Zihuatanejo

...

2007-05-25T10:11:00.000-07:00

PZ and J-Nap apparently still check this site. Therefore they feel the need to periodically harass me about the fact that I no longer post on it. The truth of it is I don't particularly care for it. When I first started 49words told me that it needed to be more structured. More than a year later I have yet to take his advice and, predictably, the blog sucks. So I'm going to put it out of its misery. This will be the last post. I still see the value of writing daily so I may start anew after several years of teaching English with a tighter format, but for now, I'm done. So here is a quick bullet point list of things that have transpired since my last post.

My JV baseball team went 4-13 and everyone tells me that we did a great job with that team to win 4.
I lost 16 pounds because I don't sit in a cubicle all day.
I got called up to Varsity and we proceeded to run through the post season like a hot knife through warm butter beating the 4 time defending state champs and capping the season by winning the greatest high school baseball game ever played 9-8 in 10 innings to win the school's first State Championship in 22 years. (size 13) Rings baby!
Some random drunk girl molested me through my wranglers at a Kenny Chesney concert. incidentally, I was really impressed with Sugarland. They brought the house down for an opening act.
I got hired to teach three sections of freshman English and two sections of sophomore English as well as take over the head JV baseball coaching spot.
I have two more friends that are expecting their first children.
I contracted out my fantasy draft and then proceeded to neglect my lineup for over a month signaling my complete disinterest in fantasy baseball. Luckily, I also never paid my league fee.

My father once told me that when he was teaching he couldn't wait to get to work in the morning. For the first time in my professional life I feel that way. I love working with the kids and I love working with people who are passionate about working with the kids. Also somebody is actually going to pay me to spout off about baseball. And I don't have any apprehension about my ability to be great at it; also a professional first. So there you have it. The blog has outlived its usefulness. I have crawled the five hundred yards through shit smelling foulness (telesales/unemployment) that cannot be imagined and come out clean on the other side.

Peace out bitches!

Pudge

Update

2007-01-25T10:36:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure why I am posting today. I suppose it's largely that I couldn't help but notice that this blog has now lasted a full calender year. I don't know if that is something that I should be proud of or if it is horrifying. After my last real post, in November, I decided that posting my classroom experiences in a public blog that bears my likeness would be the most fundamentally stupid thing I could ever do so, no more. Currently, I am working as a substitute teacher in area high schools. I have also agreed to be the assistant baseball coach for the JV team at my old high school. I'm going back to school yet again in a post bacheloriate teacher preparation program. It's roughly 30 credit hours in education methods and pedagogy so that I can be certified to teach secondary ed. This is necessary because neither of my degrees are in education which means that I can be certified to substitute (which is babysitting) but not to be a full time teacher. That last sentence was for Filan.

I recently attended a coaches conference where most of the high school coaches in the state were in attendance. I worked the room a little bit. In order to get hired as a teacher for the 07'-08' school year I would need to be hired on a contingency basis. This means they hire you with the understanding that you will complete all certification classwork within one year. I think the best chance for this to happen is for some baseball coach to go to his principle and say, "look, there is an opening in the English department and I need to fill a vacancy on my coaching staff. I'd like you to talk to Pudge."

I'm having a blast being on the field again. I love talking baseball with the coaches. I love being able to pass on knowledge to the players. I love hitting fungos. I love being outside when it's 70 and sunny wearing wind pants and turf shoes and spitting sunflower seeds all over the place. I love that I am able to throw a very hittable fastball over the plate 99 times out of a hundred, which means I throw the best batting practice ever.

I have been overseeing pitchers bullpen work during our current preseason mini-camp. I spend most of the time watching pitchers throw and looking for flaws in their mechanics. Yesterday, I stopped a kid after he threw three straight pitches over his catcher's head. I told him that after he comes set he breaks his hands low and as a result his arm was still trailing his body when his stride foot landed. I demonstrated and told him, "after you break your hands make sure you get into your L position by the time your front foot lands. This will allow you to get over your front thigh and release the ball out in front of your body. Your fastball will come down into the zone and your curve ball will break down in the dirt." He made the adjustment and started pumping strikes. After his session was completed he smiled and said, "Thanks Coach." and I loved it.

PS. My hair is short. Pic was taken at "Christmas in June" Party.

Evolution of Pudge

2007-01-06T10:32:00.000-08:00

1. Teeball

2. Little League

3. Junior High

4. High School

5. College

proceed to the next post to see what he's become...

Regression

2007-01-06T10:30:00.000-08:00

Resolutions? Yeah, I've got a few.

I Sub

2006-11-17T12:58:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I received my first substitute teaching assignment. It was my first time in a classroom as anything other than a student. I got the call from the automated system at 7:15am. The assignment: American History from 7:30am until 2:30am. Wouldn't you know it my first asignment was at the high school that I grew up three blocks away from. The high school that boasts such luminaries as Skins, Whatta, and my sister among it's graduates. The high school that, where it not for my enlightened decision to transfer to the mighty mighty Mac, I too would have attended.

I showered, dressed in my shirt and tie, and left my apartment in about twelve minutes. A respectable time, but one that would not allow me to travel the 10 miles to school in 2 minutes. I phoned the office and told them that I was on my way. I arrived at the office and collected my instructions and the key to the classroom. As I walked from the office to the classroom I got a little nervous. I didn't want to appear nervous so I stopped in the hall way and took a deep breath. Then I rounded the corner.

There was another teacher taking role. She was glad to see me. She showed me the absent teacher's lesson plan, a stack of hall passes, and the attendance sheets. Then she was gone and my learning experience began.

The first two periods are Sophmores. Idiocy is referred to as sophmoric for a reason. Luckily my orders are to put them in their study groups so that they can exchange notes for Friday's test. I am baby sitting.

I was curious to see how high school had changed since my time. Not much. It was like I was transported into a John Hughes film (I resisted the urge to do my Ben Stien, "Bueller?" impersonation).

Editor's Note: One difference: I had to start every period with, "I want all cell phones, ipods, or other personal digital devices turned off and put away."

I actually had a kid throw something across the room. I wanted to say, "Are you kidding me? Throwing something across the room when the sub turns his back? How cliche'. Get some imagination kid." but I resisted all urges to display a sense of humor. It wasn't easy. Three quick stories...

3rd period:
Kid: Can I go to the nurse?
Me: What's wrong?
Kid: I want to go home and change.
Me: confused, "Why?'
Kid: I got something on my shirt and I need to go home and change.
Me: That sounds like something that can wait until after class. What's wrong with your shirt?
Kid: I'm not going take off my sweater and show you.
Me: I can't give you a pass.
Kid: grabbing a pass off the desk, "I'm going to write myself a pass."

I tell the kid that I will inform the office that he left campus without permission and leave a note for the teacher that he did not attend class. he drops a "Whatever" on me and leaves.

4th period:
The first kid to arrive in class is a young girl with a chest that would have made Dolly Parton break out in song about her rocky mountains. When she sat down they were resting on her desk. She is seated front and center directly in front of the teacher's desk. I decided that Mr. T's seating chart was not haphazardly put together. This is a test. I sit in the back of the class for most of the period.

6th period:
One of the basketball players is chatting up all three girls around him. As I pass his desk I hear him complain as he stretches out, "My knee is sore from dunking last night."
I want to stop and question his dunking ability as he is not taller than 5'7" but all of my concentration is on not allowing my eyes to roll. I keep walking. I think to myself, "Does that weak shit actually work for you?" I can see by the looks on the girls faces that it does.

Oh. That's the bell. It's two o'clock. Time to go...

The Crew; Pimpin' in Purple

2006-11-17T12:42:00.000-08:00

My Buddy Weeks (lower right with ginormous ears and shit-eating grin) has officially upgraded my forehead to a "six head". We have made plans to set up a projector and watch the wedding video on it later this month.

I told them that suspenders keep your belly from protruding below your vest, but did they listen? No.

Best Man Speech

2006-10-24T19:14:00.000-07:00

I recently traveled to Baltimore to attend the wedding of my long time friend Skins. I gave the following speech. I went without notes causing me to accidently leave out the line about the 1.8. In retrospect it's probably for the best. The bride was in tears and many people told me it was the best they'd heard. You be the Judge...

I want to start by saying how great it is to see everybody here tonight.
I know it means a lot to Skins and Crystal that you are all here to share in their special day.

I want also to thank Mr. and Mrs. Gallileo for inviting everyone into their home last night for a wonderful barbeque and for putting together a beautiful ceremony and reception.

Its great to see how many of the Skins’ were able to make it. You know, Mr. and Mrs. Skins were my second set of parents growing up.

Finally, I want to thank Skins for the honor of being his best man. I am truly humbled and grateful. Thank you.

On the first day of summer vacation nearly 20 years ago I walked down the block and knocked on the Skins’ door. I asked Skins if he wanted to play basketball in his driveway; they had a hoop and we didn’t. (Look at Skins. Say, What? OK). Skins would like me to add here that, yes, he did beat me in 1 on 1 while he was wearing ankle weights. This happened more than once and the scores weren’t close. He has been my closest friend since that day. We’ve been through a lot; shared a lot of life experiences.

It is tradition here to share with you a few of the more embarrassing stories about Skins. I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to talk about the one point eight. Was that his grade point average at MCC or his blood alcohol level at William Woods? I’m not telling. Partly because I’m afraid of his mom and partly because in our circle of friends Skins has always been the tame one; the voice of reason if you will.

The truth is that Skins doesn’t often embarrass himself. I was recalling an instance in Vegas when Skins hit the Jackpot in Wheel of Fortune. He gave a chunk of his winnings to two complete strangers for no other reason than they were seated at the machines on either side of him. Then he paid for our entire group to take a stretch hummer ride roughly a hundred yards down the strip. I thought it was a good illustration of the kind of guy he is. For how many guys can you tell a story about Vegas at their wedding and not have it be wildly inappropriate.

That got me to thinking. I am blessed with a great group of friends; many are here tonight and most of whom I’ve known as long as I’ve known Skins. You may have noticed us having waaayy too good a time at the barbeque last night…and on the bus to the hotel…and at the bar later that night. They’ve all, at one time or another, been there for me in some capacity. They are all, in the words of the immortal Weeks, Great guys.

So why, have I never hesitated to single out Skins as my best friend?
I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s because as long as I’ve known him I’ve never had to excuse him for anything. I’ve never thought, “That’s messed up, but it’s Skins so I’ll let it slide.”

I’ve never had to say, “I disagree with what you’re doing but I’m gonna back you up because you’re my boy.”

Never found myself thinking, “aahhh, Skins, I love that guy but sometimes I just wanna (pantomime choking)…Not Once.

He’s quite simply the most solid human being I know. I think that’s an amazing thing.

What I find equally amazing is that he has found someone, in Crystal, that is his equal in this regard. In the few years that I’ve known Crystal she has not only managed to win Skins’ heart but she’s won over an exceedingly large group of family and friends with her strength, her warmth, and her wit.

These two wonderful people who compliment each other beautifully are obviously very much in love. They are committed to spending their lives making one another happy. That is to be celebrated.
So, I’d like to ask everyone to raise your drinks (J-Dub, you’ve got two. That’s’ fine. You can raise both) and join me in wishing the bride and groom a long and happy life.

Congratulations. I love you guys.

No Spoiler Contained Within

2006-10-06T23:12:00.000-07:00

I just got back from a viewing of The Departed. Great film. Fantastic performances all around, great plot, spectacular dialogue, etc... I highly recommend it. I only have two negative comments. First, the whole semiconductor heist was a little lame. They should have come up with a better crime than that. Second, you can't shoot Leo from the waist down in any film where he's supposed to be a bad ass. Dude's got chicken legs. It makes it hard to believe his skinny ass is capable of roughing anyone up.

My favorite thing about the movie not involving the plot was the personal jabs at the actors written into the dialogue. I picked up three, but there may be more. I'll have to watch it again to see if they took a shot at Nicholson.

When Wahlberg jabbed Dicaprio with, "What's the matter? Don't you know any fucking Shakespeare!?" I was the only one laughing in the theatre. I thought it was a rather obvious reference to Leo's horrendous Romeo and Juliet movie.

Later Alec Baldwin reacts to Wahlberg telling him that he'll "turn in his papers" by shouting, "We need plenty of bar tenders in this town too!" another fairly obvious funny aimed at Marky Mark's turn as bartender turned Philadelphia Eagle Vince Papale in Invincible.

Near the end of the movie Dicaprio calls Matt Damon a "two-faced faggot" which was either a clever reference to Matt's gay role in The Incredible Mr. Ripley or Scorsese is trying to tell us that Matt Damon is in fact a homosexual. I'm not sure.

Mother Fuck!

2006-09-16T02:50:00.000-07:00

First, As I type this the Nicks are having an extremely gay half naked pillow fight in our hotel room.
What a Day. I'm going to skip over the drive to San Diego by saying that the only thing worth mentioning is our discovery of "Islands in the Stream" on Spicoli's ipod. Many mean spirited texts ensued.
We met Boo at a club in the gas lamp district. I paid $25 for the cab ride from the hotel, $20 cover charge, and $20 for the first round of drinks. Nice!
The club was a trendy place called Belo. I was under dressed. The dueche bags in this place took it a step further and were rockin' pin striped blazers with their $300 jeans and striped shirts. I didn't care. I was just drinking my Red Bull and Vodkas and enjoying myself when an attractive blonde walked right up to me and said, "I know you're just waiting for three nice girls so you can buy them shots."
I chuckled to myself and, pointing to Boo (who was wearing a white sport coat with the sleeves rolled up and dress shoes with no socks) I replied, "Don't you think that guy looks a little more gullible?"
They walked away. A short time later I grabbed her as she walked by. I directed her attention to Boo who was standing in the middle of the bar with his fly open and a $1 bill sticking out of his pants.
Me: You're an attractive girl. You probably go to clubs like these fairly often. Do you think that is an effective tactic? You know, to lure women.
Her: (luaghing) Well, I don't really find him attractive, but it is funny.
Her: I tell you what. I'll buy you a shot now and if you're still here in 30 minutes you can buy me one. Fair?
We had two shots of Patron. I licked salt off her chest. she dragged me onto the dance floor and we did a little bump and grind. When we exited the dance floor she was all up on me and talking about how we would never see each other again after tonight.
I was IN, going for the kiss...
Then, out of nowhere, she looks over her right shoulder and says, "I gotta go." Spins on her heels and takes off.
WHAT THE FUCK?!
Why is this becoming a pattern? I don't get it.

It put me in such a bad mood that later, when PZ sprinkled pepper in my orange juice while I was in the bathroom of the all night diner, I had to kill him.

On The Road Again...

2006-09-15T02:32:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, err..later today I am embarking on a roadie with PZ and The General. we're heading to Diego to hook up with Bo and take in the Chargers v. Titans game. this evening PZ accompanied me to Roosters. It was his first time. We met my buddy Albie there around eleven. Here are a few highlights...

As we enter the house band is playing the theme from Dukes of Hazard. Absolutely perfect timing. To PZ's credit he correctly identified it as Merle Haggard.
One of Albie's coworkers is there with his wife and her friend. I introduce myself to the friend. we have this exchange...

Her: We've met before.

Me: Really?

Her: yeah, at this bar. You asked me to dance.

Me: (Getting embarrased) Yeah?

Her: Yeah, you were wearing that same Johnny Cash T-shirt.

PZ: (standing next to me) HAhahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahhahahaha!!!!!!

There was only one atractive woman that made eye contact with me tonight. At one point she was taking pictures with her digital camera as her friend was bent over being spanked with some cowboy's belt. PZ walked up to her and proceeded to inquire about her camera, "So, how many pixels does that thing have?"
There was a man that bared a remarkable resemblence to Hall of Fame closer Dennis Eckersley that was seen dancing with the cougar that I wrote about in an earlier post. This lead to inumerable jokes about "The Eck" and his closing skills and culminated in a drunken PZ boldly stating, "I'm gonna go ask him why he threw Gibson that slider."
PZ busted my chops after I (apparently) "big leagued" him by saying that I make a point of tipping the band every time I go there and then dropping $2 in the tip bucket on the stage. It seems that unless I am funding their next tour my observation that a lot of people dance the night away but never approach the tip bucket is just laughable. PZ spent the rest of the evening sporadically yelling, "I want my two dollars!"

My yahoo personals matches...

2006-08-31T13:27:00.000-07:00

My Side of the Story.

2006-08-29T10:56:00.000-07:00

I am a loyal friend and a good listener. This is my curse.
At my previous place of employment I sat next to an older woman whom I'll call Teri. Teri was one of the top performers in our department every month, but she was older than the rest of the team and thus didn't bond with our group of lunch eating, happy houring, inter-office romance having crew.

Due to my proximity to her desk and my personable nature I got to know her better than most. She took this as an invitation to tell me, in great detail, all about her deadbeat ex-husband and her cheating current husband, the intricacies of the offense of her kids' pee wee football team, and her issues with management (This we had in common). She had a habit of using me to invite herself to lunches and happy hours at which others didn't want her; always putting me in an awkward position.

At one point she aked me to car pool with her and I accepted because I didn't live close to work and I was putting $75 in my gas tank every time I fill up. That gave her more time each day to talk at me about her failing marriage. The woman's life was coming apart and I was sympathetic. I gave her an ear. Then she invited me to come see one of her kid's football games on a Saturday. I missed a couple, but she wouldn't let it go. Finally, I went.

Around this time I quit my job and didn't hear from her until last week. She got my email address from my buddy Funky D who still works there. She sent me an email. I didn't respond. She has my cell number from when we car pooled, so she called me and gave me the standard psycho woman's greeting, "What, you don't respond to emails!?"
She talked me into meeting her for some margs after work on Friday because I didn't have the stones to say no. From 6 to 8 PM I drank margs and ate some kind of skewered chicken while she told me all about how her divorce was finalized, she had lost 75 lbs during the divorce because she wasn't eating or sleeping, and my former place of employment sucks even worse than when I left. I got the impression she wanted me to tell her that she looked great, but I'm not going to encourage eating disorders, so I completely ignored the wieght loss. She knows I love baseball so she asked me if I would want to go to a D-Backs game if she got tickets. I shrugged.

NOW...
I'm getting calls from several of my friends still working in Dante's inferno telling me that Teri has made comments suggesting that we are seeing each other. I also got another email from her entitled "Pudge Pudgard urgent please read and respond" that included nothing urgent but it did have these beauties..
"Now don't be a but and not answer my email other wise I am going to have to open a can of Whoop A$$ if you get my drift dude. And you don't want Teri opening a can of that now do you..???"

"However being that I lost allot of weight due to the divorce I had a few (karate) instructors trying to hit on me and I don't mean punches.. get my drift.. Yeah I knew you could. It was nice even though it wont go anywhere. Especially after what I went through, a women sometimes needs to hear some nice compliments about herself to remind her she still has sexappeal.. You understand what I mean right?"

"Hope your event with your family went well. Your such a family guy Pudge. that's so cool."

"Well let me know about the baseball dude and give me a call anytime you have my numbers and if you are a stranger I will come after you.. just kidding.. Well don't forget to email me back about baseball okay?? talk to you later dude.. "

This is why I hope to some day have a son. So that he may benefit from my experiences. I will tell him at a young age that being a nice guy, while noble in theory, is counter productive. It is much better to call out crazy as soon as it is identified. A well timed, "Step off crazy bitch!" can be the best strategy. Then I will send him out into the world to prosper.

Missed Chances

2006-08-25T01:29:00.000-07:00

I just returned home from Rooster's and I don't even know where to begin. I just feel like I need to get this onto the blog. This post is going to make Whatta cry. The following is a recap of encounters that I had at Rooster's the last two Thursday's. Nothing is embellished.

Last Thursday:
I run into a guy I used to play ball with and we start shooting the shit at the bar. I notice that there is a girl that is mugging me. Hard. She's staring; the kind of staring where when they walk by their head turns on a swivel and they never break eye contact. So, I approach. I say hello and ask her name (which I don't remember). She's staring into my eyes. After a little bit of small talk I ask her if she's alright.
her: Yeah, why?
me: It's just that you haven't blinked in, like, ten minutes.
her: I'm just a little infatuated.
me:....(internal monologue: JACKPOT!)
At this point she's pressed up against me and she's got her hand in the front pocket of my jeans.
her: I think you're trouble.
me: (my inner Trent Walker telling me to be the guy in the rated R movie) I think you're in trouble.
This happens to be the pocket in which I keep my money clip, so I'm paying attention. I reach down and take her buy the hand.
me: You're not trying to take my money are you?
her: No, but I do have my hand in your pocket.
me. cool.
her: Yeah, you lost me.
She just turns and walks away. I go home. Alone. Again.

Tonight
I've been at the bar for about two hours and I've danced a few times but I'm not really getting a good vibe from any of the ladies. I grab the one available bar stool and settle in for a few beers.
The guy on the stool next to me leaves and a young lady asks if the seat is taken. I invite her to sit down.
Her: I think they've over served me.
Me: Oh, yeah. You been drinkin' Miller Light all night or have you mixed in a few shots o' Jack?
Her: I drank a bottle of wine before I came here.
Me: That'll do it. What's your name?
Her: Bones.
Me: Um, What?
Her: Bones.

Editor's note: That's not a nickname I gave her. She said her name was Bones. Seriously.

Her: I can't believe I got this drunk tonight. I have to go to work tomorrow.
Me: Who gives a shit. You don't drive a school bus for a living do you?
Her: No. I'm a dental assistant. I used to go out and drink all the time and I was kinda fucked up when I was, like, 23. Then I was normal for awhile, but now I'm 27 and I'm like fuck it. I've been drinking a lot again. I'm still normal sometimes though when I'm not being all bipolar and scizho. (I swear to god. I'm not making this up.)
Me: (Somehow feeling like I should have seen this coming) I hear ya.
Her: I'm 27, but I was out walking my dog and this 16 yr old was talking to me and he was, like, what high school do you go to? Ha! Can you believe it? I was like, "Good thing you didn't say that to me when I was drunk in a bar. I probably would have had sex with you."

Poof! Devil on one shoulder and angel on the other...
Devil: We all know the psychotic chics are great in the sack. This is your chance to stop being a nice guy and have some porno/rodeo sex. UNLEASH THE FURY!
Angel: You do not want any part of this mental patient. If there is one thing you have learned about women it's that when they warn you ahead of time that they're nuts; Believe Them.

Her: Did you come in here looking to meet a nice girl?
Me: I wouldn't come in here for that.

At this point a big greasy biker comes over and starts talking to her. They obviously know each other. I'm being ignored now so I get up and go to the bathroom.

Now I'm home. Alone. Again. Blogging at 2:36AM.

PS. I witnessed a young man get mauled by a cougar tonight. It was amazing. It actually appeared as though she rocked back on her haunches and pounced. As they tongue wrestled to a draw I actually laughed out loud. I remember thinking to myself how funny it would be if the bar could play that wildcat roar sound effect that Uof A uses at their football games.

I Heart Rooster's

2006-08-14T13:13:00.000-07:00

I have mentioned to my friends on several occasions that I have come to frequent a small country bar in east Mesa. Thursday nights are $0.05 beer night at Rooster's Country. In the words of the immortal Toby Kieth, "I love this bar". Rooster's is a classic dive honky-tonk. I want to give those of you that have never been the Rooster's experience.

The first positive is that it is located in east Mesa not far from my apartment. I can leave after watching Always Sunny at 11:00pm and still get in plenty of fun before close.

Editor's note: Always Sunny is the best new show on TV; Outstanding.

Upon arrival you will notice two things. First, the parking lot is full. It's always full. Forget about it and park across the street at the No Tell Motel. Second, more often than not there are a few Sheriff's deputies in the parking lot. Somebody may be in the process of being thrown out. This is always entertaining.

Pay the $5 cover and proceed directly through the bar to the back patio. This is where the kegs are located. Miller and Miller Light for $0.05 a cup or $5 for a tray (about 12 cups). Now get back inside because that’s where the action is.

The whole bar is probably 1500 square feet. It features, from back to front, three quarter pool tables, a bar, a dance floor, and a stage. It’s glorious. The air is filled with smoke and the floor is sticky. There are neon beer signs on the walls and NASCAR bunting hanging from the ceiling. The seating is minimal and several tables in the back, well let’s just say you don’t want to ask those guys if they’re using their extra chair.

As for the clientele, there are bikers. There are cowboys. There are a lot of tattoos, concert t-shirts, and camouflage baseball caps. What you won’t find are any waxed chest, striped shirt wearing douche’ bags or Prada bag toting, stelleto wearing, social climbing bitches sporting the what made you think it was ok to talk to me…seriously, is that a fossil watch? Get the fuck outta here look.

I dig the vibe. Everybody’s talking, laughing, dancing, and generally having a good time. You can strike up a conversation or ask a girl to dance with no drink purchase required. I just like it more than the sexual showdown at high noon vibe that Scottsdale has where everybody sits a table with their three friends and looks at the other tables of four wondering if she’s going to send a signal or if he’s going to come over.

Editor’s note : This place also seems to me to be a unique blend of a place that the high school kids of Apache Junction can hang out, a full on cougar den, and everything in between. So, there’s something for everyone.

There is live music on Thursdays and Fridays. The house band is really good. A typical set will include covers of Tim McGraw, Willie Nelson, Lynard Skynard, and AC/DC. I was told that they’ve been in Nashville the past month working on a record. I was assured they were scheduled back this Thursday. And so am I.

PS. Anybody notice that I started out talking about a bar I like and out of nowhere it morphs into a scathing social commentary? What’s that about?

Rooster's Country

3731 E. Main St.

Mesa, 85205

Catch Up

2006-08-10T10:07:00.000-07:00

I've been neglecting my blog pretty badly lately. Sadly, this is not for a lack of free time. Here are a few highlights to bring everybody up to speed.

I had a meeting with several nice ladies that work in corporate communications. They said that corporate/marketing communications should be a relatively easy transition with my marketing degree and MBA. They advised me to take a journalism class, learn Photoshop/Pagemaker/Adobe, look at non-profit organizations for some experience, and to create a portfolio of writing samples. I printed my erotica and toilet postings to get me started.
My former coworker that stuck me with the "serial killer" nickname sent me an email expressing his concern that I might be the Baseline Rapist.
I was dismayed that after waiting to get my finger print card in the mail and driving downtown to get fingerprinted, I have to wait 4-8 weeks for the FBI to clear me and send me my I'm not a sexual predator card. Only then can I submit a stack of fingerprint cards, transcripts, and applications to be allowed to be a substitute teacher.
I went out drinking on the west side with the whole crew for Spicoli's Bday. I was drunk + there was music + a dance floor = nothing good can happen. I danced with an attractive young girl who ended up giving me her phone number. She might have been 21, She just moved here from Utah and was the designated driver (read: Mormon), and I think she mentioned working in the mall. Also, she lives in Phoenix; A minimum of 35 miles from where I live. But here's the biggest reason why I didn't call her, so stop harrasing me Johnny Cakes, I lied to her. For the first time in my life I misrepresented myself to a woman. I told her that I was a high school English teacher and I had to drink on the west side to avoid being spotted by my students. I couldn't believe it even as I was saying it.
In a moment of boredom/weakness I completed a Yahoo personals profile. I am unwilling to pay a fee to respond to my matches. Sweet Jesus! Are you kidding me with this Yahoo!? I live in the gorgeous woman capitol of the world! This is the best you could do!?

Editor's note: Thankfully Blogger isn't uploading my images correctly right now. I attempted to post pictures of some of the wildebeasts yahoo matched me with, but it didn't work.

Spent an evening out drinking with PZ and the immortal Stonehenge. For the sake of time I'll just say that this spanned two calendar days, multiple towns, Mickey Hatcher's daughter, a severed nipple, copious amounts of Loaded Corona's (Add Margaritaville Island Lime to your Corona) and mind eraser shots, a sock puppet, driving into a river, and ended with the three of us having breakfast at a casino at 6AM and PZ saying, "Really? You were up $1200? And now nothing? That sucks. These tots are talkin' to a nigga."
I was villified in my fantasy league for a blatant act of collusion with The hated Big Gay Al. All I can say is that my team improved and Al called another guy in our league a "clown fucker" which is still the best random nonsensical comeback I've ever heard. Touche'.

Gone Fishin'

2006-07-20T17:26:00.000-07:00

I have been away from the keyboard for a few days. I took a vacation from my vacation and headed up to my parents’ cabin in the White Mountains (Moose Knuckle Lodge :-) ). It turns out that my sister and her family were already there. My sister teaches third grade (off for the summer) and her husband is recovering from knee surgery so they had decided to take the kids out of the heat for a few days (116 in the valley). They didn’t mind and I got the downstairs bedroom to myself so it worked out fine.

I played with the dogs. I went for a hike in the woods. I read my book on the porch. I took the kids fishing. It was all good.

I love fishing because its solitary and serene. I love those kids. I really do. But…I hate to say it but fishing with five and seven year old children just isn’t as enjoyable. I spent the entire time baiting hooks, untangling line, removing hooks from clothing, and saying things like…

“That’s OK. You just forgot to let go of the button. You have to let go of the button so that the line can come out.”

“Hey, be careful. You almost hooked your sister.”

“I know it seems weird but we have to use our inside voices at the lake. You’re scaring away the fish.”

“I’m sorry. Your uncle forgot the fish food (Power bait). We’ll have to use corn.”

“Hey, we don’t use that to hit the dog.”

Alright, I made the last one up. When it was time to leave my nephew was complaining that we couldn’t go yet, “because we hadn’t catched any fish.” I told him that, “Fish are like Lulu (new family white lab puppy); They eat when they get up in the morning and again before they go to bed at night. We’re not going to catch any fish right now so let’s go have a sandwich.”

He bit; hook, line, and sinker.

Big Sis

2006-07-14T14:47:00.000-07:00

I read TIME Magazine’s recent cover article How your siblings make you who you are By Jeffrey Kluger. It’s not ground breaking stuff but it is an interesting read. It goes beyond the birth order stereotypes that everyone is aware of and looks at the amount of time we spend with our siblings when we are most impressionable. Kluger examines siblings roles as “collaborators and coconspirators, our role models and cautionary tales. They are our scolds, protectors, goads, tormentors, playmates, counselors, sources of envy, objects of pride.”

I am the younger of two children. My older sister is three years older, happily married, and has two wonderful children. We’re very close. I consider her one of my best friends. I’m not going to dissect our relationship (I hear your relieved exhale). But I am going to share some memories that crossed my mind when I was reading the article in TIME.

At about five years old I interrupted my sister and her friends at play by leaping through her door wearing nothing but a makeshift cape. I made some ridiculous comment about being the “Man of Steel” (I was clever at an early age) and bolted. I barely had time to throw on some underoos before she chased me out of the house and to the end of the block with a softball bat.

My sister has never taken any shit from anyone her entire life. This includes my father. I distinctly remember sitting in my room, while the two of them had one of their battle royales, thinking, “if she would shut the hell up and stop pushing his buttons this argument could have been over an hour ago. Why does she insist on making it worse?”

When she started dating I was always three years too young and 40-50 pounds too skinny to intimidate any of her boyfriends. That has always pissed me off.

When I was 15 I knocked on my sister’s door before departing for a school dance. I admitted that I was hoping to kiss my date at the end of the evening and was nervous as it would be my first. She didn’t laugh at me. She didn’t point out that it was creepy that I asked my sister for advice on kissing. She just smiled and said, “Every kiss is different so don’t worry about what you do. Just concentrate on the moment and do it like you mean it.”
I remember this for two reasons. That night I chickened out after a long awkward goodnight. I retreated to my car and in frustration slammed my forehead into the steering wheel inadvertently honking the horn. Also because every woman I’ve been with has told me I am a great kisser. Every one.

My sister took me for a ride in her new car when we were both teenagers. She turned to me with a concern in her eyes and sincerity in her voice that took me off guard. She said, “Promise me you will always wear your seatbelt. I’m serious about this.” To this day I never drive without my seatbelt on.

In college I would call home every Sunday night to check in with my parents. Then I would call my sister. At no time during those calls did I say to her, “Well, my classes are interesting.”

While planning her wedding she told both my parents, “At the reception, Pudge is going to get wasted. And you’re not going to say anything about it.” I did. They didn’t.

There are more stories but I promised PZ I would shorten up the prose. In short, I love my sister. There is no doubt that she played a role in shaping who I am today and it is for this reason that I will never tell her that I write a blog.

Genius or Dee Dee Dee

2006-07-13T13:25:00.000-07:00

Why is it that I often think I am the smartest guy in the room but there are more than a few people that think that I am border line retarded? I hold Bachelors’ and Masters’ degrees, am well read, follow current events, can grasp and articulate complex concepts, and can speak intelligently on a wealth of different subjects. I feel confident saying that I am a smart guy.

Many people draw a distinction between smart and educated. These people point out that I am not great at reading people/situations. I can’t always tell where people are coming from. I don’t see angles and I don’t always know when I’m being spoon fed bullshit. Abundant evidence of this can be found in my mind boggling track record of ill-fated fantasy league trades.

It is also true that I don’t think quick on my feet. I often think of my best responses after the fact. The only exception to this seems to be my sarcastic wit. Though I got good grades I was always the last test taker in the room; Whatever that means…

Ends

2006-07-12T06:42:00.000-07:00

Contrary to popular belief I have given some thought to working again. I’ve gotten some suggestions from family and friends. Some of them have been good, some not so good. Thanks to PZ for suggesting “pin monkey”. Here is what I’m working on right now.

Corporate Communications. I’ve got an appointment to speak with a woman who is the Director of Communications and PR for a company I used to work for. I think this could be interesting, utilize my writing talents, and could be done with a Marketing degree. I’m interested to see what she has to say.
Product Specialist. This basically means you’re a buyer for a distributor. It’s a 9 hours in a cubicle kind of gig but it pays well and I’ve got connections.
Teaching. The majority of my family are educators. Several of my friends have said that I would be good at it. The idea intrigues me. The truth is I would love to coach baseball as well; the only thing I’ve ever really been passionate about. I’m looking into substitute teaching to see if it suits me.

Hoops

2006-07-11T03:32:00.000-07:00

I’ve got an adult league basketball game tonight. I play with PZ and Spicoli both of whom read my blog. PZ has suggested that I write about our games. The truth is there is nothing that interesting about these games. We actually win most of our games and nobody, other than me, is laughably inadequate. The season has thus far lacked the quality storylines that were abundant during the ’05 campaign. I haven’t yet been ejected for berating a terrified female referee. PZ hasn’t started fisticuffs buy intentionally firing the ball at an opposing player’s groin on a throw in. Due to personnel changes we are no longer treated to The Snowman’s nightly Kobe Bryant impersonation.

The biggest difference in this year’s squad is the loss of Johnny Nap. J-Nap. Johnny Cakes. Cakes is a great guy. He is not, however, the most gifted athlete. We’ll just say he was our “hustle guy”. The beautiful thing about The Nap is that he would invite girls to come watch our games. I could never figure this out. It’s roughly the equivalent of me inviting a girl I would like to date to read my blog before we meet for dinner. Not a great idea. Johnny would invite some young lady to watch him play basketball, which he’s not good at, in some high school gym against a bunch of out of shape thirty-somethings and then refuse to play! He averaged about two minutes a game. One in the first half and another in the second. I remember sucking wind saying, “Johnny, I need a breather. Sub for me at the next dead ball.” He just said, “Nah. I’m good.”

Did I mention his rec-specs? Niice!

Can't let Erotica be the last thing I post.

2006-06-29T22:07:00.000-07:00

Tonight is my Sister's 10th wedding anniversary. Being the great guy that I am, I offered to baby sit my niece and nephew so that she and her husband could go out for dinner and excessive drinking (My sister and I are the only drinkers in my family, I've always found this strange.)
The children are in bed. Both kids, 5 and 7, asked me to leave their bedroom doors open. This means I can't turn on the TV. Sucks for me, but it means I am posting for the first time in 2 months.

Quick overview...
May - Worked really hard at new job. I was focused to the point of being anti-social, a first for me. After two months a review of my pipeline lead my boss to conclude that it would not be possible for me to meet my quota any time in the near future. I was pink slipped just ahead of the press release that the company had acquired $150 million in funding and would be going public within a year. The 5000 shares of stock I was promised at signing would not be part of my severence. There was in fact no severence.

June - I went into a funk. I basically shut down. Outside of a weekly softball game I only came out of my apartment to hit a drive through and return home. Some days I didn't shower. I watched TV each night into the AM (Cartoon Network has Family Guy reruns on at 3:30AM.)
I had a number of friends and family offer opinions as to what I should do and ideas for jobs I should seek. Most seemed surprised when I told them that I'm not looking for a new job yet.

An interesting parrallel has surfaced in my life between jobs and relationships with women. Neither have ever turned out well. I currently question my abilty to perform adequately in either and I'm not in a hurry to begin anew with either while my head is as fucked up as it is now.

I haven't posted for a long time because I knew that the depression would be apparent and I didn't like the idea of posting my inner shit storm on the internet. I'm not sure why I'm doing it now. I guess because I don't need the disappointment of knowing I let my blog die on top of everything else.

My attempt at writing erotica

2006-05-09T00:28:00.000-07:00

In this film I will play myself and do all of my own “stunts”
Some digital editing will be required to flatten my abs and add two inches to my penis to bring it to a full eleven; industry standard.

We open on me, buff and bearded, oozing raw masculinity like a young Chuck Norris on leave from Delta Force. I wait impatiently sitting behind the wheel of my black Ford F-350 Supercab 4x4 with the 6” suspension lift and oversized off road tires. Pacing back and forth in the back seat is my beloved black lab Satch, named after famous negro-leaguer Satchel Paige.

A convertible pulls in the drive and out steps a 24 year old Catherine Zeta Jones. She has just come from the gym and is running late. She climbs in the cab and with a kiss she apologizes as there was no time to change out of her bike shorts and sports bra. “That’s gonna cost you.” I say with a playful smile as I press the accelerator and spray gravel across the yard.

As we barrel down the highway surrounded on all sides by gorgeous mountain scenery ’93 Catherine Zeta is apologizing profusely to my penis for her tardiness. The driver of a passing eighteen wheeler witnesses this spectacle and expresses his boisterous approval with a tug on his air horn. Jonsie is not distracted.
Production note: The musical selection for this scene is “Eastbound and Down” by Jerry Reed from Smokey and the Bandit.

Catherine, Satch, and I arrive at a quaint log cabin nestled among the tall pines. The interior of the cabin is completely decorated in a tasteful Realtree camo pattern; furniture, window dressings, bedding, etc…We are both travel weary and agree that a candle lit bubble bath is just what the doctor ordered. This is a family blog so I will just say that this scene involves lots of suds, lots of splashing water, a snorkel, and ends with CJ and I tangled up in a camouflage shower curtain.

I wake early the next morning and leave Catherine naked and sleeping as I slip out of the cabin. At first light I spot a massive 10 point trophy buck from my deer stand and drop him where he stands at fifty yards with a single broadhead just behind the shoulder blade. I emerge from the tree line with the buck draped across my shoulders. I toss the deer on the ground and remove my shirt. My large muscles glisten with sweat. As I take axe in hand and proceed to chop down a massive pine tree with three swift swings Zeta Jones watches through a kitchen window (She is fixing me a sandwich; Turkey and Muentser with chipotle mayo). She is consumed by my raw animal sex appeal and gives in to her desire. She slowly opens her robe and slides her hand between her taught thighs….

Just as I finish my turkey sandwich there is a knock at the door. Cathy opens it to find her old college roommate Carmen Elektra! She is thrilled to see her friend, as am I.

The girls decide to catch up on old times by taking the quads for a ride in a muddy field.
Production note: a montage of the girls riding atvs spraying mud everywhere is set to Gretchen Wilson’s hit single “Here for the Party”.

The scene culminates in a playful impromptu wrestling match that ends in a draw. As luck would have it the cabin is equipped with an outdoor shower. As the girls rinse mud from their perfect bodies they are compelled to relive their first lesbian experience from their freshman year at USC.

Later that evening the cabin is filled with laughter as the three of us trade tequila shots. Carmen has talked us into a game of strip Pai gow; Everybody wins! It isn’t long before the game devolves into a spirited manage a’ trios. We are a heaving panting mass of flesh with arms and legs sticking out in all directions. Following an earth shattering triple simultaneous orgasm the three of us collapse, exhausted, in a heap of cards, poker chips, and bodily fluids.
Production note: We will shoot this scene a second time, including Satch, for the unrated version.

I come to the next morning, Catherine and Carmen in my arms. We decide to leave the cabin in its state of disarray as it is a rental and the deposit has long since been lost. As we depart the cabin, returning to our mundane lives, we are already making plans to return for another wild weekend at Moose Knuckle Lodge.

Fade to credits…

Like no film I have ever seen

2006-05-02T01:00:00.000-07:00

I finally feel like I have something to write about. There is a short list of movies that have kicked up the dust in the room and activated my tear ducts without my permission. Glory, Rudy, Field of Dreams, and you can now add United 93. This latest addition, however, is the only one to cause me physical injury. As I type this I am astounded to report that I emerged from the theatre with a strained right hamstring which was perfectly fine when I entered. This movie was so intense that I honestly held a muscle contraction for the duration.

I did not know anyone who lost their life on September 11th, 2001 nor do I know anyone who lost a loved one in the attacks. Still, this movie was a visceral experience. I decided to go see it for precisely that reason. I heard that it was raw and powerful and I was intrigued by the possibility of a movie going experience that went beyond simple entertainment. I was not prepared.

Many people are of the opinion that not enough time has passed since this tragedy. They say it’s too soon to be releasing a film about 9/11; that we need time to heal. I believe that there is a need for films that go beyond mere entertainment; a need for films that make us feel, that make us think. This movie needed to be viewed while the memories are still fresh. Not because the viewing audience needs to remember what they felt that day, I know I will never forget where I was or how I felt when I watched the towers fall. But because the actors needed to have those emotions near the surface. JFK was filmed 28 years after the assassination of President Kennedy. Twenty-eight years from now no one playing any of the young men and women whos’ heroics were depicted in this film would know what we all felt that day. Every one of us that saw the live coverage of the second plane hitting the towers and watched the news reports come in about the actions of the passengers of United Flight 93 thought the same thing, “What must have been going through their minds?”

One reason the picture is so forceful is the strength of the acting. For me, the suspension of disbelief was almost absolute. I lamented the inclusion of recognizable actors Rebecca Schull and David Rasche not because of their performances (they were fantastic) but because it momentarily disrupted my total immersion in the film when I thought “What the hell is Sledge Hammer doing here!?” With that one exception I didn’t feel like I was watching a performance. I felt like I was watching real people. As I sat watching these people come to grips with their fate and making gut wrenching final calls to their loved ones I succumbed to the emotions and the tears trickled down my cheeks. I wondered if others in the theatre were doing the same but I couldn’t look away from the screen.

The film also derives much of its intensity from the fact that all of the scenes are shot from the point of view of a participant. Everything is shot relatively close and from angles that insert you into the action. When the terrorists pass through a security checkpoint it’s as if you are standing behind them in line. You feel like you are in the huddle as military officers struggle to get a handle on the situation. When the heroes rush and overtake their captor you are just off the lead man waiting for your opportunity to pummel that son of a bitch. Finally, the movie ends with a view through the cockpit as the plane spirals toward that Pennsylvania field.

Another reason this movie is so unbelievably potent is that this actually happened and you already know the outcome. The inevitable tragic end is the lens through which you view all of the characters’ actions. It lends profound meaning to every moment. When the air traffic controller’s supervisor fails to grasp the situation you get irritated. When a passenger hustles aboard at the last second, happy he didn’t miss his flight, your heart sinks. When a stewardess mentions in passing that she’s going to cut back on flights to spend time with her babies, it breaks.

As the closing credits rolled I held my head in my hands, wiped my eyes, and tried to collect myself. Nobody in the theatre made a sound as we shuffled out into the lobby. Though I was still somewhere inside myself and in no mood to talk the young man next to me offered his assessment, “Kinda makes you want to kick some Al Queda Ass doesn’t it?”

I responded with a grunt appearing to agree, but as I walked to my car I attempted to asses my own feelings. I didn’t feel anger. I felt a tremendous respect for those people that, in the absolute moment of truth, were able to find something in themselves that was stronger than their fear. I also felt a profound sadness for the families of those that died. I only hope that in time a sense of pride will, in some small measure, ease their pain.

I Pass Judgement

2006-04-18T22:15:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted in awhile because I've been busy pretending to be an adult. I seem to have a manic desire to make something of myself. It probably has something to do with the fact that I'm limping into my third decade.

But tonight I am basking in my apparent ability to install a functional wireless router in my apartment. I am all that is man...

I am enjoying my new found freedom more than you even want to know. I'm mobile bitches! I can blog from the couch. I can blog from bed. I can blog from the shitter if I so choose.

I decided to check in on Filan's blog to catch up on all the goings on in rural Iowa and was absolutely blown away by her April 12th post. I don't even know where to begin. When I finished reading the post I continued to the comments. When I saw the words "Doc Love" I stopped breathing for a good three minutes. I have had a real problem with Whatta ridiculing my blog and the thought of him being a jackass on my friend's site and knowing that I would be responsible for unleashing him on her made me sick.

I didn't post a comment for two reasons. First, that post was obviously an opening of the emotional flood gates. I've always admired her ability to write candidly about her personal life. She's had a rough time of it lately and part of me just wanted to give her a big hug. She's good people and I sincerely hope everything works out for her. The other reason is that while I do have opinions about her dating posts, the truth of the matter is it's none of my business. The only thing that my commenting on that stuff would accomplish is making evrybody uncomfortable.

I have to say that I wish Whatta had not posted comments on her site. I also think that he was absolutely correct. No guy invites a girl to meet his mother if she's just someone he's hanging out with. Ever. Whether you've had the talk or not he's thinking about you as a girlfriend. Ladies, If you don't want to be his girlfriend; don't agree to meet his mother. The doc was also right when he said that she would not be having multiple hour make out sessions with another guy if she was really into SP. When you really care about someone you just don't do that. Here's the best I can explain my thoughts on this...

You can't have your cake and eat it too. You can choose to date multiple people enjoying what each has to offer and avoid having a relationship and that's fine. Everyone's entitled to have their fun. You can also choose to seek an emotional connection with another person; to understand them on a deeper level and reveal your true self to them. You just can't do both simultaneously. That's how people get hurt.

Brain melt...

2006-04-12T08:50:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to learn networking from scratch. I get in early (7am) and go over my notes from the previous day's training. Then it's training class from 8am until 5:30 or 6:00pm with a 1 hr. lunch. Then I go home. I have been spending my commutes listening to The Davinci Code audiobook. I eat something from a sack in front of the tv (My extended sports package on my cable allows me to watch local college baseball broadcasts from all over the country). Then I study for another hour or two and go to bed. I start all over again every morning at 5:45am.

I have a head ache from staring at a computer screen for 12 hours a day. My brain is oozing words like egress capacity, terabytes, and routing protocol. The truth is that my previous job had ceased to stimulate my brain in any way. The new one has been like a shot in the arm because I'm learning all about something I previously knew little about. I feel like the people I work for are scary smart, something I never experienced at my previous job.

The next part is actually performing and that gives me that little burning self doubt in the pit of my stomach. So, I douse that burning with a concoction of water, barley, and hopps...just kidding. I'm taking a deep breath, trying to have some faith, and every time I don't want to work/study I tell myself that I need to do this.

I Can't Think of a Title

2006-04-07T06:11:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted in awhile partly because I have been busy with my new job, partly because I have been trying to decide what kind of things I should refrain from posting, and partly because that's what happens when I get out of the habit of doing something as a routine. I don't want to stop blogging. I certainly don't want to stop blogging because some dickhead in Minnesota hurt my feelings.

I've thought about narrowing the focus of this space so that I'm only writing about movies and books (Currently reading Game of Shadows about Bonds and the BALCO scandal and listening to The Davinci Code on audiobook. Enjoying both.). I thought about just posting commentary about current events; sort of an opinion column where I weigh in on illegal immigration, the popularity of Brokeback Mountain, and the like. Basically I've been wondering if I can still write anything interesting without referencing my personal life. I don't know. I'm not sure it would hold my interest and I'm quite sure that it wouldn't hold anybody else's.

As for me; I'm trying to immerse myself in my new job. I think I'm at a company that is really going to do some amazing things. It's all very new and exciting. It could also end up being incredibly lucrative.

In the words of my beloved father, "I might just have backed my ass into a tub of butter."

The caveat is that I will need to work harder than I probably ever have before and force myself out of my comfort zone. I'm trying to convince myself that if I do this 100% I will be successful and it won't be a decision that comes back to bite me in the ass. I need to prove to myself that I can get to the next level. The difference between being jovial and competent and being successful. I think this is an opportunity for me to accomplish that. To prove to myself that I'm as smart and talented as I tell people I am.

Alright already!

2006-03-28T19:33:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted in awhile so tonight I'm sitting in the soft glow of the computer screen with my friends Glenlivet and Sleepinal. If I doze off at the keyboard I apologize.

The lack of posting isn't because I haven't had anything to write about. To the contrary, since my last post I received and accepted a job offer at the CDS company. I start on April 3rd. I had a nice send off happy hour that was well attended by my friends and now former coworkers. I also missed another opportunity to ask out Coach Monica after my niece's Saturday morning basketball game.

editor's note: My 7 year old niece had 3 baskets and a rebound. I know she says she's going to Harvard, but maybe she might consider Stanford; better basketball program.

The reason that I haven't posted is because I have been a little gun shy about what I write. I broke the first rule of Blog Club which is of course "You don't talk about Blog Club". A large number of my friends have read my blog at one time or another. That's ok with me. I like to entertain. However, I also write about my feelings and frustrations on this site. This seems to provide fodder for a lot of jokes at my expense. Look, I can take a joke. I make jokes about my friends more or less constantly. There are running themes. Buds has excessive body hair. Skins is Asian. Monthly has gigantic ears. C-Note is short. Albie has never bought anything that wasn't on sale. That's all fine. These are, with the exception of Albie's thriftiness, physical characteristics that are out of their control. Certain things are off limits. I don't attack people's character. I don't take shots at guys' girlfriends, wives, or kids. And I don't poke fun at any unfortunate circumstances of my buddy's lives.

Here is the thing. If you want to make fun of me for having a blog; fine. That's fair game. If you are emailing links to a post wherein I admit being lonely with the subject line "Why Pudge can't get laid." I have a problem with that. If there is an email string among 3 to 4 people discussing how pathetic I am then you hound me to write more so that you can continue to ridicule me; that rubs me the wrong way. I just ask that you keep the gloves up; that's all.

editor's note: I'm refilling my scotch and hopping up on my soap box.

Not too long ago Blondie and Ambs77 said that I have a tendency to make blunt, rude retorts. I have two feelings about this. First, if I am commenting on your clothes, something you said, or the like I expect you to have a sense of humor about it and be able to take a joke. It's good natured. It may also be my way of protecting myself. I may be letting you know that I'm not really cool with what you said without being confrontational. Consider it a warning shot across your bow.

Here is a fundamental truth about me. I feel that I am loved by many but respected by few. One of the few things that I strongly believe in is not making excuses. Therefore I can and will find fault with myself everytime something goes awry in my life. I am quick to point out my own faults and own up to my mistakes; of which I make many (On a related note I'm pretty sure that I have talked a few interested ladies out of dating me). This often manifests itself in the form of self-effacing humor. Sometimes I feel like people think that because of this I am not a prideful man. That is not the case.

Here's three that recently bugged me...

Blondie sent out an email inviting our coworkers to join us at my farewell happy hour. She included pictures and quotes from Office Space comparing me to Peter Gibbons. The invite said "Let's all go raise a glass to someone who worked just hard enough not to get fired." I wasn't mad at Blondie. There was no malice intended and I've made similar jokes about myself. I don't like the idea that it is a commonly held belief that I am lazy and bad at my job. The truth is that I felt that management repeatedly made promises to me that weren't kept. I got bitter and stopped doing anything extra to advance. I didn't want to be Peter Gibbons. That's why I left.

At my farewell happy hour PZ was telling Albie about how I fucked up our hotel reservations in Mexico. That's cool. I deserve to take some shit for that one. Albie's response got under my skin though. "You should know better. You take Pudge along for laughs, but you don't give him any responsibility." That's the kind of thing that will ellicite a harsh retort.

scotch refill...

I hate the nickname Serial Killer. One of my coworkers gave me this one not long after I started working there and it stuck. I happen to be 6'3" and 240 pounds with a large forehead and a "peircing" gaze. I have two problems with this. First, I consider myself to be an approachable, good natured, lovable guy yet I get the impression that some people are actually intimidated by me. I've never committed an act of violence against another person in my life but I can't help but wonder if two of my superiors didn't make sure they were out of the office on my last day.

That's all I've got to say about that. If I mentioned you in this don't sweat it. I won't kill you.

To sell or not to sell

2006-03-22T14:33:00.000-08:00

I had an interview this morning with the provider of the "leading content delivery network for Internet distribution of video, music, games, and downloads. Their advanced content delivery network provides the world's top media companies high-performance, cost-effective delivery of media content and software via the Internet." They're the company that worked with CBS Sportsline to show live webcasts of the NCAA tournament. This small sized company is based in Tempe and is hiring a couple of account executives.

I arrived nearly 20 minutes late due to bad directions and the fact that there is no signage on the outside of the building. I immediately noticed that I was the only one wearing a suit and tie. Everybody else was wearing jeans, t-shirts, and flip flops. The first guy I met with was asking me about my previous jobs. I don't love this part of the process. I have to explain getting laid off from my first job and why I want to leave my present job without sounding bitter or angry. The next two guys I met with talked with me about their indsutry, the company, and the job duties. I was able to ask 5 or 6 good questions and I thought everything went well. The VP of Sales discussed the compensation package with me (30k base, 12-15% commissions on monthly revenues with no cap, 12 months of residuals on new contracts, monthly and yearly bonuses ranging from $500 to $5000.) , said he expected to hear good things about me from the other two men when they met to discuss me later, and asked about my availability. I took all these things as good signs. I should hear something tomorrow. I was told they move fast.

I was struck by how laid back everybody was. I was rockin' out on my way to the interview trying to get my energy up and summon my inner Vince Vaughn. It wasn't necessary. They talked like sales people throwing out words like competitive and aggressive but everybody was calm and soft spoken. It didn't sound like a call center either. There weren't any phones ringing or incessant chatter.

I told them I wanted to be a part of their organization and I expect they'll offer me the job. I said I would need to give two weeks notice not mentioning that I did that two weeks ago. I'm torn. It's sales. I don't love sales, but I could realistically make 15k more a year. That's hard to walk away from. I can't put the time and energy into being succesful at this and continue to look around for other opportunities. It just won't work. I've got some thinking to do, so I'm going to go play softball.

Tadd

2006-03-21T09:36:00.000-08:00

It is no secret that I am not enamored with my job. I have, however, had the pleasure of meeting some wonderful people during my time here. A few post comments on my blog from time to time. There is one gentleman that I have not gotten to know really well. I've never hung out with him outside of work. But he is such a character that I just felt compelled to write about him. That man is Tadd of "The Luke and Tadd Show" fame (see my "Other Links"). To say this guy marches to the beat of a different drummer does not do him justice. He's just a strange cat. Like Uncle Scruffles.
Yesterday I noticed that Tadd came to work wearing skate shoes. I don't mean Vans. I mean those shoes that have wheels on the bottom and allow the wearer to glide around as if on roller skates. I couldn't believe it.
Me: Tadd, you are a grown ass man wearing roller shoes....at work.
Tadd: Yeah. They're sweet. Check it!
With that Tadd turned and glided down the corridor between rows of cubicles. As he reached the end of the isle he attempted a hard right turn and lost his balance. With 4 of his coworkers looking on Tadd crashed into a cubicle partition and ended up on his back; legs in the air with one wheel still spinning.
I felt a little bad for him so I stood over him boisterously pointing and laughing for several minutes. I only wish that Luke had captured the whole thing on camera so that it could be posted on their website. Perhaps with some slow motion sequences and Joe Esposito's "You're The Best Around" playing in the background. It would have been gold Jerry. Gold!

TTAWT XVII

2006-03-20T14:21:00.000-08:00

Ooo-kay. Let's just all pretend that last post never happened. OK? Good.
Sunday morning was draft day baby! 9:35am was the official start time for the live online draft for the 17th edition of the Tap That Ass World Tour (TTAWT) fantasy baseball league. I had planned to keep a running diary of the events Simmon's style using the digital voice recorder. The action was fast and furious and I just couldn't multi-task that well. Here are some highlights.

I arose at 7am to make a McMuffin run, make sure I had internet connectivity, and take a quick peek at MLB news to make sure nobody important got hurt last night. As Go Time rolled around I had my war room ready. The TV was rotated so I could watch Bradley destroy Pitt. My computer desktop had 3 screens going: The draft (Yahoo), The Excel spreadsheet containing my draft sheets, and the Windows Media Player with my playlist on shuffle. I lead off with "Let's Get it Started" by The Black Eyed Peas.

Every year somebody misses the draft. This year was no exception. Its always for the same reasons. This year AI slept in and missed the first 7 rounds. ironically, the computer auto-drafted him a better team than I drafted for myself. Stoner once again had connectivity issues and had to have "Clown Fucker" draft for him.

editor's note: That nickname is the best random original expletive I have ever heard. There was no context. Big Al just called the guy a clown fucker.

The message board was relatively tame this year. The usually boisterous Whatta barely made a peep. There were the obligatory references to participants ethnicity, "Skins (who's half Korean), Hee-Sop Choi is still available." and one of the new guys being refered to only as "The Canadian". There was disapproval of peoples' picks: Spicoli on my pick of Garrett Anderson, "That was a nice pick. Three years ago." There was also this exchange...
Me: I'm feeling confident.
PZ: Maybe you should read your blog.
Me: Ouch.
PZ: Sorry Yo.

In a related story Skins' team name is Special K. Thanks Dick.

This was probably my worst draft since I started playing fantasy baseball 4 years ago. I usually draft well and manage my team steadily down the standings as the season progresses. Thats' my M.O. Anyway, here is what I ended up with.

C Victor Martinez
1b Shea Hillenbrand
2b Alphonso Soriano
3b Nomar Garciapara
ss Edgar Renteria
OF Johnny Damon
OF Jeff Francouer
OF Moises Alou
BN Garrett Anderson
BN Jose Guillen
BN Louis Castilla
BN Connor Jackson
BN AJ Pierzynski

SP Roy Oswalt
SP Roy Halladay
RP Huston Street
RP Jason Isringhausen
P Jon Garland
P Matt Morris
P Jeff Weaver
P Derek Lowe
BN Adam Eaton
BN Jose Mesa
BN Jamie Moyer

St. Patrck's Day Massacre

2006-03-18T20:58:00.000-08:00

St. Patrick’s Day was a whirlwind of activity. Probably the only person surprised by this was me. I just wasn’t expecting much. The lone black man in our office, whom I’ve nicknamed “Token”, invited everybody to join him at Maloney’s in Tempe after work for happy hour. I wasn’t crazy about this idea. Maloney’s is a college bar on ASU’s campus and I like the bar itself but I don’t like going there much anymore. I feel I have become the guy in his late twenties that is a little too old to be there. I used to make fun of that guy.

Maloney’s makes a very big deal out of St. Patrick’s Day. They cover the parking lot with a huge tent, throw up some green bunting, have live music, and charge 20 bucks at the door. Despite the abysmal parking situation, $5.00 green Miller Lights, and sea of frat dueches in tight green T-shirts with gay things like “Irish Beer Drinking Team” printed on them I was enjoying myself.

I shot the shit with some of my coworkers that I don’t normally hang out with outside of work. I had the beginnings of a nice beer buzz going and we all joined in a rousing game of “make fun of the fat girl riding the mechanical bull.” Good times. Also I should say here that ASU offers world class eye-candy. Second to none. Seriously, it’s ridiculous.

Whattta, stop reading now.

I was pleasantly surprised that I was having a good time. I was walking towards the bar to get another beer when out of nowhere I see her…BAM! I would have paid a large amount of money to see the gold medal worthy double take that I performed. It was Special K. Special K is atop a very short list of women I’ve known in my lifetime whose presence actually makes it hard for me to function. It really gets my attention when a woman’s smile causes a physical reaction in my gut rather than just my penis. K has that effect on me. Moreover, she always has. We went to high school together. I had a huge crush on her then but in high school I was Mitch from Dazed and Confused without the hair. I was incapable of pulling the trigger.

After high school I didn’t have any contact with her for 6 years. I found a comfort zone with the Iowa farmers’ daughters in college and really hit my dating stride in the first few years after college. When we crossed paths again at the Christmas party of a mutual friend I was a confident guy. We started spending some time together meeting for lunch and talking on the phone. Turned out we worked out at the same gym. I started doing my workouts in the mornings before work. For 6 months I went to the gym 5 days a week at 5am. I even took an ab class. Things were going great. We went out a few times but I made the decision to hold off on the romantic overtures and try to build a foundation of friendship. Retarded move. Next thing I know its 6 months later and we’re “just friends”. One morning we’re both on elliptical machines and she tells me, “You’ve been in here every morning for, like, 6 months. I’m really impressed.” I lost it a little bit. In one of the most embarrassing moments of my life I attempted to tell her that she was the reason for my new found discipline. She was noticeably uncomfortable and attempted to change the subject. I stopped going to the gym and I didn’t see her for nearly a year until our high school reunion. She gave me a hug, we made small talk, and she told me her number was the same and I should stop being such a stranger. I never called. That was in August.

Editor’s note: This post is getting away from me. I’m no longer sure if I started with a point.

Meanwhile, back at Maloney’s; She was pleasant. She gave me a hug and smiled as if happy to see me but I had a stomach punch moment. She looked great. She played soccer in college and runs ironman events for fun. I haven’t worked out regularly since I left that gym and have developed man boobs (also known as moobs). She is very smart and has found some success as a business consultant. I had to admit that I was quitting my job and didn’t have another one yet. I didn’t feel real good about myself at that moment. She asked me if I wanted to join her and her friends inside the bar and all I could think to say was, “I’ve seen it.” WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?!
Once again she told me that her number has not changed and I should call her some time. Then she was gone.

I'm the son of a bitch that named you Sue.

2006-03-17T15:29:00.000-08:00

I finally got a chance to watch Walk The Line. I was anxious to see this movie for several reasons. First was the buzz. There were unavoidable comparisons to Ray. Everybody that I talked to started their assessment with, “It’s great; just like Ray.”
I loved Ray. I thought it was a great movie. Nobody that I talked to had anything negative to say about Walk The Line. On top of that I kept seeing the words “Oscar-worthy performance” popping up next to Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon’s names. Throw in the intriguing trailer and the “Jackson” music video on CMT and I was psyched. The second reason I wanted to see it was the subject matter. I like Johnny Cash’s music but I’m not that familiar with his back story. Admittedly, I am not as big a fan of Cash as I am of fellow Highwaymen Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings or even Ray Charles for that matter. Still I count I Walk The Line, Folsom Prison Blues, Ring of Fire, and A Boy Named Sue as favorites.

My feeling is this; It was good. It was real good. I didn’t think it was great. There is no question that Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon both turned in superb acting performances. Phoenix’s portrayal of Cash’s mannerisms, style, and rhythm was spot on. Similarly Reese Witherspoon’s performance as June Carter Cash gave the film depth and soul. The realization that they sang their own vocals just blew me away.

I had only two problems with the film. First, It didn’t quite quench my thirst for knowledge about Johnny Cash and his beginnings. Bob Bloom of The Journal and Courier put it this way.
“One moment we see a young Cash lying in bed weeping at the loss of his brother, the next he is joining the military. His first wife, Vivian is introduced talking to Cash via long distance, with him asking her to marry him. The next scene shows Cash wandering through a music store in Germany, picking up a guitar and teaching himself to play.No motivation or explanation for these actions are given. (Writers) Dennis and Mangold simply rush through events to get to what the audience expects — Johnny Cash, singer, and the beginning of his tumultuous courtship of Carter.”
This isn’t all bad. It just makes me want to read Man in Black and Cash: An Autobiography for more details.

The other problem that I had may have been more with me than the movie. I wasn’t rooting for him. I kept waiting for Phoenix to give me some reason to want to see Cash overcome his demons. More importantly I wanted to know why June Carter wanted him to overcome his demons. Amidst the drinking, drugs, lying, and cheating I wanted a glimpse of a redeemable quality. I found myself siding with the father’s assessment of his son’s life and muttering, “Don’t do it…” when Cash proposes in front of a live audience. I can’t point to a moment in the movie that validated their love and that bothers me.

I can’t help but think that Walk The Line is a very good movie that narrowly missed being truly great. Perhaps reading a detailed autobiography followed by a second viewing will change my mind.

Blogpourri

2006-03-15T13:15:00.000-08:00

Transcript of actual voicemail on my cell phone this morning.
"When...Are...You Going...To Update....YOUR FUCKING BLOG!"

My apologies. There have been a handful of things I've wanted to comment on recently but I haven't taken the time to sit down and work through them. Conceivably, each of these could and should be a complete post. I may yet write about any or all of these things in more detail, but for now here is a smattering of events, thoughts, and observations. I encourage comments.

I put in my two weeks notice on Monday. I have mixed feelings (unbridled joy/nervous energy). I'm getting responses to my inquiries, but they are all sales jobs. I could make considerably more money almost immediately, but I still don't love sales.

Every year around this time I get to witness some variation of this exchange...
Interior: A bar. A large crowd is drinking and having a good time. "Hollaback Girl" playing loudly in the background. My buddy PZ is conversing with a young lady. She may or may not be attractive.
Young lady: So what do you do for a living PZ?
PZ: I'm a Bracketologist.
Young lady: Um, what?
PZ (pulling a small laminated NCAA Tournament bracket from his back pocket): See this here? I have Bucknell in the Final Four. They're RPI isn't the strongest but this team is tournament tested.
Young lady: Whatever. Is your friend Spicoli seeing anybody?

The WBC is here to stay. Right now everybody is into this except the Americans and that's just fine with the folks at MLB. They're doing this to reach the markets in Latin America, Asia, etc... It's working. It's going to be played every three years so they've got time to work the kinks out.

I was so happy when I read the SI excerpts of "Game of Shadows" that I performed Riverdance in my living room. What a douche'. Barry Bonds needs to be banned for life Pete Rose style. You want to put an end to the steroid scandal? Ban Barry from The Hall. I guarantee the players would hear that message loud and clear. This won't happen, but if it does I'm throwing a Bye Bye Barry party and you're all invited.

Whatta left a 5 minute message on my phone lamenting the loss of my manhood. Apparently some of my posts have given him the impression that I am no longer practicing the teachings of Doc Love. What can I say? On occasion I get lonely and when I am in this state of mind I'm not that interested in being a challenge. I am also not smart enough to avoid the keyboard when I'm searching for my mojo. Keep in mind that those posts are a reflection of how I feel at that moment in time. There are plenty of other times where my confidence is high and I'm quick to double down on 11.

I'm fascinated by HBO's new show Big Love. I'm not LDS but I live in the second largest Mormon community in the US. I've known people involved in plural marriage and I read Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith by Jon Krakauer. In my opinion polygamy is a religious front for pedophilia. I can't believe they are presenting a scenario in which there is an acceptable way to do this. I'm really interested to see what kind of reaction this show gets from the Mormon Church and the general public.

JP The Bear, one of my college roommates from Iowa, is in town on a family vacation. Last night I bought him and his wife some Mexican food. It was only a matter of time and Coronas before he brought up the time that I jokingly went chest to chest with him and he jokingly tossed me like a beach ball at a Jimmy Buffet concert.

One of my coworkers just asked me for the address of my blog. I never told her I write one. Somebody ratted me out. I suspect Blondie.

This post scores a 5.6 on the Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level scale. Whatever that means.

How do I kill the bunny?

2006-03-09T18:49:00.000-08:00

I need to get back in the game. I haven't been on a date since December. It's not the ideal time but I'm not going to let a little thing like being jobless keep me from trying to attract women. I mean, honestly, is gainful employment really that high on most women's list of requirements?

I went to get my haircut today at a little place a block from my apartment. Normally I don't talk to the people that cut my hair. I want them to focus on the task at hand. This girl was kinda cute and she was chatty so I talked her up. We had a couple of laughs and she asked me if I had been to any of the bars in the area. I chose not to mention the Hooters down the street where I spent Valentines Day. She allowed as to how she liked to go to the R.T. O'Sullivan's in the same strip mall. She apparently knows one of the bartenders. I took this as a good sign. She insisted I get a wash after the cut and it seemed to take a really long time. Admittedly, I could be way off here but it seemed like she spent an inordinate amount of time caressing the back of my neck below the hairline and my earlobes. My earlobes are a hot spot for me, but I won't get into that. Point is I felt like I was being flirted with. I told her I really liked the cut, tipped her generously, and told her I'd be back for my next haircut. I found it interesting that I started judging her almost immediately. She mentioned that she was married at 19 and has since divorced. She's also a hair stylist which does not impress me and she lives with her sister in AJ. I thought, "She's probably got a kid she's not mentioning."
I've never been one to date for the sake of dating. I know that one person is always more into it than the other and I feel guilty if I'm the one that is not emotionally invested. I think it might be good for me to see if she wants to have a drink just because she might be fun to drink with.

I have also had my eye on my niece and nephew's basketball coach. She is an attractive young lady that is a first grade teacher at the elementary school that my sister teaches at and her kids attend. After one of their games my sister said jokingly, "You want me to hook you up with Coach Monica?" I think I caught her off gaurd when I relpied, "Yes, I do." In a true elementary school move my darling sister mentioned to Coach Monica that I had asked about her. Apparently Coach responded favorably. I finally got an introduction tonight when I attended a school music recital. She caught me looking once and gave a shy smile. I thought it was cute the way her students obviously adore her. I like that she volunteers her time to teach basketball to 5-7 year olds. Also, tonight was the first time I got within conversation distance and noticed that she has beautiful light blue eyes.

My sister told me that I "should really ask her out". I don't think that my sister would say this if she didn't think Coach would be agreeable. I would like to ask her out but I usually like to have at least one conversation under my belt first and each time I've seen her there have been no less than 7 of my family members in the room. I am a little uncomfortable dropping some game when my parents, grandparents, sister, brother in-law, niece, and nephew are bearing witness. Stage frieght I guess. I'm not sure how I'm gonna pull this off, but I can't wait too long or she'll assume I'm not interested and start dating someone else.

In any case, I can't imagine how me writing about my misadventures in dating could be anything but entertaining. So, I'll keep you posted.

The next American Idol

2006-03-07T05:02:00.000-08:00

Quick story. I managed to put in a full 8 to 5 day scouring The Arizona Republic's Career Builder and Monster for jobs yesterday. Didn't turn the tv on once. when five o'clock rolled around I was stir crazy to the point of being jittery. Somehow self-imposed lockdown in your own home is worse than being in a cubicle all day. No coworkers to shoot the shit with I guess.

I had to get out of my apartment. I didn't even care where I was going or what I was going to do. I went out to grab a bite to eat but I didn't have any idea what I wanted. I live within a mile of a major mall so there are roughly 6,000 choices for food. I covered about 8 blocks in nearly 30 minutes before finally ending up at the Panda Express 100 yards from my door.

One of the things that has the ability to give me pure unadulterated joy is singing to the radio. I have found that it is a strange stress reliever. I liken it to primal scream therapy. I turn up the volume and air out my lungs. It's a performance and the driver's seat is my stage. I don't care who sees me do it either. When somebody else catches me doing this I acknowledge them and kick it up a notch.

All of this is to somehow explain what happened next. I was driving back to my apartment thinking about my orange chicken and scanning radio stations. I came across "Girls just wanna have fun". I was considering calling Spicoli and leaving it on his voicemail with the suggestion that he add it to his ipod when, as luck would have it, a car full of teenage girls rolls up driver's side. The little voice in my head immediately said, "This could be fun."

editor's note: My conscience sounds suspiciously like James Earl Jones yet the little devil on my opposite shoulder sounds like the love child of Adam Corrola and Gilbert Godfried.

I tuned to my left and belted out a "They just wanna. They just wannnnaaa!" The girl in the front passenger seat starts cracking up and alerts her friends to the moronic serinade going on next to them. I am looking directly at them singing and girating like I'm gunning for a grammy. they're eating it up. They ask for the station. I tell them. They join in. Alas, the light turned green and our 5 person homage to Cyndi Lauper's feminine anthem could not continue.

What had been an incredibly boring yet strangely stressful day instantly turned around because of one border line retarded act. You know what? I'm not going to try and assign any deeper significance to this. Whatever. This is how I roll. Whatever that means. Airwolf just crested the hill...

Next Chapter

2006-03-03T14:17:00.000-08:00

I informed by boss today that I am taking next week off as a self imposed "Decision making leave". This basically means that I'm using my remaining vacation time to focus completely on finding another job. I have had a couple opportunities float by recently but I find myself having no time to fill out applications, write cover letters, or forge letters of recommendation. I can't do these things at work because I'm too closely micromanaged.

Including weekends I'll have 9 days away. As I see it I have two challenges. First, to stay focused. This is not a vacation. I need to work hard to find something and get in front of a few people. I can't afford to sleep in or watch movies. Its doubley tough because its baseball season. Spring training has started, I have tickets to a few World Baseball Classic games next week, and ASU has a homestand against Auburn this weekend. It would be easy for me to spend an entire week in flip flops sitting in the sun, drinking beer, and watching games. In fact, toss in an attractive woman with an appreciation for the game and I can't think of anything better.
Second, I'm probably going to apply for every job in the western United States that is even remotely appealing. I need a plan. I still haven't gotten over that fear of chosing the wrong path but I can't stay in my present situation. It's affecting me as a person at this point.

What I didn't tell my boss is that when I return it will be with my letter of resignation in hand; whether I have a job lined up or not. My savings account has more money in it than my yearly salary, so I'll be able to pay the rent and eat. Hopefully I won't be unemployed for long.

This is me kicking myself in the ass. Its time to go. My last three network passwords (9 months!) were :
Ushouldleave.
Seriouslygo!
and Getthefout!

I could end up giving two weeks notice upon my return so this might not be my last day, but it feels like it.

I laughed my ass off...

2006-03-02T14:44:00.000-08:00

and then I curled up on the floor in the fetal position and wept.

http://www.recoilmag.com/news/box_of_rocks_graduates_0705.html

I want those 2 years of my life back! Seriously, I would get the most use out of my MBA from UoP if I wiped my ass with it.

Next Time Get a Reservation

2006-02-27T06:55:00.000-08:00

The great thing about international travel is that you get a chance to experience different cultures. You take time to learn about the local people and their customs. Everything is different. The food is different. The architecture is different. The age of consent is different. The important thing is that while we may be speaking different languages and I may be a foot and a half taller than anyone in your country we all agree on one thing; It takes skin to win. It is with this spirit of discovery that I want to share with you what I learned on my trip to the tiny hamlet of Ensenada, Mexico.

The road from Tijuana to Ensenada is a windy two lane adventure. When the driver, who's got one hand on the wheel and one on his Bud heavy tall boy, slams the parking break, pulls a 180 into the parking lot sending a shower of gravel 30 ft in all directions, and exclaims, "I can't believe we made it here alive!?" it kinda sets the tone for the weekend.

I discovered that Mexican hotel reservation systems SUCK ASS!

Four guys rolling down the main drag with the windows of their Camry rolled down blaring Bananarama's "Cruel Summer" is gay in any culture. Niiiicce.

I learned that Spicoli included Bananarama, "Forever Young", and Michael Jackson (not once but TWICE) on his ipod play list and didn't find anything wrong with this.

I learned that Modelo Especial is a perfectly acceptable breakfast drink.

I discovered that if a drunk American chick throws Mardi Gras beads at you and you laugh at her and walk away ignoring the beads as they lie on the ground she will drive to the end of the street, double back, and heave a 3/4 full can of Dr. Pepper at your head.

I learned that a complimentary bottle of tequila is 90% water.

I learned that old Mexican men like US pop culture.
explanation: An elderly local gentleman helped us find an ATM machine. He then remarked on the sight of Boo, who is short, and I standing next to each other with this beauty, "Ha! Like Twins. Es Schwarzenegger y Devito. Ha!" I countered with The Karate Kid, "Hey, you don't come into my dojo, drop a challenge, and leave old man!" He laughed, called me "Gordo" and disappeared into the crowd.

Boobs for Beads is an American phenomenon. Only the white women were down with this.

I learned that when you meet a girl in a bar and she starts the conversation with, "Hi. I'm Random." the heavy lifting is done. At this point you're just playing the waiting game. Even I couldn't screw this one up.

I learned that when you're riding a 72 hour beer buzz the phrase, "That is one big mother fucking flag!" never gets old.
I was surprised to learn that no one parties harder than the 50 something cruise ship patrons "straight off the boat from Minnesota".

As it turns out a hot dog wrapped in bacon with mayo, grilled onions, and diced tomatoes is the best drunk food that 10 pesos can buy.

When your translator explains, "He wants to know if you want to go home with him." and the girl responds, "No." you just wasted an hour speaking english to a native Mexican.

I learned that I can withstand (only) 55 volts of electricity.

Apparently "steak, eggs, and dick" is not on the menu at La Portuga Restaruante'.

I learned that when a Mexican street vendor yells out, “You wanna look at my junk!” it doesn’t mean what it does in the states.

I learned that drinking a 64 oz. rum and coke, 62 ounces of which consist of rum, can lead to the dreaded phrase, “What’s the matter? Are you crying?”

I discovered that PZ gets ashy and has to “moisturizer up” before he goes out.

I found that if you repeatedly dismiss stacks of 50 peso notes as "monopoly money" you will regret it later.

I learned that at Anthony’s $20 goes to the house.

I learned that one should not wear a Mexican wrestling mask while attempting to cross the border in Tijuana. Border Patrol has no sense of humor.

La Fonda has the best all you can eat buffet EVER. They have all you can drink bloody Marys people!

I learned that no matter how many bars you hit, tequilas you shoot, or randoms you hook up with nothing beats a sunny afternoon chillin’ on the deck with your boys and a beer watching the dolphins swim and the tide roll in. Best part of the trip; hands down.

Finally, I learned that if you find yourself in the middle of telling a story and you realize that it’s kinda pointless, and you’re not really sure where you were going with it in the first place it is perfectly acceptable to abruptly end it with, “and Airwolf had to come in and take him out.”

Viva' la Mexico!

2006-02-23T09:34:00.000-08:00

I will be taking off this evening for Ensenada, Mexico to attend Carnaval! I am told that its a poor man’s version of New Orleans’ Mardi Gras celebration. I have always wanted to go to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, but obviously it will be awhile before The Big Easy is back to its old debaucherous self and I’m dangerously close to being too old to do it right.

I’m going with PZ, Spicoli, and a friend of Spicoli’s I’ll call Boo. Boo lives in Whales Vagina, CA. We’re flying to Diego, meeting Boo, and driving the 90 minutes to Ensenada. Hilarity will ensue. It should be fantastico! I’m expecting a lot of chicas, Sol beer, tequila, chicas, and dog tacos.

I purchased a digital voice recorder so that I could have a record of what is said and done when alcohol would otherwise not permit total recall. I have been lectured at length about “the rules of the road” and “don’t do me like you did Whatta”. I will state here and now that this is for dictation purposes only. I have no desire to publish any damning material on anyone but myself. I’m not taping anyone without their knowledge and I’ll clear any posts with known participants. That having been said, it should make for some fun posts (when I return on Sunday evening).

So, I’m off to “a warm place with no memory”.

A Quick Trip to the Dark Side

2006-02-21T06:43:00.000-08:00

I have a history of getting smashed at weddings. I'm 29 years old so; I've been to roughly two dozen weddings in the last five years. I love wedding receptions. I get dressed to the nines, there's good food, and if you're lucky free booze. How can you beat that?

The last wedding I attended I behaved myself. I was too hung over from the day before to drink and I was seated at a table with two of my bosses. Saturday was Blondie's wedding and I was again seated at a table with my boss. This time however, I got wrecked. Blondie had an open bar from start to finish and openly encouraged me to cut loose. Her exact words were, "I want you to end up making out with somebody on the golf course." So, it was on.

Here is what (as best I can recall) I drank:
Unknown # of Bud Lights
1 glass of Cutty Sark Scotch
1 glass Champagne
2 glasses of Chardonnay

I'm pretty sure I made it through without doing anything that embarrassed anyone else or otherwise ruined the evening. I wasn't disrespectful to the parents, I didn't tell my boss that my job is what drove me to drink, and I didn't hook up with any of my coworkers.

What I did do is dance. I am generally able to resist the urge when I am sober, but when I get drunk at wedding receptions I cut foot loose like Kevin Bacon fighting small town oppression. Once, at my college roommate's wedding, I actually slid across the floor on my knees and yelled "Let's Dance!" People tape these things. There's proof. So, I danced with all of my female coworkers, I danced with a couple bridesmaids, and I asked one unknown girl to dance just because she was attractive.

editor's note: The boyfriend of the attractive girl arrived at the table and seemed a little agitated but hey, I didn't know. No harm. No foul.

At one point I left the dance floor and discovered that not only did everyone at my table apparently leave, but the reception hall was mostly empty. There wasn't anybody to say goodnight to so I staggered out the door. I walked a couple blocks in the wrong direction before finally arriving in the parking garage across the street from the lot in which I was parked. I vomited, crawled underneath a stairwell, and passed out. I awoke a time later lying on the ground in my suit shivering in the 35 degree weather. I walked across the street to my truck but I knew I couldn't drive. So, I folded down the back seat and slept in the back of the Expedition. I woke up about 3:30am and drove home.

So there you have it. I am that guy.

ps. Skins, if you are reading this and considering asking me to be your best man, I wait until after the toast to start drinking.

It ain't always good to be the King.

2006-02-16T10:02:00.000-08:00

One of the young ladies in my office complained to another about her boyfriend’s poor showing on Valentine’s Day. The young man’s transgression was so egregious that the friend could not help but recount the tale in horror to another employee and that employee in turn told another and... well, you know how this works.
The end result is that there are now no less than a dozen people openly campaigning for this guy to be dismissed from his boyfriend duties and denied any and all benefits.

For the record, I am one of the people calling for his dismissal. On some level I feel sorry for the guy. All these people that he has never met are telling his girlfriend, in no uncertain terms, that she should kick his sorry ass to the curb. He most likely has no idea that this is happening. By all accounts he is a “great guy” and “nice” and “sweet”. As soon as I heard him described this way I knew he had no chance, but that’s a whole post in itself. The idea that he may actually be in love with my colleague and have no idea that his relationship is essentially over is disturbing to me as is the delight that some people have in publicly mocking the situation. It must be embarrassing for her to hear everybody commenting on her love life.

The less compassionate side of me thinks that if you take your woman to “The BK Lounge” on Valentine’s Day you deserve the worst that life has to offer. This guy took his girlfriend to Burger King on Valentines Day. After his request to dine in the restaurant was rebuffed he had the stones to ask for $5 because he was short of funds until pay Friday. Stick a spork in him. He’s done.

Upon hearing this horrific tale one of the girls in the office bought the victim a bouquet of flowers out of pity. One insensitive prick (me) repeatedly referred to the boyfriend as “The King” and suggested that she make her boyfriend wear a cardboard Burger King crown in public.

So, take this as a cautionary tale guys. My Valentine’s Day post was right on the money. If you screw up Valentine’s Day she will tell other people how you screwed up. Those people don’t care what you did or didn’t do the other 364 days of the year. They will destroy you and you’ll never even know its happening.

Valentine's Day

2006-02-14T07:38:00.000-08:00

As I have mentioned before I have a lot of friends who are married or engaged. It is not uncommon to hear some of these guys complain about Valentine’s Day. They bemoan the fact that it’s over-commercialized. They theorize that it’s a giant scam concocted by the flower, chocolate, and stuffed animal cartels to move more merchandise. They explain, “I love ____ all year long. I shouldn’t have to spend a bunch of money on February 14th just because those fuckers at FTD need to meet their quotas!”

I can’t honestly say that their arguments are completely without merit. It is over-commercialized. Those little candies with the two word messages taste like shit. My personal favorites are the commercials by the diamond folk that are openly insulting to men. They perpetuate the men as big dumb animals stereotype. I sometimes wish they would just remove the thin veil and put out this ad:

Sultry woman’s voice: “Hey guys, you’ve been a massive disappointment to your woman all year long. It’s a wonder she’s still with you. So, this Valentine’s Day stop being such a cheap bastard. Buy her a diamond tennis bracelet from Jared.”

All that having been said, do it anyway. Quit the complaining and do it right. No matter what you think; you don’t tell her enough. Valentine’s Day is about letting your beloved know how much she means to you. Let her know she is appreciated. A personal touch is best. It lets her know that you were paying attention when she assumed you were not. So, cook her favorite meal, or plan a trip, or rub her feet, whatever. The important thing is to stop concentrating on the negative aspects of Valentine’s Day and put the focus where it belongs. On her.

2 days of straight suck

2006-02-13T06:47:00.000-08:00

Today is my birthday. I'm 29 years old. I'm not happy about it.

I stopped enjoying birthdays after my 25th. I recall the realization on my 26th birthday that in the same amount of time that it took me to finish college I would be thirty. When looking back the college years seem to have flown by in a blur. I knew that the next 4 years would be no different and I began to wonder where I would be and how I would feel about my life. Well, in one year from now I will be thirty years old. The idea that a year from now I could be sitting in this cube typing a blog post to keep from putting my headset on makes me sick to my stomach. The thought of living, alone, in a one bedroom apartment at thirty years old causes me to expel a deep sigh. The worst part of it is I have no plan. No direction. Sometimes I think I have no plan because without a goal I cannot fail. I don't know. I try not to get too Freudian.

Admittedly, my melancholy mood is exacerbated by the fact that my birthday is immediately followed by Valentines Day. I've said on more than one occasion that this should be 48 straight hours of lovin' for me, but with two exceptions, it never is. So, tonight I will sit in front of the TV with my buddy Johnny Walker and think about what I need to do so that I don't feel this way next year.

My heroes have always been cowboys

2006-02-11T13:23:00.000-08:00

I saw Willie Nelson perform at The Dodge Theatre in Downtown Phoenix last night. My Mom got me two tickets for my birthday. I haven’t yet met the woman that thinks that spending a Friday evening with me listening to a 73 year old country crooner sounds like a good time, so I took my buddy Billy. The Billy digs Willie as well, although I gather it’s from a slightly different perspective. When I asked him if he wanted to go he responded, “Hell yeah! Willie’s the original pot head.”

The Billy and I left work and went straight downtown to Seamus McCaffrey Irish Pub for some Guinness and grub. Cool place. Good french dip. Sufficiently buzzed we walked the few blocks to the Theatre arriving about 20 minutes before show time.

This was my first trip to The Dodge Theatre. It’s a great medium sized venue. It seats 5,000 for concerts. The seats were comfortable, there’s no obstructed views, and the acoustics are great. Mom got me some good seats too; lower level stage left. The lines were minimal at the restrooms and concessions. I paid $7 for a 24oz. Bud Light; industry standard.

I was intrigued by the crowd. Willie plays to a mixed audience. I saw men and women. I saw young and old. I saw cowboys and burn outs. I even saw one old burned out cowboy. Everybody stood and clapped at appropriate times and sang along when Willie encouraged it. It had an intimate feel. With Willie it’s not a show, it’s a performance. It’s just him and his band. There’s no pyrotechnics and minimal lighting effects. You can’t escape the thought that what you would really like to be doing is sitting across a campfire from him takin’ a tug on the ole’ whiskey bottle while he picks his six string and tells stories from the road.
Willie looks like your grandpa. You just want to hug the old guy. He took the stage (nearly 10 minutes after being introduced) in a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, a cowboy hat, and sneakers. He later donned the trademark bandana and periodically tossed them into the crowd; never clearing the first row.

He sounds great. I have to admit I was a little worried about this. The guy is 73 years old and has smoked enough grass to landscape the pacific northwest. His vocal cadence varied from his recordings on a few occasions but his voice was as sweet and clear as moonlight through the pines. He sounded just as good as he did coming from the speakers of my father’s old 1980 Ford pickup when I was a kid. He performed for a little over two hours singing all my favorites: Blue Eyes Crying in The Rain, Georgia On My Mind, Mammas Don’t let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys, My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys, Pancho and Lefty, On The Road Again, etc…

It was an all around great evening. I can now cross Willie Nelson off my list of people I would like to see perform live. And should I ever meet that special woman that combines stunning good looks with a love of baseball, sophomoric comedy, and old school country music I would go see Willie again.

Seven it is not.

2006-02-10T14:28:00.000-08:00

At the incessant urging of a coworker I watched the movie Saw. “You’ll love it!” he said. “It’s just like Seven.” He assured me. I think Seven is a great movie; liked everything about it. It’s one of the reasons I can’t write off Brad Pitt as just another pretty face du’jour. He actually makes some good movies (ie. A River Runs Through It and Fight Club).

Saw is what Seven would have been if it didn’t have Pitt, Morgan Freeman, Kevin Spacey, and Gwenyth Paltrow in the cast.

The plot was solid although familiar. A mysterious serial killer, The Jigsaw, devises elaborate torturous scenarios to teach his victims the value of life by forcing them to choose between hurting themselves or others to stay alive.

The torture scenarios were clever. In one particularly gruesome scene The Jigsaw’s sole surviving victim is forced to impale a live man with a scalpel to retrieve a key. The key unlocks the iron-jawed face mask that she was forced to wear. If triggered, the jaws will snap open causing her head to explode like an over ripe melon.

The locations and music were sufficiently eerie to contribute to the overall sinister tone of the film. The special effects offered standard slasher film gore with one notable exception. At the movie’s climax one of the victims chooses to saw his foot off at the ankle just above the shackle that chains him to the wall. We see him vigorously sawing, screaming, and writhing, but the point of contact between leg and saw is just off camera. We never see the saw contact skin nor do we get a glimpse of the resulting bloody stump. There is a decomposing foot on the DVD cover. The name of the freaking movie is Saw! How can you not include the foot in the actual movie!?! At least give me some blood splatter when he opens an artery. Something.

What kept this movie from being really good were the sub-par acting performances turned in by several of the cast members. Cary Elwes, of The Princess Bride fame, was simply awful as Dr. Lawrence Gordon. He just doesn’t seem to portray fear well. His demeanor doesn’t match the situation until he starts sawing his foot off at the end of the film. Its like everybody else is in mortal fear and he’s doing “The Claw” schtick from Liar Liar. While we’re at it as long as Danny Glover wasn’t taking this project seriously couldn’t they drop in a quick, “I’m getting too old for this” for all the Murtaugh fans out there. Is that too much to ask? Finally, Michael Emerson executes the worst limp ever captured on film as the mortally wounded Zep Hindle.

When it was all said and done I couldn’t help but think that James Wan and Leigh Whanell wrote a good script they were just done in by poor casting. It’s a shame because this movie had real potential.

On a scale of 1 to 10 I give it a 6.

Excessive Linkage

2006-02-08T10:06:00.000-08:00

Ok. So, apparently not everybody is familiar with Summer Sanders. She is an Olympic Gold Medal winning swimmer who is now the host of Fox's "The Sports List" show (this is why the subject line "You're #1 on my list" is funny). To clarify; I do not know Summer Sanders. The email is actually from someone I know. She threatened me if I told anyone so naturally I thought, "I'll post it on the internet."
Summer is, however, on my my top 10 list of smoking hot women who don't get enough credit for being smoking hot. So, because having the hots for Pam Anderson shows a lack of imagination, Here is my list...

Summer Sanders
Emmanuelle Chiriqui
Nicole de Boer
Carey Lowell
Salley Field (circa 1977)
Marisa Tomei
Brittany Daniel
Selma Blair
Cyndi Thomson (retired in her prime. The Barry Sanders of this list)
Filan Monet

The last one is obviously a bit gratuitous, but hey, she is a very attractive woman and it seems like she could use a pick me up. For those of you that know me you may notice two notable omissions from this list. Well, Katie Holmes has either lost her mind or is Tom Cruise's beard. Either way she's out. Minnie Driver has not held up over time; Good Will Hunting - Hot. Guest appearance on Will and Grace- Heinus. It's a shame. I also had Elisha Cuthbert on this list but she probably gets enough credit for being hot so she got bumped.

Reader email (pic attached)

2006-02-03T14:40:00.000-08:00

The following is an actual email from one of my readers. It is posted here unedited, as far as you know.

From: Withheld
Sent: Monday, January 30, 2006 1:39 PM
To: Pudge
Subject: You're #1 on my list!

Pudge... oh my god... I have TEARS rolling down my face! (Withheld) sent me your blog site... I have been sitting here, laughing my arse off for the past half hour reading your rendition of the toilet incident.
Seriously Pudge - and if you ever tell anyone I complimented you about ANYTHING, I will vehemently deny it and punish you in the eternal afterlife - but you really have a talent for writing! I cannot stop laughing! Whatever you do in the future, try to find something that uses your sarcastic wit. It would be an absolute shame for you to waste this...
Ok - I'm done being girlie and giving you kudos. Remember - SEVERE punishment if you tell anyone....
- S.

PS. Here is a pic from the shoot last weekend. can't wait to see you.

This is how I roll

2006-02-02T06:53:00.000-08:00

I had phone discussions with both PZ and Whatta about the previous post. They would have preferred that I not post it. I was leaning towards not including it because I do consider Whatta a good friend and I didn't want him to get bent out of shape. Then I was driving back from lunch rockin' out to AC/DC and ZZ Top and I thought, "Screw that. Nobody puts Pudgey in the corner!"
Editor's note: This will be the first and last time I quote Dirty Dancing in a post.

I'm going to post what I want, when I want, about whom I want. End of story.

There are three basic reasons I started this blog; one of them moved to Iowa. Another is that I enjoy the writing. I want to play around with comedy writing, descriptive writing, opinion pieces, etc... I want to see if I can be good at it. The last reason is that I most likely suffer from PAPD and I can always use another outlet. So, if you know me, be warned that there is a 100% chance that I post more than a few long winded introspective overly analytical diatribes about why I'm nearly 30, stuck in a low paying dead-end job, am a huge disappointment to my family, and women flee from me like Calista Flockhart from a Krispy Kreme. (Now that's a run-on sentence baby!)

Maybe writing here will help me cut down on the Costanzaesque blow ups in real life. Maybe not.

With friends like these who needs enemies?

2006-02-01T12:29:00.000-08:00

It appears that PZ has located my blog and forwarded the link to God knows how many people. What I thought was my first posted comment by someone I don’t know turned out to be my buddy Whatta chiming in from Minnesota. Whatta registered with blogger and created a blog whose only purpose is to mock my site. I was undecided about to whom I would reveal my site because I don’t want this to degenerate into a forum where my friends and I take pot shots at one another. That’s what poker games and fantasy league message boards are for.

That having been said; Whatta opened the door with his site. Also, the guy is a walking, talking comedy goldmine. So, in the interest of having everybody get to know each other here is my first ever Reader Profile.

Whatta
Minneapolis, MN
Ethnicity: Hispanic
Height: 5’3”
Weight: 195lbs
Hair: sporadic
Eyes: glazed

Whatta has been a friend of mine since elementary school. We grew up together. We played baseball against each other from little league through high school. We drank and got into trouble in high school and were roommates for a time after college. I introduced him to his wife. He has since moved to Minneapolis and is working as an insurance salesman and supplementing his income as a mariachi singer at a Mexican restaurant.

Some interesting facts about the Whattaman..

He got his nickname because he visited a Whattaburger restaurant thrice daily for an entire semester while pursuing a General Studies degree at Guadalupe Technical Institute (aka. The University of Arizona).

He is the inventor of the Vodkafina®. A method of drinking vodka from an Aquafina bottle while in public/at work.

He was the real life inspiration for Vince Vaughn’s “Double Down Trent” character in the 1996 smash hit Swingers.

I once suffered a laughter induced hernia upon discovering lifts in his shoes while we were roommates.

He once responded to a job interviewer’s query about his five year plan with, “I’m still going to be single and I’m going to buy a camarro.”
Editor’s note: He got the job.

He is a charter member of The Random Ill-Advised Drunken Comment Hall of Fame (RIADCHOF). Whatta was enshrined as part of the inaugural class of ’99 along with Courtney Love and the incomparable Tara Reid. He was a lock to be a first ballot inductee with credentials like these:

Standing on a chair in a packed bar…
“Ladies! I’m just a great lookin’ guy who’s lookin’ to hammer!”

Following a gold medal worthy ogling of a young lady…
Tough guy boyfriend of young lady: “What the hell are you looking at?”
Whatta: “Your bitch.”

My buddy Stoner: “Don’t talk about her like that man, she’s a good girl.”
Whatta: “Dude! I wanna stick it in her butt. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Whatta, meet the internet. Internet, this is Whatta. I will post additional reader profiles as warranted.

Eternal Damnation

2006-01-30T22:35:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-29T18:33:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-01-26T21:49:00.000-08:00

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:

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.
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.

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

2006-01-25T10:51:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-24T17:09:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-23T08:50:00.000-08:00

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?

2006-01-22T19:02:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-21T16:11:00.000-08:00

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:

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

Against:

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

Mesa:

For:

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

Against:

Unbelievably bland complex
No amenities to speak of
Not a growth area
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?

2006-01-19T06:24:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-19T06:21:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-01-17T19:03:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-01-17T16:22:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-17T12:03:00.000-08:00

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

Jumpin' on the Bus

2006-01-15T13:42:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-01-14T16:59:00.000-08:00

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'

2006-01-13T18:27:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-12T19:32:00.000-08:00

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!"