A longer lookback at 'Stripes'

From Stripes:

"Have you seen the people enlisting in the Army? They're just like us!"

"Yeah, except they aren't as OLD as us."

***

Meredith's parents came to watch Sam last night, giving us a chance to go on a date. We had expensive Thai food, walked around downtown for a bit, stopped by the Barnes and Noble, and had expensive deserts on the roof of a downtown restaurant. Then we came home and watched Stripes. Great times. I hope this becomes a pre-assignment tradition, even though I stayed up way past my bedtime.

***

Netflix sent us an extended version of Stripes, which I did not know existed. Most of the extended scenes are boring -- exposition explaining why what happened next happened. But you already know what happened, and you don't really care about the logic behind it.

There is one cut scene, however, that is just bizarre beyond belief. I imagine they came up with it when they were first writing the movie as it was originally envisioned: Cheech and Chong Join the Army. I'm not kidding. Worth checking out if you're a fan.

***

I don't begrudge Fort Worth getting all dressed up for TCU's big moment in the sun today. Sky scrapers are lit up with purple lights, the local media is exhorting people to go to the ESPN Gameday show because "it's important," etc. Good for them. They've got a good team this year and it still gravels them that they aren't in the Big 12.

Still, maybe because it's a private school, maybe because Fort Worth is part of a metroplex that usually finds better things to do, but a lot of the enthusiasm seems faked to me. Just saying.

***

Hmmm ... Chili sounds really good right now.

Mmmmm ... donut explosion

"You got a lot to learn yet, Millie. I don't want it on my conscience that I was the one taught you."

-- From Elmer Kelton's Llano River

***

I stopped by Shipley's Do-nuts this morning, part of farewell tour of unhealthy food I'm taking before shipping out. Meredith and me are going on a date Friday, and I've been debating what and where we would eat. I'm tempted by chicken fried steak, but I'll save that for after training. Chicken fried steak is for coming home to, not leaving.

***

Ever notice how all the old, semi-successful donut chain shops were all built in the '60s and '70s? Otherwise, why all the faded browns and oranges and fiberglass? This had me wondering this morning. What happened in the 60s and 70s to cause such a large amount of donut shop construction? Was there a donut explosion of demand? Some kind of new technology? And why did it end, more or less?

***

My to-do list is shorter, but still intimidating.

***

A lot of that music on the boy's kiddie CDs is starting to sound good.

Ever-So-Much-More-So

I was thinking my eyes would be popping open at 4:30 a.m. by now. I was wrong.

***

Life, before you leave to start on something new, takes on a condensed, ultra-concentrated kind of feel. It reminds me of a story I randomly read back in elementary, called "Ever So Much More So."

It's funny what stays with you. I trolled for information on the story this morning ... and, aha ... The Wikipedia entry for the Homer Price* stories:

"Flim-flam merchants and larger-than-life paraphernalia appear in several stories. One features a snake-oil salesman — Professor Atmos P. H. Ear — offloading an odorless, colorless, tasteless chemical called 'Ever-So-Much-More-So' that when sprinkled on things, supposedly enhances everything; a soft bed would become softer, a fast car becomes faster, and so on."

In elementary, it seemed that every year we watched a film about a donut machine that wouldn't stop making donuts, and all hell breaks loose after a woman claims her diamond bracelet fell into the batter. The stories are from the same root. That's something I'll have to check out when I get back. Sam's getting to an age where I'll be able to read any children's story to him with impunity.

***

I bought a book yesterday, a time-killing tool for the traveling and registration period before training actually begins. (This normally takes about four days, but I've been told that it can take weeks.)

So I went to Half-Price books and moseyed over to the fiction section. I didn't really know what I wanted, only what I didn't want:

• No westerns. (I'm reading one right now.)
• No war novels, any time period. (I don't need to read about guts and glory -- things will go much better if I stay focused on the practical.)
• No fantasy or sci-fi. (See above.)

Considering how the above list constitutes 95 percent of my normal reading material, picking out a book was not easy. I eventually ambled over into history, where I had to deal with the fact that everyone in my platoon (squad, whatever) will know what I'm reading, and God knows what cultural background baggage they're bringing with them. So, no books on tribal Africa, stay away from Samurai histories and don't even look at the Middle East section.

So I shuffled back into fiction and eventually picked out a novel by the same guy who wrote Watership Down, one of the better books I've read in the last five years. The story is called Plague Dogs and has a picture of two canines on the cover. That'll do.

Gold Bond, for all your naughty bits

Funny how I only thought of Gold Bond Powder as a product for the feet, when I thought about it at all. I've just learned that it's also good for your nether regions. The Army is going to give me a hell of an education.

***

Favorite line from the Elmer Kelton novel Barbed Wire:

"But nothing ever graveled Monahan quite so much as to have someone sitting around idly on his fat haunches, watching him work."

Yep. "Graveled" as a verb. Awesome.

***

I imagine that those of you who are interested in this sort of thing have already seen it, but just in case you haven't: The Denver Post had a photographer follow a soldier around, from high school graduation, to his basic training, to his deployment, to his return home. It's a pretty amazing body of work, and they don't shy from some of the rougher aspects of this guy's journey. I suppose it's a good example of what I'm in for, only without the Jerry Springer aspects of a personal life.

It'd be great to have an 18-year-old's body, but not at the cost of 19 more years of experience.

***

I'm happy that I'm no longer treading water in a journalism career. Still, some things are disconcerting -- like the Abilene Reporter-News web site. It used to have personality -- tons of local art and a notable presence of the local staff members. Now it looks like one of those web sites you land on after making a typo in the address bar. (Eh... After taking a second look at it maybe I'm being a little harsh, they do have local art. Still, the overall look is pretty sterile.)

***

It's better to run three to four miles every day than six miles every other day, I've decided. It's also better to keep to your rule about no more nachos.

***

And yes, I am looking forward to the next episode of "V."

There's some weird stuff on the radio at 5 a.m., Saturday

Reading the coverage this morning of my high school's loss to city rival Lubbock Coronado (21-20, another game in which placekicking was paramount), I was reminded of this conversation with my Army recruiter when he set up my military account.

Recruiter: OK, it's going to ask a series of security questions ... What was your high school mascot?

Me: The Plainsmen.

Recruiter: ... The What?

Me: The Plainsmen. Men of the plains?

Recruiter: Were the Plainsmen especially tough people or something?

Me: If you'd been to Lubbock, it'd make sense.

Recruiter: ... OK, let's go with another question.

***

Come to think of it, our mascot was always dressed in a blue buckskin, which didn't make a lot of sense. Every fur trapper all over the West wore buckskin. You'd be better off going with the pioneer outfit of a flat-brimmed hat, white shirt and suspenders. Those were the people who stayed.

***

The Springtown mascot is the porcupine.

***

Yep, Tech doesn't have a game this Saturday and I'm definitely jonesing. Ah well, I can get stuff done, I guess.

***

Getting up early is good, but the time does fly in the morning. My alarm went off at 4:30. All I did was stop by the bathroom and then go outside to fetch the newspaper. That somehow burned 25 minutes. And it's 6:02 a.m. before I'm done here. Sheesh. Need to get to work.

Shooting at Fort Hood

Fort Hood is my top pick for a post spot once I'm done with all my preliminary training. I'd get to raise my kid in Texas, and in one of my favorite parts of Texas. The small country road in front of our farm in Hico goes in a straight line to Hood's north gate.

I don't confuse myself (yet) with someone who actually is a soldier. I spent yesterday sending prayers to the victims and families, and feeling anger at the shooter. There was a new feeling -- worry about how my wife would take it, worry that my family could become potential targets -- even though I know it's not reasonable.

Last night, I spent some time in a couple of online chats for new recruits, and the incident was barely mentioned in either. That's the point, I guess -- things just keep going.

SyFy is a dumb spelling for network that caters to geeks

When I boot up the computer every morning, it'll fool me for a bit by working quickly. I know better.

***

A few more thoughts on V.

I've read a few articles that talk about how "V" is taking aim at the Obama administration. The aliens offer "health care." People give them slavish devotion without knowing their goals. The people opposing them are debunked as weird people on the fringe.

Meh. In the end it's a show about lizards in spaceships that want to eat us. To the lengths that a popular TV show will pick up on the zeitgeist and incorporate it is all to the good, so long as it doesn't come across as preaching.

I didn't even think about it until I read later how Battlestar Gallactica used the first part of season three to argue that suicide bombers have a point. And after I knew, I didn't care. It's entertainment. The viewer gets to decide what lessons he takes from the experience, not the creators.

***

To go in the opposite direction (and yet, not really), I chose Elmer Kelton's two novel compilation, Brush Country, as the last book to read before going to basic training. Kelton lived in San Angelo and wrote about the area and history he knew. And he usually comes up with something historically interesting, even if his stories tend to be straightforward.

For example, in the novel "Barbed Wire," you learn that the fencing of the prairie was actually a good thing. I remember all these romanticized tales about how the fencing of the prairie was a tragedy and a loss of freedom. Actually, more of the opposite.

Anyway, I just wanted a reminder of the people I grew up with before heading out.

***

I have dreams about my Grandma's old house in Oak Cliff at least once a month. Always comforting and kind of sad at the same time.

Put blog post title here

No Facebook, I don't want to nag my friend about his lack of a profile picture. Nor do I want to jump all over another buddy for only having 12 friends -- she lives in England for Pete's sakes.

Mind your own %$#@!@#$%^&*-damn business.

***

The thing about going to bed early and getting up early is that it's easier to get up early than to get to bed early, in the long run.

Last night, the lights were out at 10 p.m., thirty minutes later than they should have been and only because I shrugged off some chores that needed doing. It was still the earliest I'd managed to get to bed. I collapsed in a three-hour nap yesterday because I was tired of being brain dead. At one point I tried to put milk into the pantry.

***

Some thoughts on "V."

• Fun, but ...
• They couldn't update the whole lizards-in-human-clothing thing?
• Alan Tudyk! (Plano native who played Hoban on "Firefly", though he's probably better known as the guy who talked like a pirate in "Dodgeball.")
• All the main characters are handsome, 30-something cardboard cutouts. After watching, all I can tell you about is FBI-agent woman, Priest, surly teen, concerned African-American, etc. After watching Battlestar Gallactica once, I would tell you about Freakin' Commander Adama.
• Morena Baccarin! (Why is it that the two Firefly cast members are playing lizards?)
• "Devotion" is the greatest weapon of all? Oh, come on. It might be Love, or a planet explodin' laser beam, but it ain't "devotion."
  

***

So. After keeping this blog inactive for months, I finally checked out the visitor counter yesterday. Discovered that last Thursday, before I started this thing up again, I had one of my biggest traffic days ever -- 60 people.

The weird thing -- 40 of those people picked that day to search the phrase "famous internet stuff." They weren't all from one location and I hadn't noticed anything in the news, but there they were, checking out a random post I did about two years ago, before I could even embed videos.

I hardly remember anything on that post, except for the "My Hands Are Bananas" video. What's a little stranger is Meredith telling me yesterday (before I told her about the visiting spike) that she couldn't stop humming "beware the milky pirate."

Hmmmmmm ...



It's one of those things that isn't funny, just random to the point that it seems funny.

Aggie coach visits antique store, rents sense of humor

I wonder if my nose is doing something weird or if the oatmeal does actually taste funny. But what can go wrong with oatmeal?

***

In the Star-Telegram today, A&M coach Mike Sherman enjoys poking a fresh wound:

... When asked about the impact of playing at altitude this week in Boulder, Colo., ... Sherman suggested it would not be that different from playing in Lubbock (elevation 3,256 feet).

“Lubbock’s a pretty good altitude up there,” Sherman said. “There’s a lot of hot air up there, too. We had to deal with that.”

Well, now. Gather up the torches and pitchforks and clang the dinner bell extra loud.

It's like Mike Leach has been schooled by the old guy at work who last attempted a joke during the Ford administration. A player did a better job of it:

Tackle Micheal Shumard joined the Leach-bashing chorus when asked about Sherman’s decision to take a knee in the final minute of last week’s 35-10 victory over Iowa State.

“That shows class,” Shumard said. “I would hate to be a player for a team that would try and score with … 20 seconds left in the game. That would call time out to try and score.”

I think Leach did that at A&M after the refs took a touchdown away from one of his players, and besides, he takes as good as he gives, but, meh.

This is all and all a good thing: It fires Tech up during their off week, and gives them bulletin board material for next year, so they can remember to show up and play.

***

Buddy of mine recently told me how he's basically gotten too old to enjoy "blaring guitars" in his music anymore. I'm further gone -- I have a hard time listening to anything nowadays that's less than 50 years old. Give me old jazz, give me baroque or classical guitar and I'm happy.

That being said, "Poker Face" has been rattling around in my head for the last few days, after Cartman did it on South Park.



I even got Sam to go around yelling "Ma ma ma ma poker face," at which point Meredith told me it meant something dirty. Ah well, if I didn't get that, I doubt Sam did.

Hmmmm ... This English tea ...

Seems a little stronger than the American type. I still wonder if I'll regret not drinking coffee. By the way, Starbuck's Via Instant Coffee is pretty dang good. Especially so, if you're stumbling around at 4:30 a.m. and don't have the coordination needed to work a coffee machine. Just boil water and go, big guy.

***

It's not regular coffee? You lied to me!



The Star-Telegram reminded me of this today. Watching it for the 1,000th time, I noticed that the fictional location of the shoot was "Shreveport, Louisiana."

***

A) I like my teams to win.
B) I like to see my teams develop.

I don't really get being so angry with a team you're a fan of that you'd just switch off the season. I don't get publicly trashing a player (so long as the player is trying) when he doesn't come through. Maybe it's because I grew up around coaches and athletes. There's too much of the human side I'm aware of.

But mainly, things change. Dudes practice, learn from mistakes. I get tired of reading the fan boards and seeing people who have declared this player or that team beyond redemption.

A) It doesn't make sense.
B) Get over your jilted-lover crush. I'm amazed after reading this stuff that football players aren't the nation's highest per capita victims of stalking.

***

It seemed fun to teach the boy how to say, "Sam de la Barrio!" ... until we were in the middle of Rosa's Cafe and Tortilla Factory.

Ah, who am I kidding? It was still fun.

Going and gone

I've been easing into this look since college.



No matter how much weight you've lost, shaving your head makes you realize you could stand to lose some more.

Random brain happenings at 4:30 a.m.

Man. When you have to start waking up at 4:30 a.m. to prepare yourself for training, "fall back" is the most special daylight savings time of them all. Still. Man.

***

Meredith is shaving my head today. Pictures to follow. I stopped giving myself buzz cuts a long time ago, mainly because the scalp zit is the king of zit-related pain. But I've been told that shaving your own head makes the transition to basic training a little less traumatic, so buzz away. I just hope I don't scare the hell out of the kid.

***

Does anyone watch The Simpsons anymore? And if you do, is it because you think it's still funny?

***

I've decided to cut down the list of "Things I Must Do Before Shipping Out." Some of the reason why is practical, as I just don't have the time to spend a day walking along Mustang Island humming my favorite Texas music tunes. But mainly, I just need to prepare myself on the job at hand, and it's tough to do anything if everything suddenly takes on a sentimental tinge. "Gee honey, I'd like to run to the WalMart to pick up some lettuce and bananas, but it'll be the last time before I go and just too emotionally overwhelming. (Sob)."

***

I think I'll be far better off with the whole military career thing if I keep in my mind that, all things considered, it's a job. There's no need for me to think about George Washington looking over my shoulder every time I go to the bathroom. Just. Do. The. Job.

***

Seriously, The Simpsons? This struck me when I was taking a run in Hico a coupla weeks back. I haven't watched an entire new episode since 2005. The last show I attempted to watch started with Bart seeing the nerd kid driving a combine. Obvious storyline: Bart gets into an agricultural program and to his horror discovers where meat comes from. I watched something else for a bit, but when I switched it back at the end of the half-hour, there Bart was, trying to rescue a scared-looking pig. Why watch if you can predict what's going to happen beforehand?

***

I can understand watching out of a sentimental attachment to a show that's been around for, good Lord, the majority of my life. I watched all of the Bob Hope specials long after he'd lost his edge. But, even in his dotage, Hope managed to project a sense of his greatness. The Simpsons just cheapen themselves further each season -- Marge in frickin' Playboy? They'd be better off if they cut out the tired jokes and the tired plot and just put Lisa up there for 22 minutes, lecturing us on the progressive way of life. It's what they want to do anyway.

***

Ah, Hope:



Sorry to break the "No politics, ever" rule. But it's harmless. And it's probably my last time to do that before ... (sob).

A life with no sauce

It’s 4 a.m., raining, and not easy to sleep. I’ve maintained radio silence here long enough that it’s doubtful anyone comes here regularly anymore.

So how ‘bout some self-indulgent navel gazing?

A week ago, I was eating dinner with Sam, listening to one of his CDs play through a song about Dad Fish and Son Fish going up to the surface of the ocean to check things out. My meal consisted of brown rice, tuna and peas. Sam was going through his macaroni, marinara sauce and chicken, cheese and some kind vegetables. I couldn’t help but notice that he probably was getting more calories than me, and it tasted better to boot.

I figured that my meal – plain, healthy, boring as hell – was a pretty good metaphor for my life for the time being.

My daily schedule:

1. Drag myself out of bed by 10.
2. Eat cereal.
3. Talk myself into my five-mile run.
4. Run, if talk was successful, or eat lunch if not.
5. Run, if unsuccessful the first time.
6. Dinner preparation, household chores.
7. Dinner.
8. Dishes.
9. Put Sam to bed.
10. Should I sleep or do treadmill work? Hmmmmm ...
    

Throw in there: Three or four sets (if I’m being good) of push-ups, sit-ups and planks; reading-on-demand for Sam; talking to Meredith about frustrations with work/school. Try to throw in: Something to prepare for the massive life-change we’ll be making next month.

The result -- of the monotonous schedule and the focus on the Army -- is that life has become very dull, very tense. Or maybe that’s just the state of mind I’m stuck in. I don’t like myself much lately. I’m too snappish with my wife. My son has fully entered the terrible twos stage, and that’s been an adventure. “Adventure” as in something that’ll be funny about 16 years from now.

I’ve banned myself from making comments on Facebook because I just tend to pop up and rain on everyone’s parade. I.E.:

Some Person 1: Wow, is it still Monday? Why can’t it be Friday!!

Some other person: ROFLMAO!!! U R hillareous!!!

Me: I realize I only knew one of you briefly at Evans Junior High, but let me invite both of you to kill yourselves.

(Besides it’s unfair. If people don’t have a right to complain about Mondays on Facebook, I don’t have a right to spend an hour talking about the weather in Hico every time I see my Dad.)

If I had an 18-year-old body and no responsibilities, I’d be able to blow off steam in the typical juvenile ways until my shipping date. But I have responsibilities, and my diet has cut out alcohol to the point where the smell of beer gives me a second-hand buzz.

Basic training is a big unknown. You kind of know what you’ll be doing – running, getting yelled at, tear gas training, waking up really early – but you have no idea how that’ll translate into a day-to-day existence for nine weeks. I’m stuck wanting to get it over with and wanting to take more time to be in better shape for it.

Every now and then I’ll go to the Army web site, look at some videos and see the guns that I’ll be shooting. That gets me psyched up. Still, the whole thing still seems unreal to me and Meredith.

I guess it’ll be real enough, very soon.

How 'bout a nice tall glass of lemonade? And other thoughts

The ingredients: water, sugar, lemon juice.
The most complicated part of the process: boiling water.

I've cooked some fairly complicated things before with dozens of ingredients.


And this is probably the best tasting thing I've ever made. Like refreshing rays of frosted coated sunshine, poured down your throat by a squirrel perched between the antler's of a 16-point buck. Anyway ...

Bring the pain on softly
Few things concentrate the mind like knowing that, in a couple of months, your physical fitness level will figure greatly in the amount of yelling and abuse thrown in your direction. Hence my running, while not at the level it needs to be, has become serviceable. (Even though I still feel rage when I see the younger folks jogging around, hoarding all the cartilage.) And my abdominal muscles are coming out from my blubber, much like an emaciated bear comes out of the snow at the end of hibernation.

But my upper body strength is gone, gone. I kind of knew this from the difficulty I've had with push-ups, but I really discovered this yesterday, when I finally installed my chin-up bar. My maximum number of reps? Zero. As in can't do any.

So I've been going a little crazy since with the push-ups, and today I did a chin-up rep of one-and-a-half. This'll be an interesting time.

Yard
I was right, a month ago, when I said the edge installation in the front yard would take about a week. It's just that I haven't put in a week yet. I'm closer to day five, overall.

On the tele
So, Meredith has at last agreed that it's time to get a new tv, and it is my task to find it. I'm not too picky, but it needs to be cheap and work with an antenna. Any suggestions would be welcome.

Paper sergeant? Good morning.

When I took my oath a few weeks ago, I had planned on announcing it here straightaway, with the usual attempts at comedy. But I held back for a few reasons that at the time were unclear to me.

First off, this is serious, life-changing business for me, my wife, my kid, and both our families. Kicking it off with a few jokes was inappropriate.

Second, after telling a few people, it was apparent I’d have to get used to the bug-eyed reactions of people suddenly forced to manually drive their thought processes forward.

“He’s joining the Army? But he’s 37? ... 37 is old ... Isn’t there some kind of restriction or law or ... he’s 37? ... Fat?”

And when you get enough reactions from people telling you how various parts of their anatomy – mouth, seat, etc. – have hit the floor, you feel almost guilty for getting that kind of rise out of them.

(With apologies to friends who told me something on their person had hit the floor, which would be pretty much all of you. It’s a normal reaction. And thanks to Charokee, Alicia and John for the letters.)

Still, over time, not talking about it becomes worse than talking about it, so here it is:

Around May, when my attempt to join the educational workforce of the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex was crashing into a brick wall, I started to really look into exactly what my options were:

• I could spend a school year twiddling my thumbs, hoping that next year something might open up and I’d be able to win out over the same pool of experienced, better-trained teachers who were unable to find work this year.
• I could go back to college and spend three-four years earning another degree. Although this would force my wife to hold off on her plans of getting another degree.
• I could try something that I always wanted to do: the Army. I’ll say the pay’s good, and sometimes really good. The benefits are outstanding. And after getting through training, I’ll be in the best shape of my life and have more opportunity to advance than I’ve had in a long, long time.

As to the why -- I've always been a God and Country kind of person. I don't talk about it much, but I've always had a tremendous amount of respect for what the Army does. Part of me has always wanted to be involved.

I’ve included a list of most of the questions I’ve been getting.


You’ll be doing what?
I’ve joined as an officer candidate. I’ll be a second lieutenant at the end of training. I don’t plan on being a combat specialist, just on supplying the fighting regiments or telling them where to shoot.

You’re too old and fat.
(No one’s said that, but I know what they’re thinking.) The Army recently raised its enlistment age maximum to 40. My profile picture on Facebook was 30 pounds ago. I keep that doughboy’s face up there for motivation. Fitness-wise, I’ve got a long way to go, but I’m getting there.

How have people reacted?
Generally there’s shock. Some come back after a bit to tell me congratulations or good luck, some don’t.

When?
I ship to basic in mid-November. I’ll be done with that in February, and will have a few weeks off before Officer Candidate School starts in March. That’ll be done in May, followed by another school that’ll teach me how to operate in whatever branch of the Army I will serve in. That’ll take a few more months. So, around this time next year, your tax money will finally start paying me to work in a job as opposed to teaching me how to work in that job.


How’s the wife?
Up days and down days. She sees the logic of the decision, does her best to support me as I get ready. Worries about running the house all by herself, worries about losing me for a year, and worries about me getting shot. I told her when I made the decision that this was going to be a lot harder on her than it ever is on me. I’m still sure that I’m right about that.

We're both really thankful for our parents, who have volunteered to help with the daycare duties until I'm done with training. That's a HUGE help.

Won’t the boy miss you?
I guess. I don’t know -- the boy isn’t two yet -- and the whole time I’m gone, he’ll be surrounded by family. The real question is “Won’t you miss the boy?” I’ve been a stay-at-home dad now for 20 months. I like the kid. I can only guess at what kind of emotional panic I’ll be experiencing when it’s time to leave.

Do you REALLY want to do this?
Yeah. What? You never did?

And Now for a Bit of Two Journalists Bitching About the State of the Industry ...

Setting: A couple -- young, strapping but wizened – are sitting in a kitchen in a post-breakfast daze.

Man: I saw where B.J. posted a story on Facebook about a newspaper that started making money again just by charging for their online content. People returned to buying the actual paper.

Woman (sarcastically): Wow. Imagine that. It’s never worked for anyone, like the Wall Street Journal. Let’s just keep giving it away for free and see what happens.

Man: Yeah. (Dropping into dumb big shot voice.) I’m a newspaper consultant from the Northeast, and I think visibility equals profit. Duh. You’ve been giving away your stuff for free so long that people now resent the idea of paying for information. Duh. Free on-line is the future!

Woman: Idiots.

Man: Morons.

End scene.

Blog status: More inactiver

Just writing to let y'all know that I won't be posting much for a while. Sorry I can't give you a definite time frame, but experience has shown that I can't predict how long these absences last, or how complete the lack of postings will be. This is my favorite place to post Sam and Hico, pictures, after all.

As to why -- I've got some major things I need to do with my life right now (I.E. getting over my paralyzing fear of clowns, once and for all). And those things are taking up all the space in my head usually reserved for the things that end up here.

I came up with a premise on Saturday, "Baby Indian Names for Parents." You know, "Man-who-Stretches-Elastic-of-Boxer-Shorts" and whatnot, and couldn't really come up with anything satisfactory after two days.

I think it's time to walk away for a bit, and I don't want the regular visitors to get peeved without telling them whatsup, as the young people say.

I'll post a link on Facebook when I get back. Later.

Happy Monday

Some short observations. Because I can't think of what to update my Facebook status with ...

-- I like bacon. But I've noticed lately that pronouncing your fondness for it has become a macho badge for people too old to wear pants that don't cover their rear ends. Bacon's a good, non-PC kind of meat, but it doesn't turn you into the Marlboro man. Even if you smoke it. (ha ... ha.)

-- Speaking of Facebook. I figured out why I keep going back, despite my continual annoyance with it. It's like a cable channel of me. I go there, I don't participate much, but I get to check in on the folks. It's fun to see what clever/stupid thing Opie has written, and to see everyone else calling him a moron. I enjoy BJ's commentary on hip hop society, which I know absolutely nothing about. And it's interesting to see your high school class operating under pretty much the same social structure as it did umpteen years ago -- and to not really care that much.

It's a custom-made, continual update into various tiny bits of my memory. Kinda vain and useless, but better than most of what's on actual cable TV.

-- Never put tomato sauce into anything that's supposed to taste Mexican. It sounds instinctive, but some recipes would have you think otherwise.

-- Haha






These were posted on The Corner over the weekend. It was fun to laugh at them even though I had mostly no idea what they were talking about. I realized that all I actually know about philosophy is essentially what I've picked up through jokes about it.

Little League and sports haikus

My nephew, who plays for the all-star team of the same Lubbock Little League I played in growing up, was in Fort Worth over the weekend for a state tournament.

Will plays multiple positions for the Southwest All-Stars, and my brother is one of the team coaches. (Added note: This team is coached by the sons of and includes two grandsons of two former Texas Tech baseball coaches, my Dad and Larry Hays. Kinda neat.)

Will at the bat.

It’s been too long since I went to a Little League game. I had a great time. The teams playing at this level – even if they are 9 and 10 year olds -- are playing some good quality ball. Plus, you get a great seat and things move slowly enough that you can keep track of things. I like going to Rangers games, but the cost is stupid and the distance I have to sit away from the action means I spend most of my time making estimates as to what just happened.

Sam and Dad calculate batting averages and time to diaper change.

Good ole Southwest finished second, which is nothing to sniff at; but there was some serious disappointment when they lost their final game. Still, it was fun to see the family and watch my nephew play. And with some luck and work, there’s always next year.

I remember that time in my life – when there was always next year. Sigh.

Sports related haikus
(At this point, a few words more than suffice.)

The Cowboys
Romo? Whatever.
The old boss is the same boss,
bad Botox or not.

The state of the NFL
Now Michael Vick can
stop torturing his doggies
and start hurting fans.

The BCS
The stadiums fill.
Excitement runs high, and then
Everybody whines.

The Rangers
I am sorry, but
my belief circuitry has
been fried to a crisp.

On Tech’s chances
I’m sure we’ll do good.
But it won’t be as awesome.
Success breeds boredom.

On the University of Texas
Mack
Brown
Dumb.

Swimming?

It's kinda hard to take pictures of your kid's swimming lesson, when you have to deal with a body conscious Mama and the problems of shooting on a cloudy day across a pool.

Also, Sam hasn't quite learned how to always look for the camera and smile yet. (Let's hope he never does.)

Anyway, the boy is taking lessons at the nearby YMCA. It's not like they teach toddlers how to do the butterfly. It's more learning about how to be in water and get used to it. I have my doubts about the overall usefulness of said course. It's not like the boy is going to tell us how much he learned. On the other hand, it's special together time with at least one parent, and you hope he gets a chance to get used to being around other kids. If not the water.


Sam and Meredith enter the YMCA, Sam decked out in his hat, swim shirt, swim trunks and Croc shoes. Did I mention it was a cloudy day? Meredith applied sunscreen once we got poolside.

Me and my wife have had several conversations about Sam's "red" crocs. As they seem to be more mauve. My wife insists she bought them out of the boys' section. It was Todd who pointed out that it's not the color, so much as the fact that he's a boy, and he's wearing Crocs.

Ah well, for a 22-month-old, practicality overrules all.

The swim lessons are fairly basic and unstructured. The kids get in the pool, splash with their legs, splash with their feet, and then work through various aspects of being in water -- jumping in, going under, etc.

The lesson begins.


And we work on the floating on the back.

There is generally one moment of the lesson where the kids are brought along further than they were the day before. On Thursday, this was the instant the children were all dunked -- very quickly -- under water and brought back up. It was as if eight crying and screaming spigots were all turned on at once.

Still, Sam obviously enjoyed himself, splashing all over the place and making his noises. I guess I'm a normal enough parent as I just enjoyed the chance to watch.