Things I Don't Understand - The Return

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

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


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

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

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

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

... Got it?

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Making Chicken Salad

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

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

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


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


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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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

Mario Smith Hit

The Reason TVs Have Mute Buttons

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

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


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

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


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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

Ouch, my freakin' mind!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

Don't Run A-Fowl of This Candidate

If you have paid attention to any news whatsoever lately, you realize that it's election season. Granted, this "season" seems to grow longer every election*, but political talk is everywhere.

*I believe current plans are for the two major parties to hold their conventions for the 2012 presidential election just minutes after our next president is sworn in on Jan. 20, 2009.

Do I have opinions about the current candidates?

Sure.

Are those opinions going to be the subject of this writing?

There's no chance.

I'm leaving the political commentary to those who get paid to spend hours (and hours, and hours (repeat exponentially)) dissecting every word uttered, every glance given, and every handshake handshook by the current candidates.

No, I'm here to discuss an alternative candidate.

A candidate who would give new meaning to the phrase "ruffling feathers."

This candidate, of course, is... a duck.

A friend of mine mentioned today a book she had read to her young son, titled Duck For President. Imagine that... A duck that runs for president. Now some may lambaste the idea, saying that it's absurd (they obviously forget that we live in the "land of opportunity"), but would it be feasible (keep in mind that the duck is 35 and is a natural born citizen)?

I haven't read the book (and I'm unsure whether or not it's fictional), and I'm trying to steer clear of most of the reviews (in attempt to avoid spoilers), so I'm unsure as to whether the duck actually earned the votes needed to work in the White House. All I know is that I think this is a topic worthy of examination... What would it be like if we, the American people, elected a duck to be president?

Here's what we know...


The gun control policy would be extremely stringent.
This seems rather obvious. Innocent ducks are gunned down all the time in this country. What happens to the shooters? They're celebrated. This duck slaughtering is so glorified, there once was a video game focused on the very subject.
Sorry folks, but you can consider guns as good as banned if Duck is elected**.

**We can safely assume that Duck's vice president would not have any hunting accidents.


There would be deportations.
Who would be sent back to their homelands?
Illegal aliens?
Nope.
People who didn't vote for him?
Wrong again.
It would be rabbits.
To be in the position he's in (top duck), Duck obviously is educated about the world around him. He's been witness to several things... and these things include Looney Tunes cartoons. Duck has seen how one "wascally wabbit" has constantly put roadblocks in the path of a fellow duck's life. Odds are that Duck's judgment on all rabbits would be swift: back to Spain with all of them.


The duck would run as an Independent.
As a veteran of the air, he values left and right wings equally. (Insert drum rimshot here.)


Jobs would be lost.
Are you an employee at a pillow factory? Better update that résumé. President Duck thinks down is for the birds, and he plans to keep it that way. All manufacturers that use feathers will be immediately put out of business.
Unemployment rates be damned, Duck won't stand for down-filled pillows.


American traditions would be re-written.
At elementary schools around the nation, The Pledge of Allegiance is recited at the start of the day. And prior to sporting events, you'll hear The Star Spangled Banner.
President Duck has a few changes in mind.
America's new national anthem? How about We are the Champions? It's the victory song at the end of Duck's favorite movie, The Mighty Ducks after all.
And what happens to the Pledge of Allegiance? Your new pledge is a simple, "quack, quack, quack..."***

***Because President Duck is such a huge fan of the film, we can probably guess the identity of his vice president. Congratulations, Emilio.


Finding alternative energy sources will be a priority... but wind won't be the answer.
Duck loves the outdoors, of course he's going to do all he can to help the environment. That said, Duck won't stand (or sit, swim, or waddle) for bird deaths by wind turbines. He reads**** the reports that mortality rates are exaggerated and that improvements have been made, but as long as a single bird is at risk, President Duck won't back such structures... Like most ducks, he's a stickler for details*****.
Fact is, President Duck would do away with our electricity completely, but he likes the idea of having a heated pool to swim in come wintertime.

****Can a duck read? If you paused for a moment upon reading that, remind yourself that this duck is running for the highest office in our nation, of course it can read.

*****Please note: I have no evidence to support that most ducks a sticklers for details.



Knowing what I do about candidate Duck, would I vote for him?

Again, I must be noncommittal.

While some of his policies seem pretty radical, he certainly does not suffer from the "downfalls" of the current candidates.

He's not an "elitist" liberal and he's not "old" conservative... He's a duck. He has a beak and webbed feet.

He doesn't suffer from "property amnesia"... He's a duck. He knows he owns zero homes.

He's not "the biggest celebrity in the world"... He's a duck, and he's not even the most popular duck referred to in this writing (see: Duck, Daffy).

Like every candidate, there are countless arguments to be made both in favor of and against Duck.

... I guess that's why election season is so long. Good luck choosing your candidate.

The Cure for (or cause of) Football Fever

Every year around this time, my mind brims with optimism like a cup of coffee poured by a waitress with poor depth perception. As the football season nears, I begin to envision touchdowns and interceptions fueling my chosen teams to victories. The names on the rosters have never seemed to matter; this blind hope has always led me to believe "my teams" could compete for championships.

Apparently things change as you get older.

For the first time I can remember, I am markedly concerned about the chances at success for both the Kansas City Chiefs and Kansas State Wildcats. Why is this the case?

Maybe it's the pessimism that comes with being closer to 30 than 20.

Maybe it's a vicious symptom of hayfever.

Or, maybe it's the fact that the two teams combined to go 9-19 last year.

Whatever the case may be, the squads are prime for examination.


The Chiefs

We'll begin with the more depressing case. How rough are things in KC right now? The Chiefs will use the fourth and final preseason game - a contest where the starters are normally on the field about as long as the Star Spangled Banner performer(s) - to actually determine who should be playing in the opener.

Things are so loopy that the Chiefs signed a veteran kicker in attempt to settle the position battle, but released him one day later.

Kansas City is set to start a quarterback that has never won a regular season game, a wide receiver that caught 18 passes last year, and an offensive line that created as many holes in the last preseason game as a quadriplegic mole.

Thankfully, on the defensive side of the football, the Chiefs have a legitimate playmaker who opposing teams need to prepare for in their gameplans... No, wait, he's now in Minnesota.

Because I don't think I've ever written anything as negative as this brief overview (at least they can't really under perform when compared to that dissection), it's probably time to move on (and it may also be time for counseling).


The Wildcats

What is there to say about the 2008 Wildcats?

... No, really, what is there to say? I really have no idea.

The team finished last season on a very disappointing note, dropping the final four games of the season when only one win was needed to earn bowl eligibility. Nevertheless, the team that takes Wagner Field on Saturday will have a significantly different feel. Different because a number of players expected to play significant roles in 2008 played as many snaps for the 2007 Wildcats as Kermit the Frog.

On the most recent depth chart, the Wildcats have three players listed at runningback. The three backs have combined for exactly zero carries in Division I football. Is this a sign of impending doom?

No. But it is a concern.

The number of junior college players the Wildcats brought in this season has been discussed endlessly. Will the class be the Wildcats' key to success? Will it be a crippling thwack to the program's spine that sets the squad back five years? Will it fall somewhere in middle ground?

I'd bet on middle ground, but who can be sure?

It's true, several of the JuCo players have impressive stat lines and come highly touted, but I can think of an ever-expanding list of players that arrived under similar circumstances only to ultimately make little impact. Then again, the Cats pulled Michael Bishop, Darnell McDonald and Jeff Kelly from the junior college ranks in 1997.

I want to get back to feeling positive, and spirits haven't been much higher around the Little Apple than when that '97 class was roaming the turf.

It's settled. I'm going to repeat "It's the class of '97 again" over and over while watching the following video (linked for the Facebook folk). Feel free to do the same if you need a pick-me-up.

Kansas State v. Nebraska 1998




Now I think I'm ready for some football.

Lessons Learned

It's Saturday evening, and I'm in the midst of watching the Chiefs look particularly feeble in a preseason match up against the Miami Dolphins (yes, the same Dolphins that won just a single game last season). Naturally, I need something else to occupy my thoughts.

Today also marks the second-to-last day of my "vacation," as I return to the office on Monday. (Insert chorus of "boooooooo"s here.) With that in mind, I figured I should try to sum up things that I've learned over the past few days.


From the Olympics:

- Team handball is an excellent spectator sport.

- Platform diving is not.

- Marathon runners are shameless litterers. Sure, you're running a race, but can't you at least look for a recycling bin to toss that water bottle into?


From Mother Nature:

- Mind melting heat is not the only downside of the summer months. Even when it's not present, hordes of allergens can make you long for late October. (Notice I didn't mention looking forward to winter... You're still on my list, ice.)


From my calendar:

- I'm older.


From my four-week old niece:

- Days are best spent sleeping, with occasional breaks for eating or getting cleaned up.

- Passing gas can actually be cute.

- Words are not necessary for communication. All that's needed are a variety of facial expressions, combined with sighs, grunts, and cries.

- Dressing yourself is for suckers.


From the Chiefs game:

- Offenses can't be run if the offensive line cannot block. (Crazy thought, I know.)

- If this game is any indication, I may need to have things other than football occupy my thoughts for most of the Fall.

Greetings From... Home

I am currently on vacation. Yet, I'm sitting in the same spot where I spend 80-percent of my free time. While an abundance of people travel to interesting locations while "vacationing," I'm planted firmly on my couch. You could say I am vacationing to get away form work, and that might hold some merit. I am not in my office, after all. However, I live less than a football field away from my office, and continually find myself checking my work e-mail.

... It's good to be away.

Seriously though, it is nice to have a week that I can spend however I please. Unfortunately for anyone hoping to read exciting tales of intriguing travels, this vacation will contain nothing of the sort. So, what is in store? How about observations like:

- I've seen Bob Barker host The Price is Right. I've seen Bob Barker act. I've seen Bob Barker fight with Happy Gilmore. Drew Carey is no Bob Barker.

- There's something about The Price is Right that extracts the heights of human stupidity from the contestants.

- I just saw the greatest team handball shot that I've ever seen. Granted, I've never really watched team handball before, but rest assured, the shot was amazing.

- It's odd to have to get your purchase of Robitussin approved by the overlord of the self-checkout stations. It seemed like she was waiting for me to sacrifice a small farm animal before she'd punch in the magic code.

- Watching episodes of The Office from your couch groove is an excellent way to spend vacation.

- It seems fairly obvious that I'm just one step above being a bum.

What else will vacation teach me? Stay tuned.

Always High Aggravation... Always

There's a certain large chain store that I have grown to despise (I'm not here to name names, but you should be able to crack this case). Yet, through some stroke of temporary insanity, I ended up going there this evening.

At 5:30.

Being at this store at 5:30 p.m. any night is about as enjoyable as licking the whitewash off a splintery picket fence. On Friday nights, it's worse.

Imagine being stuck in rush hour traffic in a big city. Now, imagine that the honking cars and fist-clenching gridlock are replaced by the depths of human ignorance and rudeness... Welcome to (insert store name here).

The aggravation starts before you even enter the store. Searching for a parking spot is not only extraordinarily difficult, but the hunt is continually impeded by the lackadaisical gait of shoppers.

Folks, I realize pedestrians have the right of way, but you're pushing your limits when you traipse about in front of my car and make no effort whatsoever to saunter to the right three feet so that I can drive by.

Inside, things don't get any better. People are everywhere, cutting you off with their shopping carts, and nearly knocking you over when reaching for items they're purchasing. It's like a mild riot of people fueled by saving 18 cents on a bottle of NyQuil. All this, and nary an "excuse me," or "pardon me," to be heard.

Back in the parking lot, preparing to leave, it's time for the "Hey, I almost plowed into your car 500." Unfortunately, you're on the "almost plowed" end, as an SUV zooms past your bumper when you're halfway backed out of your parking spot.

What started as a quest to check out some video games ended as yet another lesson learned: low prices aren't worth it.

The Olympics and Bigfoot - Together at Last

-- In the world of South Park, Gerald Broflovski once had a dolphinplasty. It seemed like a fun, completely fictional idea... but now I'm beginning to wonder. After all, I've been watching a lot of Olympic swimming lately and it seems that world records are being broken a... well, record pace. (Is there a world record for most world records broken within a certain period of time?)

Is it possible that swimmers around the globe are being surgically or genetically modified so that they're now part dolphin? I'm not accusing anyone of anything. I just want to see how they all react if a bucket of fish is brought into the Water Cube.


-- Is it just me, or do Olympic gymnastics announcers get a little too excited? Sure, that double-tuck, triple-lindy, 23-skidoo roundoff* was neat, but there's no need to yell.

*It's at this point that you realize that I know absolutely nothing about gymnastics. If my gymnastics aptitude was tested, the score may actually wind up in the negatives. Then again, the test would probably be judged and not graded, so who knows how it would end up.


-- I'm not sure who the official DJ for the Olympic games in Beijing is (Jazzy Jeff would be my pick), but all the tunes heard in the background definitely have a United Statesian flavor. Not only that, but the song selection seems questionable, at best. Does Billy Squire's The Stroke really reflect feelings of international camaraderie or the spirit of competition?


-- If this does not excite you, you may want to head to a doctor immediately. No, I don't expect any sort of evidence that could actually prove that bigfeet (obviously, herds of bigfoot) exist. I just want to see what people are trying to pass off as a bigfoot.

On another note, what's with the laziness in naming the bigfoot? He has big feet, sure, I get it, but elephants have big ears. Giraffes have long necks. My head is much larger than it should be. Yet, these characteristics don't determine our names.** If people want bigfeet to be taken seriously, maybe it's time they got a more respectable name... You know, like the jackass.

**This marks the first time I have ever grouped myself with elephants or giraffes... Quite an historic occasion.

Copyright Derek D. Larson

Tales of obsessive announcers, the dark side of the Olympics, and a summer cold

Mid-August is a great time for vacations. Mine starts next week... Unfortunately, my immune system decided to take off a week early. As a result, I'm dealing with a sore throat and congestion in the midst of summer. Awesome.

My antibodies displaying as much fight as the Washington Generals aside, tonight marks an interesting Monday evening. Monday Night Football returns, and showcases the Packers' debut everyone will be talking about. Yes, I'm referring to the young offensive player trying to fill the clown-sized shoes of a legend. That's right, wide receiver Jordy Nelson will line up at wide receiver, with former Packer Koren Robinson nowhere to be seen.

Also on tap in these twilight hours will be a smorgasbord of Olympic events, direct from Beijing. In true American fashion, I know little about several Olympic events, but I'll root for my fellow citizens as if they are my next of kin.

On to the evening's thoughts...

- The Monday Night Football announcers follow the recent trend of anointing one particular former Packers' quarterback as the most significant person to ever stand on solid ground. I'm beginning to wonder if Aaron Rodgers has legally changed his name to "Brett Favre's Replacement, That Other Guy."

- Why didn't Don Majkowski get this sort of love? The guy was on Tecmo Super Bowl.

- There is a dark side to the Olympics, and it comes in the form of a Speedo. Listen, synchronized divers, the fact that you can jump off a high-dive and mimic the mid-air twists and turns of your teammate does not make wearing a skimpy pair of swimtrunks (minus the trunks) permissible. If the event was getting people everywhere to change the channel, you'd all win gold.

- Seeingly realizing the error of their ways, the National Broadcasting Company switched to women's beach volleyball immediately after I finished the previous paragraph... It's as if my voice has been heard. Thank you, NBC.

- Illustrating a previous point, the cameras at Lambeau Field just showed a fan's #4 Packers jersey with "God" written in the name block. This marks the first time I can recall readily expecting a stadium to be struck by lightning.

- On tap directly following women's beach volleyball? Men's gymnastics... You win some, you lose some.

- I continue to get the impression that popular opinion in the world of professional football is that Brett Favre would have created the heavens and Earth in just five days, and would have led a fourth-quarter comeback, won a hot dog eating contest, and rescued a puppy, a baby, and a geriatric from a house fire on the sixth.

- Meanwhile, judging from another self-promoting interview, Bengals receiver Chad Johnson may think that he could have accomplished all of that in three days, and then capped it off with touchdown celebration that sportscasters would spend pointless hours dissecting.

- This just in: Michael Phelps can swim pretty fast. Nonetheless, reports that he is related to Flipper remain unconfirmed at this time.

- Just heard on a professional wrestling program: a quote from Ronald Reagan... This is what you might call "not connecting with your core audience."

- Just heard during the football broadcast, "Favre-ity favre favre favre. Favrer, favre-ish, favre, favre, favre."*

*Quote may not be 100-percent accurate.

- In other news, the newest iteration of Madden Football is being released at midnight. News states that a former Packers quarterback is on the cover, but I want to go check to make sure there is not actually a picture of me gracing the case. It certainly seems like I'm in the middle of the "Madden Curse" right now.

Writing What Everyone is Thinking (and by "everyone is," I mean "only I am")

-- On a visit to the nursing home on Sunday, I made one particular observation. At the entrance to this care facility for the elderly, there was one of those signs that graphically illustrates the concept of "no firearms allowed." In my opinion, this is an excellent policy. I'm not really sure why anyone would ever need a firearm in such a setting (I don't advocate medication distribution at gunpoint). I agree with the line of thinking, although I have to wonder if it is really necessary. Are there a lot of nursing home visitors that bring their new 9mm to show grandpa? And if someone was "packing heat"*, would the Ghostbusters-style (I ain't afraid of no guns) sign make them turn around and put the gun back in the car?

*I have no clue where the phrase"packing heat" originated. All I know is that a Google search on the words shows that there's a website with that very name dedicated to tips on writing erotica... The more you know...


-- In sports news, there are some tube-top-tight pennant races going on in the world of baseball, and the Olympics start up in a few days. Further details are not available, because Brett Favre doesn't play baseball or do the long jump.


-- The word "celebrity" is being used rather loosely once again. This time around, the culprit is Celebrity Family Feud. Forgive me, but I have a hard time considering anyone from Son of the Beach a celebrity.


-- Down in the dumps about the way things are going for you? You can at least be pleased that you don't suffer from this condition. Imagine the chaos if she got a kick out of seeing others stumble and dated a klutz... Ice skating would be a bad idea.


-- Happiness is having the opportunity to draft a friend for your fantasy football team. Unhappiness is realizing that Brett Favre doesn't play fantasy football, so the season will probably be canceled.

It's Hard to Type While You're Sweating...

This just in:
Apparently the Earth is about to crash into the sun. Granted, this has not been reported as "news" and there is no "scientific evidence" to back up this claim, but it is waaaaaaay too hot outside for things to be considered "normal."*

*I know I used a lot of "quotation marks" in that paragraph. I have no "good reason" as to why... It just "happened." Now this is starting to get pretty "irritating."

I'm not a fan of the hot weather. I guess part of the reason for this loathing may be the fact that I don't enjoy being soaked with sweat when I walk into a public place. People even give a few weird looks if you're dripping sweat in line at Burger King, and that place isn't exactly Harry's Uptown (local reference... those unfamiliar, please insert the name of the fanciest restaurant in your area).

Today, I combined the unenjoyable activity of being outdoors in triple-digit temperatures with another activity that has become a bane of my existence - buy gasoline. I have to think that paying for gas that costs more than it should in temperatures hotter than they should be nears the top of Derek's Big List of Things He Despises.

What follows is a list of things that may be less painful than paying for $3.59/gallon gas when the nearest thermometer has passed out from heat exhaustion...

- Having a root canal with habernero sauce injected as the local anesthetic.

- Sitting through an entrie episode of The Hills without making a single smart-aleck remark.

- Removing contact lenses with a pair of scissors.

- Watching another national sports segment on Brett Favre.

- Using a nostril as a candle snuffer.

- Running against the flow of bovidae traffic in Pamplona.

An Anticipated Introduction

Over the last 10 days, I've traveled approximately 2,500 miles, and put in over 100 hours of work. Today alone, I've been awake for 19 hours. Using my own personal history as a guide, I should either be passed out on my couch from exhaustion or staying awake only because of a periodic dunking of my head into a cooler filled with ice (don't ask).

Nevertheless, I'm awake and typing; fueled by nothing more than the thoughts in my head. Thoughts focused on one person. One tiny person.

After being beyond the northern border of our nation when my niece entered the world, I finally - after three whole days (it seemed like a long time) - had a chance to meet the little lady. I was wholeheartedly looking forward to the meeting, but I have to admit, there was a bit of anxiety. I hardly trust my ability to drink coffee without some dribbling out of the cup; could I really be trusted to hold an infant that was living the womb life just last week?

Apparently the cure for anxiety is your niece's head on your shoulder*. Once she was in place, all was well. Her tiny fingers gripped at my shirt, and an occasional wriggle or readjustment were the only disturbances to her slumber. Later in the evening, I read a quote saying something like, "The closest thing to perfection is a sleeping baby." After tonight, I'll have a hard time finding fault in those words.

*Please note, the author has a patent pending on this cure for anxiety.

Perhaps it's a sign of getting old when you spend time sharing the enjoyment of holding a newborn. If that's the case, save me a spot in line for arthritis meds.

Congratulations!

A congratulations so large that the sheer size of it would make Godzilla quiver like a frightened chihuahua goes out to two dedicated readers on the addition of a third to the family.

I apologize that my introduction to the little lady formerly known as Niecephew will be delayed, but there are some things beyond personal control (this includes Canadian business trips). Please know that the anticipation of meeting the newest KJ in the family is greater for this author than all birthdays and holidays the author has ever experienced, combined.

Welcome to the family, little one. Perhaps my oft-incoherent ramblings will make more sense to a developing mind. Granted, you won't be able to read for awhile, but I'm sure some might argue that I can't write, so it all balances out in a way.

Again, congratulations to the new parents, and welcome to my niece. Rest assured, young one, your family cares for you more than you'll ever know.

These Are the People in Your Neighborhood - Quick Canadian Version, part 1

The kid in the line for customs that looks like a young C. Montgomery Burns*
You'll recognize this kid from the gigantic backpack he carries, which is so large that it may very well contain the Ark of the Covenant. As a result, young Monty is hunched over like Quasimoto. It's fairly obvious that the entire set of encyclopedias in his bag are more important than his posture.

*Mr. Burns of The Simpsons, for those who may be confused.


The old man in the line for customs with the eyebrows
Yes, I realize most people have eyebrows, but this guy has the kind that make you look once... twice... and then a third time, just to make sure you are not hallucinating. This elderly gentleman could best be described as having a a gray gerbil perched above each eye. The eyebrow hairs were longer than those atop my head, and the silvery drooping over each peeper had to impair his vision just a bit.


The cab driver so interested in telling the author about the town he grew up in that he looks directly at him, instead of at the car traveling 100 km/hour that is about 0.8 m in front of his cab
Picture the author smiling and nodding in polite fashion, while also gripping his seat's armrests so tightly that his wrists ache and his eyes exhibit a terror only seen in horror films... Welcome to Montreal, Derek!

And so it begins...

I'm heading north of the border; up Canada way. The big question is, what shenanigans will this business trip see me get tied up in?

Will my iPod get confiscated at the airport, because it contains the song "Mac the Knife"?

Will I get lost during a layover in Chicago, leading to comedic misadventures that are later turned into a feature film that flops at the box office, leading to the death of my never-aspiring acting/directing career?

Will I feel like a complete idiot every time someone begins to talk to me in French and I follow with, "Uh, yeah... Hello"?

Stay tuned...

A Heartfelt Farewell

This is dedicated to my neighbor down the hall. You will be missed, neighbor.

It was a great surprise today when I noticed your Penske truck parked in front of the apartment building; door open and ramp down. After all, I didn't even know you were moving. How about providing a little warning?

Granted, prior to today I could not have picked you out of a possible neighbor lineup (for all I knew, two chimps wearing capris lived in your apartment)... but still, it was not easy see all your things packed up*.

*The "was not easy" part may or may not deride from the fact that your stuff was all over the place, making it difficult for me to even get up the stairs.

The large cardboard box overflowing with issues of Thrasher magazine tells me we would have been quick friends. After all, who doesn't love in-depth discussions about kickflips, ollies, and rail-grinding? I mean, it's all extremely riveting... or should i say killer**?

**This attempt at skateboard terminology brought to you by the "You Are Right, I Have No Clue What I'm Talking About" Foundation.

When I left my apartment after lunch, there you were down the hallway, pushing two packed boxes across the carpeting, caveman-prior-to-the-invention-of-the-wheel-style***. You're obviously a motivated person... No carrying one box at a time for you.

***I'm no Rhodes Scholar, but I might venture to guess that someone who reads more issues of Thrasher than should have ever crossed a printing press might own a skateboard himself. A skateboard is a mode of conveyance with wheels. A heavy box would be a lot easier to push if it were on top of a mode of conveyance with wheels... Hmmm...

It's tough to see you go, neighbor, but I do understand your motivation. The fact that these apartments lack a built in half-pipe was nearly a deal-breaker for me, too.

Brett Favre is an Accomplished Texter (and why this is apparently more important than anything else)

In reviewing sports news on the national level over the past few days, one story has seemed to be placed on a level above all others. Does it involve Major League Baseball, a league actually playing games at the current time? Nope. How about the NBA, which just had its draft and now has begun summer league play? Nuh uh. Then surely it must be something involving track and field, where some of the nation's top athletes just qualified to compete at the Olympic games this summer? Wrong again.

No, the one story that kept flying into my face like a persistent mosquito was this: "Report: Favre sends text message to Packers' GM."

Yes, my friends, we have reached the point in our society where a simple report of one person texting another is the top news of the day.

I understand Favre was a great quarterback. I understand he's a legend in Wisconsin. I know he can still make an impact if he plays next year. I even have an interest in the Packers this year, thanks to one of their draft picks.

... but still... The story being reported is this: A guy sent a text message to his old boss.

Again, this is the top news story of the last three days. A text message.

I have so many problems with this method of journalism, I have no idea where to begin. It's time for rambling bullet points...

- Guess what an "unconfirmed report" basically amounts to... That's right, kids, a rumor. It's my opinion that the object of the "news" is to report facts, not spread rumors. Can rumors be mentioned? Sure. But it should be emphasized that the rumor is just that. And rumors should not be analyzed.

- A text message is not news. Think about all the text messages you have sent. Do you consider them newsworthy? Am I going to see a story on a kid sending "UR dumb.. j/k, lol! :)"* to his friend on the 10 p.m. news tonight?

*Please note that this "text language" was used only to make a point. I still believe it should be banned in 49 states.

- Who reports on a text message, anyway? Was somebody peeking over Farve's shoulder as he typed? Does news companies now have guys on the inside at AT&T? Do we have any reports on whether Mr. Favre used a winking smiley at the end of his text?

- Favre hasn't even missed a game since he retired. Does this even count as retirement? That's like me saying I'm retiring from my job, but I'll unretire at 8 a.m. tomorrow. This is too much. I'm retiring from writing.


...Hey, I miss writing. I'm going to unretire.

- I have to reiterate, the story taking 10 minutes of reporting on a national sports program is about a guy typing maybe 10 words into a portable electronic device and hitting a "send" button. That's it. I sent a text yesterday evening. Feel free to call the newspaper with that lead.

On another level, I think this just speaks to the problem with sports journalism today. Athletes are overhyped. Stories are overblown. "Experts" are overexposed. The focus seems to be on everything but the reason people are fans in the first place - the games.

When I watch a sports news program, I expect to get the latest news on what is happening in the world of sports. I want highlights on the night's games. I want updates on current standings, streaks, and playoff races. I'll even take a report on an athlete returning from injury.

Notice what is missing from the above paragraph? "Reports" of a retired athlete sending a text message. Stories about one of the best players in baseball possibly dating a 50-year-old pop star. Talks of scandal when pictures surface of a young NFL quarterback surrounded by co-eds in a hot tub. Anything involving a contest that decides who is "now" or what is "titletown." ... I'm not interested.

I have to quit typing now. There's a Royals game on, and if I don't watch I'll have to rely on the 23 seconds spent recapping the game on the sports news tonight. Who has time for game recapping when there may be a report of a new text message?

The People In Your Neighborhood - At The Movie Theater

It's readily apparent that I enjoy spending a bit of time detailing observations of folks I encounter on an everyday basis. Until today, I have never had the gumption to name such pieces so that they can be properly cataloged. I figured this series needed a hook. Where does an educated person look for inspiration? Naturally, they look to Sesame Street.

Sesame Street - People in Your Neighborhood (1988)


Anyway, on a trip to the movies Friday afternoon, I familiarized myself with a few of folks in your neighborhood (in your neighborhood... in your neigh-bor hoo-ood). These are the people you may meet at the movie theater...


The guy so beaten down by the life of a husband and father that he does not even know what movie he is seeing
TGSBDBTLOAHAFTHDNEKWMHIS (for short) usually comes in the form of a guy in his late 20s or early 30s. He has the run down look of a guy who has changed more diapers, read more stories, and played with more dollies than he ever imagined. How can you be sure you are encountering TGSBDBTLOAHAFTHDNEKWMHIS? Stand behind him in the line to purchase tickets. If he says to the girl behind the counter, "Yeah, gimme three for that panda thing," you can cross this guy off your "People I Need to Encounter" checklist.

That's right... He did not even bother to find out the name of the film he was about to sit through for 90 minutes. He knew it had a panda, he probably was aware it was animated, he realized there was little chance of nudity or grotesque humor, and apparently checked out. Hooray, film.


Mr. Curious
Mr. Curious has a little too much time on his hands. He's waiting in the lobby for other members of his party and he looks a bit like Richard Dreyfuss (particularly in What About Bob?). Hands stuck deep in his pockets, Mr. Curious strolls around the lobby, just looking to pass the time. A display for an upcoming movie, perhaps Space Chimps, catches his eye. It is constructed of different pieces, including a spaceship portion, that rocks gently.

Mr. Curious did not win his name in a poker game. He got it for a reason. How is that contraption rocking? He has to find out. Naturally, the best way to do this is a quick check of "what is under the hood." In this case, it involves stretching to his tiptoes to peek over the top of the display to see the backside... Curiosity fulfilled.


The bonehead sitting alone in the movie theater furiously typing notes into his phone so that he can remember things for a blog entry, trying to finish before the previews begin
... Ladies and gentlemen, your author!

It's Good To Be (at) the King

Three minutes and 41 seconds ago, I entered my apartment. Considering that I had a Burger King to-go bag in hand and that I had not consumed food of any sort for six hours, one might think that I would have sat down and torn the wrapper off my Tendercrisp sandwich. Yet, here I sit, typing away on my laptop.

What could cause such disregard for my own hunger? Have I suddenly become ill? Did I discover my food has been replaced with rat remains? Is a member of PETA holding me at gunpoint?

No.

I just experienced a magical moment one can only have at a place like Burger King.

Upon my entry in BK, I noticed group of teenage males waiting for their food. Naturally, I thought little of it.

After placing my order with the guy behind the counter (unfortunately the 65-year-old German woman who has worked there since the first Bush presidency was not in), I walked by the awkward group of guys. They were apparently discussing plans for setting of fireworks. The discussion included the following spat of verbal volleys:

"We have to wait awhile. It's not close to being dark yet."
"Yeah, but it can't be too dark. We have to be able to see the stuff."

... Checkmate.

I barely had time to hope that these kids were on the debate team before I noticed something. Something that will occupy my thoughts whenever I enter this royal burger establishment from now on.

Picture, if you can, the two nerds that befriend Billy Madison in the motion picture about the latter's return to school. It's lunchtime and Billy has food dumped on him by the eldest O'Doyle*. Two kids sitting across the table begin to tell Billy that he's become one of them... Someone unpopular (dun dun DUNNNNN).

*O'Doyle rules.

Hopefully, now that the scene is set, you're picturing those two kids. Now quit picturing the fatter one, and focus on the one with long hair.

Now picture the long-haired kid from Billy Madison standing in your local BK, discussing strategies for firecracker usage. This kid was the spitting image of him. I kept expecting him to look my way and reel off some spiel about "loser denial."

I was so taken aback, I could barely fill my Sprite. Luckily, I fought through and was able to hold back from asking him what it was like kissing the "mucus queen" at the end of the film.

This all was too much. My brain was overloaded. I needed the chick who was calling out order numbers with the zest of a death row inmate to give me my food so I could go home.

... Then the guy with the guy with the mullet that made his head kind of look like a black French poodle had suffered a cardiac arrhythmia atop it walked in....

Must-See TV?

I pay much more than I'd like to for cable television. I am provided proof of that very statement every month when it's time to write the check for the cable bill. Signing my name leaves me feeling like an aardvark shot in the side with a pellet gun - a little sore, and pretty unhappy*.

*This statement is actually a guess as to how I think an aardvark might feel if shot with a pellet gun. I have never actually met an aardvark who had been shot with a pellet gun, and even if I had, I'm not sure how it would have conveyed its feelings on the subject of the shooting to me.

With the cost of this programming, you might think finding quality entertainment on something like a Tuesday evening would not be difficult. Yet, had it not been for a Royals game this evening, I would have been flipping through channels like some sort of electrified flipping machine. Naturall, it's time for a quick rundown of the junk that passes for entertainment on a Tuesday night.

NBC - America's Got Talent --- a.k.a, NBC's Got an American Idol Ripoff
If David Hasselhoff determines who has talent and who doesn't, I fear for the future of our nation.

ARTS
It looks to be some sort of ballet about barbarians of the Ghengis Khan sort... Or maybe it's historical narrative. I guess I have no evidence that the Mongols conquest of the Jin Dynasty did not happen with dancing, prancing, and mincing.

Insert name of news station here
Subjects of tonight's top stories... A-Rod/Madonna, Angelina Jolie, some lawsuit surrounding the Pedegg (an egg-shaped device used to remove dead skin from your feet, naturally), and Hulk Hogan... Aren't we currently involved in international conflict and dealing with a struggling economy? When did CNN and company turn into Entertainment Tonight?

ESPN2
Some sort of dog competition is on... If ESPN is "The Worldwide Leader in Sports," does that mean ESPN2 is "The Worldwide Leader in Crap That Has a Competitive Element, But Definitely Is Not a Sport"?
I am fully expecting to change to ESPN2 at some point in my life and happen upon "The World Staring Contest Championship," complete with a timer in the corner of the screen, idiotic commentary, and pointless sideline reporting from someone serving more as eye candy than as a source of information.

MTV
Could it be anything other than a crappy reality show?
Nope.

A&E - CSI Something or Other
This is one of the best shows on television? Honestly?
The reenactments on When Animals Attack may have better acting.

ABC Family - America's Funniest Videos
Hey, a guy got hit in the groin and a fat guy fell over... Hey, a guy got hit in the groin and a fat guy fell over... Hey a guy got hit in the groin and a fat guy fell over... (please repeat for 30 minutes).

SciFi - Vampires Los Muertos
A movie on SciFi starring acting sensation Jon Bon Jovi and featuring a special effects budget that would trump most high school plays?
I take it all back. My cable is worth it.


---Please note: In the writing of this blog, several channels were omitted from my listing. This was not done with the intention of labeling these stations as homes of quality programming. A complete list of stations that contain a majority of quality programs will be included in an upcoming blog titled, "TV, in Six Letters."

Things I Don’t Understand (yet another edition of the never-ending series)

I don’t understand a bevy of things, yet you think I have time for introductions? On to the list…

The phrase “circus-like atmosphere”

This phrase is normally used to describe a situation where there are a ton of people around, some raucous celebration, and a bunch of media members covering the proceedings. Does this sound like a circus to you? Kids aren't going to get excited to go see some cameras click.

Where are the clowns? Where’s the cotton candy? What about the trapeze artists wearing the flamboyant costumes? Honestly, if there aren’t lions jumping through hoops of fire, I don’t want to hear the phrase “circus-like atmosphere” brought into the mix.


The fact that people won’t draft Michael Beasley due to character issues

When it comes to the former K-State star, it seems that no NBA general manager doubts his talent. He’s one of the most-talented scorers in the draft. He was the top rebounder in the NCAA. He made 30-point games seem commonplace.

Yet, it now seems that the top two teams in tonight’s draft may both shy from Beasley due to “character issues.” If you hear about Beasley, odds are you’ll hear those two words. But, what exactly are his issues in character? Oddly enough, that point isn’t normally addressed.

He went to a few different high schools – (insert shocked gasp here) – and he got in a bit of trouble at one for signing things (hello ebay!). Sure, he has a joking personality and doesn’t take anything too seriously, but he’s also 19. Think about yourself as a 19-year-old? Did you ever answer a question with a smart-aleck remark?

Nevertheless, there’s talk that the Miami Heat may draft Ovinton J’Anthony (O.J.) Mayo instead of Beasley with the number two pick. I am a bit biased, and I don’t know much about the former USC guard, but his Wikipedia page - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/O.J._Mayo - (which can be edited by anyone and therefore may contain falsities (this message brought to you by the “Cover My Butt Foundation”)) contains some interesting information.

Character issues, you say?


The level of celebrity status one must reach in order to comment about things on I Love the New Millennium

The prostitute from Borat is commenting on 50 Cent’s “In Da Club.” You’re sure about this?

And what the heck is going on with airing I Love the New Millennium, when we’re not even through the first decade of it? Are we that low on ideas? (The fact that Tila Tequila has a show tells me yes.)

Keep an eye out for my next blog entry, “I Love My Last Blog Entry,” where I will recap the entry you are currently reading, and add in comical quips along the way. It's going to be hilarious!

Parenting 101

As I've mentioned in this space recently, it seems that nearly everyone I know is adding a baby to their family. This procreation is happening at such an inordinate level that someone said to me the other day, "there must be something in the water." This quote could be taken in a multitude of ways (many of which are unfit for print in this family-friendly blog), and I am therefore going to leave it alone.


With so many couples achieving parent status, it seems to be a good time to share the limited knowledge I have on the subject of child rearing. I understand that a single guy in his 20s may not seem like the best source of parenting advice, but I have reviewed this handy guide - http://www.wackyarchives.com/offbeat/caring-for-a-baby-101.html - and done some puppy-sitting in my day. These facts alone may make me more qualified than at least a few parents out there.


On to the tips...


When reading to baby...


Do - Select a colorful book of stories or rhymes with a lot of illustrations and easy verbiage that will help the baby learn.


Do not - Select a text by someone like Stephen Hawking that details wormholes, antimatter, and quantum physics. No matter who you are or what you're interested in, baby's first word should not be "photon."


Further advice - Magazines do not count as story books. Sorry devoted readers of Guns & Ammo or TV Guide.



When putting baby to bed...


Do - Sing a lullaby or play soft, soothing music (if you're like the author and not fit to sing) to comfort the child.



Do not - Put baby to bed to thumping bass of tracks laid down by Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, or any other rap artist. You may find such tactics make the baby cry, and not even in rhythm.



Further advice - Playing any song on Guitar Hero III does not count as singing to the child. Granted, you may be able to do some sick shredding to Slayer's "Raining Blood," but you may find that your infant does not care if you've nabbed the title of "Rock Legend."



When it's time to change the baby...



Do - Keep a light mood about it. There's no use in getting frustrated, you'll be changing a few more in your future (maybe in about 28 minutes).



Do not - Confuse your child with your pet. If there is leakage from the diaper (a phrase I never expected to type in this blog) that gets on your furniture or carpet, sticking the baby's nose in it while saying, "No! No!" will not accomplish much.



Further advice - No, really, keep a light mood about changing the diapers. After all, it's probably about time to do it again.



When traveling with baby...



Do - Be sure your car seat is installed properly in the back seat and snugly buckle the baby in on every trip.



Do not - Neglect the purchase of a car seat because your child is small and your vehicle has jumbo cup holders.



Further advice - At some point in your child's life, he or she will learn to read a map. Do not expect this to happen as an infant. Your baby will not be able to navigate for you on road trips.



When you have baby in public...


Do - Pick the baby up and carry him/her around outside/in the annex/in the lobby if he/she begins crying uncontrollably in church or at a movie.


Do not - Try to prove to the child that the crying bothers other people by crying yourself. Baby will not understand your point, and you may get some weird looks.


Further advice - You will find that your infant will be a popular subject of conversation, even among strangers. People would otherwise not say a word to you may ask you how old your baby is while in line at the market. Answer these inquiries politely, no matter how tired you are. Do not attempt to teach your child obscene gestures in order to repel potential conversationalists.



When walking the baby in your stroller...



Do - Take your time and enjoy the outdoors. It's called a "stroll"er for a reason.



Do not - Release the stroller atop any sort of incline in attempt to test the rig's top speed.



Further advice - Your stroller has wheels, however this does not mean it's road-ready. Avoid merging into any roadway that has motor traffic. Even if the sign on the interstate does not warn against stroller traffic, it is still ill-advised.



When spending time with the baby outdoors...



Do - Be sure the baby has proper sun protection. Wide-brimmed hats (perhaps a baby fedora?) and layers of sunscreen are good ideas.



Do not - Leave the child exposed to the sun and remove his/her shirt because you don't want it to get a farmer's tan.



Further advice - If the unfortunate occurs and there is some sort of stinging insect on your infant, calmly shoo it away. Never swat at the insect with a rolled up magazine while it is standing on your child. This may be viewed as "child abuse" and is widely frowned upon.



When the baby is sick/has a fever...


Do - Take it to the doctor.


Do not - Tell the baby to "toughen up," and follow that with a long-winded ranting detailing how you once went to work with a 102-degree fever and still got more done than your slacker co-workers that day, despite constant hallucinations involving Abe Lincoln, Slimer from Ghostbusters, and a game of Chinese Checkers.


Further advice - Your child's health is no laughing matter... The idea of two trained chimps playing ping pong while a third plays the Magnum P.I. theme song on kazoo, on the other hand, is a laughing matter.
... Ha. Crazy chimps.



When celebrating the baby's first birthday...



Do - Invite family and celebrate with a cake. The kid won't remember it, but you'll have the pictures and memories that you can use to embarrass him/her 15 years down the road.



Do not - Put the baby's face directly next to the solitary burning birthday candle atop the cake, expecting the infant to blow it out. Best case scenario, the kid sneezes it out and your cake has a little extra icing. Keeping the child with ever-developing mental capacity and motor skills away from open flames altogether is the safe route.



Further advice - As mentioned before, your child will not remember this party. Don't get too carried away. Hiring a clown is completely unnecessary, unless your goal is to make your child scream.

If you are a parent/future parent, I hope this advice proves beneficial.

If you know a parent/future parent, feel free to pass these points along.

If you are now dumber after having read this writing, you certainly aren't this first that's happened to.

Word to the Wise

When it comes to the world that we live in, there are plenty of subjects of which I am ignorant.

Who led the English Premier League in goals in 2006? No clue.

What is the best way to make a delectable creme brulee? I haven't the slightest idea.

What is any female thinking at any given time? That's obviously beyond my comprehension.

Who was Bread's lead singer? (Insert clueless expression here).

My lack of knowledge is readily apparent, but I recently figured out that I do know at least one thing - and I'm certain of it.

Please prepare to write this down... I'll give you time to grab something to write with. Seriously, get a pen, pencil, marker, or finger dipped in pudding. I'll pass the time by listing all the shows on MTV that I deem worthwhile:

We'll start with... well...

...hmmm...

... 3 South?... No, they canceled that years ago...

... I Love the 80s?... Nope, that's VH1...

... Wow, this is proving difficult...

Hey, look at that! You've found a writing utensil! (If you are currently holding a Ritz cracker, I'm sorry, but you'll have to make it work.)

Anyway, I hope you're ready for a piece of advice to carry with you for the rest of your Earthly journey. Here it is:

The shelf life of a Twizzler Pull-n-Peel is significantly shorter than the seven months and 18 days that have passed since last Halloween.

How I came about this ground-breaking information is no one's business but my own.

Getting a Stew Going

There are no particular themes here. Just tossing ideas in the proverbial pot to create blog stew... A big thank you goes to Carl Weathers of Arrested Development fame (what do you mean he was in Rocky? And Rockys II-IV? And Predator? And Happy Gilmore?) for providing this title of this entry.

-Yesterday, a co-worker told me that I "look tired." Granted, with some overtime being put in and the fact that I have been waking up earlier than normal, I was tired. I guess it could be a good thing that my appearance is not dishonest.

Nevertheless, I also realize that when someone is told that they "look tired" it often is a nice way of being told"you look like you were run down by a stampede of ill-tempered wildebeests shortly after spending a sleepless night getting repeatedly flicked in the eyeballs by the Boogeyman's distant cousin, the the Think-you-can-dance-but-you're-only-fooling-yourselfman." Congratulations, self.

- I have just discovered an actor/actress triumvirate that I never dreamed possible. The title of the program eludes me, but it appears that Gilbert Gottfried, Bill Bellamy, and the girl who played Lisa Turtle on Saved By the Bell appear in the same cast. I am too lazy to look this up, but I'm nearly positive that it had to win some awards.

- The story of Nick "Hogan"'s car accident and subsequent arrest is a horrible one for all parties involved, but it is also getting entirely too much media coverage. Therefore, I'm not addressing that issue, but another item that is far more trivial. It makes absolutely no sense that the media refers to the son of Hulk Hogan as Nick "Hogan." After all, "Hogan" was a stage/ring name. The Hulkster's true last name is Bollea*. It is utterly asinine to refer to the rest of his family with the Hogan surname. If I ever have a son, he's not going to go by the last name "Flute," despite the fact that I played a candy flute in an elementary school production of The Nutcracker... I guess I'm old-fashioned.

*I realize that the fact that I know Hulk Hogan's real last name is probably a huge strike against me in the game of life (real life, not the board game with plastic cars)... but, I'm getting used to seeing those total up like Randy Johnson pitching against the Bad News Bears.

- I enjoy fantasy football as much as most participants, but aren't we getting a little carried away when we start devoting television coverage to it in June? The pointlessness of the preseason doesn't even begin until August, only three first-round draft picks have even signed contracts at this point, and the Bengals have hardly had time to have any players be arrested. We've got to give these folks some time.

- I received an abundance of questions** after updating my status on a popular social-networking web site (hint: it rhymes with racenook) with a quote on the subject of powdered gravy consumption from one of my favorite television programs. It was at this point that I was reminded that several things I reference may be deemed nonsense to the average person. Look for The Complete Guide to Understanding Derek Larson in bookstores near you.

**Should it concern me that some people who know me actually thought I would eat a packet of powdered gravy I found in a parking lot?

The Name Game

Names.

We all have them, and very few of us played a part in choosing them. It's interesting.

Sometimes names can even seem to affect one's personality (ever heard someone say, "Y'know, she looks like an Agnes" or "He looks like a Floyd"?), yet, aside from those that go by stage names or those who had really lazy parents ("Hell, I don't know what to name him. Wait 'til he can talk and let him decide."... Surely that's how someone gets the name "Cookie," right?), none of us had any input in choosing the monikers that would follow us like loyal pets (or irritating spam e-mails... I'm not looking for a great deal on Viagra. I'm sorry.) for the rest of our lives.

Normally, I might not spend much time pondering what goes in to choosing a name, but it turns out that 2008 is the Year of the Newborn (also the Year of the Rat, according to the Chinese calendar... I like my phrasing better). In DL history (please note: records only go back to 1982), there has never been as many family members, friends, acquaintances, enemies (... okay, not enemies... yet) receiving visits from the baby delivery stork* as there have been/will be in 2008.

*I am too lazy to look this up, but I am trying to figure out why the stork was designated as the UPS of ornithological baby delivery. Why not an osprey? Or a pelican? Maybe a flock of finches could team up to deliver the "bundle of joy."

With so many people entering the "DL Circle of People He Recognizes" it also means that several new names must be added to the "DL List of Names He Better Not Forget." With this in mind (and at the suggestion of one reader), I figured I better offer any advice I might have to those who will have the task of choosing the perfect name ahead of them.

One obvious consideration is the harmonic agreement among the first, middle, and last names. You want to pick something that sounds natural. If your last name is Smith, you might lean away from naming your child Adolph (actually, if you're having a child, you might considering crossing the name Adolph off your list, regardless of your last name... Just an idea.)

In the case of my family, the last name of my future niece or nephew (we'll get to that in a minute) will be Myers. In such a case, the name Oscar immediately springs to mind as a fantastic option for a young boy (or even a girl... to a much, much lesser extent). The middle name could even be Frankfurt.

When the gender of the child is unknown during the tossing about of the potential names, it can make things a little more difficult. Even something as simple as referring to the future toddler as "he" or "she" is out the window. Nevertheless, this does not mean you should give in and have your potential surprise ruined for the sake of pronouns. You just need to be careful how you refer to the kid (you don't want to risk getting the baby ticked off when it has a chance to kick vital organs of a family member). In the case of my future niece or nephew, I took the obvious route. I call the kid "Niecephew." It's easy. It covers all available options (female, male,... other?). And, honestly, I think it is a name with potential. It is my hope that Niecephew, makes the final list of names considered.

Now, if one chooses to take the more "conventional" route and go against choosing a ground-breaking name offered by a future-uncle, another option that might be considered is basing the name off the child's heritage. The Larson family hails from Sweden, which brings forth an abundance of options. However, one thing that must be considered when pursuing this route is whether or not the name may play a role in determining the child's future.

Is a child named Bjorn more likely to become a tennis pro? Or if you name your kid Sven, will he be more likely to wear thick sweaters all the time? What if named your little girl Heidi? Would she pick flowers in the mountains, always refer to her grandpa as "Grandfather" and have a tendency to interrupt the watching of football games at crucial moments**?

**I obviously know extremely little about the actual plot of the novel, motion picture, and TV movie, "Heidi." Forgive my ignorance... Although you should probably be used to it by now.

If you've considered the aforementioned options, but you're still coming up empty, you can always consider looking to the world of movies, television, music, or sports for inspiration. For instance, if, down the road, I were to look to my favorite TV character for the name of a son, I'd be blessed with a kid named Homer Larson... Maybe that wasn't the best illustration.

If Paul Simon is your favorite musical artist, you might wind up calling your kid "Al." If it's Johnny Cash, you may have a boy named "Sue." If your favorite actor is Harrison Ford, you could name your son "Indiana" or "Han." Maybe you love the show "The Real World" so much that you want nothing more than to parade around on it someday. Then you might just name your little girl "Oops."

It may be that you have reviewed all these wonderful tips (that should probably be compiled in book form and sold in stores(that's not a compliment of my work. There are books out there with nothing but names, for goodness sake... JUST NAMES)), but you're still unsure what the child currently called Womb Dweller will be named once it sees the light of day. That's understandable. The most important thing to remember is that, no matter how much advice you receive or how many baby name books you read, the most important thing is that the name is something both the parents and the child will be able to take pride in. No one can make make the decision but you, future parents.

... although...

"Derek" is a pretty good name. I mean, it's versatile, distinguished, and can really fit with any last name you might have.

Seriously, it's an excellent name.



Think about it.

ABCDEFG... (continue at your own pace)

Quick, stop what you're doing.

Okay, wait, don't take that too literally (I guess if you had, you wouldn't be reading this far... This is far too much thinking this early in the writing), but be prepared to follow these instructions. You need to open up a new web window of this blog page*, and then click the "Next Blog>>" link found at the top of the page.

*Why open a new window? Because you certainly don't want to tear yourself away from The Writings?

Anyway, after clicking the "Next Blog>>" button, where were you taken? A site created by a girl that is basically an online apology to a guy we can only assume is now an EX-boyfriend**?

**Believe it or not, that blog is not titled "I'm a Little Floozy." ... Maybe I should e-mail that suggestion in.

Perhaps you traversed through this web that spans the world to a blog housing a photo collection of people looking less-than-thrilled to be learning about building computers. It could be that you even found a blog written entirely in a language you do not comprehend, let alone recognize, but that contains pictures that you can craft your own hilarious captions to in your head*** (no? That's just me?).

*** Also known as "the jackpot."

It turns out that this link found at the top of the page is a bit like the Orchid Station from the world of Lost****. Clicking it is "dangerous and unpredictable. It's a measure of last resort." While the Orchid moves an entire island through space and/or time, this link moves your browser through cyberspace and wastes your time. Frankly, I'm surprised at where I end up every time I click that random link. I am probably enjoying this a little too much.

****I realize several of you may not watch Lost... Yeah, I certainly never go off on tangents that others don't understand.

It also turns out that most people out there who have blogs also have themes for their blogs. It may be a family photo blog, a gadget review blog, or something used to sell clothes, but it seems like most other blogs out there have a particular reason for being online in the first place.

... Then there's The Writings, which exist to... uh...

... Well...

... ("think, Derek, think.... Entertain?... No, they certainly won't buy that... Serve the greater good?... Nope, that doesn't really make sense... Provide the best cornbread recipes west of the Mississippi?.... Ugh... Wait, I've got it!)...

The Writings, a blog that exists to combat illiteracy. Remember, if you can read this, you aren't illiterate.

I'm just trying to do my part.

... But Still More Successful Than the Author's Last Date...

Tony Pena, Jr., - Royals shortstop and free-swinger extraordinaire - enters tonight's game against the Chicago White Sox with a .158 batting average.

For those of you who may not be familiar with baseball or the stats that come along with it, a .158 batting average is horrid. Actually, horrid may not be a strong enough term. With a .158 batting average, Pena has a slightly better chance of getting a hit each time at the plate than I do of stepping into a gnome-crafted inflatable pool filled with gummi worms and Alf pogs when I wake up tomorrow morning.

I have done some ground-breaking research, and what follows is a list of people and things that may have a better chance of getting a hit in a Major League batter's box than Pena, Jr...

- George Brett... swinging a licorice rope instead of a bat.

- A blind Yorkshire terrier.

- A football tackling dummy.

- Sr., Ynot Anep (the bizarro Tony Pena, Jr.)

- Colonel Sanders swinging a drumstick.

- An inanimate carbon rod.

- Lupus from "Bad News Bears."

- Omaha Royals SS Angel Berroa (I can't believe I just typed that).


*Please note: This Writing is for entertainment purposes only, and is not meant to be taken seriously.

... After all, we all know that Derek would never take the time to do actual research.

What the Hail?

I have always enjoyed Spring and Summer rainstorms. There's something about the combination of the rain falling and the occasional flash of lightning and crack of thunder that creates an almost tranquil atmosphere for me.

It turns out I'm not such a big fan of the storms that bring hail along with them.

... Neither is my car.

With a substantial storm rolling through the Little Apple today, my car has seemingly suffered the consequences.

Picture a spider with a torso no larger than a ladybug, but nine legs (it's a mutated spider), six of which are around two-feet long. Now picture this arachnid squished flat on a large pane of glass, the likes of which one might find at the anterior of a motor vehicle. This is the ailment (spider fracture... call it an "arachture") currently plaguing my poor mode of gas-powered conveyance.

To conclude this exercise, picture a gangly 25-year-old staring at the arachture, looking like the Royals reacquired Neifi Perez. That's me, realizing how much it will cost to replace the windshield.

It's funny, I was not really sure where I was going to take this after the previous paragraph, but I just realized something... Ice has proven my foil yet again!

Over the past year-and-a-half, the frozen form of water has firmly established itself as the Wes Mantooth to my Ron Burgandy. It has yet to start a gang-war with me involving local TV news personalities, but it has done just about everything short of it. It has broken my wrist, shut of my power, caused a bevy of brain-freezes, watered down my soda, and now violently attacked my car.

I have tried to resolve our issues in a peaceful nature: refilling ice trays as necessary, avoiding ice skating at all costs, and not even thinking about tossing any ice cubes in a blender. Nevertheless, Ice seemingly does not favor the idea of a pleasant resolution to our differences. I'm beginning to fear the thought of chilling my drinks with covalently bonded hydrogen and oxygen atom cooled to zero-degrees Celsius. Who knows when a covert cube will wreak havoc on my insides?

The only option I have left is fighting back. I'm defrosting my freezer, buying a blowtorch and an ice pick, and heading to the Arctic. I may even swear off any television show, movie or song featuring Ice T, Ice Cube, Vanilla Ice, and similarly named artists. Sorry Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze, but Ice has gone too far.