BILLt to Last

On Nov. 30, 1988, the Kansas State Wildcats hired a 49-year-old offensive coordinator from Iowa named Bill Snyder to fill their football head coaching vacancy. Over the next 17 seasons, Snyder's Wildcats became what many deemed impossible. Namely, a national power on the gridiron and a championship football team.

On Nov. 24, 2008, those same Wildcats hired a 69-year-old coaching legend named Bill Snyder to fill the very coaching position that manned just three years prior. Guessing what Snyder's coaching future holds this time around is certainly no easy task, however that certainly isn't keeping many people from trying. 

Popular opinion from several who like to make their voices heard (literally) on sports radio and (not literally) on fan message boards seems to be that putting Snyder's name on the head coaching contract means the administration is waving a white flag (again, not literally... such actions are somewhat useless in football). Their reasons are simple: Snyder is nearly 70 years old, an age when most are not looking for new employment; he's been out of the game for three years and won't be able to relate to "today's players"; Snyder's Wildcats were not successful in his final two seasons as head coach, combining for just nine wins; and there were younger candidates who would be better for the future of the program.

These arguments have varying degrees of merit (yes, I'm counting negative merit as a degree of merit), and those disappointed with Snyder hire v2.0 certainly have the right to their opinion... But that doesn't mean I agree.

Call it hokey optimism. Call it drinking the Snyder Kool-Aid*. Call it living in 1998. You can call it whatever you like (even sensible, or genius... in fact, I'd prefer that), the fact remains that I cannot be disappointed with any move that brings Snyder closer the football program he built.

*Would I buy a glass of Kool-Aid if Snyder were selling it on a streetside Kool-Aid stand for 25-cents a cup? Of course. Thus, one could say I'm buying what Snyder is selling... if only he'd actually sell Kool-Aid.   

This is old news, but it's still relevant: pre-Snyder, any time the word football was associated with Kansas State on a national level, a words like futility, horrendous, or putrid were bound to be nearby. Snyder made them contenders for the national championship. Had Snyder not turned the program around, the "Decade of Dominance" out at Wagner Field, may have ended up being a decade of cattle grazing, as the football program was bad enough that folding would have been a legitmate option and the stadium sits near some fine pasture area.

The point is that Snyder is the reason K-State football became a product fans could get excited about. I'm not going to discount his chances at bringing some excitement back. Anyone who attended the final three homes games of the 2008 season could see the empty seats in Bill Snyder Family Stadium*. Did these empty seats play a role in Snyder's hiring?** After all, the athletic department has seen first hand what bringing in nationally-renowned coach can do for attendance (see: Huggins, Bob, and the K-State men's basketball team).***

*Has a football coach coached in a stadium bearing his own name before? Inquiring minds want to know.

**Rhetorical question.

***Rhetorical followup.

Along with excitement, Snyder's return from retirement brings another thing the program is in need of: hope. Yes, that's back on the hokey side of the fence, but any time a team's stadium is only half full for the season finale, it seems like it might be the right time for a hope booster. Those sick of the hokey arguments simply need to remember the guy's resume. He's been named National Coach of the Year and Big 8/12 Conference Coach of the Year, he's been inducted into the sports hall of fame in two states, and he has six bowl victories. I'll give that a second chance.

I have dabbled as a journalist in the past (although an admittedly lousy one), but it's a move like this that makes me remember that I'm definitely a fan first. Prior to the news of Snyder's hiring leaking, I was trying to view this entire coaching search objectively. I examined the positive and negatives of possible candidates and was trying to keep an open mind to the slew of available options. Now that I know Snyder will be once again walking the sidelines, it's been a barrage of one nostalgic thought after another. Will he bring back the pregame Van Halen? Does he still sport the Nike Cortez shoes? Will "young people" and "by and large" once again be staples of his press conference lingo?

It's a move like this that has me scrambling to YouTube so I can check out videos like this or this, reminding me of the days when there was a confident feeling surrounding every game. There was a swagger, and it was one that could be backed up.

The journalist side of me asks the question, "Does it really seem feasible that a man pushing 70 can get the program back to the point where it competes for championships?"

The fan side of me responds by saying, "Why don't you shut up and go proofread something!"

It may not seem like a great comeback to some, but my mind is pretty sold on who won the argument.

Is a dose of Coach Snyder the prescription K-State football needs to return to national prominence? Or will the second Snyder era be one that ends in disappointment and another coaching search where an answer is sought? Only time will tell...

For me, there's only one way to pass the time.

Big Thanks, Little Thanks, and All Inbetween

Unless my calendar has taken up lying to me as a hobby, it seems that Thanksgiving is next week. What does this mean? It means that children will be using hand tracings to make paper turkeys. It means that millions around the country will eat so much food they barely have the energy to blink. It means that, despite the grave economic conditions, people around the nation will flood retail stores on Black Friday* to get door-busting deals on half-price toaster ovens.

*I won't argue with the fact that it's a good day for shopping, but does it have to come packaged with a name that makes me feel like plague-infested rats will be flooding across the K-Mart tile floors.

Unfortunately, what this also means is that the month of November has gotten by me with nary an update here at The Writings. I could make excuses for this lack of updating, but anything feasible would not be very entertaining. If, on the other hand, I were to say that a pack of wild dingos stole my laptop and infected it with a virus, that would be a better fit for the general feel of this blog, although not exactly feasible. If I then followed by saying that the dingos attacked me and chewed off my fingers (which I find quite necessary when typing) when I tracked them down in their secret billabongside lair and attempted to put an end to their laptop abduction, it seems I would have quite the alibi. Alas,
such is most certainly false, and I can make a hand-tracing turkey to prove it.

Anyway, the focus of this should not be my struggles to pass along the useless items in my mind during the eleventh month of 2008. The focus is embracing the spirit of the upcoming holiday and giving thanks. (Cue uplifting music...) Sure, it's easy to point out things that are not great in life or the things you don't have each and every day, but never forget to be thankful for what you do have.

This past year has certainly not been lacking in new areas necessitating thanks for this writer. New additions to the family and new work opportunities certainly help a person realize how fortunate they are. Combine that with one's health, along with the health and well-being of family and friends, and the idea of getting down over trivial matters seems an awful lot like any arguments that curling is a sport - rather asinine. 

Along with those personal items in the previous paragraph, I'm thankful for the opportunity to cheer on the Kansas City Chiefs and Royals, and the K-State Wildcats. Sure, I may spend a fair amount of time complaining about coaching positions or roster transactions, but it's all in unwavering support of the teams. The frustration of being a nonbandwagoneer is well worth it when those satisfying moments do come your way.

On a Royals note, I'm thankful that general manager Dayton Moore realizes that obtaining a talented position player for a talent relief pitcher is often a pretty good move.

I'm thankful that I've never been in a steel cage match with George "The Animal" Steele.

I'm thankful that my refrigerator is not home to some sort of demon-possessed netherworld.

I'm thankful for the fact that some TV executives really don't seem to have any idea what might be even remotely entertaining. After all, bad television can lead to pretty fun writing.

I'm thankful that I was able to pick Kurt Warner up on the waiver wire in one of my fantasy football leagues.

I'm thankful that people (hopefully) don't let the fact that I'm in multiple fantasy football leagues count against me.

I'm thankful that this winter provides a new opportunity for me to stay
a step ahead of my sworn nemesis. (I'm on to your slippery tricks, Ice!)

I'm thankful that those I communicate with via text message and/or instant messenger are mostly in agreement with my opinions on "terms" like "LOL" and "OMG."

I'm thankful that 99-percent of the time, my local Burger King does have "hamburger meat" available.

I'm thankful that Ben Folds released a new CD. It did not leave the comfy home of my car CD player for a solid month-and-a-half after the purchase date, making my motor maneuvering much safer for myself and fellow motorists.

I'm thankful that my apartment has never been infested with mice, rats, hornets, snakes, wombats, wildebeests or velociraptors. Granted, I can't say this has ever been a big worry, but I'm still thankful.

I'm thankful that my car has not turned out to be a robot from another planted that is hell-bent on wreaking havoc on Earth. (That could make sitting at stoplights a bit awkward.)

I'm thankful for entirely too many things to list in the pages of a blog.

Finally, I'm thankful for you (yes you) the reader. Granted, when writing I'm often aiming to keep myself entertained, but knowing at least one other person is reading (and at least occasionally appreciating) my oft-pointless meanderings certainly helps in maintaining motivation.

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.

Good Idea, Bad Idea

Albert Einstein once said, "If at first the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it."*

*See that? An Einstein quote... We're all about education here at The Writings.

Einstein may have developed the theory of relativity, but I'm not sold on his theory about ideas. After all, if Animaniacs has taught us anything (aside from the fact that lab mice enjoy attempting to take over the world), it's that a lot of pretty absurd ideas turn out to be pretty horrible ideas.

I'd like to think that, if ideas were sumo wrestlers, my good ideas would outweigh all the bad ideas I've conjured. Unfortunately, I get the overriding feeling that, if the good ideas and bad ideas were opposing football teams, the bad idea squad (sounds like a nickname for the Raiders) would have subbed in its scrubs to show some mercy long ago.

Alas, we're not here to dissect my faults in thinking (this is a blog, not a dissertation), but those of others. Consider the following...

- Do not pass 'Go'
Never once, during any of the games of Monopoly I have ever been a part of, did I think, "Wow, another community chest card. I'd love to see this excitement on the big screen." Buying property, building houses and hotel, purchasing utilities, it's all great fun when you're driving that little metal car across Baltic Avenue, but I'm struggling with this idea that such can make an entertaining script. Granted, a movie where a little dog buys a railroad may have some potential (Lassie meets Thomas the Tank Engine), it seems that there are other board games that are more deserving to move to the big screen.

Tell me you wouldn't be interested in a Hungry, Hungry Hippos film...


- I'd hate to see what the sand trap is used for...
So golf is often referred to as a gentleman's game, right? Yet, here we are now with golf clubs acting as urinals. The invention may come off sounding pretty slick (figuratively... hopefully) in the article, but it certainly does not address my main concern. What happens when the fake club is inevitably mistaken for a real one and it strikes the golf ball? My guess is that the golf towel will be a necessity... As might a new crew of golfing buddies.

So how does one look when using the UroClub? "It looks like you're practicing your swing or something," according to the inventor. My guess is that the "or something" portion of that sentence is pretty accurate.


- One of the few foods that can clog your arteries just by reading about it
I'll admit, I'm a little curious. It sounds like a dish that would be fun to try.

I just want to know if you're expected to pay the waitress before or after your trip to the emergency room.

People in your Neighborhood - The two random folks edition

What happens when one particular location doesn't provide enough material for a Writing examining the ins and outs of those you encounter everyday? You improvise.

Don't get confused, I'm not going to ask member's of the audience to name an occupation and a location (partially because I have no audience and partially because it's rather difficult to have live interaction with web readers while writing). Instead, I'm just going to cheat the system a bit, and not focus on one particular location for this edition of People in Your Neighborhood. (Then again, it's my system, so I can determine whether or not I'm cheating... If you're editing text while reading this (keep your red pen handy), feel free to mark out the previous, non-parenthetical sentence.)

The guy at the grocery store who is a little too excited about a certain item in the frozen food aisle
If I had to venture a guess, I would say I purchase more food of the frozen dinner variety than most individuals. As someone who may occasionally struggle with motivation once he's planted on his couch in the evening (once in couch mode, devoting the effort to putting out a fire might depend on how content I was with the room's temperature), the frozen meals provide pretty simple forms of sustenance. If I was eating dinners with less prep time, I'd eating Playdough straight from the can. 

I may eat more frozen meals than most arctic foxes, but I try to keep a level head about them. Sure, some are decently tasty and satisfying, but I'm not going to go boasting about the food to anyone in particular... This guy was different. While I checked out the chilled culinary items, he regaled his shopping companion with tales of a frozen chicken pot pie. If one were to take his word for it, this guy apparently found the Holy Grail of chicken stew contained in a pie crust. No, he never went as far as saying the pot pie could give the gift of eternal life, but he did refer to the dish as "addictively delicious" in a tone normally used by eight-year-olds talking about their new bikes.

Perhaps I misconstrued his enthusiasm, and it was actually a cry for help. After all, addiction is never a good thing, even when the subject of said addiction is fowl in a crust.


The guy with inappropriately sheathed feet
I once wrote of how I disapprove of the idea of wearing flip flops with long pants. Two years later, I have not flip-flopped (clever, I know) on this issue. Alas, the aforementioned Writing was written in effort to sway the continued progression of a fall-weather fashion. My protest has proven unsuccessful, but I always assumed that people would be smart enough to not even consider such fashions upon the arrival of brisk winter breezes.

As is often the case, I was wrong.

With temperatures floating in the 30s the last few days, I have witnessed a couple different portrayals of Mr. Coldtoes. The motivation for adorning flip-flops in such weather has proven to be a subject my mind cannot comprehend. When outside for extended periods of time in the winter, there's little I despise more than the rapid chilling of extremities. Having my toes cool to the point of physical pain is certainly not something I'd volunteer for, yet it seems Mr. Chillyfoot is signing up for such duty every time he slides those sandals on.

Honestly, if the weather gets much cooler, Jonny Birkenstock is flirting with frostbite. At that point, wearing flip flops in the cold weather is somewhat akin to going scuba diving in a suit washed in a bucket of chum.

Then again, I guess Eddie Toecicles may just be preparing to play the abominable snowman in the live stage production of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (casting, production, and creation pending).

While you were out...

A new theme seems to be that whenever I travel, big news happens back home.

In July, I went north of the border, up Canada way. While I was busy being utterly confused by the French language and trying to convert things to the metric system, my niece (a.k.a. the infant who has her uncle wrapped around her littlest finger) introduced herself to the world.

Since that time, I have enjoyed being a homebody, hanging in the heartland. Alas, duty called this week, and I currently find myself outside the state border.

Naturally, the K-State football team (a.k.a, the source of much pride, satisfaction, discouragement, and now embarrassment) made news today with the announcement of the (eventual) dismissal of head coach Ron Prince.

Some might argue that Prince was not given enough time to find success as head coach. After all, he's in just his third season at the helm, and coaches like Missouri's Gary Pinkel and KU's Mark Mangino were both struggling to find success in their third years. Now, both programs (unfortunately) find themselves competing for Big 12 North championships.

While such may be true, it can be argued that both aforementioned coaches at least had their squads showing improvements in key areas by their third seasons. On the other hand, Prince's Wildcats seem to have peaked in his rookie campaign. Back in 2006, the Wildcats found themselves in the post-season with a true freshman quarterback and speedy defense seemingly fueled by the energy of then-coordinator Raheem Morris.

Now, the Wildcats would be beating all odds to become bowl eligible. They feature a wildly inconsistent offense and a defense that may be fast, but tackles like weak cornerbacks on Tecmo Super Bowl going up against the Nigerian Nightmare. Granted, the passing game can be spectacular at times, but it's still not enough to compensate for the lack of a defense.

The question now is, who will be the next coach walking the Bill Snyder Family Stadium sidelines. Rumors are rampant, and even include the namesake of the stadium himself (a.k.a, the messiah of football in the Little Apple) coming out of retirement. Seems unlikely in most scenarios, but I guess it would make more sense than digging up the corpse of Vince Lombardi or awarding the job to the winner of an NCAA Football 09 tournament on X-Box 360.

I am taking such rumors with a mammoth-sized grain of salt, however I would not be surprised if the new coach came from the Snyder coaching tree. There are several names out there that would be intriguing possibilities, and I'm confident the athletic department will make a quality hire. (I'll even go as far as guaranteeing that they don't hire a blind hobo who combs his beard with a plastic spork.*)

*No, I don't think anyone has ever hired a blind hobo that combs his (or her, this blog is about equal opportunity) beard with a plastic spork for a Division I head football coaching position, but I figured the reiteration might be reassuring.

I would like to take the opportunity to toss my hat in the ring for the position, but I'm not really sure what that phrase really means. After all, I own several hats and I have never been tempted to toss them into any sort ring, be they circus rings, boxing rings, or burning rings of fire.

Oh well, my resume is pretty thin in the football coaching department anyway. I'm not sure yelling at the television when the weak-side contain gets sucked in on an end-around counts as "prior coaching experience," and my play-calling has been limited to the offerings available on my video game system of choice. (Watch out for the flea-flicker).

The really interesting thought in my head is what Prince's exit might be like following K-State's final home game. How will the crowd react? Boos? Polite cheers? By singing "Happy Trails?"

How will Prince respond? Humble acceptance? By swearing revenge? Maybe even something like this?

That would make for an interesting press conference, anyway.

H-A-Double L-O... etc.

On Friday night, kids dressed as millionaire athletes will be seen begging for candy.

On Friday night, people will look forward to being scared to the point of screaming.

On Friday night, college-aged girls dressed as angels will dance in a fashion that is anything but spiritual.

All told, Halloween is quite the holiday. It's one that can be seen completely differently, depending on your age. Consider the following..

At a child's first Halloween, candy is no concern whatsoever. It's time for the parents to dress the little one up in a cute costume and show him/her off. It's really a win-win situation. The parents get to preserve the occasion with a plethora of photos, all while not having to worry about the child's teeth rotting away, since they don't have (m)any. Meanwhile, the little infant gets to ponder why their little hands are so tasty, and mentally poke fun at all those who talk to them with an assortment of "goos" and "gahs".*

*Please note, this is just a guess as to what is going on in the minds of the little ones. I have no psychic powers that actually enable me to read their minds. I simply observe popular trends.

Things get a little more interesting once the kiddos are walking. Halloween is no longer about getting some cute pictures for the photo album... It's about the Cs: costumes and candy. Granted, I don't really remember these early days from my youth, but my understanding from those with toddlers now is that once the calendar page flips to October, a Halloween costume is seen as much more than a one-night wear for the kid - it's a permanent addition to the wardrobe.

What about all those clothes you've spent your hard-earned money on? You may as well pack them up until November. The deceptively named October (I'm just saying it should be renamed Dectober... think about it), is time for the tike to spend more time in that costume than they spend barraging you with adorably intriguing questions. (How often does God trim his beard?)

You think you'll never let your kid dress like Super Mario for daycare? Replacing your morning waffles with an ear-crippling tantrum** may change your mind...

**Is an "ear-crippling" tantrum possible? I'm not sure, but I know a couple parents of a blog writer that could probably testify in favor.

 Along with the costume obsession comes the craving for candy. When it comes time to trick-or-treat, the evening will never be long enough for the kid. House-to-house, door-to-door, every single stop is like a junior jackpot. Why would you ever stop? At some point, the youngster may even get tired of walking, reaching a cranky stage... You might think that would mean it's time to go home... You'd be thinking incorrectly. Mention that to little Superman and you'll have yourself a superfit to handle. Lack of leg function is no reason to quit adding to a bag full of sugary treat... it just means it's time for mom or dad to practice some kid-lugging.

Back at home after bagging more candy than the folks at Hershey's, this is where the real fun begins for a kid on Halloween. You know that feeling you get when you've had too much sugar? It starts with a funny feeling in your head and a little shake in your hands. Before you know it, you feel like a couple gerbils are jousting inside your belly. The discomfort grows to the point that your only comfort comes from lying in the fetal position. Repeat that cycle for about two straight weeks and you have Halloween as a kid.

For better or for worse, such days come to an end. That end often seems to coincide with the arrival of puberty. Apparently a little more bass in the voice makes one think it's no longer "cool" to wear costumes. So, what do these pre- and early-teens do to celebrate All Hallows Eve? Go and stand around awkwardly and middle school dances, of course. Naturally, there's nothing cooler than standing with a group of your peers while a group of the opposite gender stands on the other side of the gym. Sure, you're at a "dance", but who has time to do any of that when you're busy refilling your cup with punch, reciting rap lyrics to yourself and avoiding eye contact. (Ah, middle school memories.)

Once the awkwardness of junior high runs its course, Halloween seems to zero in on the terrifying side of things. Horror is a big deal. There are haunted houses to visit and scary movies to view. If you have pent up rage, you apparently take it out on the pumpkins sitting outside the homes of your neighbors.***

***We worked pretty hard on those jack-o-lanterns. I'm not sure being splattered on a stop sign was a fitting demise for them... jerks.

In the college years, costumes make a comeback, but the spirit is just a bit different. Sure, you'll see doctors and nurses, angels and devils, but the costumes seem to have a common theme. I think Jim Gaffigan may have the most accurate assessment of the situation.

If you happen to hit that post-college, pre-marriage period of time, you're kind of in no-mans-land. Halloween means little more than draping a tissue over a pumpkin and entering it in an office contest as "Ghost Pumpkin." (What do you mean, "Are you speaking from experience?" Give me some credit... Fine. Yes, I am.) Luckily, it seems that having a young niece/nephew around for the holiday helps bring back the Halloween spirit. (All the fun of having a kid without the responsibility. Is that diaper beginning to smell? Look at the time, better pass the kid along.)

It seems parents have been properly covered in the respective kid entries (quick summation: if your child can walk, you're putting some work in), so that last group up for dissection (not literally... that's sick), is the grandparents.

Grandparents of the world have it great on Halloween. Odds are, they'll get a visit from the grandkid(s) and they will get to do a spoiling (take a candy bar... okay take another... here, have the bowl), which all grandparents take great pride in. If the grandparents live too far away to visit, it's a fair bet that they'll receive some new pictures of the kids in their costumes. It's funny, one might not think of Halloween as a great holiday for the grandparents, but that seems to be the case.

... Unless those angry high schoolers get ahold of their pumpkins.

Dang kids.

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.

Nothing Really...

Quick thoughts while taking part in a fantasy basketball draft and watching the World Series...


- If I understand this correctly, Iron Man (as documented in the film
of the same name) flew across the world to the Middle East in his Iron
Man suit. That's sure to be a lengthy flight. Did he equip the suit
with GPS so that he wouldn't get lost? And, how exactly did he... uhh,
relieve himself during the flight? The film shows that the suit isn't
exactly easy to remove, so did he wear a diaper, crazy astronaut-style?

- The amount of tolerance one has for football play-by-play announcers is directly proportional the the success of one's favorite team. As a result of this theorem, I'm hitting the mute button any time a football game is on my TV.

- Why didn't watermelon carving ever catch on like pumpkin carving?

- Being single, one often hears the phrase, "Well, I'd set you up with (insert name here), but I wouldn't want to do that to you." Is it a bad sign for our society that so many friends of friends out there are apparently torturous to spend a few hours with in a social setting? Aren't friends supposed to be people one enjoys the company of? And how can one be sure that his/her friends are not saying the same thing about him/her? Maybe Jerry Seinfeld was not exaggerating when he said 95-percent of the population is undateable.

- FYI... If you would ever go on television to compete to be someone's BFF, you fall into the aforementioned category.

- Even if I understood Spanish, I still don't think I'd be able to figure out what is going on during 88-percent of the programming on Univision.

- We're just over a week away from the presidential election and it seems that the only place candidate Duck is being taken seriously is here at The Writings... I'm just glad I have educated readers.

You Win!

If you have ever seen the movie "Eddie," I'm sorry and I wish you could get 100 minutes of your life back.

...Wait, while that may be true (so true it's frightening) that's not the direction I meant to go. Let's try it again...

If you have ever seen the movie "Eddie," you witnessed some extremely horrible acting, and not just on the part of the basketball players pretending to be actors. Odds are you were tempted to begin poking at your corneas with Q-tips you'd lit on fire by the time the film was halfway through.

... Nope, that's still not the right route (although it's still scary true). One more time...

If you have ever seen the movie "Eddie," you probably thought the idea of someone earning a position with an NBA team because they won a silly in-game contest seemed pretty absurd. You may have even spat at notion (if you did, I'm truly impressed, since notions aren't exactly tangible). Whatever your reaction to the possibility of your average John Cupo'coffee (Joe Sixpack's cousin, fresh out of rehab) getting anywhere in the world of sports thanks to a little skill combined with a little luck, it seems the basic premise may become reality.

According to a Texas Tech fan site, the recent winner of an in-game field goal kicking contest may be lining up for extra points this weekend for the Red Raiders. He put a 30-yard kick through the uprights weeks ago and now he may be called upon to do the same against the No. 18 team in the nation (who shall remain unnamed).

As with most things I bother writing about, this provoked many thoughts in my head. Particularly, if this plan works out and the Red Raiders solve their kicking issues thanks to a simple contest, why can't this work for the teams I root for?

It's pretty obvious the Kansas City Chiefs have a problem at quarterback right now. They entered the season without a proven signal caller, they've just lost two mediocre QBs for the season, and they'll start a quarterback on Sunday who has thrown with the accuracy of a cross-eyed marksman who has had too much caffiene. But what if the answer to their problems didn't lie in free agency or the draft, but in a contest at halftime? Whoever can throw the most footballs through a tire from 10 yards out wins the starting QB gig.

... Oh, I forgot to mention that the contest participants will also have to avoid a constant barrage of 300-pound bags of flour while making their tosses, to get used to having no pass protection.


In Manhattan, it's tough to peg one single phase of the game as the issue plaguing the Wildcats, but tackling certainly isn't a strength. Sounds like it's time for a contest. Put the opposing mascot at midfield, and the first person to successfully bring it down with a mechanically sound form tackle (see what you hit, wrap up, shoot the hips through, etc.) earns the starting nod at inside linebacker the following week.


The Royals once invited a professional softball pitcher to spring training, so the idea of filling a roster spot with a contest can't seem completely ridiculous for the organization. While the boys in blue have no power to speak of on the roster, I think it would be a lot easier to address the lack of speed on the basepaths. If you've been to Kauffman Stadium in the last few years, you know the hot dog race (three people racing while wearing huge hot dog costumes) sometimes gets more of a reaction than anything that happens in the batter's box. Think of the added excitement when the winner is guaranteed a spot in centerfield the following game. The choice of whether they wear the hot dog costume or a baseball uniform for their Major League debut is up to them.


This contest idea may very well sweep the nation. It can even be applied to areas outside the world of sports. Areas like blog writing.

Sure, I've complained about areas in the world of sports that I find subpar in this Writing, but I will certainly admit there are things people find subpar about all of these Writings (writing, editing, and content come to mind). Thus, it may be time for the inaugural Writings contest. Naturally, I have no idea what the terms of the contest are, or what the prize could be. Submit your ideas, and you just might win... the opportunity to choose the contest you will later compete in.

Things I Don't Understand - the equestrian atop a pale pony

I read a newspaper editorial this morning, the subject of which was an injured quarterback retuning to lead his team on the football field. The columnist argued that this young signal-caller would not make this struggling squad instantly competitive simply by standing under center.

I have absolutely no qualms with this argument. In fact, since the youngster has never actually been the starting quarterback in a game his NFL franchise has won, it seems that the title of the column could have been, "Reiterating Common Knowledge."

All statements of the obvious aside, the thing I found interesting in the article was the use of a certain cliche. The writer used a quote from the head coach, in which the coach stated that the quarterback would not come "riding in on a white horse."

Reading the aforementioned statement made me pause.

Was this expected of the quarterback? Had his injury rehabilitation been combined with some equestrian training?

And why the emphasis on the fact that he wouldn't ride atop a white horse? Was he establishing the fact that the quarterback is drug free? Or refuting any inane ideas that he might be the antichrist?

Since this phrase was used to support the argument that the QB would not be a difference-making player this season, does this mean that there is some sort of cause-and-effect relationship between someone's ability to ride white horses and their prowess on the gridiron?

I know newspaper editorials are meant to get people thinking... but I'm not sure these are the type of questions they're supposed to spurn. I had to find out if this saying had any merit. Did Joe Montana ever ride atop a white steed prior to a Super Bowl victory? Did John Elway use a Denver Bronco as his means of conveyance while traveling to Super Bowl XXXII?

Alas, such research proved inconclusive.

In fact, the only event I could conjure in which someone famously rode a white horse in to quell the chances of defeat was (nerd alert!) when Gandalf the White rode Shadowfax down the slope the the Battle of Helm's Deep. Saruman's troops stood no chance.

Perhaps this coach was simply attempting to vanquish any possible rumors that the quarterback is a wizard that can tame equidae previously thought unable to be tamed.

In the end, the point is somewhat moot, as the quarterback left the contest (once again, his first game back from injury) with a new injury. His luck seems to indicate that he's been littering on ancient burial grounds and spitting on the Blarney Stone... I guess the white horse is probably lucky he wasn't called for duty.

Time for Links

Go ahead and re-read that title.

Pretty simple, eh? Yet, it took about all the creativity I could muster on this Saturday morn. As a result, I'm taking the route that so many of those who publish blogs on the web have before me, and I'm going to focus on nothing but links in this Writing. Is it cheap and lazy? Sure, but I have also used both aforementioned terms to describe myself in the past... It works.


Invisibility Cloak - This seems like a marvelous (please note: italicized text intended to be read with a sarcstic tone... Feel free to start the sentence over (this time with feeling!) if you prefer) idea. After all, a study in London has shown that one out of every three people suffers from paranoia. With the new concern of invisible people wandering around, this number is bound to rise. Now, whenever the wind blows paranoia will strike and people will stare into nothingness with wild eyes, wondering if some invisibility cloaked person has incredible lung capacity.

Rock on - Continuing the theme of legitimate scientific studies, we have this. Granted, I'm no "rocker." In fact, the closest I get to head-banging is shaking my head in effort to get water out of my ear after a shower. Nevertheless, only the most sophisticated tests were used in effort to achieve a firm conclusion in this vital study. Show me a scientific study that doesn't take juvenile delinquency or Beavis and Butt-head into account.

Space Java - ...and all the caffeine-addicted astronauts who just can't bring themselves to drink instant coffee rejoice. Does this mean we'll finally get the commercial feature Juan Valdez and his donkey in space that the world has been clamoring for?

Yikes - As someone who tends to have an uncanny ability to blink nearly every time a picture of him is attempted, I have little room to comment on bad photos... but I also don't have any photos of myself that look quite like this. It seems Senator McCain is taking some notes for the Air Jordan Handbook. While MJ stuck out his tongue on the court, McCain is taking following suit on the campaign trail. Can it be long before we have a "Be like John" theme song?

There's always hope? - We conclude with a trip down Memory Boulevard (Memory Lane is under construction as a result of too much traffic), back to the days when 500+ yard performances by K-State's opponents weren't seen as a nearly foregone conclusion, back when the Wildcats had a rushing attack, and back when they didn't wear ridiculous purple pants (I'm sorry, but those are horrible)... Ah, memories.

Well, Christmas is just around the corner...

I have heard it said that you can find anything you might want to purchase on eBay. Sure, that's great, but the items you don't hear about are the pieces of trivia that noone bids on. What happens to these items that garner no consumer interest whatsoever? Are they doomed to join Charlie-in-the-Box on the Island of Misfit Toys? With the holiday shopping season approaching, I figured now might be a good time to examine some of the auction items that have received no bids whatsoever. Who knows, this could help a valued reader find a gift for a loved one. I hope you have your credit cards ready.

(Please note: all product titles are listed exactly as they appear on eBay. Typos may be present, but such errors might add into the product's mystique.)


Authentic PUG Fur
This item hits somewhat close to home. I know a member of the pug family pretty well. In my experiences with this canine, fur has not been hard to come by. These dogs shed at a rate that makes one wonder how they don't go completely hairless upon their fourth tail-chasing session of the hour. The idea that one might make some cash by putting this fuzz up for sale is rather asinine... but I imagine it could have the wheels turning in the heads of some of my family members. I know of living room rug that could offer up a rather bountiful harvest.

BLOWN KISSES EMPTY BAG OF BLOWN KISSES
It seems that I should probably bookmark this link. Thus, whenever I get the feeling that the heights of human stupidity have finally been reached, I can click this and remind myself that no one was foolish enough to bid on this empty plastic bag.

Texas Cockle Burrs for sale, Authenic Home Decor
Then again, doubts assuaged by the previous item can creep back into your head when you read this product description. In my experiences with the earthly wonder that is the outdoors, cockleburrs have proven to be some of the most infuriating forms of plant life I have encountered. They cling like the girl who doesn't understand what "let's just be friends" means, and the process of completely separating yourself is just as painful. The idea that someone might pass them off as a "home grown" items for decorating use("Check out the cockleburr crop... It's a beauty this year") is kind of like advertising your toenail clippings as mini toothpicks. It's a bad idea all around. Then again, I guess I'm unclear on what a "Porky Pine" egg (see eloquently worded description) actually is... Maybe such knowledge would make me realize that this is really a bargain.

Dog Or Cat Poopie Doo Boxed Like Candy Rubber Realistic
The mere notion that something with "Poopie Doo" in the title has zero bids is pretty mind-boggling in itself.

Initiation into the Vampire Arts
This seems to argue for the idea that people are not born as vampires, but rather choose to be vampires. The table of contents listed is very helpful, however it seems that having a section titled "What you will NOT find in this booklet" in the booklet is a little contradictory. Apparently vampires aren't sticklers for such details.

98 DEGREES GUITAR PICK
What do you mean fan interest in 98 Degrees has faded? (Insert terrified expression of choice here... I prefer the deep-breath followed by the voice-fading "NOOOOOOOoooooooooo!")

1988 TOPPS FOOTBALL PAUL MCFADDEN #240 PSA 10 EAGLES
No one is willing to put up $9.99 for a football trading card featuring a kicker that spent six whole seasons in the National Football League? Weird. Especially since Tuff Stuff's online price guide values this card as being worth a shiny nickel. While the photo on the card of Mr. McFadden seemingly reading a book he'd taped inside his helmet is a nice one, I'm not sure it's worth that extra $9.94.

How to make money and Get rich
The final item of the evening gives us an opportunity to work through an issue together... Remember, everything listed in this Writing is an eBay item that had received zero bids at the time of composing (by definition, the fewest bids one can receive). If something on eBay receives zero bids, that means it will not be sold, which means it makes the seller a profit of nothing. Although I've never done much of it myself, I am fairly confident that making money and getting rich require profits greater than nothing. Please keep this in mind when considering options you might use to "make money and get rich."


Remember, only 71 days until Christmas.

What has four wheels and looks like ballpark food?

I saw a National monument today.

Well, it may not be an official National Monument, but it's considered one by a portion of the nation, anyway.

... Fine, it might just be me that sees this work as one of the heights in human ingenuity, but I'll let you decide for yourself...



Sure, this vehicle I witnessed is not the only Oscar Mayer Wienermobile in existence, but such a fact does little to sway my opinion. This giant, motorized hot dog is an important piece of American History.

Consider the power of the Wienermobile:

- It brightens moods.
I traveled to Dillon's on this very day to provide my car with the gasoline sustenance it requires to maintain forward motion. Naturally, the idea of forking out the cash required to fill up a gas tank these days was not a thrilling concept. Yet, as soon as I saw the Wienermobile* in the parking lot, I forgot all about prices of oil, offshore drilling, alternate sources of energy, and the possibility of having to sell a kidney if I ever take a road-trip. There was only one thought in my mind: I have to get a picture of that.

*The fact that I have never referenced the Wienermobile before in this blog - a collections of Writings that covers everything from the evils of water that has dipped below its freezing point to male flight attendants that look like Lando Calrissian - is surprising even to me. To make up for such literary neglect, I'm using the Wienermobile name far more than it should ever appear in text.

- It promotes the arts.
Photography is an art, and everybody around wanted a picture of the Wienermobile. I have witnessed some really interesting people and really interesting sights in public parking lots throughout my life, but few have merited a photograph to commemorate the event. Nevertheless, with the Wienermobile just across the parking lot, I considered abandoning my car while it filled with petroleum to snap pictures with my shoddy cell phone until the battery died.

Honestly, there are very few motor vehicles in existence that can make me actually stop what I'm doing to take a photo. In three days at a car show featuring over 1,600 cars, I took exactly zero pictures of cars that had not transported me to the park.  Yet, when presented with Oscar Mayer's hot dog on wheels not only did I snap a photo, but I actually sent it to people to share the joy in the event... This from a guy that didn't take a single photo on a trip to New York years ago.

The idea of having a Wienermobile staffer (What would one call the drivers of this vehicle? Every idea that comes to mind seems a bit risque for such a Writing) snap my picture next to the oversized redhot even crossed my mind. Alas, it was ultimately thwarted by some combination of pride and insecurity (mostly the latter).**

**I probably looked a little place as it was, considering the face that I am neither a six-year-old nor a soccer mom^.

^We have "soccer moms," and now we have "hockey moms"... what about the sports that are, you know, popular in our country? Have you ever heard anyone referred to as a football, baseball, or basketball mom? From my understanding, soccer moms are always running around from place to place for their kids (soccer practice, etc.), which is similar to what soccer players do, as there is entirely too much running in the sport. Apparently hockey moms are similar, but also tough, like pit bulls. Are football moms the ones that like hitting people? Do baseball moms enjoy spitting more than other moms? What about basketball moms? Are these women giving chest bumps after successful drop offs? Can someone sort this out for me?

As it stands, the only other vehicles I can think of that I'd really have to get a picture of upon sight is the original Batmobile and maybe the A-Team's van if Mr. T is hanging around. Some might argue for the General Lee, but it seems to be easily replicated with a '69 Dodge Charger. (And who doesn't have one of those?) Obviously, I'm no car buff. If you're frustrated with my ignorance, comment below with a vehicle I'm missing out on. With some feedback, we may have a future poll on our hands.

-It makes people burst into song.
No, your author did not serenade all in proximity with the Oscar Mayer Wiener song, but the lyrics were certainly rolling through my head as I approached the bumper (Bun-per? ... The Writings - all the crappy puns you'll ever need, and all for free). In the world of television advertisements, people love singing the jingle... despite the fact that it doesn't really make sense. Do people really wish they were some combination of meats served on a bun, even if they had the opportunity to be packaged by Oscar Mayer? Is that what they'd REALLY like to be?

Honestly, given the option, I think I'd rather maintain my current status as a person that isn't served at all (as long as I stay away from any freestyle rap battles or dance contests... oh snap***). It seems the odds of me being consumed by a severely overweight man in a baseball jersey are far less as I currently stand.

***Yes, I am fluent in the language of 1980s rappers. Funky fresh, I know.


I do have qualms with Mr. Mayer's choice of song lyrics (then again, from what I understand Mr. Mayer is actually a piece of bologna, so what can you expect?), but it seems that he pegged the final line of his ditty. Much like the Statue of Liberty and Mount Rushmore, everyone loves the Wienermobile.

Now we just have to get a presidential candidate to make declaring it a National Monument a campaign priority.

Debate This

It's debate night, and that can only mean one thing*: it's time for unsubstantiated claims.

*Okay, two things. It also means millions around the nation will tune into their favorite network and exclaim, "What's goin' on? It's time for 'So You Think You Can Eat Your Weight in Tacos.'"

That's right, candidates could say pretty much anything without having to worry about the burden of having to provide evidence of such claims. It's the reason news stations and websites now make a point of citing the errors in hours of debate dissection. During the live debate, nearly anything can be claimed as fact as long as someone is willing to argue for it. They could say anything and, odds are, someone out there would believe it.

Such an idea really got me thinking. What type of claims (sans any sense of supporting evidence whatsoever) could candidates make during this town hall meeting? How about:

- The real downfall of the economy is the demise of the sports trading card industry.

- Any Americans named Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac have been deported.

- P.D. Eastman's "Go Dog, Go!" contains a coded map leading to treasure meant to bail out the U.S. in times of economic disparity.

- Abraham Lincoln used to hide snacks in his hat.

- The three blind mice were actually anorexic, glaucoma-suffering squirrels.

- A combination of Kroger brand Cheese Puffs and Red Bull is the future of clean energy.

- Alaska was not the largest state in the union until it hooked up with BALCO.

- Global warming can actually be stopped by people setting their air conditioners to lower temperatures.

- Terrorists turn against America because they can't find Nintendo Wii systems anywhere.

- Pork barrels helped make last year's Independence Day barbecue the tastiest ever.

- Back to the Future is based on a true story.

- For a brief period, the two major political parties considered changing their names to the Nation of Domination and the nWo.

- The opposing candidate would not have run if Brett Favre had thrown his hat (helmet) in the race.

 
--------------


Unfortunately, 104 minutes later, none of my suggested unsubstantiated claims were brought up in tonight's debate. Sure, there was talk of the economy, foreign policy, and more, but how can you have a debate without any movie, video game, sports, or professional wrestling references? It's mind-boggling.

At least we have one more debate before the election.

I'm #1

It's true, ladies and gentlemen. I'm number one.

I'm the best.

I'm the tops.

Those who speak Spanish might call me "numero uno."

Others might refer to me as "da bomb*," "the shizzle**," or "the cat's pajamas***."

*If they have time-traveled from 1997.

**If their name rhymes with "doop snog."

***If they are... trying to start a small business where they sell feline sleepwear.

Please don't jump to the conclusion that I've begun sailing in the great ship of narcissism (especially because it doesn't catch much wind with mirrors used as sails), I'm simply speaking the truth.

Don't believe me? Check this out.

That's right, a simple Google search for my name along with the word "fool" lists this very blog as the top result. Thus, it's clear that in the all-seeing eyes of Mr. Google (as far as I know, he has not earned his doctorate), I am the most foolish of all Derek Larsons.

I'm currently in the process of adding this to my resume.

Granted, some (including Google) may say that the listings of search results should not be used as any sort of scientific measuring stick or ranking system (or cough suppressant, but that seems obvious), but that sounds like the talk of those in the corporate world trying to keep me from taking my rightful spot as the most foolish of all those who share my name. Like King Arthur receiving Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake or the most rotund of all the Lost Boys, Thud Butt, receiving leadership responsibilities from Peter Pan at the end of Hook, I have earned this title and will not take it lightly.

Now that I know where I stand in relation to all others that don my name as if they've raided my personality, it seems natural to wonder what others are doing with my 11-letter moniker that begins with 'd.'

Google (an anagram for "ego log"... somewhat fitting) brings forth information on several Derek Larsons - most of whom I'm 98.9-percent sure are not me. At the top list is an assistant professor of history and environmental studies. I do not have a business card listing such as my form of employment (and this guy has a beard, while I could not even grow one if Abe Lincoln and Grizzly Adams were offering me membership in the Benevolent Order of the Folically Rich Faces), therefore I can conclude that this DL and I are not the same person.

Using the logic of this blog, the fact that he is atop the search listings for "Derek Larson" must mean he is the most important of all DLs. Is this a shot to the ego? For some, possibly.

For me, no.

After all, if you're a single 20-something who writes endlessly about trivial matters, odds are your ego has been beaten down to a nearly unrecognizable point through the years. Sadly, mine has been on life support since the days when I enjoyed chicken patties (on buns!) in the elementary school cafeteria (/old gym).

But enough about me... lets talk about people who share a name with me. There's a Derek Larson that is a web designer. There is another that is a conceptual artist. There's even one who has put himself out there in the world of YouTube. (Please note: not all who sport my name condone combining fire with flatulence. Play smart, kids.)

No matter what these folks are doing, even if they're crafting canoes out of limestone, one fact remains: there may be 8,510 search results for "Derek Larson," but there's only one atop the list of "Derek Larson" + "fool."

I'm #1.

Crazy Like a... Cow?

Sometimes you see a story in the news that makes you want to flick yourself in the eyelid to make sure you haven't drifted off to the land wacky dreams, where chickens eat people and cliffs that people stumble off lie around every corner. This is that story.

For those of you too lazy to click on the link, the gist of it is that a woman apparently decided to celebrate All Hallows Eve a bit early. She dressed up in her finest holstein costume and took to the streets. Unfortunately, instead of going door-to-door soliciting for Sugar Babies, she decided to chase real children. In other words, she whiffed in the pursuit of treats.

Oh, but there was a trick involved. In apparent effort to fully channel her inner bovine, she showed no regard for personal privacy and urinated in a neighbor's front yard. Thankfully, the lawn received no fertilizing.

As one who often attempts (and fails) to conjure up humorous stories, this serves as a reminder that sometimes fiction just can't compete with reality.

The whole situation is extremely bizarre, but I implore you to go back and read the story linked above again. Pay particular attention to the final line...

...

...That's right. A woman wreaks havoc in a neighborhood by chasing children around and peeing in a neighbor's yard, yet the big unsolved mystery in this report is the motivation for her wardrobe.

Honestly?

It's Witchcraft

In the eyes of a sports fan, there are many things that might seem evil. The ever-increasing price of tickets, the deep pockets of the New York Yankees, and the management decisions of Al Davis are all fine examples. Yet, none of them can really top this.

I realize I'm a little slow in getting to this story (I blame the economy), and for that I apologize. Nonetheless, it seems that the teachings of Hogwarts* have finally transcended the magical competition of Quidditch* to influence mainstream sports.

*I use these terms with severe trepidation. As one who has never read the tales of young Mr. Potter, I don't really have any clue what I'm talking about. Of course, this has never stopped me before.

Although the ensuing riot was certainly no laughing matter, the idea that world of Bedknobs and Broomsticks** may be merging with the world of non-animated sports has me intrigued.

**Yes, I'm hip to Academy Award winning Disney musicals from the 1970s. Hello, icebreaker.

Imagine if the Chiefs signed a safety that could cast a spell to turn opposing players into animals.

Announcer 1: Here's Rivers back to pass, he spots Tomlinson open in the flat, but, ohh, the ball bounces right off of him. It seems he turned into some sort of sheep as the pass was in the air.

Announcer 2: You're right, Jim. And while he may now be enjoying the abundance of grass on that field, those cloven hooves sure aren't much for catching passes. Oh mercy.


Perhaps a Royals pitcher could inflict temporary blindness on an opposing batter, forcing them to swing at anything they throw.***

***I'm fairly confident this spell would be conjured by saying, "abra-cadrez bat like Neifi Perez."

Then again, I guess I cannot be entirely sure that certain individuals in the world of sports are not already suffering from something brought on by combining eye of frog, toe of newt, and tongue of toad. (Please note: I'm referring to a spell... not indigestion.)

Surely the San Francisco Giants were suffering from some sort of curse when they signed Barry Zito to a seven-year, $126-million contract. Perhaps someone ought to double-check the ingredients of the cream and the clear for newt toes.

Furthermore, with witchcraft apparently becoming commonplace in the world of organized sports****, can the introduction of other mystical abilities into athletic competition be far behind?

****Does one rumored case of attempted witchcraft mean it is "commonplace"? For the purposes of this Writing, absolutely it does.

Will the World Series be decided by the pitcher that is stronger in the force? Or will the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl be scored by a running back that picked up Super Mario's invincibility star (or just the strength of the NES Nigerian Nightmare). It seems that only time will tell.

...Well, time and mystical fortune tellers.

 

The People in Your Neighborhood - At a Car Show

When one heads to a car show, one expects to see classic cars (that, or talking cars doing a comedy act of the Abbott and Costello variety... Who's Shifting From First, anyone?). If such were not the case, we would probably be dealing with a massive case of false advertising.

Thanks to this past weekend, I can attest that the number of unique, visually stunning vehicles parked at such a show can be overwhelming. However, there is another aspect - an unadvertised draw - that these automotive showcases feature. It's the attendees. The folks scoping out everything from engines to spoilers can be as different as the Model A and a '71 Stingray. Naturally, they're a crew prime for examination.

These are the people in your neighborhood...

-The guy with an uncomfortably warm belly
As someone who may be quicker than most when it comes to reaching the point of perspiration, I don't normally scoff at new ways to keep cool, but Mr. Warm Belly has taken things to a rather creeptastic level. When the temperature reaches the mid-80s but there's still several classic V8s to see, he fights off sweat by pulling up his grimy t-shirt and tucking it so that it stays snugly above his protruding gut. (The fact that there is actually somewhere to tuck his shirt above his gut tells you something about his physique.) I guess the basic premise of the idea seems close to conventional. After all, if your arms are warm you roll up your sleeves... But, the end result looks like something that would have most drivers shifting into reverse.


-The members of ZZ Top
Unfortunately, I cannot confirm that the actual members of ZZ Top were in attendance at this motor carriage extravaganza, but their look was popular enough that it left all those who are folically challenge in the face feeling inadequate.. I am pretty confident you would struggle to find this many chest-length beards at the World Beard and Moustache Championships.
The forest of facial hair was so thick that I fully expected to hear the familiar chords of "Sharp Dressed Man" and see the signature guitar flip as I searched to find some sort of purchasable sustinance that did not have grease as the primary ingredient (mission: failed).


-The power-walking guy with great fashion sense
Some people come to car shows for the cars. Some come for the company. Some come to ignore all else and power-walk laps around a park, all while sporting the latest in early-90s fashion: the fanny pack. What treasures lie inside this zipper-bound representation of all that is hip? (The Writings.. Your source for horrible puns.) Only this man knows for sure. However, my guess is that it's some sort of shoe in-sole, because he just started another lap.


-The multitasker
Being a father of three young boys would be no easy task. Of this, I'm very confident. Simply keeping the kids entertained would be a continual challenge. However, taking the youngsters on a bike ride around the park would be a good start. The kids would get the opportunity to be outside on a lovely day, and you would be able to get some exercise at the same time. And what is the logical way to get the most out of a healthy cardiovascular workout like a bike ride? Naturally, it's by enjoying a cigarette as you pedal along.

That's right, the multitasker gets his nicotine fix while cruising on his Huffy. Unfortunately, reports that he shotguns Budweiser while jogging or eats deep-fried Oreos by the handful while jumping rope remain unconfirmed.


-The fool who falls victim to a ridiculous sunburn that leaves his nose redder than a certain reindeer's and provides a farmer's tan that would have Old McDonald saying "e-i-e-i-oh crap"
This fool normally follows up such an event by writing about it in self-depricating fashion in his blog... Yes, I'm an idiot.

Quick Thought on an Ad... Well, Quick for the Author

Often, at some point in the course of an automobile commercial, you'll see the following text quickly flash on the bottom of your television screen: "Professional driver on a closed course. Please do not attempt." In most cases, this is an outstanding advice. Granted, that Saturn zipping through the winding roads on the countryside with no regard for traffic lanes or rules of the road may look to be enjoying itself, but if you go out and mimic this in your 1994 Ford Tempo odds are you may wind up flipped over in ditch or embedded in the grill of an 18-wheeler.

Recently though, I noticed a car ad that I feel should not put forth this message, no matter how small the text is. It features a large arena that appears to be some sort of 21st-Century Colosseum. A crowd of thousands pounds its hands in unison as some sort of motor carriage wheels out on the arena floor. Like Maximus Decimus Meridius on his way to another gladiatorial victory, the car moves slowly, as if it's absorbing the cheers of the crowd. (As best I can tell, the crowd does not refer to the car as "Spaniard.")

It is at this point that the "Do not attempt," message presents itself, like and unwanted magazine salesperson.

Honestly? This message is seen as necessary in this commercial?

Call me crazy, but if someone has the time, resources and motivation to:
1) secure a plot of land large enough for an arena that seats thousands;
2) design the arena;
3) acquire the materials necessary for arena construction;
4) construct the arena, following proper building ordinances;
5) hire thousands of people to sit in the arena;
6) have the crowd practice their uniform clapping and cheering;
7) and slowly cruise out to the center of the arena while the crowd does their part on cue;
I think they should be encouraged to follow their dreams. Granted, it's a pretty odd dream, but aren't those the basis of pretty much every reality show on television?

Something is Missing Here

Quick, think of the phrase you would least expect to hear while at a fast food restaurant.

I'll even offer up some examples:
- "Thanks for coming in, sir. We really appreciate your business."
- "Wow, that's an unbelievably clean restroom!"
- "So many healthy options. What do I choose?"
- "Well, time to go work out."

All are fine options, but try this one out: "Sorry, we're out of hamburger meat."

Alas, this very sentence - word for word - was spoken in my direction today, at an establishment that claims to be royalty in the court of processed bovine, no less.

Right now, you're probably asking yourself one thing (hopefully, it's not, "Why is he writing about fast food again?").

How does a fast food dining establishment that is known primarily for the hamburgers it serves run out of "hamburger meat"*? Has the king been too busy filming commericials to pay his bills? Did Ronald McDonald finally convince The Hamburglar to go after the competition? Maybe the capersome Chick-fil-a cows are moving their act to larger pastures.

*Something I like to refer to as "ground beef." Call me crazy.

This whole ordeal kind of threw me off, as an anti-Atkins diet just did not seem appealing. I quickly glanced around for hidden cameras, thinking I must have been in the middle of some commercial doomed to be ignored by millions. Seeing none, and noting the no-nonsense look on the register attendee's face, I realized that the events of this story were true, and my name was not being changed to protect the innocent. A menu with an abundance of options had now been cut down to offering chicken and salad**.

**Isn't going to a fast-food burger place for a salad kind of like going to Wal-Mart for a haircut? Think about it...

Fighting all notions of screaming in the inevitable terror that comes from a world without flame-grilled beef patties, I ordered a chicken sandwich meal and moved aside.

I was cooperative. Others were not. One man, upon hearing of the burger drought, declined the opportunity to place any sort of order and walked directly out the door. Where he was headed, I have no clue. But I hope it was someplace with so many greasy patties lying around that he could practice his butterfly stroke in them.***

***This sentence brought to you by the Awkward "Picture This" Moment Foundation. The APTMF - making you wish you couldn't read, one sentence at a time. 

With the fateful sentence running zig-zags in my head like a squirrel with no sense of direction, I walked home and ate my meal. The chicken assuaged my hunger, but my mind remained unsatisfied. My head swiriled in curiousity.

Would other businesses allow themselves to run dry of the very product they're name for?

Would Staples ever run out of staples?

Would a clerk at Blockbuster Video ever be put in the position of having to tell someone, "Sorry, we're out of movies. But you can still buy some of that outrageously overpriced candy"?

Could the folks at Ticketmaster get away with saying, "Believe it or not, we ran completely out of tickets. For everything"?

What if a store like Christian Books & Gifts ran out of Christian books... and gifts? It would be pandelirium.

As best I can tell, the situation is unprecedented and I'm still perplexed. I'd think about a Dairy Queen run to ease my worries with a bit of ice cream, but monarchs who rule from castles with drive-thru windows haven't been having the best day, it seems. They're probably fresh out of anything with milk.

Things I Don't Understand - The Return

It's true. The series near and dear to so many (or perhaps just two) hearts is making its return. My streak of unblemished clearheadedness has reached its inevitable end, and I'm back to my befuddled state (at one time thought to be my default setting). It's almost like I have come home (to a house with no door).

So, what events have left me feeling like a third grader from the Midwest trying to read Swahili? Read on...


One of these things is not like the other...

If you're like me (I realize that's a very dangerous qualifier, but stick with me), you grew up watching Sesame Street. Sesame Street, in its efforts to teach impressionable children with crazy puppets, occasionally featured a game called One of These Things is Not Like the Other. In celebration of Big Bird's upcoming winter migration (think of the mess he could leave on your windshield), it's time to play our own round.

One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just isn't the same. Please identify that thing now...
1. Pepsi
2. Pepsi
3. Pepsi
4. Diet Pepsi

Please, I encourage you not to feel rushed. Take as long as you need to weed out the black sheep.

... Got it?

If you picked Diet Pepsi, I would like to congratulate you. Sure, you may think this exercise was pointless, but I've got news for you... This test has proven difficult for a few of our friends in the fast food business. Twice in the past two weeks, I have ordered a Pepsi at the drive-thru of a Mexican fast food chain (hint: it features a device that rings in its name... No, Burrito Phone is not the answer), only to receive the inferior diet version of the soft drink in its stead. If dramatic music of the 'dun dun dunnnnn' variety was ever called for, this is the case.

Why does this soda switcheroo happen? Have I lost my Pepsi-drinking rights? Do the soda servers of America think I need to be even skinnier? Is the fast-food industry trying to feud with me? (You're not getting near the Fast Money round, Colonel Sanders!)

Obviously I'm perplexed, as the title of this very Writing implies. Granted, I have never worked in the fast food industry, but last I knew the buttons on soda dispensers featured colorful labels that clearly state what carbonated beverage will reach its mobile transport (e.g., cup) should the button be pressed. Alas, the only conclusion I can reach is that there is an unwritten code for those in the Society of Soda Servers (a surprisingly tough group to get into... I can't even get anyone to admit it exists) that every third drink must be dispensed with the server's eyes closed as he or she hums the theme song to Mission: Impossible.



Weather forecast? I'm sorry, I'm unfamiliar with the term...

When you live/work next to a college campus, you witness many things. Some might be ridiculous. Some might be funny. Some might be utterly mystifying... in a very foolish way.

Imagine, if you will, that you're a college student. Somehow you've lucked out, and your first class today is not until 1:30 p.m. This means that, if you really hustle, you don't even need to leave your apartment for class until 1:21 p.m. Not too shabby. Even if you had a late night, you can still sleep until noon.

My question for you, oh future valued member of the American workforce, is: At any point in the hour and 21 minutes that you're awake prior to your departure, do you turn on the television to check the weather? Or check it online? Or on your phone? Or do you walk by a window through which you can view the outdoors?

Forgive my inquisitive nature, but this hypothetical was reality around here recently, and I was not exactly impressed by the results. If it is post-noon and precipitation has been continually plummeting to the ground from the clouds above since the previous night, I am the type of person that expects people to be somewhat prepared for the weather. Umbrellas seem to be effective in such situations. If you're anti-umbrella, wearing something with a hood is a decent alternative. Even a jacket, sans hood, will be better than nothing.

Yet, the number of students seen sprinting through the rain in their t-shirts and shorts as if the storm had materialized within seconds was mind-boggling. Even if one exits their home unprepared for the rain, wouldn't they make note of the current weather conditions once they're out the door?*

*Possible inner monologue: "Hmm, there's precipitation falling on me in a repeated manner, yet I exited the shower an hour ago. If this continues as I trek to class, my clothing could be quite waterlogged by the time I sit down for Physics. Perhaps there's some way I can combat these basic liquid droplings from above."**

**I think I pretty much nailed the vernacular for the majority of college students today. It certainly wouldn't be simplified to something like, "Dude, it's raining. Where's my @#%#@$ hoodie?"

Maybe I just misundersood the reactions. Perhaps being drenched when you arrive at class is the "in thing," and the sprinting was actually a physical representation of their unsupressed joy to be conforming to popular style brought on by the ever-growing popularity of Michael Phelps... That makes more sense that just being ignorant of the current weather conditions, doesn't it?

Making Chicken Salad

When tasked to think of a name for a fantasy football team* yesterday, I was reminded of a quote that came about last summer. The Chiefs were featured on the HBO program Hard Knocks, as producers had yet to realize how horrendous their season would be. When it came time to cut a quarterback, Casey Printers - who called signals for TCU and Florida A&M in his collegiate career - was on the chopping block. The situation was unfortunate (especially considering the face that the Chiefs did not really have another decent quarterback), but his conversation with Chiefs' Director of Player Personnel Ray Farmer proved to be an entertaining one. Citing the talent (or lackthereof) of the players he had been taking the field with, Printers said it was difficult to be too successful when he "had to make chicken salad out of chicken s#!%."

Why am I bringing this up? If this blog had an editor who had to sort through all my random thoughts, he'd probably feel the same way.

*Derek's total number of fantasy football teams will be withheld, as he'd rather not have a concerned reader suggest he join a support group for those addicted to the ... uhh... sport.


Oh well, let's make some chicken salad...


- Occasionally (read: far too often), I'll come across something so bizarre, that I'm certain I have seen the depths of human stupidity. This should not surprise you, as I usually follow that up by writing about it. Tonight's example comes in the form of the TV show, Greatest American Dog. From what I gather, the show takes all the idiocy of every reality competition that has ever appeared on television and drags a bunch of poor, innocent dogs into the mix. Past episode titles include "Dancing with the Dogs," "Top Dog Model," and "Dog Swap." Thankfully, they decided against imitating Flava Flav's show. I think the title, "Flavor of Dog" may have received some backlash.

Currently, a woman is being interrogated about her relationship with her canine, and tearing up while answering questions. I enjoy dogs as much as most normal folks, but at no point in this interview were tears warranted. The pup never cried. In fact, the pup looked like he had realized that he's appearing on a version of David Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks stripped of all (intentional) comedy, inundated with overbearing dog owners and judges, and dragging on weeks too long. Does PETA come to the rescue when psychological issues are involved.


- Speaking of dogs (of sorts), how does one go about becoming a bounty hunter? What's that job interview like? I like to think the interviewer is a corporate type, handling the situation solely as a manager of personnel, leading to the following:
Interviewer: So, are you willing to push the limits of the law to hunt down the dregs of society?
Interviewee: Dregs?
Interviewer: You know, bad guys.
Interviewee: Yeah, I'll whoop those $#%@$^@#%$!
Interviewer: Alright then, I'll just write "yes." Now I notice you are currently sans facial hair and sporting a shaved head. Are you willing to grow some sort of whiskers on your face and grow out your hair so it can be braided or crimped?
Interviewee: Crimped? Like bloods and crimps?
Interviewer: Uhh, just say yes.
Interviewee: You betcha', brotha.


- Speaking of reality shows, is it a bad sign that 70-percent of the shows on television seem to be of that genre. When I show up for my 25-year high school reunion, will "So, have you been on a reality show yet?" be a common question?


- I sometimes wonder what life would be like if I used the same logic as Netflix. According to their "Movies You'll Love" section, I will really enjoy the British TV drama series, State of Play because I enjoyed the American comedy series Arrested Development. Isn't this kind of like saying that I should love the taste of lamb hooves because I enjoy hamburgers? I guess if I ever buy a girl an antfarm because she likes flowers, I'll know I'm suffering from netflixation.


- I don't claim to be knowledgeable when it comes to the world of physics, but if you're currently reading this writing from the inside of a black hole, this is probably why. The Big Bang Theory may be a controversial topic (along with a mildly funny TV show), but I'm not sure anyone - be they a subscriber to the theory or not - should anticipate the recreation of anything that involves the phrase "primordial fireball." I'd rather have all flaming orbs on this planet limited to the Mushroom Kingdom, thank you.


- In my book, it's not officially an election year until a quote about a farm animal adorned with cosmetics has been completely overblown. Let the race begin!


- For the K-Staters out there, it's rough that there's no game this week. How does one fill the void? Hopefully this will help a little...

Mario Smith Hit

The Reason TVs Have Mute Buttons

Before I go anywhere with this Writing, I must make one thing as clear as your grease-soaked napkin after eating a slice from Pizza Shuttle: I would be an absolutely horrendous football play-by-play announcer. When it comes to the spoken word, I often wonder if my mind has a personal vendetta against my mouth; if my mind is secretly thinking "you'll feel like an idiot after this one, sucker" when providing the script for regular conversation.

That said, the return of football season has quickly reminded me that some play-by-play announcers occasionally seem to suffer from the same ailment (I refer to it as cranial-oral loathing). Even if you don't consider football personalities that have their own series of video games, there are still several things stated over the course of football games that either: a) don't make sense; b) are so obvious that they don't bear mentioning; or c) are completely inaccurate. It seems that the first Sunday of the football season is an opportune time to discuss these very verbal follies.


- "The pass is intercepted, and then dropped."
My two ears (that's right, despite my cartoon-sized head I still only host two ears) played auditory witness to this statement just minutes ago. Unfortunately for the announcer that dropped this bit of knowledge, "interception" means that actual possession of the "pigskin" by the defender occurred. Therefore, a subsequent drop would then be ruled a "fumble." This would mean, pending the recovery of the fumble, two potential turnovers on one play (i.e., something pretty exciting). Meanwhile, what actually occurred on the field was a near-interception, but ultimately a play that amounts to nothing more than an incomplete pass.

To put this in more scholastic terms for the students out there, this is kind of like saying you aced your quiz, but then misplaced it on your way to turn it in, when in all actuality you failed the quiz because you spent the previous evening watching Top Chef instead of studying.


-"It's an end-over-ender" (in reference to a kickoff)
My problem with this phrase does not deride from the fact that it sounds like a description of a hefty man falling down a hill. It's the fact that the statement is obvious. When kicking the ball down-field off a tee, it's pretty much a guarantee that the kick will travel end-over-end... It's common practice.

Imagine if you had dedicated your life to the study of pterodactyls and then someone began trying to capture your attention by sharing that the winged reptiles lived in the late Mesozoic and were known to have wingspans up to 40-feet. You'd probably wish to hear a member of the pterosaur family screech as it materialized out of thin air and whisked you away to someplace where you'd be away from such basic knowledge.** It's the same basic principle.

**The fact that the carnivorous pterodactyl would probably be taking you back to the nest to be fodder for its kin is ignored for this particular illustration.


-"He's out with a (insert body part here)"
Someone I have great tolerance for has covered this point already.


- "Nothin' doin'."
Thanks to the today's technology, this one is an actual reader suggestion (yes, people do apparently read this... I'm stunned, too). Thanks to Mr. Quatro Seis for the suggestion.

The problems with this phrasing go far beyond the fact that it renders the letter 'g' useless. It is also a blatant disregard for the usage of meaningful verbs. "Nothin' doin'" will commonly be uttered when a running play goes for little-or-no gain. Yet, even if no yards are gained, there still is, in essence, "somethin' doin'." Someone carried the ball. Someone was credited with the tackle. Someone in the stands probably looked like a fool reacting to it. These are "somethings" in my book (Derek's Chronicle of Determining Somethings... look for it on bookshelves soon).

The only time I want to actually hear that there is nothing doing, is if it's a true statement. If, through some unexplainable disturbance in the space-time continuum, time actually stops on the football field, but continually progresses forward in the announcing booth, then I'll accept "nothing doing"*** as a valid description.

***I won't compromise on giving the letter 'g' it's due respect. Without it, farmers who have both goats and oats would get pretty confused.

Ouch, my freakin' mind!

What do you get when you combine the mysticism of David Blaine, the wonder of David Copperfield, and an odd desire to pretend to be some sort of gothic figure? Nope, it's not the latest rumor of political scandal. It's the subject of tonight's writing.

In effort to satisfy a readership thirsty for an examination of the closest thing prime time television has to Houdini's Transylvanian cousin (Draculini?), it's time for an examination of Criss Angel's Mindfreak.

The show opens with a theme song that makes me feel as if I'm about to be trampled in a mosh pit, only to have people spit on me afterward... Fun start to the show.

The big event on tonight's episode is the "safe prediction." Apparently the so-called Mr. Angel makes some sort of prediction, locks it in a safe, only to have it shown a week later to a stunned crowd.

I have a different sort of "safe prediction." I can safely predict that this show won't become part of my regular viewing schedule.

Apparently, one of Criss' big tricks is the ability to grow a full Grizzly Adams beard on demand, as he did not have such an overbearing amount of facial hair in the previous camera shot. Sure, they're editing clips from different time periods in the same episode, but I like my imagination better.

Following the first commerical break (featuring the cartoon bears that advertise toilet paper... I've heard the phrase "Does a bear poop in the woods?" but the folks at Charmin taking things a bit too far), it's time for Criss (back to no beard) to demonstrate some telekinesis. The trick features a glass box, a pepper shaker and a pencil. Unfortunately, it seems that telekinesis requires more grunting than a U.S. Open tennis match. After he makes more noise than a grizzly settling for a non-Charmin brand, Criss finally gets the pencil to spin atop the shaker... Ooooh.

Commercial break two has passed, and now beardy Criss (who looks a bit like the Macho Man in his nWo days) is back and is looking for some viewer interaction. He gives some instructions, which end with the viewer touching the screen. Apparently those who touched it when he said to were supposed to feel something. I'm much to dedicated to my typing (read: lazy) to go up to the TV, thus the only feeling that struck me was the desire to change the channel.

Back to Criss* sans giant patch of velcro on his face, and we're nearing the conclusion of the "safe prediction." In the shock of the century, his prediction was correct.

*Wouldn't Criss Cross have been a better name than Criss Angel? Then the show could have a better theme song.


Because people love nothing more than creepy magicians, another episode follows. He begins by hanging out with The Girls Next Door and making the type of cheesy puns one might expect from a guy overwhelmed by large... personalities. Unfortunately, he kind of comes off like the guy who would hit on your girlfriend even though you're standing right there... Yeah, that guy.

One segment later, he performs a slight-of-hand with some business cards in a restaurant. The result leads one diner to say "Criss Angel for president"... Apparently he didn't realize Duck is campaigning.

The new president of the Beard Club for Men is now back performing a card trick. He's also sporting some sort of handcuff necklace and more rings than the sixth planet from the sun... Interesting presidential garb to say the least.

For his final illusion, Criss made actor Melvin 'Shorty' Rossi appear out of seemingly nowhere. Then again, where else can you come from when one of your film credits is All Babes Want to Kill Me?


Fighting all notions of logic in this world, another episode of Mindfreak has just started... Unfortunately my mind simply cannot handle any more "freaking." I'm off to work on my own illusion... I call it, "getting the last hour back."