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!?!?!

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. . .

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!!!

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.

The Fest of River

Each year, Wichita, Kansas has an annual event that begins the second weekend in May and continues for 10 full days of excitement and joy called RiverFest. I have attended RiverFest off and on for the decade that I have lived in the Greater Wichita Area, but my introduction to this fine ......thing.....began back in 1995 or 1996 when my sister, Karen, was living in Wichita and I was in Junction City. I remember her calling me one night and the conversation going something like this.

"You know Mom and Dad are coming to Wichita this weekend, you should come down, too, if you don't have anything going on," my sister started.
"Oh, I don't know. Why are they going there anyway?"
"They're coming down so we can all go to RiverFest. You can come with us, it will be fun."
"What is this RiverFest you speak of?"
"It's a big annual celebration thing they do down here."
"Like the Stanley Stampede?"
"No, more like Old Settlers day."
"Well, what do you do there?"
"There games and rides and stuff. There's supposed to be some big water skiing thing, and bathtub races."
"I don't know..."
"There's funnel cake."
"I'm listening. Go on. Are there Grange Pups?"
"I don't know, but someone told me they have those big roasted turkey legs you like. And they have a lot of meat on sticks."
"Where should I meet you and what time should I be there?"

So, it was then that I got introduced to Wichita RiverFest. Upon arriving at said festival, it became clear to me that the RiverFest did indeed serve as a celebration of the Arkansas River that flows through downtown Wichita. If you've never seen the Arkansas River, let me fill you in. First off, I'd never eat something that came out of that river. Secondly, it's dirty, trashy, and generally kind of gross (even with more recent upgrades to the public areas around it). That also pretty much describes a lot of the attendees of RiverFest.

Let me be clear that I enjoy living in Wichita very much. I have met a lot of wonderful people here, especially my wife, and it's generally a very nice city. However, RiverFest inevitably draws out the dregs of society. On my first trip there in the 95-96 time frame, I remember feeling very out of place because I was not wearing jeans and a tank top. I also had nothing -- shirt, hat, tattoo -- with a Confederate flag on it. I also didn't have a mullet. I think that the reason so many fringe type people come out during RiverFest is that you can enjoy it basically for free. There's some concerts and stuff (more on that later) that you can attend by purchasing an official Wichita RiverFest button at Dillons for $5. In any case, RiverFest quickly has become my favorite place to people watch. It's a lot like being in Vegas, but you never get to say, "Hey, there's Paris Hilton and Brittany Spears," but rather, "Hey, there's someone dressed like Paris Hilton or Brittany Spears....but weighs more than me. And might not be a woman."

Yes that sounds mean, but those of you who know me know I am a very hefty man. Some of the outfits you see at RiverFest could fit Aniston, but are crammed on to someone who is literally bigger than me. And it looks....whatever the opposite of glorious is. For example, last year I saw a rather large woman wearing short shorts, and a tank top with plunging necklines that showed off her boob tattoos. And my sister-in-law was nice enough to also point out that she had her cell phone stuck in her cleavage as she ate a funnel cake.

This year, as pretty much every year, we did go to the Friday night Sun Down Parade that kicks off the big RiverFest festivities. Following the parade is a big "free" concert that is free to anyone who purchased a $5 dollar Official RiverFest button from Dillons which is in turn followed by fireworks. A couple years ago I was blessed to sit outside and listen to Nick Lachey as my wife and sister-in-law attempted to get in to get good seats. I think it was the year after that when the opening night concert was American Idol season 2 winner Ruben Studdard. Yeah, you see that we bring in the big names in Wichita. This year, Bret Michaels was slated be the free concert, and then apparently gave himself a brain hemorrhage to get out of it. Fortunately, Rockford, IL's finest, Cheap Trick, was available and stepped up to fill in for Mr. Michaels. Of course several people I talked to were excited that Cheap Trick was coming. This excitement lasted as long as it took me to say, "Quick, name five songs by Cheap Trick," which was always followed the realization that after "I Want You to Want Me" and "Dream Police" everyone draws a blank.

Any-who. . . We went to the parade this year. After parking in our usual spot, we walked to one of our favorite spots to set up for the parade. It's on a nice hill with lush grass. We got there a little before 6:00 PM (the parade begins at 6:30) and there were people already set up on our hill. My wife said, "hey let's get a spot here." And then I pointed out, "I don't think the parade route comes this way this year. The end of the street is barricaded." Which led her to ask, "Then what are these people doing?" to which I replied, "Preparing to be disappointed I guess. This is RiverFest."

Long story short, we watched the parade and then walked back to our car. The people were still sitting on the hill. Suddenly it hit me. The hill is adjacent to the amphitheater where Cheap Trick was playing. These people had come out before 6:00 PM to get a seat to listen to Cheap Trick. And if that wasn't sad enough, they were sitting there because they didn't want to pay $5 top actually see Cheap Trick. Let that sink in a second. . . THAT, ladies and gentlemen, sums up RiverFest in a nutshell for you. Well, that and funnel cakes. And meat on a stick.

RiverFest 2010 ended last night, so I now roughly 364 days to grow a mullet and buy a Confederate flag tank top. Peace out Wichita!

I'm With The Band

Recent postings on my friend Terry's blog and several conversations with my friend/former roommate Chris over fantasy baseball have led me to finally share this little known fact about myself: When I was in college, I was in a band. Our name was Used Paint. Used Paint consisted of myself, my aforementioned roommate Chris, one of my other roommates, tad, and my older brother Steve. We had an album named "When In Rome. . ." We had several hit songs. We had a feature interview in Rolling Stone. We even had one member trendily spend a stint in rehab. Now many of you are probably asking (especially you, Mom), "Why don't I remember hearing about Used Paint in the early to mid-90s?" or "Why don't I remember you being in a band?" It's simple really, Used Paint didn't really exist. What follows is a brief albeit strange, history of the mega-hyped, super-powered sound explosion known as Used Paint. . .


At some point when you're studying education at Kansas State University, you're required to take a class called Human Growth and Development. The semester I enrolled in this class, Chris took it too and we coincidentally ended up in the same class. The class consisted of two parts -- lecture and recitation. The lecture part was incredibly boring, and you were informed that you could buy all the class notes pre-bound at CopyCo, but it happened to fall in-between two classes I actually needed, so Chris and I ended up attending regularly. The first couple classes we entertained ourselves by scribbling notes and drawing pictures about one of our roommates we referred to as Binky (that is a whole other blog people).

Somehow or other, we got on the topic of the Steven Wright bit about going to the used hardware store. He says, "I bought some used paint. It was in the shape of a house." I don't remember all the details, but I do remember Chris saying, "Used Paint. That would be a great name for a band." And he was right. So we set about creating Used Paint: The Band.
Human Growth and Development lecture time became our time to create Used Paint. We started by assigning roles: Chris played drums, I was on vocals, Roommate Tad was on bass, and my brother, Steve, played the guitar. We did not include Binky, though we worked him in as a peripheral character who was a former band member like all of Spinal Tap's deceased drummers. The band members were funny to us for several reasons. First, Chris couldn't play drums, nor did he own any. Two, I don't sing particularly well, and my area of musical expertise was the bassoon (no lie). Third, Roommate Tad actually could play the bass real well -- the stand up kind you play in high school orchestra. (Tad was always pictured as playing the stand up bass in Used Paint, rather than an electric one). Our saviour was Steve, who does play the guitar (and bass) very well, and actually did move on to join a real, live, good band in Austin.


Once we had that part down, it was time to create some music. Not real music, mind you, just album and song titles. We sat in lecture jotting down titles and placing them in lists for albums. Our first album, "When In Rome. . ." was a hit. If I remember correctly, the break out song from that album was entitled "Pope in a Can." Every weird thing we heard someone say, or that just popped into our head became a song title. In these days prior to Denis Leary hitting it big, we actually had a song titled, "You're an A**hole." And then felt grievously offended when Leary came out with his song by the same title.

This thing we created, Used Paint, began to grow and take on a life of its own. We told Steve and Roommate Tad about it, and they were on board, too. I spent way too much time devoting time better spent studying to creating my fake band. Sitting around the apartment, it inevitably worked it's way into every conversation, which led to us brainstorming more and more ideas for our band that didn't exist. We began working on our second album "Muck," which came together much faster. We followed "Muck" with a special album called "Used Paint's The Wide Album." It was much like The Beatles "White Album" with a white cover...but it was extra wide so it stuck out from all the other DVDs on the rack. Not only could we fake play in a band successfully, we were marketing geniuses!!! The band took a short hiatus while Roommate Tad went to rehab for fast food addiction. In all seriousness, and he was a great roommate mind you, he did eat a lot of fast food. Especially McDonald's.


With Roommate Tad back from rehab, and the semester of human Growth and Development coming to an end, Used Paint made one last grasp for glory. The band returned with a new album, "Songs from 1215 Bertrand #4," that we claimed was live stuff, unreleased tracks, B-Sides, and one new song. This isn't a new concept, since bands like Aerosmith and Def Leppard do this all the time -- usually to create just enough interest to have a mildly successful tri-state tour.

It was during this time that the Rolling Stone interview began to take shape. Inane questions were written down, followed by inane answers that played on the quirks of every band member. For example, Steve, a man of few words, answered questions several lines long with responses like "yep" and "mhmm." Roommate Tad, who overused the F-word, was censored out of most of the interview (though I did put the Beetle Bailey staple &%$#@! in place of the swear words). When I look back now, I think it was the notoriety of a completely untrue Rolling Stone interview that tore Used Paint apart. Maybe it was all the fake fame that went to our heads. Or maybe, just maybe, it was that we all started looking at graduation and stuff. I know one of us got a serious girlfriend, one of us broke up with a serious a girlfriend (not the same person), we got a new roommate who not only shared his VCR (unlike Binky) but also brought along a collection of adult films on VHS, and the semester dwindled to an end. Used Paint ended not with a bang, but a whimper. I can say for a fact that somewhere out there in cyber space is a file from one of my computers with a half-typed version of "Used Paint: The Rolling Stone Interview" -- hand to God, it's true.


I don't usually wax nostalgic, but it was fun thinking back on those times that seem so long ago. I guess eventually we all have to "grow up" and "be responsible," but maybe as we get older we take ourselves too seriously. I was watching "Step Brothers" the other day, which is really a pretty ridiculous movie, and I kind of got caught by the scene where Dale's dad tells the two matured man-child characters to never lose sight of that inner child, and to let it shine. Even though I still read comic books against my wife's wishes, and I watch cartoons with my kids--a lot, I miss my band. I am calling now for the Used Paint Fake Reunion Tour 2010. We need a bassist, so if anyone knows where Roommate tad is, let him know we getting back together.

By the way, the previous paragraph should be read as a voice over using the voice of that guy who narrated The Wonder Years. Peace out. . . . Used Paint Fake Rocks!!!!

Sudden Realizations

Every once in awhile things (these are generally called "thoughts" by most people) pop into my head. Whenever I can, I try to right them down. At the very least I commit them to memory. The following is a sampling of some of the random thoughts that pop into my head on a daily basis:

• I'm pretty sure that the ATF could end the war on drugs if they simply raided the NickToons studio. My daughter is hooked on a show called "Ni Hao Kai-Lan" which contains a koala who dresses like a panda, a monkey who spins turntables like a DJ, and a rhino that floats around on a balloon tied to her horn. There's really not that much more to say about it other than that. Seriously, a monkey playing turntables?
• I forgot to mention that "Ni Hao Kai-Lan" takes place in China. I'm still trying to figure out why the hell there's a koala and a rhino in China. If you really want to blow your mind consider this, there's also a polar bear in this show, too.
• Every time I tell someone that we're expecting another child, they always say, "Hey, congratulations! That's great!" Even though I'm very gracious, I always kind of want to respond, "It's not that big a deal, all I did was have sex."
• I really miss reading "Calvin and Hobbes." Not the comic strip, the philosophers.
• With my impending fatherhood, I've been trying to be more reflective and think of all the good advice my dad gave me so I can pass it down. The only thing I can ever seriously remember is the advice he gave me about girls: "If you don't want to go out with her anymore, just quit answering her calls. She'll get the hint." Hand to God, that is a genuine Fred-ism.
• A lot of the other things I remember my dad saying to me involve profanity. Since my mom reads my blog, I'll leave those out. I don't want the old man getting in trouble. And if you read my previous entry, you'll understand why I don't pass those on to my daughter.
• the Boomerang network is the biggest tease on the cable box. It plays all these shows you loved growing up, but then you watch them and realize how truly crappy they really were. Yes, "Jabberjaw" and "Speed Buggy" you fall under that category.
• On that same topic, you'd think the combined might of a house cat and a wizard could capture at least one smurf. Gargamel obviously didn't attend Hogwart's.
• I turned 39 yesterday. I celebrated my birthday by buying comic books, eating ice cream, and receiving several cards about farting. I can't wait for 40!
• You know how when there's a plane crash, everything is destroyed except for the Black Box?. . . Why didn't they make the Death Star our of that stuff. If the Empire had thought that through, Luke Skywalker would probably be a clerk at O'Reilly's in Tashi Station right now.

To quote Forrest Gump, "That's all I got to say about that." If anyone has any topics they'd like to see me write about (like why we need a re-boot of the Howard the Duck movie franchise), feel free to post them here or on Facebook. I'm always looking for topics. Until next time...Excelsior, true believers!

Of Darling Little Girls and Profanity

A couple weeks ago, I got to celebrate my daughter's 3rd birthday. It was a joyous occasion with Grammy and Grandy coming to visit from Texas and cupcakes and Hello Kitty things and Princesses everywhere. It's the kind of birthday party one would expect for a darling little three-year-old girl. Yeah, that's her up there. Cute as a button. The thing is that when others are not around, my darling baby girl is quite a stinker. It's called the "terrible twos," only the experts don't tell you that this phase actually begins at age three and lasts until roughly 8th grade.

I have to admit, I've been a bit spoiled. My son is, for all intents and purposes, a pretty low-maintenance child. He rarely acts up, and when he does it's easy to weather the storm because it happens so rarely. He's generally a pretty good role model for his little sister. Lately, though, she's taken to repeating just about anything her older brother says. Or anyone else says for that matter. It's a phase, and we deal with it, because the boy went through the same thing. I remember driving with my wife once, the same wife who was always on me about watching my language around our young son, when she told me, "Oh blow it out your ass!' That was followed by a small voice from the back of the van saying, "Ass mommy!" I think both of us were too stunned to say anything, so we just let it go and that was the end of that.

I bring this up, because it directly relates to my adorable, charming, beautiful daughter, who you might remember, is in the repeating things phase. The other night I was watching a movie on my free HBO, when my daughter decided to join me. I didn't think much of it until one of the characters in the movie said, "F- - - yeah!" I'd seen the movie several times before, so, again, I didn't think much of it. That is until a small voice next to me said, "F- - - yeah, daddy!"

Instead of giving her the stunned silence I gave my son in similar circumstances, I decided that I should nip this in the butt and take matters into my own hands. I was going to be the parent and correct this inappropriate behavior. I put on my teacher voice and calmly explained to my daughter, "Honey, we don't talk that way. Just because they said it on TV doesn't mean it's OK for little girls to say."

To which my daughter replied, "F- - - yeah!"

Now I knew I needed to take care of this, so I put on my mean teacher voice and said, "You do NOT say that young lady. That is totally inappropriate and I don't want to ever hear you say that again."

My daughter pouted and got off the couch and scowled and I knew I had made my point clear, and congratulated myself on a job well done correcting this little problem.

But as I sat smugly on the couch, my daughter turned to me, arms crossed, and said, "I say f- - - yeah all I want!"

Now there was stunned silence.

My darling daughter then turned and said, "I going upstairs!" and started to walk upstairs. At that point, all I could think to say was, "Don't say that in front of your mom!"

I related this little incident to my parents when they came up for the big princess party. In between owls of laughter, my dad said something about deserving everything I get. I don't know he says that, but I find that he says it a lot. Especially after my kids have done something incredible stupid/profane/dangerous/ridiculous/profane. I really, honestly don't know why my dad says that, because as far as I remember, I was a nearly perfect child.