Eternal Damnation

I just got back from the gym. I was in the zone tonight. It was just me, the treadmill, Wyclef, and the Refugee All-Stars. “You can’t stop the Shining”.

Then a disabled man got on the elliptical next to me and I was reminded that exercise is pointless as I am going to hell. My fate was sealed in the Fall of 1996. I was a freshman in college. I had recently arrived in Davenport, IA with baseball scholarship in hand. The team had just returned from an off-season conditioning session and was assembled in the cafeteria. We were all sitting at the same table near the entrance doing more eating than talking; twenty-five guys physically spent. Most of whom hadn’t showered yet.
A young man entered the cafeteria that was, shall we say, physically challenged.

I don’t know the affliction but it causes a manner of walking that can only be described as spastic. Every movement seems incredibly arduous and forced. The legs lurch forward with no fluid motion and the head and shoulders shift forward and back in a herky jerky manner.

So this innocent student passes our table, conjuring up visions of the insect wearing the Vincent D’nofrio suit in Men in Black, when straight out of our left fielder comes this beauty…

“Look at this fuckin’ guy. Walkin’ in here like he owns the place.”

Record screeches to a halt. Uncomfortable silence….followed by some restrained chuckling. I was guilty. I couldn’t help it. I was simultaneously trying to keep milk from shooting out my nose and experiencing a deep self-hatred.

The timing and volume of the comment was such that I don’t know if the unfortunate victim ever heard it. It doesn’t matter. There is no excuse.

So, there you have it. I’ve got a seat reserved in the fiery depths of hell. In the front row. Right between Barry Bonds and the guy that gave me this haircut. I’ll understand if you think differently of me now.

Weekend Update

As a tribute to the incomparable Filan I will blatantly rip off her "Weekend update: by the numbers" idea that she blatantly stole from someone else….

4 $0.99 margaritas at Via De Los Santos Mexican Restaurant.
- These margs are made strong enough to fell a moose. Best deal in town. $5.00 = hammered.
1 time my buddy PZ (Italian) remarked, “These margs are talkin’ to a nigga.” Loud enough for people to hear.
1 high school basketball game attended with PZ, Spicoli, and Snowman at which we knew nobody playing.
1 time my buddies and I noisily chanted “Spicoli Sucks!” as Spicoli left the gym to go to dinner with his girlfriend.
1.5 hours spent watching my niece (7 yrs old) and nephew (5 yrs old) play youth basketball. My nephew scored his first basket ever on an assist from his sister. (swelling with pride)
5 hours spent shopping apartment complexes in the east valley.
45 minutes spent waiting for haircut only to have barber use clippers on the top of my head after I told him to “Take a little off the top.”
1 trip to Dos Gringos in Scottsdale to attend Filan’s Bon Voyage Gala.
9 Coronas consumed without catching so much as a buzz.
1 loud accusation to nobody in particular of a conspiracy involving said Coronas.
1 dance performed by Bunny, apparently a combination of Reggae and Mexican styles, that she dubbed “Rexican”.
1 comment made to Skins about one of my coworkers being openly gay to which he replied, “It’s obviously that guy.” While referring to a straight coworker with metrosexual tendencies.
1 metrosexual coworker who said to me, “How cute is this guy?” (referring to me) right after I assured Skins that he was not gay.
1 concession by my buddy Adam that had I not prematurely shaved my mustache, I would have won the contest.
1 conversation with Filan about her previously secret opportunity in Iowa, after which I was really happy for her. Good things happening to good people; gotta love it.
1 text response received at 4:57am!
4 glorious hours sleeping in on Sunday.
1 application for apartment turned in to apartment complex.
1 dinner of baked lemon herb chicken and stir fried vegetables made by Skins. I’m gonna miss having a roommate.

Schill; He did it here first!

My first baseball post. Expect many more to come. I have a long-standing love affair with the game. Pitchers and catchers report to spring training in about a month and I’ve already scored tickets to the World Baseball Classic. It’s a safe bet that from time to time I will wax poetic about America’s pastime as if I were Peter Gammons, George Will, and W.P. Kinsella all rolled into one. Consider yourself warned.
I just finished reading Bill Simmons’ interview with Curt Schilling. Good stuff. I’m a huge Schilling fan. I know many people think he is an obnoxious ass. He probably is, but I love the guy for several reasons:

1. The way he pitches. He’s got a plan and he works it. He works the top and bottom of the zone like no other. He’s got disgusting control, changes speeds, his split disappears, and he can get 97 on his heater. Also, Schill doesn’t fuck around. He throws something like 95% first pitch strikes. He challenges hitters constantly daring them to hit his best stuff.
2. He’s one of the best interviews in sports. I understand why other players sometimes hate him for this but as a fan I love that he isn’t afraid to call em’ like he sees em’. I don’t agree with everything he says (particularly when it comes to his venom directed at the commissioner’s office). But I love that he openly acknowledges that most of the time it is about the money. I love that he talks trash about A-Rod and Barry Bonds. Most of all I love that he obviously cares about the game, its history, and the fans. Passionately.
3. The 2001 World Series. I’ve lived in Arizona basically my whole life. I became a Diamondbacks fan when the city was awarded a franchise in 1996, before they even had a single player. The 2001 World Series was the seminal sports moment of my life. I was at the BOB for The Backs win in game 2 and I was at Hightops (bar outside the stadium concourse) for the historic game 7. That game and the subsequent chaotic celebration was one of the best moments of my life. At some point I will write about it, but I’ll want to take some time with that one. Possibly multiple drafts.
   
   Reading Simmons’ column I was reminded of something that has been bugging me for awhile. Schilling is a Red Sock. He beat the Yankees and broke the curse for the most passionate fan base possibly in all of sport. Predictably Red Sox Nation embraced him as a sports deity. In the process Arizona lost its claim on him. I loved what Schill did in 2004 as much as anyone. I just feel like the laughably dominant stretch he had in 2000 and 2001 culminating in a gutsy masterpiece against Clemens on short rest has been somehow cheapened by a damn bloody sock. No matter what he does for the rest of his career nothing will top (for me) when he brought a championship to the desert. And I got to experience it first hand.

Reality bites

I have now seen two full episodes of American Idol. I am pretty sure that as a result I am less of a man. I often choose not to watch certain shows on purpose. It makes me feel superior to other people I suppose. When everybody loses their shit about who got voted off on last night's episode of the latest Search for America's next top singer/actor/comedian/rap groupie I just say, "I've never seen it." Then I bask in their disbelief.

I stopped watching The Bachelor series after Joe Millionaire because I felt I was in danger of losing all respect for women. I've never seen an episode of Survivor, never watched Amazing Race, never seen anybody compete in The Gauntlet, and until this week I'd never watched American idol.

Quick aside: Not all of it is awful. (Simmons rip off coming) There is comedy, there is high comedy, and then there is a naked and wasted Vern Troyer standing on his lil' rascal peeing on the wall on Surreal Life. Will never be topped. They should have just retired the genre after that.

Skins watches it and I was in the livingroom messing around on the computer. I couldn't help it. Like the time I was forced against my will to sit through multiple episodes of Laguna Beach. While I don't plan on making it a regular viewing habit there was one highlight for me. When Randy Jackson asks the obviously gay kid from the town of 300, "What makes you different?" followed by Simon cutting the kid off chuckling, "Well, isn't it obvious?" good stuff.

I think I will go back to watching quality high brow programing like The Office and Family Guy.

I need a new gig

I can't really do anything about this until the living situation is settled for obvious financial reasons, but its got to happen soon. Without going into details; I stopped caring about my job 13 months ago. I've got two problems. The first is my education does not match my experience. I have a Bachelor's degree in Marketing and I finished my MBA program in April. Unfortunately, I've spent the last 5 years in inside sales. I don't have the required experience for jobs that are available to MBAs. Yet I am considered over qualified for jobs that match my experience .

Second, I'm not sure what I want to do. I am burned out on sales. I'm not a born salesman. I take pride in being knowledgeable and efficient but I lack the killer instinct. Money is not my top priority and I take no inherent joy in closing people. Two comments made by friends of mine recently illustrated to me why some people are suited for sales and why I am not one of them.

"When somebody disagrees with me I take it as a challenge. I need to make them see things my way." and "I'm going to make a ton of money someday; I just don't know how yet."

I feel like I need to go in a whole new direction. I'm within spittin distance of 30 years old and I can't afford to try something new and decide 3 years down the road that it wasn't the right direction.

Wondering

Why is that when Tim McGraw sings Grown Men Don't Cry I like it; I even sing along. But when Keith Urban sings Tonight I Want to Cry I think he is a salad eating panty-waist? It must be the goatee.

Is there a plumber in the House?

A funny thing happened while I was writing about house hunting yesterday. I took a dump. This is not funny in and of itself. The resulting chaos, however, left me no choice but to laugh. One of those I can’t believe this. It could only happen to me kind of laughs that starts off as a resignation to your fate. You need to laugh at this. Then it slowly builds as others around you start to acknowledge the absurdity of the moment and chuckle with you. Then you’re cracking up. Your stomach starts to hurt from the contractions and you’re trying to catch your breath. Still laughing, people are leaving the room so that they can call friends and relay the story ensuring that this moment will live on forever in drunken recantations, embarrassing nicknames, and random ill-timed one-liners for the rest of your life. It is then that you realize you might as well write about it on your blog. Because seriously, why not.

I want to start by saying that the toilets in this house have always been a little bit temperamental. There have been cloggings. There has been plunging. There have been instances of overflowage. It has been a source of tension in the house. Accusations have been made and lectures given. I feel I have done my part. I have experimented more than an MIT grad student. I used less paper. I tried different combinations like dump, flush, wipe, flush. On one, shall we say, more dangerous mission I even attempted the bathroom version of the Triple Lindy. I pinched it off half way through, flushed, then completed the transaction, and flushed again. I then stuck the landing with a final wipe and flush. These strategies have worked to varying degrees but seriously should this be necessary?

So I stopped in the middle of typing a post to go to the bathroom. Numbers 1 and 2. When I finished there was a half flush. The offensive material started to go down then stopped and the bowl started to refill with water from the tank. I didn’t panic at this point. Sometimes it drains slowly. I decide to give it a little time. My roommate entered the bathroom to discover my nasty surprise. It hadn’t drained. I plunged and flushed. No dice. The bowl just filled with more water. I plunged some more. I removed the top of the tank and clipped the hose to a 64 oz. soft drink cup from the kitchen. I figured this would allow the bowl to drain while not refilling with water and avoid overflowing. It didn’t work. The opposite happened as the bowl overflowed. And flowed. And flowed. By the time it stopped flowing there was an inch of standing shitty water in the bathroom. So much that it was saturating the carpet in the hallway.

Wait. It gets worse.

It is at this point that Skins, who had been napping, drops the bomb. He informs me that there are people coming over to view the house. Right now. Fuuuuuuucccckkkk!!!!!

I switched into natural disaster response mode. I started by using the 64 oz. cup to bail the foulness out of the toilet and into the bathtub. Skins was able to get the toilet to flush by violently ramming a toilet brush into the hole until the obstruction was dislodged. I then started bailing water from the floor into the tub using the cup. When the standing water was nearly gone I started using the mop.

It is at this point that I heard people being let in the front door. Thinking quickly I shut the bathroom door and turned on the shower. I continued to wipe the floor with towels. I had turned the shower knob all the way without thinking so the room was starting to get pretty steamy. I got the bathroom to a point where I felt it looked somewhat presentable but I don’t know what to do with all of the stuff. I set to work attempting to hide the cup, the bucket, the mop, and several wet towels. I had been in the bathroom between 10 and 15 minutes and I couldn’t take the steam any longer. I decided it was time to come out. I wrapped a towel around my waist and splashed some water in my hair. I turned off the shower and came out of the bathroom. The prospective buyers were gone but my roommates were in the living room laughing at me.
I was informed that they asked to see the bathroom, but were told that I was in the shower. My clever ruse was all for not though. The saturated hallway carpet gave me away. Skins admitted that the toilet had clogged and overflowed. Needless to say I don’t think that they’ll be submitting a bid

In Search of a Home

I had the day off on Monday to observe the greatness of Martin Luther The King. After a grueling 3 day work week I took a sick day on Friday so I could get my home search in full gear. Skins put the house on the market this weekend so I've got to get to gettin'. I called my sister's friend who did the refinance on my ghetto house about a year ago. She took my information and pre-approved me for a loan. She's got me at about $15k less than I had hoped. I have money from the sale of the ghetto house for a down payment but my salary is such that I can't afford a large monthly payment. I can't afford the standard 3br 2ba single family home unless its in a less than desirable neighborhood and truth be told I have no desire to buy another fixer upper. Been there. Done that. Not a big fan of landscaping as a hobby.

I have two options. I can rent an apartment for 6 months to a year, put my money in a money market account, and see if the slow down in the valley housing market continues. Maybe some of the investment properties purchased with interest only adjustable rate mortgages hit the market at reasonable prices. Hopefully I have a better job in 6 months (a long winded post all by itself) Or I can purchase one of the many condo conversions popping up all over the valley. I spent today driving around the valley looking at apartment complexes that are converting to condominiums. They're nice, have amenities, are relatively inexpensive, and I don't have to mow the lawn.

I looked at 7-8 places in Chandler, Ahwatukee, Scottsdale, and Mesa. I could rant away about the fact that Scottsdale is overrun with striped shirt wearing metrosex douche' bags, because it is, but the fact is I can't afford to live there. One place in Chandler had all the good floor plans sold out and the other had the office closed for the weekend. There were two I liked in the Ahwatukee Foothills and one in NE Mesa. The two in Ahwatukee are similar and close to one another so I'll consider them as one for the sake of this Dr. Jack style breakdown (blatant Simmons rip off).
Ahwatukee Foothills:
For:

1. Very nice neighborhood
2. Gorgeous complex
3. amenities
4. affordable 1 bedroom 1 bath units
5. Home values grew something like 39% in the last year

Against:

1. Isolation. Its not close to anything. 30 miles from Sandbar. 38 miles to closest family member. 15 miles from work.

Mesa:

For:

1. Good floor plans
2. Affordable 2 bedroom 2 bathroom
3. Within 10 minutes of parents, grandparents, sister and her family, and my buddy Jesse

Against:

1. Unbelievably bland complex
2. No amenities to speak of
3. Not a growth area
4. Mesa has a statute barring anything resembling a social scene

So there it is. I can live in a smaller condo in a better, though isolated, part of town in a nice complex or I can live close to my friends and family in a larger nice condo in a crappy complex.

To post or not to post?

I am conflicted (This is not uncommon). I am fairly excited about this blog and I want it to be good. I keep having ideas for posts throughtout the day. My brain starts composing mental posts and I think, "That's good. I should get that down." An instant after I start thinking that I am clever, funny, and insightful I counter myself with, "I can't write about that."
I am still trying to figure out the protocal. Should I write about work? Should I write about my friends? Should I write about my family? If so, should I change names and dates to protect the flagrantly guilty?

Here's an example. I have a family member who has become a member of the posse' of a certain pop icon. This could be considered interesting to some and there is no doubt that I could have some fun with it. For instance, last night I asked him, "Are you required to have name of said pop star's famous song as your ring tone?" everybody had a good laugh. But I don't want to offend or embarras anyone (this does not apply to Bill Bidwell. he gets cyphallis). I don't want to reveal anything I'm not supposed to. Most importantly I don't want this blog to be a source of trouble for me.

I have two thoughts about this. One, if I don't have enough interesting material from my own life to cover posts in some obscure blog than I have bigger issues. It also means I need to get more creative. There are people out there that can write 500 words about a ham sandwich and make it entertaining.

So, I have decided not to post the real names of any friends or family (I'll try to keep the nicknames straight). Public figures are fair game. I'll decide on a post by post basis what is appropriate and what is not. My BAC at the time of posting my at times effect my judgement on these matters. I may throw in a review of a movie/tv show/book on occasion because that's something I think I might enjoy (The Office is on tonight!). You can be sure that I'll throw in my $0.02 on sports related matters. I may comment on current events/politics if the mood strikes. If I ever get a date... well let's not get ahead of ourselves here.

editor's note: Religion does not play a role in my life and I'm not touching it with a ten foot pole.

Fun Fact

The original title of Monty Python's biblical parody "Life of Brian" was "Jesus: Lust for Glory"

This has been making me chuckle at random for weeks.

And he cooks too ladies!

I stopped on my way home and picked up a pound of alaskan salmon. I cooked this on tin foil on the grill with a little zesty lemon herb grilling sauce. While that was grilling to perfection I whipped up some cous cous and green beans on the stove. Suffered a slight setback when I ran out of propane and the grill went out. Did I panic? Hell no. In an improvisational kitchen move that would have made Rachel Ray proud I plugged in the mini grill and finished the salmon steaks George Forman style. The end result? Delicious.

I’m getting back into shape. I’m trying to eat healthier. I’m gonna eat plenty of chicken, fish, vegetables, and fresh fruit. Cut out the carbonated drinks and stick to water, skim milk, and fruit juices. I’ve been going to the gym 4-5 nights a week. 30 minutes of cardio followed by 30-45 minutes of lifting. At present I am 6’3” and 237 lbs. I’m going to lose 22 lbs. By the time Kevin Pittsnogle drops his first three in the Final Four on April first I will weigh 215 lbs.

Muchos Gracias.

A quick thanks to ambs77 for helping me with my blog. Thanks to her I now have a photo attached to my profile and 1 solitary comment. Yes, I am too much of a blogger 'tard to figure these things out on my own. She has also given me some advice on what to do with my space and, more importantly, what not to do. She is a talented designer, accomplished blogger, and all around cool chick.

Observation

hunt and peck typing is not condusive to stream of consciousness writing.

Jumpin' on the Bus

I became a Pittsburgh Steelers fan this Christmas. Since I leapt on the bandwagon the Steelers have been on a roll. Coincidence?
Christmas day, after all the gifts were exchanged and food devoured, it was suggested that I go downstairs and watch some football on tv. I chose to take a nap on my new feather bed mattress top instead.

Quick aside: The feather bed is phenominal! It's like curling up on a giant breast.

I defended this choice by explaining that while I like football, enjoy watching it on tv, and have a great time when I go to games I'm not passionate about it. There are several reasons for this. First, I never played it. When I was a kid youth soccer and youth football seasons were at the same time. I was just good enough at soccer that I passed on football. My parents didn't have a problem with this because soccer has a significantly lower risk of injury. By the time I was in junior high and been cut from the soccer team I was too far behind the learning curve. Thus, my only football experience consists of thousands of touch football games played on asphault where a car bumper at the end of the street served as the goal line. I've never donned a set of pads. Unlike when I watch baseball, I don't have that point of reference where I can compare the play on the field to something I've done and appreciate the level at which professional atheletes perform. I don't feel like I know what's going through the QBs mind when he steps to the line of scrimmage because I've never tried to read a defense prior to a snap.

Second, I've never had a favorite team. I grew up in and still live in Arizona. All the blog space throughout the entire internet could not accurately convey the shittiness of the AZ Cardinals franchise. They are an embarrasment. Always have been; Always will be. I hope Bill Bidwell contracts cyphalis.

This is as far as I got in my explanation when my father interrupted. "I can help you with this. You're a Steelers fan."

Pop became a Steelers fan during the 70s when Bradshaw, Greene, Harris, and the rest of the Steel City boys were gaining dynasty status. My Mom's side of the family are Bills fans and they lost enough Super Bowls when I was growing up that I couldn't get attached. So, I'm embracing the Steelers. They've got history, a passionate fan base, they play a smack you in the face style of football I can get behind, they're hot right now, and black is slimming. Also, none of my friends are Steelers fans so trash will be talked. I'm in. For the long haul; even if it means preserving my Cowheresque stache' through the playoff run. I just watched their unexpected thrashing of the Colts and the fact that I cared which team won increased my enjoyment of the game by a factor of ten. Probably most importantly rooting for my old man's team means that we'll have more reasons to get together, talk, slap high-5s, and hug one another. Ain't nothin' wrong with that.

Meetin' Trent and Sue for some drinks.

I have two sets of friends. One group is settling down, getting married, and starting families. This group gets together at somebody's house to play cards or watch sporting events. The other group is made up of guys who are still single and go out to bars and clubs. I spent Friday night with my boys losing at hold em' (-$40) so tonight it's time to morph into Johnny Social Scene and hit the town. My friend Blondie is getting married next month and her fiance' is in Vegas for his bachelor party this weekend. She told me that she would give me a call if her and her friends were going out tonight. I have also had discussions with my buddy PZ about going to Chez Nous tonight. Chez Nous is an old school cocktail lounge in Phoenix. I've been bugging my friends to go there for a couple years now because it's cool and different and I've lived here too long and been to all the clubs and bars too many times. So here is tonights' agenda...

• Watch Patriots v. Broncos at home. Prediction - Patriots by 7.
• Chez Nous around 9PM for some drinks, music, and ambience.
• IO to finish off the evening. IO is a club in Scottsdale that I haven't been to yet. PZ tells me that it will be our new regular hangout for 2006. We'll see.

At some point I may meet up with Blondie if she calls. So, it looks like I'll be going to some fun new places tonight and possibly drinking to excess. Good times. It's probably too early for my first drunken post, so if anything postworthy comes from the night, and I sincerely hope it does, I'll post it tomorrow.

I can't stomach the thought of going out to clubs with this monstrosity on my upper lip. I want to shave. My roommate, Skins, thinks I will miss a precious opportunity to use the timeless, "Who wants a mustache ride" line on some unsuspecting young lady. So, do I go for self respect and give myself a fighting chance at hooking up or do I embrace the comedic value of the stache' and just hope for a good story or two?

The Stache'

I am currently sporting a 2 week mustache. I am not under the delusion that this looks good on me. It is hideous. I am a dead ringer for Rod Farva. The boys at the office decided that it would be fun to have a mustache growing contest. From January 1st through February 1st no razor shall touch my upper lip. While all agree that I am a contender for the crown I can't help noticing the strange looks I get from people on the street. Problem is I keep forgetting that I have it. My buddy Justin put it this way, " You think a girl is checking you out then you realize she's just starring at your upper lip."

This weekend my molester stache' will be unvieled to my family and friends. I've got poker tonight with the guys and a family get together tomorrow. I'm expecting a mixed reaction. My friends will have a field day with this. Fresh fodder for jokes and quips galore. Should be good times. Members of my family will not be sure if I am being serious. They'll tell me that it will look good as soon as it grows in a little more but they will know the truth. My sister might actually burst into uncontrollable laughter at the sight of me.

Stumbling out of the gate

This is my second attempt at starting a blog. By this time next week I will have surpassed my previous effort. I've always thought that I had a talent for writing but have never really done anything to develop it. I guess I can say that about a lot of things. I think about doing a lot of things but rarely act on those thoughts. I want to change that. I'm going to get busy living and I'm going to write about it here.
I'm sure that this blog will suck for awhile. I'll make changes to the format, content, themes, etc. until I find my voice. I'm sure that I will learn of many new bells and whistles available through blogger and I'll play around and try different stuff. I know other people that write blogs and they have encouraged me to do this. I probably won't tell any of them about it for awhile until I feel comfortable that it is presentable. I will then most likely regret it.
So, here I go. I'll laugh, I'll cry, and if someone reads my blog and says, "What the...you have seriously got to be shitting me!" then I will consider this little exercise a success.

"I am Power Lloyd. My assault on the world begins now!"