I'm on vacation

Folks:

I'm going to not be posting anything for the rest of this month and probably all of February. Main reason is I've got too much crap on my mind right now and my heart hasn't really been into this for a while.

This is a small message board for me and some friends to entertain ourselves with. Still, I don't want to have to think of stuff to write if I don't feel like it. And right now, I'm not feeling like it.

So, I'll be back in month or so. Probably.

For some news on my life: I've just been hired to take over as assistant sports editor at the Denton Record-Chronicle. I'll be starting early next week. And on that thing that a lot of you just recently helped me out with -- that's still up in the air. We don't need to get into specifics on that for obvious reasons.

Adios, says the evil cat.

Komodo dragon gives birth to many jokes. Also has venemous saliva that can kill within minutes.

Anyway...

John sent me this bit last night with the following comment:

5 Komodo dragons born at British zoo

By ROB HARRIS, Associated Press WriterWed Jan 24, 7:19 AM ET

A British zoo announced Wednesday the virgin birth of five Komodo dragons, giving scientists new hope for the captive breeding of the endangered species.

In an evolutionary twist, the newborns' eight-year-old mother Flora shocked staff at Chester Zoo in northern England when she became pregnant without ever having a male partner or even being exposed to the opposite sex.

John: All I’m saying is I think the dragon’s parents are being a little bit naïve… that’s all I’m saying.

I can't top that, tho professional blogger Dave already has his take up.

Enjoy.

Columnist writes something even dumber than his moustache

To explain for the folks who haven't been paying attention, which will include just about everyone except maybe Coddlemeyer:

In a Tech/Oklahoma basketball game a couple of weeks ago, a double-named forward, Longar Longar, elbowed a Tech player in the face, breaking his eye socket and ending his season. Longar Longar was suspended for two games.

Mike Jones, sports columnist for the Star-Telegram, wrote a column today about this injustice. Longar Longar got hosed, he said.

What, if anything, would have transpired had Longar's elbow whiffed? If he had not made contact and no injury had transpired? If the 6-foot-11 forward had been closely guarded by a 5-10 guard and his elbows sailed over his head? If players from Baylor and Kansas State had been involved?
And of course, what if Kelvin Sampson were still the coach at OU, considering the bad blood between him and Tech coach Bob Knight? That could have really been ugly.
I've taken a look at the replay of the incident several times, as have a lot of other people. The reactions I've seen tend to land on the side of happenstance, that this was just one of those unfortunate things that sometimes happens.

Yes. What if the elbow had missed? Then nothing would have happened.

Also, what if you're so drunk you can't speak English and you drive home and don't get caught? Nothing happens.

Also, what if you're drunk and you climb on a ledge two-stories high and go into the swan position from the "Karate Kid" and manage not to fall? (I did some stupid things in college, ho boy.) Nothing happens.

However, IF you fall off and kill yourself or IF you happen to drive through grandma's front door and plow right through grandpa and the evil cat, what happens? No one is going to take "I didn't mean to do it" as an excuse, you can be damn sure.

Laws dealing with public safety don't give a crap about intent. They are written to keep people from doing stupid things.

The same thing goes with sports rules. It's fine to use a manuever to clear out nearby players, it's not so OK to lead with your elbow at face level. This is because you can seriously hurt people with this move if you do it over and over. Hence, it's big-time illegal to do it. At all. Whether you meant it or not.

* The reference to the moustache in the headline comes from Jones' picture that sadly, doesn't accompany the web version of the column. Let's just say such facial hair would get him beaten up on the set of "Deadwood."

Nothing to wrie about, so ...

I'm resorting to cat graphics ...
http://b3ta.hnldesign.nl/rsc/

48 hours with a blank screen in my head

Sometimes whatever well you've been drawing from runs dry. I got very few things in my head (Ha!) nowadays except for work and wait for job search to pan out. Makes me a dull boy.

This post was originally going to be about water conservation, for God's sakes. The other thing on my mind lately? Sudoku. Finally started doing it.

Somebody stop me. Man.

Let me jump on the bandwagon with ... David Beckett derision

Update: Apparently I got my Beckhams and Becketts confused again. Sorry. But I'm going to take a wild leap here and guess that you really don't care.

I'm actually kind of partial to soccer. Up to a point. I consider it about on the same level of track, in that I get excited about it every four years for the World Cup or the Olympics, respectively.

At least as long as the United States is somehow involved in the competition.

After that, and beyond that, no way, I don' wanna care. It interferes too much with the sports I care about, and I can get downright defensive about the sports I care about.

Hence, when I see:

"The most recognized soccer player on the planet -- fashion icon, tabloid
fixture, marketing giant -- announced a deal Thursday to play for the Los
Angeles Galaxy."

I immediately feel a special glimmer of joy. All the northeast sports media experts drooling at Beckett's glorious arrival and screaming "Big time soccer has arrived in the U.S.", only to be swallowed up by an American sports fan base that still doesn't know if it really likes hockey.

Fun from the Irish

"At a U2 concert in Dublin, Bono asks the audience for some quiet. Then in the silence, he starts to slowly clap his hands. Holding the audience in total silence, he says into the microphone: 'Every time I clap my hands, a child in Africa dies.' A voice from the crowd pierces the silence: '[Expletive] stop doing it then!'"

Actual joke I made in college:

"Yeah, with a North Texas journalism degree, you can get the finest
pizza-slingin' jobs out there."

Actual beginning of a day last week:

"Sam (as they know me at Central Market), we want you to start making pizza
for us."

Ah, the delicious irony! Covered with pepperoni and extra cheese! *

It's a little strange. When I started working in the kitchen, I was disappointed that my job did not involve any cooking whatsoever. So, I can honestly say that making pizza is a step up. Maybe not a step in the right direction, but a good step for now. (Also, I can snarf down whatever I want, so long as it's in sample sizes and the customers can't see me.)

So, yes, if you happen to be at the Central Market, come by and order something up. It's $7 and up for a 12-inch, but it is really good stuff. (So, in a way, I guess I was right, it's a damn fine pizza-slingin' job.)

Notes:

• I stopped by the University of North Texas on Tuesday, and I just wanted to write that, although a lot of things have changed, I occasionally came across something that brought back nostalgic memories and stuff. That's all.
• You never know how important carpet is to heating a house until you don't have any and you're freezing your ass off.

*North Texas is the best journalism school in the state, and I'm where I am because of my own decisions. Don't be gettin' all dissed, yo.

Me and my big fat stupid freaking mouth

Scene: FedEx Kinko's, downtown Fort Worth. It's 7:30 a.m. in the morning. I rush in with a booklet and accelerated expression.

Me: I need a notary.

FedEx guy: OK. (Begins to pull out notary stuff from counter.)

Me (With an expression of relief): Great. Man, I was worried that I
wouldn't be able to get this done by 9 a.m., and I have a really important
appointment then.

FedEx guy: Oh yeah. (Pause.) I'm sorry, but we're not supposed to do
notaries until nine.

Me: But ...

MySpace don't feel like home

My wife’s sister recently put up a page on MySpace (No, I’m damn well not putting up a link) and this has led to some interesting conversations. First my wife talked about snooping around the site, looking for old friends and the like.

She has since suggested that we set up a page so that we can receive all the glorious benefits. Uh-huh.

I really don’t know much about MySpace. I had heard that no one over 30 can have both an active MySpace page and any real amount of self respect. For the hell of it, I checked out MySpace late Thursday night. Mainly I searched for Monterey High School and found ... Garbage. Complete stinkin’ garbage.

Picture after picture of young girls on line for "friends" yet always posing in pictures with a sultry look. (I’m not sure what sultry means, mainly the word I was looking for was "cleavage.")

The boys were worse. Posing in obviously nerdy pictures or with their shirts off and flexing.
Everybody was so desperately trying to convey an image that you immediately knew it was false.

And do you have to put "LOL!" after every stinking sentence? Sweetheart, we know you’re happy from the way every statement ends with an exclamation point and the generally giddy interpretation of a car ride with your BFF to go shopping. Also, there’s a picture of you taking a colored drink shot with your most attractive friends. Really, I get it that you’re making an attempt at a joke here. ;)

Meanwhile, I couldn’t find anyone my age that I went to high school with. Well, almost no one. I found one dude I don’t remember. In his picture, he was wearing a freakin’ suit of armor. He included a video from a Society of Creative Anachronism fight, as if it’ll actually get people to join.

Later, I found one guy I could remember, around page 33 of the search. He seemed to be OK, talked about how weird he was but was kept in line by his wife, etc. On the good side, if the picture he posted is accurate, he’s lost a lot of weight since high school, so that’s a good thing.

Also found a girl, whose name I remembered but didn’t know why. Turned out she was a former Miss Lubbock, and that’s why I had vague recollection. Also explains why she would have a MySpace page.

There were some other people my age, but I gave up about halfway through the results. Couldn’t recognize anyone. Sheesh, everyone has changed so much, it was pretty pointless. I’d need a year book and first and last names.

I don’t know. I suppose from high school there’s maybe 10 people I’m curious about. I get the feeling that they sure as hell aren’t posting there, next to the 19-year-old girl who loves "trying new things when I'm wasted, lol!!!"

Notes

Celebrated my wife's birthday today. She was present.

The woman often tries to tease me by reminding me that I am roughly three weeks older than she is, and I'll always be. At our age, it's like two rocks from the cambric era arguing which one got shot out of the volcano first. I'm not wrinkling my brow over this one.

For her day, I made my first ever baked-from-scratch cake. No cake mixes or microwaves involved. It turned out OK, and the process wasn't really that bad, except for the frilly pink apron I had to wear.

(I didn't actually put the apron on. I was considering what kind of icing pattern I should use, looked down, and there it was. "Get it off me!" I screamed, beating at it with suddenly ineffectual arms. "GET IT OFF ME!")

Mer said she liked the flavor, so it turned out OK.

Otherwise...
Sheesh. Life has been a complete blur since Christmas. Christmas day was nice, but it was sandwiched around 15 hours of driving and not much time off. I've got reams of paperwork I'm shifting through, and before I complain too much, I'll just say my mind has not been showing a whole lot of focus lately.

Case in point: The other day, I was wondering around the grocery store like Elmo and discovered we have a dry-cured bacon. It's bacon, but it doesn't need refrigeration. You can therefore take it anywhere. This will make the next backpacking trip I take completely freaking awesome.

And the whole reason for telling that story was to say that it took me six minutes to try to explain the same thing to my wife.

I've been desperately thinking about possible destinations and times for a hike or a backpacking trip. Otherwise, I'm just tired. The lyrics of John Mayer's "No Such Thing" play in my head a lot.

"Welcome to the real world,"
She said to me, condescendingly.
"Take a seat, take your life,
Plot it out in black and white."

(And go silent when you realize you don't know any more words except for part of the ...)

Chorus
I want to run through the halls of my high school.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs.

... And something else.

Ah, the fall of 2002. Mostly indistinguishable from the other time I spent in Abilene.

A News From Hico Apology

Now that New Year's has passed, and those of us with bowl teams are either standing, mouth agape at our failure or deluding ourselves that a win will translate into success next season -- I wanted to take this time to let some people know that I'm sorry.

Apparently the content of this year's Christmas cards has caused some befuddlement out there. Let me just say that I did what I did in hopes of entertaining you, and most importantly, in hopes of screwing things up so badly that my wife will never make me write season's greetings again.

We all enjoy opening up a card with a sacred scene or a merry little design. Few people expect the inside to contain a commentary on their son's tatoo collection. Or include wishes that they don't die anytime soon or that their dogs avoid gas.

I understand the surprise at this happy time of year. So, let me just say that, above all, IT WAS A FREAKIN' JOKE. GET OVER IT.

And that I'm sorry.

Tech ... wins?

Lordy, to be in Bleacher's Sports Bar sometime within the next week. They'll be playing the game, over and over, and it's not like people have something better to do during the winter break.

Merry Christmas

It's kind of strange that the older I get, the more Christmas eves I spend on the road. Y'all take care.

Notes:

• Dropped Meredith off at the airport today. Will eventually follow. But for a few days, I'm home alone, and you know what that means: Uninhibited paperwork and watching Battlestar Gallactica on DVD until my eyes close of their own volition. I may even hook up the X-Box. Stand back and let the party roll. And otherwise try to keep my life from falling apart.
• My car insurance agent has sent me the calendar of "Beautiful America." (The Onion's list of top-selling calendars included the It'll Do Scenes of Wildlife, 2005.) And I'm not too impressed with this effort. It has a snow-capped mountain reflected on a lake, a picture that I could have taken. A sunset on the beach. Another mountain reflected on a lake. Really, I think we've all reached a level of sophistication that requires more than "Ain't that rock pretty" kind of photo. On the plus side, it does have a shot of Palo Duro State Park near Amarillo, which reminds me that I want to go backpacking either there or at Caprock Canyons.
• Got new tires yesterday. Right now I'm in the odd phase where they stick to the road like glue, so much so that it's tempting to take stupid chances. Let's hope that doesn't last.
• Hmmmm ... Christmas shopping. Gotta do that sometime. I'll ponder that with a cookie.

X-Mas music

I work a good deal of the day in a refrigerator. A refrigerator that has music piped in.

It obviously isn't music of our choice, as such a thing would probably have the kitchen staff at each other's throats the moment someone demanded conceptual jazz.

No, the music we hear has the typical, "Relax-don't-steal" kind of mentality to it. Easy listening (surely someone's pointed out that contradiction) stuff by artists you've never heard of but remain familiar.

And at this time of the year, it's Christmas music time.

I should qualify this by saying I grew up in a church choir.

What time is it?

(Fortissimo) Game time!

I like Christmas music. Or at least the traditional hymns that you can imagine coming out of someone in a Dickens-era costume.

That being said, the vast majority of modern Christmas music would have made the baby Jesus have second thoughts about the whole saving-of-mankind mission.

I speak, in general, of the two main types of recent Christmas music: Chistmas is cool, dude, and My boyfriend just left me and I'm so lonely that the pumpkin pie will taste a bit off this year.

Christmas is cool, dude, had it's highlight with Nat King Cole's "The Christmas Song." It should have ended there. Instead, we have 150 versions of "The Christmas Song" and 1,500 songs that talk about how great Nat King Cole was whenever he sang "The Christmas Song."

"Rockin' around the Christmas Tree," and "Jingle Bell Rock" also get played five times an hour just because they have the words "rock" in them. And, for the first time this year, I've discovered that Bon Jovi wishes it could be Christmas forever, and that Metallica saw mommy kissing Santa Claus. (Yes, I made that one up.)

Meanwhile: The I'm so lonely type especially grates because, while everybody else is having a good time, somebody's gotta dump their depression in the middle of the annual office bacchanalia.

Hence, George Michael sings:

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart.

The very next day, we went cruisin' the park.

Or something like that.

And really, the sickest thing I've heard is a song called "Santa Baby", about a woman who seems to have sexual fixation on Mr. Claus. "Hurry down my chimney tonight," she sings. It's supposed to be tongue-in-cheek, but after you've listened to something 300 times, the tongue has worn through the cheek and is sticking out at you in a sick raspberry.

I don't have some conclusion here, just complaining.

Breaking: Truck That Does Not Move Moves

I got a call on my phone when this happened:

You may recall several postings I did over this hunk of garbage directly across a dangerously narrow street from our driveway.

Well, here's the scene today:

The Truck That Does Not Move did not move, of course, under its own power. A tow truck came to take it to it's proper resting place, perhaps as a case of Busch beer. I don't know why they finally gave up on the poor sucker. Maybe they realized the time had come at last.

Now if they can do something about the damn boat ...

Roasting wieners after 35

Got Thursday off, took the chance to take an overnight trip to the farm.

I still have some unfinished business to take care of out here, thanks to the fact that I will always be personally disorganized – There’s mail, bank accounts I gotta close, and I have no idea how I’m going to move all of my stuff to Fort Worth, especially considering that 3 1/2 of the closets we have are already crammed with my wife’s junk.

But what the hell, it’s not like I can spend all of my time thinking about it, and I’m not going to while I’m out here.

I take the dogs down to the tanks near the front of the place. They’re both empty, except for mud, which the dogs get all over themselves. I walk along the dry bottoms for a bit, picking up garbage and throwing it toward the shore. One pond has an old steel barrel buried halfway in mud. I’ll get that one day. It isn’t today, though.

Dinner is hot dogs of indeterminate age, eaten on heat to eat yeast rolls that never got heated or eaten at Thanksgiving. A man on a budget does what he can. And they’re quite tasty.

After that, I allow myself one Shinerbock, and then head outside to alternate staring at the fire and the sky.

Clear, bright night. No moon out but the stars are enough to see by.

The fire burns down to coals, except for one log that stubbornly holds its shape. A coyote starts howling from what seems like 50 yards away, and is joined by others along the Bosque valley.

My dogs start whining, I go back inside.

Last Sunday was my 35th birthday. For all intents and purposes, middle age. (I don’t think there’s going to be a whole lot of big important stuff left for me to do after age 70, barring a medical miracle that staves off old age.

Starting at 26, I really hated birthdays. But that feeling has started to fade.

Looking back, I don’t feel that longing to return. I was awkward as a teenager and stupid in my twenties. There’s always the "If I’d have known then ..." aspect, but there’s a reason you didn’t know it.

Looking back over this year: I managed to scrimp by in Hico; I haven’t had to take a job I hate (yet) to make ends meet; I still feel pretty good about finding a career I like; and I got married and haven’t managed to screw it up in almost four months.

All things considered, it’s been a damn good year.

Don't get started

This pattern tends to repeat itself a lot for me:

• Person makes some general statement on subject.
• I chime in with some half-assed, generally accepted opinion.
• Person proceeds to go on 15-minute harangue about subject, going into details so tedious it feels like chalk being scraped across the inside of my skull.

Why no, I didn't know that about Beyoncé, thanks.

Newsprint, RIP

We all know the death of newspapers is coming. Here's a pretty good guess as to how it happens. (It's out of date a bit, but still worth watching for the interested.)