The following is an excerpt from the secret files of Scott Pioli, GM of the Kansas City Chiefs:
Well, we are officially DFL in the NFL, so I guess it's time we start to think about how we use that high draft pick we're sure to have in April. There don't appear to be any overrated LSU defensive linemen we can draft several rounds and places too high, so I might need to bite the bullet and draft a QB in the first round. Let's take a look at the notes I've compiled on this year's prospects.
Matt Barkley, USC -- Boy, he has great skills. Nice arm, reads the field well. What's that? He was a four year starterfor USC. Not a chance. I prefer to throw obscene amounts of money at four year backups from USC.
Geno Smith, West Virginia -- Boy, he does a lot of nice things . . . until he plays some real competition. Has floundered against tougher teams and is getting the dreaded "system QB" label. He could be the best thing to ever happen to KC, or a huge monumental bust as an NFL quarterback. I like the sounds of that. I'm keeping my eye on this kid.
Collin Klein, KSU -- Local kid from K-State. Smart. Tough. Wins games. Great moral character. I've been told he's a film room junkie and constantly looks to improve himself. Taking all that into account, he's definitely not a Chiefs-type player.
Landry Jones, OU -- What an upside to his kid! Comes from a storied program. Great record as a starter. Big arm. The only knock on him is they say he disappears during big games. Well, the Chiefs won't be playing any big games any time soon, so this could be a perfect match!
Denard Robinson, Michigan -- Tom Brady was from Michigan. Tom Brady is awesome. Therefore, all Michigan QBs are awesome. This could be the one!
AJ McCarron, Alabama -- 18 Touchdown passes, 0 interceptions. I don't know, isn't that number supposed to be reversed? I don't think I like the sounds of those stats. . .
Joe Thiesman, Free Agent -- He called me, but I like that moxie. Doesn't hurt that he told me himself that he's the greatest QB to ever play in the NFL.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Waiting for Godot (or Something)
When I last left the office of Dr. Harvard, the nephrologist, I had very few answers. I was stuck in a holding pattern of taking pills and not really knowing why I was taking them. They seemed to be working, since every time I had my blood pressure taken it was lower and lower. I was getting strength back, which is something I hadn't really talked about. While I was losing weight, I was also losing muscle mass and strength. As a matter of fact, when things were at their worst, I would often find myself using the elevator at school to get to my classroom, because climbing the stairs winded me. It wasn't a very long flight of stairs. Much like anyone in this type of situation, I just wanted to know what was wrong. Needless to say, the insomnia I'd experienced wasn't going away very quickly.
To get to the bottom of things, Dr. Harvard and I began to play a little game I liked to call "Guess What I DON'T Have." I'd go in, get a test done, then go back a week later, get the results, and Dr. Harvard would tell me what that particular test had been for and what ailment I didn't have. It went something like this, "I got your blood work back. The good news is that you don't have rheumatoid arthritis. The bad news is that there's still several other things we need to test for." And then I'd be off for another test.
One of the more annoying aspects of this whole process is that it made me miss a lot of time at school. The sophomores I taught barely noticed I was ever gone, unless it was a day I was scheduled to read aloud. My juniors and seniors were a little more perceptive that being gone a lot must have meant something was up. I had a Creative Writing class I was particularly fond of, and one day when I told them that I would, once again, be gone the next day a student piped up, "Why are you gone all the time? Are you dying or something?"
It was a very strange, almost surreal moment, because I looked at them and said, very seriously, "I don't know."
Having gotten used to my sense of humor, many of them laughed. But many of them didn't. many of them seemed to understand that something was wrong. As this sank in, the class began to ask questions. I finally just told them the abbreviated story -- that there was something wrong with my kidneys, but they didn't know what. That just led to more questions -- How long had I had this? What did I think it was? My grandma had to go to dialysis, do you do that? Are you going to need a transplant?
The transplant question kind of blindsided me. I don't know why, but for the first time the severity of the situation, if it came to that, was pretty grim. I opened up, perhaps too much m, and told the class that I was adopted, didn't know (or want to find) my biological parents, and that the only blood relative I had to turn to for a donor was all of four years old. It was kind of a downer to think about that. But I felt better when a student approached me after class and said, "Mr. Clamons, if you need a kidney, I'll give you one of mine. . . I'm serious."
Now I don't want you to think that everything was completely gloom and doom. Creative Writing class became a bit of an outlet for me to get over things. Each day they had a writing prompt for the beginning of class. I began to work in some topics that had come to me during this whole process. The movie, The Bucket List, had not yet been released, but we did write a bucket list of things I should if everything went South on me. My favorite of this was having a student say, "You have to do open-night mic at a comedy club." When I pointed out that the only reason they thought I was funny was because my jokes were about them or their classmates, the student said, "That's alright. We'll all come so somebody laughs at you."
There was also a time when I had to go in for an MRI. I was not looking forward to my 10:00 PM appointment to lay in the tube (if you're wondering, I didn't get IN the tube until 10:45), and told the class the next day that I might be grouchy because I had to stay up late for an MRI (once I got in, it still took 35 minutes to complete the MRI). I was asked why i had to have an MRI, and I explained that it was to see if I had malformed kidneys, structural problems, or cancer. As it is in most cases, when I mentioned the word "cancer" a silence came over the room. I decided to keep my humor about me and told the class how I had developed a Top 10 list of positives about having cancer. If you're wondering, here's some of the highlights of it:
To get to the bottom of things, Dr. Harvard and I began to play a little game I liked to call "Guess What I DON'T Have." I'd go in, get a test done, then go back a week later, get the results, and Dr. Harvard would tell me what that particular test had been for and what ailment I didn't have. It went something like this, "I got your blood work back. The good news is that you don't have rheumatoid arthritis. The bad news is that there's still several other things we need to test for." And then I'd be off for another test.
One of the more annoying aspects of this whole process is that it made me miss a lot of time at school. The sophomores I taught barely noticed I was ever gone, unless it was a day I was scheduled to read aloud. My juniors and seniors were a little more perceptive that being gone a lot must have meant something was up. I had a Creative Writing class I was particularly fond of, and one day when I told them that I would, once again, be gone the next day a student piped up, "Why are you gone all the time? Are you dying or something?"
It was a very strange, almost surreal moment, because I looked at them and said, very seriously, "I don't know."
Having gotten used to my sense of humor, many of them laughed. But many of them didn't. many of them seemed to understand that something was wrong. As this sank in, the class began to ask questions. I finally just told them the abbreviated story -- that there was something wrong with my kidneys, but they didn't know what. That just led to more questions -- How long had I had this? What did I think it was? My grandma had to go to dialysis, do you do that? Are you going to need a transplant?
The transplant question kind of blindsided me. I don't know why, but for the first time the severity of the situation, if it came to that, was pretty grim. I opened up, perhaps too much m, and told the class that I was adopted, didn't know (or want to find) my biological parents, and that the only blood relative I had to turn to for a donor was all of four years old. It was kind of a downer to think about that. But I felt better when a student approached me after class and said, "Mr. Clamons, if you need a kidney, I'll give you one of mine. . . I'm serious."
Now I don't want you to think that everything was completely gloom and doom. Creative Writing class became a bit of an outlet for me to get over things. Each day they had a writing prompt for the beginning of class. I began to work in some topics that had come to me during this whole process. The movie, The Bucket List, had not yet been released, but we did write a bucket list of things I should if everything went South on me. My favorite of this was having a student say, "You have to do open-night mic at a comedy club." When I pointed out that the only reason they thought I was funny was because my jokes were about them or their classmates, the student said, "That's alright. We'll all come so somebody laughs at you."
There was also a time when I had to go in for an MRI. I was not looking forward to my 10:00 PM appointment to lay in the tube (if you're wondering, I didn't get IN the tube until 10:45), and told the class the next day that I might be grouchy because I had to stay up late for an MRI (once I got in, it still took 35 minutes to complete the MRI). I was asked why i had to have an MRI, and I explained that it was to see if I had malformed kidneys, structural problems, or cancer. As it is in most cases, when I mentioned the word "cancer" a silence came over the room. I decided to keep my humor about me and told the class how I had developed a Top 10 list of positives about having cancer. If you're wondering, here's some of the highlights of it:
- Finally have an explanation for my haircut
- Time off from work -- and you meddling kids (that's a direct quote)
- It's the first step to winning seven consecutive Tour de Frances
- Society will find it OK if I dump my wife to date Sheryl Crow
- Radiation treatment could cause me to grow super strong whenever I get angry. . .and you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.
Overall, it turned out that waiting wasn't so bad. And sharing with my students became a bit cathartic for me and helped me to keep my mind off the waiting. So when I went to see Dr. Harvard and he told me it was time for one last test, I remained upbeat and faced this test with a positive mental attitude. Boy, was I stupid.
Next time: I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Kidney Biopsies!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Eye, Doctor
While Dr. Harvard began what would become a very long and drawn out process of discovering what was making my body, essentially, try to kill itself, there was still the pesky problem of a gray map of West Virginia clouding the vision in my right eye. What that meant, was that it was time to follow up with a retinal specialist. So i was off -- again -- to another medical appointment.
I knew from the name on the card that my optometrist had given me that my retinal specialist was of Indian or Pakistani descent. I only bring that up, because as you read the very true account of the events that transpired, it's much more entertaining if you can imagine it being said with a pronounced Indian accent. Not quite as much as Apu from The Simpsons, but close. As I did with the nephrologist, Dr. Harvard, I've changed the name of the retinal specialist to protect him. I will refer to my retinal specialist as Dr. Jovial.
While Dr. Harvard was smart and clinical and very dry, Dr. Jovial was was outgoing and I assume slightly hyperactive. He is also very smart. I mean, come on, the guy's a retinal specialist. He was a very friendly guy. I think he may have liked me more than his other patients because, from the looks of the waiting room, at nearly 35, I was the youngest patient there....by a good 30 years.
As Dr. Jovial burst into the exam room, he first introduced himself and then said (and this is where you start imagining the accent), "So you're here to see us because you have swollen and/or burst blood vessels in your eyes, hmmm?"
"Yes," I said, "mostly in the right eye."
"And is it obstructing your vision?" Dr, Jovial asked.
"Yes, and to be honest, it kind of looks like a little gray map of West Virginia?"
"Really?" Dr. Jovial laughed, "I've never heard of that before. You are very funny."
Dr. Jovial then began to examine my eyes. He confirmed the swollen blood vessels, and said both eyes were in pretty much the same condition. The spot I was seeing was caused by a small amount of bleeding from one. He asked me if I had a history of high blood pressure or diabetes. I briefly recounted the story of my trip to the doctor, my outrageous blood pressure readings, and the conclusion that this somehow tied in to my kidneys.
"I can't believe that," Dr. Jovial said in genuine shock, " You have kidney problems? I seriously can't believe that. You're so fit. And you're young. What are you, 28?"
"No, I'm almost 35"
"No you're not. Do you work out a lot or what?"
"Well, I have been lately. . . "
"I just can't believe that someone like you is having these health problems," Dr. Jovial continued, "When I look at you, with you musculature, I mean, there's no way I'd ever imagine that. Amazing. What do you bench press?"
"Oh, I don't know, I don't really max out, I just try to lift some to..."
"Oh come on, you can tell me. What's the most you've ever benched?"
"Well, I put up 245 once. But it wasn't like a max out or anything, I did it like six times..."
"What? 245??? Wow, I'd hate to work out with you. I put on the little 35 pound weights and I'm laying there struggling with those. You'd make me feel bad about myself. HAHAHA!"
I just had to smile and laugh through the whole conversation. After all the bad news I'd been getting from doctors lately, it was kind of nice to at least find someone who was a little more upbeat. Dr. Jovial had to get a better look at things, and he informed me that they were going to inject some dye into my blood, then take some pictures of the insides of my eyes, and he'd have a better idea of what kind of shape my eyes were in.
I went to another room with a nice nurse who was going to inject me with dye. It seemed like something reminiscent of a sci-fi movie. She loaded up a syringe with a chartreuse colored goopy mixture. She told me that the dye had no real lasting side effects. The only thing I might notice is that for the next few hours I might notice that my urine was more yellow than usual. I kind of blew this off, because with all the testing that Dr. Harvard had me doing, I'd become pretty accustomed to seeing my urine in all sorts of colors. I wasn't really prepared, though, when on my way home I stopped at the mall, used the Dillard's bathroom and noticed that my urine was actually the color of the chartreuse goop they injected me with. And I think it may have been glowing.
Dr. Jovial showed me the pictures of my eyes and showed me the swollen blood vessels and the one that hard broken. He told me that I should continue to follow Dr. Harvard's treatment and that he'd see me back in one month. he gave my the internal photos of my eyes, telling me, "Here, you can frame these and put them on the mantle. next to your weightlifting trophies. I still can't believe you're that sick with your musculature."
At the one month visit, Dr. Jovial told me that I was showing incredible improvement, much better than he'd expected. He again said I should take my meds and keep doing what I was doing, and see him again in six months. At my six month visit, he pronounced me cured (or as cured as I would get -- I still have a gray spot but its much smaller and resembles the Big Island of Hawaii), and said I didn't have to see him anymore.
I was a little sad that I didn't have to see Dr. Jovial anymore. He was, quite honestly, one of the best doctors I've ever encountered. On that last visit, I took Lukas with me, since it was during the summer. Dr. Jovial took an instant liking to Lukas and let him play with equipment and showed him the cool stuff. Before I left, he told me, uncharacteristically serious for a moment, "You know, this recovery is quite amazing. I never wanted to say this, but f you had asked me that first visit what I thought the outcome would be, I would have said that you would never recover the sight in your right eye. I never expected it to turn out this way. That's a tribute to you for taking care of yourself and doing what you needed to do," he then looked over at Lukas who was coloring a picture, "But, then again, that looks like a pretty good reason to take care of yourself."
I told you he was smart.
I knew from the name on the card that my optometrist had given me that my retinal specialist was of Indian or Pakistani descent. I only bring that up, because as you read the very true account of the events that transpired, it's much more entertaining if you can imagine it being said with a pronounced Indian accent. Not quite as much as Apu from The Simpsons, but close. As I did with the nephrologist, Dr. Harvard, I've changed the name of the retinal specialist to protect him. I will refer to my retinal specialist as Dr. Jovial.
While Dr. Harvard was smart and clinical and very dry, Dr. Jovial was was outgoing and I assume slightly hyperactive. He is also very smart. I mean, come on, the guy's a retinal specialist. He was a very friendly guy. I think he may have liked me more than his other patients because, from the looks of the waiting room, at nearly 35, I was the youngest patient there....by a good 30 years.
As Dr. Jovial burst into the exam room, he first introduced himself and then said (and this is where you start imagining the accent), "So you're here to see us because you have swollen and/or burst blood vessels in your eyes, hmmm?"
"Yes," I said, "mostly in the right eye."
"And is it obstructing your vision?" Dr, Jovial asked.
"Yes, and to be honest, it kind of looks like a little gray map of West Virginia?"
"Really?" Dr. Jovial laughed, "I've never heard of that before. You are very funny."
Dr. Jovial then began to examine my eyes. He confirmed the swollen blood vessels, and said both eyes were in pretty much the same condition. The spot I was seeing was caused by a small amount of bleeding from one. He asked me if I had a history of high blood pressure or diabetes. I briefly recounted the story of my trip to the doctor, my outrageous blood pressure readings, and the conclusion that this somehow tied in to my kidneys.
"I can't believe that," Dr. Jovial said in genuine shock, " You have kidney problems? I seriously can't believe that. You're so fit. And you're young. What are you, 28?"
"No, I'm almost 35"
"No you're not. Do you work out a lot or what?"
"Well, I have been lately. . . "
"I just can't believe that someone like you is having these health problems," Dr. Jovial continued, "When I look at you, with you musculature, I mean, there's no way I'd ever imagine that. Amazing. What do you bench press?"
"Oh, I don't know, I don't really max out, I just try to lift some to..."
"Oh come on, you can tell me. What's the most you've ever benched?"
"Well, I put up 245 once. But it wasn't like a max out or anything, I did it like six times..."
"What? 245??? Wow, I'd hate to work out with you. I put on the little 35 pound weights and I'm laying there struggling with those. You'd make me feel bad about myself. HAHAHA!"
I just had to smile and laugh through the whole conversation. After all the bad news I'd been getting from doctors lately, it was kind of nice to at least find someone who was a little more upbeat. Dr. Jovial had to get a better look at things, and he informed me that they were going to inject some dye into my blood, then take some pictures of the insides of my eyes, and he'd have a better idea of what kind of shape my eyes were in.
I went to another room with a nice nurse who was going to inject me with dye. It seemed like something reminiscent of a sci-fi movie. She loaded up a syringe with a chartreuse colored goopy mixture. She told me that the dye had no real lasting side effects. The only thing I might notice is that for the next few hours I might notice that my urine was more yellow than usual. I kind of blew this off, because with all the testing that Dr. Harvard had me doing, I'd become pretty accustomed to seeing my urine in all sorts of colors. I wasn't really prepared, though, when on my way home I stopped at the mall, used the Dillard's bathroom and noticed that my urine was actually the color of the chartreuse goop they injected me with. And I think it may have been glowing.
Dr. Jovial showed me the pictures of my eyes and showed me the swollen blood vessels and the one that hard broken. He told me that I should continue to follow Dr. Harvard's treatment and that he'd see me back in one month. he gave my the internal photos of my eyes, telling me, "Here, you can frame these and put them on the mantle. next to your weightlifting trophies. I still can't believe you're that sick with your musculature."
At the one month visit, Dr. Jovial told me that I was showing incredible improvement, much better than he'd expected. He again said I should take my meds and keep doing what I was doing, and see him again in six months. At my six month visit, he pronounced me cured (or as cured as I would get -- I still have a gray spot but its much smaller and resembles the Big Island of Hawaii), and said I didn't have to see him anymore.
I was a little sad that I didn't have to see Dr. Jovial anymore. He was, quite honestly, one of the best doctors I've ever encountered. On that last visit, I took Lukas with me, since it was during the summer. Dr. Jovial took an instant liking to Lukas and let him play with equipment and showed him the cool stuff. Before I left, he told me, uncharacteristically serious for a moment, "You know, this recovery is quite amazing. I never wanted to say this, but f you had asked me that first visit what I thought the outcome would be, I would have said that you would never recover the sight in your right eye. I never expected it to turn out this way. That's a tribute to you for taking care of yourself and doing what you needed to do," he then looked over at Lukas who was coloring a picture, "But, then again, that looks like a pretty good reason to take care of yourself."
I told you he was smart.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
My Trip to the Nephor...Nephra....I Go See a Kidney Doctor.
I left the general practice doctor with Lukas in tow and an appointment card in my hand telling me where and when I needed to go see a kidney specialist. I later learned that he is technically called a nephrologist. At this moment, all I knew was to call him a kidney doctor. The words "acute kidney failure" kept ringing in my ears. Even as Lukas carried on in his usual, effervescent, three-year-old way, the only thought I had was, "I'm not going to see you grow up. I'm going to die." Since the day Lukas had been born, my wife had always ribbed me that I'd be 50 by the time he graduated high school. I always laughed it off, telling her I'd still be the coolest dad around. Now, i tried to wrap my mind around the concept that I might not be there to see him graduate from high school. That I might not even be there to see him turn four.
Since this period of my life, I have seen many people close to me go through way worse health problems. In no way do I mean to make you believe that what I went through compared in any way to what they went through. This ends up being pretty mild in the world of health concerns (Spoiler alert!), but at the time, I was pretty concerned and feeling very mortal.
I got to the car and pulled out my cell phone. The first call, obviously, was Jodie. I told her what was going on. i will admit, that I was impressed by my wife that day. She is one to usually blow off any "health concerns" I have, telling me to suck it up and get over it (When I dislocated two fingers, her response upon seeing them was "Oh, whatever" -- not making that up). This day, though, there was genuine concern in her voice. This scared me even more. She said she'd check on the nephrologist and see what she could find out about him. The she said something I never thought I'd hear from her; she told me she was taking the rest of the day off to go with me. We agreed on a time she'd get off and meet me.
The next call I had to make was to my mom. In addition to everything else, I had already made plans to meet my sister in McPherson and drop off Lukas so he could go to Kansas City and spend New Years with Grandy, Grammy, and his cousins. I explained the situation to her, and I'm pretty sure she freaked out a little on her end. She would have freaked out more, but I'm pretty sure I remember leaving out a lot of the details, specifically the phrase "acute kidney failure." After I assured her that I would be fine, and that she didn't need to come immediately to Wichita, I called my sister and we made plans to meet in Hesston. It was good, because I was feeling very guilty dragging Lukas around, and I had no idea how much longer all this would take.
I dropped Lukas off and then turned around to head back to Wichita to meet my wife. By this time it was around 2:00 PM and neither of us had eaten lunch. I wasn't particularly hungry. We went to the Artichoke, since it was close to the kidney doctor. Those of you who live in Wichita know that the Artichoke has some of the best sandwiches around. Mine tasted a bit like cardboard that day. I had no interest in it and I ended up taking half of it home. My wife talked to me a little bit about things, but I still couldn't get over the words "acute kidney failure."
We went to the nephrologist. I sat in the waiting room and had to fill out a sheet about my symptoms. I still have to fill this same sheet out now when I go to see him. One of the questions it asks if you've had any significant life changes since your last visit. Since I only go once a year now, I always get to mark this box. My significant life changes always end up being our topic of conversation. It seemed like forever before a nurse came and got me and took me back, got my vitals and told me to wait for the doctor.
To protect my nephrologist, I will refer to him as Dr. Harvard, because he is really smart -- which is one of the things I like about him. I don't think he went to Harvard, but I bet he could have. The first thing I noticed about him was his voice. His voice was very calm and reassuring. He reminded me a lot of the late Carl Sagan as he began to explain what he was seeing in the tests. I won't go into too much detail, but ill give you a few of the specifics. My body was leaking protein all over. The protein in my urine was around 250. Average is 20-25. My blood creatinine level was 3.5. Anything oer 1.5 is considered high. All this, Dr. Harvard told me, led him to believe that I was having major kidney malfunction. The problem, he continued to explain, was that these symptoms could be any of a range of kidney disorders, some minor, some major. We would just have to run more tests to figure out exactly what the deal was. We did get some good news from Dr. Harvard at this appointment -- for the time being, it didn't look like I would need to start dialysis. At least it was a positive.
Next time: Eye, Doctor.
Since this period of my life, I have seen many people close to me go through way worse health problems. In no way do I mean to make you believe that what I went through compared in any way to what they went through. This ends up being pretty mild in the world of health concerns (Spoiler alert!), but at the time, I was pretty concerned and feeling very mortal.
I got to the car and pulled out my cell phone. The first call, obviously, was Jodie. I told her what was going on. i will admit, that I was impressed by my wife that day. She is one to usually blow off any "health concerns" I have, telling me to suck it up and get over it (When I dislocated two fingers, her response upon seeing them was "Oh, whatever" -- not making that up). This day, though, there was genuine concern in her voice. This scared me even more. She said she'd check on the nephrologist and see what she could find out about him. The she said something I never thought I'd hear from her; she told me she was taking the rest of the day off to go with me. We agreed on a time she'd get off and meet me.
The next call I had to make was to my mom. In addition to everything else, I had already made plans to meet my sister in McPherson and drop off Lukas so he could go to Kansas City and spend New Years with Grandy, Grammy, and his cousins. I explained the situation to her, and I'm pretty sure she freaked out a little on her end. She would have freaked out more, but I'm pretty sure I remember leaving out a lot of the details, specifically the phrase "acute kidney failure." After I assured her that I would be fine, and that she didn't need to come immediately to Wichita, I called my sister and we made plans to meet in Hesston. It was good, because I was feeling very guilty dragging Lukas around, and I had no idea how much longer all this would take.
I dropped Lukas off and then turned around to head back to Wichita to meet my wife. By this time it was around 2:00 PM and neither of us had eaten lunch. I wasn't particularly hungry. We went to the Artichoke, since it was close to the kidney doctor. Those of you who live in Wichita know that the Artichoke has some of the best sandwiches around. Mine tasted a bit like cardboard that day. I had no interest in it and I ended up taking half of it home. My wife talked to me a little bit about things, but I still couldn't get over the words "acute kidney failure."
We went to the nephrologist. I sat in the waiting room and had to fill out a sheet about my symptoms. I still have to fill this same sheet out now when I go to see him. One of the questions it asks if you've had any significant life changes since your last visit. Since I only go once a year now, I always get to mark this box. My significant life changes always end up being our topic of conversation. It seemed like forever before a nurse came and got me and took me back, got my vitals and told me to wait for the doctor.
To protect my nephrologist, I will refer to him as Dr. Harvard, because he is really smart -- which is one of the things I like about him. I don't think he went to Harvard, but I bet he could have. The first thing I noticed about him was his voice. His voice was very calm and reassuring. He reminded me a lot of the late Carl Sagan as he began to explain what he was seeing in the tests. I won't go into too much detail, but ill give you a few of the specifics. My body was leaking protein all over. The protein in my urine was around 250. Average is 20-25. My blood creatinine level was 3.5. Anything oer 1.5 is considered high. All this, Dr. Harvard told me, led him to believe that I was having major kidney malfunction. The problem, he continued to explain, was that these symptoms could be any of a range of kidney disorders, some minor, some major. We would just have to run more tests to figure out exactly what the deal was. We did get some good news from Dr. Harvard at this appointment -- for the time being, it didn't look like I would need to start dialysis. At least it was a positive.
Next time: Eye, Doctor.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The Slow and the Serious
What the nurse told me hit me like a ton of bricks. Usually under these types of circumstances, I'd have some smart aleck remark. But this time I only sat there in awe. 210/140??? How did that happen? I'd just lost close to 45 pounds. I'd been working out regularly. I was under some stress at work, but not THAT much stress. Things began to move around me, and I just followed along in a kind of fog, only half listening to what was being said to me. I was taken down a hall and i had blood drawn, followed by a urine test. I was concerned at this point, but not too concerned. Having a nurse for a wife -- and having watched hours of Mystery Diagnosis on Discovery Health -- had taught me that blood and urine tests were the customary.
The nurse led me back to an exam room, where the doctor came in to talk to me. To this day, I still don't remember his name. Later on, I'd spend hours wondering why his name escaped me, unless it was some trick by my mind to block everything out. He asked me some questions, many of which I had covered just days before with the optometrist. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No, not really. He asked me a lot about the knock on the head I took and the broken blood vessel in my eye. He kept telling me that we "needed to get to the bottom of this."
As he spoke to me, the nurse came in and handed me a little plastic cup. In it were two tiny white pills. I took them in my hand, then swallowed them with a drink. In retrospect, I probably should have asked what they were. I didn't have to wait long. The doctor told me the pills were a beta blocker, which would help to bring my blood pressure down in a timely manner. I believe that they gave me 200 mg of atenolol (my memory is a little fuzzy on this, it may have been only 100 mg). Later, I would have to take this same drug on a daily basis. Of course, that dosage is a mere 25 mg. As I swallowed the pills, I was sure that there would be a quick discussion about calling me with test results, and then I'd be on my way.
I was wrong. Instead, the nurse looked at me and asked, "Have you ever had a CAT scan?" I told her know and she smiled, leading me further back into the office. There I was prepared for a CAT scan. I asked why.
"With your BP this high, we're very concerned about bleeding on the brain, clots, or any other kind of damage. The doctor wants to take a look and check things out," the nurse told me pleasantly.
I, however was less than pleasant. I had come in for a supposed sinus infection, and now I was being told there was a possibility of brain damage. I thought back to Christmas Eve, and how I had struggled to follow conversations, and had felt like I was slurring my speech after only one beer. I began to worry.
To add another variable to the equation, Lukas, three years old at this time, was still with me. I still remember how sweet the nurses all were to him. During the CAT scan, they took him behind the partition and showed him how everything worked. I was able to smile briefly as he bounced around the corner and said proudly, "Daddy, I saw pictures of your brain!" He was an amazing and patient little trooper during this whole ordeal. He was much, much too young to understand the gravity of things, but I think he understood that there was something serious going on.
I didn't worry a lick about Lukas until I was taken back to a hospital style bed, laid down and hooked up to a blood pressure machine. At that point, the nurse asked me, "Is there someone who can come get your son if we need you to?"
"I think so. Why?"
"Well, we're going to monitor your blood pressure for the next hour. If the beta blockers don't bring it down, we're going to have to admit you to the hospital. There's a very real chance you might have a stroke."
I looked down at Lukas, happily coloring in a coloring book at the foot of the bed and my whole world dropped out from under me. I was 34 years old. People don't have strokes at 34. I couldn't wrap my mind around any of this. Fortunately, the drugs did their thing and my BP began to lower. After an hour, I was unhooked from the machines and led back to the exam room and the doctor. I happened to look at the clock. What had seemed like whirlwind had actually taken place in just under three hours.
The doctor began by telling me that some of my tests were back. I had an unusually large amount of protein in my blood and urine. His big concern, he told me, was linking all these things together. I had high blood pressure, I was bursting blood vessels in my eye, and high levels of protein in my body.
"Everything," he said, "seems to be pointing towards something going on with your kidneys. Would you be able to go see a specialist this afternoon?"
I had Lukas with me. I was supposed to meet my sister in Hesston that afternoon for her to pick up Lukas and take him to Kansas City. My wife was working and my in-laws were all busy. I didn't feel like I had time to breathe, much less meet a specialist. So, of course, I said "Sure."
Dr. Whozzits then picked up the phone and made a call. I listened in on my end, trying to piece something together.
"Yes, I need to see if I can get a patient in this afternoon...Dr. [BLANK] if possible...male....2/17/71...The reason would be acute kidney failure...I'll fax test results over"
I sat there on the exam table listening to him talk about me like I wasn't in the room, and I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor (I would later learn from my wife that Dr. Whozzits was not renowned for his bedside manner). I'm not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV. But I am not stupid either. I knew that the term "acute kidney failure" had nothing to do with the physical appearance of my kidneys. All I knew was that people who's kidneys failed them died. Period.
And that's when I began to freak out a little.
NEXT TIME: My Trip to the Nephor...Nephra....I Go See a Kidney Doctor.
The nurse led me back to an exam room, where the doctor came in to talk to me. To this day, I still don't remember his name. Later on, I'd spend hours wondering why his name escaped me, unless it was some trick by my mind to block everything out. He asked me some questions, many of which I had covered just days before with the optometrist. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No, not really. He asked me a lot about the knock on the head I took and the broken blood vessel in my eye. He kept telling me that we "needed to get to the bottom of this."
As he spoke to me, the nurse came in and handed me a little plastic cup. In it were two tiny white pills. I took them in my hand, then swallowed them with a drink. In retrospect, I probably should have asked what they were. I didn't have to wait long. The doctor told me the pills were a beta blocker, which would help to bring my blood pressure down in a timely manner. I believe that they gave me 200 mg of atenolol (my memory is a little fuzzy on this, it may have been only 100 mg). Later, I would have to take this same drug on a daily basis. Of course, that dosage is a mere 25 mg. As I swallowed the pills, I was sure that there would be a quick discussion about calling me with test results, and then I'd be on my way.
I was wrong. Instead, the nurse looked at me and asked, "Have you ever had a CAT scan?" I told her know and she smiled, leading me further back into the office. There I was prepared for a CAT scan. I asked why.
"With your BP this high, we're very concerned about bleeding on the brain, clots, or any other kind of damage. The doctor wants to take a look and check things out," the nurse told me pleasantly.
I, however was less than pleasant. I had come in for a supposed sinus infection, and now I was being told there was a possibility of brain damage. I thought back to Christmas Eve, and how I had struggled to follow conversations, and had felt like I was slurring my speech after only one beer. I began to worry.
To add another variable to the equation, Lukas, three years old at this time, was still with me. I still remember how sweet the nurses all were to him. During the CAT scan, they took him behind the partition and showed him how everything worked. I was able to smile briefly as he bounced around the corner and said proudly, "Daddy, I saw pictures of your brain!" He was an amazing and patient little trooper during this whole ordeal. He was much, much too young to understand the gravity of things, but I think he understood that there was something serious going on.
I didn't worry a lick about Lukas until I was taken back to a hospital style bed, laid down and hooked up to a blood pressure machine. At that point, the nurse asked me, "Is there someone who can come get your son if we need you to?"
"I think so. Why?"
"Well, we're going to monitor your blood pressure for the next hour. If the beta blockers don't bring it down, we're going to have to admit you to the hospital. There's a very real chance you might have a stroke."
I looked down at Lukas, happily coloring in a coloring book at the foot of the bed and my whole world dropped out from under me. I was 34 years old. People don't have strokes at 34. I couldn't wrap my mind around any of this. Fortunately, the drugs did their thing and my BP began to lower. After an hour, I was unhooked from the machines and led back to the exam room and the doctor. I happened to look at the clock. What had seemed like whirlwind had actually taken place in just under three hours.
The doctor began by telling me that some of my tests were back. I had an unusually large amount of protein in my blood and urine. His big concern, he told me, was linking all these things together. I had high blood pressure, I was bursting blood vessels in my eye, and high levels of protein in my body.
"Everything," he said, "seems to be pointing towards something going on with your kidneys. Would you be able to go see a specialist this afternoon?"
I had Lukas with me. I was supposed to meet my sister in Hesston that afternoon for her to pick up Lukas and take him to Kansas City. My wife was working and my in-laws were all busy. I didn't feel like I had time to breathe, much less meet a specialist. So, of course, I said "Sure."
Dr. Whozzits then picked up the phone and made a call. I listened in on my end, trying to piece something together.
"Yes, I need to see if I can get a patient in this afternoon...Dr. [BLANK] if possible...male....2/17/71...The reason would be acute kidney failure...I'll fax test results over"
I sat there on the exam table listening to him talk about me like I wasn't in the room, and I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor (I would later learn from my wife that Dr. Whozzits was not renowned for his bedside manner). I'm not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV. But I am not stupid either. I knew that the term "acute kidney failure" had nothing to do with the physical appearance of my kidneys. All I knew was that people who's kidneys failed them died. Period.
And that's when I began to freak out a little.
NEXT TIME: My Trip to the Nephor...Nephra....I Go See a Kidney Doctor.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Tommy Boy, the Pipes Are Calling
In my last blog post, I detailed my struggles with weight loss/gain throughout most of my life. The last part of that dealt with me losing a considerable amount of weight due to a health condition I wasn't even aware of. Some people know all of that story. Some people know some of that story. And I'm sure there are some of you who know nothing of that story. If I've learned anything from my friend Terry's blog and the blog/comic strip of Mark Teel it's that readers seem to like personal stories. Since it's now the fifth anniversary of that experience, I will tell you that story (in several parts). . .
It begins like this: Chris Farley saved my life. That may sound very odd, but it's true. I've spent the better part of my adult life being compared to Chris Farley, so it was only natural for me to appreciate his body of work. As a stressful first semester of the 05-06 school year as winding down, I was allowing my students to watch the epic film Tommy Boy as I graded finals and put grades into the computer.
I happened to look up during one of my favorite parts and the screen was obscured by a large gray blob shaped like the state of West Virgina. I blinked and looked back at the screen. It was still there. I rubbed my contact a little. Still West Virginia. Finally, I asked the class, "Does anyone else see a large gray blob on the screen?" The consensus agreement was that I was crazy.
I convinced myself that it was probably time to change my contacts, so once I got home I changed them out. I opened my refreshed eyes to see . . . West Virginia. I took out my contacts and put on my glasses. Still saw the blob hovering in the middle of my vision. I told my wife, who is a nurse, about it. Even though she had no explanation for it, she told me she'd get me an appointment with our eye doctor ASAP.
In the meantime, I did what any normal person would do under these circumstances -- I got online and went to Web MD and Yahoo! Health and any other site I could think of. This, of course, did nothing more than scare the crap out of me. Explanations for my symptoms ranged macular degeneration to AIDS. I sorted through all the information, assured myself I'd know if I had AIDS and that I was most likely too young for macular degeneration. The only thing that made sense was a detached retina. It made sense because a few days prior to the appearance of the blob, I had banged my head hard enough to see stars and black out momentarily. Heck, I once had a soccer player detach his retina heading a ball, so it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.
I went to bed that night convinced that I would go see the doctor the next day and he'd tell me that I had a detached retina and they would have some cool plan for fixing it. This did not help me sleep well that night. Actually, I hadn't been sleeping well at night for quite some time. I would rarely go to bed before midnight, and my sleep was constantly interrupted by me laying awake listening to the blood rush through my ears. As I said previously, I had had a very stressful first semester, and I attributed my lack of sleep to stress. I'd also been fighting a sinus infection for quite sometime as well, which was giving me pounding headaches. I'd often go to bed at midnight, wake up at 4:00 AM, and then not go back to bed. At least I'd be able to get the eye thing figured out quickly and be able to look at people without West Virginia being in the way.
The next morning my wife called and told me she'd been able to get me into the optometrist that day. It was a pretty routine appointment until he looked in the right eye. His diagnosis shocked me. I didn't have a detached retina. I had a burst blood vessel in my eye. West Virgina was actually blood in the goopy stuff (vitreous humor -- i know the real term) inside my eye. Furthermore, I had a couple more blood vessels in both eyes that were quite swollen. he went down a checklist with me. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No. I'd been on blood pressure medicine once several years ago, but through exercise and my recent weight loss it had been great lately. I just had it checked recently (in fact it had been four months). Had I had any major blows to the head recently? Check! I told him of hitting my head in the closet. He agreed that may be the cause of my problem, and set up an appointment with a retinal specialist about 10 days from then. I felt pretty good as I left the optometrist's office.
That night, my wife and I discussed things. I told her what the doctor had said.
"Well, do you think your blood pressure might be high again?" she asked.
"No. It's been fine. Last time I took it -- like a month ago -- it was 120/80, The lowest it's been on forever. And I've been exercising, and I've lost 45 pounds. Why would it be high?" I said.
"well, you keep having those headaches, and that can be a sign of high blood pressure."
"I have a sinus infection is all. You know I get those all the time."
"Well, Maybe you should go to the doctor and find out for sure. At least to get something for the sinus infection, because the antibiotics you've been taking aren't working, obviously."
"OK, I'll go."
Like any man, I put off going to the doctor. A few nights later we had Christmas Eve at my mother-in-law's house. I could barely do anything, since my head was pounding. My mother-in-law kindly gave me an 800mg ibuprofen tablet she had leftover from a recent surgery. It helped a little. I did notice, though, as I ran around the house with Lukas and his cousin, I was winded easily and sweating profusely. Sweating profusely is not a state of concern for me usually, it's just my usual state. This night, however, was different. It was almost like a cold sweat. I also noticed I was having trouble following a conversation whenever I took a break and sat down to talk with the adults. I brushed it off, and the next day I felt better.
My wife kept after me about seeing the doctor about my sinus infection. Finally, on December 30th, I caved in and went to immediate care. I went in early, at 8:00 AM, Lukas in tow, to beat any rush. I got in quickly and the nurse took me back.
"What are you here for today?" she asked.
"I think I have a sinus infection," I replied.
"And what makes you think you have a sinus infection?"
"Well, I keep having these horrible headaches right here," i said as I made a motion to the general area of my sinus cavities.
The nurse laughed and said, "OK, let's get your vitals and then we'll get you back to see the doctor."
I sat down and she took my temperature. It was fine. Then she hooked me up to a blood pressure machine. It started and then beeped that it was finished.
"Well, let's check that again," the nurse said, " Do you get nervous when you go to the doctor?"
"A little. It depends on the doctor, " I said as she started the machine again.
"Hmm. That's the same again. Do you have a history of high blood pressure?"
"No, not really. I usually run a little high on those machine things, instead of the arm cuff though."
"Well, this is more than little high," the nurse said with a look of concern on her face.
This led to a look of concern on my face, "What is it?"
"210/140"
Next time: The Slow and the Serious
It begins like this: Chris Farley saved my life. That may sound very odd, but it's true. I've spent the better part of my adult life being compared to Chris Farley, so it was only natural for me to appreciate his body of work. As a stressful first semester of the 05-06 school year as winding down, I was allowing my students to watch the epic film Tommy Boy as I graded finals and put grades into the computer.
I happened to look up during one of my favorite parts and the screen was obscured by a large gray blob shaped like the state of West Virgina. I blinked and looked back at the screen. It was still there. I rubbed my contact a little. Still West Virginia. Finally, I asked the class, "Does anyone else see a large gray blob on the screen?" The consensus agreement was that I was crazy.
I convinced myself that it was probably time to change my contacts, so once I got home I changed them out. I opened my refreshed eyes to see . . . West Virginia. I took out my contacts and put on my glasses. Still saw the blob hovering in the middle of my vision. I told my wife, who is a nurse, about it. Even though she had no explanation for it, she told me she'd get me an appointment with our eye doctor ASAP.
In the meantime, I did what any normal person would do under these circumstances -- I got online and went to Web MD and Yahoo! Health and any other site I could think of. This, of course, did nothing more than scare the crap out of me. Explanations for my symptoms ranged macular degeneration to AIDS. I sorted through all the information, assured myself I'd know if I had AIDS and that I was most likely too young for macular degeneration. The only thing that made sense was a detached retina. It made sense because a few days prior to the appearance of the blob, I had banged my head hard enough to see stars and black out momentarily. Heck, I once had a soccer player detach his retina heading a ball, so it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.
I went to bed that night convinced that I would go see the doctor the next day and he'd tell me that I had a detached retina and they would have some cool plan for fixing it. This did not help me sleep well that night. Actually, I hadn't been sleeping well at night for quite some time. I would rarely go to bed before midnight, and my sleep was constantly interrupted by me laying awake listening to the blood rush through my ears. As I said previously, I had had a very stressful first semester, and I attributed my lack of sleep to stress. I'd also been fighting a sinus infection for quite sometime as well, which was giving me pounding headaches. I'd often go to bed at midnight, wake up at 4:00 AM, and then not go back to bed. At least I'd be able to get the eye thing figured out quickly and be able to look at people without West Virginia being in the way.
The next morning my wife called and told me she'd been able to get me into the optometrist that day. It was a pretty routine appointment until he looked in the right eye. His diagnosis shocked me. I didn't have a detached retina. I had a burst blood vessel in my eye. West Virgina was actually blood in the goopy stuff (vitreous humor -- i know the real term) inside my eye. Furthermore, I had a couple more blood vessels in both eyes that were quite swollen. he went down a checklist with me. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No. I'd been on blood pressure medicine once several years ago, but through exercise and my recent weight loss it had been great lately. I just had it checked recently (in fact it had been four months). Had I had any major blows to the head recently? Check! I told him of hitting my head in the closet. He agreed that may be the cause of my problem, and set up an appointment with a retinal specialist about 10 days from then. I felt pretty good as I left the optometrist's office.
That night, my wife and I discussed things. I told her what the doctor had said.
"Well, do you think your blood pressure might be high again?" she asked.
"No. It's been fine. Last time I took it -- like a month ago -- it was 120/80, The lowest it's been on forever. And I've been exercising, and I've lost 45 pounds. Why would it be high?" I said.
"well, you keep having those headaches, and that can be a sign of high blood pressure."
"I have a sinus infection is all. You know I get those all the time."
"Well, Maybe you should go to the doctor and find out for sure. At least to get something for the sinus infection, because the antibiotics you've been taking aren't working, obviously."
"OK, I'll go."
Like any man, I put off going to the doctor. A few nights later we had Christmas Eve at my mother-in-law's house. I could barely do anything, since my head was pounding. My mother-in-law kindly gave me an 800mg ibuprofen tablet she had leftover from a recent surgery. It helped a little. I did notice, though, as I ran around the house with Lukas and his cousin, I was winded easily and sweating profusely. Sweating profusely is not a state of concern for me usually, it's just my usual state. This night, however, was different. It was almost like a cold sweat. I also noticed I was having trouble following a conversation whenever I took a break and sat down to talk with the adults. I brushed it off, and the next day I felt better.
My wife kept after me about seeing the doctor about my sinus infection. Finally, on December 30th, I caved in and went to immediate care. I went in early, at 8:00 AM, Lukas in tow, to beat any rush. I got in quickly and the nurse took me back.
"What are you here for today?" she asked.
"I think I have a sinus infection," I replied.
"And what makes you think you have a sinus infection?"
"Well, I keep having these horrible headaches right here," i said as I made a motion to the general area of my sinus cavities.
The nurse laughed and said, "OK, let's get your vitals and then we'll get you back to see the doctor."
I sat down and she took my temperature. It was fine. Then she hooked me up to a blood pressure machine. It started and then beeped that it was finished.
"Well, let's check that again," the nurse said, " Do you get nervous when you go to the doctor?"
"A little. It depends on the doctor, " I said as she started the machine again.
"Hmm. That's the same again. Do you have a history of high blood pressure?"
"No, not really. I usually run a little high on those machine things, instead of the arm cuff though."
"Well, this is more than little high," the nurse said with a look of concern on her face.
This led to a look of concern on my face, "What is it?"
"210/140"
Next time: The Slow and the Serious
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Battle of the Bulge
I am writing this having just returned from an arduous workout at the nearest YMCA. It is the second such workout of this week (which is two days old). That is more exercise than I've had in months. But following Thanksgiving dinner, and a lot of heavy breathing (OK, it was gasping!)following the annual fathers vs. sons family football game, I decided I should start getting serious about losing some weight. After all, I will be turning the big 4-0 in a few months and I have my yearly check up/lab tests with my nephrologist at the end of the month, and I'd kind of like it if my doctor didn't admonish me about my weight in that very calm, pleasantly soothing voice of his.
Before any of you get any ideas about giving me hot tips to lose weight, I'll just let you know I've been down this road before. I have to eat less, eat healthier, and exercise. Period. Just so you know, I have a long history of losing weight (and putting it back on). What follows is some of the high and low lights of those endeavors. . .
Spring 1987
The Damage: I suffered through a soccer season in the fall where I was dubbed "The Roly-Poly Goalie" by my teammates, despite being the varsity starter for most of the season. I seriously look a little bit like a beachball with legs, or maybe a cube. Self-esteem is not high. Dates are not plentiful.
The Turning Point: My mom bets me a set of contact lenses that I can't lose 30 lbs in 30 days. I really, REALLY wanted to get rid of my glasses.
The Outcome: I don't lose 30 lbs in 30 days, but I do get 25 off. My mom extends the deadline 30 more days. With her packing my lunch and getting me up to exercise every morning, I end up losing 35 lbs. Still can't get a date. I do get contacts. I don't have them when the family takes a vacation to Florida as I'd hoped. However, once in Florida, the first order of business is to buy a half shirt that says "Life's A Beach" and wear it for most of the trip.
Added Bonus: Returning to school in August, a new student tells a longtime friend that she thinks I'm "hot." Looking back, it may have been the new body, it might have been the new contacts, or it might have been that my mullet was now down to my shoulders. I tend to believe it's all of the above.
Fall 1989
The Damage: I learn that boys are not immune to the dreaded "Freshman 15" when you go to college. I have packed on my 15 by Thanksgiving. I have to ask my parents to buy me new jeans.
The Turning Point: I get back to school and discover that some of the guys I've been hanging out with know something about lifting weights and stuff. I begin to lift weights and stuff. I start to play a lot of pick up basketball -- even though I suck at basketball. I also begin to actually attend that class I have to walk to the other side of campus to attend, and walk to Aggieville less frequently.
The Outcome: As quickly as the Freshman 15 goes on, it comes off, and my weight says pretty steady for the rest of college. I still can't get a date.
Fall 1999 - Spring 2001
The Damage: After working a landscape job and discovering the Adkins diet, I report to my new job in Wichita a good 25 lbs lighter than when I interviewed two months before. I also get to live with my sister for several months, whose husband is also on the Adkins diet. That comes to end when they move to Texas and I have to move into an apartment by myself. All hell breaks loose in the form of Pringles and Little Debbies.
The Turning Point: I actually had a semi-successful long-distance relationship. When that came to an end, I am talked into joining a gym by a couple I'm friends with under the guise of it being a "great place to meet people." I decide that since I am newly single, I should join and begin to overhaul my body so it is more attractive to the opposite sex.
The Outcome: The only relationship I form at the gym is with the elliptical machine. We fall in love. I also hook up with a colleague who worked as a personal trainer. His tips, plus the elliptical, plus the discovery of something called a Stair Stepper help me lose 40 lbs and, once again, I have to buy new jeans. I get some dates -- mostly with crazy women. I dress up, just for fun, to coach a girls' basketball game. One of my players' sister sees me in my tie. We're introduced, fall in love, and (eventually) get married. I no longer have to search for a date.
Spring 2005
The Damage: After having a child, I discover that yummy kids foods with the word "graham" in them are not healthy. It is also discovered that my wife and mother-in-law are awesome cooks. The jeans I bought in 2001 are beginning to get tight.
The Turning Point: I leave school in May pledging not to return in August unless I am at least 25 lbs lighter. I become a regular gym rat at the YMCA working out five days a week for an hour and a half.
The Outcome: My 25 pounds are gone by Aug. 1. By Sept. 1 I've lost five more lbs. After that, soccer season picks up and I find myself unable to go to the gym as often. I lose 10 more lbs. I chalk it up as stress from a miserable soccer season and kind of miserable school year. But I'm 40 lbs lighter and still losing. I go to buy new jeans, and I learn I can almost squeeze into a size two smaller than what I'd been wearing -- a size I haven't worn since 1989.
Further Outcome: I find out that some of my weight loss is the result of a kidney condition. They put me on medication and I gain 20 lbs back in the first month. It's been an uphill battle since then.
And that all leads me to where I am today -- fat, out of shape, and a poster child for what's wrong with America. Fortunately, I want to do something about it. I hope that a year from now, I'll be telling you stories of success. I just know that with three kids, I am ready for a lifestyle change. It's hard to look at them and think of not being able to fully participate in their lives. So I am going back to basics and doing the things I know help me lose weight. I'll also be posting my weight daily on Facebook. It's something called the Public Humiliation Diet. I think it will work, because I can't lie about it, and I won't let myself feel like a chump by showing steady gains. If this doesn't work, I am blaming Corey Gabbert.
Until next time, excelsior true believers!!!
Before any of you get any ideas about giving me hot tips to lose weight, I'll just let you know I've been down this road before. I have to eat less, eat healthier, and exercise. Period. Just so you know, I have a long history of losing weight (and putting it back on). What follows is some of the high and low lights of those endeavors. . .
Spring 1987
The Damage: I suffered through a soccer season in the fall where I was dubbed "The Roly-Poly Goalie" by my teammates, despite being the varsity starter for most of the season. I seriously look a little bit like a beachball with legs, or maybe a cube. Self-esteem is not high. Dates are not plentiful.
The Turning Point: My mom bets me a set of contact lenses that I can't lose 30 lbs in 30 days. I really, REALLY wanted to get rid of my glasses.
The Outcome: I don't lose 30 lbs in 30 days, but I do get 25 off. My mom extends the deadline 30 more days. With her packing my lunch and getting me up to exercise every morning, I end up losing 35 lbs. Still can't get a date. I do get contacts. I don't have them when the family takes a vacation to Florida as I'd hoped. However, once in Florida, the first order of business is to buy a half shirt that says "Life's A Beach" and wear it for most of the trip.
Added Bonus: Returning to school in August, a new student tells a longtime friend that she thinks I'm "hot." Looking back, it may have been the new body, it might have been the new contacts, or it might have been that my mullet was now down to my shoulders. I tend to believe it's all of the above.
Fall 1989
The Damage: I learn that boys are not immune to the dreaded "Freshman 15" when you go to college. I have packed on my 15 by Thanksgiving. I have to ask my parents to buy me new jeans.
The Turning Point: I get back to school and discover that some of the guys I've been hanging out with know something about lifting weights and stuff. I begin to lift weights and stuff. I start to play a lot of pick up basketball -- even though I suck at basketball. I also begin to actually attend that class I have to walk to the other side of campus to attend, and walk to Aggieville less frequently.
The Outcome: As quickly as the Freshman 15 goes on, it comes off, and my weight says pretty steady for the rest of college. I still can't get a date.
Fall 1999 - Spring 2001
The Damage: After working a landscape job and discovering the Adkins diet, I report to my new job in Wichita a good 25 lbs lighter than when I interviewed two months before. I also get to live with my sister for several months, whose husband is also on the Adkins diet. That comes to end when they move to Texas and I have to move into an apartment by myself. All hell breaks loose in the form of Pringles and Little Debbies.
The Turning Point: I actually had a semi-successful long-distance relationship. When that came to an end, I am talked into joining a gym by a couple I'm friends with under the guise of it being a "great place to meet people." I decide that since I am newly single, I should join and begin to overhaul my body so it is more attractive to the opposite sex.
The Outcome: The only relationship I form at the gym is with the elliptical machine. We fall in love. I also hook up with a colleague who worked as a personal trainer. His tips, plus the elliptical, plus the discovery of something called a Stair Stepper help me lose 40 lbs and, once again, I have to buy new jeans. I get some dates -- mostly with crazy women. I dress up, just for fun, to coach a girls' basketball game. One of my players' sister sees me in my tie. We're introduced, fall in love, and (eventually) get married. I no longer have to search for a date.
Spring 2005
The Damage: After having a child, I discover that yummy kids foods with the word "graham" in them are not healthy. It is also discovered that my wife and mother-in-law are awesome cooks. The jeans I bought in 2001 are beginning to get tight.
The Turning Point: I leave school in May pledging not to return in August unless I am at least 25 lbs lighter. I become a regular gym rat at the YMCA working out five days a week for an hour and a half.
The Outcome: My 25 pounds are gone by Aug. 1. By Sept. 1 I've lost five more lbs. After that, soccer season picks up and I find myself unable to go to the gym as often. I lose 10 more lbs. I chalk it up as stress from a miserable soccer season and kind of miserable school year. But I'm 40 lbs lighter and still losing. I go to buy new jeans, and I learn I can almost squeeze into a size two smaller than what I'd been wearing -- a size I haven't worn since 1989.
Further Outcome: I find out that some of my weight loss is the result of a kidney condition. They put me on medication and I gain 20 lbs back in the first month. It's been an uphill battle since then.
And that all leads me to where I am today -- fat, out of shape, and a poster child for what's wrong with America. Fortunately, I want to do something about it. I hope that a year from now, I'll be telling you stories of success. I just know that with three kids, I am ready for a lifestyle change. It's hard to look at them and think of not being able to fully participate in their lives. So I am going back to basics and doing the things I know help me lose weight. I'll also be posting my weight daily on Facebook. It's something called the Public Humiliation Diet. I think it will work, because I can't lie about it, and I won't let myself feel like a chump by showing steady gains. If this doesn't work, I am blaming Corey Gabbert.
Until next time, excelsior true believers!!!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Giving Thanks
I just realized that it's been over a month since I posted anything on my blog. Most of the time I get delayed writing because of time, or more often because I can't think of anything to write. With Thanksgiving approaching, I thought it might be a good time to make note of the things for which I give thanks. Most everyone who reads this blog knows me. Therefore, they already know that I am thankful for having a great family, an amazing and loving wife, three incredible (and cute) children, and my good friends. If you know me, then you also know I'm thankful to have a steady job that pays me well enough to keep a roof over our head, food on the table, and enough leftover to go out to eat occasionally. I'm even thankful for my health. While it could definitely be better, those who know me know it could be a heck of a lot worse. I don't take all that for granted. Those things are the things I give thanks for every single day of my life. Those are the obvious things. So what I'm going to do is let you in on some secrets. I'll let you know all the little things I'm thankful for because they just make my life a little better (listed in no particular order. . .)
Comics Books: Really? You're shocked to see this on my list? Yeah, I'm a nerd, but just like when I was 16, there's nothing quite as fun as picking up your pull list and rushing home to sit on the couch and read them all non-stop. I don't go every week like I did back then, so it's even more fun to get a whole big stack and read them after everyone else has gone to sleep.
E-Books: Why? Because my mom was able to get two of her novels that she has dedicated a significant amount of her life to published as e-books. That. Is. Awesome.
Top Chef: Just Desserts: I got hooked on Top Chef when my first daughter was born. I watched all of seasons 1 and 2 on consecutive days during my paternity leave. I was really into season 3. Not so much with season 4, and then my interest waned considerably. One of the problems with cooking shows is that everything looks real cool, but when you get down to it, I don't think I'd like to eat broiled cod shanks with a pancetta and kumquat chutney. But Just Desserts? I could get into that show. I would eat everything they put out on that show. Very quickly I'm also thankful that Morgan lost because he seemed like a real (something I can't write because my mother reads my blog).
WWE Wrestling: How can you NOT be thankful for something that leads to your kids climbing all over you, giggling, and repeatedly fake hitting you with a fake steel chair suspiciously shaped like a pillow? I'm also thankful that I always win. It also teaches me patience, because more often than not someone accidentally steps on my privates.
Breakfast Dinner (aka Brinner): If you don't know what I'm talking about or why I'd be thankful for breakfast dinner, get off my blog. Really. Close the window and just go back to your friend Tom on MySpace. Brinner is awesome.
DVD Players in Cars: It's the best way to drive to Texas for Thanksgiving. Already planning on having Toy Story 3, How To Train Your Dragon, and Up completely memorized by the time I get home. Here's hoping the boy can somehow sneak The Simpsons Movie into the stack of DVDs for the trip.
TJ's Burgerhouse: Speaking of awesome food. . . best burgers in Wichita, hands down. And it's affordable so I can take the family.
The Colorblind Art Teacher and The Man With the Screaming Brain Blog: Any time I am having a bad day (especially at work), I can go to either site and guarantee myself a laugh. Thanks guys!
The Avengers Movie: Oh man, I think that's going to be pretty BA.
Macaroni and Cheese and Hot Dogs: Because kids never say "no" to macaroni and cheese and hot dogs. They also never say no to brinner. What? You didn't know that kids love brinner? I thought I told you to get off my blog!!!
Nick Jr. and XBox360: Sometimes every parent just needs a little break. Thank you Madden 11 and Wow Wow Wubbzy. And you, too, Ni Hao Kai Lan. But not you, Yo Gabba Gabba, you kind of freak me out.
So that's my list of secondary things that I am thankful for. Hope you enjoyed it, because I enjoyed writing it. I should also mention that I'm thankful for the three people who follow my blog (Terry, Hugo, and my mom). Have a happy Thanksgiving, and until next time -- excelsior, true believers!!!
Comics Books: Really? You're shocked to see this on my list? Yeah, I'm a nerd, but just like when I was 16, there's nothing quite as fun as picking up your pull list and rushing home to sit on the couch and read them all non-stop. I don't go every week like I did back then, so it's even more fun to get a whole big stack and read them after everyone else has gone to sleep.
E-Books: Why? Because my mom was able to get two of her novels that she has dedicated a significant amount of her life to published as e-books. That. Is. Awesome.
Top Chef: Just Desserts: I got hooked on Top Chef when my first daughter was born. I watched all of seasons 1 and 2 on consecutive days during my paternity leave. I was really into season 3. Not so much with season 4, and then my interest waned considerably. One of the problems with cooking shows is that everything looks real cool, but when you get down to it, I don't think I'd like to eat broiled cod shanks with a pancetta and kumquat chutney. But Just Desserts? I could get into that show. I would eat everything they put out on that show. Very quickly I'm also thankful that Morgan lost because he seemed like a real (something I can't write because my mother reads my blog).
WWE Wrestling: How can you NOT be thankful for something that leads to your kids climbing all over you, giggling, and repeatedly fake hitting you with a fake steel chair suspiciously shaped like a pillow? I'm also thankful that I always win. It also teaches me patience, because more often than not someone accidentally steps on my privates.
Breakfast Dinner (aka Brinner): If you don't know what I'm talking about or why I'd be thankful for breakfast dinner, get off my blog. Really. Close the window and just go back to your friend Tom on MySpace. Brinner is awesome.
DVD Players in Cars: It's the best way to drive to Texas for Thanksgiving. Already planning on having Toy Story 3, How To Train Your Dragon, and Up completely memorized by the time I get home. Here's hoping the boy can somehow sneak The Simpsons Movie into the stack of DVDs for the trip.
TJ's Burgerhouse: Speaking of awesome food. . . best burgers in Wichita, hands down. And it's affordable so I can take the family.
The Colorblind Art Teacher and The Man With the Screaming Brain Blog: Any time I am having a bad day (especially at work), I can go to either site and guarantee myself a laugh. Thanks guys!
The Avengers Movie: Oh man, I think that's going to be pretty BA.
Macaroni and Cheese and Hot Dogs: Because kids never say "no" to macaroni and cheese and hot dogs. They also never say no to brinner. What? You didn't know that kids love brinner? I thought I told you to get off my blog!!!
Nick Jr. and XBox360: Sometimes every parent just needs a little break. Thank you Madden 11 and Wow Wow Wubbzy. And you, too, Ni Hao Kai Lan. But not you, Yo Gabba Gabba, you kind of freak me out.
So that's my list of secondary things that I am thankful for. Hope you enjoyed it, because I enjoyed writing it. I should also mention that I'm thankful for the three people who follow my blog (Terry, Hugo, and my mom). Have a happy Thanksgiving, and until next time -- excelsior, true believers!!!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Make Room for . . . That Next Guy
In a previous post, I chronicled the rise and fall of our roommate Binky and the outstanding abode of 1215 Bertrand #4. With Binky's early departure, Chris, Roommate Tad, and I were left with an empty room we needed to fill ASAP so that we wouldn't have to spend roughly an extra $57 apiece in rent for the next month. So we did what any logical college kids would do. We put an advertisement in the Daily Collegian.
Roommate Tad, who had gone back to the apartment early after Christmas Break to work at Dillon's (where we all worked) was in charge of Operation: Find Someone To Live in The 4th Bedroom. It wasn't long before Tad called us back in the Greater KC Area to let us know that we had a potential roommate. He was an engineering student, he had just finished his enlistment in the US Army, and he "seemed pretty cool." We reminded Roommate Tad that he had also told us that Binky "seemed pretty cool" as well. Fortunately, Roommate Tad's instincts were on this time. Our new roommate, who we'll call Keflin (because that's his name) was indeed pretty cool.
We immediately discovered a couple of the things we liked about Keflin, that also separated him from his predecessor. He had steady income as a reservist in the US Army and for being on the GI Bill. He had a VCR that he was willing to share. He had a subscription to Playboy which he was also willing to share. (Author's note: These three things are listed in the order of importance as they appear to a 39-year-old, but not necessarily the order of importance as they appeared to a 20-year-old)
One of the things we learned about Keflin was that he had served in Iraq and Kuwait during Operation: Desert Storm. He had stories about his time there, some of them funny, some of them scary, some of them kind of gory, all of them interesting to a bunch of white bread kids from the suburbs. We also quickly discovered that having been in the army for four years, he had no idea to live on his own. He knew nothing about basic survival skills.
I'll give you some examples of how we learned this about our new roommate. First, we found an open bottle of Ranch Dressing in the cabinet. We explained to Keflin that if something said "Refrigerate After Opening" that you actually had to refrigerate it after you opened it. The second example involves a small propane grill we had. Keflin discovered he could operate it, and grill things. He immediately went out and bought a six-pack of KC strip steaks. He opened the package,took out one and grilled it. Then he left the open package in the fridge for a couple days. We told Keflin that when you bought meat you had to eat it, or freeze it. SO the next day we found the open package of five steaks in the freezer. So, being good roommates, we told Keflin that you had to wrap stuff up, or it would get freezer burn and taste funny. Keflin then went ahead and thawed out all five remaining steaks, grilled one, said it tasted OK, wrapped up the four remaining thawed steaks and put them in the freezer. Roommate Tad, Chris and I started planning a new roommate ad for when Keflin would inevitably be hospitalized for eating the steaks, but it never happened.
It became clear pretty fast that Keflin was a decent guy and a pretty good addition. At the very least he attended class regularly, he paid his bills on time and he was happy to buy and share beer on a regular basis. I got to know Keflin pretty good, because during the summer we were the only two living in the apartment. He was an OK guy. Here are some of the highlights I remember from the Keflin era at 1215 Bertrand #4.
Roommate Tad, who had gone back to the apartment early after Christmas Break to work at Dillon's (where we all worked) was in charge of Operation: Find Someone To Live in The 4th Bedroom. It wasn't long before Tad called us back in the Greater KC Area to let us know that we had a potential roommate. He was an engineering student, he had just finished his enlistment in the US Army, and he "seemed pretty cool." We reminded Roommate Tad that he had also told us that Binky "seemed pretty cool" as well. Fortunately, Roommate Tad's instincts were on this time. Our new roommate, who we'll call Keflin (because that's his name) was indeed pretty cool.
We immediately discovered a couple of the things we liked about Keflin, that also separated him from his predecessor. He had steady income as a reservist in the US Army and for being on the GI Bill. He had a VCR that he was willing to share. He had a subscription to Playboy which he was also willing to share. (Author's note: These three things are listed in the order of importance as they appear to a 39-year-old, but not necessarily the order of importance as they appeared to a 20-year-old)
One of the things we learned about Keflin was that he had served in Iraq and Kuwait during Operation: Desert Storm. He had stories about his time there, some of them funny, some of them scary, some of them kind of gory, all of them interesting to a bunch of white bread kids from the suburbs. We also quickly discovered that having been in the army for four years, he had no idea to live on his own. He knew nothing about basic survival skills.
I'll give you some examples of how we learned this about our new roommate. First, we found an open bottle of Ranch Dressing in the cabinet. We explained to Keflin that if something said "Refrigerate After Opening" that you actually had to refrigerate it after you opened it. The second example involves a small propane grill we had. Keflin discovered he could operate it, and grill things. He immediately went out and bought a six-pack of KC strip steaks. He opened the package,took out one and grilled it. Then he left the open package in the fridge for a couple days. We told Keflin that when you bought meat you had to eat it, or freeze it. SO the next day we found the open package of five steaks in the freezer. So, being good roommates, we told Keflin that you had to wrap stuff up, or it would get freezer burn and taste funny. Keflin then went ahead and thawed out all five remaining steaks, grilled one, said it tasted OK, wrapped up the four remaining thawed steaks and put them in the freezer. Roommate Tad, Chris and I started planning a new roommate ad for when Keflin would inevitably be hospitalized for eating the steaks, but it never happened.
It became clear pretty fast that Keflin was a decent guy and a pretty good addition. At the very least he attended class regularly, he paid his bills on time and he was happy to buy and share beer on a regular basis. I got to know Keflin pretty good, because during the summer we were the only two living in the apartment. He was an OK guy. Here are some of the highlights I remember from the Keflin era at 1215 Bertrand #4.
- We once had a Halloween party at the apartment. Keflin came dressed in his battle camouflage uniform and a gas mask. I asked him, "How did you get a gas mask off a military base?" He replied that he hadn't, but that he'd taken it off a dead Iraqi soldier. Roommate Tad looked at him and said, "So you're saying that you got that off a dead person's face, and now you're wearing it on YOUR face?" Keflin promptly took off the gas mask.
- He and I went to Last Chance one night during the summer and he told me he wasn't planning on drinking. We got separated shortly after we got there, and when I found him he had a 32 oz Big Beer in each hand. "I thought you weren't going to drink," I said. He replied, "You have to have more than a $5 order to start a credit card tab. You want a big beer?" I said "sure" and Keflin promptly flagged down a waitress and ordered two big beers for me.
- Keflin was Filipino, and rice had always been a staple part of his diet. As stated previously, he had limited kitchen skills, so he bought an electric rice maker. When he messed up using that, too, he found a Filipino lady in Manhattan and gave her something like $50 a week to cook Filipino meals for him. He was a lot happier after that.
- Keflin had a Thai girlfriend named Pang. Pang's best friend was also Thai, and she was named Ping. No, I am not making this up.
- The summer it was just Keflin and I in the house, I once got a phone bill (which was under my name) for $400+. I went to Keflin and asked him why the phone bill was so high. Part of the reason was that he had made a bunch of calls to Pang . . . who was in Thailand for the summer. The rest of it was due to a call he made to a (adult chat) number. "Why did you call that?" I asked him. "I was bored and I saw an ad on TV. It was pretty stupid." was his reply. "Then why did you stay on the line for [looking at bill] 18 minutes?" I asked. "I thought it might get better."
All in all, Keflin wasn't a bad guy. Years later I would become friends with a guy named Mason. During casual conversation, Mason mentioned an old college roommate named Keflin. Sure enough, it was the same one. And most of Mason's stories were like my own. But things were fine with Keflin, and 1215 Bertrand #4 was a happy place again. And then Chris decided to get married. . .
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
What the Hail?
I have lived in Kansas for nearly all my life. The weather of this fine state is bewildering at best, and terrifying at its worst. Tonight, I had my first run-in with a super-sized Kansas hail storm. And I didn't like it.
Last spring, we had a hail storm come through Wichita and hit downtown causing astronomical damage. That may sound like an exaggeration, but it isn't. Baseball to softball-sized hail rained down for several minutes. It actually hit the minor league ballpark. While the team was playing. With spectators in the stands. Luckily, no one was hurt, but there was damage done to cars and buildings, etc. At the time, my wife and I joked saying, "Too bad we couldn't have run down there to the hail hit one of the cars. Maybe we'd be able to total it out and get a new one." Funny stuff at the time. . . .at the time.
Tonight, I'm singing a different tune. I actually witnessed, in person, softball-sized hail. If you don't believe me, I have a couple in the freezer. What is most disturbing, is the amount of damage it caused. I had the pleasure (really?) of watching a storm rain down hail no smaller than a tennis ball for a full 15 minutes. It was insane.
I was feeding Allie and watching TV when I heard the hail start. I got up and looked out the window and saw some maybe golf ball-sized hail. I figured this might get a little interesting. I went and moved some things in the garage and opened the door so my wife could drive right in and avoid the hail. Then I went back to feeding Allie. A short time later, I heard a sound like someone had dropped a brick on my roof. Then another. Then another. I finally set Allie down in her Boppy and got up to go look out the door. I saw big hail. Then I heard glass breaking and realized that one of the windows in the back of the house had broken. I went to check it out. I got brave enough to stick my head out just a little, just enough so it was still under the eaves of the house. Then I heard another window break and decided it was time to take the girls to the basement. Then I noticed that the windshield of our Kia Optima appeared to have hail splattered on it. I was wrong, the windshield was broken. And as I watched, i saw it get broken again. At this point, it was way too late to go pull it into the garage.
As I watched all this unfold, it dawned on me that my wife and son still weren't back. I tried to call, but I couldn't get dialed out. I got a little frantic, because the last thing you'd want is your loved ones driving in hail that can break a windshield. The super hail continued to thump on the roof. I heard the tornado sirens go off, so I joined my girls downstairs. I tried to get my wife on the phone again and got through to her. She was at her mom's house. She was not more than 5 miles away from me and she was getting none of the storm we were facing. She got some hail, but nothing like what I was facing, or for as long a period of time. That is really the epitome of crazy Kansas weather.
Once things started to subside, my wife came home and we began to check out the aftermath. All said and done, the damage was pretty --well-- damaging. The roof had holes punched in it. The car. The windows. Multiple leaks inside. And my favorite...a hailstone broke through a solid 2x6 deck board. Just crashed right through it like it was nothing. It's was indeed the craziest weather I've ever seen. And I can tell you in all honesty, I don't want to go through that again.
Last spring, we had a hail storm come through Wichita and hit downtown causing astronomical damage. That may sound like an exaggeration, but it isn't. Baseball to softball-sized hail rained down for several minutes. It actually hit the minor league ballpark. While the team was playing. With spectators in the stands. Luckily, no one was hurt, but there was damage done to cars and buildings, etc. At the time, my wife and I joked saying, "Too bad we couldn't have run down there to the hail hit one of the cars. Maybe we'd be able to total it out and get a new one." Funny stuff at the time. . . .at the time.
Tonight, I'm singing a different tune. I actually witnessed, in person, softball-sized hail. If you don't believe me, I have a couple in the freezer. What is most disturbing, is the amount of damage it caused. I had the pleasure (really?) of watching a storm rain down hail no smaller than a tennis ball for a full 15 minutes. It was insane.
I was feeding Allie and watching TV when I heard the hail start. I got up and looked out the window and saw some maybe golf ball-sized hail. I figured this might get a little interesting. I went and moved some things in the garage and opened the door so my wife could drive right in and avoid the hail. Then I went back to feeding Allie. A short time later, I heard a sound like someone had dropped a brick on my roof. Then another. Then another. I finally set Allie down in her Boppy and got up to go look out the door. I saw big hail. Then I heard glass breaking and realized that one of the windows in the back of the house had broken. I went to check it out. I got brave enough to stick my head out just a little, just enough so it was still under the eaves of the house. Then I heard another window break and decided it was time to take the girls to the basement. Then I noticed that the windshield of our Kia Optima appeared to have hail splattered on it. I was wrong, the windshield was broken. And as I watched, i saw it get broken again. At this point, it was way too late to go pull it into the garage.
As I watched all this unfold, it dawned on me that my wife and son still weren't back. I tried to call, but I couldn't get dialed out. I got a little frantic, because the last thing you'd want is your loved ones driving in hail that can break a windshield. The super hail continued to thump on the roof. I heard the tornado sirens go off, so I joined my girls downstairs. I tried to get my wife on the phone again and got through to her. She was at her mom's house. She was not more than 5 miles away from me and she was getting none of the storm we were facing. She got some hail, but nothing like what I was facing, or for as long a period of time. That is really the epitome of crazy Kansas weather.
Once things started to subside, my wife came home and we began to check out the aftermath. All said and done, the damage was pretty --well-- damaging. The roof had holes punched in it. The car. The windows. Multiple leaks inside. And my favorite...a hailstone broke through a solid 2x6 deck board. Just crashed right through it like it was nothing. It's was indeed the craziest weather I've ever seen. And I can tell you in all honesty, I don't want to go through that again.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
BACK AT LAST. . .
The triumphant return of One Minute Movie Reviews. . .because I just HAVE to let you know what I thought of The Back Up Plan. I've been slacking on the one-minute movie reviews big time, like really big time. I've watched a lot of movies since I last posted One-Minute Movie reviews. What I've done is take some of the more memorable (or not-so-memorable) and current movies from that span and write the one-minute review of them. So here we go . . . in no particular order.
Clash of the Titans
CGI COTT, you are not as cool as the seminal Ray Harryhausen version from 1981. Maybe it's because I was a kid when it came out and watched it over and over. Maybe it's because in the 1981 version you got to see Andromeda's boobs. In any case, it deviated greatly from the classic Greek myth of Perseus. That bugged me. The CGI effects were cool, but so are all CGI effects, so in my eyes they don't compare to Harryhausen's Greatest Hits (original COTT, Jason and the Argonauts, Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger <-- SPOILER ALERT: Sinbad kicks Apollo Creed's ass). I did like Medusa a lot, so I give COTT props for that. And I like Liam Neeson in everything. I thought Ralph Fiennes was a little over the top as Hades/Voldemort 2. All-in-all, a very average action flick.
Step Brothers
Yeah, I know this isn't new, but I've watched it like a dozen times on Encore the past couple months. One night I got up around 2:00 AM to feed Allie, found it on, and watched nearly the entire thing. I've enjoyed watching it so much that I've named my fantasy football ball team this year Prestige Worldwide. Actually, I just named it that because The Most Interesting Team in the World and Are You Smarter Than Antonio Cromartie? were too long.
Kick-Ass
Hmmm...Not so much. The problem I had with Kick-Ass is that everyone assumed I would be all geeked up about it and get all gaga about how awesome it is. The truth is I bought the comics and didn't really like them. The movie was OK, but pretty plain. That being said, Hit Girl lived up to the title. I also liked McLovin as a bad guy. The other stuff was a little cheesy, especially the ending. I liked parts of it, but overall I wasn't that crazy about it. Watching a kid get beat up all the time isn't that entertaining to me.
Scott Pilgrim vs. The World
This movie was kind of the opposite of Kick-Ass for me. I hadn't read the comics before I saw the movie. I knew OF them, and the basic premise of the plot, but I hadn't purchased and read them. I liked this movie a lot. My wife and son voted it, "Stupidest Looking Movie of the Summer" but I didn't let that stop me. It's very funny at times, and there's a little bit of Scott Pilgrim in all of us. . . I think. But the best part is that, like its titular character, I didn't have much in the way of expectations for this movie. It pleasantly surprised me by living up to those expectations. I'll own this on DVD when it comes out. And the critics who say it's a summer flop can bite me.
Date Night
I didn't get to see this in the theaters, and then it was in my Netflix queue for like four months before it got released on DVD. After seeing it, all I can say is, "When will Tina Fey make a truly great movie." I liked it, but I didn't love it. I thought Steve Carell and Tina Fey were good, but not great. Steve Carell has been in some great movies, but Tina Fey hasn't seemed to be able to find the right vehicle. There were parts where I laughed hysterically, but most of it I just found myself chuckling at. I did enjoy Marky Mark Wahlberg. I was told by a friend who saw it in the theater that it was, "just as funny as the Hangover." It wasn't. And it was only like 80 minutes long. WTH?
Get Him To The Greek
Now this movie actually was as funny as the Hangover. Russell Brand recreates his character of British rocker Aldous Snow, first introduced in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. This time, He gets to take the hard partying Aldous over the top into Outrageous-land. I also like Jonah Hill, who went against type as his usual awkward nerdy fat teen character. I was also pleasantly surprised that amongst the horrifying antics and immoral behavior of the characters, they slip ins some very touching scenes to give the characters just a little hint at redemption. If I have one complaint about the movie, it's P. Diddy. This was supposed to be his Tom Cruise in Tropic Thunder moment, but it isn't. If anything, he tries too hard to be Tom Cruise in Tropic Thunder, so it doesn't hit it big. The added bonus is that Aldous is shown performing several times, and while the songs are supposed to be stupid and inane, they're actually funny and catchy.
The Wolfman
Here's a movie that sat int he ol' Netflix queue forever, and then suddenly appeared in our mail. The first thing that I thought while watching it was, "Benicio del Toro, where have you been lately?" The second thought I had was that while this movie was in the theaters, I never read a good review of it. But I never really read a bad review of it either. I was pleasantly surprised by it. Even though i figured out the "surprise twist" about 1/3 of the way into the movie, I still found it enjoyable. I liked how they made the Wolfman like the classic Lon Chaney version, not some present-day shirtless teen version (it's OK Team Jacob, I'm still on your side!). I think that over time, this will be one of those movies we end up saying, "That's a decent movie, I wonder why it didn't get much buzz."
The Back-Up Plan
I love my wife. I love my wife so much that I watched this entire movie with her. She waited weeks to finally get it at the video store and was so excited to watch it. And then she actually had to watch it. I will say this about The Back-Up Plan: I would rather watch Hannah Montana: The Movie, than sit through this piece of drivel again. About halfway through all the schlocky, cliche "I'm pregnant" jokes and stereotypes, I looked over at my wife and said, "This is pretty stupid." To which she replied, "Yeah it is." LAMENESS ALERT! (this is the opposite of a spoiler alert and is intended to prevent you from seeing this movie) Jennifer Lopez's character owns a pet store that she bought because she bought her dog from a pet store that sold puppy mill dogs and now her little dog is confined to a doggy wheelchair. Yeah, I am not making this up. And since I am going off on this anyway, her love interest owns an organic goat cheese farm/company and aspires to open his own shop in which he will only sell products produced locally within a 3o mile radius of his place in NYC, even though he can't pass macro-economics at night school. I am going to end there, because any further discussion of this movie will cause me to use language that my mother (one of the five readers of this blog -- we've grown! Thanks, Chris) does not appreciate. Suffice it to say that I would rather watch The Bounty Hunter again, rather than this movie.
Clash of the Titans
CGI COTT, you are not as cool as the seminal Ray Harryhausen version from 1981. Maybe it's because I was a kid when it came out and watched it over and over. Maybe it's because in the 1981 version you got to see Andromeda's boobs. In any case, it deviated greatly from the classic Greek myth of Perseus. That bugged me. The CGI effects were cool, but so are all CGI effects, so in my eyes they don't compare to Harryhausen's Greatest Hits (original COTT, Jason and the Argonauts, Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger <-- SPOILER ALERT: Sinbad kicks Apollo Creed's ass). I did like Medusa a lot, so I give COTT props for that. And I like Liam Neeson in everything. I thought Ralph Fiennes was a little over the top as Hades/Voldemort 2. All-in-all, a very average action flick.
Step Brothers
Yeah, I know this isn't new, but I've watched it like a dozen times on Encore the past couple months. One night I got up around 2:00 AM to feed Allie, found it on, and watched nearly the entire thing. I've enjoyed watching it so much that I've named my fantasy football ball team this year Prestige Worldwide. Actually, I just named it that because The Most Interesting Team in the World and Are You Smarter Than Antonio Cromartie? were too long.
Kick-Ass
Hmmm...Not so much. The problem I had with Kick-Ass is that everyone assumed I would be all geeked up about it and get all gaga about how awesome it is. The truth is I bought the comics and didn't really like them. The movie was OK, but pretty plain. That being said, Hit Girl lived up to the title. I also liked McLovin as a bad guy. The other stuff was a little cheesy, especially the ending. I liked parts of it, but overall I wasn't that crazy about it. Watching a kid get beat up all the time isn't that entertaining to me.
Scott Pilgrim vs. The World
This movie was kind of the opposite of Kick-Ass for me. I hadn't read the comics before I saw the movie. I knew OF them, and the basic premise of the plot, but I hadn't purchased and read them. I liked this movie a lot. My wife and son voted it, "Stupidest Looking Movie of the Summer" but I didn't let that stop me. It's very funny at times, and there's a little bit of Scott Pilgrim in all of us. . . I think. But the best part is that, like its titular character, I didn't have much in the way of expectations for this movie. It pleasantly surprised me by living up to those expectations. I'll own this on DVD when it comes out. And the critics who say it's a summer flop can bite me.
Date Night
I didn't get to see this in the theaters, and then it was in my Netflix queue for like four months before it got released on DVD. After seeing it, all I can say is, "When will Tina Fey make a truly great movie." I liked it, but I didn't love it. I thought Steve Carell and Tina Fey were good, but not great. Steve Carell has been in some great movies, but Tina Fey hasn't seemed to be able to find the right vehicle. There were parts where I laughed hysterically, but most of it I just found myself chuckling at. I did enjoy Marky Mark Wahlberg. I was told by a friend who saw it in the theater that it was, "just as funny as the Hangover." It wasn't. And it was only like 80 minutes long. WTH?
Get Him To The Greek
Now this movie actually was as funny as the Hangover. Russell Brand recreates his character of British rocker Aldous Snow, first introduced in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. This time, He gets to take the hard partying Aldous over the top into Outrageous-land. I also like Jonah Hill, who went against type as his usual awkward nerdy fat teen character. I was also pleasantly surprised that amongst the horrifying antics and immoral behavior of the characters, they slip ins some very touching scenes to give the characters just a little hint at redemption. If I have one complaint about the movie, it's P. Diddy. This was supposed to be his Tom Cruise in Tropic Thunder moment, but it isn't. If anything, he tries too hard to be Tom Cruise in Tropic Thunder, so it doesn't hit it big. The added bonus is that Aldous is shown performing several times, and while the songs are supposed to be stupid and inane, they're actually funny and catchy.
The Wolfman
Here's a movie that sat int he ol' Netflix queue forever, and then suddenly appeared in our mail. The first thing that I thought while watching it was, "Benicio del Toro, where have you been lately?" The second thought I had was that while this movie was in the theaters, I never read a good review of it. But I never really read a bad review of it either. I was pleasantly surprised by it. Even though i figured out the "surprise twist" about 1/3 of the way into the movie, I still found it enjoyable. I liked how they made the Wolfman like the classic Lon Chaney version, not some present-day shirtless teen version (it's OK Team Jacob, I'm still on your side!). I think that over time, this will be one of those movies we end up saying, "That's a decent movie, I wonder why it didn't get much buzz."
The Back-Up Plan
I love my wife. I love my wife so much that I watched this entire movie with her. She waited weeks to finally get it at the video store and was so excited to watch it. And then she actually had to watch it. I will say this about The Back-Up Plan: I would rather watch Hannah Montana: The Movie, than sit through this piece of drivel again. About halfway through all the schlocky, cliche "I'm pregnant" jokes and stereotypes, I looked over at my wife and said, "This is pretty stupid." To which she replied, "Yeah it is." LAMENESS ALERT! (this is the opposite of a spoiler alert and is intended to prevent you from seeing this movie) Jennifer Lopez's character owns a pet store that she bought because she bought her dog from a pet store that sold puppy mill dogs and now her little dog is confined to a doggy wheelchair. Yeah, I am not making this up. And since I am going off on this anyway, her love interest owns an organic goat cheese farm/company and aspires to open his own shop in which he will only sell products produced locally within a 3o mile radius of his place in NYC, even though he can't pass macro-economics at night school. I am going to end there, because any further discussion of this movie will cause me to use language that my mother (one of the five readers of this blog -- we've grown! Thanks, Chris) does not appreciate. Suffice it to say that I would rather watch The Bounty Hunter again, rather than this movie.
Do You Believe in Magic?
Well, I'm back. Finally. After spending a ridiculous amount of time watching the 2010 World Cup and having a new baby and starting back to work with new and more duties, I've finally worked it into my schedule to start writing again. Even though I haven't been writing, I have been reading my friend Terry's blog in which he's detailed his time living with The Teel (who just happens to have his own kick-ass blog/web comic thingy). It's good, and when I felt the need to make a smart Alec comment on his blog, he told me I needed to start writing again. That coupled with a follow up comment by former roommate/Used Paint member, Chris, made me realize I needed to sit down and write something.
You see, the problem with writing a blog is that you have to have something to write about. I refuse to blog about my job, and since it takes up about 85% of my life right now, it leaves me short on things. I've written about my roommates a couple times already, but believe me, there's more to come on that topic. But, then a revelation came. . . in the form of my local comic book store. I went in yesterday, and found my inspiration...Magic Mondays!
I love comic books. I love my local comic book store. I love going to said comic book store to by said comics. As stated previously in a blog, I despise card games. What I learned yesterday is that Monday is Magic Monday, where the Magic: The Gathering people come to play cards. Until like midnight. I kid you not. And, if you didn't know, the comic store closes at 8:00 PM.
If I had my way, I'd march into the comic book store and declare loudly (and proudly), "You have comics, and you have cards, and never the twain shall meet." I don't know if that really makes sense, but how many times do you get the chance to work the phrase "never the twain shall meet" into a conversation? Especially if that conversation in no way relates to Mark Twain. You see, I want a comic book store that reminds me of Central Perk on "Friends," complete with a set of leather couches and Jennifer Aniston. People could flock from all over the west part of Wichita to sit around and talk about comic nerd stuff. You can't do that if you have a bunch of card geeks sitting there scaring normal customers off -- or at least making them feel uncomfortable.
But I digress. ("Never the twain" + "But I digress" = awesome blog thingy!). I despise card nerds for one very simple reason. I used to teach high school. When Magic first came out, it was kind of an underground phenomenon that only the best nerds knew of and played. I was introduced to it by a friend of mine, who we shall call Andy, because that's his name, and he taught me how to play. I had a killer green deck then, and I crushed many adversaries. Then I got a job at a suburban high school and learned that this Magic thing was spinning out of control. Kids played it before school, during lunch, after school, on band trips (presumably). They fiddled with their cards during class. They talked about nothing but Magic all the time. Kids began to use teachers, asking them if they could stay and get help in order to get a pass for the late bus. Then they'd ask for help on one question and run off to play Magic with their friend(s) who had also duped a teacher. They didn't stay to play cards at the school because they had nowhere else to go, they stayed and played cards at school because they'd wasted all their money on cards instead of saving up to by a crappy car like the rest of the teenage world!!!
I did get to put one over on the card players, thanks to one unfortunate student in a 10th grade English class. The following excerpt is 100% rue -- hand to God.
It came to pass that Mr. Clamons found a Magic card in the hallway. It was Tree Elves to be specific. What fascinated me about this card is that it stated very clearly that the holder of this card could only be harmed by creatures with flying. So the card was tucked away for safe keeping until 5th hour class when I had a particularly loud, obnoxious, disruptive force that happened to be one of the biggest Magic purveyors in the school.
As he began to talk, and interrupt, and disrupt, I pulled forth my Tree Elves card and held it out to him. he looked at it and asked, "What's that?"
"It's Tree Elves," I said matter-of-factly, "And I'm using it to make you be quiet."
"What? I have a 100 cards more powerful that that one!" my adversary boasted.
"Maybe so," I retorted, "but I'm not playing it against your deck, I'm playing it against you."
"What?"
"I'm playing my card against you. It clearly states that he holder of this card can only be harmed by creatures with flying. Do you have flying?"
"But...but..." the boy spluttered
"Do you have flying? No? Well then I win, and you have to be quiet for the rest of the hour. And I'm going to keep this card here at the podium for all following days."
He was quiet for the rest of the class period. And much better behaved for the rest of the semester.
Seeing the Magic Mondays crew yesterday reminded me of those carefree days. It also reminded me that Monday should join Sunday on the list of Days I Shall Never Go to the Comic Store. At least I could sleep well last night knowing that none of the players was recording his/her duel to upload to Facebook (see previous blog post). . . and that I still have my killer green deck. And it would destroy everyone in the comic store. Including Wil Wheaton.
You see, the problem with writing a blog is that you have to have something to write about. I refuse to blog about my job, and since it takes up about 85% of my life right now, it leaves me short on things. I've written about my roommates a couple times already, but believe me, there's more to come on that topic. But, then a revelation came. . . in the form of my local comic book store. I went in yesterday, and found my inspiration...Magic Mondays!
I love comic books. I love my local comic book store. I love going to said comic book store to by said comics. As stated previously in a blog, I despise card games. What I learned yesterday is that Monday is Magic Monday, where the Magic: The Gathering people come to play cards. Until like midnight. I kid you not. And, if you didn't know, the comic store closes at 8:00 PM.
If I had my way, I'd march into the comic book store and declare loudly (and proudly), "You have comics, and you have cards, and never the twain shall meet." I don't know if that really makes sense, but how many times do you get the chance to work the phrase "never the twain shall meet" into a conversation? Especially if that conversation in no way relates to Mark Twain. You see, I want a comic book store that reminds me of Central Perk on "Friends," complete with a set of leather couches and Jennifer Aniston. People could flock from all over the west part of Wichita to sit around and talk about comic nerd stuff. You can't do that if you have a bunch of card geeks sitting there scaring normal customers off -- or at least making them feel uncomfortable.
But I digress. ("Never the twain" + "But I digress" = awesome blog thingy!). I despise card nerds for one very simple reason. I used to teach high school. When Magic first came out, it was kind of an underground phenomenon that only the best nerds knew of and played. I was introduced to it by a friend of mine, who we shall call Andy, because that's his name, and he taught me how to play. I had a killer green deck then, and I crushed many adversaries. Then I got a job at a suburban high school and learned that this Magic thing was spinning out of control. Kids played it before school, during lunch, after school, on band trips (presumably). They fiddled with their cards during class. They talked about nothing but Magic all the time. Kids began to use teachers, asking them if they could stay and get help in order to get a pass for the late bus. Then they'd ask for help on one question and run off to play Magic with their friend(s) who had also duped a teacher. They didn't stay to play cards at the school because they had nowhere else to go, they stayed and played cards at school because they'd wasted all their money on cards instead of saving up to by a crappy car like the rest of the teenage world!!!
I did get to put one over on the card players, thanks to one unfortunate student in a 10th grade English class. The following excerpt is 100% rue -- hand to God.
It came to pass that Mr. Clamons found a Magic card in the hallway. It was Tree Elves to be specific. What fascinated me about this card is that it stated very clearly that the holder of this card could only be harmed by creatures with flying. So the card was tucked away for safe keeping until 5th hour class when I had a particularly loud, obnoxious, disruptive force that happened to be one of the biggest Magic purveyors in the school.
As he began to talk, and interrupt, and disrupt, I pulled forth my Tree Elves card and held it out to him. he looked at it and asked, "What's that?"
"It's Tree Elves," I said matter-of-factly, "And I'm using it to make you be quiet."
"What? I have a 100 cards more powerful that that one!" my adversary boasted.
"Maybe so," I retorted, "but I'm not playing it against your deck, I'm playing it against you."
"What?"
"I'm playing my card against you. It clearly states that he holder of this card can only be harmed by creatures with flying. Do you have flying?"
"But...but..." the boy spluttered
"Do you have flying? No? Well then I win, and you have to be quiet for the rest of the hour. And I'm going to keep this card here at the podium for all following days."
He was quiet for the rest of the class period. And much better behaved for the rest of the semester.
Seeing the Magic Mondays crew yesterday reminded me of those carefree days. It also reminded me that Monday should join Sunday on the list of Days I Shall Never Go to the Comic Store. At least I could sleep well last night knowing that none of the players was recording his/her duel to upload to Facebook (see previous blog post). . . and that I still have my killer green deck. And it would destroy everyone in the comic store. Including Wil Wheaton.
Monday, June 14, 2010
My Cup Runneth Over
I don't know if the word "obsession" really covers it. It only happens every four years, so the build up grows and grows in intensity until it reaches its boiling point. Then, I enter my happy place and everything in the world is wonderful for a fortnight. Now I know you're probably thinking, "This man loves the Winter Olympics." Well, you're wrong. As much as I appreciate watching the Canadian Women's Curling team in action, I could care less about the Winter Olympiad. For that matter, I don't care that much for the summer version either. The quadrennial event I am speaking of is, of course, the FIFA World Cup. The one sporting event in the world that throws my entire world into complete upheaval. I don't even get this geeked up about March Madness (please don't tell Frank Martin that, as I am afraid he will jab me in the throat).
For the record, my wife does not understand my obsession with the World Cup, even having been through it on two previous occasions. She didn't understand why I was completely LIVID in 2202 when I woke early to catch the final live from Japan/South Korea only to find a church program on instead. By the time the local ABC affiliate played the final match "live" at 2:00 PM, I already knew the score. I have maintained a fairly consistent boycott of that channel for the past eight years. But you have to forgive her for not understanding this obsession of mine, because my friends don't really understand it either. Nor do my co-workers. I'd even hazard a guess that my own family doesn't even understand how obsessed I get with World Cup. My mother will tell you she understands, but she doesn't realize that it goes much farther than repeated watchings of "Gole`" and a Walter Zenga poster on my bedroom door during high school. In order to help you understand why I spend approximately 9 hours a day watching soccer during a World Cup year, let me present to you, the reasons I love World Cup 2010.
The Announcers
I rarely say nice things about the Worldwide Leader, but ESPN scored a coup when it went out a hired some of the best soccer play-by-play and color guys from England to work the Cup. Not only are they knowledgeable about the game, but they are much more entertaining than the Americans they've used in the past two cups (sorry JP Dellacamera, not sorry to you Eric Wynalda). Americans saying things like "it's nil-nil here in Rustenberg" or "he's just looking forward to lacing up the boots and getting back on the pitch" just doesn't sound very cool. My personal favorite so far has been, "That was a very tricky run, but he just ran into a cul-de-sac there." I also like that British announcers, much like Simon Cowell, are brutally honest. I like when they say things like, "That was an absolutely dreadful shot." I also like that ESPN has gone out and gotten some good studio people as well. Former World Cup participants Alexi Lalas (USA), Steve McManaman (ENG), and Ruud Gulitt (he's Dutch) have had some good insight and seem comfortable in front of the camera. However, they're not above being themselves -- witness McManaman after the England/USA tie, "If Slovenia or Algeria can get a win tomorrow they'll have the group by the ba...the bollo....the..the bull by the horns." Good work, Steve!
Gratuitous David Beckham Shots
Even though the world's most recognizable player is out of action due to a a torn Achilles tendon, that doesn't mean he isn't getting his face time on camera. He was shown on the England bench at least a half dozen times during the England/USA match. I also like that the announcers feel the need to point him out and gush over him, "There's David Beckham. Injured, but still with the team in spirit." I seriously kept waiting to hear one of them say, "There's David Beckham on the England bench. He's looking concerned at the moment. And absolutely gorgeous."
The Nicknames
When it comes to international play in anything, teams don't get teams names. Your team name is "USA" or "Germany" or "Denmark." None of these really has the oomph of say, the Yankees, or Celtics, or the Patriots. But soccer-dom has it's own brand of nicknames. Some of them are simple and based on a country's flag or jersey, like "Los TriColores" (Mexico), "Il Azzuri" (Italy) or "Les Bleus" (France). Some are inspired by their national team's style of play, like The Netherlands, who have for decades been known as "Clockwork Orange" for their precise style of play. Brazil, five time cup winners, are called "Selecao," the Selection. Spain has long been nicknamed "The Best Team To Never Win the World Cup," but at least they're the favorites going into this year. Which means they'll fail. African countries have the best names -- The Indomitable Lions (Cameroon), The Super Eagles (Nigeria), Les Elephants (Ivory Coast), The Black Stars (Ghana), The Desert Foxes/Les Fennecs (Algeria) and Bafana Bafana (host nation South Africa). I draw the line at "Socceroos" (Australia) because it's just silly. Come on, how can you not cheer for a team that calls themselves The Indomitable Lions. Or the Super Eagles for that matter. Even Bafana Bafana is fun to say. Sure beats the hell out of Jayhawks.
Ties
While the rest of the sporting world sees ties as a bad thing, in the group play stage of the World Cup, they occur. And they occur quite frequently, much to the chagrin of the American watching. I don't mind ties. Sometimes ties can be good, and everyone's a winner. Slovakia and New Zealand tie 1-1, most people say it's stupid and boring. The underlying story, however is that both teams score a historic point in the standings. Slovakia scores its first goal and point in its first Cup as an independent country. New Zealand scores its first goal and point ever in the World Cup in its first trip back since 1982. Sometimes ties are bad, as they show us that maybe some teams aren't as good as people think they are -- I'm looking at you France and Uruguay (and your 0-0 tie).
Germany Good
Whenever there's a big international soccer tournament of some note, the six other people in my life who follow soccer will always ask, "Who do you think is going to win?" My usual response is "Germany." Why shouldn't it be? '86 Cup runners up, '90 Cup winners, '98 Cup Semi finals, '02 Cup runners up, '06 semi finals. After beating the aforementioned Socceroos 4-0 to open their tournament, Germany looks good. I am picking them to win it, and Spain retains their unfortunate nickname.
Italy Bad
To open their defense of the World Cup, the 2006 Champions, Il Azzuri, looked like Il Crapola. They needed a gift from a goalkeeping gaffe to earn a tie with Paraguay. To use an English commentators term, Italy played "uninspired" for most of the game. I am looking for them to fall on their face sometime this cup. And the problem is that I used to like the Azzuri. Seriously. But lately, I've noticed that the more I watch Italy, the less I like them. They seem to be a team that thrives on diving, whining about perceived fouls, and cheap shots. You need look no further than a slow-mo replay of a free kick where an Italian striker jumps with a Paraguayan defender and reaches back and takes a swing at him in mid-air to see why I dislike the Azzuri. Playing tough is one thing, but playing dirty is another.
Diego Maradona is Back
And that means I can rekindle my intense dislike for him. I can't stand Diego Maradona. All I will say on this matter is that my ideal World Cup would involve Argentina failing to make the knock out round, and Maradona getting a ball kicked in his face. I haven't forgotten 1986 Diego.
I Am Off Work
I don't have to go back to work until the day after the World Cup Final on Juy 11th. Assuming Baby Allie holds out until later that week, I will have plenty of time to shirk my responsibilities and watch soccer. My wife sees this as a bad thing, I see it as GLORIOUS!
Now, that is pretty much all my thoughts on why I love World Cup soccer. I could write an entire blog about the awful goalkeeping we've seen so far this Cup, but it wouldn't make sense to the three people who regularly read my blog. For now, I will sign off, because in just 6 short hours Honduras vs. Chile will be on. . . and who wants to miss that!?!?!
For the record, my wife does not understand my obsession with the World Cup, even having been through it on two previous occasions. She didn't understand why I was completely LIVID in 2202 when I woke early to catch the final live from Japan/South Korea only to find a church program on instead. By the time the local ABC affiliate played the final match "live" at 2:00 PM, I already knew the score. I have maintained a fairly consistent boycott of that channel for the past eight years. But you have to forgive her for not understanding this obsession of mine, because my friends don't really understand it either. Nor do my co-workers. I'd even hazard a guess that my own family doesn't even understand how obsessed I get with World Cup. My mother will tell you she understands, but she doesn't realize that it goes much farther than repeated watchings of "Gole`" and a Walter Zenga poster on my bedroom door during high school. In order to help you understand why I spend approximately 9 hours a day watching soccer during a World Cup year, let me present to you, the reasons I love World Cup 2010.
The Announcers
I rarely say nice things about the Worldwide Leader, but ESPN scored a coup when it went out a hired some of the best soccer play-by-play and color guys from England to work the Cup. Not only are they knowledgeable about the game, but they are much more entertaining than the Americans they've used in the past two cups (sorry JP Dellacamera, not sorry to you Eric Wynalda). Americans saying things like "it's nil-nil here in Rustenberg" or "he's just looking forward to lacing up the boots and getting back on the pitch" just doesn't sound very cool. My personal favorite so far has been, "That was a very tricky run, but he just ran into a cul-de-sac there." I also like that British announcers, much like Simon Cowell, are brutally honest. I like when they say things like, "That was an absolutely dreadful shot." I also like that ESPN has gone out and gotten some good studio people as well. Former World Cup participants Alexi Lalas (USA), Steve McManaman (ENG), and Ruud Gulitt (he's Dutch) have had some good insight and seem comfortable in front of the camera. However, they're not above being themselves -- witness McManaman after the England/USA tie, "If Slovenia or Algeria can get a win tomorrow they'll have the group by the ba...the bollo....the..the bull by the horns." Good work, Steve!
Gratuitous David Beckham Shots
Even though the world's most recognizable player is out of action due to a a torn Achilles tendon, that doesn't mean he isn't getting his face time on camera. He was shown on the England bench at least a half dozen times during the England/USA match. I also like that the announcers feel the need to point him out and gush over him, "There's David Beckham. Injured, but still with the team in spirit." I seriously kept waiting to hear one of them say, "There's David Beckham on the England bench. He's looking concerned at the moment. And absolutely gorgeous."
The Nicknames
When it comes to international play in anything, teams don't get teams names. Your team name is "USA" or "Germany" or "Denmark." None of these really has the oomph of say, the Yankees, or Celtics, or the Patriots. But soccer-dom has it's own brand of nicknames. Some of them are simple and based on a country's flag or jersey, like "Los TriColores" (Mexico), "Il Azzuri" (Italy) or "Les Bleus" (France). Some are inspired by their national team's style of play, like The Netherlands, who have for decades been known as "Clockwork Orange" for their precise style of play. Brazil, five time cup winners, are called "Selecao," the Selection. Spain has long been nicknamed "The Best Team To Never Win the World Cup," but at least they're the favorites going into this year. Which means they'll fail. African countries have the best names -- The Indomitable Lions (Cameroon), The Super Eagles (Nigeria), Les Elephants (Ivory Coast), The Black Stars (Ghana), The Desert Foxes/Les Fennecs (Algeria) and Bafana Bafana (host nation South Africa). I draw the line at "Socceroos" (Australia) because it's just silly. Come on, how can you not cheer for a team that calls themselves The Indomitable Lions. Or the Super Eagles for that matter. Even Bafana Bafana is fun to say. Sure beats the hell out of Jayhawks.
Ties
While the rest of the sporting world sees ties as a bad thing, in the group play stage of the World Cup, they occur. And they occur quite frequently, much to the chagrin of the American watching. I don't mind ties. Sometimes ties can be good, and everyone's a winner. Slovakia and New Zealand tie 1-1, most people say it's stupid and boring. The underlying story, however is that both teams score a historic point in the standings. Slovakia scores its first goal and point in its first Cup as an independent country. New Zealand scores its first goal and point ever in the World Cup in its first trip back since 1982. Sometimes ties are bad, as they show us that maybe some teams aren't as good as people think they are -- I'm looking at you France and Uruguay (and your 0-0 tie).
Germany Good
Whenever there's a big international soccer tournament of some note, the six other people in my life who follow soccer will always ask, "Who do you think is going to win?" My usual response is "Germany." Why shouldn't it be? '86 Cup runners up, '90 Cup winners, '98 Cup Semi finals, '02 Cup runners up, '06 semi finals. After beating the aforementioned Socceroos 4-0 to open their tournament, Germany looks good. I am picking them to win it, and Spain retains their unfortunate nickname.
Italy Bad
To open their defense of the World Cup, the 2006 Champions, Il Azzuri, looked like Il Crapola. They needed a gift from a goalkeeping gaffe to earn a tie with Paraguay. To use an English commentators term, Italy played "uninspired" for most of the game. I am looking for them to fall on their face sometime this cup. And the problem is that I used to like the Azzuri. Seriously. But lately, I've noticed that the more I watch Italy, the less I like them. They seem to be a team that thrives on diving, whining about perceived fouls, and cheap shots. You need look no further than a slow-mo replay of a free kick where an Italian striker jumps with a Paraguayan defender and reaches back and takes a swing at him in mid-air to see why I dislike the Azzuri. Playing tough is one thing, but playing dirty is another.
Diego Maradona is Back
And that means I can rekindle my intense dislike for him. I can't stand Diego Maradona. All I will say on this matter is that my ideal World Cup would involve Argentina failing to make the knock out round, and Maradona getting a ball kicked in his face. I haven't forgotten 1986 Diego.
I Am Off Work
I don't have to go back to work until the day after the World Cup Final on Juy 11th. Assuming Baby Allie holds out until later that week, I will have plenty of time to shirk my responsibilities and watch soccer. My wife sees this as a bad thing, I see it as GLORIOUS!
Now, that is pretty much all my thoughts on why I love World Cup soccer. I could write an entire blog about the awful goalkeeping we've seen so far this Cup, but it wouldn't make sense to the three people who regularly read my blog. For now, I will sign off, because in just 6 short hours Honduras vs. Chile will be on. . . and who wants to miss that!?!?!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Mow Better Blues
Remember when you were a kid and you just couldn't wait to be old enough to shave every day? (or put on make up, or shave your legs, or whatever other "adult" level task you were looking forward to) And remember how you finally reached that time and then you were all like "Yeah, I get to shave every day!' , and after some more time passed you realized, "Hey, this shaving every day stuff is kind of time consuming. And sucks"? And then you started to let your facial hair grow a little more between shavings, and then you had a beard going and you woke up one morning and found yourself looking like that guy from The Hangover, Zach Gafilix.....Galfilikaki...Gandalfilinda....Grizzly Adams? I sure do. And that's kind of how I feel about my lawn.
Let me begin by saying that my current abode is the second home I've purchased. The first home I bought was a condo. It was nice and homey and made me feel like some kind of feudal land owner, but as anyone who's ever lived in a condo can tell you (back me up, Terry) it's not the same as owning your own house. First off, they mow the lawn for you. Secondly, if something bad happens, like you get carpenter ants in your wooden deck, they fix it for you (back me up again, Terry). That is, after all, why you pay homeowners' dues. When I did finally make the move from the condo to my current home four years ago, one of the attractions was. . .
Let me begin by saying that my current abode is the second home I've purchased. The first home I bought was a condo. It was nice and homey and made me feel like some kind of feudal land owner, but as anyone who's ever lived in a condo can tell you (back me up, Terry) it's not the same as owning your own house. First off, they mow the lawn for you. Secondly, if something bad happens, like you get carpenter ants in your wooden deck, they fix it for you (back me up again, Terry). That is, after all, why you pay homeowners' dues. When I did finally make the move from the condo to my current home four years ago, one of the attractions was. . .
MY VERY OWN YARD
For me, the novelty of this lasted about six months. Six sweaty, gruelling, miserable months. Then I was over the whole, "I have a yard thing."
The pain began when I found a lawnmower, a nice YardMan -- self-propelled, too, at a garage sale. It was marked for $175 dollars. The lady selling it let me start it up and try it out a bit to make sure it worked. I offered $125. She gladly accepted, and I was on my way with my (sort of) new mower. I drove all the way home with a smile on my face, so pleased with the great deal I had gotten. I was totally oblivious to the fact that this green and yellows thing in the back of my mini-van was really a rolling, self-propelled, self-bagging gate to Hell.
Before I go much further, let me say that I am not opposed to hard work in general, or yard work in particular. Growing up, I did more than my fair share of things around the house. As the youngest, I was the last to get a job, so I had several extra years of mowing my parents' lawn. Really, I did a lot of the mowing, tree-trimming, etc. because my brother "worked on the computer" doing data entry for my dad's business. Since my family reads this blog, and since these events happened some 25 years ago or so, I'd just like to point out that my brother was actually playing games on the computer, not "doing work." He once told me, "The work takes me like 15 minutes. The rest of the time I play Wizadry." That's right, Fred, you paid Steve good money to earn enough experience points to move his 14th level Elven Cleric up to level 16. When you think about it, that's like getting double paid. But that's water under the bridge. Thanks to my brother's shenanigans, I mowed the family's one acre plot quite a bit. The difference then was that we had a riding mower. I got on, put on my Sony Walkman headphones, popped in my favorite RATT cassette, and the mowing was done in no time and with very little effort and/or pain.
Nowadays are a drastically different. The drudgery of following along behind the mower is not only time consuming, but mind-numbing at best. The thing I hate most about my yard (after the weeds of course) is that it is shaped weird. I live on a court, so my house has a lot shaped like a piece of pie. The front is the pointy end. It takes all of 20 minutes to mow on a slow day. The problem is the backyard. Since the front yard is the pointy piece of the pie, that means the backyard is the crust side of things. With pie-shaped pie, I enjoy the crust part because it is the most delicious. In pie-shaped yard mowing, it is a horrible part. Because the house is on the lot, too, the backyard has a fat part, then a skinny part, and then a really fat part. The really fat part of the yard is the worst. After mowing this prime piece of fat-skinny-fat real estate, I am usually soaked with sweat and my back hurts. I've often contemplated getting a riding mower now that I have a yard, but I've come to realize that it might actually take longer to mow with a riding mower because of all the twists and turns. I'd also like to point out that in addition to mowing one's own yard, one is also responsible for weed-eating one's own yard, and picking up dog poop in one's own yard.
However, like shaving (or putting on make up for some of you), mowing is a necessary evil. So there I am once a week, toiling away behind my now semi-self-propelled mower keeping my grass at a uniform height and cursing continuously under my breath. I've tried popping in the ear plugs of my iPod loaded full of my favorite RATT songs to listen to while I mow, but the mower is so loud I can't hear the iPod that well. My only saving grace is to finish up and come into the house and see my son, Lukas. My son who is always so glad to see me, and who rarely fails to tell me "Dad, the lawn loosk good." My son who will some day in the near future be mowing my lawn for me. Mowing the lawn while I do hours of "work" on the XBox.
Until next time, Excelsior true believers!!!
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Ink-a-Binky-a-Bottle-of-Ink, You-Owe-Me-$81.80 and You Stink!
Most of the time, I advise people to let things go. I can hold a grudge as well as the next person, but I also recognize the fact that sometimes it's best to just let it be, not to re-hash old negative memories, or bring up grievous wrongs from years ago. It's just not healthy to do this. You have to admit, it's sound advice. And it generally works -- unless you happen to have a roommate that still owes you $81.80 in bills he never paid.
In Manhattan, KS there is a magical place known affectionately as 1215 Bertrand St. Apt. #4. This three-level, four-bedroom, two-bath townhouse is part of an apartment complex that sits on the eastern edge of the Kansas State University campus. The "apartment" was awesome. The location was awesome. And at $700 a month split four ways, the rent was more than awesome. My sister moved in there in 1986. When she moved out three years later, my brother moved in. Three years later, I moved in for one year with my brother and then lived there for several more years with a variety of roommates. If you do the math, I'm pretty sure that my parents own that place.
When I finally got my chance to be the Lord of 1215 Bertrand #4 Manor, I set about trying to find some roommates who would uphold the tradition of general awesomeness. I immediately locked down the aforementioned future members of Used Paint, Chris and Roommate Tad. We had worked together at Dillons for years, knew each other well, and they were easy to get along with. Chris was already at KSU and had lived in the dorm his first year. Tad was transferring to KSU from JCCC. We had plans for bacchanals, shenanigans, and general tomfoolery that would make Animal House Jealous (sidebar: we had a habit of telling people that the town house was our frat house. We were in Sigma Omega Beta -- think it through). We had nothing to look forward to but a spectacular year.
The problem was that we had a four bedroom place, but only three roommates. A friend of a friend was brought aboard, but when I moved some stuff in during July, I found a note that he had changed his mind and was moving back home. So we went into panic mode. Finally Roommate Tad informed us that he thought we had a roommate. It was someone he worked with who was also transferring to KSU from JCCC. We met briefly. He agreed to move in. Crisis averted!!! Everything was good...or so we thought.
Before I go much further, I will admit that since we were still pretty immature at this point in time, Chris and I took to calling our fourth roomie Binky, because he bore more than a slight resemblance to the Binky the Rabbit character in Matt Groenig's "Life is Hell" comic strip (see exhibit A at the beginning of this post). Yeah, it wasn't very nice. But neither was living with Binky. Henceforth, for the remainder of this blog, Roommate #4 will be referred to as Binky.
When Binky moved in, it wasn't bad. He had a computer, which was a pretty big deal in 1993. He had Leisure Suit Larry on the computer. He had a VCR, which we did not have to go with the TV Roommate Tad had brought. There were lots of positives to having Binky around. Then we learned that he had no intentions whatsoever of sharing any of these goodies with us.
As a matter of fact, one of the first things he did was to put a lock on his bedroom door. A keyed lock so he could lock up his bedroom door every weekend when he went home to "see his girlfriend" who we all knew was dating someone else. It was mildly humorous to sit and listen to him talk about said "girlfriend" while Roommate Tad stood behind him shaking his head sadly, revealing the truth to the rest of us. He never shared any of his cool stuff. I won't mention how he didn't share the VCR, because it still makes me angry. It also makes Chris angry, and I'm pretty sure if I could find him, Roommate Tad is also still angry. We did get treated to a demonstration of Leisure Suit Larry on the computer once, because at some point you could do something to make a 16-bit image of a woman take her top off. It was lame, even back then.
In addition to being selfish with his things, Binky was also a bit of a slob. His room smelled funny. I'm pretty sure he smelled funny, too, and he was more of a slob than your typical college guy room. He had a tendency to leave his stuff lying around. Like his open mail. Not a big deal really, until you leave the notice from the bank stating that you bounced a check at the Quik-E-Mart for the amount of one pack of cigarettes. He also smoked, which he thought we didn't know, but could smell. We could also see it, since he sat by the window in his room and blew the smoke outside.And if that wasn't bad enough, he was lazy. We would often come home to find him laying on the couch, sleeping, with his jacket over his head. It was seriously bizarre.
The apex of life with Binky though came towards the end of his stay at 1215 Bertrand #4. We had stylishly decorated our swingin' pad with a Kilian's red poster and a BatBoy cover from The Weekly World News. Bills had been paid the previous week, and since all the utilities were in my name, I had given everyone their bills for what they owed for the month. It came out to a grand total of $81.80 for everyone. The only person to not pay me promptly was Binky. One night while I was either working or at my girlfriend's, or both, the rest of the boys went to Wal-Mart. While there, Binky complained to Chris and Roommate Tad about me getting n him about paying bills. After all, didn't I understand that he was low on money? That maybe he couldn't afford to pay the $81.80 right then? Binky promptly bought himself an air pistol A nice air pistol. He then promptly brought it home and shot it at the BatBoy picture on the wall. That promptly left about a hundred holes in our sheet rock wall. Needless to say, I was pissed. The only communication I had with Binky for the remaining three weeks or so he lived there was to tell him to pay me my $81.80. He avoided me like the plague. Probably because I'm sure there were some not-so-vague threats made about beating the money he owed me out of him. I can be fairly intimidating when I want.
In the end, he moved out after one semester with promises of mailing me what he owed me. It never happened. My anger was soothed some by the fact that none of us were really sad to see him go. But I can say in all honesty that after 17 years, I still want my $81.80. And a new BatBoy poster.
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