has yet to explode. Progress.

3:11 p.m. - Like buzzer beaters? Wow, this sounds awfully familiar. Whether I'm encountering deja vu, suffering from 'quil-related hallucinations, or simply witnessing a great day of basketball, I'm not entirely sure. If my eyes don't deceive, though, Temple just beat Penn State with a bucket that left just 0.4 seconds on the clock. I'm not one to support overuse of common phrases that slyly refer to mental illness, but "March Madness" is pretty accurate in describing things so far.

Five hours and 1,000 words into this log, it's probably time to let things rest. After all, the Cats will take the court in five-and-a-half hours. That's just enough time to attempt to nap, get frustrated because I can't sleep, and then watch more basketball. Good times.

Bracket Busting

2011-03-14T19:54:00.001-05:00

As promised via a quick Writing mainly posted to mask the state of torpor that both my mind and my typing fingers * were in yesterday, it’s time for The Writings to break down the NCAA Tournament bracket. Three quick notes before we begin:

1.    This breakdown may have no semblance of order and will be comprised of random thoughts presented in a fashion that may bring the phrase “willy-nilly” to mind.
2.    Bracket thoughts are written for entertainment purposes only. Any attempt to use these ramblings points to aid in bracket pools will be judged swiftly and harshly. (Translation: When it comes to analysis, I am slightly less astute than water-fearing manatees. You will probably lose money and lose it quickly if you take these notes as gospel.)
3.    Note No. 3 is completely unnecessary. If you would like to know why, please refer to Note No. 3.

*As opposed to, you know, the nontyping fingers I possess.

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One team whose bracket situation we won’t be discussing is Colorado. If you are a Colorado fan, odds are strong that you were tearing up brackets in a fit of rage after Sunday’s selection show wrapped. The Buffalos beat one No. 4 seed (Texas), beat a No. 5 seed (K-State three times), beat an 11 seed (Missouri), and lost to two other tourney teams (KU and Texas A&M) by 7 points combined. It’s true, their nonconference schedule was slightly more difficult than tying one’s shoe, but I am still unsure how they are not more deserving of a spot in the 68-team field than the Clemson Tigers, who defeated one other tournament team all season long.

I assume that the Selection Committee just could not bear having a coach named Tad in the field.

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In a very daring move, I am predicting that the top two seeds meet to determine the winner of the East region. (The Writings: We’re not short on chalk.) Entering Sunday, I thought that Ohio State and North Carolina could make a pretty dandy (that’s right, dandy) championship game. Now it turns out that they will potentially meet just to reach the Final Four. I predict that the Tar Heels would trump the Buckeyes in the battle of nonsensical mascots.

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In the West region, it was difficult to refrain from picking Bucknell to advance, since – fueled by their victory over Kansas in 2005 (and the fact that I was probably the only person outside of Bucknell’s basketball program to predict that result) – I once purchased a school t-shirt from their online university bookstore. Alas, I don’t see them topping Connecticut this season. (Sorry, Bucknell.)

In the region, I think the winner comes down to Duke and UConn. While I really enjoy watching Kemba Walker for the Huskies, I think Coach K* and the Blue Devils** are destined to meet North Carolina (for the fourth time this season) in the Final Four.

*The Writings: We’d rather not type Coach Kryzezdkafkzyzydizsski

**I agree. Naming a school mascot after depressed residents of Hades IS strange.

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The popular pick to win the Southwest region is Kansas. Alas, making such a pick would violate the only strict, nonnegotiable, longstanding rule that I have when it comes to bracket predictions: never pick KU to advance beyond the second round. Sure, the rule doomed my bracket when they won the National Championship in 2008, but there have been occasions (Bucknell, Bradley, Northern Iowa) where the rule has proven valuable.

With Kansas out of the picture in round two, this Final Four spot seems pretty wide open. I trust No. 2 seed Notre Dame about as far as Rudy Ruettiger’s reach, so I have No. 3 Purdue and No. 4 Louisville meeting in the Elite Eight.

Who wins?

Louisville.

Why?

The answer has something to do with Coach Rick Pitino, but nothing to do with his hair.

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Last, but not least (in any way, shape, form or conjurable scenario) we get to K-State’s draw. In the 24 hours since the bracket has been released, there has been much discussion that Utah St. as a 12-seed could upset the No. 5 Wildcats. The Aggies, after all, only lost three games all season long; they’ll be playing closer to home than K-State; and they share a nickname with a squad that KSU already lost to this season. (That counts for something, right?) Naturally, the purple tint of my blood* won’t allow me to consider such a premise.

*I hope that’s not a result of mercury poisoning.

Beyond the Utahians (Utahns? Utihtes?), the bracket presents the opportunity for some interesting rematches for K-State. In the round of 32, KSU could potentially face Wisconsin, who dropped the Michael Beasley-led Wildcats from the tourney three years ago. The probable foe should K-State reach the Sweet 16 is the 1-seed Pittsburgh, but there’s a slim possibility that the Wildcats could face the Butler Bulldogs. Butler knocked off K-State in the Elite Eight last season and advanced to the tournament’s championship game. Continuing the rematch theme, should K-State win its way to the Elite Eight, they could face 2-seed Florida – who bested K-State earlier this season in one of the ugliest games ever recorded – or 3-seed BYU. Last season, the Wildcats sent the Cougars home from the tournament despite the fact that guard Jimmer Fredette entered the game touted as the top guard in the nation, the best scorer in years, and future president of the yet-to-be-formed Galactic Council of Unified Planets.

As for the region’s winner, I don’t think there’s a clear-cut favorite. Naturally, the longstanding “When in doubt, pick K-State” rule applies. For no real reason other than the fact that I’ve actually seen this team at its (impressive) best, I have K-State advancing to the Final Four.

-----

So we have a Final Four of North Carolina, Duke, Louisville and K-State. We also have a bracket with no real Cinderella teams, as the furthest I have a double-digit seed advancing is the Sweet 16. Add that factors together, and we end up with a bracket that is sure to have red marks all over in a week.

Where do we go from there? Who wins it all?

Answer: I can’t divulge said information at this time for fear of bad mojo. Forgiveness is requested.

-----

The Wildcats take the court Thursday night in Tucson, but opening round tournament games begin Tuesday night. Get your brackets ready. (Just don’t copy mine. It’s really a horrible idea.)

Coming Soon - Bracket Thoughts

2011-03-13T19:01:00.001-05:00

Another Selection Sunday has come and gone and another two hours of my life have been devoted to watching names of college basketball programs populate a bracket. Since the event is ~~relatively unknown and lacking much media coverage~~*, you can expect The Writings' take on the tournament soon. Here's a teaser: Colorado suffered a hosing that should go down in hosing history as one of the hosingest hosings of all.**

*This line stricken from proper publication because it exceeded the Internet's limit of allowable sarcasm.

**Possible exaggeration, though they did get hosed.

Inspiring thoughts

2011-03-08T19:55:00.000-06:00

The National Pork Board recently determined that the slogan "Pork: The Other White Meat" was played out, replacing it with the (apparently) much hipper "Pork: Be Inspired." How any board, let alone one whose president may end every meeting by saying "That's all folks!", determines that their long-standing slogan is no longer effective is not something I have any insight to. I do, however, know that the new slogan is effective. After all, after eating a pork chop dinner, I often feel inspired... Inspired to nap.

----------

We're now just days away from Selection Sunday, meaning that picking bracket winners will soon be a topic of much discussion. If you're looking for a strategy to pick the winners of the 68-team field, I have a quick suggestion to pass along...

1. Write the names of all 68 teams on 3x5 cards.
2. On the back of each card, write the name of an alum of that school.
3. Draw a picture of each school's mascot on each card.
4. Compose a haiku poem about each mascot.
5. Read the haiku poems to the clerk at your nearest gas station.
6. Shake off the clerk's taunts and go back home.
7. Dip all the 3x5 cards that you previously wrote on in cake batter.
8. Place all cards in a 10-gallon hat.
9. Place the hat in a trash bag.
10. Hang the bag on a dart board.
11. Throw the dart board, bag, and all cards away.
12. Pick K-State to win it all.

----------

Upon picking up my mail today, I came to the realization that someone needs to invent a device that automatically trashes junk mail the moment that it is inserted into a mailbox. Unfortunately, I possess neither the cognitive ability nor the mechanical inclination manufacture such a product. Readers, I urge you to contact me if you are capable of inventing such a product. I'll even split the profits with you, 90-10. Hello, lucrative riches.

Stuffing the ballot box

2011-03-04T22:27:00.003-06:00

Warning: The following Writing is a long and rambling one about baseball and players that once wore Kansas City Royals uniforms. If your interest in baseball is akin to the interest dachshunds have in philosophy dissertations, this may not be the post for you. That is all.

The Kansas City Royals recently announced that they are opening the voting for their team Hall of Fame to fans around the world. This, dear readers, is not something I can ignore. The inaugural ballot contains the names of 18 former Royals; 18 names synonymous (or anonymous) with the success (or failure) of the club over its 42 years of existence. Here's my take on the voting.

Brian Anderson
Case for induction: He arrived in Kansas City via trade in 2003 (the only season the Royals have been near playoff contention since the 1994 strike) and won five of his seven starts down the stretch. He pitched two complete games and had fans genuinely excited about his future with the team.
Case against induction: His future with the team. In 2004, Anderson won six games while posting a 5.64 earned run average (note to those lacking baseball stat knowledge: an earned run average over 5 is generally considered horrendous). In 2005, he started just six games, with a 6.75 ERA.
Verdict: No, no, no

Kevin Appier
Case for: He is one of the best pitchers in team history. His 1993 season (18 wins, 2.56 ERA, 186 strikeouts) was worthy of that season's Cy Young award, but voters were seemingly swayed by the fact that Jack McDowell won more games. Finished third in Rookie of the Year voting in 1990 and was an all-star in 1995.
Case against: The Royals traded him in 1999 and essentially got three unsalted sunflower seeds and a dip of pre-chewed tobacco in return... No, this is nothing against Appier, but I have to get potshots in on horrible trades when I have a chance.
Verdict: Absolutely

Al Cowens
Case for: Cowens was an every day outfielder for three Royals teams that made the postseason. In 1977 he hit 23 home runs, knocked in 112 RBI, won a Gold Glove and finished second to Rod Carew in MVP voting.
Case against: Though he played in KC for his first six seasons, he played for three more teams after his departure. Aside from 1977, he never hit more than 9 home runs or batted over .295 for Kansas City.
Verdict: The toughest call on the ballot for me. At his best (1977) he was one of the very best, but he was basically a league-average hitter every other season he played in KC. Beyond that, his career postseason numbers (.228 on-base percentage, .291 slugging percentage& another note to those illiterate in the baseball stat vernacular: trust me, that's bad) were weak. Can ONE transcendent season catapult a player to the hall of fame? I vote no.

Al Fitzmorris
Case for: Pitched eight seasons for Kansas City, winning 70 games with an ERA under 3.50. Fitzmorris showed versatility, beginning his career as a strong reliever and evolving into a dependable starter.
Case against: Fitzmorris was steady and dependable, but never among the very best.
Verdict: No... Prepare for a lot of these.

Jason Grimsley

Case for: Grimsley put together two pretty strong seasons as a set-up man for the Royals.
Case against: Grimsley put together one wildly underwhelming season as a set-up man for the Royals. Also, set-up men don't make halls of fame. He was implicated in the great steroid investigation of 2006 and also played burglar in Cleveland's Great Bat Caper of 1994.
Verdict: No, but if he really wants in, he might sneak in through some vents

Bo Jackson
Case for: Bo knows fame. He hit home runs so hard that folks sympathized with the baseballs. He made throws from the outfield that seemed to defy laws of nature. He once ran UP an outfield wall. He's one of the greatest athletes in history, he was subject of one of the most memorable marketing campaigns ever, and he was even featured in a Saturday morning cartoon alongside the greatest basketball player and the greatest hockey player ever.
Case against: His actual career with KC was cut short due to a devastating football injury. He played football for the Raiders, which is unforgivable in some cases. He struck out a ton and rarely took a walk.
Verdict: Yes. Sure, his career numbers aren't stunning, but the Royals have never had a player as nationally renowned as Bo at his peak. Beyond that, at his peak, Bo was a great player. What if he'd never gotten hurt? is one of the great hypothetical questions in baseball.

Mike Macfarlane

Case for: Mac played 11 seasons for the Royals, hitting double-digit home runs in five of them. Served as a baseball magnet (that, or he made really bad first impressions), leading the league in beanballs-received twice. Case against: You're going to notice a developing theme... MacFarlane was good, but never great. To me, a Hall of Fame honors those who, at their peaks, were among the very best in the sport. For MacFarlane, that was not the case.
Verdict: No

Darrell May
Case for: He had a 3.77 ERA and tallied 10 victories in 2003.
Case against: May led the league in losses (19) and surrendered 38 home runs in 2004, leading the author to pound his head against a variety of inanimate objects. May's career record in Kansas City is 23-37.
Verdict: No sir

Brent Mayne
Case for: He played nine seasons in Kansas City.
Case against: He had a .305 on-base percentage and 20 home runs over those nine seasons.
Verdict: No

Jose Offerman
Case for: Offerman could work an at-bat and had good speed. In 1998, he had an on-base percentage of .403, he hit 11 triples, and he stole 45 bases.
Case against: He may have been allergic to leather. He came to the Royals as a shortstop, but committed 10 errors in just 36 games at the position. After his first season in KC, he never played another game at shortstop... Never. Though his offense was nice, he was never an all-star in his three seasons in Kansas City. Verdict: No, with 10 E's on the end

Darrell Porter
Case for: Porter was a three-time all-star over four seasons in Kansas City. He also finished in the top ten in MVP voting in 1978 and 1979. With 20 home runs, 112 RBI, and a league-leading 121 walks in 1979, he owns the best single-season ever by a Royals catcher. (Take THAT, Sal Fasano!) Wore glasses during games& Ahh, those were simpler times.
Case against: Only played four seasons in Kansas City. Played for the Cardinals AGAINST the Royals in the 1985 World Series.
Verdict: Yes. At his peak, he was one of the best catchers in baseball and he played a big role on postseason teams in 1977, 1978, and 1980.

Joe Randa
Case for: Gave the Royals a solid regular at the hot corner from 1999 through 2004. He also played for KC earlier in his career and served as a piece in the deal that brought Jay Bell and Jeff King to Kansas City. Earned the nickname "The Joker " because of a seemingly natural smile that rarely left his face.
Case against: Never a great player; never an all-star. Randa was a steady third baseman, but he topped out at 16 home runs in an era where knocking 40 was not uncommon.
Verdict: No, but I bet he's still smiling.

Kevin Seitzer
Case for: Seitzer played six seasons in KC, compiling an OPS+ of 115 over that time. In 1987, he was an all star, finished second in Rookie of the Year voting to some nobody named Mark McGwire, and led the American League in hits. He currently serves as the Royals' hitting coach.
Case against: Seitzer was good, but never great. If the Hall of Fame is simply for those who were good in their time in Kansas City, they're going to have to plan an expansion for the stadium.
Verdict: No

Scott Service
Case for: Service, a reliever for Kansas City from mid-1997 to 1999, struck out 95 batters in just 82.2 innings pitched in his first full season in KC.
Case against: In his second season as a Royal, Service gave up an average of 10 hits and five walks per 9-innings with an ERA over 6.
Verdict: No, though I'm fairly certain he must have a family member in the committee that put the ballot together.

Michael Tucker
Case for: His at-bat music at Kauffman Stadium was incredibly catchy. His first tenure with the club ended when he was traded for future all-star and Gold Glove winner Jermaine Dye.
Case against: It's not a great sign when your career highlights involve a beat from a Mystikal track and the fact that a team once traded you for a far superior player.
Verdict: No

U.L. Washington
Case for: Played shortstop for three Kansas City postseason clubs. Stole 40 bases in 1983. Had the name U.L. Washington, which sounds an awful lot like a pseudonym for someone in the witness protection program.
Case against: Never carried an on-base percentage over .338. Led the league in errors at SS in 1983. At his best, he was a league-average shortstop.
Verdict: No

John Wathan
Case for: John Wayne Wathan (a.k.a, The Duke) provided the Royals with an incredibly versatile utility player during some of their most successful seasons. He played on seven postseason teams from 1976-1985 and logged games at catcher, first base, right field and left field over that stretch. Wathan gave great credence to the phrase runs well for a catcher, once stealing 36 bases in a season. (Six more than any Royal in 2010.)
Case against: Measured with OPS+ (basically a fancy way of determining a player's value at the plate) Wathan was subpar. His career OPS+ is 83, while the total of an average player is typically considered to be 100. He only played 100+ games in a season three times, and - at his best - he was not an all-star level player.
Verdict: No. Sorry, Duke.

Kris Wilson
Case for: He once wore a Royals uniform during Major League baseball games.
Case against: He pitched during some of the aforementioned games, compiling a 5.32 ERA over 90 games with the team.
Verdict: Nope

There you have it; 18 players on the ballot, and I find three to be worthy candidates. After 1,700+ words on the subject, two things seem clear. 1. I may need to be more lenient. 2. You may have too much time on your hands.

A letter to Winter...

2011-02-25T16:47:00.002-06:00

Dear Winter,

It is with sorrow and deep regret that I write this letter. You see, over the 28 years we have worked together on a seasonal basis, we have created many fond memories. From sledding and snow forts to college snow days, good times were bountiful. Somewhere along the line, though, you changed.

I tried to brush off the wrist-fracturing slip you threw my way a few years back. I turned a blind eye to the 2009 Icepocalypse that left so many in the area without power. After all, who needs electricity when you have frozen water? (See? That argument still doesn’t make sense.) I figured you might just be going through some sort of phase where you clamored for attention; like you were trying to be a Jonas brother or Kardashian sister. Alas, this winter has proven that your issues go far beyond a “look at me” complex… Now you simply won’t go away. What was the breaking point? Perhaps it was the consecutive snowstorms. Perhaps it was the 40-degree dip over a span of 12 hours. Or perhaps it was the fact that you brought traffic to such a standstill on Thursday night that it took me 45 minutes to travel from my home to another location less than four miles away. The year is not 1850, I know not how to mend a broken wagon axle, and none of my family members are suffering from dysentery. Put simply, this is not the Oregon Trail, Winter. Such travel escapades are simply inexcusable. I have no choice but to ask for your resignation as an annual season.

It’s true, not all of your traits are the sort that might trigger Jack Nicholson’s character in “The Shining” to transition into a psychotic, Ed McMahon-quoting delirium. After all, snow spread over an open field and dusted over trees can create a landscape that many find “majestic” or “beautiful.” You can even help bring forth the inner kindness of individuals, leading neighbors to assist in shoveling driveways and even encouraging strangers to help push cars up an icy hill.

Unfortunately, with the good, there’s both bad and ugly. It seems far too many in the Midwest approach driving in snow as if it’s some sort of master’s-level equation, and they aren’t anywhere near solving it. Wheels spinning in place? I bet stomping on my gas pedal as if it’s a spider scurrying across a tile floor will do the trick. Uh oh, I’m losing traction as I careen down the road… I better slam on my brakes as if I’m headed toward the Grand Canyon. Basically, the roads turn into a circus… A circus where the clowns driving tiny cars operate as if inebriated and nearsighted, and snow cones are mud-flavored and fed to folks by a batting cage pitching machine.

I’d like to give you another chance, Winter. I really would. Unfortunately, you have proven yourself untrustworthy. How can I be expected to continually support a season whose quadrennial Olympics are slightly less entertaining than flossing one’s teeth?

Enough is enough, Winter. It’s time for a change. Resign now and we will negotiate a deal that will allow you to return for 24 hours each Christmas that falls in an even-numbered year. Decline this request resignation and you will risk legal action. The choice is yours.

Sincerely,

Derek Larson

Weekend wisdom

2011-02-20T22:26:00.001-06:00

I'm passing this along because - oddly - most of The Writings known readership (a group of insomniacs seeking sleep aides) do not show the author's enthusiasm for the NBA. Arguments that folks have against the NBA seem countless, ranging from "they're all overpaid" to "they don't work hard until the playoffs." The pay issue is one I can't argue with, but I think the lackadaisical play issue is just something folks like to say without actually watching games to support the argument. Whatever the case, I'm nearing an off-topic rant, and that's not one expects from The Writings. (Nope, you expect tales of my awkward personal interactions... There's always next time.)

Back to wisdom, this weekend's glowing example came during the NBA Slam Dunk Contest on Saturday night. After an assortment of slams mixed in with awkward fanfare and the most ear-crippling announcing duo possible (Reggie and Cheryl Miller... Horrible... I'd rather listen to Carrot Top and Gallagher talk prop "comedy"), the night wrapped with LA Clippers forward Blake Griffin dunking over a car.

It was an impressive feat. (I haven't jumped over a car in years.) It was a nice dunk... but it wasn't an AMAZING dunk; not one worthy of the instant reaction that it received from most everyone in attendance. It wasn't the best dunk of the night, and thankfully Charles Barkley was there to put things in proper perspective. How does one effectively convey the message that presentation was nice but, overall, there wasn't much substance to something in particular?

Mr. Barkley?

"That's like when you have a pretty girl, if she's dumb, it don't matter."

I can't top that. Use your newfound wisdom wisely.

Roses are...

2011-02-14T17:27:00.001-06:00

It's Valentine's Day. This means that florists will stay in business for another year. It means that fancy restaurants everywhere will have folks spilling out the doors. It means that several husbands around the country will sleep on their couches tonight, having forgotten about the entire holiday. It also means that vernaculars, written communicae, and the Internet are infested with sappy "Roses are red..." poems. This is an infection that must be cured. We at The Writings have decided that the only way to put an end to the thought that such poems might be in any way romantic is to compile the worst examples of said poems. Here's a start. Please feel free to pitch in if you can.

Roses are red; violets are blue;
I'd put your name here, but I haven't a clue.

Roses are red, but roses have thorns;
I'll see you tonight, you can help treat my corns.

Roses are red; a rose is a flower;
On such a special occasion, I might even shower.

Roses are red; ... well, some roses anyway. Roses can also be white, yellow, pink, or even striped. There are actually over 100 species within the family Rosaceae. They're all perennials and many are native to Asia. Roses are most often used for ornamental purposes and they have been used in that manner for thousands of years. I'm a big fan of roses. In fact, I can tell you a lot more about them if you like. I'm going to assumed that your stunned silence means, "yes, I would like to hear more." Did you know that roses are even used medicinally. No really, it's true...

Roses are red; this is no fling;
Put on something pretty, it's time for Burger King.

Roses are red; my online avatar has tremendous stats;
Have you seen my collection of porcelain cats?

Roses are red; my formal title is mister;
Sweetheart, you're great, but can I call your sister?

-----
Yes, the fact that it is Valentine's Day also means that tonight is the Sunflower Showdown at Bramlage Coliseum. I'll be headed that way soon. Frankly, I won't allow myself to write anything else about the game, as I seem to have an adverse effect on most things I appreciate. That's a topic for the future.

Cards of the Day - Feb. 12, 2011

2011-02-12T13:46:00.001-06:00

Dick Vitale's voice can make a person alter their plans. Sure, I've detailed inane comments from a number of broadcasters over the life of The Writings, but Vitale is like a different species (Dickius Vitalus). Honestly, I care not if someone is a "PTP'er" or a "diaper dandy." In fact, if one really ponders the catch phrases, they mind end up assuming that Vitale spends his spare time getting wildly excited for recently potty-trained children. For me, today it's all too much. The game - Ohio St.-Wisconsin - is one I'm mildly interested in, but certainly not one where I feel like I need to catch all the enthralling commentary that accompanies it. Instead, it's time to examine a bit of childhood nostalgia. After all, it's been far too long since I wrote about trading cards.

Dale Carter - 1993 Pro Set Power

Carter is one of the best defensive backs in Chiefs history, and I'm nothing if I'm not biased when it comes to my favorite teams. These factors, plus the fact that the folks at Pro Set were apparently ancestors of Samuel F. B. Morse. The description on the back of Carter's card reads, "In 1992, Carter telegrammed his game-breaking ability to the league the first time he touched the ball..." It was 1992; what was he doing using a telegraph? Was he stuck in history museum. I don't ask for much (editor's note: lie), but couldn't the Pro Set folks have referred to faxing instead of sending a telegram? Or, embracing the technology of the era, maybe they could have even written, "In 1992, Carter phoned the beepers of teams around the league. Upon checking their pager messages, locating a pay phone, and borrowing a quarter from the nearest guy wearing a fanny pack, teams were informed of Carter's game-breaking ability..."

I think it sounds good.

Don Mattingly - 1994 Bowman

On the back, a scout talks of why Mattingly - who won the 1985 MVP over George Brett despite the fact that the Royals went on to the World Series and that Brett had a higher batting average, on-base percentage, and slugging percentage (bitter? Me?) - was not drafted until the 19th round in 1979. "He didn't show the tools that were in vogue then," the scout says.

I assume that means that he hadn't grown his mustache yet.

Jon Nunnally - 1996 Metal Universe

There's no descriptive paragraph on the back of this card, and that's probably for the best. The illustration on the front seems to get the point across. Nunnally - a former Royals outfield who hit a home run in his first major league at-bat - is shown apparently navigating a minefield in effort to catch a falling mine in the webbing of his mitt. It's true, the Royals were lousy in the mid-90s (and the late 90s... and nearly the entire 21st century to this point), but depicting their once-promising young outfielder (he was eventually traded to Cincinnati and may have fallen into a bottomless pit) in the midst of a war-torn minefield seems a bit harsh. After all, they didn't even have Neifi Perez or Chuck Knoblauch by that point.

Unfortunately, it seems that no picture of this card exists in the entirety of the Internet and my scanner is on the fritz. (Who knew that a printer/scanner might quit working if one goes without using it for four years?)

Mike Remlinger - 1992 Donruss

Poor Mr. Remlinger, not only is he stuck wearing a throwback uniform that makes him look like a member of a 1919 prison team, but the folks at Donruss mention missing most of the 1988 season due to an elbow injury as a "career highlight." Donruss: Enjoying the career-threatening misery of others since 1992.

Asking my source

2011-02-11T20:00:00.001-06:00

If you keep up with K-State sports at all, you know that this week has been a whirlwind of rumors, allegations, innuendo, and other intriguing terms in relation to the status of senior forward Curtis Kelly. Kelly - who sat out the first three games of the season because coach Frank Martin apparently did not like the way Kelly was approaching practice, and then sat six-games in the heart of the season because he is apparently obsessive when it comes to bargain shopping - has been practicing all week and will play tomorrow, per Martin's comments yesterday. I'd comment more one the subject, but my "source" tells me that my reaction to comments like these (advance to 2:10 mark) from Martin would result in me curling up in the fetal position as if I was being attacked by a grizzly.

Mondays

2011-02-07T17:21:00.000-06:00

I encountered someone with “The Mondays” today, and the result was not one many might desire. Those unfamiliar should know that having The Mondays basically involves experiencing the frustrations in life that might only seem to occur on Mondays – the oft-dreaded start to a work week. The origins of the phrase are unknown (as far as I’m concerned… The Writings: Who Says Writing Involves Research?), but said phrase was made popular in the film “Office Space,” in which an ultimate result is a scheme gone wrong followed by workplace arson. It’s true, The Mondays are not anything to take lightly.

As far as I’m aware, if you have ever said any of the following, you may have suffered from a case of The Mondays:

- “I lost my keys.”

- “I locked my keys in my car.”

- “I locked my car in my house.”

- “I lost my house.”

- “I overslept.”

- “I underslept.”

- “I slept in my neighbor’s boat.”

- “I slept under my neighbor’s boat.”

- “My girlfriend discovered that my sales job at Vandelay Industries is a farce.”

- “My coworkers discovered that my girlfriend is a farce.”

- “I discovered that my life is a farce.”

- “My credit card was declined at lunch.”

- “My credit card was declined at lunch with a client.”

- “My presence was declined at lunch with a client, though he did ask for my credit card to stay.”

- “My dog ran away.”

- “My cat ran away.”

- “My goldfish ran away, despite the fact that it cannot run.”

- “Someone keyed my car.”

- “Someone vandalized my home.”

- “17 yokels that were raised by shrews robbed my home, hijacked my car, and left me with nothing but a 1989 Don Aase baseball card and a pair of non-matching socks.”

- “I lost one of my non-matching socks.”

Whether or not the girl I encountered today had previously uttered any of the above remains a mystery, as I don’t make it a habit of asking strangers for printed transcripts of their daily conversations and inner monologues upon meeting them. No, the first clue of this case of the Mondays unfortunately came at my expense.

(Insert appropriate appalled gasp here.)

While the drive-thru attendee at my favorite local fast-food establishment passed my order through the comically small window, she managed to fumble my cup and spill a portion of my carbonated beverage. The splash zone was unfortunate, somehow extending from my driver’s side window all the way to the passenger seat. Had it not been for the fact that my pants resided in said splash zone, I might have marveled at the way the soda seemed to defy physics. Instead, I put napkins into immediate action, attempting to sop the pop before my car seats were stained and my cup-holder was left in a sticky state that would make future passengers wonder why I had apparently attempted to manufacture taffy in my motor vehicle.

Alas, it was not the fact that the drive-thru gatekeeper also gave me stale French fries, or the fact that she forgot to provide some ketchup packets (despite specifically asking me if I might desire extra ketchup – a query to which I responded, “Yes, that would be great.” … Apparently, she was just taking a survey...) that cemented my diagnosis of this case of The Mondays. No, said realization came directly after the employee chose to baptize my dungarees with Pepsi. Rather than apologize profusely (or even minimally), she instead followed with “I think that cup spilled a little.”

Apparently she was curious whether the Mondays were contagious.

Brrrr

2011-02-02T16:51:00.003-06:00

In the denouement* of my last Writing, I mentioned that more thoughts on the ice and snow would be on the way. I’m a man of my word, however there seems to be a more pressing weather-related issue. It’s true that snow is everywhere, leaving every yard, sidewalk, and street looking as if they’ve been encompassed by the fallout from a Hostess powdered donut factory. And, sure, the snowy roads do give me ample opportunity to put into practice everything that I’ve learned from The History Channel’s “Ice Road Truckers.” (Rule No. 1: Avoid ice roads and the truckers that occupy them.) The snow is rough, but the cold is far worse.

*Let usage of “denouement” serve as proof that I passed my freshman English course many years ago... Surprising, I know.

The cold we’re getting (-4 with the wind chill at noon today) is the kind that makes penguins feel smart for not migrating. It’s the kind that leaves the dials in your car frozen and difficult to turn, while your engine makes a sound more like someone asking “Are you serious? You expect me to move?” than the force behind a matriculating motor vehicle. It’s the kind of cold that makes a person long to see the big people wearing far too little that always accompany summer. Lousy weather.

The best way to combat said cold? Stay indoors or move to warmer climate. Unfortunately, those options are not always realistic. (Oddly, many jobs require the employee to show up in order to provide them with a paycheck.) Knowing that the outdoors are unavoidable – since I’ve yet to construct a series of heated, underground tunnels that lead to my workplace as well as other hotspots around town – I’ve resorted to layering clothing. From doubling up on socks to wearing three different shirts, I’ve basically become a walking closet. The result? A warmer Derek, though one with ever more laundry to wash.

On the drive to work this morning, I did notice one person that took a different route to keeping warm. Clad in jeans and a sweatshirt with no coat, jacket, parka, hoodie, vest, or life preserver to speak of, this guy* had apparently decided to simply pretend that it was not cold. Was it working? My observation was inconclusive, though he did seem to look jealously at my heated car as he crossed the crosswalk… Then again, maybe that expression was just the result of him not being able to feel his face.

*This youngster looked to be headed to class and he was wearing a K-State football sweatshirt. If he was indeed a KSU football player, I look forward to seeing him on the field next season… That is, if he recovers from the hypothermia and frostbite.

Luckily, there seems to be hope of waking from this frigid nightmare. After all, Punxatawney Phil – the rodent who apparently has a greater brain capacity than all meteorologists combined – reportedly did not see his shadow this morning. Using the sort of elementary logic that comes with many traditions (bunnies for Easter? OF COURSE!), this means that Spring will soon arrive. For the sake of my Midwestern existence, I hope that groundhog is right. Sure, he may not have seen his shadow because he’s ridden with hypothermia or maybe he’s been blind ever since an unfortunate bar fight after the 76ers won their 1982 NBA title. Honestly, the fur ball could be lying about the whole thing just because he does not want to suffer the wrath of some crazed Spring enthusiast. Whatever the case, I think that the 2010-2011 Winter has served its purpose.

That purpose? Forcing the author to walk with the speed of a geriatric tortoise in order to avoid slipping on any ice. Lousy winter.

I'll learn

2011-01-31T17:44:00.001-06:00

It seems that, once again, I jinxed a team I root for with my positive thoughts conveyed through written medium. K-State not only suffered a humiliating loss to rival Kansas on Saturday, but also lost one of the highest-rated players in the history of the program today when sophomore Wally Judge chose to leave the program. The ability is a gift(/curse). Someday I’ll learn that cynicism is the proper way to approach things and that, when it comes to sports, I can’t have nice things. Someday. In the mean time, I’ll concentrate on not showing the balance of a one-legged barstool outdoors. As has been well-documented here (and by my friends and family) ice has proven to be my mortal enemy in the past. It’s the Bowser to my Mario, the Dr. Evil to my Austin Powers, the Voldemort (gasp!) to my Harry Potter, and the booze to my random yokel that eventually appears on Cops. It is all these evils and more, and now… it’s everywhere.

(Cue dramatic montage of water freezing, folks slipping, and cars sliding uncontrollably into others, all set to ominous-sounding music.)

Wish me luck. (Or, perhaps, ill will, if you have the same luck that I do when it comes to things you like.) Beyond that, expect more weather-related blogging soon. (Please, don't let the thought of being subjected to more of my writing drive you to spending the next few days attempting to replicate the life of an eskimo.)

The 23rd-Best KSU Basketball Analysis That Money Can't Buy

2011-01-25T18:11:00.003-06:00

It’s been far too long since I last dedicated a Writing to detailed analysis (read: observations bathed in purple Kool-Aid) of K-State basketball. This is inexcusable and the governing board of this blog (a 1992 Skybox basketball card of Fat Lever and an expired can of Green Giant green beans) are threatening excommunication unless the issue is soon resolved. This is a threat I take seriously.

How long has it been? Since the last K-State Writing (that didn’t involve the author growing physically ill thanks to a loss to Texas A&M):

- Kansas State has lost 7 of 18 games;

- The Wildcats have used eight different starting lineups;
- Seniors Jacob Pullen and Curtis Kelly were proven the worst secret shoppers in Manhattan;
- Transfer Freddy Asprilla quit the team to return to Colombia;
- Wally Judge sat out due to unidentified reasons;
- Wally Judge returned to the lineup, played effectively, and seemed to redeem himself;
- Wally Judge saw his minutes reduced to that of a kettle corn vendor for unidentified reasons;
- Pullen said he was not interested in playing in the NIT, effectively conveying the message that the team was not giving up;
- Media and fans misinterpreted the comment, thinking Pullen was saying that he would quit the team if the team ended up in the NIT.
- Derek slapped his forehead in cartoon-like fashion when he realized how many folks had misinterpreted Pullen;
- Kansas State picked up new uniforms;
- The Wildcats dropped from No. 3 in the nation to being unranked and not receiving a single vote from a member of the press. (Somehow authorship of The Writings has yet to earn me a vote in the AP Poll. Contact your congressman.);
- K-State fans melted down to the point that an outside observer might have assumed that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were buying sugar cubes at the local market or that the sky was one slight breeze away from collapsing onto all that the eyes see.

As you can see, this basketball season has been quite a ride, and it’s not even February. The Wildcats went from preseason Big 12 favorite to a team in danger of missing the NCAA Tournament entirely, marking a tumble rarely seen in college basketball. Perhaps the sky is falling. Perhaps the program is doomed to return to the days where recruiting coups came in the form of 7-foot volleyball players and guys with the athleticism of George Wendt. Perhaps Bramlage Coliseum would make a really nifty aquarium. Or perhaps this season has simply been a perfect storm of “what can go wrong will go wrong,” and there are still reasons for hope. My guess is the latter.

Consider Rodney McGruder. The sophomore guard shoots with a stroke out of an instructional video, but his greatest strength lies in his ability to get to the basketball. The phrase “nose for the ball” is cliché, and I never gave it much credence. Then I saw McGruder play this season. It’s uncanny and may be inexplicable, but he just seems to have a knack for being in the right place at the right time. How else do you explain a 6’4 guard leading
this team in rebounding? Before being knocked out of the game (lousy floor) on Monday night, McGruder made one of the biggest plays, chasing down a rebound as if it were a baby stroller rolling into traffic and then passing it to the safety of Pullen’s arms. (Note: The baby stroller analogy ends here, as it’s not great to think of Pullen then chucking the stroller through the net of a 10-foot goal.) Pullen took the pass and canned a 3-pointer, putting the Wildcats up by nine and helping push them to a 69-61 victory. The best illustration of McGruder’s ability that my feeble mind can craft is this: if 200 people stood on the Bramlage Coliseum floor and a $100* bill was dropped from the rafters, drifting to the floor through air-conditioned breezes, I have no doubt that McGruder would end up catching it.

*That's $100 in Monopoly money. We’re not going through the “impermissible benefits” thing again.

Consider Shane Southwell and Will Spradling. In previous seasons, coach Frank Martin has had patience with true freshmen… The sort of patience a grizzly bear has with an inebriated woodsman trying to coddle one of
its cubs. Playing time fluctuates, ears ring from shouts on the sideline, and the frosh ultimately ends up with a really good seat during crunch time. For much of the season, those roles have held true for Southwell and Spradling, however both seem to be earning the confidence of the 2010 Big 12 Coach of the Year.

Spradling earned a starting role earlier this season, but struggles to catch up with the speed of Big 12 basketball soon found him returning to a reserve role and losing backup point guard minutes to Juevol Myles.

The best free throw shooter on the team*, Spradling is back to seeing significant minutes, scoring 17 points in the Baylor victory and icing the game at the foul line.

*Contrary to popular belief, that is not akin to picking out the least awkward photo of me from my teenage years. Spradling is legitimately good at shooting free throws.

Southwell remained mostly anonymous* through the first half of the season, earning nicknames like “that kid on the bench that jumps up and down a lot” and “not Nino Williams.” However, out of seemingly nowhere, the Bronx-native earned a promotion to the starting lineup in the midst of conference play. A 6-6 swingman that reminds some (translation: me) of former Wildcat Akeem Wright, Southwell defends with lengthy arms and has the sort of court vision that had Martin mention him as a point guard candidate before the season. He still struggles with ball-handling, but Monday night he showcased a passing ability that few other K-Staters possess. Time after time on Monday night, Southwell zipped passes through defenders to the waiting hands of his teammates. Chest passes are unorthodox on the gridiron, but Southwell showed enough accuracy that he could possibly be the football Wildcats’ best option under center next fall.

*How anonymous? Southwell’s name was misspelled (“Souhtwell”) on the new road jersey’s that the Wildcat’s donned against Texas A&M. Seriously.

Consider the Wildcats’ roster. The featured cast (starters plus top contributors off the bench) has seen more turnover this season than Saturday Night Live saw in the 1990s. Pullen and Kelly, both preseason all-conference picks, have both missed time due to suspensions. Jamar Samuels, last year’s Big 12 Sixth Man of the Year, missed time because of an “eye injury” (though he unfortunately never sported an eye patch). Freddy Asprilla, a

transfer who started 13 games early this season, is no longer even on the same continent. Nick Russell, a sophomore guard who started 14 games, seems to now have an ultimate express pass for “The Ride of the Pine” (No lines! No waiting! A reserved seat every game!), and Judge - an 11-game starter - is sharing a seat. Ten different players have started. Fourteen different players have served as relied-upon members of the rotation at times this season. It's not easy to find consistency on the court when there's none surrounding the guys who are playing. If (and this season that's an if deserving of a font larger than your computer screen) the Wildcats avoid further roster catastrophe are close to nailing down a consistent rotation, they might just have an opportunity to focus on the aspects of the game that made them successful last season: a harassing defense and junkyard, do-anything-to-get-the-basketball attitude. (Knocking down shots helped a little bit, too.)

The remainder of the schedule is not easy, with games against the nation's No. 6, No. 7., and no. 11 teams still remaining, but the Wildcats still have the talent and - on the right night - the desire that had conference coaches picking them as the top team in the league prior to the season. If they want a trip to the tournament, they can't expect a cakewalk.*

*Though it would be pretty weird if that's what they ended up with: a literal cakewalk. Imagine the heads of the NCAA telling Frank Martin that his team goes to the tourney if he strolls to the right cake at a local fair. That's good television.

It’s for these reasons and more (including a possible lack of oxygen being transported to my brain) that I refuse to give up on the hope for this basketball season. Maybe the world is not ending. Maybe the Wildcats are turning things around. There's one way to find out. Wait.

(And how does one react if the sky is actually falling, anyway? Wear a helmet everywhere? That’s trouble for us who wear XL ballcaps.)

quickthoughts

2011-01-21T18:19:00.000-06:00

What happens when quick thoughts are not brief enough for Twitter's wickedly unyielding character limit? They earn a home at The Writings. Welcome, quickthoughts.

That's good news, right?
As I looked at some news on Michael Beasley - former K-State hoopster, Spongebob enthusiast, individual in need of a haircut, and subject to a recent ankle injury - today, I came across a story with the following headline: "Rambis admits Beasley's ankle could linger." I took this as good news. After all, the alternative (an ankle taking off to start a new life as the body-part-equivalent of a carnie - Would that be a nostril? Not always pleasing to look at, but they do serve a purpose) would not bode well for someone who depends on said ankle to run and jump.

Alas, it turns out that genius that crafted said headline did so while embracing the popular trend of being ridiculously lazy when it comes to using words and omitting the trisyllabic noun "injury." It turns out it's the ankle injury that could linger, which is not the positive that one might originally construe. Whatever the case, when it comes to Beasley's ankle, I hope it decides to linger, as well. The life of a nostril carnie is not one that many would pick.

... but you can fake logic, apparently
An area fast food sign advertised an interesting message today, relating to their new freshly cut, sea-salted, rabbi-blessed french fries. (Okay, one of those may be made up.) The message? "YOU CAN'T FAKE REAL."

It was a mistake to read this while driving, as I nearly careened into a nearby pile of snow. You can't fake real? Of course you can. That's what fake is: not real. Even Merriam-Webster's online Dictionary/Thesaurus/Translator/Dating network (... Give them time) clearly lists "real" as an antonym of "fake." Though it may sound preposterous, it seems that someone in the fast food industry may not have a firm grasp of crafting intelligent sentences. If anyone at said fast food eatery is reading this, I might suggest some new wording. Perhaps, "YOU CAN FAKE REAL, AFTER ALL THAT IS WHAT FAKE MEANS, BUT WE HAVE STOPPED TAKING PART IN SUCH VENTURES. HONESTLY, WE'RE NOT SURE WHY WE MENTIONED FAKE IN THE FIRST PLACE. HOW ABOUT YOU JUST STOP IN AND TRY OUR NEW FRIES. OH, AND WATCH OUT FOR THAT PILE OF SNOW... CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW BIG THIS SIGN IS?"

Thoughts from Big Monday (a bad idea in hindsight)

2011-01-17T17:41:00.001-06:00

It's Monday afternoon and I'm prepped to watch K-State basketball. Yes, this is a unique situation. Though the 4:30 p.m. game time has a strong high school junior varsity feel to it, I'm fairly confident this game between Kansas State and Missouri will be quite a showcase of skill and intensity and not resemble the sort of game that finds players ogling Maxim magazine in the locker room at halftime.* Whatever the case, I'm in my home office (read: lounging on my couch with my feet propped up on the coffee table) and ready to document all the thoughts on the proceedings that are fit to print (and many that should probably never leave the recesses of my mind). Join me, won't you?

*Inside joke of such insiderness that it's practically hiding in the house's safe room. If you have never known a kid nicknamed "Newbie" I don't recommend attempting to understand it.

- Pregame, a Mentos commercial ends with the request "Like us at Facebook..." I am still new to the world of marketing campaigns, but doesn't begging for people to "like" you come off as a bit needy? I know it's never worked when I've used it as the opening line on a date.

- This game marks Curtis Kelly's second game back from accepting "impermissable benefits" (which, as far as I know, is not the name of an alt rock band... yet). It's Jacob Pullen's fifth game back. Cameras showed well-dressed Missouri fans with signs reading "Pullen: We paid for our suits." Clever? Yes. Chances that it will be imitated at every other Big 12 arena that KSU plays at, receiving more pub than the overweight fans that dance in techno fashion? Very, very strong.

- Freshman Shane Southwell picks up two blocked shots in the first three-and-a-half minutes of the game. Southwell is starting for the second time in his career. He's a wiry wing player, but plays solid defense. My theory behind his promotion is that he plays the role Dominique Sutton played last season, providing a defensive stopper on the perimeter. Let's hope this doesn't mean that Southwell will be playing for North Carolina Central next season.

- Seven minutes in, our game is interrupted by what must be a very important Home Depot commercial. You need new shingles. You really do.

- Minutes later, the talking heads at ESPN reveal that there's been a power outage in the production truck in Columbia, Mo. It's 2011, isn't there an app for that?

- To kill time until the broadcast signal from Missouri is back up and running, we see highlights of the previous game (Villanova and UConn) plus a postgame interview.

- The video of the broadcast returns, but we're without the audio from the game announcers, meaning game commentary is provided by the folks in the home studio at ESPN. Please note that these folks are clueless as to much of anything relating to this game. Apparently I should value play-by-play announcers more than I typically do.

- Back to regular broadcasting, it's time for a KU love-fest from the game's broadcasting duo, despite the fact that this game features Kansas' biggest rivals. Forget what I said about valuing play-by-play announcers.

- From a commercial, I've learned that doubt of his abilities has fueled Tim Tebow's motivation for years. Guess what, Tim? I still doubt you're going to get me to buy that energy drink.

- Pullen's first field goal comes 14 minutes into the game. K-State trails by seven. Yeah, there's certainly no correlation there.

- The game's commentators just decided that Pullen was Robin to Denis Clemente's Batman last season. There's a mental image that is going to have me chuckling for awhile. I hope they flesh this analogy out so that we can determine which Batman characters the rest of K-State's players last season were. Of particular interest, who was The Penguin?

- They didn't. Jerks.

- I could really use an extended soliloquy on Batman, as this game turned depressing. Cats trail 43-28 at the half and they are handling the basketball with the care of nearsighted polar bear.*

*Would a nearsighted polar bear be particularly bad at caring for a basketball? I assume so... I don't know. Obviously bad basketball wreaks havoc on my ability to craft a proper simile.

- With horrible basketball currently being observed, it's the executive
decision of The Writings' editorial board that this Writing must be
brought to a swift end. After all, it could be the confounding things
contained within that are throwing Kansas State off kilter and making
them look an awful lot like the JV teams I referenced earlier. (When
basketball looks this poor, one goes to extreme measures to end such
struggles.)

People in Your Neighborhood - The Edition I Nearly Forgot

2011-01-10T17:12:00.001-06:00

Back in December I traveled to a trade show for my job. At that time, I decided the place was brimming with subjects who deserved The Writings’ “People in Your Neighborhood” treatment. Alas, due to the hustle and bustle of the holidays, an abundance of sporting events, changing tides, protests from the AARP, a bevy of lawsuits, a temporary crippling of my left pinkie, and a memory as sharp the scissors you used in kindergarten, the aforementioned Writing was never composed. Today we correct that problem. These are the people in your neighborhood, if your neighborhood happens to be a trade show at a conference for high school athletic directors.

The Used Car Salesmen
The products this trio was looking to market to the attending public were not used cars, but the mindset was the same one you’ll find at most lots in the land. Stalk, chase, grab, and more; just do whatever you can to make the sale. While each member of the trio served as a wheel of the most annoying tricycle you’ll ever encounter, each guy also held his own very distinct style and persona.

Mr. Astonished
I have no clue if Mr. Astonished was really ever astonished by anything at all, but his expression sure made it seem that way. Each attendee he encountered was greeted with eyes so wide that there was actual worry about whether his eyeballs would roll right out of his skull. Thankfully, they never did, and people seemed to show interest in their product – perhaps only to take their glances away from his crazy eyes.

Mr. Superball
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Oh, Mr. Superball, please cease with the incessant bouncing. I know you picked up that bouncy ball at another vendor’s booth. I know it’s pretty amazing that the technology exists to make a palm-sized ball that bounces even though there’s no air pumped inside. I also know that you think you look pretty cool bouncing a ball continuously, one hand to the other, while waiting for the next conference attendee to latch on to. It’s great that your coordination and ambidexterity allow you to complete such a task. Unfortunately, the whole thing is unbelievably grating. I’m not sure I’d be any more annoyed if you grabbed a Sharpie and attempted to draw a handlebar mustache on my face. Please stop. Please.

The Godfather
The senior member of the group, the Godfather was the one that Mr. Astonished and Mr. Superball seemed to look to for approval any time they reeled in a potential customer. Built like a bowling ball (with the same amount of hair), the Godfather took the aggressive approach to tracking down prospective buyers. “Hey! Come check out something you need!” His voice sounded as if he was an old friend of Joe Camel, and his efforts often had the effect of hounding someone to take your half-ashen cigarette.

The Passive Guy
The Passive Guy sat across the aisle. That’s kind of a boring description, but that’s literally all he did. He sat. Sure, he’d answer questions if people asked him directly, but beyond that he did not do much to acknowledge that folks were even in his vicinity. It seemed to be a risky sales method.

The Very Passive Guy
The Very Passive guy may have very well been The Passive Guy’s grandfather. How did he earn his “Very Passive” tag? I credit it to age and wisdom… That, and the fact that I saw him dozing off at one point.

The Zapper
Technology is a great thing, unless The Zapper is involved. The Zapper uses a hand-held barcode reader to scan the name badges of conference attendees so that he can have evidence that folks actually visited his booth and he can gain their contact information to follow up after the event. It's actually a pretty slick idea, but The Zapper seemed to take it to unintended extremes. He would seek out folks that had not given his booth a second glance and still ask if he could scan their name badges. It seemed a bit intrusive, considering that some of these folks were actually talking to others when he'd but in with his query, but it even crawled into creepy territory at times. What would your response be if a guy you'd never spoken to before sidled up next to you and said nothing but, "Mind if I zap ya?"

The Game Changer
Folks at a booth across the aisle were hawking a product intended to cut down the length of a nosebleed, which seems like a worthwhile cause. Unfortunately, the woman at the booth continually referred to the product as “a game changer.” … Listen, lady. Your product is dandy, but if the game we’re stuck in involves chronic nosebleeds, I’m not sure I want to keep playing.

2010... I remember it like it was just (insert appropriate number of days ago here)

2011-01-06T19:41:00.000-06:00

Previously on the 2010 year in review: Lies were told, John Locke hunted a boar, Cylons disguised themselves as humans, and Jack Bauer went yet another hour without a bathroom break. (The Writings: We're confused already.)

July
The Kansas City Royals traded starting second baseman Alberto Callaspo, starting outfielders Scott Podsednik and Rick Ankiel, and relief pitcher Kyle Farnsworth. Royals fans everywhere were quite disappointed that the Royals seemed to be giving up on their present roster... Then Royals fans everywhere remembered that their present roster had been slightly less successful than the Bad News Bears in the first hour of their film.

August
Survey data was released that showed New York, New York (the city so nice they named it in rather lazy fashion) was the U.S. city with the worst bedbug infestation. Travelers worried, exterminators rejoiced, and people were advised to refrain from collecting used mattresses left out on the street. I'm suddenly worried about the hobbies of the American public.

September
Lady Gaga was a winner eight times over at the Video Music Awards. She accepted her final award while wearing a dress made entirely of meat. Yes, meat. I have yet to confirm whether the final award was for "The Strongest Indication of the Impending Apocalypse."

October
The Kansas State football Wildcats surrendered 14,326 rushing yards* to the Nebraska Cornhuskers, but bounced back a week later to beat the Kansas Jayhawks 59-7. Thus, the month seemed to proved two points. 1. Momentum does not exist in college football. 2. KU is lousy.

*Number is approximate.

November
Gebregziabher Gebremariam won the New York Marathon. His winning time was 10 minutes less than the amount of time it took sportscasters to figure out how to pronounce his name.

December
The Chiefs clinched a berth in the NFL Playoffs by winning their 10^th game of the season. The Chiefs had won 10 games over the
three previous seasons combined. This, dear readers, is what some might call a “Festivus Miracle.” I can think of no better note to end this Writing on.

Go Chiefs!

2010... I remember it like it was four days ago

2011-01-04T18:28:00.001-06:00

The year 2010 is literally history and I say good riddance.

... How's that for a gripping lede? It's not true in the slightest, but it grabs attention, no? Actually, I can't complain about the year 2010. Like most, it had ups and downs. Like many, it involved both laughter and tears. Like nearly all, it did not contain a single awkward encounter with another person or odd incident that I might later write about... Scratch that last one.

Obviously there was a lot that happened in 2010. Let's catch up. Here's part one of the year in review, January - June.

January
"January was the first month of that year. It began on a Friday and ended after 31 days on a Sunday. It was the first month of the 2010s." - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/January_2010

Thank you, Wikipedia, for the truly insightful summary. I think we've covered it. On to February!

Okay, fine. James Cameron's Avatar, released in Dec. 2009, continued its success at the box office on its way to grossing more money in the U.S. and Canada than any film ever. Many who saw the film were in awe of the breathtaking 3-D visuals. Those who weren't spent the entire film wondering what the hell happened to the Smurfs.

February
Americans everywhere sat in wonder while watching the majesty of the Winter Olympics on television.

… Wait, I worded that incorrectly. Let’s try again.

Americans everywhere sat wondering why programming that could actually be deemed “entertaining” did not appear on their televisions. Instead, they were subjected to Olympic events that encourage the development of Arctic snipers (the biathlon) and obsessive-compulsive igloo cleaners (curling).

Apologies to the Shaun White Fan Club, but we at The Writings are firmly anti-Winter Olympics. If this means I’ll never have a chance to win a gold medal in Inebriated From Nog Christmas Caroling, so be it.

March
The K-State basketball team competed in one of the greatest basketball games that I have ever witnessed, topping Xavier in a double-overtime thriller in the NCAA Tournament. The game featured more momentum shifts than a teen’s first attempt at driving stick-shift and may have taken a few years off of my life in the process. Whatever the case, it was worth it.

Yes, another excuse to show highlights from the game.

April
Kentucky Fried Chicken began selling the Double-Down chicken sandwich, which is basically two hands full of fried meat, plus cheese and a "secret" sauce. To date, the value meal does not include a defibrillator.

May
The author made a relatively monumental move (for the author), changing jobs for the second time in his working life. The move was initially viewed as a good one and, eight months in, said opinion remains unchanged. It’s true, much like his last job, few people actually realize that his job does not involve writing on a full-time basis, but for the sake of the reading public, that’s probably for the best. After all, newspapers would probably frown on a basketball game story that veers into an off-topic discussion of a fan that made a free throw to win more than $100. The frown would probably turn into a sneer when the fan’s celebration, which involved raised arms and healthy gut hanging out from under a criminally small t-shirt, was recounted in infinitesimal detail. The aforementioned sneer would most likely evolve into an unfriendly request to begin looking for a new job when the author ended the story with the comment, “Guess who can now afford a bigger t-shirt!”

June
Flirtation became the trend in major college athletics* as Universities across the country sent "Do you like me? Check 'yes' or 'no,'" letters to conferences that they did not currently reside in. The end result (phrase "end result" used very loosely, as any conference could crumble at any moment) left those who previously felt they had a strong grasp on things like counting and geography utterly confused. You say there's 12 teams in the Big 10 and 10 teams in the Big 12? And the folks in Colorado - a landlocked state unless you consider Wyoming an ocean of nothingness - are now in a conference named for the Pacific Ocean while the Texas Christian football team's nearest league rivals will be in Kentucky and Florida?

*And academics. Yes the academics played a HUGE role in conference realignment. HUGE. After all, you have to be pretty good at math to be able to count the money Nebraska was being offered to join the Big 10.

College sports: if they ain't broke.... Nope, that doesn't work.
College sports: if they're already broke, see if that sledge hammer will fix them.

Proper ways to enjoy the first morning of 2011

2011-01-01T12:25:00.001-06:00

- Make a tent by using a couch and a blanket.

- Hide from the "monster fire" (translation: monster in the fireplace) in said tent.

- Terrorize a pug.

- Watch "The Jungle Book."

- Hide from that monster fire again.

- Chase the pug some more.

- Watch "Ice Age: The Meltdown" solely to see Scrat trying to get his acorn.

(These new year activities brought to you by your local two-year-old.)

And that's 2011 so far. Forgive the holiday hiatus. Coming soon (Tonight? Tomorrow? This week? Uhh... one of the above): The annual look back at the year that was.

Happy new year from all* at The Writings.

*A collection of orangutans with typewriters.

Planes, pains, and automobiles

2010-12-20T18:53:00.003-06:00

For years, I have avoided running. After all, what's the point? Sure, there's exercise, but I accomplish that through walking (when the weather is nice and I have proper motivation), reading (it exercises the mind, right?) or by regularly dancing the night away at the local discotheque. (Not true, but it does conjure a pretty funny image.) I figure that I won't ever be signing up for any road races and that the odds of being chased by dangerous wildlife near my home are not strong (though some squirrels do occasionally give me the stink-eye), so there's probably little in life that would ever require me to churn my legs in a running-like motion. Unfortunately, I happened upon a need to sprint the other night - the airport dash.

The story begins with my co-worker and I preparing to return home to Kansas after a few days in Orlando, Fla. As you might have guessed, being forced to spend three days in The Sunshine State in the midst of winter was pretty much torture. After all, who wants to enjoy a nice drink by a pool in 75-degree temperatures when he could be dealing with snow and wind back home?

Truth told, it was nice to get away for a few days, but both of us were ready to return home by Saturday. Our trade show* wrapped up early and we had checked out of the hotel so we arrived at the airport a few hours before the schedule boarding time of our flight. We wasted time by eating lunch in an airport restaurant (where, oddly, the waitstaff behaved as if they had not hoped to end up serving tacos to people lugging suitcases), surfing the Internet wirelessly, and staring at the wall. We did all this while staying far away from the gate our plane was leaving from, since it was packed so tightly with travelers that I'm fairly certain I saw two strangers sharing a pair of socks.

*Note to future self: "trade shows" don't involve swapping baseball cards. Leave them at home.

Finally, about 10 minutes before our boarding time, we approached the crowd surrounding our gate. Through the large windows in the airport, we noticed that there did not seem to be a plane actually sitting near said gate. This struck us as slightly odd, as we were fairly confident our tickets were, you know, plane tickets. Luckily, a couple of minutes later a plane taxied up. As folks started to exit the plane that had just arrived, the crowd parted like a balding man's comb over - rather sloppily. One seven-year-old boy was sitting in the way of an old woman and nearly wore luggage wheel tracks on his ankles as a result.

By this time, it was clear that things might be a bit behind, but we didn't figure the delay would be too awful. Minutes passed. We kissed the initial boarding time goodbye. More minutes passed. Then more. Finally, five minutes before the plane's schedule departure time, we heard an announcement from the gate attendant. "We're sorry for the delay folks. The incoming flight arrived a bit behind schedule and now we're still waiting for a crew to come clean the cabin."

Yup, my flight was being delayed because Mr. Belvedere was AWOL. Frankly, I did not care if there were some napkins on the floor of the plane, I just wanted to go and escape the sweaty blob that had formed from the crowd waiting to get on the plane.

After what seemed like hours of waiting and sweating, they finally allowed passengers to begin boarding. After what seemed like more hours of waiting (but at least no more sweating) we finally began to roll around the runway and actually took flight. It was at this time that I really let the situation at-hand sink it. Our plane was leaving the ground 50 minutes later than originally scheduled. My coworker and I were originally supposed to have a 75-minute layover in Dallas before our flight to Manhattan departed. After crunching some numbers in my head (ninth place in mental math at the State Math Contest in fourth grade... booyah!) I realized one thing: we were nearing a bind. Here came the sweating.

Up in the air, things seemed to get worse by the minute. No, the wings did not fall off the plane and there weren't any Airplane!-inspired issues with fish or singing stewardesses, but we seemed to be traveling at a snail's pace.* Further glances at clocks brought forth more worry. It was clear that we were going to be cutting the arrival at our next gate extremely close.

*You know, one of those snails that flies at high speeds, just not speeds that are high enough. You know those snails, right?

As we began our descent into Dallas-Fort Worth, a flight attendant announced that folks who had connecting flights should be given priority when exiting the plane. Yahtzee. Finally something was going our way. We would need it, as our plane touched ground just 15 minutes before our flight to Manhattan was scheduled to leave.

My coworker and I zigged around folks to get off the plane and as we neared the jetway, he said one thing. "Get ready to run."

With that, we took off. I've seen people sprinting in airports often on television shows or commercials; I always thought the situations seemed a bit hokey. Now, here I was sprinting by curious on-lookers. My coworker, though 10 years my senior, is a former college football player who had an NFL tryout once. Needless to say, he was a bit faster than me. (Though I was once unbeatable in Madden football on the Gamecube.)

I had the chance to attempt to catch my breath when we made it to the tram that would take us to the next terminal. It was at this time that I began to cough like someone who had just smoked a box of Cuban cigars while running the Boston Marathon. Note to self: run more often.

The tram stopped and we were back sprinting. I'd never advise anyone to run down a moving escalator, but we did just that, complete with laptop bags in tow. We even split through an elderly couple on the way down the moving steps. I didn't have time to get a long look, but they were certainly staring at us as if we had turned green and were cursing in Latvian... Then again, I may have by that point.

At long last, after more running than I've done since high school basketball coaches once forced conditioning on my team, we arrived at our gate.

It was empty.

We ran up to the desk and looked at the screen, only to read "Flight XXXX to Manhattan: Boarding Completed." One desk over, a woman stood covering a flight to San Juan. We asked her if there was any way we could still get on the plane to Manhattan. After all, the clock at the gate said 7:18 p.m. - still two minutes prior to our schedule departure time. She said she could not help us, as it was not her flight, but that the gate attendant for that flight would be back soon.

Seconds later, a middle-aged guy walked up to the desk at our gate. We immediately began asking him if he could help us; if there was any way we could still get on that plane. His response? He ignored us. Though we were two feet away from the guy, he said nothing. Finally, after a full-minute, he addressed the question of an older gentleman that had approached the desk and was in the same situation as we were. Unfortunately, the gate attendant was slightly less helpful than a paraplegic trained seal would have been in the situation. He clicked keys on the computer, but never had a reason that the plane could not have been held - since they knew ours was arriving late - or suggestions of alternative ways to get home.

Finally, my coworker snapped. With some choice words, he drove home the point that it was slightly ridiculous that his airline had put us in this situation, that we had done all we possibly could to get to the plane on time, and that he was not cooperating with us whatsoever. His response? A rather wide-eyed look and a call to his supervisor. Luckily, his supervisor acted as if she was actually familiar with the phrase "customer service." (Crazy thought, I know.) She calmly explained that they had been asking to hold the flight since ours was arriving late, but that the flight tower had the final call in the situation and that they had instructed the flight to leave. Fair enough. Frustrating, but fair.

The supervisor assisted us in arranging a flight to Wichita (which would then involve a two-hour drive home) and even provided us with a $20 refreshment voucher that would be accepted "anywhere in the airport."

We weren't thrilled, but we headed on our way to the gate for our flight to Wichita. This time, we didn't have to run. I guess things could have been worse... Then we attempted to purchase food and the vendor refused to accept our voucher and our request to rent a car in Wichita and drop it off in Manhattan was turned down by the car rental company.

Ever seen the movie, "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles"? If I was an overweight, mustached fellow that sold shower curtain rings for a living, I would have felt right at home on this trip.

-----

After a few days to reflect, I'm still not sure how it took so long to clean that plane. All I know is that I'm going to run if I ever hear that announcement over the PA again.

A look at lyrics - Winter Wonderland

2010-12-13T18:47:00.000-06:00

I know some people that listen to nothing but holiday music as soon as their calendar flips to the year's twelfth month. I have no qualms with this, however something struck me as Christmas tunes emanated through my car radio speakers during today's commute. It seems like Christmas carols are all just assumed to be jolly songs celebrating the season; the meaning behind the words is never really considered. I think it's time to begin taking a realistic view at the songs we sing so cheerfully each year. It's time to really dissect the lyrics. We begin with a song written by someone who obviously never had to shovel snow in his or her life. Get your scalpels ready.

Winter Wonderland

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening,
In the lane, snow is glistening.
A beautiful sight,
We're happy tonight.
Walking in a winter wonderland.
I'm not sure where these folks are, but it sounds as if they're risking death by walking on a roadway while a bell-adorned sled of some sort bears down on them. I don't know that I'd be singing in such a situation. My guess is that, originally, this opening stanza contained cursing.

Gone away is the bluebird,
Here to stay is a new bird.
What sort of new bird? One that eats bluebirds, apparently.
He sings a love song,
As we go along,
Walking in a winter wonderland.
It's true. There's nothing more romantic than bloodthirstily devouring a bluebird. Remember this when Valentine's Day rolls around.

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
Then pretend that he is Parson Brown.
Who is Parson Brown? Through hordes of research (read: a Google search) the best answer I have is that Parson Brown is not one particular person, but a term used to refer to an angelican priest of the 18th and 19th centuries. By pretending that the snowman is Parson Brown, I assume those who built it are just going to continually ask him "Now who are you again?"

He'll say, "Are you married?"
We'll say, "No man,"
But you can do the job
When you're in town.
Is it just me, or does "Parson Brown" sound either 1.) really creepy; or 2.) desperate for work? After all, who goes and asks a couple whether or not they're married within minutes of possessing the frosty body of the snowman they just built? That's a bit personal, Parson. (If that is your real name.)

Later on, we'll conspire,
As we dream by the fire.
This song seems to take a devious turn here. Who plots conspiracies around the holidays? Anti-Santites, that's who.
To face unafraid,
The plans that we've made,
Walking in a winter wonderland.
The anti-Santites are approaching their joint mission with no fear of death. I just hope they haven't brainwashed Rudolph. Think about it - his nose is red. It's quite possible that the anti-Santites are also Communists. That red nose could lead the sleigh right into a pretty wicked ambush.

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
And pretend that he's a circus clown.
I think this means laughing halfheartedly when the snowman attempts to be funny.
We'll have lots of fun with mister snowman,
Until the other kids knock him down.
I've never been a fan of those kids that run haphazardly through the circus looking to knock clowns over. Jerks.

When it snows, ain't it thrilling,
Though your nose gets a chilling.
Getting a runny nose is thrilling in the same sort of way that getting the complete series of The Nanny on DVD for Christmas is thrilling.
We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,
Walking in a winter wonderland.
I'm not sure how Eskimos play, but I'm worried that it might somehow involve blubber and that's pretty disgusting.

Holiday Lessons

2010-12-12T22:28:00.001-06:00

If it hasn't become Windex-clear by now, activity at The Writings slows down a bit near the holiday season. (Read: In Winter.) While I could claim that postings become less frequent due to my immense popularity, which has me attending numerous holiday parties, I also respect the intelligence of my readers and know that they would see through that lie like they see though a window after it has been cleaned with Windex.* In truth, my social life is pretty much the same as it always has been, meaning I attend about as many parties as the guy who looks through your trash for recyclable cans. If there is one aspect of my life that does change this time of year, it's that I find myself spending more time around the fireplace at my parents' home.

*The Writings: We're shooting for sponsorship... Buy Windex now!

Since the day that my parents became empty-nesters, their home has always been the place where the family could reconvene, and it works especially well when the temperature drops below freezing. On such days, the males in the family take turns playing pyromaniac with the goal being stoking the flames in the fireplace to the point that anyone sitting within eight feet of the thing will soon be sweating. The fireplace becomes our own personal blast furnace and its lure is strong.

This winter, time spent near the fireplace has been a bit more interesting thanks to the sharp, developing mind of my two-year-old niece. Calling her "excitable" is akin to calling any program featuring a Kardashian "worthless." Though she really has no recollection of last Christmas, she's wildly geared up for the 2010 rendition. It's undeniably entertaining to see her hop up-and-down in excitement at the mention of presents or to hear her yell "Whoa, look at those ones!" when driving by a house with Christmas lights, but it has also been quite fun to hear her take on the holiday. After all, she's two, so everything is either taken at face-value or embellished with the sort of imagination that can spot friendly monsters while driving down the road. Thanks to her teachings, here's what I know...

Christmas is Baby Jesus' birthday, as is depicted in all those nativity scenes that pop up around this time of year. Nativity scenes feature Baby Jesus, Mary, God, shepherds, sheep, wise men, angels, cows, and a puppy. While you may argue that Joseph is depicted, it's obvious that you're either mistaken, or that his close friends called him "God." You also might be curious what sort of nativity scene might depict a puppy. Answer: all of them. You're obviously not looking hard enough.

The Grinch is a scary green character, but he's in a good movie... Well, it's good until you are about ten minutes into it. At that point, you should begin begging to watch a different Christmas moving, claiming, "I don't like the Grinch." Soon your call to action will be met, and Frosty the Snowman will find his way into the DVD player. Now that's a good movie... Until about about ten minutes in. Then? "I wanna watch the Grinch."

As for Santa Claus, despite rumors that you may have heard about the North Pole, he lives at the mall. He says "Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas!" One of his reindeer is named Rudolph, but you should really call him "Rudolph the Red Nose." On Christmas, he's bringing presents, all the way from the mall.

Also, according to my niece, he's bringing Uncle Derek a duck for Christmas. Now I'm excited.

Desperation

2010-12-08T18:20:00.001-06:00

When I opened my refrigerator this morning, it was not to grab the milk or see what fruit might be inside. (Answer: none... The royal hierarchy of the food pyramid should be pretty upset with me right now.) No, I opened the fridge this morning in effort to locate my money clip. That's desperation.

The morning began as they typically do, with me sleeping later than I should, showering longer than I should, making more coffee than I should, and neglecting breakfast when I shouldn't. As I prepared to leave, I double-checked to make sure the coffee pot was unplugged* and made a move to grab the day's essentials: my cell phone, keys, iPod, and money clip. Alas, one member of the quartet was missing.

*Something I do about eight times each morning. I guess there are probably worse obsessive-compulsive habits. After all, at no point do I put my hand into toasting toaster.

I typically place all essential items together in order to avoid situations like the one I now found myself in. I began carefully moving the other items located on my coffee table to discover which of them had covered up the money clip. Oddly, the search did not yield the results I'd hoped for. I stepped over to my desk and calmly glanced about, expecting the lost item to present itself. Phase two of the search also proved unsuccessful and I began to show slight concern. Though the money clip rarely holds any substantial amount of actual money (that's what I get for habitually reenacting the scenes in rap videos where they toss paper bills around like they're used tissues), it does play host to my debit card, driver's license, and K-State basketball schedule - all of which are critically vital in regard to my day-to-day activities.

Because my apartment is just slightly larger than Shaquille O'Neal's shoebox, it took two steps to find my way to the kitchen to continue my search. Kitchen table? Nope. Kitchen counter? Empty. I was officially entering the danger zone, as sensible locations for the money clip were running thin. I zipped to my bedroom, tossing things about in effort to find it, but the mission proved to have the same level of success as all those prior.

Back to the living room, I took to the floor, doing my best army crawl while vainly searching for the money clip. Though I did discover a mini Reese's Peanut Butter Cup underneath my couch, it served as little consolation. I began to face the reality that my money clip was lost. That meant calling to cancel my my debit card, wading through a DMV line for a new driver's license, and facing the sheer hassle that comes with picking up a new basketball schedule. Life is rough.

Now officially desperate, I took to my apartment like a blitzed elf on December 26. I tossed things about, I looked in ridiculous locations (enter: the fridge), and I continually waved my hand in front of my face to make sure I had not gone blind.*

*Patent pending on this non-blindness assurance test.

I was late for work and life seemed grim when I found the pair of jeans I wore yesterday. A quick search of the right pocket brought my racing mind to a peaceful halt. The clip had been in the pocket all along; the pocket of a pair of jeans I'm fairly confident I had tossed aside earlier in the search. Oh well, life was right again.

As I threw on my coat and headed to work - all essentials safely in my pockets - I began to wonder why I had not checked the pockets of that pair of jeans earlier. After all, I'm fairly confident the same predicament has befallen me previously, and I'm fairly confident it did not turn into the chaos that this occurrence did.

Moral: Eat breakfast, kids. It might just help you think clearly in the morning and avoid looking in the refrigerator for your cash.

Deep Thought

2010-12-04T15:43:00.001-06:00

Which came first, the tortoise or the egg? If a tree falls and crushes a chipmunk in the forest, does it make a sound? What is the sound of a footless person tap-dancing? Life is full of intriguing questions; the type that one could ponder for hours on end. Luckily for me, I seemed to have such time on my hands today, thanks to the insanity that comes with the holiday shopping season. (Note to self: Do your 2011 Christmas shopping in February.) I had the opportunity to be a part of a checkout line 25 people deep at a rather large consumer electronics store today, providing ample time to ponder the questions above, plus many more. Here's a sampling of today's topics of pondering.

Who or what is the owner of a camouflage Snuggie attempting to hide from... aside from good taste and common sense?

What level of a lush does one have to be to trust their perception of sobriety to a $14.99 breathalyzer keychain?

Why does the girl in front of me think that continually asking her boyfriend "What is taking so long?" will make the checkout line move more quickly?

If one pays for "Black Tie Protection" on their electronics, are they actually supporting the mob?

Does anyone need a new hobby more than the person who buys full seasons of "Reba" on DVD?

What is a "Plannerzine" and why does it feature that wolfy guy from Twilight on the cover?

Does your kid really need 13 different Nintendo DS games for Christmas?

Are the small bags of fruit snacks on sale for an overpriced $2 apiece in the impulse-buy area placed there as a simple test of sanity?

Finally - and most importantly - why in land of LED screens are there only two registers open on a Saturday during the holiday shopping season?

The Latest Thanksgiving Writing You Can Find

2010-11-29T17:38:00.001-06:00

It's quite evident to anyone with access to a calendar that I am four days late with the annual Thanksgiving-themed Writing. Please forgive the tardiness. As an apology, I'd like to offer up a Writing free of any groan-inducing Thanksgiving puns or wordplay. Seriously.

Now, on to the cornucopia of things I'm thankful for this year. (Nice try, Derek.)

I'm thankful for my family and my friends. If you're reading this, odds are strong that you fall in one of those two categories (oddly, The Writings have yet to go viral), so thanks for being stupendous.

I'm thankful for the fact that those who are reading this who do know me but don't consider themselves friends or family have not resorted to calling me names or throwing things at me in public. Your decision to express your discontent silently by throwing darts at my picture or burning printed copies of Writings is greatly appreciated.

I'm thankful for the excitement the holiday season can bring; the sort of excitement that causes a two-year-old to take regular breaks while decorating a Christmas tree in order to jump up-and-down waving her hands.

I'm thankful for the fact that my family will add a new member next year. (Also for the fact that she learned quickly to pretend to find my remarks amusing.)

I'm thankful for the fact that I don't have to pay licensing fees every time I respond to the question "So, when are you finding a wife?" with "If I only had a nickel for every time I heard that question." I really need to come up with some better answers.

I'm thankful that the online store at Weather.com is offering 10-percent off today. After all, it's not often that I have the opportunity to receive meager discounts on weather-related memorabilia. Let's hope I can find something that showcases the INCREDIBLE WIT that the Weather Channel is sure to have; something like a "This Wind Blows" T-shirt.

I'm thankful for new work opportunities. In an economic climate where many are jobless, I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to move to a new job that suits me better.

I'm thankful that the K-State football team was able to win seven games despite showcasing a defense with more holes than a Connect-Four board.

I'm thankful for the fact that in the nearly 10 years since I graduated high school it has never been revealed that my schooling was a sham, forcing me to go back and complete K-12 all in a span of a few months (with hilarious results) solely to keep that weaselly Eric from taking over my dad's hotel chain.

I'm thankful for the fact that a fair number of my regular readers will immediately identify the film that I abducted that previous scenario from, and that the rest will not give it a second thought, since my relationship with rational thought is not always a close-knit one.

I'm thankful for a No. 5 national ranking. The days where the future of K-State hoops hinged on the potential arrival of a 7-foot volleyball player are long gone.

I'm thankful for the fact that my inner monologue sounds nothing like Dick Vitale.

I'm thankful for neighbors that don't think freestyle rapping is the only worthwhile form of communication.

I'm thankful for tomorrow. (This item of thanks brought to you by the Kansas City Royals.)

I'm thankful for Chiefs defensive coordinator Romeo Crennell and the fact that he was able to convince the Kansas City defense that tackling is, in fact, legal in the game of American football.

I'm thankful for the opportunity to write as often as I have the time and inspiration. I'm also thankful for the fact that some of these Writings actually are deemed rational thoughts.*

*Rational thought rate: 14.2%

Catching Up

2010-11-21T21:19:00.001-06:00

Nearly a week has gone by since the "publication" of my last Writing. It may sound contradictory, but that piece was one of the most difficult things I've ever written and also one of the easiest. Putting words together about the strong traits of my grandfather was simple, but absorbing the reality of the final two lines was unbelievably tough. Alas, it is something that I'm proud of and I'm glad to know that others feel I captured the most basic essence of a great, great person. Tonight, we return to regular programming, which basically means I get back to writing about things few people care about.* We have some catching up to do.

*The Writings: We're nothing if we're not honest.

The Stubblings
Apologies to No-Shave November enthusiasts, but "Operation: See How Ridiculous Derek Looks With Facial Hair" concluded last week. With a funeral at hand, I figured I should put my best face forward. Unfortunately (and possibly unbelievably), this fresh-shaven look is that face. The progress made through last Sunday was respectable, as far as mustaches and chin whiskers go. I never bought in to the whole idea that the facial hair made me look older until I shaved. Truthfully, it almost seemed like that razor cut away 10 years along with my Billy Martin mustache.*

*Please don't misinterpret this whole "looking older" idea. I was certainly not being confused for someone in his 30s. This basically means that, with the facial hair, I looked my actual age: 28. Now, so fresh and so clean, I am back to appearing 18 and being carded for even glancing at a drink that might have been shipped on the same truck as something alcoholic.

To all who were rooting along with my avoidance anything Bic-or-Gilette-related, please know that it's quite possible the experiment will return in the future. After all, I have free time.

Thanksgiving
It's coming quickly, and with it comes holiday decorations and talk of Christmas shopping. Meanwhile, I'm still wondering what in blue blazes happened to August. Nonetheless, I'll abide by the insistence of my calendar. On the positive side, this means that annual "Thankful For" and "Christmas Gift Idea" Writings are on their way... Well, those are on my positive side, anyway.

K-State football
I'd say the Wildcats' last two opponents sliced through the KSU defense like a spinal surgeon, but that might imply that the opposing offenses actually had to perform with some sort of skill or accuracy. In truth, there have been times the last few games where it has seemed like the opposing running back could have taken a handoff, spun around in place ten times while humming the Golden Girls theme song, and then - dizzy to the point of losing motor skills - still run for a 15-yard gain.

Struggling defense aside, K-State is still in good position to receive a bowl bid, and should lock one up with a win against North Texas on Saturday. If they lose to North Texas? Well, have I mentioned that basketball season started?

K-State basketball
The Wildcats - ranked No. 3 in the nation - did not play up to that ranking last week. I'm glad we have that blatantly obvious statement out of the way.

Last Thursday, K-State eked out a 76-67 victory over Presbyterian College - a team that many may have confused for a local church squad. The Wildcats looked strong at times in the first 20 minutes, but spent the second half playing like a team that had its collective mind focused on something else - perhaps on trying to figure out what the heck Presbyterian's nickname "The Blue Hose" refers to.*

*Answer: A fierce Scotch-Irish warrior, as seen in Braveheart. No, the team did not wear kilts.

Predictably, KSU coach Frank Martin was ticked off after the game. Some might view K-State's struggles as a huge warning sign; evidence that the team is too caught up in the preseason hype and magazine covers. That's very possible, however there is another possibility. The close call could be the reality check the Wildcats needed heading into a tournament where they'll face Gonzaga and possibly Duke, the defending National Champion and current No. 1 team.

Last season, K-State put together a sloppy effort against Fort Hays State and won by a narrow seven-point margin. Martin's post-game reaction was harsh and I imagine that the practices leading up to the next game were about as enjoyable as dental work completed with a tack hammer. Four days later, the Wildcats topped Washington State - a team featuring one of the top scorers in the country - by 17 points. They followed with 15-point wins over Xavier - whom the Cats would meet in the Sweet 16 months later - and nationally-ranked UNLV. I do not intend to say that I appreciate the fact that K-State barely beat a team with a basketball program about as respected as any Air Bud film, but I do feel that the squeaker is the type of game that helps Martin drive his coaching points home. Is that assessment an accurate one? We'll find out Monday night.

God bless grandparents

2010-11-15T11:29:00.001-06:00

When I was a kid, it seemed like I was always waiting in line at family functions. The line - six giggling children deep - snaked about my grandparents’ living room. As with any line - whether it is at a theme park, movie theater, or even at the nearby grocery store - the goal was to get to the front; there was great anticipation to do so. At the front of this line was my grandfather’s chair and Grandpa - one grandchild on his knee - bucking and braying or kicking and neighing. Grandpa took the idea of a “horsy ride” to the extreme, customizing each one and not limiting himself to equestrian feats. Curious of what it might be like to ride an elephant? Simply make the request when your turn arrived and he would do his best to replicate each thumping step and trumpeting blow.

I can’t imagine how much Grandpa’s knee ached after several trips through the line by each grandchild, but the smile never passed from his face and he was always willing to meet requests for “one more turn,” even if they came from the tub of chubbiness that was the toddler version of his youngest grandson.

I have been blessed enough in my life to have four grandparents with amazing qualities - qualities that played big roles in shaping the person I am today. Grandpa, in particular, carried an abundance of traits that I have at least attempted to pick up through my 28 years.

He was a man of great faith, but knew that actions often speak with a greater volume than words. He was not preaching on the corner, but any observation of his everyday life would make his true beliefs clear. His core values were indisputable.

He was a man that knew the value of hard work. Some men farm. Some do people’s taxes. Grandpa did both. After his days of farming were complete, he kept doing taxes and continued the work well into his 80s.

He was a man of great humor - funnier than I could ever hope to be. With a wry smile and Sahara-dry wit, Grandpa could draw deep belly laughs with a simple two-word remark or have folks amusingly captivated by a story about something as simple as a 20-minute car ride. He loved to bring smiles to people’s faces and kept at it into his 95th year.

As with my three grandparents who preceded him in passing, Grandpa was unfailingly dedicated to his family - his grandkids in particular. He would attend school plays, football games, and anything else a kid might get wrapped up in and always had words of support. After a game where I scored a touchdown in junior high, he told me he’d never seen someone run so fast. Now well aware of my own athleticism (or lack thereof) I know the statement obviously contained a load of embellishment, but to a 5-6, 105 lbs., eight grader, it was a hefty compliment.

Days after his passing, a wealth of great memories remain, but the clichéd “feels like something is missing“ take on things holds true. On one of my final visits to see Grandpa, my dad and I took him to an outside courtyard of the nursing home. His speech was labored and whisper-soft, so he did not really speak at all. He didn’t have to. Once the wheels of his wheelchair rolled out the courtyard door, the look on his face seemed to morph. His face lifted and there was a sense of great comfort surrounding him. The visit is something I won’t soon forget; the way that something I take for granted each day could bring such appreciation years down the road.

He had slowed in recent years and there is no doubt that some days were filled with incredible pain, both physical and mental. Nevertheless, much like the days when an aching knee served as the greatest form of amusement for seven youngsters, he seemed to put it all aside when the grandchildren were around. His smile of hello seemed a little wider when grandkids would visit and brightness from years gone seemed to return to his eyes when a great-grandchild would have a chance to explore his collections.

It is clear that family brought great joy to Grandpa’s life. I just hope he knows that he brought as much to ours.

God bless grandparents.

At least they didn't call it Hippo-Wear

2010-11-09T21:46:00.001-06:00

I received an email today from a company called Serengeti. This company, it seems, specializes in plus-sized women's clothing. Targeted marketing can be incredibly effective, when it is accurate, but often attempts at such advertising seem to hit far from the mark. After all, as a male with a natural Gumby-like build, I can't imagine the Serengeti folks have me in their target audience.

Alas, I think the bigger issue here is the name of the company. After all, if you're selling to plus-sized women, do you really want your brand name inspiring thoughts of land beasts roaming the savanna?

Serengeti: You're fat and we're insensitive. Why don't we put aside our differences so you can buy a muumuu?

I'm left attempting to come up with more potential company names with Serengeti's kick-you-in-the-throat-while-you're-down attitude. Here's the list so far:

- Dimwit tutoring service;
- Gargoyle cosmetics;
- Mr. Magoo eyewear;
- Barnyard's Best cologne;
- Walking the Line alcohol rehab center;
- "Get Confident, Stupid" motivational tapes.

If I've missed any, please feel free to post below.

The Stubblings

2010-11-07T18:30:00.001-06:00

I'm one week into the No-Shave November experiment and it already seems that I am a cheater. You see, I took my Schick Quattro (four blades means four-times as many opportunities to cut yourself. Woohoo!) to my cheeks this morning. It may seem like I've already rendered the whole idea moot, but I'd like to argue that I'm serving the greater good. Allow me to explain.

When it comes to growth of facial hair, my cheek bones seem to provide the same sort of growing environment as salted soil. Little grows, meaning the the whiskers that do present themselves stick out like fans in the upper deck at Kauffman Stadium in September. Seeing that there was absolutely no chance I'd feature a full beard this month (and deciding that I'd rather not attempt a comb-over beard with the then-present whiskers), I decided to upgrade my appearance from "completely ridiculous" to "mostly ridiculous" before venturing to church this morning.*

*Please note that, while I currently reside at the "mostly ridiculous" appearance level, I will downgrade to "beyond ridiculous" the day I decide to shave all but the mustache off my face. Luckily, I can take great pride in knowing that once the month is through, I'll be back to no longer looking ridiculous, just incredibly goofy.

With the seven-day milestone reached (mostly), I figured it was time for the first official evaluation.

Comfort
Ever worn a sweater that continually rubs against your neck? That's how my face felt for two straight days earlier this week. I don't typically make a habit of wearing sweaters directly on my face, so the comfort level of this phenomenon was not really appreciated. Luckily, the discomfort has subsided... Well, the physical discomfort anyway.

Appearance
With my cheeks barren, I am basically presenting all who encounter me with a horrible attempt at a goatee. (A fauxtee?) Seven days in, it's pretty short, leaving most with the impression that I am probably just incredibly lazy when it comes to shaving. As one part of the whole, the mustache portion of my Novemgrowth actually shows potential. If I were to dedicate myself to the whole mustache way of life, I could potentially sport one that would be envied by many in the world of highway patrol. Conversely, the patch of fuzz on my chin has the potential to be... well, a thicker patch of fuzz. Exciting.

What people are saying
During a lull in conversation on Friday night, my mom said "I think I'm finally getting used to you." My response was, "Well, that only took 28 years." Turns out she was not referring to me, but to this foolishness on my face. This served as a relief on multiple levels.

On Saturday, I received enthusiastic encouragement to let the mustache grow. Such encouragement leaves me curious as to whether people really think I'd be a good match for a blind woman.

Today, the main comment was "You should shave, it makes you look old." On occasions that I enter a bar, I typically have my ID examined as if it were an ancient artifact, so the "looking older" idea may not be a horrible one.

What's ahead in the land of laugh-worthy attempts to abide by alliterative rules promoting the avoidance of razors? Eval No. 2 is due next Sunday.

Thought for the Day - Nov. 3

2010-11-03T20:58:00.001-05:00

As of today, I've been at my current job for six months. One added benefit of the job is the fact that my place of employment is just a stone's throw away* from the dealership where I bought my car and where I take it to be serviced. This means that, on any particular day, I could drop my car off for an oil change, a wheel alignment, or for installation of a couple of new tires and not have to ride the dealership shuttle back to work. Handy.

*Editor's note: This terminology was used to add color to this Writing, but is not meant to be taken literally. Unless said stone is being thrown by some sort of giant with a very strong arm or the stone features a jet-propulsion system, hitting the dealership with a stone thrown from my office (or vice versa) would be impossible. Should you ever get in a post-Apocalyptic rock fight with someone who takes shelter in the shaken remains of one of these two buildings, please pay heed to this information. The Writings: Your source for advice on potential post-Apocalyptic rock fights.

Through the wonder of foreshadowing, you may have come to the conclusion that I took advantage of this very situation today. You, dear reader, are correct.* In fact, my car can now show off the new oil, aligned wheels, and new tires mentioned above. (My bank account balance can show far too much evidence of this, as well.)

*Please, don't get cocky about being able to predict outcomes from my mundane life. I am, quite possibly, more predictable than the female-oriented flims (read: chick flicks) that my mom loves to view on the Hallmark Channel. (You mean the charming, hunky dream guy ended up choosing the quirky, slightly nerdy, career-oriented girl-next-door with whom he shared awkward sexual tension throughout the film instead of the hot-but-bitchy selfish woman that is out to ruin the first girl's career, exterminate all the puppies in the pet store, and end Christmas? No way!)

At the end of the work day, I journeyed back to the dealership to pick up my car. My route included a trip through an adjoining car lot featuring nothing but used vehicles. My mission was simple: get to the dealership, pay for my car service without throwing a key-chucking tantrum concerning the price, and leave. I was focused; so focused that I did not even glance at a used vehicle as I marched toward my destination. I'm sure I had the look of a very determined person. Nonetheless, as I neared the dealership, I heard the following shout, "Hey! Do you need anything?"

I stayed on my track, but glanced over my shoulder to see who was concerned with my presence. I saw a short man, balding with the type of gut that gives the impression that a man appreciates bacon in an unhealthy manner. He stood in the doorway of the small building that houses the salesmen of the used vehicles that I had steadfastly ignored. Apparently he was checking to see if I wanted to turn around, engage in small talk, peruse the used vehicles that I had just zipped by without a second glance, find a car I liked, waffle about buying it, decide to buy it, go sit in his tiny building, negotiate a price, threaten to walk out without purchase, agree on a price, get my credit approved, sign loads of paperwork, and ultimately leave with the burden of more car payments. Oddly, those activities were not on my evening agenda. I shouted back that I was in no need of his assistance, but just heading to pick up my car. Then, I kept moving.

Today's thought: If you are so desperate to sell a car that you resort to hollering out the doorway of your workplace - like a mother trying to get her children inside for dinner - at someone who has ignored your merchandise and is clearly using your lot as a byway to another destination, perhaps it's time to considering checking the Help Wanted section of the classified ads.

Nothing of relevance

2010-11-01T21:18:00.000-05:00

Thoughts while I wear out my remote control flipping back and forth between the World Series and Monday Night Football...

- Per the official, very scientific poll I conducted to determine my approach to "no-shave November," I should embrace my inner Thomas Magnum and grow a mustache. Alas, I'm fairly certain that one of the ballots in favor of the mustache had a hanging chad*. The current plan is to take the Poor Man's Hobo route (abandoning shaving entirely, for those unfamiliar with such lexicon) for as long as I can stand it. Feel free to place bets on how long I last. (I'm guessing about a week.) Don't worry, mustache supporters, once I do decide to grab a razor again, it's very possible that I'll leave what remains in the mustachular area for a day, simply to embrace the ridiculous situation.

*The Writings: We're all about timely references.

- If you are disappointed that this Writing led off with an update on my personal grooming, please reread the title to this writing.

- I should probably be more specific with titles, however, as this one could pretty much cover all posts contained in this blog.

- The San Francisco Giants - the team just one win away from winning the World Series - are starting a lineup where folks named Freddy, Buster and Cody bat back-to-back-to-back. Unconfirmed reports state that the team, should they win, will celebrate at Pizza Hut... but only if they have their chores done first.

- After a week, I finally have my car back from the body shop. Upon returning my rental car, the guy at the counter asked me what they could do better in terms of customer service. I said I couldn't think of anything, though that was probably a lie. Ultimately, I didn't figure my suggestion of offering full refunds for people who have five-letter names beginning with "D" would be taken seriously.

- The woman behind me at the grocery store this evening had just two items: an ice-scraper and one red onion. Try to piece that puzzle together.

- If I learned one thing from Halloween this year, it's that the concept of trick-or-treating is one that a two-year-old can pick up fairly quickly.

- If I learned a second thing from Halloween, it's that it is pretty adorable when that same two-year-old takes to playing a piano and signing her own rendition of "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep." Personally, I think I like her lyrics, "yes sir, yes sir, be ba bull" better than the "real" lyrics.

- I just saw a commercial for Heart's new album. On the Big List of Things I Never Hope To Have In My Home this ranks right behind a leopard-print Snuggie.

- I'm somewhat frightened by the thought of the Giants winning the World Series, simply because the potential for leagues of headlines of the "A GIANT Victory" variety is quite strong. I have nothing against a good pun, but this will be beaten into the ground like a railroad spike.

- If you're reading this on Tuesday, don't forget to vote. Whether your a Democrat, Republican, Independent, or Whig, it's your chance to be a part of Democracy in action. Plus, you get a sticker. Score!

- In other Tuesday action, the No. 3 Kansas State Wildcats begin their preseason schedule. Yes, it feels very foreign to type that "No. 3," but it's definitely something I could get used to. With that in mind, it's time for pregame...

Things you should know - Late October Sports Edition

2010-10-27T20:41:00.001-05:00

A fair chunk of the regular readers of The Writings have little more than a passing interest in sports. This is a fact I'm aware of, but one I seem to regularly ignore. Instead of giving readers what they're really hoping for (embarrassing tales from my life), I'll post rambling entries about sports teams and athletes in whom my readers have as much interest as they do in the current whereabouts of the cast of "Perfect Strangers." With the World Series upon us, football season in mid-play, and basketball season tipping off, the sports-oriented writing probably will not end anytime soon. I will, however, at least make an effort to present helpful knowledge that the reader could use in everyday conversation. I do occasionally pretend to be a "professional" sports journalist, after all. Consider the following things you should know...

BASEBALL

This World Series will end a drought
The San Francisco Giants have not won a World Series since 1954 and the franchise was located in New York back then. The Texas Rangers, on the other hand, have never appeared in a World Series; not even in their previous life as the Washington Senators. Thus, whoever wins the seven-game series will making history, quenching the thirst for a championship in either San Francisco or Arlington. Why should you care? Mainly because this proves to you that two teams have longer championship droughts than the Kansas City Royals, whose Writings you tolerate with such patience.

The beard-fearing trend has caught on
Last basketball season, the simple notion of fearing one whose face featured whiskers went mainstream* thanks to a Kansas State guard with a silky shot and a hairy chin. This fall, the phrase "Fear the Beard" has made another splash, earning the approval of all in San Francisco thanks to relief pitcher Brian Wilson. Wilson (the non-Beach Boy version) led the majors with 48 saves in 2010 and sports a beard that resembles, in uncanny manner, the fake one actor Matthew Fox wore in Lost.

*Should Pullen really receive all the credit for beard fearing trends? After all, haven't mall Santa's been terrifying children for decades? There's probably credence to the idea of giving Saint Nick some credit, but Santa won't be shooting 3-pointers in Bramlage Coliseum this season. Excellent work, Jake.

This World Series will feature some excellent pitching
It all starts tonight. By the time you read this, one team will probably lead the series 1-0. Most likely, the winner will have received a strong pitching performance from its Game 1 starter. The game features the Rangers' Cliff Lee - the 32-year-old who was demoted to the minors for poor performance as recently as 2007, but followed by winning the Cy Young Award for the league's best pitcher in 2008 - and the Giants' Tim Lincecum - a 26-year-old who won the National League Cy Young Award in 2008 and 2009 and also wears his hair like a teenage girl. Odds are strong that pitching will be as vital to this series as cultural differences were to the scripts of every "Perfect Strangers" episode.*

*I've posted a great number of Writings and never once referred to the show that gave the world the gift of Balki Bartokomous. You didn't think I could only take one bite once I opened the "Perfect Strangers" wrapper, did you?

Football

The rushing attack of the Kansas City Chiefs is the best in football
The Chiefs currently lead the NFL in rushing, averaging 176.5 rushing yards per game. Running backs Jamaal Charles and Thomas Jones rank 13th and 16th, respectively, in individual rushing. Is this really a big deal just six games into the season? Perhaps it is. Perhaps it will prove to be as relevant to the season as the fact that one day in high school I ate an entire box of powdered donuts in one sitting. (There's your embarrassing tale of the author's life. Happy?) Because I've never shown much prowess in the area of seeing the future, I really have no idea how things will end for the Chiefs. I just know it's nice to be back to the point where there is some sort of reason for optimism.

Brett Favre will never go away
For years now, there's been great "drama" (translation: 24-hour coverage by major sports networks because pitchmen for Wranglers are apparently more important than actual sporting events) surrounding the "will he retire?" storyline with Mr. Favre. The story is blown up like a Macy's balloon every year, despite the fact that Favre has never actually missed a game due to a "retirement." Now that the season is midway through and we can't focus on possible retirement (and poor play keeps the media from having the opportunity to declare him the savior for all humanity), the Favre filler has revolved around another subject. I believe this is what one might call a lose-lose-lose situation. First off, it involves Favre. (Loss.) Next, it means journalists everywhere are having to write stories on the subject of Mr. Favre's bikini area. (Loss.) The fact that so many outlets are covering it also seems to convey the fact that the general public is interested in the story. (Loss for all of humanity.)

Basketball

Everything you hear about LeBron James and the Miami Heat is wrong
Ever since LeBron James announced he would sign with the Miami Heat this summer, the NBA squad has been more popular in South Beach than Don Johnson and the musical stylings of Will Smith combined.* There are folks that think the Heat - with James plus all-stars Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh - will set new record for victories in an NBA season. They won't. There are folks that claim that James is some sort of demonic spawn of underworldly origin because of the way he deserted Cleveland. He's not. Personally, I didn't agree with the way James gave the Ohio city a figurative middle-finger by announcing he was signing with a different team on a national television special, but I also don't feel the decision should have him treated as if he's Satan's step-brother. The Heat will be a strong team this year, and they'll be a fun one for many to root against. Just know that they won't dominate in the same fashion that Teen Wolf's team did and be aware that James will not, at any point in the season, grow horns or cloven hooves.

*Is it clear that I've never been to Miami and can only base knowledge of the city on events from pop culture?

The K-State basketball season starts on Nov. 2
Sure, it's a preseason game against a school seemingly named after a "Seinfeld" character, but such details should not hinder enthusiasm. The Wildcats enter the season with national expectations higher than I might have ever imagined. Season tickets are sold out, Jacob Pullen is widely viewed as one of the best guards in the nation, and there's a potential matchup with Duke - the nation's top team - looming less than one month away. No funny business here; this season should be a lot of fun.

Be ready.

Putting the Pro in Procrastination

2010-10-24T18:36:00.001-05:00

Nearly a year ago, a grizzled old man backed his Suburban right into the rear-quarter panel of my sweet, innocent Chevy Impala. My car has never done a thing to deserve such treatment, and truthfully, it has had a somewhat traumatic life. Upon researching the vehicle before I purchased it, I discovered through a VIN report that it had been repossessed from it's original owner. I've never had the nerve to ask my car what happened with the whole situation, but my guess is that there was some major neglect and possibly some name-calling. (That, or drugs anyway.)

Since the car has been under my control, life has been mostly good, however there have been some hiccups along the way. There was the hailstorm that cracked the windshield. There were the occasions that I went more than 3,000 miles before having the oil changed. (On a COMPLETELY UNRELATED note, please don't check my odometer right now.) There was even the time that - as the result of some sort of weird prank, gang initiation, or pagan sacrifice - I awoke to discover that my car was coated in sunflower seeds. (I still have no idea what sort of sign that was supposed to be.)

Through all those trials, my car kept its figurative head up and kept moving forward (or backward, depending on the gear). Then, the old guy - who had seemingly been at Hastings to search for "Hee Haw, The Complete Series" on DVD - struck. Upon hearing the crunch of his mammoth vehicle bullying my car, he exited his, checked out the result, and then finally spoke. His words of wisdom? "Damn. It's been a long time since I've hit anybody." I've consulted the Big List of Intelligent Things You Can Say After Backing Into Someone in the Parking Lot of a Book/Entertainment Store and this response comes in at No. 2,939,082,618. (Right after "Jellybeans are my favorite.")

Through the majesty of insurance, I was assured that all damages would be taken care of. I'd even be set up with a rental. All I had to do was get the car into a body shop for an estimate. Easy, right? Eleven months later, that has finally happened. My car goes in for body work tomorrow, and by Friday it should be looking as good as new(-used).

The question is, "Why did it take 11 months to get to the point?" Unfortunately, the answer to said question is a highly-convoluted one full of hearsay, happenstance, and conspiracy theories. ... That, or it comes down to the fact that the dent really is not THAT noticeable, and eating a Vistaburger and reading (or eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and watching television, or eating something off the Wendy's 99-cent menu and writing, or eating a bowl of cereal and reciting the lyrics to Journey's greatest hits, or eating Saltines and whittling the entire roster of the 1994 Kansas City Royals out of maple) always seemed like a better way to spend lunch.

Actually, I'm not really sure at all why it took so long to get my car into the shop, but I'm glad that it is finally happening. (Nice work, self.) Though my reminder of the serial parking lot prowler will be forever gone, My car will no longer have to be self-conscious about the dent in the rear-quarter panel.

Now if it could just do something about the fool driving it around.

The Pumpkin Patch

2010-10-20T21:31:00.001-05:00

Today is October 20. I have consulted several calendars to confirm this seemingly simple fact. My Windows desktop, a day-planner, and www.timetemperature.com also provide evidence that supports this claim.

Why go to such lengths just to confirm today's date? Mainly because it blows my mind... We're two-thirds of the way through 2010's tenth month, yet I'm fairly confident that it was just three days ago that I was telling my landlord that I could not believe how quickly August went by. The fact that time is flying by with such velocity seems to be a sure sign that I'm getting old. (The noises my back makes when I get up in the morning and the way I get drawn in to Wheel of Fortune whenever it's on a nearby television seem to support this notion.) Nonetheless, it's time to cast aside such worries. Even though I may be just days from arthritis and cataracts, and - with the seemingly accelerated nature of this calendar year - tomorrow may be Christmas, it's time to pause and take a look a locale that truly fits the season: the pumpkin patch.

*Warning: Reading about events in the author's life may cause drowsiness. Please do not read The Writings while operating heavy machinery. The Writings have been known to cause severe befuddlement, mild aggression, and feelings of deep pity. Don't drink alcohol when reading The Writings. If you are, or may soon be pregnant, take precaution when reading The Writings. Please do not attempt to recreate The Writings at home. This blog is written by a trained professional.

As surprising as it may be, Saturday marked my first trip to such a location. I'm sure it sounds odd, but traveling alone to a family-oriented place to look awkward because I was the only single person there with no kids never really appealed to me. Saturday proved different, as my sister invited me to go with her family and a couple friends. Thus, when we arrived at the pumpkin patch, it was my sister, brother-in-law, and my niece, plus their two friends and their baby boy... and me, looking awkward because I was the only single person there with no kids. Oh well.

Anyway, the patch proved to be an interesting place. Admission for all seven of us to get in? $4. That's right, the owner's of the pumpkin patch took the approach that only those that would get the most enjoyment of the patch's activities (kids 2+) should be charged admission. The idea is a novel one and is something that more places should consider. Score one for the patch.

Inside, we first took a trip through the bale maze. As an astute reader might guess, this was simply a maze crafted out of bales of hay. Unfortunately, with a limited amount of space, there are only so many different routes one could make in a bale maze. Only the first fork of the maze seemed to make one pause for a moment wondering which way they should go. Naturally, I chose the wrong way. Luckily, two minutes later our entire crew escaped the maze with no severe injuries or mental trauma to report.

We moved on from the maze to a giant tree house and then the petting zoo. My niece, a master of animal noises at the age of two, was excited to check out the animals, but ultimately terrified of two pigs. Rather than petting one of the pigs as it ate, she decided she would hide behind her mom and shout that the pig was "naughty." I'm not sure what the pig did, but ultimately - when the battle is between my relation and pork - I have to side with my niece... That damn pig. Along with the dastardly swine, the petting zoo featured a calf that was in a coma-like trance at the rear of its cage, a goat that had also determined that people were evil, a cage of pigeons, and a pen full of chickens and a couple ducks. Disney's Animal Adventure it was not, but - again - it cost $4 to get in.

In my niece's eyes, the highlight of the patch was surely the giant pile of hay that existed only for children to jump into. After she climbed to a spot on a hay bale a few feet above the pile of hay, I expected a bit of hesitation on her part before taking the leap. I was wrong. The little girl jumped like a seasoned paratrooper. She laughed as she sank into the hay and then it was time to jump again. And again. And a few more times for good measure. After more jumps than the average game of Super Mario Bros. the young one was finally corralled and it was time to go pick pumpkins. (Unsurprisingly, we made it back to the hay pit later on.)

Unfortunately for those looking for quality, wholesome, pumpkin-picking fun (my sister) we had to walk back by the petting zoo to get to the patch of pumpkins. The niece can be a motivated individual, and at this point she was motivated to visit her animal friends again. She was told that they had to find some pumpkins first. It was at this point that my niece picked up the small pumpkin nearest her feet and handed it to her uncle. Technically, she had completed her mother's task; she had picked a pumpkin. After all, her mom had never specified that the pumpkin should not be half green. Alas, the niece's attempt to beat the system were ineffective and the pumpkin hunt continued. It was at this point that my brother-in-law received a text message with news of my brother's engagement. At this, there was much rejoicing.

The day at the patch wrapped with pumpkins picked, some s'mores cooked, and another visit to the chickens and ducks, this time with some quality animal impersonations tossed out. (Not by me... Okay, a few by me, but most by my niece. I swear.)

What's the point of this tale of the pumpkin patch visit? Honestly, I don't have a clue... I hear people start to tell rambling stories with no direction when they get old.

Family Matters

2010-10-18T21:14:00.001-05:00

I don't regularly break from poor attempts at sports analysis and lame jokes to write about family, but I don't regularly find out that my family will be adding a new member. With that in mind, The Writings offer their official congratulations* to my brother and his fiancee on their recent engagement. (Names omitted so that they never have to admit association with this blog.)

*Does a blog need to offer "official congratulations" when the author has already congratulated said couple in person? Probably not, but I've heard several times lately that "nothing is official until it's on Facebook." I want to cover my bases, just in case those who uttered this phrase were thinking of the wrong incredibly popular website. I'm fairly confident that, just as with Facebook, there's a major motion picture coming out about the creation of The Writings... The Writings: Delusion is a way of life.

It's been fairly obvious from the start that the relationship between this couple was a meaningful one, so - even though I'm destined to receive a barrage of "So, when's it your turn?" inquisitions and "You're the only one left" remarks* through the eight months leading to the wedding - I'm definitely looking forward to the big day. Again, congratulations.

*Judging by the number of such comments I've received in just the two days since the engagement became public knowledge, I'm likely to set some sort of record.

Things you should know - K-State October Edition

2010-10-16T21:39:00.001-05:00

If the numbers 59-7 and the phrase “Madness in Manhattan” mean absolutely nothing to you and you have no desire to read of anything related to them, it is probably best to move along. (In fact, I hear that both Good Housekeeping and Guns & Ammo have some real think-pieces online.) If, however, you enjoy reading K-State analysis from a website in no way affiliated with or endorsed by the university or any sort of actual respected media outlet, you’ve come to the right place. The K-State football team is just one win away from being bowl eligible for the first time since 2006 and the men’s basketball team has officially begun practicing, entering the season as the favorite to win the Big 12. Here’s what you should know…

Carson Coffman can hit water if he falls out of a boat.
The Wildcat quarterback has taken much flak this season from the media, fans, and even authors of little-read blogs. It’s true that he’s not perfect. It’s true that he’s seen struggles on the field. It’s true that he’s responded to blitzes in the same manner that one is taught to react to being attacked by a grizzly bear. Nonetheless, it’s also true that he’s led K-State to a 5-1 record, with the only loss coming to a Nebraska team that is ranked in the Top 10. Coffman played frighteningly effectively against the KU drama department’s cast of “Little Giants: The Musical”*, showing that the Wildcats might have more up their offensive sleeves than off-tackle runs.

*Wait, that was actually KU’s football team? Yowza.

Jacob Pullen is good at basketball
Three years ago, Jacob Pullen was a backup point guard and the third-best freshman on the Kansas State roster. He may have been best known for being Michael Beasley’s teammate and for being verbally berated by coach Frank Martin nearly every game. It’s a safe bet that, at that time, few imagined that Pullen would develop into the type of player he is today. Sure, he showed flashed of great skill, scoring 20 points in the first-ever ever victory over Kansas at Bramlage Coliseum, but few took much notice of No. 0 with Beasley and fellow-frosh Bill Walker in the lineup.

Now? Pullen spent last season teaching folks around the nation to respect (and, yes, even fear) players that neglect razors during the course of a basketball season. First-team all conference honors and a stellar performance in the NCAA Tournament led to the senior guard being voted the Big 12’s preseason Player of the Year for 2010-2011. Pullen won the 3-point contest at K-State’s “Madness” event and has been mentioned as a potential first-team All American.

Daniel Thomas is good at football, but he’s not invincible
When a talented (sorry, KU) opposing defense focuses on stopping the senior running back, the task can be achieved, as exhibited by the Nebraska Cornhuskers.

Honestly, this is probably for the best. The last thing we need is Lex Luthor dressing as a line judge in attempt to sneak onto the K-State sideline and spike DT’s Gatorade with kryptonite.

The Kansas State front court has the potential to be one of the best in the nation
Big 12 coaches voted senior forward Curtis Kelly to the conference’s preseason first-team. Junior forward Jamar Samuels earned preseason honorable mention honors. Transfer Freddy Asprilla is a load at 6-10, 280 lbs., and he earned Freshman of the Year honors in the Sun Belt Conference two years ago. That’s not a bad trio. Add in sophomore Wally Judge, a former McDonald’s All-American who has the potential to be better than the first three we mentioned, and you have a front court that should compete with any in college basketball.

This fan-base is well-versed in overreaction
One blowout loss to a top-ten team and suddenly many K-State fans weren’t sure whether the team would even compete with the University of Kansas, despite the fact that KU had also just been on the wrong side of a blow-out, but against a team with football history about as storied as that of Hogwarts. Fighting the trend of viewing the Gatorade cup as half empty, I predicted that K-State would win by at least two touchdowns… If only I would have said “at least seven touchdowns.” Oh well.

Good things come to those who wait
Well, predictions of good things do, anyway. In the late 90s and early this decade, the only doom to speak of around K-State’s octagonal basketball facility was the type that surrounded the anticipated result of having the ball in the hands of Joe Leonard, or Pero Vasiljevic, or Chris Griffin, or Tyler Hughes, or Travis Canby, or (in the interest of time and keeping the one person that has read this far interested, I'll stop). There was a lot of bad basketball on display in Bramlage Coliseum, and my friends, my brother, and I kept going back for more. It’s not easy to be one of 250 students at an exhibition game that your team is losing to a squad of washed-up players with the name of a video game company on their jerseys. It’s exponentially more difficult when one of the players, who has torched your team for about 307 points* begins to have in-depth, trash-talking conversations with the student section. Been there, done that. I’ve seen another exhibition loss where a student that won a VIDEO GAME tournament suited up for the opposing squad and actually scored, even though he looked to possess about as much athleticism as Jabba the Hutt.

*Number is approximate.

Throughout the years with Tom Asbury and Jim Wooldridge at the helm, I witnessed blowouts and heartbreakers, with a few encouraging victories mixed in. I remember the anger and frustration that came with year after year of being completely ignored by the tournament selection committee – of the NIT. Then, with the hiring of a guy named Huggins, things took a turn.

Sure, Bob is seen as a public enemy by many in Manhattan, but the fact remains that K-State basketball would not be in the position it is currently in if he had never made a stop in the former Huggieville. Now, K-State is the favorite to win the Big 12. They’re viewed by many as a potential top-five team this season. Head coach Frank Martin – whose hiring many viewed as a Hail Mary effort to keep Michael Beasley’s commitment – is seen as one of the top coaches in the conference and has become a broadcast media favorite for his sideline reactions. Five years ago televised K-State basketball was a rarity; this season every single regular season game will shown on TV.

The expectations are high with the Wildcats predicted by conference coaches to win the Big 12. There is a chance that things turn sour and the team falls flat on its collective face (see: K-State football, 2004), but that’s certainly not going to occupy my thoughts. I lived through the days where the team’s recruiting coups came from Junction City and it's been rather enjoyable seeing basketball actually become relevant again. This life? It’s good.

Honk if... uhh, nevermind

2010-10-12T20:28:00.001-05:00

While idling in a fast-food drive-thru lane today, I noticed that the vehicle to my fore wore a 30-day tag. Good for the driver, I thought. He’s not letting economic struggles hinder his life and he has a new/used vehicle to show for it. Further examination of the dark Jeep Grand Cherokee, however, left me slightly concerned. You see, a window on the driver’s side wore a sticker bearing the phrase, “Honk if U Horny.”

I’m not one to judge folks for the messages promoted by their vehicles. After all, the sticker could have been part of scientific research, with the driver attempting to determine which areas of town respond in most positive fashion to such a window-borne stimulus. (Please note that there were no honks heard while at Burger King.) The concern I have is with the fact that, again, this vehicle wore a 30-day tag, dated Oct. 11, 2010. The leads a thinking person* (which I am nearly 38-percent of the time) to one of
three conclusions (aside from the fact that Mr. Driver really needs to get his vehicle legally registered):

1. The call for action put forth on the aforementioned sticker is so important to the driver that he adhered it to the window prior to even ensuring that the vehicle was legally registered.

2. The vehicle wore the sticker prior to being purchased by the new driver, meaning a previous driving approved of said message and the new driver found it thought-provoking enough that he purchased the vehicle without consideration of having the adhesive directive removed prior to transfer of ownership.

3. The car dealership placed the sticker on the vehicle as further incentive to purchase the mode of conveyance. (Car salesman: You see that sticker? You'll be the life of the party.; Car shopper: What party? I'd be driving...; Car salesman:... Uhh... Hey, look. It has heated seats.)

Whether the reasoning behind said sticker is No. 1, 2, or 3, my concern for the driver (and society in general) remains the same. After all, if folks are busy following the “Honk if U Horny” motto, how is one supposed to be sure if someone is actually honking because you just cut them off, or your light turned green, or you’re about to back into them in the Hastings’ parking lot? Frankly, though the message communicated is an intelligent and highly sophisticated request, I’m not sure this whole “Honk if U Horny” idea will lead to anything but problems.

Beyond that, the sentence is one out of a writer's nightmare.* If kids are going to be reading this, can we at least have it appear in grammatically correct fashion?

*Yes, a writer (which I pretend to be nearly 38-percent of the time) has pretty lame nightmares.

Ad research

2010-10-11T19:16:00.001-05:00

According to the ads that display when checking my Yahoo!* email account, I am apparently a stressed, greedy octogenarian who is
losing his hair, has a flabby stomach, has bad skin, has horrendously achy joints, needs new deodorant, may be interested in going back to school, enjoys fantasy role-playing video games, is a fan of the Phoenix Suns, and loves the movie Shutter Island with a passion that cannot be rivaled.

Wow.

It's like these folks are sitting right here in my living room with me. You'll excuse me if I spend the rest of the evening shopping online for stress-relieving pain meds, gut-busting Rogaine, pleasantly scented Ben Gay + Clearasil combo packs, and educational video games featuring the Phoenix Suns' Gorilla, and that may or may not be set on a fictional island, right?

*Please note: I'm never excited enough to actually pronounce "Yahoo!" with the proper emphasis indicated by the exclamation mark. I apologize for this. I'm going to make a concentrated effort to get more excited about emails telling me that I can get 10% off at shoes.com.

Gut feeling

2010-10-08T22:24:00.002-05:00

I have never been literally punched in the gut. For this, I'm thankful. You see, I have a feeling that my gut is probably the fragile sort and would not respond well to any sort of physical abuse. After taking one hit, said gut would probably curl up in the fetal position, praying silent prayers for its safety.

Unfortunately, I have taken figurative blows to the gut on several occasions, the most recent of which came last night when the Nebraska Cornhuskers ran past the Kansas State Wildcats on their way a 35-point victory. Through the years I've learned that the fetal position does little to help in said situations.

I have often (probably far too often) used this space to detail certain aspects of collegiate or professional teams that I root for. There have been optimistic looks at hopes for struggling baseball teams (which typically prove fruitless) and running logs of my thoughts during football games (which typically prove uninteresting to anyone that is not a future version of myself). There have been countless hours devoted to attempting to keep up with everything these teams do, even if the team is just inviting a high school recruit to come watch a game. One fact remains: these are games.

Sure, Thursday night's K-State-Nebraska came was a battle of unbeatens. It was a match-up that involved the Cornhuskers attempting to show the nation that they are certainly a Top-10 team, while the Wildcats wanted to show that they deserve a spot in the Top 25. It even served as an historic occasion, as - thanks to Nebraska's decision to ditch their Big 12 brethren for annual trips to Pennsylvania Dutch Country - it marked possibly the final time that the two programs would ever meet on a football field.

The result was one that pained those for whom purple is a permanent wardrobe fixture. Nebraska quarterback Taylor Martinez found more open field than a traveler who takes a wrong turn in Western Kansas and the K-State defenders pursuing him seemed to be reenacting every slow-motion sequence that has ever taken place in film. Nebraska scored and scored. Fans clad in red (far too many of them) cheered endlessly in the stadium named for the Wildcats' head coach, and K-State fans held their guts in disgust. (Or as the result of disgust-fueled drinking.)

The loss hurt. Most do. Thanks to the stoicism from my dad credits to our Swedish heritage, I typically maintain a pretty even keel; never excited to the point of mindless screaming (whew), but never mad to the point of turning green and yelling self-narrations like "Hulk smash!" Yet, some of the most frustrating moments of my life have come as the result of numbers on a scoreboard. My brother-in-law still insists that the angriest he has seen me was after K-State's loss to Ohio State in the Fiesta Bowl in early 2004. I was mad about the loss. I was mad about obnoxious Buckeye fans sitting next to me. I was even angry about the ignorant folks sitting behind me who apparently had never seen football before. I was peeved, miffed, fed up, steamed, et cetera. I was this worked up, all about a game.

Why can sports seem so important? There have been plenty of events in my life that have certainly been more important than anything that takes place on a field or a court, and several happenings that have served far more severe (figurative) kidney punches. Such punches are the type that can make you truthfully fear what could be ahead. They can make you wonder how life could be so cruel. They are also the moments in life that can lead one to truly being thankful and appreciative for all they have been blessed with. Such moments trump anything sports can offer. For this, I will accept no debates.

We've determined that, in the grand scheme of all that comprises life, sports don't really matter. (Yes, it apparently took seven paragraphs to reach that mind-blowing conclusion... I'm a little slow.) Why bother with sports when they can leave you curse-mutteringly mad (the author's angry state) but ultimately hold the same importance as your decision to buy one or two Crunchwrap Supremes at Taco Bell? I think I've answered my own question.

We're a society that lives for living vicariously. Through movies, television, books and video games we're largely wrapped up in the successes (Way to save the brake plant, Tommy Boy!) and failures (Stomped by Bowser again? C'mon Mario!) of others. Sports serve as a way feel like a part of that success. You can read so much about an athlete that you feel like you know him or her. You can purchase apparel to match that of your team. You can memorize stats and schedules. If you're loaded with cash, you can even purchase tickets so close to the action that an athlete might steal your popcorn. Essentially, you can get so wrapped up in a team that it honestly feels like its performance affects yours, (I know there have been days that I've gone to work with a smile solely because of the numbers on a scoreboard the night before) and yet, it really doesn't matter.

A sports fan* can be exuberant with victories and devastated with losses, but (as long as said fan is mentally stable) their lot in life is unaffected. When your favorite baseball team loses 100 games in a season, your job is still safe. When your favorite football team wins as often as a Keno player who can't count higher than five, your family still accepts you. When your favorite basketball team drops a game thanks to shooting free throws as accurately as a cross-eyed goat, life moves on. Sure, the punches hurt, but they can be forgotten.

*Please note, this refers to loyal sports fans only. Fair-weather fans cannot be invested in this sort of manner... They also don't have souls.

Do I take sports too seriously at times? Absolutely. Could I imagine things any other way? No chance. Sure, I've been reminded far too many times throughout my 20+ years as a competent* sports fan that the figurative shots to the gut hurt, but there's always hope for tomorrow (even if your head coach regularly uses phrases like very confirmed )... Plus, figuratively, I can take a beating.

*Usage of this adjective is up for debate.

Grizzly Adams did have a beard

2010-10-04T20:05:00.001-05:00

I'm facing quite a predicament. Well, that's not entirely true. The predicament is still about a month away, but the time to seek solutions is now. You see, my employer has declared that our company should observe the rules of "no-shave November" this fall. This means that all males employed by the company are encouraged to ignore razors for the month. The thought behind it is that it's a small way to be environmentally friendly, as it would cut back on the water and/or electricity on might typically use when shaving. I suppose it also encourages all involved to embrace their inner Santa as the holiday season nears. No-shave November proves to be an issue in my world because I don't feature a face rich in follicles of the whiskular* nature.

*Whiskular: Of or relating to whiskers... Obviously.

I feel like I've been blessed with plenty in my life. I'm blessed with the sort of impeccable timing that allows me to blink approximately 49.7-percent of the time when my photo is taken. I'm blessed with the uncanny combination of optimism and poor short-term memory that makes it possible to continually root for the Kansas City Royals year after year. I'm even blessed with the opportunity to commit so many poor attempts at being entertaining to the highly sophisticated world of the Internet. Alas, I'm not blessed with the ability to grow a decent beard.

I've put much thought into the situation, and I've decided I basically have five different options of how to approach the 11th month of 2010. Please, dear reader, review the summaries below and then vote in the poll at the side of the page to help determine what November will bring for the author's mug.

1. Nothing
I know the title is a complicated one, but the premise of the "Nothing" option is that I do nothing. I'd approach November like any other month, which basically means shaving on a sporadic schedule.

Pro - Life is good. Why change?

Con - I risk being taunted by so many coworkers sporting full November beards. Noogies, wedgies, and stolen lunch money would inevitably follow.

2. The poor man's hobo
This is what I'll look like if I fully embrace the "no shave" rule. There would be a good whisker patch on my chin, but my cheeks would resemble something like barren desert with the occasional cactus.

Pro - Shaving can be a pain in both the literal and figurative sorts. This option eliminates that problem for a month, plus adds five extra minutes to my morning a few times each week. Exciting.

Con - I don't appreciate the thought of people being repulsed by my grotesque appearance.

3. Magnum P.I.
Leave the upper lip unshaven and embrace the power of the mustache.

Pro - It has, by far, the coolest name of any option.

Con - I have no intention of pursing a career in law enforcement.

4. Seriously Going Green
Step one: Buy Chia Pet.
Step two: Ditch the pet portion.
Step three: Coat cheeks/chin with water and Chia seeds.
Step four: Bathe daily.
End result: A beard that will be the envy of any greenhouse owner.

Pro - I'd be a hit in the gardening community.

Con - I'd have the "Ch-ch-chi-CHIA" jingle stuck in my head all day, everyday for a month.

5. Fear the Beard
Maintain the regular shaving routine, but wear a fake beard of the Abe Lincoln costume variety to work each day.

Pro - The shaving schedule maintains status quo, but I put forth a VERY CONVINCING facade.

Con - Applying adhesive to my face each day is about as appealing as riding to work belly-down on a skateboard.

You've read the options, now it's time to choose. Vote in the poll at the side of the page, or feel free to add a write-in as a comment below. There's a good chance it would be added to the poll, as well.

Today's brainbusters

2010-09-30T19:14:00.001-05:00

As part of my job, I occasionally have to call up a person's account in a computer program. In doing so, I commonly ask for that person's name. Typically, the query does not prove to be a difficult one for the person on the other end; today was different. In speaking to a guy today, I asked if his middle initial was "J," as noted in our database. After a pause, he finally responded, "Well, it would have been when we ordered our tickets."

I immediately fell into a state of deep confusion. Is it common for a person's middle initial to change? Did he find out that he was actually named after a kooky grandfather who sold tainted whiskey to average citizens during the days of prohibition? I wanted to know more, but decided that curiosity can be a dangerous thing. (It needs no provocation to kill felines, after all.)

----------

On my ride home from work, I listened to a sports radio program. Over the air, the radio personalities discussed how the top college basketball recruit for the class of 2012, Austin Rivers, had given a commitment to play his college basketball at Duke University. In discussing the matter, one of the radio guys began a statement by saying, "Well, I don't know if this puts (Duke) back on the map..."

Luckily, I had just pulled into my apartment parking lot when this was uttered, as otherwise I might have run off the road into a sign or pedestrian. Duke won the NCAA Tournament this year. They're a favorite to win it again next year. They have the most famous coach in college basketball and they have built one of the most successful programs ever. Apparently all of those qualifications are not enough to put a school on this guy's map. The only sense I can make of the situation was that he was actually looking at a map of zoos in southern Utah... I'm pretty sure Duke isn't on that map.