GSD

There is a day, oh friends, that is a truly grand one, but it is one that receives little glory. When it comes to days worthy of marking one's calendar in anticipation, the hubbub usually surrounds holidays, birthdays and weddings, despite the fact that this day consistently accomplishes a feat that these other celebratory periods rarely do. It brings folks of all backgrounds together. This day knows no race, no religion, no age, and no social standing. It knows no discrimination; no bias whatsoever. It only knows the sound of fingers combing through a handful of change to find an extra nickel.

This day, this marvelous day, is Garage Sale Day.

Originally established by Nordic settlers looking to pawn off their foul-smelling lutefisk on unsuspecting folks of different origin, Garage Sale Day (or GSD, as it's most commonly referred) has come a long way. Back then, GSD was called "Give Me Something of Value for This or I Will Shove it in Your Ear Day." While GMSVFTOIWSIIYED (as it was more commonly referred) involved more bloodshed than the GSDs of today, the general spirit was the same: getting rid of junk you don't want and receiving something you can use in return.*

*If you find an ounce** of truth in that paragraph, please contact the author immediately.

**No, I'm really not sure how one goes about weighing truth accurately enough to know when there's an ounce of it present. I'd check The Sharper Image.

What is it that makes GSD so blog-inspiringly wonderful? It encompasses parts of all holidays that you enjoy. It brings together family. (Who else is going to help you lug your aging living room furniture out to the front lawn?) It promotes the spirit of giving. (How else are you getting rid of those old sneakers that can't even get someone to part with a nickel?) For those who find their televisions continually stuck on HGTV, it even involves festive decorations. (They're next to the used kitchen items, in that box marked "50 cents.")

I was lucky enough to actively participate in GSD over the weekend, as I offered two hands, a couple of feet, and a coin-counting mind to family in effort to help them with their sale. The bargains were fleeting, but the memories will last a lifetime.

On GSD, there's no dress code
Thick and thin, deep and wide, these garage sale goers sported their wardrobes with pride. While the clothes we had on sale were mainly limited to the jeans/t-shirts/polos variety, the potential customers were a bit more diverse with their fashions. While Customer A might have been wearing sweats so worn that you wondered if they had just recently completed a three-month stay on their sofa, Customer B appeared ready to saddle up a horse of a different color, donning a western shirt, Wranglers, and a pair of boots featuring more colors than a box of Pop Ice. Another customer was fully prepared for a heat wave, and for any snuff cravings that might occur, sporting a shirt with cutoff sleeves and a can of chaw in the breast pocket. Unfortunately, he was not carrying around a spit cup, spittoon, or a button that said "I'm enjoying my gums while they're not bleeding."

Smoking ban? Not here
Ah, the great outdoors. On a breezy Saturday morning it can be invigorating to inhale that fresh Spring air. On this breezy Saturday morning, we had the great pleasure of having that fresh air combined with some fresh second-hand smoke. Refreshing. The smoke-and-shop freedom is one rarely granted anymore, thus GSD presents a great opportunity for those who choose to spend appalling chunks of their income on cigarettes. On Saturday, an older woman sifted through some shirts with one hand while loosely grasping her cigarette in the other. With each puff, smoke left her lungs and found its way to the threaded items below, all while a tail of ash nearly half an inch long wagged at the end of her coffin nail,* like a tired child nearing an inevitable fall from the monkey bars.

*Have you ever tried to find a synonym for cigarette that doesn't come off sounding inappropriate? It's not easy.

Everything is negotiable
Run to your nearest fast food establishment, order the most expensive value meal on the menu, and then when the monetary transactions coordinator (sounds better than cashier, right?) tells you the total you need to pay, say, "Let's call it $2." If that works, let me know, because I haven't eaten dinner yet. Odds are, it won't. While the roots of our economy may have seen more focus on bargaining, there just isn't much room for it today. Garage sales are a different story. Need a slightly used nose trimmer, but you aren't willing to pay the $4 it's marked for? Make a different offer. They just might take it.

On Saturday, a woman walked up to me with a Pyrex baking dish, still in the box. It wouldn't have known a casserole if it had spent weeks watching Rachel Ray. This brand new dish was priced at $2. This woman, who certainly didn't appear to be struggling to find cash, asked me if I would take $1.50 for it. Granted, her very question spit in the face of one essential rule of life: if you are buying a baking dish, you have an oven. If you have an oven, you don't haggle over a matter of 50 cents. I was taken aback by her determination to get this dish for two quarters less than the asking price. What did she need the extra 50 cents for? Buying 2.5 chicken nuggets at Wendy's? Did she have a half-off coupon for Everything's a Dollar? Was she going to travel back in time to a period when you could actually get something for 50 cents? Once I quit trying to imagine what this woman could possibly need that extra half-dollar for, I accepted her offer. After all, I thought, maybe she only has $1.50 on her before she has to break a large bill. I don't like counting out a ton of change anyway, so this could have been making my life easier... Then she paid with two crisp $1 bills.

GSD is open to window shoppers
Granted, this isn't your typical window shopping. The windows in play are actually those of the cars that slowly idle by as those inside squint and crane their necks, attempting to see what goods might be available. If something looks interesting, they'll find a good parking spot like in front of a mailbox or a neighbor's driveway. If not, they creep on to the next sale.

It's worth mentioning that window shoppers are typically not interested in pleasantries. As they take inventory of your items from their vehicle, they will ignore any attempts you might make to be friendly. Waves will receive bewildered looks in return, attempts to invite them to check things out from a closer perspective seem to come off as offensive. The only instance in which you might hear from a window shopper is when they shout questions about your merchandise from inside their vehicle. "Yo, you got any baby clothes?"

Curious? Better test it out
Garage sales are perfect for folks who prefer to get a feel for things before making a purchase. You can test out toys, try on shoes, and even take furniture for a test sit. Granted, I'm not sure that repeatedly bouncing on a couch is necessary in testing it, but I'm also not the one considering ignoring the pet hair on it and buying it... Please, please just buy the couch.

You bought what?
What this says about me, I'll never know, but watching folks to see what items they were interested in was an interesting exercise. Who could have guessed that a 70-year-old man would be thrilled to find a box full of Beanie Babies? Or that the only others who would ask about Beanie Babies the rest of the day would be two young boys? It also seems that the consolation prizes for those that miss out on Beanie Babies are old, crafty Halloween decorations. That's right, this pair of brothers asked no questions about footballs or video games, their allowances were devoted to stuffed animals and Hobby Lobby pumpkins.

Open to all, still ignored by some
Unfortunately, although GSD is open to all, it seems that some folks still refuse to recognize it. They ignore the swarms of people digging through boxes of old ball caps. They look past the humidifier ready to bring moist air to a new home. They fail to recognize the thrill of rummaging through a stranger's belongings in effort to discover something they might have a use for. In essence, they're tossing rubbish on the entire celebration.

Saturday, this happened quite literally as the landlord of this housing development took a wild ride atop his grass devouring, children cowering, driver empowering lawn tractor. Whether he was oblivious to the fact that an inordinate number of folks in the neighborhood had contents of their homes arranged in their driveways, or he was attempting to be deemed the Grinch of GSD, no one knew for sure. While his intentions were unclear as he tore through each and every yard (literally grinding away a chunk of sidewalk just feet from where we were set up), he certainly left his mark. The grass clippings that this grass master had strewn about like confetti on New Year's was now masking the merchandise. The couch, donning a "sold" sign by this point, wore a bit of the outdoors when the new owner's arrived to pick it up. Shirts stacked symmetrically on a card table now featured a texture of natural camouflage. Elsewhere, clumps of grass clippings tossed into 25-cent boxes confused customers, who probably figured we had a lot of nerve to ask for them to pay for yard clippings. Luckily, Old Man Mower struck as the sale was winding to a close. It seems that even he could not destroy the spirit of GSD.

While it may have its detractors, GSD remains a fixture in American culture. Don't forget to mark your calendar.

So a history buff, an engineer, and a wannabe writer start a sports blog...

Yes, dear readers, it seems that one blog was simply not enough to contain the waves of thought that cascade in my mind. In a joint venture with two of the greatest minds of this generation (or two former co-workers/current fantasy league opponents... Who can keep track of such details?), I'll be contributing to Butchwaglar's Sports Emporium. (Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?) It's intended to be an outlet for random thought focused (however loosely) on sports.

Those that are concerned that taking on more writing might remove focus from The Writings, don't fret. With other writers contributing at BSE (perhaps just the BS should be capitalized...), I'm confident I will be able to update here at The Writings in the same manner that I always have - sporadically and with little sense of direction.

Anyway, if you enjoy The Writings, and you enjoy sports, check out BSe.

If you enjoy The Writings, and you despise sports, I apologize for wasting so much of your time throughout the life of this blog... but check out BSe anyway. In the epic words of Rocky Balboa addressing the Russian crowd after defeating Ivan Drago, "If I can change*, and you can change, everybody can change."

*Note: I haven't changed.

If you don't enjoy The Writings, and you only visit this site in order to research ways in which you might someday initiate a multifaceted revenge plan that will humiliate me in front of friends, family and the cast of Growing Pains, all because I inadvertantly wronged you somehow, I really wish you'd reconsider. Maybe BSe can change your mind.

Things I Don't Understand - Spring Football Edition

I went to the K-State spring football game on Saturday.

I apologize if the opening sentence of this Writing seems a little bland, but it seems to fit the subject pretty well. While American football as a spectator sport is often about big hits, exciting plays, roaring crowds, and fierce competition, spring football falls a bit short in most of those aspects. While the contest contained a couple pretty decent hits dispersed and a few plays that could have been deemed exciting, such cases were certainly not the norm, and were not the goal of the game. Football games are played to determine a winner... Spring football games are played to wrap up spring practices and remind people to buy season tickets.

Even Bill Snyder, the legendary former/returning coach of K-State, admitted that the spring game was boring after it was finished. Entertainment is simply not the purpose. It's a glorified practice where the team involved can continue their work on the same basic plays they have focused on all spring. As I see it, there are seven different reasons to go to a spring football game.

1. You are playing in the game.
2. You are coaching in the game.
3. You are a member of the media writing about/broadcasting the game.
4. You are a family member of a player/coach.
5. You are a loyal fan that wants to get an early look at new players/coaching schemes for the upcoming season. (Or you pretend to be doing that, but end up making an endless amount of absurd comments in the process.)
6. You got confused and thought it was a regular season game. (Therefore, you were pretty confused when you got to your seat and realized there was not another team present.)
7. You need an excuse to enjoy the taste of alcohol.  (This one could actually be paired with No. 6, as a drunken stupor could probably lead to such confusion.)

While I have had No. 3 as an excuse for attending a couple times in the past, this year I was firmly in camp No. 5. While this seemed to be a fairly popular reason for attending in 2009, judging from the amount tailgating in the parking lot (accompanied, of course, by a continual chorus of the refrain of the buzzed... You know, "Wooooooo"...(the call echoes in the distance, soon a reply follows...) "Yeaaaaaaaaaah"... (repeat)) choice No. 7 was the clear-cut winner. Unbelievably, I encountered something that falls in the TIDU* chapter of the nonsensical novel that is my life.

*Things I Don't Understand... The Writings: Where pointless acronyms that no one understands are hip.

It's not wise to choose sides in an argument with yourself.
I attended the spring football game by myself. This is either because most of the folks I normally tend to attend such functions with (my cronies, if you will) were unavailable, or because all the folks who I consider to be friends are actually being paid to act as such and their most recent checks bounced.* Nonetheless, upon arriving at the game, I embraced my naturally introverted nature and found a seat in a corner section of the stadium, where few were sitting. I wanted to be able to watch the game on my own and not be distracted by the mind-numbing conversations of those around me.

*This scenario brought to you by the World Paranoia Association... What did you say about us? Nothing? We could have sworn we heard something. 

Despite my best efforts to claim a stake of seating territory that would not have anyone sitting within 10 feet of me, I soon had a family of three seated directly behind me.

Directly. Behind. Me.

They were sitting so close that, at one point, the father's knee was in direct contact with my spine. At a regular football game, this would not be an issue. It's normal to be crowded and uncomfortable. This was not a normal game in the fall. This was spring football. In the very section I (along with this man's knee) was sitting, there was an abundance of open seats. Seats with cushions. Seats without. Seats with numbers even and odd. Seats where once could sit without giving the guy sitting in front of you a kneeatsu* massage. Nevertheless, the family stayed camped right behind me.

*Yes, that was lame... I apologize.

Unfortunately, the contact wasn't the worst part of the situation. Their commentary was. You know how, on TV and in film, it's not unusual to see a little devil pop up on ones shoulder offering mean-spirited advice, and then a little angel pop up on the other offering good-natured advice? Mr. Kneebone and his wife were situated in such a manner that their comments sounded like just that. I'd get one voice in my right ear, the other in my left. I believe, in a Saturday Night Live sketch, that Adam Sandler once referred to such a situation as "stupid in stereo." Alas, I won't be judging whether or not anyone is devoid of intelligence. After all, I may or may not have once gotten my fingers caught underneath an office door when attempting to deliver an envelope. I must, however, address one comment that did boggle my mind.

Those unfamiliar with Bill Snyder-coached spring football games should be told that the format is not one that favors parity. The teams are squads are split up to have starters on one side, backups on the other. Keep in mind, starters normally start because they are better players. As a result, one might expect the starters to win the game, often in sound fashion. The important thing to remember is that, in the end, all of the players are actually on the same team. Mr. Kneebone struggled with this concept. On the Purple squad's (read: first team/starters/better players') first offensive drive, running back Keithen Valentine scored on a nine-yard touchdown run. At this point, most fans in attendance were excited. Points had been scored. It was reason for celebration. Amidst all the hoorays* and yippees*, the voice on my right shoulder grunted, "C'mon defense!"

*Disclaimer: Such words are simply used to express the muffled excitement of the crowd. The author heard no actual shouts of "hooray" or "yippee."

Upon hearing this, I sat perplexed. It seemed this man had chosen sides in an intrasquad scrimmage. I struggled to make sense of the situation, but found no solace in reasoning. He was rooting for K-State, against K-State. It was like he was arm-wrestling himself and cheering for "Lefty." Surely this man recognized that the end result of this game had slightly less bearing on the upcoming football season that the date of the punter's next haircut. Surely this man realized that the starting squad scoring against the backups would not be an uncommon event; that it was a foregone conclusion that the offensive starters could find the end zone against defensive reserves. Surely he knew that any progress shown by Valentine - who began last season as the starting running back, but fell out of favor and rarely saw the field by the end of the season - was progress that the Wildcats' running game will depend on this fall.

He didn't. Throughout the game the "C'mon defense," refrain remained, uttered again and again as the Purple squad scored 45 points to the White squad's zero. I began to wonder if this man just loathed the color purple (the color, not the novel), or if he had seen "Rocky" years ago and now rooted for underdogs with the fervor of a gambling addict down to his last dollar, but I never worked up the courage to ask him.

Hopefully he felt better when he read the paper this morning and realized that K-State won.

Talking Points

This Writing is getting a late start. As a result, I have little time to write before my head drops wearily onto my keyboard as my mind shuts down completely. To make up for the lack of words on my end, I'm giving you the opportunity to add some on yours. What follows are discussion points. Review them. Contemplate them. Respond to them. (Or just ignore them... Who am I to tell you what to do?)

- I attended a "roundtable" discussion today. Alas, the table we all sat at was not round. How am I supposed to concentrate on the topic at hand when such a glaring case of false advertising is present? Do I have the right to pursue legal action?

- The hot topic this week has been the swine flu. Is it me, or, by calling it the swine flu, are we adding insult to illness?

- A popular question is, "Which came first - the chicken or the egg?" Where's the love for the other animals that hatch from eggs? Can't we replace "chicken" with "turtle" or "fish" now and then?

- Much recent discussion is also surrounding the president's first 100 days in office. The media is quick to examine what has gone right, what has gone wrong, and what has gone to that large gray area in between. What's the most significant thing you've accomplished over the last 100 days? For that matter, what's the most significant thing I've accomplished over the last 100 days? Can I even remember 100 days ago?

- I plan on attending K-State's spring football game on Saturday - a game that will feature more dives than a synchronized Olympic event that involves plummeting into a pool. A football game lasts 60 minutes and contains 4 quarters of action. Will the combined scored of the two scrimmage squads be closer to 60 or 4?

Discuss.

Lessons Learned

I started thinking about movies today, and I'm not really sure why... I take that back, I was at work, so it was only natural that I attempted to think of something else. That seems to be the way the human mind operates. Anyway, with movies on my mind, I'm now thinking of what movies really mean. (Deep, I know.) Every good story has an underlying theme. For example, 12 Angry Men shows that one person can make a difference, if he sticks to what he believes. I think it's time to dig those themes up and find out what the movies we watch everyday really mean.

American Psycho - If your friend continually talks about returning some video tapes, it may be time to find a new friend.

Back to the Future trilogy - Many of your relatives, both in the past and the future, look so much like you that you could be their exact duplicates with just a little bit of makeup.

The Bourne Identity - Don't mess with amnesiacs.

The Bourne Supremacy - Seriously, don't mess with amnesiacs.

The Bourne Ultimatum - Don't say you haven't been warned.

Cast Away - You're never alone if you have a volleyball.

The Dark Knight - If someone asks you if you want to see a pencil trick, run the other way.

Field of Dreams - If you build it, you get to hang out with the voice of Darth Vader.

Forrest Gump - If you're running from kids on bikes with braces on your legs, your legs will break free of the constrictions and will somehow morph into those of a 24-year-old world-class sprinter. Fortune and fame will follow.

From Justin to Kelly - People will pay to see anything if there's a
bucket of popcorn floating in buttery-flavored goo involved.

The Fugitive - U.S. Marshalls are quick-witted and hilarious.

Gladiator - Falling in love with your sister is creepy. Oh, and a wronged honorable general always gets redemption.

The Godfather Parts I and II - Never go against the family...

The Godfather Part III - ...unless they're watching Part III. Then you can go against them all you want.

The Goonies - If it's wet, it's water.

Jurassic Park - If you're ever running from a tyrannosaurus rex in a
rainstorm, don't go hide atop a toilet. If that rest shelter collapses,
you're going to look pretty foolish right before you're shaken like a
chew toy and then consumed.

King Kong - Beauty can kill a beast... Particularly if an attacking airplane is named "Beauty."

The Lord of the Rings trilogy - Those that are small can accomplish big things... Wait, did I get this confused with Rudy?... Let's try this again...

The Lord of the Rings trilogy - If you walk-on to a famed college football team, work hard in practices for years, and then get a sack in your first (and last) collegiate game, you're fit to help your pal take throw a powerful ring into the depths of Mount Doom.

The Matrix trilogy - I have no clue. Really. What the heck did that last movie mean? It was supposed to answer questions. My head hurts just thinking of how my head hurt when I left the theater.

Mission: Impossible - Never accept gum from someone you don't know. You could end up with an exploding headache.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - It's all fun and games until somebody gets a lobotomy.

The Patriot - Good Mel Gibson attacks with a hatchet and leaves British soldiers fearing for their lives. Boring Mel Gibson reads Helen Hunt's thoughts.

Spiderman - Chicks dig arachnids.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - In New York, if you're dressed like Humphrey Bogart, no one will bother noticing that you are actually a giant turtle sporting a colorful bandanna.

The Wizard of Oz - There's no place like home... even if home is devoid of color.

Gone-zalez

When the Kansas City Chiefs finished the 2008 season with just two wins, it was obvious that change was on the way. As a fan of KC's professional football team, I simply hoped this change wouldn't involve any desperate measures. I wanted to see a plan in place; to see the team pursue personnel with the future in mind, rather than going for an Air Bud: Golden Receiver* quick fix. To this point, new general manager Scott Pioli has taken steps in that direction. He brought in a young coach who could have a bright future in Todd Haley. He traded for a young quarterback that could very well be a "franchise" signal caller, Matt Cassel.

*The Writings: Your source for references to movies no one has ever seen.

With these additions, plus a few veterans added for good measure, they had already done enough to prove competitive in a weak AFC West. It seemed that a quick fix could actually have KC competing for a playoff spot next season. Perhaps Air Bud (or even Gus, the mule that kicks field goals) might not be a bad move, I thought.

Today, Pioli proved that he has the future in mind.

In trading tight end Tony Gonzalez to the Atlanta Falcons, Pioli has cemented the idea that this team is going in a new direction. Gonzalez, a 10-time Pro Bowler, was by far the most identifiable player on the roster. Mention the Chiefs to an average fan in Green Bay or Cincinnati and, odds are, they would not be able to tell you that Tyler Thigpen was under center, that Jarrad Page was roaming the secondary, or even that KC Wolf was pounding his head against the uprights.* They would be able to tell you about Gonzalez, though.

*He does look a bit raccoonish, after all.

One of the greatest tight ends ever, Gonzalez was a force opposing defenses had to develop new gameplans for. Cover him with a linebacker and you were toast; with a defensive back and you had to deal with his remarkable strength. Also a basketball player while at the University of California, TG went after every pass as if it were a rebound up for grabs. After working through the dropsies in his first couple seasons, he became one of the best receivers in football. He was named 1st-team All-Pro (or the best tight end in the league) five times in a 10-year span. He led the NFL in receptions in 2004, is sixth among active receivers in touchdown receptions, and has broken just about every all-time receiving record that exists for NFL tight ends. If the Chiefs were successful, he was involved.

Now, he's gone.

In return, the Chiefs receive a 2010 second round draft pick from the Falcons. It's a move that shows a commitment for the future, but I have to wonder what it means for the present. I'm a strong supporter of the idea that a quarterback, especially a young quarterback, needs a safety outlet - a receiver they are comfortable with; a receiver who can seemingly read the QB's mind and be depended on to come up with a difficult catch when the quarterback is under pressure. Gonzalez was the ultimate example of this. He seemed to bail his quarterback out with a catch in traffic every other possession. I think Damon Huard may have been considering making Tony a friendship bracelet for this very reason in 2007. In 2009, while Gonzalez is quickly becoming Matt Ryan's BFF in Atlanta, Tom Brady's former understudy Cassel may be presented with the option of either taking a sack or heaving the ball downfield to Brad Cottam or Jeff Webb. I'm not sure which is the least painful option.

As is the case with most Writings, I'm sort of rambling with no real direction and I'm making little sense. In this case, it fits perfectly, as I'm trying to decide if this move by the Chiefs shows any direction and makes any sense.

Those in favor of the trade will argue that it's best to put the past behind us. The Chiefs never won a Super Bowl, or even a playoff game, with Gonzalez at tight end, so his absence can't be that devastating. He's getting old - in football years - and is eating up salary cap space. Succinctly, he's not part of the future of the team. He's not part of the Pioli plan.

Those refusing to hang their red No. 88 jerseys in the closet will tell you that, despite the fact that he'll be 33 this season, Gonzalez is still one of the top offensive weapons in football. He caught 96 passes last year (good for 4th in the NFL) for 1,058 yards. Sure, the Chiefs are bringing in a talented quarterback, but it's one that was sacked more than any other in the NFL last season, and the Chiefs offensive line isn't exactly a razor wire fence when it comes to protection. He could use a receiver as reliable as Tony. Beyond football, Gonzalez was a great representative of the team in the community. He participated in outreach programs and charities and was not one to have his name appear in the news for negative reasons.

With the trade finalized, there's seemingly little I can do about it. (Oddly, we at The Writings do not have veto power of NFL transactions... yet.) The move seems to make sense for a rebuilding franchise, and there's really no better time for rebulding than when you're coming off a season where you won slightly more games than a team of directionally challenged howler monkeys might.

It makes sense, but is it the right move?

Uhh... Next question please.

Ode to Employees at the Local Consumer Electronics Retailer

I apologize in advance... It seems I am really into celebrating National Poetry Month this year.


Ode to Employees at the Local Consumer Electronics Retailer

I walk through the doors, and you're there to greet me,
That courtesy welcome is fine;
But then at the DVDs, another of you will meet me,
As if he were second in line.

I wave off all help. I say I'm "just looking,"
And, honestly, that much is true;
But three steps later another clerk thinks a sale is cooking,
And I wonder why you can't take a clue.

As I browse video games, another Blue Shirt attacks,
This one tries to start small talk;
Yes, I like playing games. That's why I'm checking out this rack,
What I don't like are salesfolk who stalk.

I'm an adult. If I need help, I'll ask,
I consider it my duty as a consumer;
In the mean time, relax. Try to find another task,
Instead of hanging off me like a tumor.

I feel like sprinting away. Your approach I am fearing,
Because everywhere there's blue-shaded interrogation;
Maybe, like Elaine Benes, I should pretend I'm hard of hearing.
Or just sign you all up for treatments of sedation.

At long last, I'm at checkout. I found items to buy,
Relying on nothing but my casual consumer form.
Don't worry, Blue Shirts, when I return you can again try,
To secure my patronage with a tactical swarm.

Thought for the Day

If you're happy and you know it, and, as a result, your face surely shows it, why is it still necessary for you to clap your hands/stomp your feet/shout hooray?

We have already determined that we can tell whether or not you are happy by the look on your face. It seems that all else is just pointless calisthenics.


This message brought to you by the the Society for Preventing Unnecessary Physical Activity.

Pretty Nice Little Saturday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Another reason is a severe lack of talent.

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

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

The Model of Sarcasm

Do you ever feel like you aren't quite sarcastic enough? Do you wonder if your everyday conversations are lacking a bit of cynical zip? Don't worry, dear reader, The Writings are here to help. Feel free to use these five quick talking points to help unleash your inner wiseacre.

- Any film featuring Zack (Zach? Zac? Zaq?) Effron has potential to be comedy gold. On top of his enourmous talent is the fact that the idea of having an adult become a kid again is one that is completely original and has never been seen in film before. I'll be the first in line to see his new flick.

- TV needs more prime time cop dramas. I really don't know how we, the American public, get by with only having three to choose from in every half-hour block. More doctor shows, too. It's amazing how these genre's can have so much untapped potential.

- I can't get enough of the Subway $5 Footlong song. It's so catchy, and hearing the tune over and over never makes one feel like going Van Gogh on his own ear.

- The commercial for Life Alert features some of the greatest acting ever captured on film. We're talking about Oscar-worthy stuff. Al Pacino and Meryl Streep could be taking notes.

- The ideal neighbor when you live in an apartment with thin walls is one who is seemingly hearing impaired when her alarm clock is involved. Waking up to your neighbor's alarm each morning is undeniably pleasing, and the joy can extend for nearly 30 minutes as the neighborina's ears refuse to acknoledge the continual beeping of her waking device.

Wise men say...

Someone once said, "the customer is always right." Since that time, the phrase has become common in every service industry. Customers at the market? They're always right. At the gas station? Always right. Even folks in line to see Hannah Montana: The Movie? Yup, according to the genius who took this mantra mainstream, they're always right, too. It's a succinct phrase. It's a catchy phrase. Unfortunately, it's wrong.

This may come as a shock to some of you (especially those male readers whose wives have effectively altered their thinking*... I kid, I kid.), but no one is always right. Think about it. If I were to walk down the street to Buffalo Wild Wings, order some food to-go, and then tell the individual at the register that I'm going to pay $3 less than what my meal costs and walk out with my dinner, my request would not be granted. (Despite the fact that the food is ridiculously overpriced.) I could argue until my face was as red as the sauces that glaze those wings, but the counterfolk** would not give me my food until I paid the full price of my meal. In such a case, I (the customer) would not be right.

*Reason #432 why the author doesn't get many dates: Comments like this.

*People who work at a counter, obviously.

Thinking about these "words of wisdom" (if you did not read the quoted words with a sarcastic tone in mind, go back and re-read them. It really makes a difference that I think you'll appreciate.), made me realize that there are plenty of other sayings that are commonplace in our 21st century USA vernacular that make about as much sense as a tiger with a salad fork. It's time we expose these phrases as fraudulent and do what we can to eliminate them from the vocabulary of all that speak and are heard each day.*

*The Writings: Battling Nonsense with Nonsense

"The early bird gets the worm."
I am not a morning person. Oddly, I'm not a night person, either. Actually, if you really examine it, there's really only a three-hour-and-45-minute window (5:15 p.m. to 9 p.m.) that I would consider myself at my peak.. and that's only if I'm well-rested. Nevertheless, that is beside the point, as I also don't make a habit of hunting for worms... Unless I'm going fishing. Then again, I haven't been fishing for probably 12 years, so this point is also a moot one. Have you ever started a paragraph with a point in mind, but then, in the midst of that same paragraph, realized that you are not making any sense? Welcome to The Writings. Anyway, the point of all this, which I have not even flirted with at this time*, is that early birds are not the only ones that get worms. I have seen feathered creatures yanking worms from their earthy homes in the middle of the afternoon. Thus, stating that only "early birds" get worms is erroneous.

*The Writings: We play hard to get.

Simply put, this phrase should be changed to "Birds get worms*." Sure, this adjustment renders the statement useless in the world of motivating people to get an early start, but at least now it's true. (Plus, the idea of getting a worm really doesn't seem that motivating.)

*By this, we mean that birds hunt and eat worms. We're not speaking of stomach parasites infecting those with beaks and wings.


"I wish I could have been a fly on the wall..."
A recent blog entry by Joe Posnanski (a ridiculously skilled, award-winning writer for the KC Star. If you're not, you should be reading his blog and his columns... heck, even anything he scratches down on a napkin if you happen to see him in public.* Seriously, read it.), brought this phrase to mind recently. Are there really people out there that would like to be a fly on the wall in any setting? Do the positives of having the opportunity to overhear a conversation really outweigh the negatives of having your regular pastime be sifting through filth, living your life in constant fear of being swatted by a rolled up Entertainment Weekly, and knowing that you're only going to be alive for about a month?

It seems a better saying would be, "I wish I could have been an invisible person with very quiet footsteps..." Sure, being invisible is not (yet... dun dun dunnnnnn) a situation that is scientifically possible, but we are talking about a "wish" here. (Plus, at last check, morphing into a fly is not possible either. If only Calvin's Transmogrifier were ready for public distribution.)

*Disclaimer: We at The Writings do not condone stalking of any sort.


"Beating a dead horse."
Is it just me, or does this phrase seem to connotate the idea that beating a live horse is okay. Where's PETA when you need them?


"Piece of cake."/"Easy as pie."
It seems that some people out there find desserts to be excessively simple. I have never attempted making any sort of either confection, but I'm guessing I could find a way to screw them up. I'm not exactly Wolfgang Puck in the kitchen.

Because I don't appreciate the idea that I would probably set off my smoke alarm in finishing simple culinary processes, I think we need to disassociate desserts and simpleness. Instead, those wishing to convey the idea that an activity was not difficult can say, "Easy as finishing this very statement... The one that I'm speaking right now... Period." How easy is that?

"So easy, a baby could do it."
This phrase echoes the idea that anything a baby does is easy. I disagree. Over the weekend, I watched as my eight-month-old niece continually crawled across a hardwood kitchen floor and was consistently entertained by her own sneezes. As a young adult whose knees get sore when i think about kneeling, and who no longer finds sneezes to be fascinating and/or fun, I don't consider either of these tasks to be easy.

 
"It ain't over, til it's over."
Actually, I can't find any fault with this one. I just really needed something to close with.

It's over.

Number Crunching

Recently, The Writings conducted a survey about the NCAA men's basketball tournament Final Four. With the championship game now well in our past and the North Carolina Tar Heels cemented in history as champs, its time to examine the survey results.*

*If you're saying, "Actually, it would have made a lot more sense to examine these results right after championship game," you're a rather astute reader. However, you're also making me look kind of foolish. I hope there's no one around to listen to you.

Question 1 - Who will win the NCAA Tournament?

Results - One-third of the field correctly predicted that Tyler Hansbrough's natural "I'm very surprised" look would be prominently featured in the post-game "One Shining Moment" video package with UNC becoming National Champions. Unfortunately, half of respondents picked teams that did not even wind up in the championship game.

Conclusion - It seems my readers take after me. On the whole, they predict things with the precision of Robin of Locksley's arthritic grandmother.

Question 2 - Which team nickname would be the least creepy for a member of the opposite sex to call you?

Results - There was no clear winner, as Wildcat and Spartan split the vote evenly.

Conclusion - Note to self: It seems that calling a female "Huskie" is a bad idea. Who could have guessed that?

Question 3 - I would rather watch...

Results - The University of North Carolina wins another one, as alum Michael Jordan's Space Jam picked up 2/3 of the vote. MSU alum Magic Johnson's instructional video was the only choice that did not earn a single vote.

Conclusion - In the world of The Writings, playing basketball with a cartoon rabbit against aliens is cool. Learning fundamentals is not... That, or readers have seen Magic recently and realize that he doesn't look to be doing much running up and down the court himself.

Question 4 - My interest in the remaining games of the NCAA Tournament is best described as...

Results - There was no consensus. Answers encompassed the entire spectrum.

Conclusion - The readership is diverse when it comes to the world of sports. Some readers like nothing more than a good game, while others would rather watch highlights of a results show for "So You Think You Can Yodel While Tap Dancing and Shotgunning a Schlitz?"*

*Actually, I think that sounds like a pretty entertaining show. Can someone make that happen?

Question 5 - I know who Lastings Milledge and/or Justin Upton are/is.

Results - Alas, we have consensus, and it comes in the form of an overwhelming "no."

Conclusion - It seems normal people, (yes, dear reader, I consider you normal) are not concerned with knowing the starting lineups for the Washington Nationals or the Arizona Diamondbacks. While this is a bit startling, I will attempt to proceed.

Ques-... C'mon, you aren't even remotely interested in knowing that Milledge bats leadoff and plays centerfield for the Nationals? Or that Upton is a former No. 1 pick and starts for the Diamondbacks despite the fact that he's only 21? I think you're going to regret this when the two clubs meet in May.

...What do you mean you won't be watching?

Question 6 - I think this quiz was worthwhile, and I'd like to see more in the future. Yes or no?

Results - If we were in the midst of a game of Family Feud, you'd be feeling pretty good about picking "yes" as the top response.

Conclusion - People love providing their opinions... That, or readers like boosting my confidence after feeble attempts to try something new. Either way, I'll take it.

Question 7 - In seven words or less, describe a topic you'd like to like to see The Writings cover.

Results - I can't list them here. That would be like the writers of Lost coming out and saying what key plot twists are ahead in the series... Wait, no. That's not right, because the writers of Lost are actually talented. Nevertheless, I'm still going to refuse to release such sensitive information.

Conclusion - None, however I do have to speak on something else. As I type this, I have a nationally televised baseball game showing on my TV. A commentator in this very game is continually mispronouncing the name of one player. It's not even a difficult name to pronounce, yet he's butchering it as if he's attempting to speak Klingon or Elvish. Perhaps I am a bit idealistic, but I would think that one might double-check name pronunciations when he or she knows that they'll be mentioning said names on national television. Honestly, it's like posting something on the World Wide Web without proper editing.

... Oh, nevermind.

Question 8 - In one sentence, word, or incoherent fragment, type anything... seriously anything...

Results - Responses ranged from the very literal ("I am typing anything... seriously anything"), to quick-hitting ("beets" and "poop") to suggestions for the future ("multiple choice only").

Conclusion - The reader participation is valued, and I hope to have more of it in the future... That, and apparently one reader has a finger condition that makes it difficult to type, but not to click things with a mouse. We wish him a speedy recovery.

Attention Deficit Writing

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

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

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

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

*I'm mean when I'm tired.

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

*I know at least two readers get that reference.

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

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

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


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

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

What rhymes with Ichiro?

Well, after submitting a poem about The Office in a call for content on Associated Content, I'm feel like keeping this whole "thinking in verse" thing going. (Seriously, the rhymes are flowing.) The question is, what can I spit some rhymes* about? (Most likely a topic without much clout.) Faithful readers will attest that my baseball fanaticism may be taken further than it should be. (Faithful readers? That may be just me.) They'll also tell you that I enjoy making horrendous predictions that don't have a Hershey's-at-fat-camp chance of coming true. (If by this you're offended, please don't sue.) Stir all these details in a pot and you get the inaugural edition of "The Writings Opening Day Poetry Jam"... I mean it. (Anybody want a peanut?)**

*Note to self: The phrase "spit some rhymes" may work well for rappers making millions of dollars, but it doesn't quite fit for a mid-western writer whose stanzas rival those submitted in 10th-grade English classes. Drop it.

**Thank you to the genius writers of The Princess Bride for this last rhyme, along with the general premise of that entire paragraph. Sorry to those same genius writers for butchering their shtick.


National League East
Meet the Mets, Meet the Mets,
It's guaranteed someone will defeat Mets;
They choked away divisional leads each of the last two seasons,
They addressed their bullpen in the offseason, thinking relievers were the reasons.
I apologize to those in Queens, but this is how I call it,
The fellas in Philly will win it again, despite your enormous wallet.
Alas, Met fans, don't go thinking that your poor franchise is cursed,
You'll make the playoffs as the Wild Card, giving you a few more games before your bubble bursts.

National League Central
It seems that last year, for no good reason,
I picked against the Cubs;
I wrote them off and picked the Astros,
basically considering the Cubbies schlubs.
2009 is a new year,
a time for setting things right;
This season, the Cubs are my pick in the Central,
instead of choosing someone else out of spite.
Fueled by Soriano, their lineup is strong,
And their pitching staff can turn a few heads;
However the main reason I picked them,
is because I could not convince myself to pick the Reds.

National League West
"Manny being Manny." Wow, that refrain will never stop,
I can't stand he or the Dodgers, so I hope they're a flop.
The Rockies dumped their best player, and the Giants' lineup is a joke,
The Padres remind me of a AAA squad, (I could also cite some Royals' teams whose memories they evoke)
Just one team remains, and it's one that won't make traffic halt,
Arizona wins by two sweet words, as Homer Simpson would say "de fault."

American League East
If you're a bird in the AL East, you're pretty much out of luck,
The Blue Jays and Orioles stand no chance, some might say they're... in trouble*
The Rays, the Yankees, and the Sox, which one will it be?
Here's a vote for the Red Sox to take it, with the Rays getting the Wild Card seed.
But what about the Yankees, and their personal stimulus plan?
They'll serve as models for the rest of the league, in determining which stimulants to ban.

*This edit brought to you by the Censor's Association of America.

American League Central
The Royals... No, I can't.
The Royals... Wait, I won't.
Unbridled optimism tells me to pick them,
but the fact that I'm horrible with predictions tells me "don't!"
They have a legitimate shot,
there's no standout in the group,
but I fear that the moment I pick them,
to unbelievable depths they'll stoop.
Injuries could strike, the pitching could falter,
Alex Gordon could get the bird flu,
What the heck, who am I trying to kid by picking anyone different?
KC wins the division by two.

American League West
Nothing much here, the Angels will win,
you see, the rest of the division is McLovin thin.
There's really not much else to say, though there's space to fill,
I thought about attempting to rhyme "Ichiro," but that seems to be an unclimbable hill.

Playoffs
Eight teams will have a chance at the World Series,
but only two will succeed,
We'll begin by eliminating the Diamondbacks,
They have a few too many areas of need.
Alas, the Royals don't make the cut,
So they're crossed off the list,
You can also say goodbye to the Angels,
although Danny Glover will be missed.
I don't see the Phillies making a return,
so that cuts us down to four,
Cubs vs. Mets and Red Sox vs. Rays,
what do the league championships have in store?
The young Rays are a year older and wiser,
they'll drop the Red Sox in six;
Meanwhile the Cubbies will finally return to the Series,
causing much joy near ivy covered bricks.
The Rays were part of Major League expansion,
just 11 years ago;
While the Chicago club has seen three different centuries and 27 presidents,
and enough bad luck to make the Washington Generals say "whoa."
Is this the year? Could this be it?
Will the Cubs finally be champs again?
Not if Upton, Longoria and crew have their say,
Look for the Rays to win.

Here's Your Sign

Driving home today on the tail of an impromptu weekend trip, I noticed a sign on an interstate off-ramp. It was situated so that any drivers that might erroneously attempt to use this off-ramp for "on" purposes would notice it. The message of the sign is a simple one. It simply says, "WRONG WAY."* I support the message this sign is getting across, as it seems that driving against the flow of traffic could result in very few positive outcomes. In fact, other than working to sharpen the reflexes of the offending driver and those law abiding drivers with terrified looks on their faces, I can think of no gains whatsoever that might be drawn from such a loss of direction. Nevertheless, I wonder if a better sign could be created for the purpose of diverting errant-minded vehicles. Can we replace WRONG WAY with something that is both more effective and aesthetically pleasing?

What's wrong with "WRONG WAY"? Well, first of all, it's not really even a complete thought. With signs like "STOP" and "YIELD" the reader is being directly told to act in a certain manner. The "You should.." in the thought is implied, creating a complete thought. I don't see the "WRONG WAY" sign in the same manner... especially if the reader continues to operate with the thought that signs imply "You should..."

It also seems to me that anyone who makes the mistake of going the wrong way on an off-ramp (or on-ramp, for that matter) deserves to have the matter rubbed in his or her face. If they're going to learn not to do it again (and 13 near-accidents have no effect) they're going to have to be spoken to in a manner that will be memorable. What follows are my suggestions (to be submitted to the department of transportation at a later date) for successors to the WRONG WAY sign. If you have any suggestions, please pass them along.

- If you don't see anything wrong with this situation, please pull over, grab your driver's license, chuck it out your window, and prepare your thumb for hitchhiking. Driving is not for you.

- If you are reading this, you may not be reading much longer. Consider making an evasive maneuver.

- You know those people that slow down to look at car accidents? They might be checking out your vehicle soon.

- Your horoscope for the day: If you continue the path you're on, things will get much worse before they're any better.

- Hey, Goober. Turn around.

Your Source for Journalism

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

D'oh

Well, you'll see my grand attempt at grasping "new" (and by "new," I'm mean "not new, just ignored by the author until this point in time") resources below. Unfortunately, some part of the embedding process screwed up in grand fashion, leaving some of the questions and commentary provided by The Writings hastily cut off and incomplete. Rest assured, the words you can't read are bits of golden comedy genius. (Gold, Jerry! Gold!)

I recommend you work your way through the survey despite the fact that it's a bit "bush league" in nature. We at The Writings promise that we will one day make nice with technology and actually have something here that doesn't look like it was spit up by a terminal website. It's our guarantee.*

*Guarantee void in most U.S. states and territories. Guarantee also has no set timetable for completion. 

Final Four Survey

Best Imitation of Coherent Thought

If you're one who enjoys noting historic events as they relate to little-read blogs, I hope your preferred noting device (we at The Writings don't make assumptions when it comes to noting) is prepped and ready. You see, the topic of tonight's writing (or at least the topic it will be loosely centered on... We at The Writings don't exactly have the focus of a bomb diffuser) is one that has never really been covered here before - music. We're breaking down walls here, folks.

It seems odd that this depository for random thoughts somehow composed into coherent sentences (most of the time) has seen entries on ducks with political dreams, dudes with dreams of being someone's "bro," and male flight attendants that look a bit like Billy Dee Williams, but it's focus has never really delved into the world of music. Why have I seemingly ignored this practically essential part of life? Think about it. Music is everywhere. It's played in stores. It blares to fill gaps of inactivity during sporting events. Even if you're out for a stroll at the park, odds are you either have your mp3 player turned on, or you wind up humming the McDonald's' Filet-o-Fish tune. Yet, I never write about music. Why?

Perhaps it's because I carry a tune about as well as most viral pharyngitis-suffering sheep.

Perhaps it's because I never learned to play any sort of musical instrument growing up. Treating harmony as if it were a drug (maybe that's why some musicians are troubled), I just said no to musical training, whether it was piano lessons or middle school band growing up.

Perhaps it's just because there's really only one musical artist that I consider myself a "fan" of, but I've never had the chance to see him in concert.

Luckily, the latter of those three reasons will soon be rectified. With tickets purchased today, I will have the chance to see Ben Folds perform live in just under two weeks. In many cases, I would not consider a concert to be worth the price of admission. On this occasion, the only thing that might have swayed my decision to attend would have been the guarantee that I would be continually jabbed with pointy, smoldering sticks throughout the evening. Even then, I still might have bought a ticket. What can I say? I enjoy the musical stylings exhibited in songs like Philosophy that much. I'm not sure if I could explain exactly why I've become a fan of Folds and really nothing else, but it probably lies in some combination of his string-snapping skills on the piano, well-thought (and sometimes hilarious) lyrics, and a somewhat self-deprecating approach to things. (Not that I could identify with that last one.)

One interesting part of attending this concert will simply be comparing it to my previous concert-going experiences - an area of my life that doesn't exactly require a table of contents.

The first concert I can recall going was one featuring the Beach Boys when I was young. Now, the Beach Boys have some pretty good tunes. They have some upbeat tunes. They were also playing fairly loud, as one might expect at a concert. Yet, the only thing I really remember from this concert is waking up during the middle of a song and then nodding back off. I hope I can count on narcolepsy* not being an issue this time around.

*Unless it's the Folds song of the same name.

Fast forward to my high school days, when I attended local music festival of some sort, although I cannot remember the name of it for the life of me. Along with my brother and some friends, we had the opportunity to witness hip hop icons (I use the term a bit loosely) Rob Base and Tone Loc perform outdoors in the midst of a Kansas summer. When I was able to keep the sweat from stinging my eyes, the event was an interesting experience. Not only did I get to hear classics like "Funky Cold Medina," and "It Takes Two," but there was also the unintentional comedy of Mr. Loc calling hordes of... uhh.. promiscuous college females up on stage to dance. My guess is that won't happen with Mr. Folds, but I can't say I'm worried about the entertainment value.

Beyond that, my only real concert experience has come via the Country Stampede. Such is an interesting tidbit, simply because I don't really like country music. Aside from the time I worked a job at the Stampede (note: you don't want be a 17-year-old "ice runner" when there are a bunch of angry folks around that are sweating booze through their pores. They get nasty with you.), I mainly went to hang out with friends (and laugh/cringe as inebriated individuals wrestled in mud that most likely contained significant traces of human waste) . Unfortunately, these Stampede experiences always seemed to involve something unfortunate... and too often it involved demolishing any chance I had at getting decent sleep.

One CS (abbreviated simply because I'm sick of typing "stampe-... I can't even finish it) year, the July skies chose to douse the Tuttle Creek area with any moisture it could muster. (Actually, this seems to happen every year, but that's beside the point) My sleeping arrangements for that evening involved hunkering down with a few friends in a tent. Naturally, it was a leaky tent. While my friends didn't seem to be bothered by dozing in an environment that quickly resembled that of a half-full* kiddie pool, my brain seemed to be against the idea of allowing me to sleep in a puddle. The end result was the author wading out of the tent and going off to attempt to sleep in the back of the friends' car.

*Half-full because at The Writings we're optimists.

Another year, (either the year immediately before or after the aforementioned event... my memory is going with age) a tent would have been a blessing. I hadn't gotten a ticket to the CS until that day, so those I attended with hadn't exactly planned on me being there to camp. In other words, when it came time to hit the hay I was without a bale to swing at. I found a spot to lie my head in the back of the friends' family van. Unfortunately, this was a July night where the temperature never seemed to go lower than 80-degrees. If you have ever slept in the back of a van in the midst of summer (you might be a future hobo... see what I have to look forward to?), you know that the temperature inside seems about 20-degrees higher than that outdoors. The end result was a whole lot of sweat and very little sleep. Thankfully, van slumber will probably not be involved at this concert.

So that's the Derek concert history. One show with too much sleep, two nights that were severely sleep-deprived, and one afternoon that involved shaking booties and a rapper that appeared in Ace Ventura. It's true, it won't exactly take a life-altering experience for this concert achieve the rank of "best I've attended," but it's still something I have high hopes for. After all, I just made it through an entire Writing without a single sports reference. I better get to bed before I foul that up. Consider this the evening's Lullaby.

Not shooting for a "Goodnight, Irene" reaction

In the midst of watching more basketball today than any human ever should, I took note of the following statements made by commentators: "Katie, bar the door," and "Goodnight, Irene!*" I had the same response after hearing each utterance: Who is this woman, and what does she have to do with basketball? I probably should not have given those phrases a second thought, as my mouth has spit out plenty of things that don't relate well to the current situation in the time that it has be blessed (cursed?) with the ability to speak. (Devoted readers will note that my typing fingers seem to have the same problem.)

*Please note, the exclamation point was not my choice. The play-by-play announcer was just really excited when it said it. Why would someone get that excited about saying "goodnight"? The only reason I can think of is that he's a werewolf that enjoys its lot in life (as opposed to those werewolves in film that often dread making their canine transformation) and there's going to be a full moon out... Think about it.

In effort to relate to and better understand those who make a living by calling the action on the hardwood for national television audiences, I decided to do a little research. Using a resource called the "Internet" (apparently it's somewhat popular), I attempted to discover the motivation for referring to Katie and Irene. The results were somewhat frightening.

When the voice of this college basketball game hollered "Goodnight, Irene!" (and hollered it as if Irene were hearing impaired), he was actually paying homage to a folksy blues song. That sounds pleasant, right? Don't let the folksy nature fool you. The song follows a continual theme of the performer's suicidal wishes. "Sometimes I take a great notion, to jump in the river and drown," they lyrics read. It seems to me that taking a voluntary nap with the fishes is not an activity that relates well to basketball. Perhaps this announcer actually detests his job and this is his way of saying he'd rather take an eternal dip than try to explain another horrible call by a referee... That, or he wishes today's athletics were more like those in Roman times. If you win, fantastic. If you lose, you don't live to play another day.*

*We at The Writings do not endorse the competitive practices put forth by the ancient Romans. If such were the case today, the author's athletic career (and life) would have been a pretty short one.

While it may not make suicide seem like a viable alternative to viewing another second of hoops action, I find "Katie, bar the door" to be a rather odd utterance for a collegiate athletic contest, as well. Granted, the phrase is not a completely obscure one used to convey the idea that there is trouble ahead, but true examination of the phrase sparks a bit of worry. Think of the situations that would have to be at hand for you to actually go to the trouble of barring your door. For me, it would probably take a tragedy that could only be avoided if said door was barred. Perhaps a swarm of zombies (the type that don't even have the manners to knock before they enter) headed toward my door with a notarized letter expressing their wish to devour my brain* would be enough to get me to reinforce the entrance to my home, but I can't be sure. The point is that whoever first uttered, "Katie, bar the door," was facing quite a pickle. The type of pickle too severe to be found on a basketball court (unless the aforementioned zombies chased me to an arena... they're a tenacious bunch). I think modifying the phrase to fit the situation at hand would have been more appropriate. Perhaps next time a game gets too close for comfort, he can just say, "Katie, can you scoot over. I don't feel comfortable sitting this closely. Perhaps someday, but not at this point in our relationship. Especially with all these people around. Don't take offense, that's just where I'm at with things right now. I hope this doesn't make things weird."

That should fit well in the flow of a game.

It's all happening at the zoo...

If one is to believe the lyrics of a song that once reached #16 on the Billboard Hot 100, someone once told Paul Simon "It's all happening at the zoo." He did believe it, but I remain a bit skeptical. After all, "all" is a rather all-encompassing term. All right?

Nevertheless, digging deep into Mr. Simon's lyrics is not what this space is intended for. Today, we're here for something important (as opposed to most days, where we're here for random drivel and inside jokes*). Today, we're here to delve into detail about a trip to the local zoo. (See how important that is? The Writings: We're here to make a difference.)

*Can it be deemed an inside joke if you're the only one that finds it funny? Food for thought...

Before I get too far, I must clarify one thing: I'm not the weird guy that goes to the zoo alone. I may be a guy and I may be weird (something has to explain the sheer delight I get out of watching bad movies, right?), but I'm still not the lonesome zoo-goer. Hopefully that does not come as a big surprise to anyone. (If it does, I may need to reexamine things.) No, this trip to the zoo was a special occasion. Members of my family and I chose to take advantage of the Spring Break/spring weather combination by giving my diminutive niece her first zoological park experience in her seven months of Earthly existence.

Alas, it seems we were not the only folks in the Little Apple that considered this day to be fit for exploration of animals. In fact, when we arrived the parking lot to said zoo was packed tighter than Comic Book Guy's favorite t-shirt, forcing a slew of vehicles to park along the street leading to the parking lot. Whether or not any arguments reminiscent of the Seinfeld episode "The Parking Space" resulted from this bloated parking lot situation, I can neither confirm nor deny. We were able to land a spot in the main lot.

Once inside (Yes, the zoo is outside, but we were inside the perimeter walls of the zoo. This is getting confusing, and I'm the one writing it. I apologize profusely.), our clan witnessed a bevy of animals.* Unfortunately, it seemed that most animals were pining for a return of cooler weather. The sun-shiny 80-degree temperatures forced most creatures into shady portions of their habitats, where they exhibited about as much energy as the average Post-It note. While it was a nice opportunity to view animals not native to the area**, their collective state of torpor left a bit to be desired.

*If this sentence states anything more than the obvious to you, you should probably get out more. It's a zoo, of course we saw a lot of animals.

**While the squirrels running rampant around town may provide momentary distractions for people with attention spans as short as mine, it's somewhat impressive to see a tiger that is not animated and advertising a frosted breakfast cereal.

In the midst of studying all these animals, I also found a bit of time observe some of the homo sapien species, as well. Those familiar with The Writings* know that "People in your neighborhood" are occasionally featured in this literary grove.

*Whether or not that qualifier is synonymous with "those with entirely too much time on their hands," is currently being researched.

The zoo provided a couple of fine candidates for such study. Consider the following:

- The third wheel
I have been the third wheel. I have been the third wheel several times. I've also been the fifth wheel, the ninth wheel, the 17th wheel, and the (insert odd number here)th wheel. I have plenty of experience providing social situations with an awkward axle alignment, yet I have never been the third wheel at a zoo. For this, I'm thankful. You see, as an experienced third wheel, I feel I have an excellent grasp for determining what environments are conducive to the third wheel situation. Movies (as long as the triad strays from chick flicks... high school Derek was not so fortunate) are excellent third wheel situations. Once the show starts, the third wheel's attention can be focused on the screen for 90 minutes. There's no worry of playing witness to "couple-y" dialect (including all derivations of "schmoopy"). All that matters is what's on screen. (And possibly how much popcorn you have left.)

The zoo, on the other hand, is where third wheels hit bumpy terrain. While the open environment of the zoo is great for spreading out and providing topics of conversation ("Did that chimp just make an obscene gesture?), things get dicey when the couples choose to act like couples. As was the case with the 3W* situation today, once the public displays of affection come about, the wheelie has two options.

1) He can distance himself from the couple, checking out zoo exhibits at his own pace. Granted, this may keep others from realizing that he is, in fact, a third wheel, along minimizing the awkward situations that present themselves in the presence of PDA, but this also brings the risk of people misidentifying you as "the weird guy that goes to the zoo alone."

2) He can trail two steps behind the couple, seemingly in position to run "Red Rover" through their interlocked hands at any point. Occasionally he'll sidle up to the couple and make a remark about something, but before long he's back to pulling caboose duty.

The third wheeler today chose option 2. Remember kids, third wheeling at the zoo is bad news.

*3W = third wheel. That's insider terminology. Now you can't say you didn't learn anything today.**

**You can, however, say that what you learned was made up by the author and really serves no practical purpose.


-The overwhelmed mom
Although this deals with an overwhelmed mother, you won't identify this woman by searching for the lady who is tearing her hair out. No, to find the overwhelmed mother, you will first need to find the pack of young children running wildly. Truth be told, you will probably hear them before you see them. Listen for a medley of high-pitched squeals containing the following, "I wanna see the monkeys," "Mom, are there any snakes?" "When can we get ice cream?" and "Mommmmmm, I gotta pee!" Once you hear this racket, step aside quickly and watch as this swarm of three-to-ten-year-olds zips past you down the walking path. Once they have past and are out of sight, count to six and then turn to look in the direction the flock of youths had come from. See the woman slowly pushing an empty stroller and carrying a large purse with five different half-full (half-empty, she'd argue) beverage bottles sticking out? Yeah, the one that looks as if she might consider hiding in the wallaby habitat for a few weeks. That's the overwhelmed mom.


Naturally, the being most worth observing on this day was one of the youngest in the place. Although my niece spent a large portion of the journey wearing a cap that was too large and pretty much limited her viewing options to the underside of a pink cap bill, she seemed to enjoy the trip. Sure, she paid no attention to any of the animals (aside from the goat we fed while holding her near. At this, her eyes turned a bit quizzical. I couldn't tell if she was wondering what type of crazy dog she was encountering (since canines are the only animals she's really interacted with before) or trying to figure out if we'd witness a live birth from this very pregnant animal. Seriously, it looked as if it should have been on bed rest.), but she spent much of the walkabout with a toothy (well, two-toothed) grin on her face. I'm guessing she'll show a bit more interest in future zoological ventures, but today's will always be her first. And she was at least a bit more lively than the wildlife.

Needed: A new ad campaign

A redheaded woman is currently staring at me. It looks like an angry stare. The more I take notice of it, the more I feel as if she's attempting to her some strange optical power to rupture all of the blood vessels in my head and make my brain ooze out my ears. I feel like I should be a little concerned.

No, I'm not face-to-face with a fiery super villain who is out to seek revenge on all that have bad-mouthed "Bromance." I'm looking at an online advertisement.

The ad, for something called Retail Report Card, features this young woman (looking as if I just kicked her Irish setter), standing beneath the words "Needed: Mystery Shoppers." I have always wondered about mystery shopping. If it was for a legitimate source, it seems like a job many folks would enjoy. I know all too many folks that could walk around a retail store all day long. With that idea in mind, one might think this ad should feature someone who looks to be enjoying him-or-(most likely)-herself. You could make it seem like a fun way to pass the time to get people interested. Instead, this company has seemingly taken the intimidation route.

It's like they're saying, "We need mystery shoppers... Oh, you're not interested? Sure, that's fine. Go ahead and close your browser, turn off your computer, and run out to your car... You'll be perfectly safe. We certainly haven't fiddled under the hood or tampered with your breaks. What? You're staying in your apartment? Well, I'm sure you will sleep well, and certainly won't wake up to any regrettable situations. Nevertheless, if something unfortunate would happen to you, just remember this once you are well - we NEED mystery shoppers."

Another alternative to the current, "you'll regret not joining us" ad featuring this woman who looks like she might be close to beating up a chubby first grader for his lunch money would be for the advertisers to embrace the "mystery" in mystery shopping. Where's the poor depiction of Sherlock Holmes scouring retail aisles with magnifying glass in hand? Where's the drawing of Sasquatch, a martian, and the Loch Ness monster casually checking out items marked for clearance? Heck, where's Mystery from VH1 attempting to "start a set" with ladies in the frozen food section, only to have a box of Eggos thrown at his face?*

*This Wikipedia page for "The Pickup Artist" is the first result listed when one searches for "mystery" via Google. That's right, this guy who dresses like a cross between Captain Jack Sparrow and Orville Wright, and is featured in a reality show where he teaches female-fearing males pickup strategies that step long past that "creepy" borderline is the top "mystery" in the eyes of the top search engine in the online world. Mystery fiction has been around for around 150 years. The mystery genre brought us Sherlock Holmes. It brought us the Hardy Boys. It even brought us Scooby Doo. Yet, a guy that looks like he misplaced his mug of grog is the top "mystery" result? Are you still looking for signs of the Apocalypse?

Alas, I have little background in advertising, and this rage-filled redhead continues to attempts to telepathically strangle my soul. The ad isn't fun-filled. It doesn't have any mystery about it. (Aside from why this woman is so angry with me... I usually don't get that look until after I talk to a girl.) Perhaps brow-sweating intimidation is the best way to get people interested in this opportunity. Whatever the case may be, I'm not going to stick around to find out. I hope I don't wake up in the morning to find half of my television at the foot of my bed with wires strewn everywhere.

No thanks, I lost my appetite

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

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

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

*Pun not intended.

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

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

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

-- Eating nachos out of a used bowling shoe.

-- Eating anything that appears to be moving.

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

Now, onto other items of business... 


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


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


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

*Rhyme omitted to serve the greater good.

Wheeling and Dealing (minus the "wheeling")

In 2004, the Kansas City Chiefs drafted Junior Siavii and Kris Wilson in the second round of the NFL Draft. In two seasons with the Chiefs, Siavii started as many games at defensive tackle as the Geico gecko and accumulated slightly more tackles than most place kickers. Meanwhile, Wilson - once touted as the secret weapon in KC's offense - never totaled more than 24 receptions or three touchdowns in a season. These numbers leave a bit to be desired for second-round picks in the NFL. In fact, you may feel as if you could have drafted better by drawing straws and then throwing them like darts at names of potential draftees in a hat... You may be right. Unfortunately for you and your straw-slinging skills, you won't get the chance to test that strategy with the Chiefs 2009 second rounder.

Alas, six total wins over a span of two seasons can lead to drastic changes. With Scott Pioli and Todd Haley at the helm, the NFL off-season has already seen the Chiefs pick up a probable starting quarterback* and probable starting linebacker. The price paid for these two new pieces? One second-round draft pick. Not too shabby. In fact, the deal seems like near larceny.

*Todd Haley may say there's going to be an open competition for the quarterback position, but I may volunteer to chew some steel wool if Mr. Cassel is not under center when the Chiefs open the season.

Sure, the Patriots may have been looking to cut Mike Vrabel if he hadn't been dealt (my theory), and sure, Matt Cassel* may only have one solid season as quarterback in his post-high school resume (seriously, he never started a game at USC.), but two pick up both players for a single second-round pick is not even a possibility I might have suggested to friends for fear of being laughed at.

*Congratulations go to one particular reader, who predicted that the Chiefs would land Cassel once Pioli wound up as the GM. If only he'd had me write it down earlier... then I could take credit for it.

With two holes filled, where do the Chiefs go from here?

Remember that point from earlier (this is how we at The Writings test reader comprehension) about how the Chiefs have totaled six wins over the last two seasons? That pretty much serves as permission to make changes anywhere and everywhere, and don't be surprised if that is the case. When commenting on the talent of the current Chiefs squad, Haley's remark was "I know we have a pretty good punter right now." That's good news for Dustin Colquitt, but not exactly a ringing endorsement for the rest of the members of the roster.

With that said, I think it's probably time for a few predictions... And how can I argue with myself?

(Please keep in mind that these predictions are made with absolutely no inside knowledge whatsoever. Any predictions that wind up being correct are the result of sheer luck, or possibly just evidence that one of my ancestors was a fortune-telling gypsie.)

- The Chiefs will find a suitor for disgruntled running back Larry Johnson, trading him for a fourth-round draft pick. Jamaal Charles and Kolby Smith will split carries in Haley's first season as head coach.

- A pair of other unhappy Chiefs, Tony Gonzalez and Brian Waters, will wind up sticking with the squad.

- The Chiefs will draft linebacker Aaron Curry with the No. 3 pick in the NFL draft to provide a pass-rushing threat for a team that totaled 10 sacks all of last season.

- Despite the fact that they have Cassel and Thigpen, the Chiefs will also draft a quarterback on the second day. Look for Pat White, Graham Harrell or Nathan Brown to end up in KC.

- In free agency, the Chiefs' signings will include wide receiver Shaun McDonald, offensive guard Derrick Dockery, defensive end Igor Olshansky, and linebacker Angelo Crowell.

- If the author does happen to get any of the aforementioned predictions correct, he'll refer to his uncanny foresight on several occasions in the future. If not, we shall never speak of this again.

An aside...

To those loyal readers that have been checking The Writings new material lately (surely there's been somebody), only to be left with a greater appreciation for week-old posts, I apologize. As you know, regularly scheduled updates have not been common lately. Believe it or not, there are a few things I find more important in life than crafting prose about very little in particular.* Family is one of those things.

*Those who have read the majority of entries on this site may find that hard to believe, but it's true... Sorry to all in the Things I Don't Understand series.

Recent events, as melancholy as they might be, have served as a reminder of one thing about my family. It's composed of fantastic people. From the youngest member to the oldest, whether they're in my immediate family, extended family, or unofficial family, these folks continually prove to be amazing in the care, support, and unselfishness that they show each other. They are great people, and they have certainly helped shape the person that I am today. (If that thought actually blemishes your opinion of them, feel free to strike it.) I know there are still some glum times ahead of us, and I'm certainly aware that I've gone way over the sappiness limit for a typical Writing, but some things in life just merit mentioning.