Just a post about the things I like about sports

Before I start this post, you should know that I went through, like, three different beginnings for it.  Which is stupid because it's just a post about the things I like about sports (in case you didn't gather that info from the title).  Still, I think it's important that you people know how much I care about bringing you the best possible internet quality product since 2008.  I take this serious.  I flat out bring it.

BRING IT.   Here we go.

Basketball:
I've written before about basketball before, but let's be honest- you just want me to write about it again.

I didn't start playing basketball around 6th grade, but when I did, by golly it grabbed right a hold of me and didn't let go for a long time.  Even when it did let go, it didn't really let go.  It has this very intoxicating rhythm that really drew me in immediately- the bounce of the ball, the squeak of the shoes, the sound of a perfect 'swish' (or a bank shot), the lock-and-load of the shot, the pacing of how the players move up and down the court.  Basketball is basically full-body hypnosis played at full speed.

Things I like about basketball:
- The cutting down of the nets after certain championships.  One of the coolest traditions
- Even though there are different positions, the statistics are the same for all players.  This helps because it is still possible to compare players at a specific position while also allowing for a much more meaningful picture of a player's all-around capabilities.
- A bounce pass caught in stride and taken in for a lay-up/dunk.
- The first weekend of March Madness for being the one sporting event in which upsets are routine.  Nothing like rooting for David knowing that at some point, he's going to slay Goliath.  Just as long as it's not your Goliath. 
- The intimate context of the game.  More than perhaps any other sport (other than maybe golf and tennis, but I don't count those), basketball is performed in the crowd. Fans sit right beside the court, right next to and behind the bench.  Players don't wear helmets, masks, or special padding- shorts and tank tops.  It's all right there, man.  Factor in the crowd noise, and how players feed off of it, and you have arguably the most immersive experience in sports. 
- That calm-before-the-storm moment, when the crowd is starting to get frenetic, and the defense gets a big stop, and they bring the ball back up the court and shoot a three-pointer, and everybody is just sort of suspended in the moment...I love that small period in time, especially when that shot falls and the crowd explodes.  It's probably the most fulfilling moment in sports.
- The back and forth nature of momentum.  I love how one play or one sequence can completely change the nature and complexion of a game- at least until the next one.
- Pistol Pete, Manu Ginobli, and pretty much anyone else that is a physical manifestation of unorthodox genius.

Hockey:

I went to a few hockey games as a young man (although I don't recall much about them), but it was a sucker punch loss that really drew me in.  It was 1994, and the top-seeded and heavily favored Detroit Red Wings lost a heart breaking game 7 to the San Jose Sharks.  As much as it sucked (I suppose it didn't totally suck- I was still a cursory fan at that time, after all), it did cement the Detroit Red Wings as my favorite local team and hockey's place in my heart.

It doesn't hurt that since I've started following sports (early '90s), the Red Wings have had the most success of any local team.  It's a heck of a lot easier to buy in as a fan when you can follow a team that is having success.  Oddly enough though, it's the season-ending losses that reinforce the fandom much more than any Stanley Cup (or equivalent trophy) could.

What I like about hockey:

- The tradition.  Out of the four major sports in the U.S., hockey is the one (well, probably baseball too) that feels like it still has strong ties to the origins of the game.  Football and basketball are drastically different from their genesises (geneses?  genesi?  What's the, um, plural on that?).  Hockey seems like it has remained largely the same (other than equipment changes).  Also, I'm often wrong.
- The Stanley Cup.  I suppose this ties in with the tradition, but it's a specific tradition that I love.  Hockey's postseason tournament is, in my opinion, the most grueling of all of them.  So the Cup, even without taking into account its historical allure, is highly coveted.  Factor in that the winners get their names engraved on the pages of forever, and you can see why players will play through missing teeth, broken ankles, broken noses- you name it, hockey players have probably played through it in pursuit of Lord Stanley's Cup. 

I love seeing the captain (who, a week or so earlier, probably refused to even touch the conference championship trophy, which is another tradition that I love) go grab the cup, skate a victory lap, and then go hand the cup to a person of his choosing (often a long-Cupless vet).  Who could forget when Stevie Y handed the cup to Vladdie back in 1998?  I get chills just thinking about it.

And then the fact that each player gets the Cup for a day during the offseason?  Awesome.  Simply awesome.  I love hearing stories about what each player decides to do with the cup.  Even though some of these things may, on the surface, seem to be "sacrilegious" to the sanctity of the Stanley Cup, I believe that they only add to the prestige and mystique of the sacred chalice.
- The Red Wings uniforms- Clearly this is my being an biased fan, but you gotta admit, it's pretty awesome.  It's so simple in its design, with such an elegant and classic logo- yet it captures something magical.  It serves both as a portal of history- a link between the past and the present- and as a banner of conquest, a unit draped in the flags of conquest.

Sidebar- I love the teams with classic, unchanging (or minorly changing) uniforms- Yankees, Tigers (the Olde English D is always a constant), Celtics, Lakers, Cowboys, Steelers, Blackhawks, Browns, Redskins- there are more, surely.  Yes, a new look can galvanize a fan base for a short time and in some cases even be an improvement, but there's much to be said for tradition playing connect-the-dots over decades. 
- Watching Pavel Datsyuk.  Dude is sweet.  Please watch the video and try to imagine yourself doing these things on skates.  I did and I woke up tangled up so tightly in the couch cushions they needed the Jaws of Life to get me out.  I love watching "court" magicians, people that are so skilled they easily make the best in the world look like beginners.  Datsyuk has skill with the puck similar to Maravich on the court or Barry Sanders on the gridiron.  Some people were just made to make other people look silly.  Those are guys I love to watch.
- The Captain's "C"- Other sports have captains, but they're more of a ceremonial thing.  The NFL seems to award captaincy to anyone who can walk.  Basketball captains don't really anything.  Baseball don't even have captains, yo.  But hockey captains not only have prestige (my friend Phil literally went up six levels of prestige in my eyes when I found out he donned the captains' "C" in high school) but are the only players on the ice who can communicate with the officials, and (as mentioned) are the first people who get to touch/not touch certain trophies. Plus, they get that cool looking "C" on the front of their jerseys. 
- A tip play in front of the goal, when a player lets loose a blast from the blue line and a player in front of the net uses his awesome hand-eye coordination to get a blade on the puck and send it whirling in a completely different direction, sending the goalie scrambling in vain while he watches the puck settle in the net behind him.
- Speaking of goals, the whole post-goal thing- love it.  The sirens blaring, lights spazzing, the team surrounding the offending goal scorer and engaging in an orgy of 'daps' and smiles, then the scoring player skating past his bench and getting even more ridiculous love from his fellow skaters.  It's a wondrous feeling to behold, especially when it's your team scoring in a playoff series against the freaking Predators.
- Playoff beards.  As a facial hair enthusiast, I can't say enough about the playoff beard.  Actually, I'll just show you what I'm talking about.

Oh.  Crap.  Not that one...let's see here...

BOOM.  There we go.  See what I mean?

- Goalie masks.  Just Google "Goalie Masks".  You'll understand.

Baseball:

America's game- I guess?  I do like baseball, don't get me wrong.  It was the first sport I played, and the playing-catch-with-dad meme basically timeless.  Baseball movies also tend to be the most believable out of all sports movies.

Well, okay, but...

I'll give you that one, but..

OKAY, OKAY, I GET IT!!!

Alright, now you're just being mean

I like baseball- when it's the only game in town.  Apologies to those baseball fans who have read down this far, expecting me to wax poetic and help you connect with your favorite game in a deeper, more spiritual way.  But my unconditional love with the game died the day that I dropped that fly ball in the majors that lost us the game.  

Still, there are some things that I enjoy about baseball (other than being the bridge between hockey/basketball and football):

- Crack of the bat.  Or the 'ping' in college basketball.  Bonus points for that special 'crack' that a home run bat gives off.
- Sticking with the sensory stuff, the baseball mitt itself.  The sound that a ball makes when it snaps in there, the smell of the leather, the feel of a nice, broken-in mitt in your hands.  A baseball mitt is probably the most iconic piece of sports equipment in our time.  At least, it's the most tactile.
- Strikeouts.  Specifically, when power pitchers Justin Verlander strike people out with their offspeed stuff.  I mean, the hitter is just standing there, waiting for the heat, anticipating the heat, knowing that the heat is coming- and they get a wicked bender that just makes their knees buckle.
- The All-Star game.  Something about the fact that each player wearing their own unique uniforms while playing on the same team is aesthetically pleasing to me.
- Differences between the leagues.  Actually, this is probably my favoritest thing about baseball.  I love that both leagues are treated like separate entities- different rules (pretty much just the DH, but still- awesome), different stats- sometimes I wish that other sports did that too.  Like the AFC only had three downs to make a first, or Western Conference games only permitted five fouls. 
- Randy Johnson.  I miss watching a dude pitch that could throw hard enough to eviscerate a bird in flight.  Plus- mullet.
- The old stadiums quirks.  The ivy walls of Wrigley (which are quite spectacular in person), the Green Monster of Fenway, the Water Spectacular of Kauffman, McCovey's Cove out in San Francisco.  Obviously every sport stadium has many artificial differences, but these features (and others like them) make each ballpark a completely individual experience. 
- Finally, I mentioned this before, but it deserves special mention in the baseball section: The Olde English D.

Football:

If baseball was the first sport I played, football was the first sport I loved.  It was also the first sport that broke my heart.  It was the University of Michigan against Michigan State in 1990, with the Wolverines ranked the top team in the country.  I will go to my grave believing that Desmond Howard was flagrantly violated on that 2-point play.  I was visibly upset for hours and the pain wrought that day still resonates in my dislike of the green and white.

Football dominated my early sports experience.  Like many boys, we would wage in epic backyard gridiron battles- I was convinced as a youth that my dad should have played QB in the NFL.  Afterwards, I would take the football outside and play pretend games, throwing the ball to myself, making spectacular play after spectacular play.  I even made up my own football league (based on states' nicknames) with its own rosters, stats- I even made football cards for it. 

'Sup.

What I like about football:
- The pacing.  Football lies beautifully between the extreme pace of hoops and the slower gait of soccer and baseball.  It's back and forth but you still have time to breathe.  This makes for a more fulfilling emotional experience- yes, there are "bang-bang" plays that get your heart pumping instantly, but there are also lulls which allow for the momentum to build gradually.  A long scoring drive, followed by a three-and-out, into another long drive that may or may not result in a score- but the end result is that you are firmly in the throes of excitement.  
- All those statistics.  As I love basketball for the solidarity of its statistical measure, so do I love that football has so many statistics.  Not because I think it is some hyper-efficient way to compare players- I'm just somewhat of a numbers junkie, and football has numbers in spades. 
- The padding.  With all the helmets and shoulder pads and such, football players are much like the modern equivalent of the knights of old.  If a player happens to wear a visor in that helmet, it's even better.  I love me some visors.
- Sideline catches.  Definitely one of the most difficult displays of athleticism and coordination in my opinion.  Knowing where you are, being in complete control of all of your extremities, while also having to worry about the defenders who are trying to smash you into pieces touch you with both hands to make sure you're down. 
- Barry Sanders.  Man I miss that guy.
- The option offense.  I think this stems from the first time I saw the Air Force Academy play football- it was some sort of bowl game, and I was blown away by:
A) The fact that there was an Air Force school that got to play football
B) The fact that their mascot is the Falcons but the logo on the side of their helmets is a bolt of lightning
C) The option offense.

As you may have guessed, I'm a big fan of sleight-of-hand type maneuvers in athletics.  Whether it's Pistol Pete doing some crazy pass or Pavel Datsyuk weaving in and out of defenders, I really derive a lot of enjoyment over those special athletes that can take you past what you think is physically possible.  The option offense is pretty much that in unit form.  Eleven men working in unison to basically break the ankles of their defensive counter part.  When it works, it's sick.  Just sick.

Soccer:

I've only been a soccer fan for about four years.  It's definitely the baby of my sports family, so there's admittedly a "new car smell" bias on this list.  I should probably check back in ten years and see how I feel about soccer then.  Of course, if I'm still running this blog in ten years (and you're still reading it), then we should both just immediately fall on our swords to preserve our honor.

Still, I do enjoy many things about the beautiful game.  Such as:

- Crowds- The fans are soooooo passionate, it modifies the enjoyment of the game exponentially.  In real life, soccer crowds are probably too crazy for me (unless I decide one day I'd like to be trampled) but sitting at home, watching on my in-laws 52 inch HD-plasma-whatever TV, I can leach off of their collective passion like a tick sucking on...OH MY GOD THAT'S A TICK ON ME!!!!!
- Running clock.  One of my biggest pet peeves of American sports is all the freaking TV time-outs.  I understand that companies are paying large sums of money for these TV spots which somehow help keep these leagues solvent...or something.  But I love watching soccer because once that ball is in play- it's all action, all the time.  No dead balls stoppages, no time-outs, no breaks for injury- and that's no small thing.  If you've ever watched a soccer game, you realize that it is a common occurrence for players to have near-death experiences.  Especially when that player is in the penalty area.

- Mystery stoppage time.  At the end of each half, some additional time is added to the end to compensate for the fact that the clock never stops (even when the action does).  But it's always sort of mysterious- how much time gets added on?  Who decides, and how is the decision made?  Do they tell the players?  I imagine if you've been running around on the field (sorry, pitch- more on this in a sec), you're probably ready to get to that locker room STAT.  Really, the whole thing is probably just some sociological experiment to see how far you can push people in competitive settings.
- The international aspect.  I know that there is yearly club soccer, but I don't get into that as much.  National teams though?  I eat that stuff up.  I've always loved international competition.  The idea of groups of people playing for something other than individual accolades- playing for a sense of national pride, is likely naive, but still something to root for.  It's like you're not watching players compete- but entire nations.  And that's pretty sweet.

And when it comes to international competition, the World Cup is where it's at.  Yes, there's the winter and summer Olympic games, but realistically, nobody cares about many of those sports.  Besides, no other sport has the competition rate that soccer does.  I mean, jeez, everybody plays soccer.  So when a team wins the World Cup, it can really lay claim to the title of Best in the World. 
- Soccer uniforms.  Soccer uniforms fascinate me, plain and simple.  From the walking billboards that club teams become, to the sometimes-inconsistency of the color schemes, to the fact that goalies wear completely different uniforms (not just equipment- different uniforms), to the exchange of jerseys after a game (I wonder how they decide who to exchange with, and if they actually keep those sweaty, stinky new jerseys)- I simply dig everything about soccer uniforms.  They're the last unexplored frontier.
- Different names for routine things.  Some of this is probably not soccer specific, but still- the vernacular of soccer has been a breath of fresh air.  The field is called a pitch, jerseys are kits, a pass is called a ball, a tying goal is an equalizer, a shutout is a clean sheet, and exhibitions are called friendlies.  I've come to terms with the fact that I'll never learn a foreign language- but I'm well on my way to being able to speak Soccer. 

As hard as it is to believe, these lists are (largely) just off the top of my head.  I'm sure that I could come up with many more.  However, I'll save you all the trouble of reading through another novel and summarize it all like this- sports rule!!!

PICS- Crosby- http://guymanningham.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/sidney-crosby-playoff-beard.jpg
Commodore- http://bleacherreport.com/articles/675897-nhl-playoffs-2011-top-25-playoff-beards-in-nhl-history/page/26
Rookie of the year- http://img191.imageshack.us/img191/3599/rotydvdcover.jpg
The Scout- http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51yvdSMI7-L._SX500_.jpg
Little Big League- http://www.slicksportstalk.com/sites/default/files/post_thumbs/Little%20Big%20League.jpg
Angels in the outfield- http://www.detroitmommies.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/Angels_in_the_Outfield_Poster.jpg
English D- http://waiversharks.com/spirit-of-detroit/files/2008/04/old-english-d.jpg

How I met your clients

Have you ever watched 'How I Met Your Mother'?  If you haven't, then you should, because I watch it and it's the funniest show in the world.  I realize I'm only like six or seven years behind the bandwagon but hey- better late than never, right?

Anyways, this blog is not about that show, but it invokes a certain character from that show- namely, the show's main character, the "I" of "How I met your mother"- Ted Mosby.  Ted is the freaking man.  He's funny and charming and has a great job (that clearly lets him stay out until all hours of the night and engage in endless shenanigans with Doogie Howser) and is cute and...well, you get the picture.  If Ted Mosby was a real person, then he would always win People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive who is not Jason Parks award (not to be confused with the Sexist Man Alive) and wannabes like Ryan Reynolds and George Clooney would end up stuck in a sidebar somewhere on the cover of Weekly Us.

Like that'll ever happen

So before I get swept away in some bizarre romantic fantasy involving me and a fictional dude, allow me to sort of explain how I plan to tie the character of Ted Mosby into my ongoing and thus far fruitless pursuit of a real-life social work job.  Because I'm totally going to do it, and you're totally going to be like, 'whoa'.

See, Keanu Reeves- he gets it

7 year spoiler alert- in the Pilot of HImym, Ted meets this really funny, charming, hot girl named Robin, and after a super first date, they're up in her apartment, dancing to really romantic music (did I mention it's like 1 in the morning) and Ted tells Robin that he loves her.  Apparently, this is a huge first date no-no, and so the romantic moment ends, Ted walks away- but not before dropping this totally inspirational nugget:
- "You know what? I'm done being single, I'm not good at it. Look, obviously you can't tell a woman you just met that you love her, but it sucks that you can't. I'll tell you something though, if a woman, not you, just some hypothetical woman, were to bear with me through all this, I think I'd make a damn good husband, because that's the stuff I'd be good at. Stuff like making her laugh and being a good father and walking her five hypothetical dogs. Being a good kisser.."

And I think that's when it hit me- I'm like the Ted Mosby of social work.  I'm the guy that would make some human service agency an amazing social worker who is super fun to work with, helps people, and is good at his job.  These past couple years of post-grad living have been like my employment bachelorhood- fun jobs, nothing long term- but now I'm ready for The One.  I'm ready for that commitment.  I'm ready to meet Your Mom.

Good one!

So basically this blog is going to be like an internet cover letter.  It'll cover all the stuff that a cover letter would probably cover, but without the rote formalities and big words that a normal cover letter would have- plus it has pictures.

PICTURES!!!

Before I begin- slight sidebar.  I think that there should be an eHarmony for jobs. Like someone figures out a scientific formula where you answer a bunch of questions and then an employer answers a bunch of questions and your composite scores get matched up based on compatibility.  I just think it'd make more sense than the whole application/resume/interview song and dance that we do, which is very antiquated- it's like going on a blind date, except you're competing with a bunch of other people like an episode of the Bachelor, but you only get one date (two, tops) before having to decide if you want to get married.  Maybe that's why there is such high turnover rate in some jobs and other people stay in places where they clearly aren't happy.

Maybe they have a top-notch benefits package...

Okay, so I'm going to get this started by listing the things that I'm...not.  I'm not going to be a polished professional right off the bat.  I've never been the best at jargon.  I definitely don't have lots of experience- my human service career has largely been filled with hands-on direct-care positions, which means that even though I've still developed a Bat-belt of social work abilities, I've been doing slightly different work in a different setting than my social work peers have been doing.

But let me tell you what I am- besides a good father and a good kisser.

'Sup.

First of all, I'm smart.  Not like, Mensa-smart or anything like that, but pretty darn smart.  I graduated from Northern Michigan University with a 3.97 that probably could have been a 4.0.  I did this while working and helping raise two young children.  I'm sure I'm not unique in this-but it's not a commonality either.  Actually, scratch that.  I accomplished something that has never ever been done before.  I guess I'm also like the Neil Armstrong of social work or something.  Whatevs.  Just another accolade at this point.

I'm able to look at things objectively and from multiple angles.  Life doesn't happen like some linear script- it's more like a lottery ball machine, with a myriad of events and people all jostling around and resulting in interesting things with the faux appearance of randomness.  So not only do I recognize that things aren't often what they seem- I actively seek out tributaries that might not seem to attach to the big river.  Because chances are, they might.

But I also know that I don't know everything- and often times I feel like I don't know anything. So I have the humility to learn from others- including my clients, who are really the experts in their life stories.  I'm not afraid to ask questions or to dig a little deeper.  If I have an area of weakness, I exploit it by trying to improve it.  In college, I took a Gay/Lesbian history class because I recognized that I had a prejudice in this area.  I went in with a (not as much as I thought I had) open mind and learned quite a bit.  I also made a great friend who happens to be a lesbian.  The moral of the story?  I'm awesome.

But this awesomeness didn't just happen like some sort of freak lab accident.  I have a life story of my own, with its own trials and tribulations.  I've been poor.  From the get-go, life has been tough.  Sara and I jumped into marriage as a couple of naive kids strung out on Peter Cetera songs and romantic comedies- which probably would have been fine if we hadn't got pregnant right away and then decided to move into a group home four months into our marriage.  Can you say "Cluster of Stressors"?

Even though life has been tough the last few years, and I feel like we've had to scratch and claw for everything, I also wouldn't trade it for anything (unless it was a few million dollars) because I believe that I've learned from it.  And while I know my story doesn't translate into a cure-all, I think it will help me to not only be more empathetic to my clients- but to also to be able to meet them where they're at (and treat them with dignity and respect).

Did I mention that I'm a husband and a father?  That means something.  Obviously it means that I am motivated to keep my job, since wives and children are expensive to upkeep.  But also, it means that I have a sense of commitment and the ability to work through difficult issues.  While I wouldn't often classify myself as a "selfless" person, I engage in varying degrees of personal sacrifice every day that I'm alive.  It's not always easy and I don't always do the best job- but at the end of the day my family knows that I love them dearly and would do anything for them.  Just like I will your clients, hypothetical future employer.

There's so much more that I could say about myself.  My unconventional path has given me the skills and tools I need to be good at what I do.  And obviously you've picked up that I have a great sense of humor and am an above-average writer.  Both of those are merely latent traits in the overall package that is Jason Parks.  I guarantee that if you give me a job and pay me money- I will be a darn good social worker.  Probably not the best ever- but I'll give you my best, and you'll never even need to say thank you.

As long as your insurance covers chronic hoarseness

PICS-
Weekly US- http://img1.bdbphotos.com/images/orig/f/9/f924btnpo7nento2.jpg
Bill and Teds- http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/OT4B-NJUcZE/0.jpg
High five- http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZytdDbL_DZU/T3R_qolQPvI/AAAAAAAAACQ/RH0RUUALq0s/s1600/internet_high_five-2496.jpg
Ridiculously photogenic guy- http://knowyourmeme.com/photos/283598-ridiculously-photogenic-guy-zeddie-little
Wedding- http://devasuram.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/worst-wedding-photo-4.jpg
Batman- https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSDBOm7yzpg-F4eFP2bXnXDtsKTxcPUBFrqxF-1mGZmOBI8wvk59Ewonvpl_4LdAz4eL9dZjXfXy3IKz2G9gb5gCqxELBQXlFgYQ3q9BbcTtqqgoYzkbrRKoIHbvcBLaElFiStc0WJesM/s1600/936full-batman-begins-screenshot.jpg

A world worth living in? One man's quest to take hyperbole to new heights.

For those who don't follow sports, the Miami Heat beat the Oklahoma City Thunder last night in the NBA Finals to go up 3 games to 1 in their best of 7 series.  With the next game in Miami, there is a really good chance that LeBron James will be a World Champion by this weekend.

And I don't know how I feel about that.

Let me back up- I know how I feel about that.  I don't like it- at all.  I am sick and tired of LeBron.  Honestly, I've never not been sick and tired of LeBron.  I've rooted for his failure pretty much since he came into the league.  I watched with a particular glee last summer as the Dallas Mavericks added to his history of Finals failures.  I think I read every single news piece about LeBron's 4th quarter failures like some sort of bizarro proud papa.  I cheer Skip Bayless (Skip Bayless!) every time he says "Prince" James in that condescendingly sarcastic tone of voice.  Now, as he stands on the brink of vanquishing his playoff demons and engraving his name onto the pages of history- I find myself wrestling with how I'm processing this particular event.

Because the thought of LeBron having a championship is affecting me way, WAY more than it should.  Not enough to make me want to jump off of a building or cause property destruction or anything like that- but I am realizing that there is part of me, however small (I do not know), that has derived some sense of identity from LeBron James' failures, a conscience fueled by schadenfreude.  The closer LeBron James gets to his first title, the stronger those little, subtle punches to the gut become.

And I know how I feel about that- it's sort of sickening.  Because really, nothing changes for me in a post-LeBron championship world other than I now have to view LeBron through a different lens.  But he'll still be a world-famous, multi-millionaire athlete- and I'll still be Jason Parks, playing Angry Birds and writing blogs that no one reads.

So why do I care so much?  Is it because I'm a fan?  Maybe, but I'm not so sure.  In this instance, I'm not really rooting for a specific team, I'm just rooting for teams that play LeBron.  So I guess you could say I'm an anti-fan (LeBron fans might refer to me as a 'hater').  Instead of rooting for a specific team to win, I'm cheering for a specific player to lose.

Messed up, I know.  I take solace in the fact that I'm not alone.  Many people around the world dislike LeBron with as little reason (or less, if that can be believed) as I have.  Of course, many people just as mindlessly like LeBron.  Or at least, LeBron the name brand.  How funny that we can attach such strong emotions (on both sides) to people with such little interaction with them.

Truthfully it isn't just LeBron though.  I've always been this way when it comes to high profile athletes.  Michael Jordan was my first anti-fan association.  Brett Favre is on the list too, as well as Tom Brady (although after leading my Fantasy Football team to it's best showing ever, he's probably off this list), Emmitt Smith, Eric Lindros and Sidney Crosby.  On a more mezzo-level, you can throw in the Yankees, Duke and North Carolina (hoops), Ohio State (all sports)- and that's pretty much it.  I think.

I'd like to say that my disdain for these individuals/teams is because somehow I'm this extraordinary free-thinking spirit who despises being told who is good/who to like and carves out my own path.  But nope- because anytime a player (or team) comes along that is heads above his peers, my anti-fandom comes poking his head out like those creepy tongue-thingies out of the Sarlacc pit.

Besides, I do recognize that there's at least a bit of homerism that factors in.  Obviously Ohio State is U-M's biggest rivals- that's why they get scorn.  Duke and North Carolina each waged war with the Wolverines in the NCAA finals during my early formative years as a hoops fan (which explains why their fellow blue bloods Kentucky and UCLA get a pass).  Brett Favre played against the Lions twice a year, was voted MVP during Barry Sanders' 2,000 yard season (a travesty), and had some really obnoxious fans at Bullock Creek High School.  Emmitt was Sanders' RB position rival, and I still haven't fully accepted him as the all-time NFL rushing champ.  Tom Brady beat the St. Louis Rams in the Super Bowl when I was all over their bandwagon like ugly on Steven Tyler.

Who is undoubtedly the ugliest woman I have ever seen

Some hypocrisy plays a role too.  For instance, Alex Ovechkin, Peyton Manning, Dwyane Wade, Carmelo Anthony, Aaron Rodgers, the Boston Red Sox, Tim Tebow- the list goes on of athletes who have received similar (if not even more) accolades and adoration to athletes/teams that I've despised.  Yet I don't root against those dudes.  I was quite ambivalent when the Red Sox won their first World Series back in 2004, and I actually sort of rooted for Manning and Rodgers in their Super Bowl wins.  So why, when I have no immediately available vested interest, do I cheer some and jeer others?

I think multi-faceted, the answer is.

Coming did not you that one see

1) Humility/underdog status- perceived or factual- plays a role.  Manning, for example, comes across as just a hard-working normal guy who gets by because of his insane amount of preparation instead of any God-given natural talent.  Sure, he was a top overall pick (whereas Favre was a second rounder) and highly touted coming into college- but I've perceived him (and his ridiculously awkward throwing motion) as more of a humble underdog than Favre, who seems more natural throwing the ball and obviously more of a dominant personality.

Same thing with Wade.  Yes, he was top-five NBA pick.  However, he seemed (at least to me) to come out of nowhere after leading Marquette University (a non-traditional power) to the Final Four.  Wade is quite possibly just as big of a prima-donna as James is, but because he didn't get on the cover of ESPN the magazine as a high school junior (and he's much more of a quiet personality than James), he has gotten a pass (for the most part).

So obviously part of it is how these guys are packaged to me through the eyes of the media and my perceptions of those packages.  I don't think that explains it fully though, hence thought number deux...

2) Alpha-dog status.  Over the past year or so, I've been processing the human experience through more of a biological/animal perspective- which frankly has been fascinating.  I don't want to dredge up any evolution/creation debates- but it is interesting to think of our behavior as if we were just animals (instead of being some elevated form of life).

With this point of reference in mind, my seemingly irrational disdain for certain individuals/teams would actually be a manifestation of some biological function.  For instance, think about territorial animals.  It's pretty natural for them to be threatened by (and respond accordingly) to a bigger, stronger alpha-male that comes into their territory.  They won't spend too much time thinking about how glorious everyone else says those gleaming, sharp teeth are.  They don't really care about the other-worldly strength possessed by those powerful arms.  They just know that now some other dude wants in on that harem action, and by "wants in on", I mean "will probably kill me and take over".  Hard to be a fan in that instance.

So yeah, maybe I look at guys like LeBron and I'm threatened by their excellence, their self-confidence, their natural gifts and the abundance of their resources.  If life was a savage jungle, obviously LeBron James would be better prepared for 'survival' than I am, which is such a sad proposition that I cannot think about him in terms of his positive traits because I hate him for the food he is indirectly taking out of my stomach. 

Or something.

The reality is that these 'off-the-cuff' thoughts don't help me to come to grips with the fact that very soon, my identity as a sports fan is about to be shaken very severely and I have no idea what the landscape will look like when it's all said and done.  The only thing I know for sure is that there is still hope for the Thunder, and my obligation as a fan is to root them on to victory- even if that victory is currently sitting in the big, toothy, powerful jaws of defeat.

OH GOD I CAN'T STAND IT!!!!

PICS: Steven Tyler- http://www.eonline.com/eol_images/Entire_Site/20080521/300.tyler.steven.052108.jpg
Yoda- http://images.wikia.com/starwars/images/e/e0/Yoda_SWSB.jpg
LeBron- http://rickischultz.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/lebronjames.jpg

A picture of hope

We live in a dark world during dark times.  People are doing horrible things to other people, saying mean things about other people, and passing gas in groups without claiming it.  Every day, a new apocalypse seems to be rising out of the ashes of the failure of its predecessor.  We are living on borrowed time, even on our best days, and trust my sister when I tell you that life is hard- no one makes it out alive.

So when we find any sense of beauty or hope in this fallen and decrepit world- well, we should cherish it and share it with others, right?  I mean, most of us are in this "eat/drink/die tomorrow" frame of mind, looking for something to help get us from one valley to the next.  But when you find something glorious, something that doesn't just numb the pain, but can really light a fire in men's hearts and make them aspire to something more, something greater beyond what they believe they are capable of...well, you have to share that with the world, right?  You don't hide it, no matter how embarrassing it might seem to be.  This could be your shot, your chance to change the fate of the world.  So you grab hold of that sucker by the handlebars, spit something (doesn't matter what, as long as you make it look cool) and you just let it ride.

Right?  With me so far?  Good.  Because I'm about to show you something so beautiful and so inspired that your life will forever be altered by it.  Do you want to see it?  Thought so.

BOOM.  Do you see that?  You, um, may have to enlarge or zoom in, but what you are looking at is the most perfect mustache since...since...well I have never seen it's equal.  It is unequaled.  A mustache that has (or had, unfortunately) no peer.  The Mozart Jordan of mustaches.

Isn't it lovely?  Isn't it wonderful?  Isn't it precious?  And to think that my wife wanted me to keep this picture, nay, this mustache, in hiding.  As much as I love objects of beauty, I love to be able to sleep in my nice, cozy bed at night.  So in the end, I had to kill the mustache so that the dream could live on.  The dream to bring light into the darkness and help someone through their troubles- whether that means they lost their job or are going through an earthquake or maybe struggling with their own facial hair insecurities.  Hey, look at me, even I can do it- and sure, you probably can't, but I'm here for you anyways loser brother.

Here it is again, at a different angle and in worse lighting.  Just make sure you're sitting down.

Because it'll still take your breath away.

So remember today, as you walk through the valley of the shadow of death- that there is good in this world.  There is light and love and hope...and even though there is one fewer mustache now (rest in peace, friend), you can go on with your day knowing that now there is purpose and meaning.

Oh, and you're welcome.

Lost: a spider-man sock, or a reason to exist?

When you become a parent, you realize very quickly that have been given a human blank slate with zero instruction.  It's tremendous pressure to be sure- another persons life is solely and completely in your hands.  If you don't realize what a big deal that is, you haven't been paying attention.

Possibly because you've been too busy cutting your own hair

It's also pretty exciting though, when you realize that you have also been handed a miniature 'you'.  This is your chance to relive childhood, to buy all those GI Joes that your parents would never buy you, to watch TV shows based on comic book heroes and all this can be yours- if you can make it through the first couple of years, when they're watching crap like Dora, and Max and Ruby.   Note: It ain't easy.  It's kind of like watching someone gouge out your eyes and then use them to scrape the chalkboard in twenty minute segments.

The problem is that one day, your kids will grow up and start to (gulp) develop their own identities.  And ideas about what is actually cool.  There's a chance (however small) that all those early attempts at socialization and personality shaping will backfire, and suddenly your household of Red Wings fans has yielded some Blackhawks bastard spawn and you're watching game 6 of the Western Conference finals wondering what the hell just happened.  That's why, as a parent, I have to make sure that doesn't happen.  That's why I bought Shane this pair of Spider-man socks.

Aside from being the coolest socks ever (I know, right?),  these socks are a symbol of the struggle that I have waged to make my children in my image.  Just like Spider-man battled with the alien symbiote (and also his baser nature) and reemerged as a more awesome Spider-man, Shane and Delaney have wrestled with the entertainment advances of their father and come out on the other side as little daddylytes.  Brings a tear to my eye just thinking about all of the awesomeness that I have been propagating.

Something happened a few weeks ago though that completely rocked my world, shook me to the core, and threatened my very existence.  We lost the socks.  Well, we lost one of the socks, but that's basically like losing both socks.  Socks are like swans- they mate for life, and if one of the mates is lost, then you throw the other one away because it's a worthless piece of junk.   

I held on to hope for the last three weeks, believing that the missing mate would turn up in the laundry or in one of the kids toy boxes...waiting for a ransom note or a call from the dastardly villain that stole that precious piece of my soul...but as we boxed up our belongings and moved to a different home, and gradually unpacked all of the kids things, I slowly began to come to grips with the fact that the sock was gone...forever.  Must have got teleported to Battleworld for some sort of Secret Sock Wars or something super important.  Obviously. (sniff)

I know it's stupid to get attached to anything material- especially something belonging to your children and ESPECIALLY socks and ESPECIALLY socks purchased from the dollar section at Target.  It's just...it was such a cool looking sock, cooler than either pair of Batman socks or the Ferb socks and almost as cool as the Perry the Platypus socks.  Besides the physical sock itself, there's a chance that as Shane grows up, he'll forget all about Spider-man and super heroes and grow up liking shows like Teen Wolf and reading books about knitting and just generally being as anti-me as a man can be.

Which means he'll probably grow up to be a, you know, man

I'm sure I could wax poetic about how throwing away this sock is symbolic of my children and how they're growing older, or materialism, or tie it into life and relationships, or even making the best out of a bad situation (like being bitten by a radioactive spider, for instance).  Maybe one day I will.  But right now, the grief is still too near.

Goodbye, Spider-man socks.  I'll miss you, old friends.

PIC- Brittney Spears- http://static.poponthepop.com/images/gallery/britney-spears-bald-head-shaving-head-photo.jpg
Stephen Jackson- http://cdn.bleacherreport.net/images_root/slides/photos/001/388/288/stephen_jackson_display_image.jpg?1317846729

Baby I'm glad you're back

Last March I gave a beautiful, emotionally charged, and surprisingly insightful epitaph on my deceased relationship with basketball.  If you've frequented my blog, you know that any declarative statement of any type that I make is basically just a placeholder for the next time I change my mind.  I go back and forth more than Pong.  So you shouldn't be surprised when I say to you that I have fallen in love with basketball all over again.

I think a couple of things have fueled the rebirth of my basketball jones.  Reading Bill Simmons certainly played a big role.  He is undoubtedly my favorite sports writer, and the passion, wit, and intelligence with which he writes about basketball is super contagious.  In fact, I could probably point to the day I started reading his Book of Basketball as the day I began to come home to hoops (this is a hindsight call- at the time, I didn't realize it fully).  It was like 700 pages reminding me what I love about the game.

Actually, now that I think about it, Simmons is probably the whole reason that I came back to hoops.  It certainly wasn't the NBA itself.  Sure, last season was extremely compelling (with a sweet feeling at the end) but then they went into lockout mode and it looked like the season would be canceled (note: in sports labor disputes, I always root for seasons to be canceled- I just think it's good for perspective)...then the game came back and Simmons wrote a bajillion articles in a short period of time, and I was pretty much hooked.  So thanks, Bill.

Really though, I don't think it was too much of a stretch to get back into it- the love was not buried in an unmarked grave, and so rekindling it from its hibernation was surprisingly simple.  Indeed, as I wrote in my basketball eulogy-
Basketball has this beautiful cadence about it. The bouncing of the ball against the hard wood floor. The squeak of the tennis shoes. The swish of the net. And the eloquence of the motion- a crossover dribble, a behind the back pass, three pointers from the corner, a sweet pick-and-roll.

I think more than any other sport, basketball is woven into my DNA, and as much as I may try to, I'll never be completely rid of my need for it.  It's like my own Ring of Power.  Purchasing NBA 2k11 (probably the most realistic sports simulation EVER) pretty much sealed the deal- between Grantland.com and my PS3, I'll be able to maintain my basketball crush indefinitely.


Last nights Boston-Miami showdown also reinforced basketball as my sport du jour.  And as unlikely as this may seem, LeBron James was the main protagonist.  Not in a 'hahaha FAIL' way either- but by putting on a masterpiece of a performance in last nights Game 6 win against the Boston Celtics.  I've never been a LeBron fan- in fact, I previously wrote this about the social enigma:
He's not the first (or only) athlete to think and act like he's bigger than the game...but gosh darn it does he annoy me. The whole macho-angry-scowl thing, the talcum powder toss, the Decision, the complaining during his rookie year when he wasn't named to the all-star team- it's ridiculous.


I suppose I'll always be a "hater", but I can also see that James is far and away the best player of this generation.  Still, even with all of his accomplishments and accolades and statistical feats, I had never ever EVER seen anything from him (or any other player for that matter) like I witnessed last night.  Mind=blown.

The stat line is certainly impressive- 45 points on 19-26 shooting (2-4 from beyond the arc), 15 rebounds, 5 assists, played the first 45 minutes straight- and the historical context makes it even more so- elimination game, on the road, against his previous personal dementor, the Celtics...but did you see it?  LeBron was locked in like I've never seen him locked in before.  The macho-act was gone, replaced by a stone-cold stoicism more often seen in the greatest killer the world has ever known.

Although with those wrist blades, I'll bet it's really hard to catch a bounce pass

And without having to actively repress the gag impulses from James' tough guy act, I was able to appreciate his full arsenal of offensive prowess.  Dunks, lay-ups, catch-and-shoot jumpers, leaners, fade-aways, circus shots.  Every trick in the bag was money last night.  Every basketball player has those days when they're feeling it- where everything you throw up just seems to go in- it's just that most of us have those days in front of the white brick walls of our local community center gymnasium and not thousands of fans at TD Garden with the fate of our season in the balance.  James just kept hitting shot after off-balanced shot, while the Celtics were helplessly throwing up their hands and arms in order to squelch the fire.  On a pair of possessions in the second quarter, James drew shooting fouls on jump shots because the Celtics were literally throwing themselves at him in order to slow him down.  Again, it was breathtaking to behold.

And there were some big shots, too.  When I started watching the game, Boston was down 22-12, and that's pretty much where they stayed until the end- always hanging around that 8-12 point deficit, always threatening to make a move but never quite getting there- because of LeBron James.  Whenever Boston started to put a couple buckets and stops together, James would come down and make some dagger shot Miami would go on another mini-run.  It was unreal. 

I will never be a Heat fan because of this (I'm confident that unless you're a Miami homer, you won't be either after you watch the video) but I am a fan of beauty, and the way LeBron James played last night was so logically beautiful, so unemotionally brilliant, that I not only have to tip my hat to him, but I have to say I really enjoyed watching him play.  Rather, I got to see LeBron the basketball player play last night, and that is so much more awesome than watching LeBron the showman or LeBron the global icon.

I still don't think I'll ever "root" for LeBron, but I have gained a new appreciation for him as a competitor and someone who takes his craft (and not just himself) seriously.  Congratulations LeBron- you've earned all the praise that comes your way for that performance.

But enough about my anti-crush.  Let's talk Rajon Rondo.  Last night was my first time seeing him play and I have to say I was quite impressed by him as well.  Since I've only missed the bandwagon by about five years, I won't be covering anything that hasn't been covered before- but still, the dude is one heck of a floor general.  He plays hard and seems to have total command of what's going on in the game at both ends of the floor.  If James hadn't been in Seek-and-destroy mode, Rondo would have been the most phenomenal dude on the court.

He's an amazing passer- both in his understanding of angles and his execution of simple plays.  Yes, he had 7 turnovers last night, but he made at least that many plays that made me say "wow"- either for their degree of difficulty or the ease of their simplicity.  I loved how, after the Heat made a free throw (or any stoppage of play, really), he'd let the ball slowly roll up the court before touching it, giving the Celtics a fuller 24 second clock for their halfcourt offense as well as extending the game.  I've always wondered why most teams wait until the end of close games before implementing such a strategy.  After witnessing Rondo pull it off a handful of times, I'm convinced it's one of the smartest things you could ever do.

I think what impressed most about Rondo was his ability to convert a dribble immediately into a pass.  Many basketball players can do this, but Rondo did this so seamlessly that it seemed like he must have the ball on a string. 

And besides, he possibly has the coolest athlete name ever.  Rajon has a very majestic-yet-silky texture that just sort of massages your tongue as it rolls over it, and his last name is even cooler:

Welcome back, basketball- I sure have missed you.

PICS- Ezio- http://www.cosplayisland.co.uk/files/costumes/1671/54204/Ezio-Auditore-de-Firenze--Assassins-Creed-2-psd27127.png
Rambo- http://moviecarpet.com/iwave/images/14/o-rambo-5-will-be-his-last-stand-all-unforgiven-style.jpg

Fuzzy Wuzzy- a qualitative analysis

Dedicated to "The Bear"

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't very fuzzy, was he?

If you came here looking for an actual qualitative analysis on the great nursery rhyme, then stop reading now.  This is not that.  In fact, I'm not sure what would have lead to such a conclusion (looks at title).  Well, besides that.  I'm going to be diving deep into the recess of my mind and looking at this as though it is its own self contained universe and ask- Just what the heck is Fuzzy Wuzzy?

To start with, we cannot assume he was a bear.  Even though it says that Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear, this does not mean that he was, in fact, a bear.  History is literally littered with the stories of bears who were not bears.  Koala bears- prime example.  Teddy bears are another one.  They are actually stuffed animals that just look like bears.  And there is the famous Alabama football coach.  Again, looked like a bear, but was really a person.

So in this instance, we can therefore make the logical leap that while society chose to label Fuzzy Wuzzy as a bear, he was, in fact, not a bear.  Because the next line tells us that he was not even a mammal.

Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.

The fact that he had sweat glands and functional mammary glands is irrelevant.  Fuzzy Wuzzy, lacking hair, cannot be said to be a mammal.  At best, he has some sort of mammal ancestry.  Perhaps his great great grandfather was a bear- or a hippo.  Maybe his Uncle Mike was a monster of the midway.  But Fuzzy Wuzzy was not a mammal- at least not a pure blood mammal.

So what was Fuzzy Wuzzy?

We have determined that he was neither a bear or a mammal.  Actually, I have determined that.  You have sat back and been amazed.  It is in the third stanza that we find our most importantest clue- the one that unlocks the mystery of Fuzzy Wuzzy.

Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't very fuzzy, was he?

The writer is asking a question pertaining to the amount of fuzz that Fuzzy Wuzzy contained.  Was it a significant amount, the writer asks.  The fact that the writer even had to ask the question obviously means that he saw something that looked like some sort of full body covering.  And since it wasn't hair- well, it had to be fuzz.  How do I know this?  Easy.  I read lots of magazines about science.

Obviously the writer is merely a spectator, a distant observer of Fuzzicus Wuzzines.  He did not have access to all of the technology that we have today.  So he could not possibly have known what I am, in fact, about to tell you.

Fuzzy Wuzzy was merely a giant mutated pubescent peach.

I'm going to sit back for a moment and allow you to piece together in your mind the very obvious clues to this age old puzzle, and wait to see the light bulb go on in your head at the "Ah HA" moment.  It's so obvious really.

What has fuzz?  Peaches- and adolescent boys.  So what would have more fuzz than a peach who is in the throes of puberty?  NOTHING!!!

However, a peach on its own cannot often be mistaken for a bear- even if it is a really big peach.  So I hypothesize that at some point, the peaches molecular structure was probably mutated, either through some sort of weird cross pollination or worse- exposure to some sort of radioactive nuclear fallout that artificially enhanced the peaches latent characteristics.  These include:

• presence of an alisphenoid canal
• paroccipital processes that are large and not fused to the auditory bullae
• auditory bullae are not enlarged
• lacrimal bone is vestigial
• cheek teeth are bunodont and hence indicative of a broad, hypocarnivorous (non-strictly meat-eating) diet (although hypercarnivorous (strictly meat-eating) taxa are known from the fossil record)
• carnassials are flattened

Which are clearly shared traits with bears!  It's all so obvious now!

So armed with our new-found and irrefutable knowledge, a revised drafting of the Fuzzy Wuzzy poem might look more like this:

Fuzzy Wuzzy was not actually a bear, although he retained several physiological characteristics that are typically associated with bears
Fuzzy Wuzzy did not have hair per se, although his body was covered with a sort of velvty textured filamentous biomaterial
Fuzzy Wuzzy was, in fact, very fuzzy.

I now leave you in a state of flummoxment to resume your regularly scheduled programming.

Brush your teeth and lyrical content- an objective commentary

Currently I have a job where I listen to children's music.  Lots of children's music.  Nay, TONS of children's music.  Anyone else would go insane from listening to all the major chords, 4/4 time signatures, and repetitive lyrics that I have get to.  That's a shame though, because actually the experience has turned me into one of the coolest kids on the playground and allowed my mind to visit a beautiful world that it hasn't been to since...well, okay, it's pretty much there all the time.

That said, having spent over five months as a virtual man-child, it has become increasingly apparent to me that adults who write children's songs think children are either 1) stupid or 2) not paying attention.

I understand that kids don't have a wealth of world experiences and aren't cognitively up to snuff when it comes to processing life as we know it.   Naturally then, adults compensate for these shortcomings by creating songs and shows that are so far outside of the realm of human experience that it's a wonder our kids don't grow up flinging poop and swinging from trees.  Seriously, the disconnect between reality and children's entertainment is so severe that it's a miracle more McDonalds transactions don't end up like this one:

To demonstrate this I'm going to analyze one song in particular- a little diddy called "Brush your teeth".  This song was (probably) made famous by Raffi, and I really hate to rag on the dude who is basically the Beatles of children's music- but these lyrics are so recklessly irresponsible that I feel it is my civic duty to draw the line between innocent teeth brushing- and unsupervised late night shenanigans.

Pictured: What happens when unsupervised late night shenanigans meet second-rate cosmetologists

For your convenience, the lyrics are in italics.  You're welcome.

When you wake up in the morning at a quarter to one
And you want to have a little fun,
You brush your teeth ch ch ch ch, ch ch ch ch...

First off, I have to be honest- I have an extremely soft spot for that little "ch ch ch" bit- but in no way does that make it okay for a little kid to be waking up at 12:45 for any reason- even if it's to brush their teeth.  Besides, you had all day to have fun, and when I tried to get you to brush your teeth after breakfast, you got all defiant and yelled at me and then when I told you that you had earned a time-out you hit me- so if you try to tell me you want to brush your teeth now, then basically I am going to ground you until your baby teeth fall out.

When you wake up in the morning at a quarter to two
And you want to find something to do,
You brush your teeth ch ch ch ch, ch ch ch ch...

I have a great idea of something you can do- GET YOUR BUTT BACK TO BED.  Seriously, 1:45 a.m. is not the time to try and cure boredom.  Hit the hay, get a good night's rest, and we'll brush those teeth tomorrow when daddy is not stumbling around in the dark and OWWWWW!!!  WHO LEFT THE FREAKING LEGOS OUT??????

When you wake up in the morning at a quarter to three
And your mind starts humming a tweedle dee dee,
You brush your teeth ch ch ch ch, ch ch ch ch...

Take it from my old pal Ted Mosby- nothing good happens after 2:30.  At this point, you should be well in the throes of a good nights sleep.  Certainly if you happen to wake up around this time, the last thing you should be doing is making ANY noise WHATSOEVER, let alone humming 'a tweedle dee dee'...because I'm a light sleeper who has a penchant for getting songs stuck in his head and a cranky disposition when sleep deprived.

YOU WON'T LIKE ME WHEN I'M...YAAAWWWWNNN...

When you wake up in the morning at a quarter to four
And you think you hear a knock at the door,
You brush your teeth ch ch ch ch, ch ch ch ch...

Okay kids, here's a little lesson in self-preservation.  If it's 3:45 a.m. and you hear a knock on the door, DO NOT saunter to the bathroom to preform oral hygiene.  Instead, it'd be much, much better to sit up quietly...listen for the knock again, and quickly (and quietly) make way for your parents room.  If you have a phone handy, you should prepare to dial 911.  There are certain types of people that tend to knock on doors at this ungodly hour, and they aren't dentists.

All of the above advice can be ignored if you happen to have a firearm handy...in which case you should just answer the door because it's probably child protective services coming to get you the heck out of there.

When you wake up in the morning at a quarter to five
And you just can't wait to come alive,
You brush your teeth ch ch ch ch, ch ch ch ch...

Fine.  You win.  Just go brush your teeth.

Pics: House party- http://www.thegmanifesto.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/house-party.jpg
Hulk- http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Film/Pix/pictures/2008/05/13/hulk.jpg

Zombie quest- how one race looks to the future to try and make sense of the present

As my descent into my 30s slowly treads onward, like a parade of lemmings following the Pied Piper, I realize that I'm starting to lose touch with what is 'cool' and 'hip'.  I'm not quite to the stage where I sit on my porch with my shotgun loaded with GET OFF MY LAWN YOU LITTLE BASTARDS!!!!  I am, however, most certainly at a place where I don't know if people take this whole zombie apocalypse thing seriously or not.

It's certainly not a trivial issue- a real-life zombie apocalypse would be even scarier than that scene in Howard the Duck when Jeffery Jones stuck his Dark-Overlord-tongue out in the truck.

Or this scene where Marty McFly's mom tried to do it...with a duck.  You know, it's amazing that that this movie didn't wipe Hollywood out of existence

Excuse me while I take a break to practice some head shots.

Whether or not a zombie outbreak will ever happen, there is one thing that is certain- the recent  outbreak of crazy people doing crazy things (and the connect-the-dots reporting that basically linked any weird act involving blood and/or human dismemberment to zombie-ism), simply reaffirms the universal truth that people who are encountered with life events (from boring mundaneness to the Canadian gay-porn-star-dissecting-necrophiliac) will use their worldview to help those events to make sense- or at least to fit into some sort of manageable category.  Also, it shows some interesting things about the power of media to influence perceptions- or at least how they attempt to influence perceptions by laying the bread crumb trail down, down the rabbit hole.  And for those of you scoring at home, I have now referenced the Pied Piper, Hansel and Gretel, Alice in Wonderland, and Howard the Duck, all in the same blog post.  Boom.

Pictured: A boom.

PIC- Howard the Duck- http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1343/3168251251_c34ac83d4f.jpg

When is moving not moving?

I have a lot to cover and a short amount of time to do it, so I'm just going to get straight to the point.

Oh, who am I kidding?  Really I have nothing but time to cover my non-anything, so I could (if I so chose) simply meander around aimlessly for like three or four paragraphs before teasing some promising premise that I ultimately kill with more composition apraxia.  But since I took the liberty and just put the entire post to death immediately, I guess there's no choice but to get right down to brass tacks.

Can you tell I haven't written in awhile?

So this week has been quite eventful.  Not eventful in the 'Oil that is, black gold, Texas Tea' sort of way, but there was definitely some 'loading up the truck' and moving to...well, not Beverly Hills.  Or even Shiras Hills.  Nope, we bypassed the entire spectrum of independence, swallowed our pride, and moved in with the in-laws.

So far, the move has been largely positive.  No, seriously, it has.  Okay, please stop the giggling- it is perfectly possible for a family of four to move in with the parents of the wife and have the situation not devolve into a train wreck worthy of Jerry Springer.  Besides, even if the situation was tenuous, it is much better than the NMU townhouse we just left.  I'm seriously not sure we could have listened to any more arguments between our children and poorly supervised not-even-neighbor kids or audible assaults of inquiry from boundary-disregarding youngsters.  Indeed, I think most of the issues with the townhouses (other than the boring white walls and shrinking space) revolved around the fact that we felt like ants living in an ant farm.  You all remember ant farms, right? 

If a move to your in-laws is a step-up in the privacy arena, then maybe you should think about moving.

Besides, living here wasn't our first choice.  We certainly searched for other places that would have enabled us to maintain our independence...but realistically you have to be independent in the first place, and without delving too deeply into our financial situation, suffice to say that the emphasis is less on the in and more on the depend.  In fact, one of the factors that led us to decide on tucking tail back home is a desire to work ourselves free from dependence on others.

Before I continue, allow me to explain- I'm not under any sort of impression that there is this magical place we'll arrive at where we completely and totally are self-sufficient.  I'm much too learned for that- humans are social beings, and we don't just need other people to thrive- we need them to survive, period.  What I mean, then, is that we want to cut ties with dependence on faceless bureaucratic systems and start to depend on the people that we were meant to depend on- family.

In America, there is huge cultural value placed on independence, and part of this value that we are taught explicitly and subconsciously is that when we "grow up", we move away and carve out our own lives doing our own thing, away from the nest.  Not everybody does this- but a large number do.  If I had the time/energy/smarts, I would delve deeper into the mechanization of how young American boys and girls learn they have to move away in order to make it, and the consequences of failing to prepare them to do so.  The point is that there are many cultures where family units stay in close physical proximity as the rule (not the exception), so even though it feels weird, it's actually probably pretty normal.  Which for us is pretty weird.

The hardest part so far (other than the physical act of moving and organizing and sorting and driving a 24-foot U-Haul) has been trying to explain the move to our kids.  I think they were both excited about living with grandpa and grandma and, although Delaney seemed to be more cognizant of the whole thing than Shane did, the truth is that neither one of them really understood that we were not going to still be living in what the kids came to refer to as "Mommy and Daddy's house".  It's been a process (that I think is starting to take hold) of explaining to them the difference between a 'house' and a 'home' and that anywhere we are living as a family is our 'home'.

All in all, I'm excited about this next chapter of our lives.  In addition to the financial benefits, it will be great to get more connected with Sara's family and to be closer to her sister and husband.  It'll be nice to watch Detroit sports on the 50 inch crazy-high-def TV that sits upstairs.  I'm really looking forward to the kids each having their own room and to them having the space to run and play in the woods and fields and just let their imaginations carry them away.  I'm stoked to be able to go from my car to my couch without having to answer a hundred questions from nosy kids.

But mostly, I'm grateful for the opportunity to clean the slate and give this life thing another shot.