I'll learn

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

- Kansas State has lost 7 of 18 games;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

quickthoughts

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

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

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


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

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

Thoughts from Big Monday (a bad idea in hindsight)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- They didn't. Jerks.

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

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

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

People in Your Neighborhood - The Edition I Nearly Forgot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Number is approximate.

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

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

Go Chiefs!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

Yes, another excuse to show highlights from the game.

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

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

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

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

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

Proper ways to enjoy the first morning of 2011

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

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

- Terrorize a pug.

- Watch "The Jungle Book."

- Hide from that monster fire again.

- Chase the pug some more.

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

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

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

Happy new year from all* at The Writings.

*A collection of orangutans with typewriters.

Planes, pains, and automobiles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

A look at lyrics - Winter Wonderland

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

Winter Wonderland

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holiday Lessons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Desperation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Patent pending on this non-blindness assurance test.

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

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

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

Deep Thought

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Latest Thanksgiving Writing You Can Find

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Rational thought rate: 14.2%

Catching Up

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

God bless grandparents

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God bless grandparents.

At least they didn't call it Hippo-Wear

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Stubblings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Thought for the Day - Nov. 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing of relevance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- The woman behind me at the grocery store this evening had just two items: an ice-scraper and one red onion. Try to piece that puzzle together.

-  If I learned one thing from Halloween this year, it's that the concept of trick-or-treating is one that a two-year-old can pick up fairly quickly.

- If I learned a second thing from Halloween, it's that it is pretty adorable when that same two-year-old takes to playing a piano and signing her own rendition of "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep." Personally, I think I like her lyrics, "yes sir, yes sir, be ba bull" better than the "real" lyrics.

- I just saw a commercial for Heart's new album. On the Big List of Things I Never Hope To Have In My Home this ranks right behind a leopard-print Snuggie.

- I'm somewhat frightened by the thought of the Giants winning the World Series, simply because the potential for leagues of headlines of the "A GIANT Victory" variety is quite strong. I have nothing against a good pun, but this will be beaten into the ground like a railroad spike.

- If you're reading this on Tuesday, don't forget to vote. Whether your a Democrat, Republican, Independent, or Whig, it's your chance to be a part of Democracy in action. Plus, you get a sticker. Score!

- In other Tuesday action, the No. 3 Kansas State Wildcats begin their preseason schedule. Yes, it feels very foreign to type that "No. 3," but it's definitely something I could get used to. With that in mind, it's time for pregame...