Blurred Realities

After spending much of the holiday weekend with family and friends, I find myself at home this evening, watching "Gangs of New York." It's high time I actually saw this motion picture and 132 minutes in, I feel that it's been a worthwhile Netflix rental. That said, I'm struggling with a couple of details from the film.

No, I haven't spent the whole picture wondering if the main antagonist is hiding a rabbit in his ridiculously tall top hat. No, I haven't been concerned about figuring out how in the world Gilbert Grape was transported back in time. My concern lies in the fact I can't view one character without thinking of his alternate life in another movie.

The character in question- a gang member turned crooked constable - is played by John C. Reilly. The role is a completely serious one, but every time his face has popped up on my television I have expected him to yell out "Shake and bake" or talk about Jesus wearing a tuxedo t-shirt. It has happened yet, but it's destined to, right?

Please consult the rulebook...

Is there a rule written in a book somewhere that reads: If a thermometer reaches 80-degrees on any given day, all young men that (1) reside in a college town, and (2) have ridden in a boat, seen a picture of a boat, or even have a vague idea of what a boat is, must parade around in shirtless fashion as if adorning themselves with tops of any sort has been outlawed by the ICCR*? My brother and I noticed this disturbing trend the other day, realizing that every other guy filling their cars at the gas station apparently served as ticket brokers for gun shows. I realize you have been lifting weights and baking yourself in artificial fashion all winter, Mr. Look-at-my-pecs, but shirts are still considered standard dress for... well, pretty much everywhere but beaches, pools, and the "skins" side of a basketball game. I enjoy my belly button as much as the next guy likes his, but that doesn't mean I feel the need to show it to the general public on a regular basis.

*International Commission for Clothing Regulations, obviously.

Yes, your shirt may seem constricting. It may not "allow you to breathe" or let you show off that tattoo that you'll regret in 20 years. You must be aware, though, that wearing shirts is one that that separates us from the animal community (aside from those poor dogs that are dressed by their owners. There's a definite reason why dogs bite). If we quit wearing shirts, there's one less thing that makes humans unique. Sure, we'll still have the fact that we celebrate people for no reason other than the fact that they have more money than us, but still.

You also can't forget that if we do away with t-shirts, we won't have any way of alerting others that we're "with stupid. ----->" That, dear readers, would be a tragedy.

Nooooooooooooooooooooo

A busy day resulted in the first hiccup in my post-a-day pledge. I'd like this opportunity to place blame, but I'm not really sure who I'd try to burden with it.

How about mongooses (mongeese?)? Can I blame them?

False Advertising

There's a billboard here in town that advertises a local bank. The bank's selling point is that they care. They aren't one of those banks that sees you only as an account holder; rather, they actually want to get to know you. The billboard advertises said point illustrating the that at other banks, customers are greeted with someone saying "Account number?" At this wonderful bank, however, the billboard says you are greeted by someone saying, "Hi Fred."

In economic times like we're experience, it seems that a bank would be best off advertising that it is trustworthy; that those who manage it won't take their money and hop the next plane to Guam. This bank takes the personal route, assuming that you will feel like you trust your friends with your money.

My beef with this ad is not the fact that not all friends are to be trusted with your money (though they're not). It is not even the fact that the billboard features cartoon heads with no bodies. No, my beef with this billboard is one simple thing:

My name isn't Fred.

Longest Minute Ever

Ever watched the show "Minute to Win it"? No? Good call. The NBC program involves contestants completing "challenges" that are often the sort of thing on might do at summer camp. The hook is that those taking part only have one minute to complete each challenge. Yes, the rhyme masters at NBC worked overtime to create the title of this show. Apparently some folks call this good television. I call it an illustration of the fact that there's way too much money out there.

Guy Fieri, of Food Network fame, makes good sense to host the show because he... likes food. Well, that may not be a great reason, but what about the fact that he... has awkward fashion sense. Okay, I really have no idea what qualifies a guy that is famous for pigging out at Diners, Drive-ins, Dives, etc., across the nation to host a poor attempt at a game show. But it's just the host, let's move on.

Tonight's contestants are an engaged couple, looking to win major cash to have a "fairy tale wedding." Do they realize many fairy tales originally had some pretty grotesque moments prior to being Disneyized? "Cinderalla" originally involved self-mutilation, after all. "Little Red Riding Hood" was eaten by the wolf before being cut from it's belly and "Snow White" involved the queen eating the heart of a deer... Think "Grimm" was a fitting name yet?

The first competition is called the "Chocolate Unicorn." The game involves stacking chocolates on one's head, otherwise known as Guy's weekend plans. (It's about time that The Writings took a shot at him for no apparent reason... The Writings: Taking Successful Folks down 1/128 of a notch at a time.)

Game two is called "extreme hanky panky." Luckily, the game fights the images the name might conjure up and is safe for network television. In preparing for the game, which involves pulling tissues from boxes (get it? Hanky!... Hilarious.) the female half of the couple talks of how her significant other calls her "baby" and she calls him "boo." She then starts yelling "baby boo!" I'm not sure it's possible to root for people to fail more than I'm rooting against these folks now.

Minute tries to create suspense and anticipation in a cliffhangery sense by announcing the rules of a game and then skipping to commercial right before the contestants start it. Unfortunately for the network, this has the opposite effect on viewers like me. Frankly, I'm relieved when a break from the action comes, just because I no longer feel like I'm getting dumber by the minute. (See what I did there? "By the minute"? Two can play your game, NBC!)

A couple more games pass by and the feminine half of the couple lets forth repeated banshee-like screams after winning one challenge with one second left. Yes she's excited. Alas, the game involved putting jellybeans in cups, leaving me far less than impressed.

The level five challenge involves flicking raisin boxes out from underneath soda bottles, and I'm beginning to wonder how bored the creators of this show have been at various points in their lives to think of such games. Hobbies are everywhere, people. Read a book or something. My hope for humanity lessens when the Angelina of this Brangelina pairing admits that she "loves this game." Not only does she consider this fancy recycling method a "game," but she has "played" it before. Sweet mercy.

As the show moves forward, we learn more details about the couple. Such facts include the fact that he's a probation officer. This makes sense. He's seen people suffer, so now he's trying it himself courtesy his fiancee's soul-grating voice.

As the Y-chromosome of the pair competes in challenge, Guy exclaims "he owns this!" The challenge involves hitting Styrofoam plates with a broom in order to make a marshmallow pop up in the air, which he must then catch in a glass. And yet, his friends laughed when he enrolled in "The Effects of an Accelerating Broom on Styrofoam" and "Marshmallows, Wind Resistance, and You" during his time in school.

With the next challenge, it's revealed that Mr. Probation Officer "is greatness" when it comes to the ancient art of shoe-tossing. How can parents not be proud of a kid with such skills?*

*Then again, the successful shoe toss just earned the couple $125,00... Apparently I need to start practicing.

In debating whether or not to go for $250,000, the annoying chick says "It's amazing for something like this to happen to someone like me," for the second time. I assume she is utilizing the "someone like me" qualifier to reflect the fact that she's a middle class citizen. Unfortunately, after listening to her speak for an hour, I might use it to cover a different quality; something more Carrot Top-ian.

After the longest series of minutes of my life, I'm left wondering what might be less impressive than competing on this show.

...Oh yeah, probably writing about it.

D'oh.

Foibles in Broadcasting

According to an announcer calling the night's Dodgers-Cubs game, outfielder Xavier Nady "literally has no throwing arm."

Literally?

I have yet to figure out if he catches the ball with his teeth and then kicks it back to the infield, but I'll let you know as soon as reports are confirmed.

Question of the Night: May 25, 2010

If I put on a Texas Rangers ball cap, would I automatically have the ability to hit a home run off Royals pitcher Gil Meche?

It seems like that's all it takes... Lousy baseball.

Try Again - A story from The Writings' fiction department

Skidding rubber left a black trail on the asphalt as the rickety old pickup - the type one sees rolling down the road and wonders how in the world it maintains forward motion - slid to a stop. With the four wheels of the 1986 model now slightly askew to the highway's tidy parallel lines, the skid marks looked a bit like a child's cute attempt at showing of his skills with a black crayon. The road art, however, wasn't what drew the curse from the driver's lips.

"Dammit," Glenn said, rubbing at his chin with his right hand. "What are we 'posed to do now?"

"Maybe we can just keep going," Doc said from the passenger seat. "Just zip right by and pretend we didn't see it."

Glenn's eyes became tight slits, like the coin slots on a Coke machine, as he looked at his friend sitting shotgun. His mother had taught him to read 42 years earlier and - thought he was certainly no professor now - he'd had some education since that point. He knew this was not the type of thing you just go and ignore. His face, wrinkled from years long passed and weary from the hours they had already been on the road, turned red, like a home sporting the first coat of a new paint job.

"Keep going? Whaddaya mean, keep going?" Glenn's face shook back and forth to emphasize the close of each sentence. Combined with he crimson mask he wore, it made it appear that his head might actually explode. "Seems'ta me that things are pretty clear; we can't go not further. Seems'ta me that you were hollerin' 'Stop! Stop! Stop!' just the same as I was cussin' when we saw that from back down the road."

Doc, feeling like the time he had told Glenn that he thought the designated hitter was a bad addition to baseball, since it removed a lot of the managerial strategy from the game, attached his eyes firmly to what was left of the truck's floormat. Confrontation wasn't his thing. It was much easier to roll through life being agreeable. There were a lot more smiles that way. He was wrong about the DH, and he was probably wrong now.

But what if he wasn't? The thought bounced in his mind like a bunt off the top of home plate. His eyes still anchored to the floor mat. The pickup was silent, except for Conway Twitty's voice echoing from the radio speakers.

"What I mean is, what if we ain't reading that sign right? What if it don't really mean, 'Hey, stop here in the middle of the road.' I mean, the road keeps going, so why can't we?"

As the words escaped Doc's lips, the second coat of paint seemed to cover Glenn's face. "Do you think I'm an idiot or something? I know what it says and I know we can't go no further." Conway Twitty was no longer audible, as Glenn's diatribe boosted volume as he spoke. If there truly was an 11 on a volume dial somewhere, it may have been in Glenn's throat.

"You're probably right," Doc said, still studying the floor mat's tattered edges.

"I am right," Glenn said, cooling back down. Conway's lyrics gave way to those of Hank Williams as Glenn whipped the balding wheels in a U and headed back in the direction they had come from. As they sped back down the highway, a cloud of exhaust swept past the sight that had brought all to a stop in the first place.

The sign read: DO NOT PASS.



Today's moral: Always keep an open mind, and remember that misinterpretation can keep you from getting anywhere.

Bonus moral: Though paint chips may sound appetizing - perhaps even delicious - one should do all they can to avoid consumption.

New Definition

Satisfying finale: See: Lost, Final Episode of

Seriously. If you have never gotten into the show, I implore to find 120 or so free hours to view all six seasons. It's worth your time.

Question of the day

Is there a chance that lettuce could one day grow some rampantly that it could take over the world?

If area sandwich shops are any indication, the answer to this question is an overwhelming "yes." After all, whenever the folks behind the sandwich counter query what items I would like between a pair of pieces of bread, the moment the word "lettuce" escapes my vocal cords the sandwich artists seems to dig into the container of leafy greens like there's a prize at the bottom. The result is a club sandwich that apparently hopes to avoid being pinched on St. Patrick's Day.

I figure the reasoning behind this lettuce generosity must be that lettuce is highly volatile if it remains earthbound too long. If too much grows in our Earthly soil at once, the lettuce can develop self-awareness and then begin planning the demise of all other living organisms. The only way to counteract this is to pick as much lettuce as possible and then separate it in healthy heaps to sandwich-lovers everywhere. Why don't we just plant less lettuce, rather than capitalizing the "L" in bLt?

Uhh...

Good question.

Four-letter word that rhymes with frost

One of the foremost things on my mind lately is a subject that involves a spinal surgeon, a con man, a fugitive, an unlucky lottery winner, and an island of mystery. While that sounds a bit like the set-up for a really horrible joke (and I am very familiar with really horrible jokes), in reality it is nothing of the sort; just simple truth. You see, the last episode ever of one of my favorite television programs of all time (Lost, if you had yet to solve this puzzle) takes place on Sunday. It's a show my brother got me hooked on a couple seasons in, and since that point I have been hooked like the arm of a certain captain in Neverland.

The mysteries of the show have always intrigued me. I'd like to write about plot-points and theories in detail, but I know a pair of readers that viewing the show through the majesty of DVD and have not gotten past the fourth season yet. Thus, what follows is my Lost Writing, edited to be spoiler free for those who are behind in their viewing.

To begin, we have to discuss Jack Shephard. Viewed as the hero of the story since the pilot episode, it was revealed recently that he's now (content removed). This is quite a far cry from the days that he was (content removed). The fact that he is now the (word deleted) for (name deleted) should play a major role in the finale.

Naturally, you can't discuss Jack without then mentioning John Locke. Through much of the series, one's yin has been the other's yang. The revelation that Locke was actually (content removed) did certainly cast a different light on the relationship, but I have to think that (content removed) in Sunday's finale.

Beyond those two, you have characters like Kate, Sawyer, Hurley, Sayid, Jin, and Sun. All have played significant roles in the series. Sure, some of them are (content removed), and others are (content removed), but I expect they all (content removed) on Sunday. After all they have (content removed) and (content removed) in the previous 5.9 seasons. That has to mean something, right?

I'm not really sure how new characters like (name deleted) and (name deleted) might behave in the finale. They're tough to get a handle on, but I think the (content removed) has really added (content removed) to the series.

On a final note, I have to mention my favorite character, (name deleted). Sure (pronoun deleted) is a (content deleted) and (pronoun deleted)'s done some really (content deleted) things, but the portrayal by (performer's name deleted) is remarkable each and every episode. It has been tough to figure out (name deleted)'s true motivations, but I really think (pronoun deleted) could play a big role in the last episode.

What a program. How can you not love a show that has involved everything from (content deleted) to (content deleted). I feel like it keeps my mind working overtime. I don't really know what my weekend will entail, but I know how 2.5 hours will be spent on Sunday night. I really hope they explain this whole (content deleted).

Nothing to write

There's little on my mind,
there's nothing to write.
I should probably let things be,
and call it a night.

Alas, strict "hot lutefisk" rules,
force me to type away,
Subjecting you, the poor reader,
to this drivel the next day.

I had no quirky interactions,
there's no Royals game tonight.
And I'd rather not write about my neighbor's lousy rapping,
which definitely is not "tight."

I'll leave you with this, dear reader,
my advice before I'm done:
If you ever get lost in the woods while soaked in bacon grease,
you probably ought ta run.

 

A non-fiction account of a lunch hour. Why? ... Why not?

Since assuming a job that actually requires me to drive (insert horrified gasp here) each day, I have become quite the fan of eating out for lunch. Gone are the days of walking home to eat peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches and lie on my couch from 12:02 to 12:58 p.m. In their stead are five opportunities each week to grab some fast food and either run a few errands (i.e., go tempt myself by looking at movies at Best Buy) or to dig deeper into a book that I have yet to polish off.*

*As a result, the first 147 pages of Stephen King's "The Stand" now have me terrified of simple sneezes.

Yesterday exhibited all the traits of a beautiful day. (Sunny? Check. Temperature higher than 63 but not exceeding 72-degrees? Check.) As a result, I steered my mode of vehicular conveyance (hint: it's not a rickshaw) through the Vista drive-thru and then had a nice picnic lunch at the City Park... It was gorgeous.

Today, with the sky weeping meteorologist-predicted tears, I chose to confine my dining to an indoor locale. After much inner debate, I decided that the International House of Pancakes would be the day's lunch destination. This was after I remembered that my passport was not required for entry.

At IHOP (as the kids call it), I ordered up the quick two-egg breakfast and, while I waited for such a feast to be prepared, cracked open my book. After all, what's more appetizing than reading a fictional account of a deadly plague? Opportunities to read in peace, however, were quickly disturbed as I discovered that a guy at the table across the way was one of the loudest speakers in the world. The guy, sporting cargo shorts, a goatee, and a false sense of superiority, was pretty much the funniest guy in the world. After all, everything he said drew laughs... Granted, quite often he was the only one laughing at his comments, but I'm not sure the scorekeepers discriminate against such when keeping their stats. He told some yarn about the top pancake needing to face east* and laughed heartily. He followed with some comment about his kids and chuckled away. Were his comments actually funny? Of course they were... Just ask him.

*Yes, I was as confused as you are right now.

Luckily, those in the IHOP kitchen were efficient and my food arrived relatively quickly, giving me the opportunity to concentrate on eating rather than listening to goatee man's Def Comedy Jam.

Unluckily, as I ate, I noticed something that... wait for it... I didn't understand. On my table sat an advertisement for IHOP iced coffee. I have no qualms with the pancakery offering iced coffee to its customers, just with their wording on the advertisement. The ad mentioned that three flavors of the frosty beverage are available: mocha, vanilla, and coffee. That's right. All the coffee-lovers in the world need not worry; IHOP offers coffee-flavored ice coffee. I'm sure this makes sense to some, but to me it falls in the land of unnecessary repetition. Why not name the flavor "original"? Or "classic roast"? I realize the coffee world has been Starbucktualized to a nearly unrecognizable point, but have we really reached the point that we have to clarify that a coffee beverage is available in a "coffee" flavor?

Because my mind loves such mindless debates, I pondered this throughout the rest of my meal. Or at least until the Steve Martin of IHOP customers walked by the waiter on his way out and said, in a somewhat deprecating tone, "Nice job, buddy" and then yukked it up as he walked toward the door.

Man, that guy was hilarious.

... discuss

Another Lost night and another Royals' loss at Greinke's expense. Yup, it's a writer's block night again. While I sit here with a headache, consider the following:

Entertainment Tonight lacks any semblance of entertainment... Discuss.

National LeBrasketball Association

There's a storm coming. A media storm.

In the past, I've used this space to complain how Brett Favre's retirement waffling (the likes of which made Eggo jealous) was over-hyped. I've hit on the topic of the media's infatuation with Tim Tebow (who currently has the top-selling jersey in the NFL... What about Chris Leak?). I've even discussed the absurdity of the continual obsession of programs that dissect which Hollywood starlet made an inebriated fool of herself this week. Alas, none of these topics are going to the summer of LeBron.

You have surely heard by now that NBA superstar LeBron James is going to be a free agent once the season ends. After all, media-type folks have been talking about the possibility of him jumping to a team like the New York Knicks for the past two years. For those unfamiliar with things such as sports free agency (you mean you're actually concerned with things that really matter in life? Interesting concept...), this just means that he'll be free to sign a new contract with any team he likes.

With Mr. James up for grabs, LeBronimania has already begun to set in. The mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg, has already begun recruiting for his area squads, the Knicks and the New Jersey Nets. Elsewhere, rumors are swirling that James wants to play with coach John Calipari, and that whichever NBA squad hires the coach will land the Association's Most Valuable Player.

The result of all of this is going to be months of "Where is he going?" speculation. If he's seen eating pizza, is it Chicago deep dish or New York-style? Is his iPod playing "Cleveland Rocks" or "Welcome to Miami"? Does he prefer Disneyland or Disney World? No detail will go unexamined in effort to figure out where the game's biggest icon will be playing next season, and every one of those details - no matter how minute - will be reported. For the next few months you will eat and drink LeBron. You will see him when you're sleeping and won't be able to avoid him while you're awake. When you order a Big Mac, you'll be asked if you'd like to predict LeBron's destination with that. The Summer of LeBron won't go away... and free agency doesn't even officially start until July 1. If you don't like it, you better find a martian cave with a large rock to hide under, and don't forget your earplugs.

I'm not saying that LeBron's impending decision should not be considered a major story. After all, he's the best player in the NBA. He's the best player to run up and down the hardwood since another No. 23 retired (the post-sixth championship second retirement, not the the post-"I'm old and look funny in a Wizards uniform" third retirement). Whichever team he signs a contract with will become an immediate title contender. It is big news.

... I'm just not sure I need to read about it in Cat Fancy.*

*Disclaimer: The author does not have a subscription to Cat Fancy, nor is he an avid reader of the aforementioned publication.

G.I. D'oh

I caught a bit of the recent G.I. Joe motion picture on television tonight. Unfortunately, the film was about as entertaining as looking at a store-packaged action figure of Snake Eyes. I had hoped that Hollywood could make a film on the subject that would prove at least as entertaining as the time spent blowing up such action figures with Black Cats as a kid. Alas, such hopes went unfulfilled.

What makes the movie so poor? It's tough to pin such fallacies one one particular thing, but the fact that we're supposed to believe Marlon Wayans, of White Chicks and Little Man fame*, is some sort of super soldier is a good start.

*"Fame" is an awkward word to use there... Does it have an idiot cousin?

Having struck out with G.I. Joe, I'm now stuck watching the final film of the Indiana Jones series... Unfortunately, does not hold a bullwhip to the rest of the Indy films. As a result, I'm stuck needing something to cleanse my video pallet... This should do the trick:

Chris Farley - French Fries

Message to all graduates

The Writings' inspirational message to all graduating this weekend:

If modern storytelling has taught us anything, it's that - no matter how awkward you might have been as a kid - if you work really hard you can someday live out your dreams of pulling an obese man in a sled. Good luck.

Law & Oh Dear

I read today that NBC is canceling "Law & Order." It was at this time that I grew very concerned that NBC is shutting down. After all, beyond a quartet of great Thursday evening comedies and "Saturday Night Live", I'm not sure NBC airs any programming other than "Law & Order."

I've since come to understand that it is only the original "Law & Order" that is folding. The rest of your favorites will keep pumping out great new episodes, so be ready for great new programming on shows like:

- Law & Order: Special Victims Unit
- Law & Order: Criminal Intent
- Law & Order: Trial By Jury (what do you mean this was canceled five year ago?)
- Law & Order: Los Angeles (what do you mean this show doesn't start up until the fall?)
- Law & Order: Cincinnati Bengals Locker Room
- Law & Order: Prosecuting Drunken Hillbillies
- Awl & Roerd: Catering to Dyslexics
- Law & Order: You Tore the Tag Off Your Mattress
- Law & Order: Tattletale Division
- Law & Order: Broadcasting Games Without the Expressed Written Consent of Major League Baseball

The Perfect Manager

There are days when the inevitable finally happens. Today was one of those. The Kansas City Royals, standing firm in the cellar of the American League Central, fired manager Trey Hillman. Hillman was in the midst of his third season at the team's helm and had led the squad to a combined 152-207 record during that time. Basically, his teams were about as successful as squirrel doing the Lindy Hop on the interstate.

It can be argued (in undeniably convincing manner) that the Royals have not exactly put together teams with enough talent to be legitimately competitive in the Majors; that the team was doomed to fail no matter who served as manager. Nonetheless, it can also be argued (again with much conviction) that the manager isn't doing much to help his squad move toward success when he allows a shortstop who has proven to be one of the worst hitters in baseball to hit with two runners on toward the end of a tight game instead of going with a slugging first baseman as a pinch-hitter. Some say that you live and you learn... Sadly, Trey never seemed to learn, as illustrated by the fact that he never moved "The Human Windmill" Dave Owen from his spot as third base coach. Owen has caused the death of more runners than self-combustible cleats, yet Hillman never talked him into checking out what the game looked like from the dugout. In more ways than one, it's been a running joke.

Word is that Ned Yost will assume managerial duties for the rest of the season. Including those that have held interim positions, Yost marks the seventh Royals skipper in nine years. Seven new managers in nine years! The Royals pass the leadership buck more often than a lot of people go to the doctor. Is Yost the right guy for the job? Who knows. I thought Hillman might be, and have now seen how that turned out. Again, with the "talent" on the current roster, it's very possible that there may not be a "right guy." Nevertheless, that's not going to keep me from having a little fun with things.

The Perfect Manager
(performed by current members of the Royals family, to be sung to the tune of Mary Poppins' "The Perfect Nanny"... or (much more accurately) The Simpsons' "Minimum Wage Nanny.")


General Manager Dayton Moore:
If you want to be our skipper,
It helps to have connections to Chipper.*

Shortstop Mike Aviles:
It's also good to have a knowledge of sport,
and never play Yuni Betancourt.

Outfielder David DeJesus:
Don't makes us bunt in the first inning,
Convince us that you know the definition of winning.

Former Uber-prospect Alex Gordon:
Don't spend your free time finding names you can nick,
and remember I actually need to play to see if I can hit a lick.

Little-used closer Joakim Soria:
Learn to use the bullpen; pitch me in situations that won't necessarily earn a save;
Once-prospect now bench cheerleader extraordinaire Kila Ka'aihue:
And don't be afraid to bench a veteran in favor of the new wave.

Cy Young Winner Zack Greinke:
Hurry, Skipper, even great pitching rarely earns me a win,
The Human Windmill Dave Owen:
I'll do it...
All:
We'd rather eat a rusted pile of tin.


*Chipper Jones, that is. He's been an Atlanta Brave for 17 years. Dayton came to the Royals from the Braves organization and he's always seemed pretty keen on doing things "the Braves' way" and bringing in former Atlantans. It's worked out well so far... Wait, what?

ALL forms of payment?

I saw an ad today that included the line "We accept all forms of payment."

Really? ALL forms of payment?

You're saying that if I walk up to the counter with a handful of Stanley Nickels or a fist-full of Schrute Bucks, we're square?

What about Chuck E. Cheese tokens? Chocolate coins?

There's been talk in the national news lately of bartering for healthcare, so can I pay with a cornish game hen?

It seems the ad in question may need to be adjust if there are others out there like me, and I'm only getting started. Consider the following forms of payment:

- Expired coupons for Jell-O;
- Shiny rocks;
- Piggyback rides;
- Hugs;
- Verbal lashings;
- Strands of Big League Chew;
- Dirty diapers;
- "Rules of blackjack" playing cards;
- Half-eaten M&Ms;
- Video-cassette recordings of The Chevy Chase Show.

Naturally, this list is not all-inclusive. Please comment on your favorite potential forms of payment that are not mentioned above.

Lost, definitely lost

Per the strict guidelines of the Hot Lutefisk act, I must update The Writings this very evening. Unfortunately, my brain is simultaneously trying to comprehend the episode of Lost that just ended and deal with the fact that the Royals are losing 7-1 to an unbelievably mediocre Cleveland team. If you'd like your mind to feel similar, strike your spacebar repeatedly for 45 seconds... with your forehead.

While I have learned even more about smoke monsters and lousy relievers than I knew a few hours ago, I don't really feel that either item would make much of a blog topic right now. After all, as has been recently revealed, one is the embodiment of all that is evil... and the other is a character on a fictional television show. (Insert rimshot here)

After such an evening, any chance at crafting text that comes off as creative, funny, or even worthwhile is, well, lost. (And let's be honest, chances weren't that great to begin with.) Instead, I'll simply leave you with a wise proverb:

Son, if you really want something in this life, you have to work for it.
Now quiet! They're about to announce the lottery numbers.

- Homer Simpson

The Big Math-Is-Tough Conference

Rumors swirled today that the Big Ten Conference (which actually features 11 schools) had finally acted on long-discussed talks of expansion by making offers to join the conference to four new schools. Such a story is big news here in the Midwest because two of the schools rumored to be invited to the Big Ten (because apparently 11 doesn't sound good) are Big 12 members Missouri and Nebraska. Since the reports came out earlier today, representatives from Missouri and Nebraska have been busy denying that any such offers have been made. Thus, the major news of the day is really that nothing happened.

Now, I have no idea how formal offers to join a conference like the Big Ten (plus one) are actually passed around, but for some reason I can't get the image of the Big Ten Conference commissioner Jim Delany passing a note Nebraska Athletic Director Tom Osborne. The note is a quarter-sheet of wide-ruled paper torn hastily from a spiral notebook. On it is scribbled "Do you like me?" with a pair of check-boxes; one next to the word "yes," the other next to the word "no."

Yes, there are a bevy of things that will go in to a school deciding whether they want to change conferences (cough*It'sAllAboutTheMoney*cough), but I've decided that it's a lot more entertaining to equate the entire ordeal to middle school matchmaking. The following quote from Osborne, found on espn.com, does little deter my juvenile associations:

"We haven't entered into any formal talks with anybody right now. We're focusing on the Big 12. But I don’t think that
means if somebody wanted to pick up the phone and call us, that we'd
hang up on them. You listen."

Translation follows:

Espen (the inquisitive gossip that can be pretty annoying at times): Hey Herbina, would you ever go out with Big Tim (the guy from up north who is very rich, but really struggles with math)?
Herbina (a corn-fed girl who never should have fired Frank Solich... or something): No, that's a silly question. I'm going out with Bevo (the Midwestern kid who spends way too much time in Texas)... Why, did Big Tim say something about me? Did he?

Hot Lutefisk

In the life of "The Writings" a running joke* has been creating fake slogans for this very depository of incoherent thought. For example, in the course of a blog describing reasons why one might possibly have optimism about the Kansas City Royals, I could then follow with a slogan like "The Writings: Our grasp on reality is a slippery one, at best." Unfortunately, the best slogan for this blog in recent months has been, "The Writings: Featuring new content as often as reruns of 'Salute Your Shorts.'"

*Editor's note: The term "joke" can be used rather loosely when the author describes his blog... Please humor him.

It's true, my updates to this blog have been arriving about as often as family Christmas letters lately, and some of the content has been about as entertaining as Uncle Seamus' story of visiting the cider mill. This, dear reader(s), is something we at The Writings won't stand for*.

*The Writings: We prefer sitting.

There's not much of an excuse for lack of content; there are certainly topics out there. After all, the Royals are doing their best to make sure Zack Greinke won't be considered as a Cy Young candidate this year. (I'm fairly confident the award winner needs to have at least one victory.) The Chiefs are in the midst of an offseason that could actually make them a relevant team again. Lost, perhaps my favorite television program ever, is nearing it's conclusion. I even recently experienced what some might deem a "life-changing event" by changing jobs, careers, paychecks and lunch habits.

Yes, there's plenty on my mind and I've apparently just been keeping all these thoughts caged up in my head rather than unleashing them on the online world and giving others the chance to say "where the heck did that come from?"

For better or for worse (that's for you to decide), it's time to bring some of my focus back to The Writings and I'm going to do it hot lutefisk. Naturally, you have no idea what the term "hot lutefisk" means. In The Writings lore, it is now the opposite of "cold turkey." When someone drops a bad habit without any sort of transition plan, it's often referred to as quitting cold turkey. I've never understood the phase, so it's only fair that the phrase's antonym makes even less sense. Thus, I'm going to get back to blogging "hot lutefisk."

Today is May 9. In true "hot lutefisk" fashion (which exists as of May 9), I'm going to update The Writings each and every day that I'm physically able to for the next month. No matter what falls on my plate, if I have access to my laptop that day, there is going to be new content added to The Writings. It may not always make sense (nothing new) and it may not always be lengthy (also nothing new), but there will be updates. Be prepared.

Odds are, by June 9 people will be begging me to quit cold turkey.

The Writings: This should be interesting.

10 Lessons learned from a 21-month-old

1. If you're willing to jump from a moving vehicle for anything, it should be for the opportunity to play on a playground.

2. Unfortunately, child car seats are, in fact, child proof.

3. Also unfortunate is the fact that the other folks in the vehicle ignore your calls of "I need out" and "play" as you cruise by the playground.

4. Pugs love hugs... even if they squirm like they don't.

5. Spaghetti is not only delicious, but it also serves as a great clothing accessory, while the sauce serves as some pretty wicked warpaint.

6. Jumping in place is pretty fun, but even more so when you can bait everyone around you into jumping up-and-down, as well.

7. Movies are great... for 10 minutes. Then it's time to go shout at birds to keep out of the house.

8. Oranges lying in your grandparents' garden may be intended for orioles, but they still look delicious enough to repeat "nummy" several times.

9. When you do get the opportunity to finally go down a slide, the preferred method of declination should involve sliding feet first on your belly, which results in your falling over backward upon reaching the base of the slide.

10. Though the force of your slide landing combined with the discombobulation that comes with nearly completing a backward somersault would be enough to make most folks sit still for a breather, the best method of recovery is hopping to your feet immediately and sprinting back to climb to the top of the slide again.

Thought for the Night - May 1, 2010 Edition

I arrived home this evening and turned on my television to find that "How Stella Got Her Groove Back," was airing on E!* Unfortunately, I could not bring myself to watch. You see, I've never seen the prequel "The Epic Tale of How Our Heroine Stella Lost Her Groove."

*Please note that the exclamation point was used solely to properly convey the television channel on which this program aired (again "E!"). I was not THAT excited about a 2-star film with Whoopi Goldberg.

Thought for the Night - April 26 Edition

Somehow, The Writings have yet to comment on the new sandwich that is sweeping the nation*: KFC's Double Down Chicken sandwich. It's not very often that new product is made available at a fast food chain that can raise one's cholesterol simply by thinking about it, but KFC has come up with just an item.

*Is there a reason that the phrase that reflects an object or idea becoming popular throughout the United States sounds like something coined to describe Paul Bunyan's days as a custodian (after his back went bad and he could no longer swing an axe)?

With this culinary work, KFC reinvents the sandwich by removing what most folks might consider the most essential part: the bread. (Apparently yeast is too expensive these days.) Instead, the breadless wonder smothers two pieces of bacon, slices of Monterey Jack and pepper jack cheese, and something called Colonel's Sauce between two boneless filets of chicken. Some call it delicious. I call it the first step to a triple-bypass.

When it comes to this "sandwich," I have many questions.

Is it called the Double Down because of it's pair of chicken patties, or because any person that actually finishes it doubles over?

Can you really have a sandwich without bread? Are we nearing the day when a weave of french fries and onion rings wrapped in bacon is also deemed a sandwich?

What exactly is Colonel's Sauce? After all, Harland Sanders passed nearly 30 years ago. I'm not sure I'm willing to partake in any sauce he created before the Reagan era. (Sorry, but the line has to be drawn somewhere.)

Is it true that the grease dripping from just one of these sandwiches could fill an inflatable kiddie pool?


What is true is that KFC has raised the bar. Until now, folks that wanted to cheat death were limited to skydiving, sword swallowing, and going to Raiders' games. Now, all they need to do is buy a "sandwich."

It's a hit... What? Really?

Twelve games into the 2010 season, the Kansas City Royals lead Major League Baseball in batting average.

Read that again to allow it to really sink in.

With over 7-percent of the season now complete, the Royals are batting .309 as a team, which leads the Majors. Is this a fact to get worked up over? No. Because the MLB season carries on longer than most stints in Purgatory, this could prove to be a statistical oddity that is long forgotten by game 162. Is it a topic worthy of receiving in-depth examination*by The Writings? Of course.

*Translation: Pointless commentary with a chance of childish humor.

The success at the plate starts with a newcomer. Scott Podsednik - a former Mariner, Brewer, White Sock, and Rocky* - leads the Royals, the Majors, and most video game leagues with a .457 average. Should he keep that up throughout the rest of the season, he'd set some records, be subject to a number of tests for performance enhancing drugs, and possibly be attacked by Lex Luthor. Podsednik's career batting average, though, is .279. Thus, those who fall on the sane side of The Great Wall of Mental Stability have pretty solid support for the argument that he's due for some struggles.

*Typically, you don't read the singular of White Sox and Rockies.
Then again, typically writers don't amuse themselves by writing about
odd folks at Burger King.

Behind Scotty Pods*, Jose Guillen is batting .367. Unfortunately, there's little to write about Guillen. After all, he's just a 34-year old who is making $12 million this season, once got in a verbal confrontation with Royals' fans, called his own teammates "babies," played surgeon on himself, was mentioned in the Mitchell Report, told reporters "Yes, I suck," and apparently nearly died over the offseason. Oh, and he's played for 10 different Major League teams in 14 seasons... I really wish there was something to write about with this guy.

*As those who don't know him at all call him.

Joining Guillen on the "baseball years" senior citizen list is catcher Jason Kendall. Kendall, 36 (which is actually 74 in catcher years)is currently batting .348. Kendall's career average is .290, which is very respectable, but he hasn't hit .300 or better since 2004. In fact, he has not hit higher than .246 over the past three seasons.

Podsednik, Guillen and Kendall are all playing well beyond their abilities, but no performance so far has been more surprising than that of shortstop Yuniesky Betancourt. Betancourt entered Monday night batting .318. Last season, he hit .245, or approximately what Albert Pujols would hit if he was swinging a ping pong paddle. It's nice to see the guy having success at the plate, but expecting it to continue is kind of like expecting hordes of friendly leprechauns to deliver fresh-baked donuts to your home each morning. It only ends in disappointment.

Unfortunately for the Royals, the unexpected offensive superiority has not meant success. Through 12 games, Kansas City is 5-7. The struggles can be largely chalked up to struggles by KC relief pitchers. Many around Kansas City say that the Royals' bullpen is unreliable. I, however, disagree. I think they're unbelievably reliable. After all, you can rely on them to give up four runs each game.

Scraps

Sometimes, after a venture into the public setting, I'll scratch down a note of something I saw, thinking it would be good material for The Writings. Unfortunately for those who enjoy reading blogs with no semblance of a point, many of these notes end up lost and therefore unused. This Writing, dear readers, is my attempt to give these notes very poor literary treatment before they find the bottom of my trashcan. The title of each section is the note as it appears on my 8.5x11 wide-ruled sheet of paper. Enjoy.

Cowboy hat popcorn icee
This one seems pretty self-explanatory, but for those who need clarification, my brother and I noticed a gentleman sporting a cowboy had and a western vest at Target a week ago. He looked straight out of a western movie (aside from the sweatpants he wore to complete his attire), but did not appear to be shopping for anything in particular at the retail store. No, instead he was casually sitting in snack bar area, munching popcorn and sipping an Icee. No, this was not any sort of revolutionary sight, it just marked the first time I'd seen a pretend cowboy eating such menu selections in a public setting.

Favorite Flicks - Air Bud
While visiting another retail location, this one an electronic store whose name rhymes with "pest pie*," I noticed a rack of DVDs with a sign noting that the selected movies were "Favorite Flicks." Included on this rack were the films "Air Bud Spikes Back" and "Air Bud Seventh Inning Fetch." Now I love the idea of dogs playing volleyball and baseball as much as any sane person (clarification: not much) but I'm not sure anyone that would list that pair of films as their favorites should be allowed anywhere that sells DVDs. It's debatable whether they should even be allowed outside an area where they can be observed around-the-clock. Perhaps the creator of the Air Bud films now works stocking retail shelves. Honestly, that's my best guess.

*Pest pie is not for public consumption.

VG Employee - disgruntled
Same day, same store, I was walking through the video game ("VG"... see, my notes are almost discernible) department and I greeted the employee manning the area, ready to answer any questions. Unfortunately for him, I had none. Adding to this employee's unfortunate situation was the fact that there were really no other customers back there and he was growing bored. It was at this time that I made the mistake of asking him how things were going. His response went something like this (please read with a sarcastic tone to get the full effect):

"Oh, it's great. They tell me to watch video games, so I come back here to video games. There's nobody here. I just stand here bored. I'm so bored I'm reading the strategy guides. Yeah, great."

It was about this time that I said "look, Super Mario has come to life" and ran off the other way... That, or I smiled, nodded, said something like "Sounds like a good time," and stepped away with great caution, not wanting to set this guy off in an XBox-smashing frenzy.

VG kid - talks to self
Luckily, I had little time to worry about Mr. Rosy Outlook, because seconds later I encountered a kid talking to himself. While checking out the latest that the Wii has to offer, this lad was carrying on a game of verbal Pong and it seemed neither side had an advantage. "Okay, where's the new Mario. There's the new Mario. I read about this. Sounds fun... "

Chest hair @ BK
Right or wrong, in our culture showing off what one deems are his or her best assets is commonplace. Have nice teeth? You smile a lot. Have nice legs? You might put the "short" in "shorts." Six-pack abs? You jog in the park with your shirt off to make girls swoon and guys despise you. None of it is out of the ordinary.

That said, I find it odd when I encounter a guy like I did at Burger King a couple weeks ago. This guy, probably in his 50s, wore a button-down (or button-up, if you prefer) shirt. As we both stood waiting for the culinary artists behind the counter to call our order numbers and present us with nutritious feasts*, I noticed that this guy had (seemingly) purposely left a few buttons toward the top of his shirt free of their button-holes. The result was a Sherwood Forest of hair follicles on display for all to see. The question is, did this man think folks would enjoy seeing that? Was it "his look"? After all, this was before the 80-degree temperatures became commonplace in the area, meaning using the heat as an excuse was not an option. I'm not here to say that he was wrong for letting his chest breathe. He had shoes, he had a shirt**, he gets service. It just seems that, in a public dining*** atmosphere, more discretion could be used... I guess I should just be glad he wasn't working in the kitchen.

*Translation: Waited for lady behind the counter to pass us our grease-caked Whoppers and fries.

**I'll never figure out how "pants" didn't work into that equation.

***Yes, I am probably stretching it by referring to BK as a "dining atmosphere." 

From the Archives - OKC Trip

I received a reminder recently that, aside from a story on floor moppers, I hadn't posted much from a recent trip to Oklahoma City for to view the NCAA Tournament. Now it's time to work on rectifying that.

When one is driving south on I-35, there's no need to look for a sign alerting you when you cross from Kansas into Oklahoma. No, the canyon-like potholes and road-shoulders littered with shredded tires provide a welcome that no sign could. "Welcome to Oklahoma. Be kind to our roads, as we sure won't fix them... Oh yeah, if you add to our roadside collection of shredded rubber, you better have Survivorman-like skills, as cell phone coverage is as scant as Aborigines in the NBA."

The trip is a scenic one. Not only does one encounter massive billboards boasting that a rest stop has "CLEAN RESTROOMS," but - on rare occasions - you might even see a person bundled up like an eskimo, perched atop an overpass waving at passing cars.  It was like the guy had been hired to welcome folks to Alaska only to later find out he was horrendous when it came to reading maps.

At the Ford Center - the finest arena in all of downtown Oklahoma City - my brother in I took in some pretty good action. Between the dancing mascots* and the stranger jabbering next to me as if we were old roommates**, there was actually some excellent action on the court. We saw a Wildcat victory, a double-overtime thriller between BYU and Florida, and a Northern Iowa squad just days away from crushing the hopes of Jayhawks everywhere.

*It seems that, away from Kansas State University, dancing is a hobby embraced by mascots. The BYU Cougar showed off moves straight out of "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo," and even the Florida Gator performed moves with the flair of the most ravenous death roll. Why doesn't Wille the Wildcat dance in similar fashion? Is it because it's tough just maintaining balance with such a large head? (I can support that statement.) Is it because he's confused about why he has an animal head, yet a human body? I need answers.

**A big fan of a school that I don't exactly adore sat next to me for the second pair of games. He proceeded to fill me in on his life story (unfortunately I forgot to take notes that I could refer to later when writing his unauthorized biography, titled "There's a Point in Here Somewhere."), and also ask me on multiple occasions whether my brother and I had attended the first session of games. This would not have been a strange question, except K-State played in the first session of games, and we were wearing shirts that spelled out "K-State" in pretty blatant manner. Also, the answer to the question remained the same every time he asked it: "Yes. Sure did."

Unfortunately, our weekend in OKC wrapped up early, once meteorologists decided to begin forecasting blizzards for the city. Thus, we traveled through conditions that would have made the Abominable Snowman quiver to make it home on Friday night and watched K-State's second-round victory and KU's surprising tournament exit from the comfort of Kansas. It would have been pretty memorable to have had the opportunity to view such action from the Ford Center*, but I certainly wouldn't have changed the way things turned out.

*Contrary to popular belief, the Ford Center is neither made of Fords nor is it home to Harrison Ford.

It's Madness

April 5 marks the end of March Madness.

Yes, I realize that sentence makes about as much sense as Rod Blagojevich appearing on Celebrity Apprentice, but it's true. The championship game of the NCAA Tournament, or "March Madness" as the kids call it, is currently taking place. Granted, I cannot see it at the moment, thanks to the fact that Mother Nature is wreaking havoc on some counties to the north, but I don't think things stop in Indy due to hail in Hanover.

March Madness has become quite an event in recent years. Corporations line up to sponsor it, cities line up to host it, and scalpers line up to sell tickets for absurd amounts of money... Everyone wins! (Well, everyone but those buying absurdly expensive tickets.)

It seems that everyone celebrates the the annual tournament in their own way. My favorite, however, was something I encountered on Saturday. The nearby shopping mall may not feature an abundance of stores, but it has the basics. Need a book? Head to Waldenbooks. Need a greeting card? Head to Hallmark. Need some pants? Head to Dillon's... or J.C. Penney... or Sears... or American Eagle... or Aeropostale. Need something to help embrace this silly vampire fad? Go to Hot Topic.

I'm not much of a mall shopper, but when I'm there, I always make a point to stop at the sports memorabilia/sports cards/sports frosty mugs/random sports crap no one will ever buy (Denver Broncos earmuffs? C'mon...) store. Granted, I rarely buy anything (partly because I have a hard time putting down $50 for an autograph of an old roommate), but a trip down the aisles can remind me of days long gone.

See that 1989 Topps card of Jerry Don Gleaton? Yup, I have that one. You like the 1992 Bowman card of Cliff Floyd dunking a baseball? Yes, I have that, too. It's nice to have the chance to remember the days when any money I came across after mowing, or pulling weeds, or robbing liquor stores while dressed up as the Energizer Bunny*, went toward packs of sports cards. Sure, most are no longer even worth the cardboard they were printed on, but that is beside the point. After all, if the cash hadn't gone toward sports cards, it probably would have funded my Laffy Taffy habit instead.

*Scratch that one.

Now that we're way off topic, let's get back to this NCAA Tournament celebration. Since this store deals mostly with sports, you might think any sort of promotion it would have in place would involve basketball. Perhaps they could give discounts on merchandise for the schools in the Final Four. Maybe they could offer a "buy one, get one half-off" deal on all basketball cards. If they had really wanted to draw interest, they could have brought in an obese man on a treadmill to give the store that authentic locker room smell.

Nope, instead this store chose to ignore Dr. James Naismith's invention entirely. Instead, the sign at the store's entrance read: March Madness! 30% off all knives and swords.

Yes, you read that right. The promotion using "madness" in the title offered a discount on knives and swords. After my first glance, I had to look again to see if a picture of Jack Nicholson's character from The Shining also appeared. It didn't, but it probably should have.

How does the true sportsman embrace the finest in college basketball? By swinging a machete haphazardly, of course.

Now that's madness.

There is such a thing as good grief. Just ask Charlie Brown.

Butler 63 - Kansas State 56.

The sight of that score, the thought of that game, the mere mention of the Final Four- It all still stings, like an unexpected pass caught by your nose. Two days after competing in one of the greatest games in NCAA Tournament history, the K-State Wildcats fell short in their bid to reach the Final Four for the first time since 1964. The loss wasn't an easy one to take. The Cats actually led by a point with just four minutes left in the game. As with any loss, there were decisions to question and plays to wish they could try again.

Really there seemed to be all sorts of things to regret. The loss had the author of this very blog so down that he actually boycotted sports for the next day-and-a-half. Yes, we're talking about the same blog author that has watched all seven rounds of an NFL Draft from start to finish. The same blog author who watched well-over 100 televised Royals games last year. The very same blog author that has read more books about Michael Jordan than exist in the Harry Potter series. This guy boycotted sports. Why? The Final Four was right there! They were so incredibly close! Why bother with sports if they always end in disappointment?

Thankfully, as has happened a bevy of times before, the author then realized that he was being moronic. K-State just wrapped up one of the greatest seasons in team history. They won 29 games, topped the then-No. 1 team in the nation, played in the championship game of the Big 12 Tournament and advanced to the Elite Eight in the NCAA Tournament. Jacob Pullen became on of the top players in the nation and Frank Martin was honored as the top coach in the conference. This was the season I was grieving over?

Really?

In the past 20 years I had witnessed K-State fall to the depths of the college basketball world, where prized recruits are drawn from towns like Brewster and Junction City. It's where your team loses exhibition contests to teams named after video game companies. It's where there's extreme disappointment when your team can't bring in a 7-foot volleyball player to protect the paint and where your only time on SportsCenter comes when your center commits one of the most boneheaded plays in the history of the sport. (See: Fiasco, Pasco)... As recently as five years ago, my hopes for a "successful" season hinged on the decisions made by the NIT selection committee.

The big picture point here is that I - along with many fans that continually shuffled into Bramlage Coliseum during the Asbury and Wooldridge eras - have seen some pretty rough basketball. (And by "rough," I mean horrible.) The progress made in the past four years has really been just short of incredible. The Wildcats have a very solid foundation returning next season - in essence, only losing Denis Clemente - and can expect to be a top-ranked team in 2010-2011 preseason polls. Depending on potential departures from that school down the road, K-State could even enter the season as the favorite to win the Big 12.

Will there be tough losses in the future? Absolutely. Grief that corresponds with the losses? Sure. But, considering where the program has been, it's pretty good grief.

Copyright Derek D. Larson

Wow. I say that in Elite fashion.

6 Xavier vs. 2 Kansas State Highlights



Go Cats!

A Taste of the Tourney

A trip to Oklahoma City to take in some NCAA Tournament action provided plenty of material worthy of being dissected by The Writings. This is the first of such dissections.

When you watch the tournament on television, you get a good feel for the excitement surrounding each game; the pep bands, the zany mascots, the antics of the head coaches, and every smile or grimace painted on the faces of the student-athletes are all captured in fine fashion by the television cameras. Alas, there's an important facet of the tournament that goes unnoticed by the television viewing audience. I'm talking, of course, about the lane sweepers.

Every four game minutes, there's a media timeout scheduled in college basketball. This largely serves as an opportunity for television and radio stations to broadcast the commercials of their sponsors. But, while you are stuck wondering what Luke Wilson has done to be featured on three of every four commercials aired, back at the arena the limits of child labor laws are pushed to their max. Oddly, it proves frighteningly entertaining. You see, the third graders pushing mops at the Ford Center stuck it to the man in their own fashion: they didn't pay a lick of attention to what they were doing.

Sure, when a timeout hit the floor, they'd wield their mops and towels with ninja-like readiness, but when it came to actual sweeping, well, it didn't seem to be the primary thing on their minds. A young girl pushed a mop aimlessly while apparently searching the crowd for the Jonas Brothers. Typically, the in-game mopping is limited to the free throw lanes on the court, but this girl didn't bother to limit her range, reaching the mid-court line without thinking a second thought. Her two towel-dragging partners did not fare much differently, watching the scoreboard screens rather than actually making sure they were soaking up any moisture that might have dripped onto the floor. Sure, the static graphics on the screen were exciting, but the players that hydroplaned on slick spots might have appreciated if the gallon of sweat left on the floor by modern giants had been soaked up.

If my brother and I had any sense at all, we would have begun betting on whether or not this trio would actually come close to doing their assigned jobs each timeout. It was undeniably entertaining.

A Splendid Day

Saturday, March 20, 2010 will go down in Derek Larson history* as one superb example of why March is one of the greatest months of the year. Much more on this later.

*Warning: Overall, Derek Larson history is pretty boring.

Basketball, St. Patrick's Day - How could they not be connected?

It seems fitting that St. Patrick's Day coincides with college basketball's March Madness year. After all, basketball is a sport filled with towering athletes who are unbelievably athletic and St. Patrick's Day brings to mind... stubby folks drinking booze.

Okay, maybe the connection is not crystal clear, but the fact remains that the two events typically arrive hand-in-hand. There's no doubt* that truth behind St. Patrick's Day is that it's a celebration of leprechauns' (prior to their unfortunate extinction) adoration of sexual harassment. How else could one explain all the pinching?

*Editor's note: There's plenty of doubt. Nothing but doubt, really.

No matter what the motivation is behind the "holiday"*, the fact remains is that there seems to be a conspiratorial motive behind it this year. Those who don't wear green on St. Patrick's Day are pinched, mocked, and occasionally subject to ritualistic sacrifice. This makes the fact that Kansas State University plays a team known as the Mean Green tomorrow oddly coincidental, no? A mass convoy of basketball fans will converge upon Oklahoma City today, all wearing green. If you were from North Texas, wouldn't such optical support give your at least a slight boost of confidence? Where's National Barney Appreciation Day when we need it?

*"Holiday" in this usage, means "excuse to drink like a dippy bird."

Pick Me, Pick Me

Though it was unfortunate to see the Kansas State Wile E. Coyotes come up short again in their pursuit of the Kansas JayRoadrunners (I knew K-State should have worked an Acme anvil into their game plan), such disappointment evaporates quickly upon realization that today is Selection Sunday.

Today marks the first Selection Sunday that I can remember where the fact that the Wildcats will be announced as one of the teams in the 65-team field is inarguable. The Wildcats have earned the success they have encountered this season and today we find out how they'll be rewarded. I'd argue that they should be no lower than a No. 2 seed, but - as wacky as it might sound - I'm not sure than any members of the tournament selection committee read this blog. (I know, I was shocked upon this realization, as well.)

With so much basketball coming later this week that it could very well drip out your ears*, it's clear why mid-March is one of the greatest times of the year. It's also clear that I should be sure to work some tournament blogging in.

*If this does happen to you or a loved one, please seek medical assistance.

Everything Sports

In the world of college basketball, it's time for conference tournaments. In Major League Baseball, clubs are soaking up sun in spring training. Though NFL teams are not anywhere near turf, bidding on free agents is in full swing and the NFL Draft is not far off. With so much going on in the world of sports, it's tough for me to think about much else while flipping through television channels. Consider the listing of programs on the air as I type and tell me that the titles bring to mind something other than sports.

PBS - The Civil War
A detailed account of the Royals' clubhouse once annually disgruntled outfielder Jose Guillen once again loses his gruntled state of mind.

CNN - Anderson Cooper 360
A serious journalist gets out from behind his desk to show off his acrobatic dunking skills on the hardwood.

TNT - The Closer
A camera crew films everything that Royals' reliever Joakim Soria does. Everything. It's a bit intrusive.

FX - Damages
An in-depth study on the effect that recent seasons by the Kansas City Chiefs have had on the mental stability of area fans.

MTV - The Buried Life
A historical recap of Kansas State basketball under Tom Asbury.

A&E - Hoarders
A 24-hour-a-day rundown of the New York Yankees batting order; a lineup whose No. 8 batter could very well be the second-best hitter on the Royals.

TLC - Cake Boss
Former Kansas football players discuss their nicknames for the former Kansas football coach. (What? Too soon?)

Disney - Hannah Montana
The Cleveland Browns' quest to find a quarterback goes to extreme lengths, as they suit up a teenage girl simply because she shares a last name with one of the greatest signal-callers of all time.

Science Channel - Machines of Malice
A study of the Magic 8 Ball that gave the Royals advice on the trades of Johnny Damon, Jermaine Dye, and Carlos Beltran.

WE - The Golden Girls
A 24-hour replay of the Canadian women's hockey team's boozy gold-medal celebration.

G4 - Cops 2.0
Because Cops 1.0 just wasn't enough for the Cincinnati Bengals.

CBS - CSI-Miami
Investigators try to determine why it takes simultaneous acts of God and of congress just to get Michael Beasley on the floor in the fourth quarter.


It seems pretty clear that television wants me to think about nothing but sports. After all, that's only a look at 9 p.m. programming. I need ot find something that will get my mind off quality athletic competion... Hey, it's the Tennis Channel.

It's Like the Author Writing a Book of Dating Tips

Let's say you're in the market for a space heater. You know, something that is powered by electricity,* yet gives off that "we're too lazy for a real fireplace" vibe.

*The Writings' Word of the Day: Electricity. Per the folks at Merriam-Webster, electricity is "a fundamental form of energy observable in positive and nagitve forms that occur natrually or is produced and that is expressed in terms of movement and interaction of electrons. Per the fork in my wall socket, electricity can leave you feeling a bit frazzled. Per Bunny Wailer, things that are electric can lead to the boogie woogie woogies.

When looking for such a product, what qualities might draw your interest? Sure, you'd probably look at cost-efficiency. Yeah, you want to make sure the item doesn't look like a 1980s toaster oven. Since its primary function is, you know, putting off heat, you also probably want to make sure it can do that without serving as a severe threat to your home's (hopefully) current non-burning status.

Would you, however, be swayed by the fact that this very heater is custom-built by the Amish? Yes, the folks wildely known for wearing beards with no mustaches, riding in horse-drawn buggies, and refusing to adopt modern things like electricity.* Does the fact that "entire communities of the Amish" (per ad found here) are working on the product you will put in your home and rely on to provide electric heat without turning your living room into a live-action portrayl of Backdraft keep you feeling snug? 

*WORD OF THE DAY!

 Do you feel that a wood-product is crap unless crafted by the Amish? Would a plaque that confirms that the product is, in fact, crafted by the Amish help set your mind at ease? After all, per the product's website, the Amish "are sticklers for quality." It seems that we can therefore assume that all others don't really give a flip.

Perhaps you need testimonials. Do these real-life praises leave you searching for your credit card?
- "I have four Heat Surge fireplaces and I give them a 10 star rating."
Ten stars! Ten! Even if she means the 10 stars are to be distributed among the four fireplaces, that's still 2.5 stars per fireplace. Think about it.
- "We are pleased with our fireplaces to a very high degree."
Ha! Pun!
- "... I like to just sit and watch the flames while I'm watching television."
It even promotes multitasking!
- "It doesn't smoke..."
And it's tobacco free!
- "The propane salesman is very upset because we are not buying as much propane this year."
HeatSurge: Stick It to the Gas Company!
- "The house got really cold while my power was off..."
Uhh... Nevermind. Don't even think about getting a real fireplace.
- "I love the fact that our Heat Surge is environmentally safe because it does not emit noxious fumes."
If only we could all have such kind words said about us.


Does the name "HeatSurge" bring to mind comfy warmth and not flames tearing through your walls?

If your answers to these questions are "yes," then, my friends, the Heat Surge is the product for you.

Rise and .. This is Horrible

It's Saturday morning and I've been awake since 4 a.m. Soon, I'll head off to work for about 12 hours. Obviously, I'm thrilled right now.

On the bright side, I just saw an ad for some little heater made by the Amish. You can bet that will get The Writings' attention in the near future.

No. 6

The Kansas State Wildcats are ranked No. 6 in the nation by both the AP and the ESPN/USA Today Coaches' polls. Per pollspeak.com, no AP voter feels the Wildcats are any worse than the No. 10 team in the nation. K-State has performed well enough this season that their even being mentioned as a potential No. 1-seed in the NCAA Tournament.

All of these details are common knowledge to most Kansas State fans, but I had to type them as they're still kind of hard to believe. As detailed in previous Writings, I've seen a lot of bad basketball in the last 15 years. How far has this team come? How welcome is this return to national relevance? Let the following video serve as a little reminder of how cursed this team seemed for awhile.

So if the Groundhog hadn't seen his shadow, what would these Olympics be called?

Recent scuttlebutt has surrounded the fact the NBC's coverage of the 2010 Winter Olympics has about as impressive as a broken gravy boat.

While the analogy doesn't really make any sense*, it doesn't really matter, as most readers probably closed their browsers once they saw that I had used the word "scuttlebutt." For those that are still reading, thanks. Now, let's get to the meat
and potatoes*.

*Or whatever the Vancouverian equivalent is... Something measured metrically, no doubt.

I have read that the Olympic coverage thus far - due to poor commentary, few live events, and a lack of abominable snowmen -
has been subpar. I haven't paid attention, partly because I find the games about as exciting as watching snow melt, and partly because - as long-time readers know - ice is my sworn enemy.  Nevertheless, because the games are keeping quality programming like Parks and Rec and The Office off the air tonight, I figured I would check in on the competition that best indicates what nation will rule the world once the next Ice Age* hits.

*That's the actual geological period, not the movies that get progressively worse with each sequel.

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Lindesy Vonn, you've probably heard of her. She's the blonde, swimsuit-modeling, American skier who is participating in these games despite the fact that one leg is attached by just two tendons. It's a story of true courage... Wait... What? She only is suffering from a sore shin? Why has she been forced down America's throat like a non-Flintstone vitamin?

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One NBC commentator just referred to a skier that crashed yesterday but is returning to ski again today as "a true champion." this proves I know nothing about the Winter Olympics. I had no idea that Horrific Crashing was an event you could medal in.

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More annoying: Shaun White or Carrot Top?

And why are they showing a Shaun White interview instead of an actual Olympic event?

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How long before we see a horrific injury in the skiing slalom courtesy some joker replacing once of the slalom poles with an iron tetherball pole? It has to happen, right?

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45 minutes into the evenings Olympic coverage, I think I've seen as many commercials as were shown in the last three Super Bowls combined. Guess we know how NBC is paying off the Conan O'Brien settlement.

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It's well documented (by me, as well as at least one nurse practitioner) that I have the balance of an inebriated emu. As a result, I have to wonder how far down this slalom hill I could make it on a pair of skis.

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The answer: However far my initial fall would take me.

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Vonn takes a spill in the slalom thanks to what a broadcaster calls "a classic hooked tip." At least it wasn't one of those "atypical hooked tips." 

It's very clear that I have no clue what I'm referring to. It's also very clear that Syracuse is playing Georgetown and is only ahead by two with three minutes left.

So long, Olympics.

A In-Depth Societal Study... Okay, A Look at Dunk Contests

I have been watching a lot of NBA slam dunk contests lately. Seriously, way too many of them. NBATV recently aired a marathon of dunk contests from the 80s through last season. Thanks to my DVR, I've watched far too many of such showcases over the past three days. How do I know I've watched too many? I feel strongly that some judges were crooked, I know who Terence Stansbury is, and I'm about to devote entirely too many words to describing some of the things I've seen. The 2010 contest was about as dissappointing as the finish of "The Matrix" trilogy*, so it's best we look back and do it as soon as we can. After all, what could provide a better avenue for analyzing society's trends. (Other than, you know, serious things.)

*Really, Shannon Brown? Your big idea of a dunk is catching an alley-oop? Someone reward this man's sense of innovation!


1987
We begin in 1987, which was a simpler time. Naturally, I mean it was simpler for the tailors who made NBA uniforms. Shorter shorts meant less thread, more efficiency and greater profits. Simple, right?

It seems that being a former (and unfunny) cast member of Saturday Night Live qualifies a person to judge dunks on a national stage.* How else did Joe Piscopo wind up behind the judges table. I doubt that imitating Frank Sinatra could somehow give a person an intricate knowledge of dunking difficulties.

*2010 equivalent of Piscopo: Colin Quinn. Would you accept him as a dunk contest judge?

Some guy name Michael Jordan ended up winning this contest*, but my favorite moments of this contest don't involve any of his actual dunks. It's all in the commentary. I probably should not get the joy I do out of hearing an announcer refer to an atop-the-backboard camera as the "slam-jam cam," but it gets me every single time. Apparently I'm a simple guy. I guess I belong in 1987.

*Yes, I think he made his name as a baseball player.


1994
Here we are seven years later. The legendary rhythms of DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince fill Minneapolis' Target Center and the phrase "warm it up" is used on multiple occasions. Yes, 1994 was a magical time. This edition of the dunk contest really wasn't notable. I only mention it because at one point the camera panned to a 70-year-old woman who looked like she had gotten lost on the way to her bridge game. Luckily, she was embracing her role as a member of the dunk contest audience and holding up a sign with the number 10 for a dunk that definitely didn't deserve it. (Sorry, Robert Pack.)


1996
Brent Barry, who sports Macauley Caulkin's Home Alone haircut and wears his warmup jacket during the competition, throws one down after leaping from the foul-line. The obvious joke here is "I guess white men CAN jump." I respect you all far to much to try to get by with that one.

Jerry Stackhouse licked his forearm - usually a sign that the dunker is going to cup the ball against that same forearm - but then did nothing of the sort on his dunk attempt. Lesson: he must just be a messy eater.

One of the broadcasters just said the aforementioned Barry reminded him of Pistol Pete Maravich. Pistol was one of the most exciting players to ever grace the hardwood. Barry won this dunk contest and then... well... averaged 14 points per game for Seattle one year. That's exciting in the same way that eating ice chips is exciting.


1997
Darvin Ham, who once shattered a backboard during the NCAA tournament, throws down three of the top dunks of the night. Naturally, the judges give him a 36 and he doesn't escape the first round. I know there have been a lot of scandals in the sports world, but I really think this one should get more publicity. Darvin was robbed.

Kobe Bryant, at the age of 18, wins the contest. Cameras track Brandy in the crowd, as she had been his prom date the year before. Yes, the fact that Brandy was relevant helps you realize how long ago 1997 really was.


2000
We jump ahead thee years thanks to the fact that there were no NBA dunk contests in 1998 or 1999. I like to think that this was because the judges from the 1997 contest were forced to spend two years sitting silently in a corner thinking about what they had done after the Ham Fiasco.*

*Is it me, or does that sound like a new dish at Denny's?

Vince Carter dominates this competition, but Kenny Smith nearly spoils the event by repeating "Let's go home!" and "it's over!" so often that you begin to wonder if he's learning English from "Phrases to Get Your Significant Other to Leave the Buffet" educational tapes.

During the event, cameras pan to Michael Keaton on multiple occasions. Why? My best guess is that the cameraman was a stalker that was obsessed with the movie Multiplicity.


2001
According to the aforementioned Mr. Smith, former Vancouver Grizzly Stromile Swift is penalized on a dunk attempt because he didn't "bring enough funk." I don't know how many times I've made that same mistake.


2002
It's the year of horrible ideas for the dunk contest. Let's count them, shall we?
1. Rather than having all dunkers compete against each other in the first round, they spilt the competition into tournament-style match ups. Bad idea.
2. The commentary of the TNT broadcasting team - featuring Smith, Charles Barkley, Ernie Johnson, and Danny Ainge - is fed over the arena's loudspeakers for at least a portion of the contest. The leads to audio feedback, annoying echos, and an arena full of fans being subjected to Smith and Ainge with no "mute" option. Very bad idea.
3. Dunkers have to complete one dunk picked by a giant Wheel of Fortune (or Morality) wheel. This destroys the players' chances to be creative and eliminates Steve Francis, since he went bankrupt on a dunk that involved palming the ball, which he couldn't do. Even Barkley says the wheel is a stupid idea. Horrendous idea.

In other news, one of the judges is some guy named Internet. Weiird name.

There are courtesy laughs. There are horrendously fake laughs. Then there's the laugh Jason Richardson gives Craig Sager in response to a terrible joke about Barkley's golf game after Richardson's win. I almost felt bad for Sager. Then I thought of this. And this. And this.


2003
The NBA gets it right with the judges... finally. All seated at the judges table are former dunk champs. Not only does this leave the judging up to those who actually know the difficulty of such dunks, but it also gives Dee Brown something to do. Win-win.

From Kenny, "We need to get him a get well card; he's sick!" This was not a literal statement. You see, back in 2003 the word "sick" was often used as an alternative to the words "awesome" and "bee's knees."*

*The Writings: We're here to teach.


2005
We skip a year, not due to contest cancellation, but simply because the 2004 contest really wasn't that notable. Even the winner had a ho-hum name. (Sorry, Fred Jones.)

2005 was the year of The Birdman. Chris Andersen, who has seemingly played basketball in more locations than a certain globe-trotting team from Harlem, was one of four contest participants. The edited version of the contest is just 30 minutes long, but, thanks to Andersen, the uncut version lasts far longer. Andersen spent approximately three days trying to successfully complete his first-round attempts. His efforts resulted in more laughter than most

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Turns out that my DVR doesn't have as much space as I'd like. We don't go much further than 2005 thanks to the fact that I'm unwilling to erase any episodes of Lost or the K-State-Texas game from my DVR. Nonetheless, I'll leave you with one of the better dunk contests I've seen. (And, as we've learned, I've basically seen them all.) It doesn't top Jordan-Wilkins from 1988 or the Vinsanity show from 2000, but there are definitely a few dunks you should see if you have seven minutes to waste. (Particularly at the 4:57 mark.)

All Star Game 2008 - Slam Dunk Contest

A Few Things to Think About - K-State Basketball Edition

While eating lunch today, ESPN's SportsCenter* showed a graphic of the top ten teams in college basketball. There at No. 9 was Kansas State. The Wildcats have been ranked for weeks now. They've topped the then-No. 1 team in the nation. They were barely nipped by the current No. 1 team in a game so tight that frat guys might try to wear it as a t-shirt. They have continually proven that they deserve to be considered as one of the best in college basketball this season, yet I still sit stunned for a few seconds when I see "Kansas State" listed next to that No. 9. It's not that I feel this season has been any sort of fluke; to the contrary, I don't think the team is going anywhere but up next year. It's just that I've seen so many losses in Bramlage Coliseum that having the chance to view a fairly consistent winner is a shock to the system. It's like eating nothing but rancid Spam for 15 years and then winning the opportunity to eat at a top-flight steakhouse twice a week.

*I figured this show could use a bump from The Writings**. I hope it makes it.

**The Writings: We Don't Know the Meaning of Delusion.

How different are things surrounding K-State basketball? Consider:

- Kansas State has topped four ranked teams this season, including the Texas Longhorns while they were ranked No. 1. Four years ago, the Wildcats were 0-3 against ranked opponents.

- The Wildcats are currently ranked No. 9 in the nation. Five years ago they finished 10th in the Big 12. (Unfortunately, all of the nine teams ahead of the Cats that season were not ranked in the nation's top 10.)

- Six years ago, K-State won 14 games total. This season, the Wildcats won their 14th game on Jan. 12.

- Seven years ago, K-State averaged 7,157 in attendance per home game. In 2009-2010, the Wildcats are averaging 11,685 fans per home game. The difference (4,500+) is about the same as the population of neighboring Clay Center, Kan.

- This season, Kansas State outrebounds opponents by an average of 5.8 rebounds per game. Eight years ago, with stalwarts like Western Carolina and Farleigh Dickenson on the schedule, the Wildcats rebounding margin was -1.2.

- It's not uncommon to hear the PA announcer urge students to scoot together to make sure all in attendance can fit in the bleachers this season. Students line up in subfreezing temperature hours before game time to ensure they get decent seats. Nine years ago, my high school friends and I would show up 10 minutes before game time and mosey into the college student section to sit on the third row with my brother. We had ample room to stretch, do calisthenics, or take naps and - even though they usually brought out five or six pies - we were nearly always guaranteed a pizza thanks to a halftime promotion.

- Ten years ago, K-State's recruiting pipeline was Junction City High School; a team whose last state championship came in 1970. Now, the Wildcats are tapped into AAU's DC Assault, a team that has featured fomer Big 12 Player of the Year Michael Beasley, as well as current Wildcats Dominique Sutton, Jamar Samuels, Wally Judge and Rodney McGruder. No offense to Travis Reynolds and Quentin Buchanan, but DC may have the advantage here.


Is it shortsighted to celebrate a No. 9 ranking with seven games left on the schedule? Absolutely. As Frank Martin is quick to note: "You don't throw parades in (insert month that indicates the season is still in progress here)." There's a lot that could still happen this season; injuries, suspensions, plagues, or alien abductions. Nonetheless, having had a good taste of where this team has been, I'm going to the slight shock that comes with a national ranking each step of the way.

People In Your Neighborhood - The Fan of Lethal Fruit

It's time once again to peel back the skin of the orange that is our society and deeply examine the pulp inside.* I made a trip earlier this evening to buy some of life's essentials (frozen pizza and oven chips) and encountered a one of the world's finest characters. What makes him tick? Let's try to find out...

*It may only be February, but I think we have a good candidate for "Worst Metaphor of the Year." Congratulations, Derek! We'll see you on the red carpet.

The guy who confuses covert martial artists and fruit
Quick, what is your favorite type of apple? Gala? Granny Smith? Golden Delicious? Jonathan? McIntosh? Ninja?

Wait, Ninja?

Yes, according to the gentleman in front of me in the checkout line, he was purchasing a Ninja apple.

The consumer - middle-aged, portly, and astoundingly confused - was buying little of consequence. Typically, someone like this would not linger in my mind hour afterward, but everything took a turn when the cashier held up the apple the guy was purchasing to determine what type it was. With her spindly fingers holding the fruit just in front of her wearied face, she tossed out a guess.

"Gala?"

Alas, the hefty man shook his head. The guess was off the mark.

Thinking, the man looked toward the ground. He seemed to be mentally spelunking into the deepest crevices of his mind, searching valiantly for the name of the apple he hoped to purchase.

Some might argue that an apple is an apple; that if you have to put that much thought into what specific type of fruit your purchasing, it's really not worth arguing about. After all, he could have lied. He could have called the apple Gala, paid for it, and had his teeth down to the core by now... Instead, he thought.

Finally, as if the good Lord had shone the light of wisdom on him through the market's fluorescent lamps, the man looked up. Confidently, he looked at the cashier and said, "It's the Japanese one. You know, a Ninja."

It was at this time I took a subtle step backward. I've seen movies. I know what ninjas are capable of. They're silent assassins. Though I was fairly confident an apple could not be a ninja (nor a ninja an apple), I approached the situation with caution, just in case. Luckily, before the type of store-wide panic that could only come from the threat of an apple attack could set in, the cashier cleared things up. "Do you mean a Fuji, sir?"

"Aw, yeah. That's it."

Crisis resolved.

With his apple bagged and the rest of his groceries paid for, as well, the man walked out the market doors. It was with much regret that he escaped before I could ask him pressing questions. Questions like, "What made you think Ninja was a kind of apple?" "Haven't you ever heard of the Teenage Mutant Ninja (not apple) Turtles?" and "Why the heck are you only buying one apple, anyway?"

Apparently, some of life's mysteries will never be solved.