Ultranormal

  • Monday Night Recap

    I’m sure you’ve read all about it already, but I was there. Ok, I wasn’t there there, but I was in the stadium. Yes, we made it to Monday Night Football last night. It took us two hours to get there, a mile of walking past tailgaters, port-a-potties and up four stadium levels of ramps to get to our seats on the upper-deck. That said, we had a surprisingly good view of the field and play.

    Ok, the game sucked. It sucked so bad that we knew it was over after the Eagles’ second drive. We were surrounded by a bunch of Eagles fans (four right in front of us, one next to me), and there were a surprising number in the stadium. As the game wore on, and the outcome became more inevitable, it became less and less comfortable to be there. The exodus began shortly after the second half began. As the third quarter drudged towards the 0:00, every Redskins screw up started a stream of Redskins fans headed for the exit and the awaiting traffic jam. That left the hardcore drunkards rooting for both teams, which led to the pepper spray incident I linked to above. When the referee said, “A foreign substance has been sprayed on the Eagle’s bench,” we decided we’d had enough and headed for the ramps.

    That’s when we saw the dark side of pro football games – the drunk bastards. See, the police used pepper spray to stop a fight. When we got to the first ramp, it was shut down, and we saw half a dozen fans being sequestered against the rail, surrounded by cops and two or three state police directing us to another ramp because they had closed the ramp to clean up the mess.

    On our way to ramp number two, we walked past a small group of Eagles and Redskins fans in a shouting match. As we walked past, the words were heated and slurred and bodies were inching closer to each other, chests thrust out. Yeah, I narced on them.

    We escaped the drunken yells of “E-A-G-L-E-S EAGLES!!!” and got the car, where we waited about twenty minutes to get out of the parking lot. Surprisingly, traffic was light on the beltway headed home, and we made it home a little before two.

    It was fun, but Jen and I both agreed we don’t need to do it again. I like Pro Football best when I can watch it on TV, with my bathroom handy, my snack food (that doesn’t cost 4 times what it should), and I can flip to other games, and turn off the TV if the game gets boring. It was an experience; one I’m glad I had, but not one I’m ready to repeat.

    And today – root canal. YES!

  • What Would You Say?

    Have you seen KEO? You can go and post a 6000 character message that will be sent up into a satellite will supposedly orbit the earth for 50,000 years before returning to earth to be read by our descendants. Ummm, yeah. Anyway, Jon and I came up with some possible missives for the project (all of these are fake and aren’t self-reflective, I swear):

    • Summer of ’02 was r0xx0r!!

    • I WAS SUPERMAN ALL ALONG! Yours Truly, Clark Kent (Jon’s)

    • Hi, I’m your great-great-granddad. In August of 2002, I lived @ 214 Evergreen Terrace in Springfield, USA. Here’s a topographical map. Please come get me and take me to the future. This place sucks.

    • THE TREASURE IS IN THE {-~~signal interrupt-~~} (Again, Jon’s)

    • Your great13 Grandmother was a slut (because in 50k years, you’ll have to use scientific notation on your greats).

    • I sure hope Jill won Survivor.

    • Dude, do aliens really have three eyes and suckers on their fingers?

    • That letter to Penthouse you never mailed.

    • The lyrics to that touching Dave Mathews Band song so everyone in the future will know what a gigantic ass I am

    • “I’m sure no one will read this, but I have to tell someone. In 1985, I kissed a man, and I kinda liked it.” (or some other equally depressing revelation you couldn’t bring yourself to utter in your lifetime)

    • The lyrics of Allanis Morrisette’s Ironic for the same reason you’d include the Dave Mathews Band lyrics. Pretty much pop song lyrics of any sort would show the future that you’re a gigantic ass.

  • Look At The Size Of Him!

    Jen bought a new digital scale on Saturday and we had a morbidly fun time weighing ourselves (Max included, although he wouldn’t stand still on it long enough to be accurate, he’s around 34 pounds). The most astounding thing to me was that I’ve lost over twenty pounds since my last doctor’s visit. While it makes me feel good that I’m headed in the right direction, it’s depressing in a way that I lost twenty pounds and barely even noticed.

    I’m a fat guy. I’ve come to accept it. I’m not longer bordering on “delightfully fluffy”. I can no longer buy my clothes at Target. I have to go to Tubby Bastard’s House of Vertical Stripes now to buy porno-rated shirts and pants with waist sizes almost eligible for the senior citizens’ discount at Denny’s. The trend started after I got married. I’ve noticed it’s happened to even my most active friends. There’s something about getting married that makes you gain weight. Maybe it’s the “OH, thank goodness I don’t have to try anymore, she’s stuck with me” theory. I don’t know… I gained a couple dozen pounds after the wedding. I was up to 260 by the time we left Tucson. I no longer played volleyball and basketball every week like I was. I hovered around 260 for a good long while until the accident happened. Yes, my knee. I had my ACL replaced in May of 2000, and the recovery was a pain. I didn’t commit to Physical Therapy like I should have, and well, it solidified my indentation on the couch. Since, I’ve slowly expanded around the middle to my high of 326 early this year. Thankfully, my doctor laid out the risks and well, I’ve been slowly but surely trying to cut down since May. So, I’m almost back under 300 pounds (307 this morning), and am not about to give up until I can wear clothes bought at Target (or some other store, I’m not stuck on it, but they don’t have anything larger than XXL and 40″). I figure I have to lose about 80 more pounds. That will get me back to my pre-wedding weight. I have a big-guy build (6′, broad shoulders) and wore 220 pretty well. I’d love to get down to 200, which I haven’t been since my freshman year of High School. My short-term goal is to be at 270 by Christmas and 250 by my birthday in March. Then, it’s down to 220 by the start of the NFL Season next year.

    Jen’s got us on this Carb Addict diet, and it seems to be working. The no bread thing is bugging the crap out of me, but I’ve lost 5+ pounds in two weeks, and it’s not that hard to stick to other than the complete lack of soda (and everyone knows about my caffeine addiction… I’m really grumpy in the mornings now).

    Wish me luck.

  • Short Weekend Roundup

    It’s huge! We got our new big TV on Friday (through an employee discount, I didn’t pay that much really) and spent the weekend ogling its friggin’ huge perfect picture. Watching football will never be the same. I can see everything now. It’s easier to track the ball, and there’s less confusion about what’s happening on the field now that the picture’s so large (can you tell, it’s big!).

    Things are a little crazy today, so I won’t be posting at my normal Monday rate unless things calm down. We’re going to the Redskins game tonight, and I can’t wait! It’s supposed to be clear and in the mid-sixties – perfect football weather!

  • I’m Not Funny

    I was talking to a guy I work with about the Swedish Chef from the old Muppet Show. I’d forgotten all about “bork”. It’s the funniest four letter (what is it, onomatopoeia, word, thing?) in the world. So funny in fact, I deleted one of my screennames on AOL to create a new one: Bork Bork Moo. Watch for me online (not often, but watch nonetheless). It’s not funny, but I can’t stop laughing.

  • Give Me Morphine!

    I’ve ripped all my Morphine albums now except Cure for Pain, which I’ve misplaced somewhere.

    Morphine was my favorite band of the 90’s. Their mellow bass driven lounge rock was perfect. Their first three albums, Good, Cure for Pain and Yes are essential members of any good music library and great artillery for self-indulgent pity parties, rainy evenings at home alone or car-music for a night out cruising the back streets of Tucson looking for a party where you know what street it’s not, but not the address of the house (sorry, that was a flashback).

    Like Swimming was an unfortunate smudge on the library. It’s not bad, but it’s definitely not Cure for Pain. With Mark Sandman’s untimely death of a heart attack at the age of 36 (he looked a lot older than that… played a three-string bass ages you, I guess), I figured I was left with the four albums, and I’d never hear more. But, ‘lo and behold, along came The Night, my second favorite Morphine album. It’s the slowest moving and most morose, but the songs are some of Sandman’s best. All of them are better than every song on Like Swimming, and better than half the songs on Good or Yes. It doesn’t quite stack up to Cure for Pain for sheer impact, but it’s amazing.

    And to finish up, there’s B Side and Otherwise, an album you can skip unless you just want to be complete, and Bootleg Detroit, the band’s only release live album. It’s amazing. In the audio alone you can feel Sandman’s stage presence, and the band’s skill at creating a vibe in a room. The second song on the CD, Come Along sets the mood for the set perfectly and isn’t on any of their other albums. It’s almost the perfect live album. If only it were longer. I’m always left wanting more when I listen to it.

    This has ended up a lot longer than I intended, but I guess you can tell I love me some Morphine. I will be eternally grateful to my friend Kris for introducing me to the band. She made me a mix tape after a rough breakup of the best depressing songs ever. She has the musical Library of Congress in her head, sorted by theme. On the tape were You Look Like Rain and Gone for Good. I wore that tape out, and eventually wore out my copy of Cure for Pain. You will too.

  • Need a Clean One?

    Why is now my favorite time in Max’s life so far? He connects things now and can have a real conversation (well, real in a surreal way). Last night, we had to take my little brother to school on our way out to dinner. Steve has the flu, but had to go to class anyway. Jen asked Steve how he was doing, to which Steve replied, “Pretty poopy.” Max looked at Steve with a compassionate “I’ve been there, man” look and said in his most serious concerned voice, “Do you need a clean one?”

    I almost wrecked the car… Max is sincere and concerned for an almost three year-old. Whenever I even mime being upset, he’ll come over, put his little hand on my big arm and ask, “Are you OK, Daddy?” To which I always say, “Yes, Max, I’m fine.” In this golf game we’ve been playing, there’s a grungy Goth dude (it’s a stupid golf game). The first time Max saw him, he said, “That guy doesn’t look to happy. Why is he not happy, Daddy?” I had no good answer… so I said his underwear was too tight and he needed a nap. That seemed to satisfy Max just fine.

  • Another Forgotten Album

    In my recent techno-obsession, I’ve forgotten all about Phish. Today, I’m listening to a bunch of their albums, and the first one I picked up is still my favorite. Billy Breathes is an amazing album. In the album’s 45 minutes, Phish manages to use all of their talent to create an album that sounds better than anything else they’ve done. It has all the punch, joy and great riffs of their other stuff without any of the self-indulgence. This is a great album if you want to try Phish on for size before plowing into their weirder stuff (or live albums).

  • Hey, It’s Today!

    I resolved not to watch anything on TV with “9/11” in the title. That left me with very few options, which was fine with me. I played with Max, cleaned up, waited for Jen to get home, and played some Jak and Daxter (beat the big robot at the end… now I have to go get 100 stupid power cells). I feel hungover almost, kind of like September 12th of last year. I’m sure that eventually, whatever it is I felt yesterday, and what I’m recovering from today, will fade away like Pearl Harbor did for my grandparents.

    I don’t have anything funny or important to say right now, just that it’s the day after the year after, and we’re all still here. One year down, who knows how many to go. We made it, and life goes on, and that’s enough for this morning.

  • Thank God for the First Amendment

    For everyone who bought one of those durable vinyl car flags, there were those who thought we deserved it. And, as strong as my reaction is to both of those extremes, I know I’ve spent at least a second at each one of them, and at many places in between. That said, there’s some stuff in Salon’s Forbidden thoughts about 9/11 that turns my stomach. Throughout, I kept thinking how we would never be allowed to read this kind of thing, the purely uncensored thoughts of our countrymen, in some other countries. I may hate them for saying it. I may hate them for even thinking some of those things, but they have every right to think whatever they want, and pretty much say what they want in whatever forum they can gain access to. Long live free speech, and my right to be offended and challenged by the free speech of my countrymen whether I like it or not.