Calling down time

Just to let folks know. I'm finishing up my last shift at work now, and will otherwise be too busy with holiday things soon to post.

See you after Christmas. Or maybe the new year's.

Be well

Merry Christmas to all, may your holidays be charmed,

My wife said if I didn't post this, she'd cause bodily harm.

Christmas comes early

Jackson and New Line reach an agreement to produce The Hobbit.

Yep, I'm already jumping on one foot to the other in anticipation. I don't get why he needs to do two films, but whatever.

Another plus, I won't have to bother reading "The Hobbit" to Sam. Now I can just take him to the movie. And buy the video game(s). Awesome.

Awwwww ...

Granola chick lives in a log cabin with a little baby coyote and her cat.

Won't be so cute once the pup decides to cash in all of Morriss' nine lives, but for now it's cool.

When life gives you sausage ...

You're not going to take it. At least not in the 12 ounce size.

Friend at work passed this on. Funniest thing I've heard this month. Warning: Bad words. Man gets intense about Jimmy Dean. And his little plump Scottish girl.

News

It’s now official at work, so I’m passing on the news here.

I’m quitting my job. (Don’t say "Again?")

I’ve had some good times at the Denton Record-Chronicle, but I’m leaving my full-time job as assistant sports editor in a couple of weeks.

My wife’s family leave time is about up.

Whereas:

• We both work night shifts.
• There is no such thing as late-night day care.
• Meredith makes, like, a bajillion more than I do.

I have to quit my job so she can go back to work. This is not the ideal situation for either of us. I realize this is not the prevailing view right now, but I strongly believe that a boy needs his Mama at this point in his life a lot more than he needs Daddy. (Sam’s Mama agrees.)

And I really wish Daddy had some kind of job that could make this situation possible. But, after about a year of searching, nothing has panned out so far. I even applied to graduate school, but got rejected by North Texas because 10 years ago I made a D in chemistry. I wanted a public relations degree. (With a thanks here to Dave and John for saying they’d vouch for me. I may need you later.)

So we’re kind of left in a lurch right now. It hit me the other day, how I used to make fun of women over the biological clock thing. (I recall bringing one girl to tears just by repeating "tick-tock" until she broke.)

Now I’m faced with my own countdown. I don’t just want a job to eke out a living on the edge.

I’m like everyone else, I want to contribute, be in the center of things, make my mark. The problem is that the older you get, the time you have left to establish yourself in any given field diminishes, the amount of time you have for people to take you seriously when you’re starting off gets smaller and smaller and smaller.

So I’m considering this a short window of opportunity to figure out what I’m going to do.

I’m also looking forward to some aspects of life as Mr. Mom: Teach the boy things, get in shape, work more on this blog and other projects. My wife says the extra time is an illusion, but at the very least I’ll be back on daylight hours, which will be no small joy.

I’ll miss the Record-Chronicle. The atmosphere there is laid back, loud, eclectic. It was almost a college atmosphere, and reminded me of why I thought I would in the very least have fun as a journalist when I graduated.

Still, as an assistant sports editor, I’d stepped about as high up the career ladder in sports as I could go. I don’t have an encyclopedic knowledge of any sport, and I don’t want to spend the next three years of my life learning that knowledge so that I can then graduate to running agate at a mid-major for $45,000 a year.

So, for the time being. I’ll be going to part-time at the Record-Chronicle until they hire a replacement, I find another job, or we both lose interest.

Meredith (God bless her) will go back to work. I’ll be at home with Sam.

And we’ll all be working toward changing things around.

Fat cats

On Friday, The Fort Worth Star-Telegram printed what I think is the terminal article on a feature about, yes, pets and weight loss.

A couple of months back they started running a series about overweight pets and, gameshow like, kept a running tally on their efforts to lose weight. (Sample article here.)

I would look at the pictures during the series because I like critter shots and these were even better -- freak critter shots that raised my self-esteem about my own pets.

But I could never bring myself to read the articles, for the simple reason that the premise of the whole series was based on a problem that, as far as I could tell, the writer managed to go three months without facing:

They're freakin' dogs. (And a few cats.)

Want JoJo to to lose weight? Howsabout you don't shove so much food down his pie-hole?

He's a domesticated dog. He's not going to develop an opposable thumb and go refrigerator raiding at 2 a.m. Dominoes don't know what "arf" means. Fido ain't going to sneak out through the fire escape, scarf down a large double-meatsa, sprint towards the nearest KFC and later wake up, covered in feathers next to a naked Michael Moore*.

Both of my dogs have looked chunky from time to time. Know what I did? I cut back on their food supply. They lost weight. Why the hell didn't I get my picture in the paper?

It doesn't compare to humans. We've all gone through times when we didn't have anything better to do than not eat another donut. I even have a kind of admiration for those with girth who carry it around without complaining. It's an anti-establishment statement for the times we live in.

But dogs and cats? No excuses, sorry. Just don't feed'em.

*On second thought, that could happen.

Fantasyland

We're beginning playoffs in both fantasy leagues that I'm playing in. And for the first time, I'm a higher seed than my opponent in one, and I'm actually getting a bye in the other.

I've never done this well. Of course, I didn't pick either of my teams and I've refused any and all trade offers since.

But that just shows I'm learning.

More notes ...

Things I thought about writing about over Thanksgiving, but forgot.


Gibberish talk
My wife tells me that I must stop speaking gibberish to the child, as per orders of one of the roughly 38 books on baby raising that now sit on top of our coffee table. It has something to do with the synapses of his brain. Also, some of the sounds I make come close to some politically incorrect words, and I should add that making gooby-boo noises over and over again really annoys my woman.

Still. I’ve realized recently that the first few months after his child’s birth is about the only time in a man’s life when he gets away with making nonsense noises. And I’ve realized that making these noises is fun. Therefore, the gibberish will continue. Besides, Sam seems to like it for now.

He may think differently when he graduates high school, but we’ll work through it.


BCS situation
Listening to the talk over Thanksgiving in Hico, I realized that I’m the only college football postseason traditionalist in my family.

"Traditionalist" being defined as someone who likes something the way it is. What I don’t like is this week of the year, when the entire sporting nation goes all teeth-gnashy about the lack of a college football playoff and the way it’s turning the game into an addled farce.

My basic argument: Yeah right. College football is being killed by the lack of a playoff. People are turning away from college football in droves. All those new stadium building projects are sad statements based on the false hope that people can some how be fooled into buying tickets for just one more farcical season.

I have more thought-out arguments, but this is the first thing that came into my mind at dinner after a brother-in-law described the current bowl system as "socialism."


King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters
Official site here

I plan on writing more about this movie, but for right now, I'll definitely give it a high recommendation. The basic premise: Geeks fight over the world record of Donkey Kong, the ’80s video game. I cheered loud enough to wake up my child. The story is better than anything Hollywood has come up with in the last few years. The villain is probably the most entertaining character in movies this year and the soundtrack consists of a lot of ’80s songs that have been playing in my head since. Good times.

Thanksgiving notes

This is late. I’ve noticed that having a newborn lengthens your recovery times from holidays and special events. Keep that in mind when you procreate.

First off, the latest pictures of Sam, taken a coupla minutes ago.

Sam emphasizes the importance of fresh basil,
or maybe he bemoans the lost art of the bunt in baseball.

We had the two-month checkup this week and everything checked out well. My wife said that Sam laughed the other day, which is a good sign.


Hello, I must be going
We spent Thanksgiving on the road, trying to attend dueling family events. Thanksgiving day was at the Mama’s parents house in Trinidad (small town on Cedar Creek reservoir) and the day after, we drove to Hico for the event with my family. Then I had to drive back to work. All in all, about nine hours on the road for about four hours of celebrations, talking and eating.

Working for newspapers can really suck sometimes.


Welcome to Tarleton
I got a little love on the Denton Record-Chronicle high school blog the other day after recommending the Hard Eight Restaurant to fellow writer Adam Boedeker. It was gratifying to read the entry because he liked the food recommendation and noted how idiotically the Tarleton State Memorial Stadium press box is run, as I had warned.

This is inside baseball here, but it’s something that amazes me. Every other press box I’ve ever visited, the staff is generally tripping over themselves to help you. In Stephenville, the sole purpose of the staff is to make sure you don’t wander into the empty rooms to work, even after the normal press room is full. And God forbid if you open the cooler and grab a coke (located in the press room).

I have a soft spot in my heart for Tarleton, but, dude.

By the way, Boedeker has a blog. It’s hard-core sports stuff, and mainly picks, but there's an opportunity to randomly make fun of a stranger for those who are interested.


A little coffee thingy
My sister-in-law and her in-the-Army husband are based in Italy. They visited for Thanksgiving, and dropped off their gift: an authentic ole-fashion’ espresso maker from Italy.

Here’s how it works:

Put water in the bottom container.
Put the grounds in the filter thingy on top of the bottom container.
Screw the cute little pitcher on top of the assortment, and put on stove.
Espresso! Or something. It’s been a little too weak so far, I’m experimenting. The thing came without instructions, or maybe it did, only everything was written in Italian.

The kid’s debut
Sam’s first appearance to my family was the Thanksgiving event in Hico. Plenty of oooing and ahhing, and the boy was passed around like a football.

People kept telling me, "You did a good job with this one."

I haven’t come up with something appropriate, or appropriately inappropriate, to say back. So I pretty much stayed with "Yup" and "Dang right." And occasionally "Thanks." It’s kind of like accepting congratulations for ... well ... you know. And it’s hard to come up with something to say that won’t get you slapped by your brother’s wife.


Sad throw
Speaking of footballs, my nephew Brown brought one to the Hico festivities. I threw it maybe three times before giving up. My problem: I had previously injured my shoulder while sleeping.

I’ll end with that. I’ll have news soon. I’m not exactly sure what that news will be. But it will be news.

The ability to drool

Cute for exactly two days, 14 hours and 15 minutes.

Happy turkey eating

So, if you're like me, you have an oddly-houred day at work followed by several exhaustive trips all over the damn state. And you're already behind on sleep and beginning to be paranoid about catching a seasonal disease that makes you miserable.

Also, you still haven't figured out exactly what you're going to do with the dogs -- a vital part of your life that's despised by everyone else.

And you're worried about how your kid is going to handle his first overnight trip and hours of driving. Plus you feel guilty because you still haven't made it over to the grandparents, and good Lord the job search is sliding ...

OK. So maybe you're not like me. And you probably aren't going to have as much fun. But have a great holiday, be careful, etc. etc.

oh yeah.

wahoo!

Seeing Dave Barry

It’s been two months, but the birth of my son got in the way of me completing this post – and some other stuff. I wanted to get this down before I couldn’t remember anything.

My wife scored two tickets to see Dave Barry at his Fort Worth appearance to promote his latest book, Dave Barry’s History of the Millennium (So Far).

All things considered, this was a good alignment of the planets. The presentation was on Monday, both of our nights off, and Dave Barry is one of the few writers out there I’d pay to see.

The presentation at Bass Hall basically consisted of the host, Star-Telegram feature writer Jeff Guinn, treating Dave Barry as if he was an imminent historian, and Dave Barry blowing off the question:

Guinn: So how were you able to gain the incredible amounts of knowledge necessary to write such a complex work as this?

Barry: I made it up.

Guinn: What was your educational background? How did you arrive at your pre-eminent position among American historians?

Barry: Actually I get angry letters from American historians all the time, telling me it’s not funny what I said about Missouri.

And so on and so forth. Guinn became grating after a bit, but he needed to play the part so Barry could work his shtick. After a while, Barry was just giving the spoken version of his greatest hits – talking about having a sewage pump station in North Dakota named after him, about his college band Federal Duck, and about the time that he drove the Wienermobile to pick up his kid at school.

All in all he had the crowd rolling. His presentation is generally flawless and he knows how to tell a story.

It was a contrast from the first time I saw him on TV, back when Jay Leno was still guest hosting the Tonight Show. Barry was introduced as the funniest man in America and came out stiff. It was like he was mentally reading bits from his columns at pre-determined points in the conversation.

Leno: You travel a lot, is there anything out there that annoys you?

Barry: I hate these people who I call "hall talkers." They stand in the hotel hallway late at night and say things like, "Well, I should be going to bed now," or "I guess it’s time to leave."

Heh, that’s not bad once you write it down. Anyway, he bombed.

I took this as a good thing. If Dave Barry isn’t funny in person, I thought, "Perhaps I, too, have a future in writing comedy."

His presentation at Bass Hall wound down after about 90 minutes, at which time Guinn announced that they could take a few questions. And, in what is still a shock to my wife, I stood up and walked towards a microphone.

I’m not much of a public speaker. (Or private speaker for that matter.) I hate talking to more than two people at a time.

A lot of people talk about a book that changed their life. Generally it’s something for a pretentious teenage male to brag about, like Catcher in the Rye. On the other hand, in the summer before my sophomore year in high school, my mom brought home a copy of Barry’s "Stay Fit and Healthy Until You’re Dead."

I’d read a lot of comedy before, but never something this outlandish and this well done. It was like seeing Monty Python for the first time after a steady diet of Benny Hill. And it changed my life.

I read everything by Barry I could get me hands on and was imitating or outright stealing his jokes for the column I wrote in the Monterey High School newspaper.

Nowadays, I only read him occasionally. It’s not that he’s less funny, it’s just that, once you come to know someone well enough you begin to complete his sentences.

So, there I stood in a sitting crowd of about 2,000 people, behind a woman who struck me as an overenthusiastic English teacher. I was fighting off a panic attack and drawing a blank while trying to come up with a question.

Thankfully, I had the right read on the woman in front of me.

"Are you still amazed at all the things that are under the sea?"

Barry kind of gives her a "huh?" look. She repeats the question, then says that she was referring to a piece he wrote some years back on scuba diving. And, you know, surely he has an instant memory of EVERY SINGLE FREAKING THING HE’S EVER WRITTEN OVER THE PAST 40 YEARS.

The question is flubbed. The pressure on me lightens.

I step forward and put my mouth near the mike. I haven’t come up with anything good, so I ask the question that all struggling writers submit to the successful ones.

"What do you do when you run out of ideas?"

Dave Barry: "What? You mean with writing?"

In my defense, I knew as soon as the question left my mouth that I’d left an opening. And at least it wasn’t about looking at crap under water.

Barry then got a little bit more serious and gave the answer all successful writers give to the struggling ones (None of the quotes here are exact, by the way):

"I don’t really run out of ideas. I don’t sit down with an entire column in my head and just write it out. Usually I may have one or two jokes in mind and then try to come up with something that connects them.

"And that’s generally the way that most writers work. It’s mainly a question of making yourself sit down and work. I know a lot of writers who are waiting to be inspired. You’re not always going to have some great thought come to you. It’s not inspiration, it’s work."

I heard a person sitting behind me say, "Good question."

It was a great moment. Save for that awkward feeling that happens when you ask someone a question in front of crowd: "OK, he’s looking at me so I won’t sit down ... There he’s looking at the crowd, I’ll sit down ... No he’s looking at me again ..."

And then ...

The Lights Come On.

I noticed on Sunday that Sam’s eyes were tracking the living room lamp as I took him to bed. (Where he’d immediately start crying, but we know that, so it’s like a game. An incredibly frustrating, drive you to the point of insanity, kind of game.)

And Monday morning I take him while he’s waking up to change his diaper, and for the first time he looks at me. Watches while I walk to pick up a wet wipe, and watches with mild concern while I clean him up.

It’s like someone flipped a switch. Prior to this point his emotions could pretty much be categorized as "awake," "hungry," and "sleeping."

He’s now aware enough and can see enough details to start thinking about things. It’s like he’s passed into a more thorough humanness. He sees things, he judges, he makes decisions.

Of course, once I was through with his diaper, his first decision was to start crying because I don’t secrete milk.

The last few weeks weren’t easy. Sam spent most of his time crying. His smiles are fleeting, lasting about 15 seconds, and then he’s back to the wailing.

He’s now growing out of that. It’s like we’ve reached some kind of milestone, some kind of marker that encourages us to keep trudging forward.

Being part of a family is not easy. Being one of the leaders of one is much harder. I’ve thought about this the last few weeks. Couldn’t really help it. When you go four weeks without really seeing the sun or having the time to do the things that keep you sane, and then throw in a soundtrack of non-stop wailing, your thoughts are going to go depressive.

Most people grow up with frothified images of marriage and parenthood. Most of us had a great deal of happiness as children, why shouldn’t we have equal amounts of fun as a parent?

Now, six weeks after I’ve heard the cry for the first time, I realize most of the fun I had was because my parents weren’t having any. They did all the worrying, they did all the work. They had to show all the patience while I struggled from infant immaturity to adolescent immaturity (and on to adult immaturity, but that’s something else).

And they had to occasionally lay down the law, working up enough anger so that the point would stick. None of these things are fun.

I don’t believe the people who talk about how raising their kids is easy. You are a liar full of lies who pours lies over your Cheerios for breakfast.

Most snippets of advice we get contradict each other, and are really just kind of mental pacifiers people give to each other – "Let’s try this when he’s crying or refuses to sleep, maybe this is the answer."

You just keep moving forward, throwing together your fathering and mothering "skills" on the fly. It’s the sense of obligation you feel, it’s the price of being an adult. It’s the debt you pay to your parents, and somewhere in the back of your head you hope it’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever done.

Just to say ...

That I'm not really posting much as these last two weeks have sucked. How so? Let me count the ways ...

(I'm counting inside my head. I hate whining outwardly. So I'm posting this to let you know I'm whining inwardly. Which kind of breaks the rules, but, eh.)

Have a super weekend!

Sam's Halloween Pics

Sam had two outfits. I understand he needed both of them before the night was over.

We had something like five trick-or-treaters. My wife would open the door and look at the costumes and say, "Awwwww..." then the kids would look at Sam and say "Awwwwwww..." Maybe it's a good thing I was designing sports pages.
Meredith believes that Sam has started to smile. I'm not sure I agree. She has, however, made a valiant effort to capture this on film. After about 80 pictures, this is the best we can do.
I'll include this one, just to show we didn't use extreme g-forces to create the above pic.

Battlestar in movies

Wow.

'Battlestar Galactica' of the Sci Fi Channel, in partnership with Microsoft, will unspool a special two-hour episode of "Battlestar Galactica" in movie theaters in eight major cities two weeks before it premieres on the network.
The episode, "Razor," kicks off the final 22-hour season of the series. The theater showings, which are free, take place Nov. 12 in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Boston, Dallas and Seattle.

Since I only watch BSG on DVD, watching this would screw up the order for me. Still, knowing the opportunity to see it in a theater is there ...

Deadwood: Best TV show ever

I just tore through the third season.

The storylines -- completely unpredictable. The characters -- deeply flawed, honorable, allowed to stay in character by the plot lines. I'm still amazed by the writing -- Shakespearean, but in a way I enjoy it, and kinda sorta understand it.

It resonates especially well with me when I watch -- usually at about 3:30 a.m. and there's nothing else but me and Sam and Sam's bottle.

The sad thing is that HBO, in a tradition of ending series in ways to piss people off, ended this without bothering to resolve any of the driving story lines. Oh well. I'd been warned.

Still. Just like I can appreciate the one season of Firefly, I can appreciate three seasons of Deadwood.

I'd recommend it to anyone. Except maybe my parents, who might have trouble dealing with all the cussin', whorin' and over-the-top graphic violence.

Gettin' de bizness

I post this with nervous coughing and several throat clearings. Basically safe for work. Basically.

Found on Ace of Spades.

I get it. Tech sucks.

The thought hit me after seeing the Raiders of Red go down like a big thing going down against Colorado on Saturday.

Texas Tech football: Not good this year.

It's sad that it took seven games for this to get through to me, but it explains a lot.

Such as why everyone acted like beating an average A&M team was a huge upset -- Turns out, it was. It explains why the response after dropping games to Mizzou and Colorado was a big group hug as opposed to people yelling or hitting the panic button.

I'd be depressed, but, what the hell, it's already too late in the season to do anything about it.

Here are some comments I'll be making in the near future on Tech football:

• "Take that Baylor! Yeah, that's right. How do you like me now, Bears?"
• "That was an outstanding two minutes against Texas."
• "Shreveport! Awesome!"
• "I'd be more threatened by Kansas if coach Mangino's explosion wasn't immenent. I imagine half the reason they're winning is that opposing quarterbacks don't adjust to his gravitational tug when they throw the ball."*

*No, it has nothing to do with Tech, but I've been writing too much about football lately and am hereby declaring a self-imposed moratorium until December. So I wanted to get this in. And the guy makes me want to blow up my refrigerator just by looking at him.

Tech:Big Game as Hen:Laying egg

I feel like ...

Ah, what the hell. I feel like any number of fans of several thousand teams who believe that this season, things are going good, if only we can actually come through in a big game.

And then they (In my case, "they" is the Raiders of Red) fall flat on their backsides.

I don't mind losing so much in these contests as much as getting blown out. I was at the game in Oklahoma when Tech had a shot to win the Big 12 South and got trashed 98-7. Or something.

I've seen it happen year after year against Texas.

And, now, I'm apparently watching a Mizzou team that has our number.

At least if we'd make it close, we could leave these games with some measure of respectability.

Instead ...

I'd end this with "sigh", but I hate posts that have the word "sigh" anywhere in them, because it's used as often as the letter "A".

*For those not knowing what I'm talking about, the University of Missouri is trouncing Texas Tech in a football game. It's ugly. Britney-Spears-at-45 ugly.

Adios Lajitas

Lajitas was a village next door to Big Bend National Park, until some rich dude decided to buy it in 2000.

The guy, one Steve Smith, bought the place with the idea of turning it into his private hideaway. Then, as rich dudes do, he started getting ideas. About $100 million dollars worth.

He decided to go with the idea of a rich luxury resort, and he built one, along with a golf course (in an area that gets maybe 5 inches of rain a year) and stables and shopping and etc.

The project went belly up this fall.

I didn't really hate the idea of the place. It was just civilization's further encroachment on the last wild places in Texas. While I find it aesthically annoying, the rational part of my head just figures that's the way things go.

What interests me more here is the kind of messianic vision it would take for the guy to do this. When I first heard about Lajitas resort, my first reaction was, "That makes no sense*." And I'm some dumb schlub who has no plans at real estate development. Surely this guy had some one telling him the same thing.

The resort's golf course and demand for water would stretch the eco-system for the entire area. The place is ridiculously remote, and people out there like things rustic. A few weekend cabins might have worked, but a huge resort?

In the frontier days, various religious groups (or cults) would go to some to some place out in the middle of nowhere to build their utopia. Sometimes they'd create Utah. Most of the time they'd create a dramatic loss of fat and teeth in their possession, along with a side of massive amounts of death.

I suppose it still happens. You have that fundamentalist Mormon guy who built his compound near Eldorado (lovely little city, by the way).

I see that same urge in some people. People who are rich and have reached a point in their life where they want to do something big, but have no idea what it is. Then they go off pouring money into a desert.

*Interesting story. I had just spent the night in a public bathroom at Big Bend park, singing Klingon songs with Jeremy and trying not to freeze. A lot of things didn't make sense to me at that point.

*Different kind of post for this site. Bear with me, just trying things out.

Goose was speaking to me

I was caught Thursday in the most awesome traffic delay ever.

Driving up I-35W on the trip to work. I glanced up and noticed some dots in the air, going way up, then down, then way up again while shooting out smoke.

The Blue Angels* are in town this weekend for the Alliance Air Show. (Alliance Airport is Son of Ross Perot's moneymaker.)

And the planes were out Thursday afternoon rehearsing. Or involved in one massive commercial dedicated to near rush-hour traffic along I-35.

People were slowing down, pulling over at the Cabela's or just stopping along the shoulder to take a look. Idiots. I kept on nearly running into them as I divided my time between watching the planes and maintaining my slightly-above-legal speed.

Anyway, cool to watch. A lot of low-level flying in formation, splitting off, reforming. I could hear the jet engines in my car. And I could hear Van Halen playing in my head.

*The Blue Angels' web site, if you don't know what I'm yapping about. Commie.

I'm a little worried about the 'Friday Night Lights'

And a few other notes ...

(Warning, lots of spoilers. Also a warning that if you don't watch Friday Night Lights, this first part will be gibberish. Skip on down a ways.)

I spent a lot of time last year nitpicking the show to death pretty much for my own amusement. But I always came back because I liked the characters and found the story lines generally compelling. And because the number of shows located in West Texas will probably peak out at one in my lifetime.

I liked the first episode of this season. Things seemed to get off to a good start.

The thing that nagged me was the fact that nice-boy geek Landry HAULED OFF AND KILLED A GUY. Honestly, the killing was fine. The problem was what happened afterward. Hide the body and don't call the police?

The Sports Guy at ESPN.com definitely did not like this, saying Landry had essentially deserted his character. Eh. I'm always of the position that a boy can get talked into any kind of stupidity if the woman he luvs is the one talking.

So for me, it was more about Tyra losing it that surprised me. She's plenty nuts, but usually in a self-preserving way, and she's always had a strong streak of common sense. (Hence her decision to aim for Texas Tech).

So anyway, this plot 'twist' happens, and it overshadows everything else about the show:

Gee, Landry is having difficulty learning to work through his blockers. That's a shame on top of the fact THAT HE KILLED A GUY. Hmmm ... Landry's making his usual sensitive geek jokes with his buddy. It must not be as funny after HE FREAKIN' BASHED A DUDE'S SKULL IN. And then he and Tyra HAVE SEX. I'm not buying it.

Meanwhile, the coach's daughter Julie is driving me nuts.

Her mother's falling apart trying to deal with a new baby, and she can't be bothered to help. All that she can do is go out and be jail bait for some slacker musician who'll soon find himself sliding into prison.

Meanwhile -- now that they've broken the Totally Impossible Relationships barrier with Landry and Tyra -- every time a guy and a girl on the show meet I'm wondering just how many episodes before they get it on.

Matt and his grandmother's nurse? I'm giving it three episodes. He's bound to be going through some lonely times.

Coach's wife and geeky science teacher? God, I hope that doesn't happen.

Last year, it would slide into Friday Night Lights, 90210. This year, it's more like Friday Night Lights: Hookin' Up!

Schedule, schmedule
Reached a point this week where I just threw out every piece of advice regarding the boy. When he's hungry, I'll feed him. When he's asleep, I'll let him sleep.

He has no schedule. I recall the pediatrician's advice to put him to bed before he goes to sleep. The problem is he'll feed for two minutes. Then fall asleep. Then feed for a minute, then fall asleep for 30 seconds, and so on.

I give up. We'll just follow his lead until we reach that magical six-week point I've heard about when he settles into some kind of a discernable rhythm.

(On a slightly philosophic note, I kind of take this time as God's way of telling you that your kid is going to do what he wants to do, and is otherwise 75 percent out of your control.)

George Lucas planning Star Wars TV series. Damn.
I just wish he would allow someone who still cares about Star Wars to take control of the project, as opposed to himself.

Here's a quote from the story:

Lucas is confident he can find a home for his droids and Jedi, but he also knows the projects are unorthodox enough to give network executives pause.

"They are having a hard time," Lucas said. "They're saying, 'This doesn't fit into our little square boxes,' and I say, 'Well, yeah, but it's "Star Wars." And "Star Wars" doesn't fit into that box.' "

Actually, what most people are saying is that they'd like to put Star Wars into the little square box of "Things that do not suck."

Save for episodes 4 and 5 and parts of 3 and 6, George Lucas hasn't put much in that box lately.

And remember what happened the last time Lucas did Star Wars for TV.


Tired of Cowboys blather
From the gnashing of teeth on the local sports pages, you would've thought that Tony Romo did nothing on Sunday afternoon but torture golden retriever puppies on the sidelines. Sheesh. The season's not over. There's no reason to think the Cowboys couldn't win if they got another shot at the Patriots. I'd just like to see a victory in a freakin' playoff game.

(I had mixed feelings watching. Wes Welker went nuts all day. It was a pretty sweet sight for Tech fans. Also for myself. Before the season started, I was at a party in Oklahoma. The same guy who derided me for 'not knowing much about sports*' was also the one who said Wes Welker was overrated. Wish I had a phone number to text message "Suck this".)

*Which is true, by the way. I still don't like to hear it, tough guy.

Notes

About 15 days of posts in a handy condensed version.

It's 5 a.m., I'm just going to go through these until Sam wakes up or I finally pass out.


A special thanks to the wife

Who, thanks to pressures at work and the TV viewing habbits of her husband, has become literate in football. We watched the Cowboys game together on Monday and were both amazed. She stole "Friday Night Lights" from me when I was halfway through it and finished it in a couple of weeks.

And, most importantly, she knows the "Never-Tease-Husband-After-Tech-Loses" rule. Husband bends over backward to not dog anybody else when their team falls flat on their backsides, husband gets really annoyed really quick when people don't do the same for him.

And good job with the child-bearing thing.


Speaking of "Friday Night Lights"

Watched the premier episode and went away happy.

The show matured over the summer. The characters were all more at home with themselves, and most of my pet peeves were dealt with, like the first season's penchant for making high school relationships seem like husband/wife affairs.

This season, the first episode begins with a girl trying to cheat on her boyfriend solely out of boredom, and the boyfriend having no idea what to do with it. Then the girl gets humiliated. Yep, that's high school.

I'm slightly worried about the rumors of a Rosie O'Donnell appearance, but with any luck we'll be able to get through that together. Looking forward to the season.


Put the beer away, no cussin', and don't nobody say nothin' about no dirty movies

Hi Mom.


Maybe it's just me ...

But the Texas music I've heard lately mostly blows. All sounds the same. I realize that I'm not a bar scene kind of guy who keeps track of up-and-comers, but I'm usually able to find a couple of songs I like on 95.3 or 95.9 in Dallas.

But the last month or so, it's just been guys who are writing their 18th song about their disinterest in their love life or some dude posing to be Mr. Tough Guy and not fooling anyone. Too many songs with too much buildup and not enough substance.

The only thing I've heard lately that I've enjoyed has a pretty sick idea to it. Here's the chorus:

Well, I never kissed a girl,
Til I went to college.
She got drunk and cheated on me.

Well, I never kissed a boy,
Til I went to prison,
For murder in the first degree.

It's kind of catchy, clever, and straight out of a white trash nightmare. The fact that a joke song about this stuff is out there tells me that people are running out of ideas.


Note to the Aggies

Just wanted to say, I'll guarantee you that our stupid frat boys will always outstupid your stupid frat boys. Once it comes to being a stupid frat boy, you CANNOT BEAT a dude that brings in elements of racism and animal cruelty and puts it on a T-shirt with a graphic design that looks like it was drawn by an 8-year-old klansman bottlefed on a mixture of meth of ritalin.

You think your frat boys are stupidly offensive? Tech made the FREAKIN' DRUDGE REPORT over this.

So, in honor of the stupid frat boys of Texas Tech's Theta Chi chapter, I give them the disapproving image of O.J. Simpson*, who seems to be thinking, "You're on the verge of psychotic here, but it's missing a certain elegance ..."




And OK. My wife's alarm clock just went off. Y'all have a good day.

* Thanks to John.

Sam's first outdoor walk

Not that he actually did any walking. Mainly for him it was sleeping and using his diaper. Maybe I should call this, "Sam does everything he usually does in an outdoor location."

Anyway.

Meredith honestly had no idea the sign would be there until we opened the box and pulled down the shade.

"Oh my God! We're one of those people!"

I'm not sure who "those people" are -- Annoying people who stopped existing in the late '80s; or, people who have given up all claim to hipness with the arrival of child. I'll guess choice two.

We went to a park about half-a-mile away. It was the first time to break out the stroller. Nice day. A little too hot, a little too humid.

But I was a little bit too not remembering what the sun looked like.

Mom continues her recovery. This was her first time out and about since the ceasarian, so we took things easy.

But a nice hour in a nice park.

Some other photos:

The Grandparents. (Meredith's side)

A very bright Sam. Really, the contrast and color here is a bit much, but we haven't gotten a lot of close-ups with his eyes open. He's looking at where the sound comes from, but hasn't quite focused on it yet.

Quick pics

Haven't had much time to blog lately. Don't have time to post now, only Grandma's demands for more baby pics were starting to border on the physically threatening. But it's a little hard to blog at 2 a.m. when your mother-in-law is sleeping in the computer room. (Still, thank God she's here.)
Here's a shot of Sam in a duck costume from Aunt Mindy. I understand the second before this he didn't look nearly as angry.

And here's Mom and Dad looking over their newest grandbizaby.

And this last one I call "Bigger, Faster, Stronger, held by Shorter, Fatter, Balder."

Sam, I AM

Soon to be making his first Hico appearance: As we've been walking zombies for the past three days, I won't go on long here other than to say that Samuel John Hill Segrist has safely landed in Fort Worth. Thanks to everyone for their help and support.

Here's a quick illustration of why you should pack in advance of your wife telling you it's time to go to the hospital:

Waah! And it’s possible interpretations ...

Waah! Oh, pardon me. Would you terribly mind handing me to the woman?

Waah! I wouldn’t complain. Soon I’ll be adding odor.

Waah! Well, look at that – it’s 4:13:24 a.m.! ... Check it out – it’s 4:13:25 a.m.! ... Whaddya know – it’s 4:13:26 a.m.! ... Hey – it’s ...

Waah! Basic cable is the best they could do?

Waah! This injustice will not stand! I know who you are! You are going to be sorry you ever messed with ... zzzzzzzzzzz.

Please stand by ...

We'll be right back.

Until then, enjoy our selection of Bollywood.

The Great War -- Eh

Watched part two of the latest Ken Burns docu-epic "The Great War." Disappointed.

Didn't see the first episode on Sunday. The Cowboys were on and you have to have priorities.

Anyway. I didn't like Monday's show because of two things I don't expect to see from a Ken Burns documentary: Repetition and shallowness.

The personal stories people told were moving. But they were short. Then he'd go back to the stock war footage everyone has seen about a million times: Cannons firing, planes crashing, bodies emaciating. It's not that this stuff doesn't have an impact. It just doesn't have an impact the 29th time you see it.

I kept on reaching for the remote to turn down the volume of the bombs.

Burns then spends all of 15 seconds introducing Gen. Patton. The best American general in the last century, and we get a brief intro into how he had "New ideas that helped America turn the tide." That's it?

In the Civil War, Burns gave Shelby Foote eight minutes to describe General Lee stopping along the road to make water. And included a map. Patton gets 15 seconds?

I'm guessing that Burns was probably intimidated by the scope of the whole thing, along with time constraints. He talked to live people, probably didn't want to hurt their feelings by not including them. Such is the advantage on doing a documentary on the Civil War, as everybody is for the most part dead. So, he instead includes everybody and never gets really deep into the subject.

Whatever. It's one episode. I'm hoping it picks up steam.

Tech goes blegh

"Oklahoma State slipped away with a 49-45 shootout victory Saturday at Boone Pickens Stadium, leaving Tech winless in its last three trips to Cowboys country and Red Raiders coach Mike Leach steaming."

For my own very lame two cents.

(Huh, I start writing this and learn it's already out of date. Tech's defensive coordinator is gone.)

Anyway, from now on, let's at least include one hard team before Big 12 play starts.

It was like a high school coach we quoted the other day said:

"You play the big, good schools because they'll challenge you and expose some things you might otherwise not see."

Things you might not see, like a defense that apparently thinks a good, solid
pointing at a running back will cause him to fall over softly like a baby lamb falling asleep.

If you spot this before conference play starts you might be able to make some adjustments before losing to a team you have no reason to lose to. Again. And Again.

Just slightly bitter. Some folks in Lubbock are calling for some heads, but that's silly at this point.

I don't make this statement from a point of expertise. I do make it knowing that no one reading this gives a crap.

Stay strong Aggies, stay strong

At least for the next week or so.



I understand the guy's an A&M grad attending law school at Tech. I can understand the mental state.

Cornerback season

Read newspapers enough and you'll begin to notice story patterns.

Such as, here we are in the fourth week of the college football season. Most college beat writers have already done a story on the quarterback, plus a story on the team's best running back or receiver. Followed by a feature on a star that has surprisingly emerged.

This week? The reporters ran out of ideas and just started going* with positions in alphabetical order.

So in today's Star-Telegram, you can read about Texas A&M cornerback Marquis Carpenter and how he's matured on the field this season.

Not interested? Then on the next page, try Jimmy Burch's column about Oklahoma State cornerback Martel Van Zant, who is deaf and a source of inspiration.

Don't care? Then try the story right next to it, about Texas Tech cornerback Chris Parker and how he's matured on the field this season (My personal favorite).

*Unless they cover the Longhorns, in which case they go directly to the Travis County prison. Ha!

The Ipod video and 80s silliness

It's the song on the little video Ipod commercial that has been playing every NFL commercial break.

It's about to drive Meredith insane, but for me, I've always been an easy mark for that smokey voiced sentimental thing. And it has a banjo.

Warning: Not safe for work. If you're a guy and don't want the other guys calling you "Fancy Pants."



It's by a group called Feist. I've never heard of Feist. I have no idea where Feist is today. I don't know if VH1 behind the music has done Feist.

A little reminder for me: There's a lot of good stuff going on out there that I don't know about. Good to know that it's out there, tho.

On the other end, VMarksTheSpot sent me this video. Apparently it's associated with the movie "Music & Lyrics," the Hugh Grant/Drew Barrymore flop. (It's kind of unfair to call a movie a flop nowadays, isn't it? They're all losing money hand over fist.)

Anyway, it's a parody of an 80s music video and is just about perfect in doing what it tries to do.

Warning: See above warning.



It stars Grant and the dude who plays the paralyzed quarterback on "Friday Night Lights."

Yep, another example that "FNL" got good actors at the expense of getting people who looked like they'd been on a football field.

A call for a seriously geeky moment of silence

Found out last night that Robert Jordan died.

Chances are, if you thought "Lord of the Rings" was lame and can't handle any movies that feature dudes swinging their swords, you have no idea who he was.

And on second thought, even if you don't think those things, but you don't seriously think the opposite of those things I just mentioned, you probably have no idea.

Now, before I confuse myself even more, I'll just say that Jordan is the author of the "Wheel of Time" series, a fantastically complicated fantasy series that now apparently will have no ending.

How nerdy? I recall reading a story a couple of years ago on the Abilene spelling bee champ. He won the local bee on the word "Telemon." Which he said he knew because "Telemon" is also a character in the "Wheel" series.

How complicated? The last book I read, I believe No. 9, spent 300 pages simply warming up.

Warming up, as in, checking in to see how one character was doing, and then moving on to the next 25 or so main characters to see how they were doing. Then he spent another 50 pages introducing you to a whole new set of about seven characters, all with extensive backgrounds and different goals ... And he never freakin' mentioned these people again in the whole damn book.

Anyhow, book 9 was where I bailed. I looked at all the plots and counter-plots and just felt that the rewards of investment were no longer worth the price of my time. And I was tired of the description, "She folded her arms under her breasts." That happened once every five paragraphs. I also got tired of scenes of naked women getting spanked.

Such is not my thang.

But, while sitting here in criticism, I'll say the first five books or so were a lot of fun. And a mountainously complicated feat of work. I still might go back some day and read the two I never got to.

I also admired Jordan the man -- went to military school, did a lot of things with his life, and was able to support himself writing fiction. That's a rare enough thing for someone to do, especially someone who writes about men on horseback charging the castle and women shooting death rays out of their fingers.

RIP

Pet update

How are my animals? Glad you asked.

Ginger

I worry sometimes how much age is starting to affect the ole girl, who is now about 13. She stumbles around more, doesn't play much with the other dog and her eyes are clouding over. Still, she remains as independent as an old stray and is always the one finding new escape routes out of the backyard. Damn dog knows I love her more when she gets into trouble.

The Evil Cat

Still brooding, still planning. Though recently she's not the Evil Cat so much as the Evil Cat For Whom the Litter Box Is Only A Suggestion. Tho maybe that fits in with her plan. Hmmm ...

Jimbo

Good boy. Still showing flashes of brilliance. Still unable to grasp the completely obvious.*

*Yes, he is the one I emphathize the most with.

Welcome home (Breathe)

My sister-in-law's husband Charokee just finished a tour in Iraq, and is back "home" (such as it is) at his base in Italy.

So, with a huge mental sigh of relief, I just wanted to welcome him back.

I don't do politics here, but I'll say that I've been proud and fearful to know a good man who was over there.

It's nice to drop the fear part.

Getting to know you

My marriage reached a milestone today.

At the Kroger, I was following the list Meredith had written, and came to "Jelly with red gingham lid."

The funny part here is that my wife expects me to know what she's talking about when she says "gingham."

The sad part is that, after a year of marriage, I do.

We also had the following conversation before I went shopping:

Me: On the list, you wrote "funny card for your parents' anniversary".
Meredith: Uh-huh.
Me: You want me to pick out something I find funny for your parents?
Meredith: (Pause.) Just get something nice.

Bonus link:
Female porn. (No worries, it's definitely safe for work and your grandma.)

Famous internet stuff

Here's a video that summarizes relatively popular internet stuff in the same way that "We didn't start the fire" summed up 40 years of history. I didn't find either of these things funny so much as diverting and catchy.

"Fire," though, is funny if you add a verse about all the dumb things William Joel has done to himself since he made that album.

Dancing in my videos,

Brinkley is divorcio,

I'll make music from the 50s,

Have another drink.

That took me all of 30 seconds, like it's writing itself. Surely that's been done before.

Anyway, the web thing is a pretty good test of how closely you've kept up with internet pop culture. I've seen about 10 percent of the things it talks about, and heard about maybe 10 percent of the other stuff. For that, I give myself an A.

First post this week

Pathetic.

This is probably the most I've slacked off of this thing since I started taking it seriously.

My apologies. Baby's on the way and it seems like all we have time for is projects and sleeping.

Frustrating as some ideas have popped into my head lately but I just don't have the time to write them down.

I can't wait until he's born so I can get some sleep.

A post solely for my Mom

You're welcome.

Sympathy, man to man

My wife asked me to pick up a couple of sympathy cards when I was picking up some macaroni at the Kroger today.

The strange part was the request: "Get something that’s appropriate to give to a man."

Uh-huh. I remember receiving one sympathy card in my life. It was from a girl I was dating, and my primary thought on opening it was, "If I don’t show the right amount of thankfulness, she’s going to be real ticked off."

So at Kroger, I picked out the plainest cards with the plainest font and the plainest phrase – "With sympathy." After I bought them, I realized that I hadn’t read what was on the inside. I spent more time picking out the macaroni.

Meredith was happy with them. Huh.

So what would be an appropriate sympathy card for a guy to send to another guy?

• The cover: "Dude!" Inside: "Man, dude."
• The cover: Picture of Barney. Inside: "I like you, you like me, sorry ‘bout the death in your family."
• The cover: Jessica Alba in a bikini. Inside: Jessica Alba in a bikini.

Actually, someone could make a killing here, so long as they sold the cards in bars. Seriously, the Postal Service would have to open new branches to keep up with thousands of notes, all reeking of beer and peanuts:

Dude:

You rock. You really rock out. The house. I love you. I love you because you so rock. Out. Dude. Forget about that girl, you’re way better than that angry wench, man. I don’t wanna hear you whining that whine about "Wah! I’m so sad! Mommy!" Dude, you’ll get over it. Because YOU ROCK DA HOUSE.

We love you.

Your dudes

*I get the feeling this has been done before, but what the hell.

Well, that was weird

Driven by Lauren Jones "Anchorwoman" mania, this site brought in 598 visitors on Saturday. This is a 3,000-percent increase over my usual daily visitor total. (I think. I'm guessing that no one here is a real stickler on math.)

Every single one of the newbies was brought in by a Google Image search, and the vast majority checked out within .87 seconds of discovering I did not feature bikini shots.

We were back down into the 20s on Tuesday, and I feel a bit more comfortable.

Thanks for the responses on the Vick piece. I was exhausted when I wrote it, and wasn't sure how it'd turn out. I don't even know if I agree with everything I wrote, but nothing's turned up lately that just blasts out "YOU'RE WRONG" to me.

Michael Vick should play again

I don't know why I've been defending unpopular athletes lately.

And I don't think he's getting a raw deal. I don't like Vick. His behavior was thuggish before this happened. Dogs are the greatest animals on earth. I have serious doubts about running quarterbacks in the NFL.

Vick should go to jail. A year, maybe two.

And then?

The thing is, the crime, along with the cruel and revolting nature of it, is just so freakin' bizarre. And that's why he deserves another chance.

Back in my early reporter days, I was doing a feature story on a retired geezer who spent his time competing in senior activities and pontificating on how the youth of today should also be doing these activities. "Maybe if they was pitchin' horseshoes they'd have less time to get into trouble."

(You do a lot of these types of stories while working in suburbia.)

So, the old man and his wife were thrilled that me and the photographer had come to visit. He showed me his backyard. He showed me how to throw a horseshoe. He showed me a note from the White House that said "We have recieved your letter," in response to a rambling note he had written suggesting the creation of a federal program for the advancement of horseshoe pitching. (He showed me a copy of that.)

And, in one of the more surreal moments of my life, he showed me his artwork.

He opened the garage door. Dead center in front of me was a picture of a rooster, smiling. The rooster was standing in a ring, surrounded by happy little round faces of people in bleachers, also smiling. To make a rooster seem to smile, you can either be one of the world's greatest artists, or one who tries very hard. Feel free to guess here.

And so the man explained his passion for cock fighting and how he tried to translate that onto the canvas. He also had also fought dogs, he said, "But those are harder to draw."

During this time, me and the photographer passed a few looks and said "really?" a lot. I took no notes. The photographer didn't take any pictures.

Afterwards, we consoled ourselves that he no longer seemed to be active in spectative animal killing. I never called the police, and the bit about cock fighting was not in the story.

What was I supposed to do? Attempt to send a married and retired 75-year-old man to jail? The thing about it, the man had no idea he was doing anything wrong. It was out of complete innocence that he showed us that garage.

He probably grew up with that, I thought. He was never in a situation to get out of it.

And so you have Michael Vick. From the poorest, oldest neighborhoods of Virginia. He kept his friends around him after he got famous. We jump on other celebrities who don't do that. He spent his life ignoring advice people were trying to give him.

We hear about these cases all the time. Thing is, it usually involves an athlete beating his wife, pointing a gun at the pizza boy, or having an unstoppable love for the ganga.

Once you do these things, it's a pretty good indication that you are in danger of doing these things for the rest of your life, and have become a menace to society.

But dog fighting?

I don't see this as an addiction or an anger management problem. I see it as a really disgusting activity. I don't see Michael Vick jonesing in prison, dying to get out so he can raise pit bulls and then kill them. I don't see millions of kids across the nation teetering on the brink, trying to decide whether or not to buy their first pit bull.

A person who has served his time in prison deserves a second chance. Understandably, you don't hire a convicted thief to work at a jewelry shop. You wouldn't hire Vick to tend a pet store.

But running around on a football field is a different matter. When he gets out of prison, if he's saying the right things ("I am a moron" and "Dogs should not be tortured"), then he should play again.

Maybe seeing everything he has go poof will keep him out of trouble. If not, he goes back to jail, and he never gets back on the field.

Fox's "Anchorwoman" improves ratings

(Cancelation update at bottom.)

At least for me. This site is getting more traffic than ever before. Lord knows what it's doing for Fox.

To recap, "Anchorwoman" is a reality TV show that puts this woman, Lauren Jones:

in Tyler, Texas, to read the news. It first premiered Wednesday night.


I wrote a bit about this in June.


I haven't written much of anything for the last couple of weeks, but have watched my daily visitor count steadly climb anyway. I reached an all-time high of 68 people on Sunday. (And no one ever comes by here on Sunday.)

What I have to thank is google image search, and the ability to steal pictures that look like this*:
So, thanks for stopping by. My only goal for the site is to try to maintain an atmosphere of friends sitting around a table in a decent bar, right at the 2-1/2 beer level. Sorry that I don't specialize in pictures of wrestling women.


And I don't have much else to add as far as commentary on the show. I work nights, I don't have Tivo, and I don't have any real interest in watching this. I'm guessing it involves a great deal of "hot woman humiliating herself" followed by "small town people expressing umbrage" or "small town people basically saying 'Yahoo' in 20-second mumble."


Here's some early criticism of the show:

From the Chicago Sun-Times:

"None of this is amusing, unless you can't get enough of TV shows depicting Americans as imbeciles to make you feel better about yourself by contrast."

Yeah, that formula never brings in ratings.


Here's something more in line with my thinking, from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette:

"Setting aside the hand-wringing and taking "Anchorwoman" purely as entertainment, the first half-hour of the one-hour premiere is a breezy diversion. It's train wreck TV that often seems less real and more contrived, but it's kind of a hoot anyway."

And later ...

"That may be the real statement "Anchorwoman" has to make about the state of local news: You can't really corrupt something that was already bankrupt before Hollywood came to town."

Lauren Jones apparently hacked some people off by saying that being a journalist isn't "brain surgery." From my experience, I'll say a big problem today is that too many people think it is.

UPDATE: ANCHORWOMAN CANCELED AFTER ONE EPISODE

So, on one hand, the latest jump in visits I've received will go down. On the other hand, I'll stop feeling like a whore.

From the AP:

Here's news that Fox's series "Anchorwoman" wouldn't want to deliver: It's been canceled after one low-rated airing.

The debut of the reality show about Lauren Jones' attempt to turn herself into a news anchor for a Texas TV station drew an estimated 2.7 million viewers Wednesday, according to preliminary figures from Nielsen Media Research.

That number is about a third of the viewership Fox attracted a week earlier with the finale of its popular "So You Think You Can Dance."

... Unaired episodes of "Anchorwoman" will be available on Fox's website through Fox on Demand, the network said Thursday.

I guess you could see it coming. I at least thought it'd make it halfway through the season, but this is Fox.

The front character was a blonde star wannabe, not really a sympathetic type, and the premise wasn't shocking enough to attract the folks from Jerry Springer. Off it goes.

I'm sure we'll all be OK. Except for Tyler. It's chance to be in the spotlight was just ripped away.

Somewhere, Earl Campbell just sighed sadly. Then he smoked some sausage.

*No, she's not near my type.

** It's difficult to find images of this woman fully clothed. I have no idea why people are ending up here.

Cookie problems

Aren't letting blog at home today. (The thing not letting me blog last week was "lazy ass.")

Anyway, real quick, here's something guaranteed to make most of you feel old.

The world that the incoming college class of 2007 lives in.

*Taken from Ace

Brats

I don't really worry too much about being a Dad who doesn't give a damn about what my kid is doing. My primary worries can best be summed up in this article.

“Although most parents mean well and are trying to do right by their kid, they fall into a trap of making the child an extension of their own ego.”

My weekend just got better

Wes Welker Scores!!!
I'm going to have to find some theme music, video, something for this season.

Random Wikipedia fun

From the entry on "Ook":

Ook is the only word of the Orangutan language as spoken by orangutans in the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett — specifically, by the Librarian of the Unseen University.

The word ook can mean (via intonation) any word, meaningful or not. So, for example, Ook-ook can be a long speech, an emphatic denial, or a shout of joy. On rare occasions the Librarian has been known to expand his vocabulary to include oook, gook, and, in times of stress, the high pitched eek and eeek.

According to the Librarian, who is patiently compiling an orangutan-human dictionary, definitions include:

• Ook. Excuse me, but that's my rubber ring you're hanging in.
• Ook. Oh, I do beg your pardon, I didn't realise there was a dominant male in this group.
• Ook. I'll Just go and sit over here very quietly, shall I?
• Ook. You're out of your tree. This is my tree.
• Ook. Yes.
• Ook. No.
• Ook. Banana.
• Ook. It may be a vital oxygenating biomass to you, but it's home to me.
  

Elephant Ears Struggling

It's rather hot today ...

Quick take on Barry Bonds

In response to the comment*:

"While you were away, Barry "crybaby on roids" Bonds hit number 756.
Meaningless! Come on, let's start the debate now!"

First off:
I don't know much about sports. Oh, I guess I know a great deal about how to play football and baseball, and I can go to a game and tell you who the best players are that day and what's happening away from the ball. But the encyclopedic knowledge of every athlete, coach or jock holder involved in the sporting universe goes way beyond my interest. I have personal reasons for that fact, a subject I might tackle later.

Secondly, I don't care. I don't get the whole belief that, somehow, the lifetime home run tally is "the most prestigious record in sports." Oh really?

Yes, hitting a baseball is one of the most difficult sporting feats out there. Running 100 meters in under 10 seconds? Also hard. Beating the crap out of somebody who has done nothing but train for six months? Not easy.

I don't get the ranking of one record over the other or how it's even possible to compare.

Why this shows that Major League Baseball today is in crappy shape:
A lot of people remember the 1998 season as the wonderful year that Sammy Sosa and Mark McGuire "saved" baseball. I remember it as the year MLB stopped even pretending that people gave a damn about the game. As in, who has the best team? Who's leading their division?

Nope. Pro baseball today is about a bunch of merceneries out to get the best statistics. The main storyline this season is Bonds, and it's Bonds because MLB doesn't have enough faith that the drama of the Red Sox plowing through everyone is enough to pull in an audience.

They have so little faith that a good season by several quality teams will attract attention, that we instead get non-stop coverage of a chemically enhanced freak that no one likes.

Barry Bonds used steroids. Nyyyahhh.
Yeah. That's pretty obvious. And no one else in baseball ever did. Mark McGuire's record-breaking season out of nowhere was gift from the angel of Babe Ruth and his balls were gently blown over the fence by the ghost of Honus Wagner.

I'll be happy to put an asterisk by Bonds' record so long as we consider every record set in the last 20 years for asteriskability. And that goes for football on the pro and college level.

Barry Bonds is a jerk.
Eh. So in hell he and Ty Cobb will be bunkmates. That's his problem.

Besides, as is often the case, I can't really read if it's him or if it's the relationship he has with the media. Character and media savvy are two different things.

And it's not like this threatens the greatness that is Babe Ruth. The man could eat 30 hotdogs, gulp two pitchers of beer, and then go out and freakin' pound the ball. No one is ever going to be that cool again.

So, the actual quick take on Bonds:
I was mildly happy. Regardless of Bonds, it's an impressive thing to do. And since I work in the sports section, I no longer have to worry about it. It also made a lot dudes on TV with really nice hair and non-deserved attitudes go frothing at the mouth. And I like to see that happen.

*Kind of a random comment, I couldn't peg who that came from. I don't do a whole lot of sports, except talk about Tech and get my non-sexual crush on Wes Welker going.

It's 5 a.m.

Folks:

Thanks for stopping by. Sorry that I haven't posted in the last few days. It's been a non-stop series of obligatory social events, baby furniture assembly, and cooking the chicken before it goes bad. Hence, the poor quality of this note.

Wednesday (today) doesn't look much better for me.

I should be back soon.

I realize this is not making sense.

Gracias.

Why editors have that reputation

Was just exploring the blogs at my hometown paper, the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal.

And I gotta tell you, the compilation blog for all the editors is ON FIRE.

Behold the stupendous amount of mind-blowing data put out in one month's time.

Eh.

When I say "on fire", I mean whatever device they were blogging with must have actually caught on fire, and they couldn't use it, thus preventing a great deal of blogging.

Get it? Ha ha!

:)

My wife looks like ...

While we're on the subject of pregnancy, today my wife was one of the subjects in a Star-Telegram picture on pregnant fashion.

Meredith is the one in the center, later referred to as the "Working mother-to-be." Note the shoes: She's the only one in flats, a point in which she took much pride. I'll admit I'm slightly creeped out by the cutting off of the head, but they did that because no one in the shoot is a working model.

I don't know if you can tell much about Meredith from the picture. I can tell you that she liked the pants, but "There's no way, NO WAY I'm paying $90 for something I'm only going to wear two months," darn it all*.

Or something. My wife's exclamations tend to confuse me.

We're having a baby*

Several times over the past few months, I've been in an idle conversation** with somebody and would mention the upcoming arrival of my betrothered. And it would come as a shock to the person I was talking to that I'm about to make my contribution to the next generation of Segrists.

I'm no longer sure who I've told and who I haven't. So, just to put out the notice with a larger bit of volume:

Me and my wife are pregnant.

When: Late September or thereabouts.
What: A boy -- or a girl who is going to have some serious identity issues.
Who: Sam (Tho he won't be a junior).

No, we're not ready. We're not even kidding ourselves about seeing "ready" somewhere over the horizon.

*By which I mean, as per usual, my wife is doing all the work and I'm contributing the sarcasm.
**E-mailing. Like I get into conversations.

A small truth

"He Stopped Loving Her Today" is an overrated song. Really kind of silly, if you think about it.

Yeah, we've all been through those times, usually in our late teens and early 20s, where we swear that we are so broken by rejection, our hearts will never work again. Then we go out and get drunk and stupid with the next one. This is the natural order. We wouldn't want to live in a world where it wasn't. (I'd like to proudly state for the record that alcohol did not play a part in my happy little marriage.)

And yet -- according to "He stopped Loving Her Today" -- any time Bob's friends suggested beer and dominos (or beer and fishing, or fishing and dominos), he'd say no, because "my heart's too dern beat up." Even when he was 50.

To which I say: What a royal pain in the ass. They probably could not get Bob in the ground fast enough. That funeral would have turned into one wild freakin' conga line to the gravesite.

*I don't know why I've been attacking old country songs lately. I'll move on.

Need book

Anybody got any decent books to read?

It needs to be fiction. I've been watching too many movies and reading too many blogs lately and I can feel the brain rot starting to set in.

Two things: I'm not in the mood for Harry Potter. I have nothing against Harry, but I'm not in the mood. And don't tell me "Da Vinci Code." If you tell me "Da Vinci Code," I'm going to spend the rest of my days trying to figure out how to send a kick-in-the-crotch via e-mail.

Are you there God? It's me, Seagraves

Dear God:

Thanks for the lesson in humility. One week after I badmouth some of the players on my softball team, you visit upon my person great pain and embarrassment.

First, You reminded me that I can no longer take 205-plus pounds of flesh from standing still to a dead sprint. You reminded me that I should probably go through about two more phases of increasing speed -- by ripping something in my thigh muscle, causing me to walk with a limp for the foreseeable future.

Second, you showed me that I can't criticize anyone's talents, not when the best I can do with two outs and the game on the line is hit an infield fly. I think the guy at second just held out his hand to catch it and looked bored by the time the ball got there.

Ho! Ha! You really showed me! Very funny God, very funny.

And since we're gabbering, I'd also like to take the time to say thanks for the rain. Yes, many people have lifted up their throats and sometimes their fists -- self-righteously shaking their tall boys -- against the Water That Fell From The Sky And Would Not Stop. And I wish the best for those who were flooded out or those who thought a Ford Escort could make it across water two feet deep and moving at thirty feet per second.

But how easily we forget we've been griping about a drought for ten years now. The lakes are full, and we're midway through the summer and we haven't had a single 100-degree day yet.

Yay, God, for the levels of sweat I emit are not yet overpowering my deodorant, which really helps, let me tell you.

Let me end with the usual stuff: Please look after my wife, please help her to forgive me for whatever I do wrong in the next three hours, watch over our soldiers in Iraq, and please keep Mike Leach from getting lost on the way to Jones Stadium. Again.

Amen.

The project

Phase 1:

Our pomegranate bush actually has a fruit. Unusual.

Phase 1: Complete.

Next time: Phase 2.

Tick-Tock

So, while being overwhelmed at the magnanimous, yet overwhelming, future job of parenting, it hit us the other day: Perhaps we should actually do something to get ready for our child's arrival.


Sure, we've cleared a room, bought some diapers, registered for people to give us stuff, and ... well, it feels like we haven't done nearly enough. I'm not the most organized of people. And the most surprising aspect to me about pregnancy is that my wife -- an organizational phenom --hasn't really done much organizing either. So, as we walked into the Frisco Ikea on Sunday, I felt a little behind that we were just now buying the bed.

Here's what we picked:

Like most products at Ikea, don't ask me to pronounce the name.

It is a pretty handy thing, in that the crib converts to a cot, shown here:

It does not, unfortunately, convert to the color and style pictured, which is what we wanted in the first place, but Ikea discontinued the line and no longer has the matching furniture ... I really could care less about matching furniture and that diaper changing table looks like it'd work but God knows I'm not the one making the furniture-matching decisions, etc. etc., ad infinitum.

I'd like to say the piece we bought was now standing in the cleared room, but we didn't buy it. Ikea has it on display, but it's a new line and is therefore not actually for sale until they get a shipment in -- probably around the first of August -- so call this number on the fifth, ask for Jorge, and this specific item number, etc., etc., ad infinitum.

And the countdown to birth goes on. The kid seems to be taking it easy lately, just wants to go square-dancing every now and then.

A headline that uses "Sooner" as a pun

From Dallas MN:

Calling the case "significant and serious," the NCAA's Division I infractions committee said Wednesday that Oklahoma must vacate its eight football victories during the 2005 season, including a bowl win, because of major violations involving players working at a Norman auto dealership.

My basic reaction here: It's wrong to take away the wins of a team because some bonehead who just had to, just couldn't keep himself away from, whose ego just couldn't stop him from meddling just so he could brag about it to his mechanics, who probably can't stand him as it as, freakin' jerk.

Anyway... It's a shame that the entire organization has to forfeit two-year-old wins* because one dumb guy gave money to two even dumber players. And really, it only makes sense in a metaphysical way that the vast majority of football players aren't going to get. (Though this will probably lead to the biggest on-campus football celebration Baylor has ever had.)

On the other hand, I hope that this will allow me and my Oklahoma buddies to put behind us a certain "blown" call at the end of the season in question.

UPDATE: Well, apparently not...

"Don't kid yourself dude -- the pain of being cornholed in Lubbock shall never fade. That's OK, it took Tech's best team under Leach, OU's worst team under Stoops and bunch of blind referees from the South Plains for Tech to finally sneak out a win this century!"

That'd be from one of the Oklahomans.

* Pending appeal, blah, blah, blah.

Softball

Back in college, I ran around with a group of people, who – collectively – had the skills of a decent softball team.

None of us were great all-around players, but some of us could hit, some of us could field and most of us could manage a mildly successful imitation of both. Hence, we always stood a decent chance of winning.

I was thinking about this as I drove home from a 25-zip massacre at the hands of a very average team in the lowest division the city of Denton offers. We had one player who ran towards a pop-up, yelling, “I don’t got it! Someone else get it!” Yet she continued running toward it -- and into the crowd trying to catch it. (A very likable person, by the way, but I had to use an example.)

So I was thinking about college, and the thought hit me: It’s been more than a freakin’ decade since I won a softball game. Twelve years. Bill Clinton was frolicking through his first term. The Internet was this place where people went to “alt” sites to compare text on the grunge movement.

Children have started and completed their educational careers in the time since I last made it across home plate.

It’s not that I haven’t played, it’s that I haven’t played seriously, or with anyone else who took it that seriously. I’ve just been on company teams – newspaper teams at that -- where the emphasis is on fun. As in “You're outside so shut the hell up.”

So, as Wednesday was the first game of our season, here we go again. I feel like the Charlie Brown of softball, only with less hair.