Nothing of relevance

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...

Today's brainbusters

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.

Copyright Derek D. Larson

Writer's block

This evening I realized that this blog has existed for over four years; the first post was cast into cyberspace in June 2006. It began as a way to distract myself from the fact that I was somewhat miserable when living in a town affectionately deemed Good-but-not-great Bend. The idea was that it would be a good way to provide family with a chance to keep up with my writing. (Whether they wanted to or not was anyone's guess.) Four years later, this Writing depository has become so much more. It's a way to share my thoughts on life's quirks with 3.5 readers*, a way to keep myself entertained, and ... well, I guess that's about it.

*Margin of error: 2.5 readers. 

In the course of its existence, The Writings have drawn rave reviews like "I think you just made the Internet dumber," and "Hey, I read some of your blog... I honestly couldn't tell you what it was actually about."*

*Though the first is fictional (as far as I know), the second quote is actually real, and it was uttered in the midst of a date with the author. Naturally, he was quite flattered about the fact that he had created something so forgettable.**

**The Writings: ... uhh, what were we talking about? 

The point of all this is not to brag about the wild popularity of the blog, but to pass along the fact that it is not easy to work to entertain* 0.000000012179487179-percent of the U.S. population on a multi-weekly basis. Doing things like flipping on the TV, looking around online, or actually interacting with other people in order to happen upon blog topics can be utterly exhausting. Sometimes, you have to enlist help.

*Editor's note: We realize "entertain" is used haphazardly here. Please feel free to replace with "bemuse" at your whim.

I attempted to do that very thing tonight. I sent a text message seeking input from people who - at the very least - recognize my name when it pops up on their phone. (I think.) The results of the very unscientific poll were mixed.

The first suggestion was a review of season premieres for the fall TV season. It's not a bad idea, but I feel like I have written about things the land of television a lot lately, and I'm fairly confident that I do things other than watch TV. Example: I am currently writing and listening to music... while the evening's Royals game proceeds muted on my television. Nevermind.

The next idea that came my way was and "ode to annoying sports fans who sit next to you at sporting events." Longtime readers of The Writings know that I do enjoy a good (or even mediocre) ode. Alas, I've sat in a press box for every recent sporting event I have attended, so I have no recent "annoying fan" material to use. Who would have thought that writing could keep me from writing?

Suggestion number three was an intriguing one: "sorry, I got nothin..." I considered picking the sentence apart from the grammatical perspective, but soon remembered that my goal was not to make any potential readers want to pitch their computers out of the nearest window.

After wading through ideas that would ultimately be rejected, I finally found a topic that would stick, and it was neatly summed up in one word: strippers. It was the perfect topic. How I've avoided writing about it for four-plus years, I can't be sure, but that changes now. Without further ado:

(Weather)strippers are continually working to make our planet a better place. Their work to keep warm (or cool) air in our homes may often go unappreciated, but the end result is often the same. (Weather)strippers keep folks happy.

... I'm sure that's what the person who mentioned "strippers" as a topic was referring to.

Turns out the attempt to seek blog topics was a bit of a bust, but there's always tomorrow. (Well, probably not tomorrow, but some unspecified date in the future.) Writer's block is a dangerous thing.

Quick hitters

"Dot net... N-E-T."

Yes, that's what I heard today while taking someone's e-mail address over the phone. The guy actually spelled out "net" to make sure I had it correct. Oddly, his e-mail address was not IAssumeOthersHaveTheIQofANeonSign@SenseOfSuperiority.net.

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Just heard on television: "My kids are now proud of the fact that I was in Animotion and I sang "Obsession." ... Poor kids.

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I received an e-mail today that began "Dear merge('FIRST_NAME')." Upon reading this, my attention was certainly sparked. After all, it has been years since anyone has called me "merge('FIRST_NAME')."

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The Skateboard Street League is currently airing on ESPN2. The show does not take place on any sort of street, but instead in some arena with makeshift ramps and rails set up. I'd complain about false advertising, but that would mean I would actually need to stay on this channel longer. Pass.

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Former KU football coach Mark Mangino has been hired as a consultant by the University of Minnesota. For the safety of the MLB franchise in the city, folks better quit playfully referring to the team as the "Twinkies."

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I just discovered that "Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome" features a scene where a mask-wearing giant drives a vehicle while a midget who speaks broken English and a monkey sit on his lap. The rest of my night will be spent attempting to figure out how the film did not sweep the 1985 Academy Awards.

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Star Trek: The Next Generation first appeared on television in 1987. (Thanks, Wikipedia.) That means that, for the last 23 years, I've been thoroughly convinced that LeVar Burton should have just stuck to Reading Rainbow.

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Remember that Mark Mangino joke a few paragraphs up? Looks like the Twinkie Diet isn't a bad plan... Hail, hail, hail, alma mater.

Smelt ya later

Nearly a week has passed since the last post here at The Writings. In that time, plenty has occurred, but nothing has been commented on. With that in mind, you may be asking yourself:

"Did the author recently fall prey to an unfortunate smelting incident through which he lost use of all fingers that he typically uses to type, and, if so, when and why did he begin smelting? (After all, smelting seems to be a specialized process and not the type of activity one might take up as a hobby. Plus, the author has never written of any sort of interest in smelting, or even of metals in general in the past... This is a guy that has written about a duck with political aspirations, for goodness sakes, surely he'd at least figure out a way to mention extractive metallurgy in some way if he actually had any interest in the subject. Seriously, what's up with the smelting?)"

With that in mind, I'd like to crush any such rumors of my interest in smelting. Such does not exist, and any rumors one hears to the contrary are probably being spoon-fed to the mainstream media by members of the Hair Club For Men looking to overrun this blog for reasons yet unknown.


... That, or I haven't updated in awhile because I haven't been hit by any good ideas, forcing me to craft a completely fictional excuse for not updating in nearly a week. I'm not sure which is more believable.

You must be dreaming

In the midst of my slumber last night, I had a dream that I was in line at a sub sandwich eatery. It was the sort of place where you place your order and then travel along a lengthy counter, detailing how you prefer your sandwich be dressed to an employee on the other side as if he or she is your personal assistant.*

*"I'll have lettuce, tomato, pickle and mayonnaise... And don't forget to pick up the dry-cleaning and take Sparky for a walk."

In the dream, I had yet to have the opportunity to go on the enchanting journey of dressing selection. I held my spot in line like a limestone fence post while others in front of my heehawed over the toppings of choice. Suddenly, a young man who looked as if he was mad at the world* walked into the restaurant. 

*Note: By saying "mad at the world" I do not mean that he strolled in yelling "Die Earth, Die!" while spraying two aerosol cans. I also do not mean that he held a personal grudge against former NBA player World B. Free.

The kid was dressed like me*, but rather than getting in line, he zipped over to the employee side of the counter.

*Note: By saying this guy was "dressed like me" I don't mean to convey the idea that he was wearing the exact same apparel as me... I also don't mean that he was wearing very similar clothing with a color scheme opposite of mine, which might imply that he was my evil twin or a Bizarro Derek. It wasn't THAT weird of a dream.

Though he did not don the garb of a sub shop employee, the new guy starting tossing dressings on sandwiches with the speed and gusto of a Japanese steakhouse chef. He was a whirlwind of lettuce, bell peppers and mustard. The exhibition of sandwich mastery continued and the line began moving more quickly. But, as suddenly as the show began, it ended. The shop's manager, apparently alerted by someone that actually was employed at the place, came out and pulled the kid aside.

Luckily, at this point in the dream, I was close enough that I could hear what the middle-aged woman, who appeared to have enjoyed a free sub or two in her time there, said to the youngster: "Now do you remember what we spoke about last time? We decided that you're talents would be better utilized making Big Macs right now. I'm sorry."

---

Now, dear reader, I'm relying on you to tell me what this dream could possibly mean. Interpret this for me. I will pay heed to your wisdom, as you must have a better take on it than I do. After all, my only thought is that it means that I'm now becoming a smart ass even in my sleep.  

Hookt awn fawniks

This iz wun uv thee most intreeging storeez I hav red in kwyt sum tym. It seemz that sum peepul feel that spelling werdz in thee English langwij (uv wich I am fawnd) iz much too diffikult; akin too nooklear fyziks or brayn surjuree. Az a reezult, such folks piketed the Nashunal Spelling Bee. After all, piketing alwayz werkz.

Thoz wayving synz argyoo that if all werdz wer spelled fonetikalee, illiteracee raytz wuld plummet and mor Amerikanz wuld then kwalify for good jawbz.

Just imajin, akording too theez folks, if wee all spelt just lyk ths, thee wurld wuld bee a better plays. Nacherallee, the best way for theez kunsiderayt indivijooalz too illustrayt this noshun waz by attempting too overshadow an eevent that kuld bee kunsiderd wun ov the top momentz in thee lyvs uv sum yung peepul. How kynd.

I am nawt sher how yoo feel abowt this hol ideea, but, franklee, it hertz my hed.

Shocking Stat of the Day

Through an unexplainable series of events, I currently find myself looking at the Internet Movie Database (www.imdb.com) listing for O.J. Simpson. From this page, you can access information on all movies and television programs that Mr. Simpson has ever appeared in (including an episode of Circus of the Stars!).

While it's certainly useful to know that O.J. appeared as himself in a 1977 episode of Celebrity Challenge of the Sexes, today's interesting stat relates to the website's STARmeter. As stated on imdb.com, the STARmeter reflects "what people are interested in, based not on small statistical samplings, but on the actual behavior of millions of IMDb users." In other words, if people check out your profile, your STARmeter rating will jump.

Now it's time to prepare to be shocked and appalled. If you're standing, sit down; if you're sitting, stand up; if you're drinking something, take a big swig so that your spit-take will be worthwhile. Yes, dear readers, this stat will leave you bewildered.

You see, O.J.'s popularity is down six-percent this week.

(Insert collective gasp from all readers of The Writings here.)

Yes, you read that correctly. Mr. Simpson's popularity is down six-percent.

This is horrifying.

How can people be so disinterested in O.J.'s acting career? Granted, his last acting role in a major motion picture was in Naked Gun 33 1/3: The Final Insult, which was released 15 years ago. And, granted, he's been involved in a couple moderately publicized legal snafus since that film's release, but does that really call for a decrease of interest in the man's filmography? The man was in Hambone and Hillie, after all: a film that's drawn a respectable 4.8/10 rating on imdb.com. 4.8! That's almost 5!

A six-percent drop in popularity... Crazy.

Ask how...

I saw an ad today for the Buxton Palm-Sized Wallet. This amazing product is made of genuine leather and "fits in the palm of your hand!" This is amazing, since my wallet just fits in the palm of my hand*.

*You'll notice that my wallet doesn't merit an exclamation mark for being palm-sized. What a piece of junk.

The ad for Buxton's Palm-Sized Wallet (BPSW for those who enjoy acronyms) caught my eye not because it features an accordion-fold interior with plenty of room for eleven credit cards (although, of all folds named after musical instruments, the accordion is my favorite); not because of the exterior ID window pocket (although it would be convenient to be able to remind myself of my identity without having to actually open my wallet up); and not even because it has the Buxton assurance of quality*. No, the BPSW ad caught my interest because of a line toward the end stating, "Ask how to get the Buxton Palm-Sized Wallet in brown or red..."

*When was the last time a company as renowned as Buxton let you down? Think about it.

Up until this point, I had little interest in the BPSW. Aside from the tear in the top and the fact that it could potentially fall to pieces at any point, my wallet suits me just fine. I paid little interest to this commercial, since I knew it was a product I did not need. This all changed when I discovered I could ask how to get the product in different colors. Who doesn't love variety? With a TV Drama-like twist at the end of their ad, the Buxton folks not only provided information that the BPSW is available in more than just standard black, but they provide a cliffhanger in that you have to call to find out how to attain such alternate colors.

The suspense is killing me.

Odds are that to get the alternate colors all you really need to do is ask for them and the Buxton folks are just trying to pique curiosity of those who are feeble-minded like myself.  Nevertheless, I like to think that there's a chance that the operators in Buxton Land have more interesting journeys in mind for those that wish to attain these color-splashed versions of the BPSW. Consider the following:

1. Call the Buxton folks at their 800 number to inquire how one might be lucky enough to get a BPSW in an aesthetically pleasing shade of red or brown.

2. As instructed by the operator, walk outside, find a hobo and tell him that you liked him better before he was corrupted by the all-mighty dollar.

3. Duck the punch the hobo attempts to knock you out with.

4. Run.

5. After escaping the murderous rage of the hobo, find a shubbery and unearth its roots.

6. Transport the shrubbery to the nearest park. Plant it there, and then run tiny laps around the plant until you are dizzy enough to fall over.

7. Fall over.

8. Upon regaining your equilibrium, go to the nearest store that sells art supplies. Buy one bottle each of red and brown acrylic paint.

9. Take the bottles of acrylic paint home, mix the pain together in a mason jar, and the paint a picture of a brownish-red (or reddish-brown) Palm-Sized Wallet on the screen of your newest television.

10. Take a picture of your newly-painted television with a digital camera.

11. Email the picture of your television featuring the BPSW artwork to the folks at Buxton. Include your name, social security number, and credit card information in the email.

12. Destroy your digital camera.

13. Upon receipt of your digital picture, SSN, and credit card information, your information will go through an approval process (estimated to take 6-8 months) during which time you might notice unusual charges on your credit card statement. Ignore these.

14. Once your emailed information is approved, an operator will contact you. When this occurs, you will have six minutes to recite the alphabet backward, name all state capitals in alphabetical order, and answer three trivia questions about William Howard Taft's teenage years.

15. Pass the six-minute test and, just like that, you'll have your choice of a red or brown BPSW... If they have any in stock.

A Return to Pointlessness

Popular opinion* says that it's been far too long since a Writing has been composed of nothing but random thoughts of a bulleted nature. It's time to rectify this lack of typed drivel.

*"Popular opinion" belongs to the author. He supports his opinions, in most cases.

- I picked up a new cellphone awhile back. When texting, it often attempts to guess the next work i'm going to type. If I type, "I'm going" it might suggest "home" as the next word. I can see how it might be a convenient feature. Unfortunately, my particular phone seems a bit paranoid about our nation's safety. On several occasions, it has attempted to finish my sentence with the word "terrorists." My phone wants me to send messages like "I saw the terrorists," "let's go watch terrorists," or "I ate terrorists." Believe it or not, I don't take my phone's advice very often.

- My toaster is the one that knows what it is talking about.

- The opening to "Shaq vs." refers to Shaquille O'Neal as an athlete "formed out of Greek mythology." That seems like an odd nickname for his mother.

- I'm also glad that the announcers decided to clarify for the audience that "Shaq vs." is "the only show where four-time NBA Champion Shaquille O'Neal takes on world class athletes in their own sports." I thought for sure I'd seen it happen on "Nash Bridges," but thanks to the informative announcer, I know I was mistaken.

- I had never watched "Shaq vs." prior to tonight... Now that I have, it seems there is good reason that I've never programmed it into my DVR.

- Zack Greinke currently has 12 strikeouts through six innings pitched. He's been the best pitcher in the American League this year, but he's on the worst team in the league. If you are writing a story about things that are not fair, consider this for your lead.

- Yes, I admit that the Royals are the worst time in the American League... But they aren't the worst in the Majors. Thank you, Washington Nationals, for taking charge in the department of futility.

- Need to figure out if you're an adult yet? Head to the dentist. If paying for the dental work hurts more than sitting through it, congratulations, you're all grown up.

- Did I say 12 strikeouts through six innings? I meant 14 through seven, which ties the Royals' single-game record. With the way things have gone lately, I'm just glad we're talking about records that don't involve "most losses," "most consecutive at bats without actually making contact with a pitch," or "most fans that leave directly following the hot dog race."

- My new neighbor (in my apartment with thin walls) apparently enjoys calling her mother and yelling at her over the phone. I'm sure her mom appreciates it as much as I do. Luckily for the mom, she at least has the option of hanging up. I have yet to locate that button on my Dunder-Mifflin brand wall. 

- 15 strikeouts in a game marks a new Royals record for Donald Zackary Greinke. Congratulations to the young man, and congratulations to KC beat writers for having something to write about other than the Royals failing to capitalize with runners in scoring position.

- I'll close with a video most of you have probably seen, but if you have not, have a look. K-State guard Denis Clemente hits a shot that looks like it belongs in the old Jordan/Bird McDonalds commercial. I have not received any confirmation as to whether coach Frank Martin is petitioning the NCAA to make this sort of shot legal.

Denis Clemente (K-State) Crazy Shot, Can you beat this Lebron?

Hey, an update... Amazing.

According to the band Sublime, "the living's easy" in summertime. This may come as a shock to many, but it seems the members of Sublime never worked my job, where my schedule has gotten considerably more busy with the arrival of summer. Nevertheless, I refuse to let a hectic schedule serve as an excuse for neglecting The Writings. (Other than, you know, earlier in this paragraph when I basically tried to use that excuse.) Anyway, what follows is yet another collection of random thought, which, if tangible, would probably pump through my veins.

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Remember the scene in the movie Anchorman where Ron Burgandy reacts to Veronica Corningstone's statement that she wants to be a news anchor by yelling out in disbelief, "I thought you were joking"? I keep waiting for Minnesota Vikings head coach Brad Childress to admit this to Brett Favre. After all we have been put through with the continued (and continued... and continued...) media coverage of another possible Favre comeback, wouldn't that be the perfect ending to this story? Favre could show up to the first day of the Vikings' training camp, only to see Sage Rosenfels taking snaps with the first team. Favre would then confront Childress, with the two jawing back and forth. Finally, the conversation would close in the following fashion.

Favre: ...but I told you I wanted to be the Vikings' starting quarterback.
Childress (by this point, also fed up with the fact that the only story surrounding his team involves a 39-year-old quarterback that threw as many interceptions as touchdowns the season before): I thought you were joking! I even wrote about it in my diary. "Brett had a very funny joke today." ... I laughed about it later that night!

A dignified way to close a Hall of Fame career? No. But is the current "I like you. If you like me circle 'yes'" flirtation much better?

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It's well documented that I have an abominable history when it comes to making accurate predictions. It's so bad, that I'm fairly confident that if I had been around to predict a victory for the colonies in the Revolutionary War, we'd all be enjoying a lot more tea and playing a lot more cricket. With in accurate predictions being my forte, I was rather astonished (and then enraged, but then more astonished) when an event I wrote about a week ago actually materialized the following night.

You may have seen it by now, but if not, have a look. The Indians topped the Royals, thanks in part* to hot ground ball playing tag with an unfortunate seagull. In watching the clip, pay particular attention to the commentary by the Indians' announcers. Upon discovering that the baseball clocked the bird, they laugh like most folks do when they see one of the 37 groin shots shown in every episode of America's Funniest Home Videos. It's a laugh that almost seems diabolical. While the initial question on my mind was how the Royals could be so unfortunate that they lose a game on a seagull aided play, the big question occupying my thoughts now is whether that Indians commentator has a personal history with sea birds that makes him have hostility toward them. Did a flock of seagulls** attack his family when he was young? Is he actually a supervillain that is continually thwarted by a hero called Gullman?

*"In part" because Coco Crisp, who hasn't practiced fielding balls of members of the gull family nearly enough, isn't exactly known for having a strong throwing arm, and was also playing with a sore shoulder that now has him on the disabled list... It might have been rough getting DeRosa at the plate.

**Again, not the band... Although, again, that might be a more entertaining thought.

-----

Big news recently is the revelation that you can now have a username on Facebook. As www.facebook.com itself touts it, "Easily direct friends, family, and coworkers to your profile with a Facebook username."

Personally, I'm thrilled that usernames are now a part of Facebook. After all, it was such a chore directing my friends, family, and coworkers to the bevy of useful information contained in my Facebook profile by providing them with nothing to search for buy my actual name. Who can remember the full name of a friend, family member, or coworker, anyway? I hear it's a documented fact that most people are lucky to remember anything more than the first syllable of the first name if they haven't known someone for over four years. Good luck searching for my Facebook profile when you only have "Der" to search for.*

*This paragraph brought to you by the "No, seriously, this whole username idea is absurd. Do you really want to open Facebook to names like 'BigPlayaBallaPimp69'? Redact it while you still can" Foundation.

The Writings' Night In

Is there a problem in our country of women being stuck indoors? I ask because tonight's Royals game is featuring a promotion called "Girls' Night Out*," and I just saw a commercial for something called "Women's Day Out." Are hordes of females imprisoning themselves indoors, refusing to come out unless it's for some sort of public event? It seems the focus should be on getting people outside who otherwise would rarely be. As a result, I'm expecting to see some sort of "Derek's Day Out" promotion in the future. After all, I have seen kitchen appliances that spend more time outside than I do. You know the phrase, "I don't get out much"? I believe the International Cliche Committee is going to retire it in my honor.

*Your eyes do not deceive you. The Royals, the Major League Baseball franchise for whom I have dedicated countless hours of my life following, have a promotion designed to get females, many of whom might be near my age and single, out to the ballpark. On the same night as this promotion - which, again, involves young, single, female Royals fans - I sit on my couch eating a bowl of cereal... Nice work, Derek.
- - - - -
A lunch conversation today spurred a thought in my head. (Which is a good place for thoughts to be.) Am I one of only seven Americans that has not read a single book (or seen a single movie) of the Harry Potter series? It seems all at the lunch table today were well-versed in the Hogwarts hubbub. Members of my family speak good things of the bespectacled wizard. I sometimes wonder if even my niece, whose favorite hobbies are crawling up the stairs and sneezing, has at least polished off Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. What does this all mean? If the cure for the H1N1 virus is knowledge of fictional wizardry, I am doomed.
- - - - -
I recently heard tell of a man playing a trumpet as he drove along an interstate highway. That's right. A man was devoting the thought and energy needed to play a tune on a brass horn as he careened down a highway in a 1.5-ton vehicle traveling 70-miles per hour. Smart guy. I realize this is beginning to sound like a question on an eighth grade math test, so rest assured that I'm not going to ask you how far he'll be from a tuba playing train conductor chugging the opposite direction at 60 m.p.h. The question I do have is: What musical instrument would be the most entertaining to watch someone play as they drove down the road? A full trap set? A double guitar? Perhaps a harp? All are good options, but the only real choice is Bert's one man band set from Mary Poppins.* I will accept no substitutes until I witness this.

*Congratulations to those that picked May 14, 2009 as the date The Writings would have a Mary Poppins reference. Think of me when you're counting the winnings from your office pool.
- - - - -
Another show to add to the big list of television programs that should not have ever been created... Style By Jury. Congratulations, CW.

Pretty Nice Little Saturday

To paraphrase an insightful man called "Frank the Tank," I'm in the midst of a "pretty nice little Saturday." Granted, Home Depot and Bed, Bath and Beyond have not been (and will not be) prominently involved, but I am doing my best to make the most of a beautiful day. In other words, I'm planted on my sofa in front of my television watching any sports I can find. If you are concerned that I'm not outdoors on a 70-degree day, don't fret... I have my apartment windows wide open in effort to bring the outdoors to me.

I started off the day by running out to get a (much needed) haircut, and to pick up some (very much needed) allergy medication. Now, with my head no longer resembling an unkempt Chia Pet, my throat no longer feeling as if I swallowed a prickly pear, and my nasal cavities no longer imitating faulty showerheads, this Saturday can truly be enjoyed. What's ahead? How about four games in the NBA playoffs, at least two baseball games, and even a spring football game (which I have no interest in, but, hey, it's football). With me each dribble, pitch, and snap of the way will be my trusty laptop. It's true, it doesn't laugh at any of my self-proclaimed quick-witted remarks, but there's a good chance that no one else would either. (Plus, my computer can't raise an eyebrow or roll its eyes.)

Join us, won't you, for an afternoon/evening taking in all that this Saturday has to offer.*

*That is, if you like sports, eating nothing but junk, and rarely moving from the groove your posterior has created in your couch.

- Next time you're watching a televised basketball game, pay particular attention when the game's commentators are shown on screen as they spit out conversation (normally lacking much insight) on press row. Watch the fans in the seats directly behind these announcers. Now count how many of them wave at the camera, crane their necks to see themselves on the TV monitor, jab their friends to show them that they're also on TV, or perform any other action indicating their excitement about being seen on television. You may want to be ready to make tally marks, because there will be a lot of them. Maybe it's the side of me filled with social anxiety, but I cannot figure out why people would be so excited to be on TV. Sure, there are plenty of famous people on television, but the fact that you show up on screen for 3.3 seconds and celebrate the occasion by waving your arms like you're trying to signal a rescue plane does not mean that you'll soon have your own talk show. It happens so often, that it almost seems like a Pavolnian response that people have developed when encountered with video cameras. I will not be surprised to see shoppers waving madly at store security cameras or random strangers flashing peace signs in the background of someone's home video in the future. What these folks need to realize is that being on TV isn't that great. Just ask this guy.

- Boston Celtic's forward Paul Pierce could have clinched a victory for his squad over the Chicago Bulls by sinking one final free throw with one second left in regulation. He clanked it off the rim. Pierce is a former Kansas Jayhawk, so that event brought forth a bit of glee in my "faithful to our colors" heart.

- Unfortunately, while Pierce is a star for the Celtics, another former KU player, Kirk Heinrich, plays significant minutes for the Bulls. I'm trying to figure out whether there's a way that both these teams could lose. Perhaps a double-disqualification could occur, like when Hulk Hogan and Andre the Giant battled in the WWF Championship tournament at Wrestlemana IV.* Somebody better start swinging folding chairs.

*This bit of pro wrestling trivia brought to you by the I Need New Hobbies Foundation.

- In Cleveland, the Cavaliers are facing the Detroit Pistons in the first round of the NBA Playoffs. You know the look a person gets on his or her face when they know they have screwed up and they're just waiting for punishment? That is similar to how the Pistons look every time LeBron James touches the basketball. The kid, (he's still only 24) came into the NBA straight from high school in 2003 and had one of the greatest rookie seasons ever. Somehow, he's found a way to improve in each of the six seasons since. Currently, the guy who is built like a power forward, runs the floor like a point guard, and jumps like he was imported straight from NBA Jam is the most difficult matchup in basketball. Just ask Tayshaun Prince, one of the NBA's top defenders, whom was just torched for 22 points in one half by LeBron.

- The Snickers commercial featuring Patrick chEwing is excellent... and by "excellent," what I mean to say is that it features one of the worst stunt-doubles in recorded history. When you first see Mr. Ewing, his 7-foot frame is looking extra large in its retired form, as if he's taken over for Adam Richman on Man v. Food. Nevertheless, when Ewing/chEwing goes up for the slam, the dunker appears to be missing about eight inches of his height and 100 pounds off his frame. I thought the camera was supposed to add 10 lbs.

- Someday, when I compose my list of the 10 or 25 or100 (I'm still determining the number) people I would least want angry with me, Chicago Cubs' manager Lou Pinella will be on that list. I mention this because he just yanked a relief pitcher that walked two consecutive batters without tossing a strike. I knew there was a reason that I'm not a Major League pitcher.* Also included on the "Please, Don't Yell at Me" list will be: Frank Martin, Bob Knight, Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Joker (I don't like pencil tricks), and Darth Vader.

*Another reason is a severe lack of talent.

- It's time to test your short-term memory. Remember that look that LeBron's defenders get on their faces? You know, the "oh crap, this won't end well" look? Well, batters who face Kansas City's Zack Greinke have been stricken with the same expression lately. Greinke enters tonight's game with a 0.00 earned run average, and so far this season his pitches have been dodging bats like a nimble spelunker.

- We end the night with Greinke finishing off a complete game shutout of the Texas Rangers, fanning 10 batters along the way. The Royals are first in the AL Central and Greinke looks like one of the best pitchers in the game... That's a pretty nice little Saturday.

Attention Deficit Writing

While stopped at a stoplight the other day, I noticed something strange. A middle-aged man on a motorcycle was making a left turn from the cross street to my right. As he turned, he gave a head nod to one, and only one person. He acknowledged no one else. I glanced to my left to see who this nod-worthy being was. Was it an elder he was respecting. Maybe someone semi-famous or perhaps a soldier? Nope. The lucky recipient of acknowledgement was just some younger guy, also on a motorcycle. I'm sorry*, but is there some kind of code that Mr. Borntobewild was following? Do motorcycle owners have to sign waivers saying they'll only acknowledge fellow bikers? Naturally, I've put too much thought into this. We better move on to other things occupying too much space in my head.

*I'm not really sorry. There's really nothing to be sorry about. Forgive my usage of common language standards that really don't make sense if examined... Now I guess I am sorry.

- The Royals are 2-1 after topping the White Sox today. In three games this year, KC's starting pitching has been so good that it makes one want to laugh hysterically (or cry uncontrollably) about the fact that Scott Elarton (5.29 career ERA... if you don't know baseball, just know that number isn't good) started for the Royals on Opening Day just three years ago. While the pitching, aside from one reliever whose name rhymes with barns-girth, has been stellar, the offense has been lacking. Unfortunately, I'm guessing the boys in blue may have to score more than two runs to pick up a victory on several occasions this season. Nevertheless, one should not complain about topping a division rival in the first series of the season.

- Is there anything more frustrating that waking up earlier than you need to and not being able to get back to sleep? Anything? For some reason, despite the fact that i was legitimately tired, I was stricken with such an issue last night. Upon waking up, it seemed that every sound was amplified as if it were being broadcast via bullhorn. I tossed. I turned. I put a pillow over my head to attempt to cut down on the noise. All of this, yet sleep did not come. Often when this is the case, it's because thoughts are running loose in my head like wild dingos in the Austrailian Outback. Oddly, last night the main thought in my mind was, "Hey, stupid*, go back to sleep."

*I'm mean when I'm tired.

- I have to mention the Ben Folds concert I had the opportunity to attend on Wednesday evening. It was fantastic; well worth the price of admission. Even the opening act, Jukebox the Ghost, exceeded expectations. A trio featuring a pianist, lead guitar, and drummer, Jukebox the Ghost's (JtG, since we at The Writings are hip) style somewhat resembled that of Folds himself. Their tunes were fun and, with the crowd on its feet as they left the stage, JtG certainly helped gear the crowd up for the evening's main attraction. Alas, Mr. Folds was not the next performer. An a capella group from St. Louis took the stage next. They got in the audience's good graces by opening with a Ben Folds song, going as far as including a beatbox specialist (although he had a bit of an Opie look to him). A couple seemingly endless songs later (sorry, but this group was no Here Comes Treble*), the Hart Foundation** exited stage left (or is that stage right? No, it's left... I think), and - after a lengthy sound check - it was time to rock... well, rock as much as one can when a piano is involved.

*I know at least two readers get that reference.

**This was definitely not the group's name, but I don't recall what it actually was. I figure, when in doubt, go with the name of a classic WWF faction.

From the first strike of a hammer on a piano cord, Folds had the crowd wrapped around his rapid-fire fingers. He played songs from his newest album, classics from the days of Ben Folds Five, and even a couple songs that were created with the sole intention of misleading folks into thinking they were tracks leaked from his most recent album.

If this concert accomplished anything, it confirmed the idea in my head that Folds is a musical genius. He rigged his piano with Altoids tins to give it an eerie, almost Nintendo-esque sound for the song Free Coffee. He improvised a song about a fly he saw on stage, and even worked in some "second grade jokes" in the midst of it. His work on the piano keys is unbelivable - something one might not expect considering that, at different points in the evening, he played with his foot, forearm, elbows, and piano stool. Overall, it was simply an excellent evening.


- You may notice a new link on the top left portion of the page. That will take you to a page where you can view things I post on Associated Content. You should probably check it out.*

*The Writings: We're all about shameless self-promotion.

Your Source for Journalism

Attention readers:
The governing board of The Writings has decided that this writing will contain no horrible attempts at humor. We're devoting this column to covering important issues with a fair and balanced view. It will be journalism at it's finest.

I'd say "April Fools" right here, but I'm pretty confident that my readers are too sharp to believe the previous paragraph... That, or they quit reading* because a blog that has spent time detailing conversations overheard at Burger King doesn't exactly scream "journalism at it's finest." At least I'm pretty confident I never misquoted those folks.

*Wait, if my readers already quit reading that who is reading this? I think that thought just popped a blood vessel in my head. It's kind of a question with the "sound of one hand clapping" vibe to it.

Anyway, with the employment that actually pays my bills consuming far too much time lately, I've had little time to observe much else. Because I'd rather ride a tricycle in a game of chicken than write about my job, we're kicking it old school (I don't really know what that's supposed to mean here, it's just a fun phrase to use. Try it. I'll wait... ) and passing along some quick observations.

- A commercial refers to Fast and Furious as the best in the relatively recent series of movies that team up the words "fast" and "furious" in their titles. It seems to me that this is kind of like calling a half-eaten bearclaw that has soaked up an unidentifiable liquid the most delectable pastry in a bakery dumpster.

- I recently joined blip.fm, a website that allows you to customize a sort of online radio station, and serve as your own disc jockey (headphones, glowsticks, and annoying catchphrases not included). Other members can listen to the songs you choose to play and give you "props" (please note: these aren't props in the Carrot Top sense). I received props from three different listeners for playing Paul Simon's Call Me Al... and it was strangely satisfying.

- Another note on blip... To notify me that I'm logged in, the website says, "You are dereklarson" up in the right hand corner. I'm just glad to know that, should I ever get amnesia while on my laptop, blip.fm will be there to help me remember my name (even if I do end up thinking dereklarson is all one name). Blip - your memory is safe with them.

- In other online, social networking news, of sorts, an NBA player recently was reprimanded for "tweeting" (updating his status on Twitter, for those unfamiliar with online terminology seemingly inspired by ornithology) during halftime of a game he was participating in. Yes, folks, professional athletes tweet during their games... Next up, surgeons. Soon you'll see a post saying "Just sewed up appendectomy patient, but now idk where scalpel is. :( " *

*Texting language used to demonstrate absurdity of situation only. Please do not try at home.

 
- We're just days away from Major League Baseball's Opening Day 2009, and I'm beginning to lie awake pondering important questions like "When he's in the lineup, should Mark Teahen bat second in the order?" and "Can Sidney Ponson actually be a worthwhile starter?" On top of that, I participated in a fantasy baseball draft last night and landed the player I consider to be the best in the game - Albert Pujols. All this really means is that in a few weeks you will probably get to be part of a poll asking if I should seek help for a baseball addiction. Your input is appreciated.

No thanks, I lost my appetite

- I saw a man take an apple into a public restroom last week. I find this situation so unusual that I'm going to repeat the previous sentence, simply to remind myself that it actually occurred and was not part of some weird, unsanitary nightmare.

I saw a man take an apple into a public restroom last week.

Call me crazy, but I have never considered public restrooms to be environments conducive to any sort of snacking, be it casual, habitual, or uncontrollable. I would delve deep into the reasons behind* such thinking, but - as the wisest four-year-old I know might say - "that's toilet talk." I told one friend about this very sight. Her quick-witted response? Maybe he thought he'd be in there for awhile. This does little to assuage my worries for his dining preferences.

*Pun not intended.

With this scenario in mind, I have been trying to think of worse snacking situations than that presented by "in-the-John-ny Appleseed." So far, I've come up with the following:

-- Eating a slab of ribs while stranded in a tiger cage.

-- Eating s'mores while the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man is around.

-- Eating nachos out of a used bowling shoe.

-- Eating anything that appears to be moving.

It seems obvious that I'm missing some things. Help me out, oh wonderful reader. (Yes, I have resorted to sucking up.) Let me know of any snacking predicaments (snackdicaments, if you will) that you think might make Mr. Fruit-in-the-Loo seem completely sane.

Now, onto other items of business... 


- First the big news in the world of baseball involved Alex Rodriguez and steroids. Now, it involves Rodriguez and a bad hip... I'm still waiting to see how Brett Favre factors into the whole situation. I know the sports media can't leave him out of things for too long... Tim Tebow might factor into the whole situation, as well.


- Meanwhile, lost among the talk of a hip-based cyst is the fact that the World Baseball Classic has begun. There are some Royals playing in the large tournament, but none for the USA. Do I root, root, root for the Royals, or for the U.S.? I can't root against any Royals (remember, Neifi Perez and Chuck Knoblauch are long gone), but I also have to cheer for the homeland. But what do I do when Puerto Rican shortstop Mike Aviles faces off against U.S. pitcher Roy Oswalt? Faced with such a dilemma, it seems like I'm simply stuck taking the "wuss bets" route and rooting for everyone to have a good time.


- Some say time travel is not possible. It seems that folks in Utah disagree. Apparently having the pair of early 90s phenoms back selling tickets is the cure to a recession. After all, didn't "Ice, Ice Baby" and "Can't Touch This," play key roles in getting us through 1991? In the modified words of Mr. Rob Van Winkle, "if there's a problem, yo, they'll solve it. If you actually pay money to see them, you better not complain about being poor... Seriously."*

*Rhyme omitted to serve the greater good.

The written equivalent of a headache

Weeks ago, I thought I had things figured out. I started to get a bit of a cold, but tried a new (to me... it's not something I created in my bathtub) medication to combat such effects. The result? The symptoms were minimized and the duration was shorter than a bear fight on a beet farm* Naturally, when cold symptoms returned days ago, I put this medication back in my corner and expected a quick KO. Instead, the cold symptoms have battled back and are putting up a better fight than a pair of potbellied pigs after an opened bag of Cheetos.** Now my days are full of hacks, sneezes, and more sinus pressure than Snuffleupagus' trunk after an unfortunate Big Bird step.

Be warned, the following thoughts come from a cold-clouded mind.

*If you found this metaphor to be sensical in the slightest, you too can post your own Writings! (That, or I need to quit writing while watching "The Office.")

**I can't blame this one on The Office... but it's a funny picture, no? Crazy pigs.

- It seems that I missed out on the opportunity to meet "Subway Jared" today. That's right, my lifelong dream of receiving a quick and utterly pointless greeting from a guy who became a "celebrity" soley because he lost a ton of weight by eating mediocre sub sandwiches was thwarted... It's going to be tough to sleep tonight.

- It seems anything that leads to any sort of weight loss these days is marketed as the new miracle diet. There's the Subway diet, Atkin's diet, grapefruit diet, cookie diet, and so many others. Can it be long before we see the Windex diet or the Sucker-Punch Your Gut Away diet? In fact, I weigh the same as I did in high school... Can I market the Spend 94.6-percent of Your Free Time on Your Couch diet?

- I had not heard of this until now, but I think it's pretty hilarious. It's a Facebook application called the Whopper Sacrifice. If a Facebook user "unfriends" 10 "friends"* they get a coupon for a free Whopper. It really seems like a great way to figure out what you're worth to others. If you're unfriended for this promotion, you're worth approximately 1/10 Whopper, which really amounts to about a tomato slice, some lettuce, and a bit of the bun. What a great way to show people what they mean to you.
Despite the fact that I'm a bit of a BK connoisseur (which is probably the equivalent of claiming to be bilingual when one speaks English and pig-latin), I certainly would not drop 10 friends for a free Whopper.
... No, it's not because the promotion has been discontinued... Surely not.

- ... Mmmmmmm.... Whopper.

*Are all your Facebook friends (if you are, in fact, part of the Facebook community) actually people you'd consider friends? Can people who haven't spoken to each other since the time one told the other to quit glancing at his paper in high school accounting class even be considered friends? I would like to push for Facebook to extend its terminology to include more than just "friends." I want to be able to choose "acquaintances." Maybe I could label "people I might recognize in a public setting." Perhaps even "people who gave me the stinkeye." And don't we all want to select a few "enemies." C'mon Facebook, I'm not really Thomas Magnum's friend. Let me tell the community that he's a "fictional person whose comically hokey television show I watched an unhealthy amount while living in a town I grew to despise."

- Do you ever have to sorts through handfuls of gold coins just to find some change for the laundromat? Are you sick of ugly gold jewelry filling up your junk drawer when that space could be better used by rubber bands and dried-out pens from your local grocery store? Most everyone can relate to such hassles... but don't fret. You see, there's now a better use for that gold than putting it in tin cans to create maracas for your weekend mariachi band. One company will actually pay money for your gold. That's right, Ca$h for Gold USA (as seen on TV in a delightfully charming, entertaining, and informative ad) will pay you (in U.S. dollars!) for all that gold, which you previously deemed worthless. It's truly amazing what people will pay money for these days. Nevertheless, rest easy and save that trip to the dumpster... that gold Rolex, your chest of pirate booty, and even your wedding band are actually worth something.

- It's a good thing my computer does not have a sarcasm checker, or else the previous paragraph may have forced my computer into a catatonic state. Heaven knows it flirts with such action often anyway.

A Little Bit of This...

- Some might say that a laptop that takes 44 seconds to pull up iTunes after the desktop icon is double-clicked has seen better days and probably needs to be replaced. I just like to think that my laptop is putting sincere thought into it's actions. ("Now he double-clicked iTunes... Does that means he wants to open the program, or he simply wants to remind me that it's there? I know he uses the program to listen to music, and he currently has no other sound occupying his living quarters... Hmmm... I bet he wants it open... Now what's the safest way to do that?)

- Some also might say that I have too much time on my hands when I'm giving my aging laptop a voice and conjuring up things it might say... Touché.

- Months ago, before my precious little niece had been provided the opportunity to introduce two members of my family to the joy of parenting, I wrote an entry on baby names. I tried to consider a number of different options for possible monikers and may have even given a suggestion or two. Oddly, I failed to address the possibility of naming the newborn after the leader of Nazi Germany. How did I miss that one? Apparently a couple in New Jersey took that very route three years ago, and now has a little trouble getting a customized birthday cake. Granted, I'm no parent, but the idea of naming your own kin after one of the most evil people in history seems just a bit off. (In the same way the idea of giving yourself a haircut with a lawnmower is just a bit crazy.) I'm hoping someone has the decency to give this kid a (non-obscene) nickname he go by when he makes it to school. 

- When it comes to advertising, truth always seems to be in question. I know I tend to get a little skeptical whenever before and after photos are shown on weight loss ads. (Especially when the before and after pictures feature individuals of significantly different skin tones and facial features. Either that diet features some skin morphing nutrients or there's something fishy going on.) With this in mind, there's one ad that just caught my attention. The commercial in question advertises it's product as being the only one that provides permanent hair restoration. It would be easy (and probably smart) to make such claims and then show a bunch of guys with full heads of hair. Yet, this commercial features a balding man speaking of his hair being permanently restored... Either the guy was born with a pretty wicked widow's peak, or he's lying through his teeth (which seemed to be pretty white. Perhaps he was just taking the wrong commercial product).

- I have never undstood the idea of opening a movie on Christmas. Are there that many people that say, "I know how we should celebrate... Let's hop in our cars, drive for miles, stand in lines, pay absurd prices for tickets and snacks, and then sit in a theater where we'll spend half the movie being annoyed by other theater-goers and complaining about the sticky floors"? Or is it those that don't celebrate Christmas that they're counting on, thinking they'll catch a flick while a large number of folks are unwrapping gifts that leave them overwhelmingly excited or cripplingly disappointed?

- I have noticed that Dangerous Minds has been on MTV a staggering amount lately (sorry, I flip through the channels as if it was an obsessive compulsive tic). Does this mean Coolio is becoming hip again? Or does the film just strike those at MTV as a holiday film? At last check, Gangsta's Paradise had not been added to holiday radio stations... yet. It seems pretty simliar to Paul McCartney's Wonderful Christmastime.

- I actually just wanted an excuse to link to the Wonderful Christmastime video... Any video that can combine cheezy video effects, a synthesizer, and an inexplicable explosion is a winner in my book.

- Afer a bit of thought, I don't really understand the phrase "in my book." Sure, I own a lot of books, but none of them categorize what ridiculous traits I find comical to see in a music video... and if I were to write such a book, it seems that it would be rather short, and I doubt it would sell. Feel free to cross out "in my book" in the previous bullet point.

- If you did get out a marker and cross out "in my book" as it appeared on your screen, I'm extremely sorry... I owe you some computer screen cleaning solution.

- Think Planet of the Apes is completely fictional? Think again. If you live near a zoo, I'd invest in some better home security.

Uhh...

I'm currently stumped by quite a riddle... "What does one write about when he has nothing to say?"

Granted, anyone who is even a casual reader of The Writings is probably convinced that I never really have anything to say (rambling posts about Google searches for his own name seem to support this argument), but this time I'm really stumped.

Such inability to think of anything even remotely worthwhile to put in print is often referred to as "writer's block." Unfortunately, it seems my mind is having such a difficult time conjuring any sort of prose that I'm having a hard time even finishing this... uhh... you know... hmmm... sentence.

This is certainly not the first time that I have found it difficult to come up with an idea for a Writing, but such afflictions are normally assuaged by a simply getting caught in the webbing of the World Wide Net. Alas, it has provided no luck this time, as I can't even piece together commonly known terms. (it's Earthly Wide Web, right?)

Sure, I could write about some pirates seizing an oil tanker, and joke that Captain Hook's cousin, Captain Hinge, must have been getting tired of his squeaky elbow. I even could have added an arbitrary pirate-speak joke (sorry, I meant ARRRRRbitrary), but the whole pirate thing seems to be a bit overplayed lately. (I blame the Goonies.)

If searching online doesn't do the trick, a journey through my cable lineup always seems to provide inspiration. Alas, one can only write that The Hills provides as much entertainment as cleaning one's ears with a powerdrill so many times before the words begin to lose their meaning. (Nevertheless, it's still a true statement.)

Right now, you may be saying to yourself, "Mr./Mrs./Ms. Self*, wait a second, doesn't this guy** like sports? Why doesn't he just throw some thing together about that?"

*If you're a self-respecting individual.

**If you aren't very good with names.

Sports are always there, and seem to be a subject I can always fall back on... yet, I feel there's really nothing new I can add to the conversation at this point. My favorite college football team has a lame duck coach and the search to replace him seems to be surrounded with more mystery than the motivation behind the creation of the movie White Chicks.

My favorite college basketball team has looked stupendous for two of the four halves it has played so far in the regular season, but the other two halves have been filled with an attitude best summed up by one (now official) word - meh. Thus, it's too early for me to create any sort of team assessment. (Although, I must reiterate, they have looked marvelous for two halves.)

My favorite NFL team has precisely one more win this season than the Kenosha Maroons - a team that has been defunct for 84 years. Sure, they've had some entertaining losses, and they are finally getting play from the quarterback spot that doesn't seem directionally challenged ("Which way are we supposed to go again?"), but it seems a little early to begin debating who they might take with their first round draft pick. (Cue gasping in horror from every "NFL Draft expert" who has been babbling about the the potential No. 1 picks in 2009 for three years.)

In the world of baseball, might favorite team is in the midst of an offseason where they have several holes to fill. In a perfect world, they would be able to fill all those holes this offseason. Alas, in a perfect world, I would have seen the aforementioned team in the postseason sometime in the last 23 years.

In a perfect world, my laptop would not require an extra fan to keep from losing all functionality out like a frightened goat.

In a perfect world, some dude that calls himself "Mystery" wouldn't have a TV show where he teaches guys that have apparently never talked to members of the opposite sex before sleazy ways to become a "pickup artist." I have to think that if I were to even consider putting any of his "methods" in practice, I'd begin punching myself in the nose repeatedly before I ever got a word out.

... Actually, that show may have Writing potential...

Nevertheless, writer's block can rear it's ugly head*** at any time. Never be afraid to pass along... uhh... you know, those things... the ones that come from your mind... ideas.

***The author of this Writing realizes it is unfair to deem the head of writer's block as ugly when writer's block is not actually tangible, and therefore possesses no head. It is with sincere apology that he writes this note, and he hopes things don't get awkward between he and writer's block.

Putting things in perspective

A few quick thoughts...

- I embarrass pretty easily. I'm not sure why, but my face can be prone to flushing at a rate that would make Joe the Plumber (if he was actually a plumber) spike his crescent wrench in jealousy. With that in mind, it's always refreshing to see a story like this. No matter what trivial matter gets me red in the face, I can always take great assurance in the fact that I'm not lying on stretcher looking like someone who has been attacked by a rabid toilet.

Alas, I have now been focusing an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what this guy was thinking. According to the story, he's 26, so I should be able to relate. Nevertheless, if me cellular phone ever somehow escapes the confines of my pocket to go for a dip in a public commode, I'm not sure my first reaction would be deciding to do my best imitation of a plunger. Cell phones are replaceable, after all, but I'm not sure the memories of latrine scavenging are easily forgotten.

- In other news, someone called me "bro" in a public setting tonight. That's right, bro... People still say "bro"? Last I checked, the year is not 1991 and I haven't been carrying around a boogie board. As I understand the term, it's slang for "brother," but I'm fairly certain that I was not related to this guy. The only other "bro" I am aware of is the male bra made popular by Frank Costanza. Alas, I was not wearing one of these, either.

- I spend a lot of time complaining about the utter drivel that several television channels call programming, but if there's a show on TV that is a bigger waste of time than MANswers, I think it may be time to admit that this whole picture tube fad has run its course.