my yarn

My Kirby Puckett Interview

2006-04-26T20:46:00.000-04:00

When Kirby Puckett died, I wrote a story on myyarn (look for the entry posted March 6) about growing up as a fan of Kirby Puckett. In that reflection, I mentioned the interview I did with Kirby on my radio talk show circa 1997-2000.

He was in town for glaucoma screenings (in the Miami area) and was making brief media appearances to promote testing and his public appearances. There was also a hurricane coming toward us. Here's the link to johnvano.com where the audio is posted- Enjoy!

SpongeBob has a new fan--me!

2006-04-24T23:02:00.000-04:00

I have a new appreciation for SpongeBob Squarepants.

When I first heard of this strange creature, I wasn't sure what to make of all the positive publicity and joyous acceptance him--particularly among adults. After quizzing a co-worker on his appeal... (read more)

NCAA Results & Rambling on Sports

2006-04-03T23:52:00.000-04:00

Congratulations to Florida for their first basketball title--just glad that UCLA didn't win. I fared horribly in my predictions, but save for the Syracuse Orangemen's Big East title game, I didn't watch any college basketball this season. Oh, I turned on a game or two, and even had tonight's final on in the background--but I only watched with interest one game. I used to be there for every post-season game of MLB, NFL, NBA, NCAA basketball... but now I hardly watch the seasons, and only dip in for the postseason. To say nothing of the World Baseball Classic--what a joke. I wanted to watch Clemens pitch, but couldn't find the game on anywhere--terrible publicity and coverage for that stupid thing. I will say this though, I love the NFL, and watch TONS of it, and every year I try to get into college football, and each year I do a bit more. MLB has slipped in my mind, but I'm very excited about this season: Go Twins, Red Sox, Marlins!

My Fearless NCAA Prediction results: 32-31. If I had just picked the higher seed in each game: 40-24. Oh well.

5 Things I've Never Done

2006-04-03T20:13:00.000-04:00

1. Worn a choker (it's a necklace, guys!)
2. Eaten eyes, tails, ears, or feet of land animals
3. Eaten at Krystal
4. Surfed
5. Modeled underwear (publicly)

Read 5 more things I've never done

The Fart

2006-03-30T23:03:00.000-05:00

While waiting in line for the "Teacups" ride at Walt Disney World this week, I was suddenly and completely overtaken by the most ghastly odor... Finish the tale at johnvano.com

Nocturnal Diatribe

2006-03-20T23:22:00.000-05:00

I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP! I just went into our bedroom to find: sleeping wife, her light on, TV on, bathroom light on, my light off. I quietly tip-toed over to my lamp, clicked it on (so it's ready for me when I go to bed), and walked over toward the bathroom.

Twenty seconds later, what should I hear? The following is an actual dialogue between myself and my waking wife:

She: WHAT?!
She: What happened?
She: What did I do?
Me: (Chuckling silently)
She: Did you turn all the lights on?!
Me: (Hiding in the bathroom) No.
She: Did I do something??
She: Did I DO SOMETHING?
She: Answer me--Did I do something!?
Me: Yeah, sometime.
She: What happened?

At this, she climbed out of bed and walked over to me, her eyes just slits, and her hair askew. At which point we had an actual two-way dialogue and sorted out the fact that she had left the lights and TV on and that I was not attempting to shake her awake (a point which we establish almost every night when I quietly move about the bedroom).

She's back to sleep now, and I just paid some bills. Isn't life great? I love her nocturnal diatribes--they crack me up. Most of the time, I don't even need to say anything...

Sex Ed By Way of Animal Planet

2006-03-20T17:47:00.000-05:00

I'm so glad that my nearly 7-year-old daughter has found something clean, educational, and non-kid that she really likes to watch on the Telly. She LOVES "Animal Planet," which is so cool. I'm convinced she's going to be a veterinarian based on her passion for animals, and her pretty strong desire not to eat them! Don't know where that comes from--though when I fed her lunch on Saturday she squealed, "Daddy, I love meat!" as she ate her ham. I didn't want to spoil it for her by disclosing that she was eating pig.

My "Animal Planet" house of cards came tumbling down, however, when I overheard the announcer intoning recently about different mating patterns of various mammals. My wife and I screamed in unison, "Turn it off! Turn it off!" We've got to have "the talk", before I let some polar bear give her all the visuals.

I'm so tough

2006-03-16T19:39:00.000-05:00

Okay, who am I kidding? I didn't do the juice diet at all today, but just carried around the bottle. I opted to have breakfast, but ate with my health in mind--enjoying a Fruit and Yogurt Parfait from McDonald's--those things are great. Oh, and I broke my Coke fast with a LARGE one for breakfast. It felt so right. I have decided that if I drink just one soda every 4 days--that's very moderate and should serve me well.

For lunch, I ate healthy and stayed away from the fried foods--I actually ate Middle-Eastern! And for dinner, I just grazed on ham, 2 crackers, a small glass of milk, cheese, and a Girl Scout cookie--all this while I served the kids their dinner.

And the best part of all--from Tuesday morning to Thursday morning, I had lost 5 pounds! Of course, I had a hard time with it when my wife announced this morning that she too had lost 5 pounds--what did you DO, I accused? I just felt like that wasn't fair--I starved myself, and she cheated! Oh well, as I've said, I'm very supportive and happy for her... but where is the justice?

Fearless NCAA Predictions

2006-03-15T22:11:00.000-05:00

Here's my 2006 Final Four:
1) Duke, 3) Gonazaga, 3) North Carolina, 3) Florida.

North Carolina defeats Duke 77-72 for the world title.

The Elite Eight will be: Duke, Iowa, Kansas, Gonzaga, UConn, NC, Villanova, and Florida.

The Sweet 16: Syracuse, Texas, Memphis, Alabama, Illinois, Tenn, Nevada, Georgetown, plus those shown above. The one-win-and-done teams are: George Washington, LSU, W. Virginia, Cal, Arkansas, Pitt, SD State, UCLA, Kentucky, Utah St., Michigan St., Seton Hall, Wisconsin, BC, Wisc-Milw, and Davidson.

First Round Upsets: 15) Davidson to top 2) Ohio State; 12) Utah State over Washington; 11) Wisc-Milw over 6) Oklahoma; 11) SD State over 6) Indiana; 10) Seton Hall beats 7) Wichita State; and 10) Alabama defeats 7) Marquette. ...And I pick Monmouth over Hampton in the play-in game.

More Tales of My Celebrity Fit Club

2006-03-15T20:57:00.000-05:00

Today I continued The Original Celebrity Juice Diet, going hour after consecutive hour--without food. I drove Madison to school this morning, with the other four kids tagging along, where we'd meet up with Paula who was attending a parent-teacher conference. On the way, I got the kids breakfast at Krispy Kreme. I sat in the driver's seat and pulled one donut after another out of the bag, passing them back in easy-to-use napkin holders.

One particular donut was stuck to the bottom of the bag, and I had to use my bare hands to yank it out. It was warm and it oozed with freshness, leaving sticky flakes of glaze all over my fingers. Ordinarily, I would have licked this off--but I showed the restraint of a Benedictine monk, by calmly wiping the frosting off with a napkin. Meanwhile, the twins tossed their chocolate-covered with sprinkles donuts on the floor of the van because "they didn't like them." Ugh.

I made it through lunch this time without too much trouble--no lunch invitations--and I was so hungry for my juice at noon that I had a hard time drinking it slow.

Following an afternoon meeting it was 5:15, and I got in the car thinking about the shakes at Steak and Shake. I called Paula to give her an update on my whereabouts, then asked her how the diet was going. She guffawed. She hadn't been doing the diet all day! She had stopped and hadn't told me! The juice made me retch, she said. Well, thanks for telling ME, I wanted to scream. I was appalled--and couldn't believe that this thing I was doing for her--for us, and for our future, and our children's future--she had just "stopped" hours ago! I felt like such a fool. I wanted to know what she cheated on me with... was it a breakfast sandwich, a bagel, a coke? Or had she held out until lunch at least?

To think, I had been feeling really good about my progress--when I awoke this morning I learned that I had lost a pound, and by this writing, I am completing my third day without a soda. When I learned the news, I had the thought that, "I'll show her... I'll finish this diet, lose my ten pounds--and I'll have done it." But I was too hungry, and now I had Steak and Shake on the mind. If I was going to get off this ride, I was going to do it right, so I drove home looking for Steak and Shake. Amazing how many McDonald's there are... but I drove for an hour before finally giving in to Checkers. I gobbled down a Champ with cheese burger (two patties on that--mustard never tasted so good), had a couple of fries (meet Mr. Restraint), and a small chocolate shake.

For a few minutes there I wasn't hungry--and I wasn't full... Nirvana. But about a half an hour later, I felt a little sick. From Monday night to Tuesday lunch, I went 10 hours sans food. And then from after lunch Tuesday to dinner time Wednesday, I went 29.5 hours without solid food. Wow.

Plans for tomorrow? I'm going to do the juice for at least one meal, possibly two. I had planned on doing this through Thursday, so this will be my Hybrid-Juice Diet, if this system works, I might be able to sell mine to the stars! Plus, I'm determined to get something out of this starvation diet--I will not suffer like this for naught!

My New Fad

2006-03-14T22:44:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to be supportive--so I'm doing another fad diet with my wife. Plus, I'm not in the best-shape-of-my-life, so I'm game. This one is called, The Original Celebrity Juice Diet, and while I am not sure which celebrity uses it, I am sure it is most likely guzzled just prior to a swimsuit pictorial.

So my wife Paula buys two bottles of this stuff and convinces me to join her on a 2-day juice fast. Meanwhile, I've been trying to stop drinking Coke, Pepsi, and all other sodas cold-turkey. Instead, I've cut the sauce down from 4 or more servings per day to about 2--not good enough. So Monday I went sans Coke all day, and it wasn't too bad.

Tuesday (today) we started the Juice Diet, which consists of four ounces of the juice, mixed with four or more ounces of water. You drink this mixture slowly over four hours. Then repeat for another period of four hours. And repeat again. Oh, and drink lots of water. That's it--that's all you're allowed for two full days. The benefit? You're supposed to lose up to 10 pounds, plus an inch or two, and be catapulted into a successful diet. I guess the theory goes that after starving yourself, maybe you'll eat less and healthier compared to what you were doing. I plan to do so, I mean, I'm certainly not wasting this exercise in starvation just to go back to the status quo.

But I've met with a wrinkle. I am still soda free--2 days now. But, I had an invite for lunch today--I was starving, and I thought it would be fun. So I called Paula, she gave her blessing, and I ate a full Mexican lunch with a LARGE sweet tea. I had a fiesta and stuffed myself (and yes, I picked just any old number when I ordered). But by 5 pm I was famished, and now at 10:53 pm I AM VERY HUNGRY. Paula, upstairs in bed, just admitted to eating from the canister of chips I found in our bed. She says since she also blew it at lunch, she might as well have a snack. Well, I for one am not giving in to sin... (only kidding, honey).

Ordering Mexican

2006-03-13T22:08:00.000-05:00

I never know WHAT I'm ordering when I go for Mexican. Burrito, tortilla, enchilada, tostado/tostada, taco, fajita, pico de galla... isn't it all the same? All I know is I'm getting some kind of flour-thing wrapped around savory meat, and topped with cheese and various veg-eh-tabales.

When I sit down to have a look at the menu, it all looks good, so I pick a number, any number--and get about the same thing regardless. What's the point of a menu when I can just say: "chicken" or "beef?"

Future John

2006-03-13T21:51:00.000-05:00

I try to think of Future John, but Today John has all the power. Take right now as an example, I really should take out the garbage... Future John will not want to wake up any earlier than he has to just because Today John was "too tired" to do it.

But do you know what, Future John? I always have to do everything--and all you do is complain that it's not done yet! Well guess what? You can get up in the morning and scoop the cat guano, you can collect the bags full of sopping Pull-Ups, and you can drag the barrel of trash down the hill--because right now--I'm eating my Barbecue Pringles that you're going to regret in the morning!

Wow, Future John is going to be pissed.

Harry Belafonte

2006-03-12T21:51:00.000-05:00

In Bob Dylan's memoir, Chronicles, Volume One, he waxes on about the scope and force of Harry Belafonte in his hey-day. My impression of Belanfonte has been that he's kind of a cool cat, musical, black... but that's about all I know. Then I start thinking about his famous daughter, Shari Belafonte--I can even picture her in my mind. But why do I know her? I can't think of a single thing she's contributed to the culture, or even how she makes her living--So how do I know her name? And why can I see her close-cropped, grey-flecked hair?

By the way, is Harry still with us? From Dylan's take on him, I'd sure like to sample some of his music and movies.

Seeing Things...

2006-03-11T22:59:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been imagining a lot of one-armed people that aren't there.

It's true! I am continually seeing people short an arm (nothing wrong with that), only to discover that my eyes are deceiving me. On Tuesday for instance, I stopped at a Burger King for lunch and could have sworn the woman taking my order was missing an arm--but a few moments later, there it was, passing back my change! Odd. And then today at the zoo, the security officer walking toward me looked to have just one arm--but low and behold, it was tucked behind him as he walked... What gives? Why am I seeing--or should I say NOT seeing--these things?

Back-to-Back, Baby!

2006-03-11T22:26:00.000-05:00

Syracuse becomes just the third team to win back-to-back Big East basketball championships with tonight's magical 65-61 win over Pitt.

Gerry McNamara put an exclamation point on his stellar career at 'Cuse this week by bringing home this championship for the #9-seeded Orange--having scored two game-winning baskets and a game-winning assist in the first three games of this tournament. And then tonight, more stellar play from G-Mac--plus the emergence of Josh Wright, who made four straight free throws to seal the win (they were the only points he scored).

Special props to freshman guard and G-Mac heir apparent, Eric Devendorf. Whoo-hoo, Go Orange!

2006-03-10T09:02:00.000-05:00

My oldest daughter--who tells us she will be 7 in 12 days--has somehow developed an aversion to meat. This has been going on for awhile, but seems to be getting worse. She always wants to know where the food set before her has come from.

This week, we were dining as a family at the great American institution known today as KFC. This establishment is a place linked to my past, to warm memories, and wholesome Americana--I can even remember the day the affable founder of KFC, Colonel Harlan Sanders, died. Why? Because they announced it on the PA system at my Minnesota grade school. For the life of me, I can't imagine why--though I found it completely appropriate to be given that news as early as possible so that I could mourn with the rest of the nation.

Anyway, back to our story--so we're at KFC, and Madison wants me to tear the meat off the bone of her chicken leg. I refuse for awhile, before finally giving in, scraping off a neat pile of the greasy, breaded protein. After a minute or two, she asks, "What part of the chicken is this?" I said, "It's the chicken's leg." She looked at it with repulsion and hesitated, I thought I'd lighten the mood, so I announced, "I LOVE ANIMALS--They're Delicious!"* At which point, Madison dropped her spork, and my wife chastised me with a grossed-out grunt and put her own chicken breast back in the bucket. So much for humor.

*I'm afraid I can't take credit for that line, I saw it on a bumper sticker at a recent convention--but it is priceless.

2006-03-08T21:44:00.000-05:00

Just for the record: Pluto the planet and Milky Way the galaxy came first... before their respective cartoon and candy bar namesakes. Darn.

2006-03-08T21:17:00.000-05:00

It's springtime here in the South--and I'm starting to feel the itch to get outside and make a fake little spot of Heaven in my front yard. This will be our fourth summer in this house, and I am hoping that--this time--I can get the grass to grow.

When we moved in, there was grass. Then as winter came, and spring, the grass didn't look so good. We watered it some, but it didn't seem to take. So I went out to have a look and found sod just sitting on top of something like fishing net. So I began to pull up the pieces of sod that didn't have any roots, and soon I found that our entire yard was one big fraud. None of the grass had taken root, instead we had grass tile! Trouble is, grass is organic by nature, and without roots reaching into the soil, it was all just dead hay. And so I pulled grass up like a brush excavating hair from Joe Comb-over.

I hit it hard the next spring, hiring TruGreen Chemlawn to come out and seed, aerate (I had never heard this term before), and maintain the yard. They gave me strict instructions that nary a leaf should rest on the soil, that said leaf should never be swept or raked, but only blown--and the grass should get water, lots and lots of water. I dutifully obeyed, and we had sprigs of life. But we did not have a lawn.

Then last spring, I fired the lawn guys and aerated myself with a hoe and spilled bags of seed and fertilizer and dirt on the ground. And what do you know? It started to grow. We even had four trees cut down that were shading our yard--and left four others to do the work of the eight. So how did it look? Now we had half a yard of grass.

So this year, we are going to sod, and aerate, and seed, and topsoil this sucker to death--and I am not going to take sprigs for an answer. And if it comes down to it, we have already picked out the fake stone border my wife is going to establish down the middle of the yard, where she will plant a flower bed on top of the grass that refuses to grow.

PS- On the corner is a neighbor whom we call "Mr. Perfect Yard." His lawn is immaculate, and I often drive by to see he and his wife walking gently over their haven picking up isolated leaves that have no doubt blown over from my mess. I am so jealous of him! They even had a moving sale this past weekend, and roped off their yard so that no one would cut across the grass!! Today I saw the moving truck, and now it is my secret hope that whoever moves in, restores this yard to an average family plot. I am so thankful there's not a "Yard of the Month" award on our block. Pray for me, please.

Losing a Friend I Never Knew

2006-03-06T22:58:00.000-05:00

11:02 PM ET - It was announced by CNN.com at 8:22 this evening that Hall of Famer, Kirby Puckett, died today.

My eyes are welling with tears because Kirby was easily my favorite baseball player and perhaps the single greatest reason why I am a baseball fan today.

As a 15-year-old who had grown up in the Twin Cities of Minnesota, I bled purple for the Minnesota Vikings and coach Bud Grant, but then talk was swirling about the future of the Minnesota Twins baseball franchise. I had never followed baseball, but I thought I should learn to enjoy my hometown team while I had them--and so I began to follow the Twins in the newspaper, on radio, and television as much as I could, that summer of 1984. After years of sub-mediocrity, the Twins that year battled for the AL West pennant down to the wire, finishing with an even .500 record, just 3 games out of first. It was exciting, and I finally began to understand the fascination people had for baseball, statistics, and sports heroes.

The 1984 Twins were full of good men with raw talent and youth on their side: Kent Hrbek, Tom Brunansky, Gary Gaetti, Mickey Hatcher, Frank Viola, John Butcher, Mike Smithson, and an amazing rookie named Kirby Puckett. Kirby looked like a fire hydrant, but was the fastest player on the team, and the highest leaper, and he was only 5'8". He played the game with exuberance, flair, and a huge smile on his face. He also was fun to watch at the plate, where he would scuffle about in the dirt, before making the sign of the cross. This was my first exposure to this behavior, having grown up safely in my evangelical cocoon.

Puckett quickly became my favorite player--as he was for virtually every Minnesotan who watched him. A few years earlier, Kent Hrbek and John Castino were the hope of the franchise, but Castino was forced into retirement, and Hrbek just couldn't round up the passion we felt for Puckett. Even the public address announcer at the Metrodome was smitten, when center fielder Kirby Puckett would come to the plate, he would announce: "KIRBYYYYYYYYYY PUCK-ETTTTTT!" -- to cheers.

For the first few years, Kirby was a singles hitter, but suddenly in 1986, he was leading the league in homers around mid-season, prompting Bob Costas to rib him about whether or not he could keep it up. Costas' wife was pregnant at the time, and I remember him promising Puckett to name his son after Kirby if the player was still leading the league by the son's birthdate (Wikipedia tells this story with the bet being over Kirby's high batting average, not his home runs). Kirby met the terms, and I remember Costas giving his son the middle name, "Kirby."

I also remember Kirby leading the team to their first world championship in 1987--when I was in college, watching on a little black and white television in my dorm room. Then, in 1991, his heroics (combined with Jack Morris') won the world championship again--and this time--I shared the moment with my dad, as we watched from our home in Auburn, NY.

But what I remember most, beyond his enthusiasm and charm, above his high average, speed, and his doubles and 200-hit seasons, and even beyond his universal adoration by the fans, was my encounter with him after his rookie season of 1984. I had read that he was making an appearance at a baseball card shop in St. Paul, so my dad took me, and we stood in line to have him sign my baseball card. When we got there, he had just about half an hour or so left in his booking, and yet he agreed to stay until everyone had gone through the line--I needed that extra time, or I would never have seen him. He was pleasant and kind when I met him, though not chit-chatty or overly friendly, but it was just enough to make my day. And I remember walking out to our car a few moments later, only to spot his right around the corner. It was a new car, but relatively modest, with "Puck 34" for a license plate, boxes of his cards on the backseat, and all the car doors unlocked--amazing.

Years later, I had the chance to interview him on my radio program, "VocalPoint," which I hosted for 3 years in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. This was September of 1998, and Kirby was in town at a screening for glaucoma, having been forced to retire in 1996 after losing his sight in one eye due to the condition. Kirby talked with me for a few minutes by phone about the importance of being tested--I found him kind of stiff and guarded, but when I went to close the interview by sharing my personal affection for him, my boyhood in Minnesota, and my experience with him at that signing, he opened up and was warm and reflective. I still have the tape from that day, and will try to post some of the audio on myyarn soon.

Kirby was forced to retire far too early, and would surely have played into his forties, knowing his joy and passion for the game--it was very hard to deal with his retirement, as he was one of the few things linking me to Minnesota--11 years after I had moved away. I was delighted when he was elected to the Hall of Fame on his first ballot in 2001, and horrified when Sports Illustrated revealed a few years later that his public persona was an act (allegedly he didn't care too much for the fans who loved him)--I didn't read the story, I couldn't bear to.

And now Kirby Puckett is dead of a stroke, at 45. And part of my childhood has gone with him.

2006-03-05T23:04:00.000-05:00

Which came first--Milky Way: the galaxy or the candy bar? And what about Pluto--did Pluto the planet come first, or Pluto the cartoon dog? I'm betting on the galaxy, because why would you name such a thing after a candy bar? Yet clearly, a thing as grand as a galaxy could inspire a confectioneer looking for a name for his sweet chocolate. Pluto is much tougher. I could easily see this little planet--upon discovery--inspiring the Disney Company in their naming of a new character. But, I could also imagine a quirky team of scientists giving a tip of the hat to this loyal and charming little dog... So which came first--the planet or the puppy?

Gills or Lungs?

2006-03-05T22:37:00.000-05:00

So, do you think mermaids have gills? Or do you suppose they have lungs? My daughter was asking me tonight how long a fish could last out-of-water, and when I guessed "a couple of minutes," she turned to the question of how long a mermaid might survive... It got me thinking about whether or not a mermaid would have to break the surface to fill her lungs with air (as would a porpoise) or if she has gills. It is a very complexing question, as physically, mermaids look very much like women and have no discernable gill slits; however, when do you ever see merpeople come up for air? Surely there would be more sightings if the hundreds of thousands of these humanoids had to breathe through their lungs. Clearly, they live far beneath the sea, and do not come up for air. But again, where are the gills? I suspect there must be an airpocket down there somewhere by which these creatures breathe--and that is what I will tell my daughter, the next time she asks.

The Santa Story

2006-03-01T22:08:00.000-05:00

There are grown men, all over America right now, thinking about Christmas. Why? Because they are literally grooming themselves for November, in hopes of being St. Nikolas. Think about it. How many different "Santas" are there in America? There are thousands of shopping malls, and each is staffed with at least one Santa-man. How many more are waiting in the wings--aspiring to be Santa next Christmas? They may be paying their dues ringing the bell for the Salvation Army--hoping for their big break, or they might be dressing up for their grandkids, daring only to dream of a much larger audience one day. And what of the black Santa? The African-American man who has this same dream, but many more obstacles to overcome. One thing all these "Santas" have in common is the commitment to their facial hair. Certainly, prospective employers won't even look at you sideways if you don't have your mutton chops. Think of the years of growing, grooming, and lengthening--of the summers spent in full beard, dreaming of that big break. Take me for example, today I have a beard. I am not committed to it at all--I think of myself as a clean shaven guy, but every 18 to 24 months, I get lazy and grow a beard. Any day I feel like it, I shave it off and go back to my normal life. But these guys have to BECOME bearded guys--and when you grow a beard your first couple of times, ladies, it itches! I say this to help each of you understand the commitment these men are making. A sacrifice they are making for you and for me, for our children, and for our children's children. So the next time you happen upon a man who is a little more grizzly than suits your tastes, ask yourself, is this a future Santa in my midst? Why not take a moment to pat that man on the back, or shake his hand, tickle his whiskers, and thank him for his service to your country!

Socks and Toes

2006-02-28T23:23:00.000-05:00

I used to be a sock person, but now I'm a foot-man. I was thinking about this recently--when I was a kid, and then a teen, you wouldn't catch me without my socks on. But today, I am sockless from the time I get home, to the time I have to walk out the door as Joe Business. Funny how freeing it feels. Thinking back, I think I might have been foot-concious. I know that back then feet generally disgusted me, but now I have come full-circle. My feet were wide as a child, and shoes were a tough-fit, perhaps I hadn't learned to embrace my toe trunk? Today, having grown into my feet--and enjoying my sockless self-expression--I am the envy of my younger self. This odd thought was brought to you by the mind of johnnyvano.

Movie Review: The Pink Panther (2006)

2006-02-28T22:40:00.000-05:00

I remember the classic Pink Panther movies, but I don't remember them well enough to be jaded about this rendition. I watched the 2006 version of The Pink Panther with great hopes for a belly-laugh or two. And how could it miss? My all-time favorite Steve Martin (in college I once won a mixer game for my spontaneous speech on the merits of Mr. Martin) had the starring role, one of the most unsung actors of our generation--Kevin Kline--appears as the comic foil, Jacques Clouseau is one of the classic comic characters of cinema, and for a touch of the contemporary, they even threw in Beyonce. Trouble was, Steve Martin himself is as classic a character as Jacques Clouseau, this made me feel as if I was watching Martin "doing" Jacques Clouseau. Instead of feeling nervous about this flumsy inspector, his accent, and his lack of social graces--I felt nervous for Steve Martin as he tried to find his stride as this character we know so well. Ultimately, I think Martin is best playing Martin or some "named" character that the movie-going public has no foreknowledge of. The exception would be in Martin's dramatic roles, where he is much more capable of escaping his own persona (Shopgirl, for example). Ultimately, The Pink Panther fails because Martin can't escape Martin and because the slapstick humor of the '60s doesn't play well in the 21st century. A Pink Panther movie is not complete without the slapstick, but the way each sight gag was telegraphed stole any element of suspense or surprise from the payoff. Also, it would have been advisable for the filmmakers to incorporate the bantering humor that is playing popularly on today's screens (see Vince Vaughn and Will Ferrell) alongside the age-old slapstick. As to the rest of the cast, Kevin Kline did everything you could have asked of him, Emily Mortimer was a treat as Clouseau's assistant Nicole, Jean Reno was perfect as Ponton, and Beyonce was flat (her acting anyway) and wooden. As the fathers of humor once taught, humor consists of one of two things: surprise and incongruity--The Pink Panther was sorely in need of these twin towers of hilarity. Grade: C

I Cheated on My Wife With a Hamburger

2006-02-27T22:24:00.000-05:00

A few years ago, I willingly subjected myself to the rigors of The South Beach Diet. It requires a lot of food preparation--and everything you are used to buying and preparing, you can pretty much throw out the window. No soda, no fruit, no juice, and certainly no fast food or pizza. It was going to be a joint project of suffering between my wife Paula and I--we even took "before" pictures. She signed on to do all the food preparation as I knew we wouldn't last a day if it depended upon me. So then it began--and it was rigid. I love eating healthy, and I believe with my heart of hearts that if you placed a cheeseburger with fries and a fruit salad in front of me, I would choose the fruit salad at least 8 if not 9 times out of 10.

Now on the diet I was losing about 2 pounds a day--I could even see my dimples again--but I was always incredibly hungry, and the celery snacks did not fill the void! But worst of all, was my coke-deprivation. I am addicted to sodas and even to this day could really benefit from a coke patch or cola suppressant gum, so the constant lusting for a coke, the pounding headaches, and the dry-mouth (from nothing but water) drove me to the brink of madness. This is when I finally broke. It was "Donuts with Dad" day at my daughter's preschool, and Paula gave me a "bye," allowing me to eat a few donut holes at the event so I could fully participate. This was about the same time that McGriddles came out, and I had been making them a routine each morning since their inception. I hatched a plan. Since I had a "window" of bad-eating arranged, why not slide over to McDonald's after the school event, grab a McGriddle and drive to work? With my plan set in stone, I agonized over the slow-moving hands of the classroom clock, as I waited for my release to real fake-food. When the other fathers and I were dismissed, I fondly bid farewell to my daughter and sped to McDonald's where I encountered the horrid "10:30 Rule" at which point all franchises immediately start offering lunch--so I backed down and didn't get anything. But alas, I had come so close to satisfaction that it was not easy to erase from my mind. And instead of narrowly missing a close call, I began to fixate all the more on how close I had come to having a coke and a fast food entree. Then, a few nights later, my wife was due at a meeting and called me on my way home from work--she wouldn't have time for dinner she said, could I pick her up a South Beach approved chili from Wendy's? Of course I could--and this would be my chance! So I salivated all the way home, pulled up to the Wendy's window and ordered her chili. Now by this time in the diet, we had discovered that diet sodas were acceptable, and I began to dance with the diet drinks--so at the window, I began to order myself a diet but I called an audible and went for a Biggie Coke instead--who would know? Then, the piece de resistance, I began to order a Wendy's single when I just went for it and made it a combo with fries! I snarfed a few bites of the single down as I drove the rest of the way home, wrapped the fries tightly in the white paper bag, and sipped long on my tall Coke. I was a little late pulling into the garage, so my wife met me in the door, where I handed over her chili. I tried to slip by her quickly, but she caught something on my breath and pronounced, "You had a cheeseburger!" "No," I lied, "I did not (technically it was only a hamburger)." But her wits and nose prevailed and I caved, I protested that I ALMOST ate it without the bun--but I was going to finish it upstairs with gusto, bun and all! Then she smelled the fries--and I was guilty. And then--even though I had punched down the "diet" button on my Biggie lid--she accused me of buying a non-diet soda, and again, she was right. Who did I think I was fooling? I made loud proclamations of justification, of delirium, and of mirages, to which she left me to my own devices--with the tone of someone who is letting you know that you are only hurting yourself. Well, that was the beginning of the end of The South Beach Diet for me. After that, it became increasingly difficult to fight off my demons. In the end, I lost about 15 pounds in 20 days--and I'd do it again--because I know I could make it this time (wink-wink).

On Phone Books

2006-02-27T22:13:00.000-05:00

I am constantly picking up phone books from the driveway. How many companies are there in this dying business? All I can think when I see a new one lying there in its safety-seal is, "What am I going to do with this?" There was a time when I kept them on a shelf, cycled out the old, and cycled in the new. But I've long ago thrown out the phone books. I'm not a big phone person anyway, and I already have the number of anyone I'd care to call logged into my cell phone. Every 4 to 6 months I might--I repeat, might--want to call a new business but those numbers are usually obtained via the Internet, a friend's referral, or by one of those nauseating flyers hung around my mailbox. At least with those, I can toss them or shove 'em into a drawer--they at least, are not a huge book of uselessness.

Movie Review: Hope Springs

2006-02-25T19:19:00.000-05:00

Hope Springs stars Colin Firth as a dumpee who flees his mother country for the small-town anonymity of Vermont. It has grand hopes of being one of those movies that inspire you to bask in the joys of life and the triumphs of self-discovery. Ha! Instead, we get a tired story about skeptical townspeople, a winning hotel owner (Mary Steenburgen), a crazy/beautiful muse (Heather Graham), and wait for it... a surprise appearance by Firth's ex-fiancee (Minnie Driver)! Actually, I'm not much of a fan of Driver's, she generally annoys me (except in Good Will Hunting), but in Hope Springs she salvages the movie because she's just interesting enough. I won't spoil the ending for you, though it's a happy one--the movie ends. Grade: D+

does this happen to you?

2006-02-25T19:06:00.000-05:00

Our universal television remote lasts about 6 months. Never fails. One dies, I go to the store and pick out the latest technology and the sleekest of styles, program it to perfection--and 6 months later it's dead. Doesn't matter what I do, or how many times I change the batteries and give it a fresh jolt of re-programming, it always dies. Now our bedroom remote is a little different. We've had this telly (as the English say) for over three years and the only reason I had to replace the original remote controller today was because we'd lost it. Now here's where the story gets interesting--the wife picks out her remote of choice from Best Buy--$7.95--and when I go to pay for it, they offer a two-year replacement warranty for $5.95! That's like 75% of the cost... holy cow.

Marshall and other thoughts

2006-02-24T21:07:00.000-05:00

Do you know what's awesome? The fact that my son Marshall wears this hat ALL THE TIME. I bought this for him last spring at his first baseball game--the Chattanooga Lookouts v. the West Tennessee Diamond Jaxx.

We were staying as a family at our favorite hotel chain--Holiday Inn's Staybridge Suites and visiting the Aquarium in Chattanooga. I had bought some tickets from a guy on the corner for myself, Madison, and Marshall--once Paula and the three other kids were in bed, we hopped on a trolley for the one-mile or so trek to the ballpark. It was a great night, we sat in the box seats after only paying a couple of bucks a ticket. We weren't supposed to sit in these seats, but in typical John fashion--somebody (the usher in this case) bent the rules just for me, so we were up close and personal.

Now, Marshall got bored pretty quick and it was all I could do to have him sit there through 3 innings, but boy did he love that gift shop! Madison got a minature Lookouts bat (pink of course) and Marshall got his cap. We even had a police officer take our picture together. I remember a picture I took of the kids, with Marshall swinging Madison's bat like a pro--I don't even know how he know how to do this, as we hadn't worked on that before. But now the kid wears the cap everywhere--and even more so the past couple months. It's been 9 months now, and I can't tell you what a thrill it gives me to see him wear it. It's like our special bond.

Another cool thing about Marshall is he puts himself to bed. Ever since he was little. He'd be two years old and just disappear from the dinner table. You'd assume he'd gone to the bathroom, but when he didn't show up again, I'd go after him and find him asleep in bed. What's always been funny is watching him nod off while he eats. Even today, as a five-year-old, he just knows when it's time for bed and he asks to be tucked in. I love it. Madison on the other hand is just like me. She'll never go to bed--and stays up till all hours without dropping a lid.

good things to eat with a spork*...

2006-02-23T21:55:00.000-05:00

...cole slaw, fruit salad, potato salad, baked beans...
* not an exhaustive list

why do we find accents so sexy?

2006-02-23T21:38:00.000-05:00

I hear another guy with an accent, and I just want to make fun of it. To copy and mimic and master it. But when I hear a female voice with an accent, it kind of tickles my brain's receptors. What's up with that? (Note to self: I think the women get into the accents more than men.)

Scare The Children

2006-02-18T15:03:00.000-05:00

Gone are the days of the Flannel-Graph, that cutting-edge technology which I was introduced to in Kindergarten at church. Honestly, I was mesmerized by that felt-stick background and the way the paperdoll-people would stick up there as we were taught about Zacheus, little-boy Samuel, and Moses. I also remember a sheet of tin that was used to reenact Bible stories using paper people with magnets glued to their back.

Today, there are countless ways to teach children about God--and in the class my wife and I teach, there are some interesting uses of cardboard and textures that I think work pretty well. Remember, this is for 2 and 3 year-olds, and for them, hearing what the animals sounded like as they boarded Noah's ark, or feeling the texture of the roof where two friends stood as they lowered their invalid friend to see Jesus, I think is important. And on the surface, you might think it would be a nice interactive touch to feel Jesus' beard... but do you see this scene I've pictured? That looks plain scary? You can't even see the Savior's face! It's all beard-yarn! Hilarious. And maybe a little ineffective.

I was hurt today, but...

2006-02-10T20:45:00.000-05:00

In the two and three year-old Sunday School class my wife and I teach, there is a short form we're supposed to fill out in the event that one of the young ones injures themselves. It is just a little parental notification to pass on to the parents at pickup. So far, we've never had to use it.

It reads: "I was hurt today, but I'm okay now." This is followed by blanks for us to fill out an injury report (presumably in the child's voice--I'm not sure exactly how I would do that). This form got me thinking of some alternatives in the event the child really is not okay. In that case, here's how the form might look:

I was hurt today, and I'm still bleeding.
I was hurt today, and I should've gone to the hospital.
I was hurt today, and I don't think I'm going to make it.
I was hurt today, and my last words were _______________.
I was hurt today, and I can't remember my name.
I was hurt today, and now I'm missing a thumb.

Clearly these adjustments would give us more options for life's little emergencies.

2006-02-07T22:56:00.000-05:00

Warning: The following material may be unsuitable for some visitors. Reader discretion is advised.

I probably shouldn't be telling you this--but I think I might need an intervention. For over 3 decades, I have "zipped up" with both excellence and consistency. But somehow, my run has come to an end. It seems like every other week I discover that my zipper has been open 30 minutes, 45 minutes, an hour or more... Is it that I have so much going on in my head, that the common sense, habitual nuances of my life and practice have been pushed aside? Has my brain simply been turned to mush? Why am I forgetting to zip it up?!

So far, no one has "noticed" these incidents, except my wife... But yesterday, I think I was shocked into reality when I left work, traveled an hour by car, walked through the lobby of an office building, rode the elevator with a dad and his teenaged daughter, signed in for my appointment, waited, and then rose finally to follow my hygenist. As she left the room to grab my chart, I plopped into her elevated dentist chair, and as my head dropped back to the cushy pillowy headrest, I happened to notice a gaping hole in my trousers!! I deftly corrected the problem, said "hello" to Joanne, and tried to "act natural" as the scrape of metal against tooth began with a vengeance.

It was another close shave, and hopefully my last.

My Olympic Training Continues

2006-02-07T22:32:00.000-05:00

The plan this morning was to take my son to his preschool "Donuts with Dad" festivities--and then go in late for work. In keeping with this plan, I slept in until my wife woke me at 7 am. After five minutes of deep reflection upon my pillow, I came to the sudden realization that it was garbage day again and there was no telling when I'd hear the rumble and squeak of the trash truck at the curb.

Now you may wonder why I didn't put the trash out the night before... but my friend, the reason is simple--we had near-freezing rain all last night, so I saved the trash for the morning. Quickly then, I threw on some jeans, a t-shirt, boots, and a hat, and started to collect the garbage from within the house.

Once I had the trash barrel rolled down to the curb, with the recycling bucket nestled beside it, and our Christmas tree set for pick-up (long story)--I felt a huge surge of relief. It was now time to harvest the cat's guano from his litter box and toss away our fast food Biggie cups lined up in the garage, but then, I heard the rumble and the squeak. So I tied up the cat's treasures and calmly walked down the drive to hand deliver the feline feces to the garbage man I did not tip this Christmas.

The Great Predictor

2006-02-07T20:14:00.000-05:00

I hear that young Haley Joel Osment has now picked 7 consecutive winners of the Super Bowl. Interesting talent.

From the 1999 St. Louis Rams to the 2005 Pittsburgh Steelers--and from age 12 to age 17--he has been perfect. So what happened before that? The hot-shot couldn't predict the Broncos over the Falcons? Some genius, even a 10-year-old could have picked that one!

2006-02-03T21:10:00.000-05:00

I find it amusing the way our cat "asks" to come inside. I'll be watching TV, and he'll tap on the window to my right. When I turn to look, the cat will be looking straight through me with an, "Open the door, Lunkhead" look on his face. Cracks me up.

I don't know how he learned to tap the window with one claw--but it's the same sound my grandmother used to make when she'd tap on the car window to tell my mom where to park.

"Poppycock!"

2006-02-03T20:56:00.000-05:00

Just once, I'd like to have the chance to blurt, "Poppycock!" in a real-world situation. To be in the heat of debate with someone--and debunk their premise resoundingly with a thunderous "Poppycock!" Of course, such a phrase must be projected from the lips with the hint of a British accent, otherwise it loses all its power.

Review-- Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous

2006-02-03T20:15:00.000-05:00

Nationwide, every man, woman, and child rejoiced to see Sandra Bullock's return as a paint-by-number character in search of a paycheck, in Miss Congeniality 2. Why they made us wait five long years for this sequel, no one will ever know... and 20 minutes into this follow-up, I was wondering why I ever thought Bullock was charming, spunky, or talented.

Dead on arrival, Miss Congeniality 2 has its finest moment when Benjamin Bratt's character, Eric Matthews, breaks up with Bullock without even making a cameo appearance. Bratt deserves an award just for being absent from this movie.

Bullock plays FBI agent Gracie Hart, so famous after her Miss United States beauty pageant appearance and heroism (heroine-ism?) that her Q-Factor is botching her undercover assignments. She reluctantly teams with a loose-cannon agent (Regina King) to do public relations for the FBI while her new partner protects her. Soon, the reigning Miss United States (Heather Burns) and the host of the pageant (William Shatner) are abducted and Gracie can't help but get involved in the case--to the hilarious frustration of her fellow agents! Actually, the action, the dialogue, the humor, and the characters are insultingly boring.

Miss Congeniality 2 left me wondering what ever happended to Sandra Bullock? She was on top of her game in the 1990's, but is now is just a knock-off of herself in recent comedies. Maybe she should make the transition to a serious actress--she's had good reviews for the Academy Award nominee, Crash. Grade: D-

2006-02-03T19:26:00.000-05:00

Our education secretary says things like this: "If all you ever do is all you ever did, then all you'll ever get is all you ever got." Huh? I know Margaret Spellings has gone far in life, but I prefer the homespun wisdom of one Mike Brady who once sagely proclaimed to his six impressionable children: "Remember kids, wherever you go--there you are."

2006-01-31T21:56:00.000-05:00

Exactly HOW--do you eat a sandwich with a toothpick in it? I understand WHY I sometimes need the toothpick... but I find it very difficult to eat around it. How many puncture wounds to my inner lip must I endure?

Look-Alikes

2006-01-29T22:11:00.000-05:00

It's odd how much one unrelated person can look like another. I know three people that look like Hank Williams: Himself, Greg from "The Wiggles," and a guy I used to work with 13 years ago. It's funny how you can see someone on TV--and out of the blue--realize they look just like someone you knew once. The guy I'm speaking of used to date a girl who looked like Mariah Carey.

I always thought my dad looked a little like Tom Brokaw, who himself looks a fair bit like Steve Martin. I have a very good friend who has--at times--resembled Beau Bridges. Someone that I know from my days in Florida, looks like Dale the chipmunk and W.C. Fields (though don't tell him I told you so).

2006-01-28T23:11:00.000-05:00

Big day today. After watching my six-year-old daughter's second basketball game (she's improving, we practiced this morning), the wife and I took the five kids to the new Wal-Mart that just opened around the corner from our house. Whoo-hoo.

Now, we didn't go because we needed anything, we went to "check it out." And beat this--it was my idea! And we had a good time--walking around, looking at stuff, noticing how this Wal-Mart had improved on the design flaws and spacing issues of other Wal-Marts we had been in. Discussing how the grocery section is in the opposite corner of the Wal-Mart we've been going to lately, commenting on the convenient garbage bins in the grocery for disposal of free sample toothpicks...

We walked every inch of that place, the garden center, the hardware section, the toys, the clothes, and the food--we even ate lunch at the Subway they put in. Then we went home and cleaned the house. It was a good day. Boy, are we lame.

PS- Lest you think we have no fun, we did go out on a real date tonight--with no kids.

It's a Race

2006-01-26T20:14:00.000-05:00

These days, I'm sporting a beard. I grow one every 18 months or so when I come down with something and am not making any public appearances for a few days. Suddenly, I notice I've got a Sonny Crocket going, so I keep it.

Oddly, every time my wife has "become" pregnant, I have had a beard. We have five children. This is all fodder for another post--but I thought I'd put it out there.

What I really want to know is this: Does your hair grow faster on top of your head, or on your face? Bald men need not answer--I'm talking to the guys who can actually grow something.

I think I might just have a race someday--I'll shave all the hair above my neck, say "Go," and see who wins. My money's on my chinny-chin-chin.

What'd You Say?

2006-01-25T22:49:00.000-05:00

I have the hardest time understanding lyrics. In college for instance, I thought "Dude Looks Like a Lady" was "Do Yourself a Favor"--and that is how I sang it.

Somehow or other I have formed an addiction to country music. The thing I once despised, has become my pleasure. You would think that country music would be a good place for someone like me to land--that the pace of the songs and the deliberateness of the lyrics would form a new era of understanding for me. But you'd be wrong.

The other day, I was watching CMT (Country Music Television) with my wife--enjoying one of LeAnn Rimes' newest videos--when I hear this sobbing next to me. After a moment, this woman I married begins to scream at me to turn the channel. She looks like she's possessed--and I can't fathom what's the matter. I fumble for the remote (it's stuck between the cushions, of course), and get it switched over to BET or something--a little too slowly. By now my betrothed is really ticked off at me, and why? I DON'T KNOW! So I ask.

"Didn't you hear what she was singing about?" she screams.
"Yeah, her boyfriend broke up with her or something."
"No, you idiot (probably not her actual words)--her husband died! I'm thinking about what I would do if that happened to you!"
"Oh."

I had probably heard that song 10 times before. I liked it--but I never paid much attention to what she was really singing, all I knew was that she was sad and stuff. Thanks, LeAnn.

Question: Would You Rather Go Blind or Deaf?

2006-01-25T22:11:00.000-05:00

The following personal discourse is not meant to make light of any person who has impaired sight or hearing, but is merely a philosophical pondering by an author full of odd questions.

Would you rather lose your sight or your hearing? This is a simple question for most--ask the average person, and they would choose to lose their hearing, and not their precious sight. As one with all five of my senses intact, it is easy for me to understand this common conclusion because it is with my sight that I appear to make the most decisions, take the most pleasure, and form most of my impressions. But is this really true?

No one would dismiss the quality that touch adds to one's life: holding a loved one, feeling hot or feeling cold and restoring yourself to a comfortable level, feeling texture, the sensation of pleasure, or of your feet pounding pavement or your muscles straining while you help a friend move--all elements of touch which can easily be appreciated. Equally, we all value the pleasures of taste and smell and what they communicate to us about the quality of the food we're using or the air that we're breathing.

The theoretical question of sight vs. sound is harder to make because these are the two senses we most readily have seen people lose. Personally, I think I would rather lose my sight than my sense of hearing. Yes, I would miss seeing my children grow, or my wife smile at me, and I would even miss out on the slight fascination in seeing my crow's feet spread across my face as I grow older. I would also miss the vision of God's creation--in all of its forms. Call me crazy, but I think hearing is far more fundamental.

Our vision is a greedy thing, it monopolizes our senses and our interpretation of everything we know. But our sense of sound forms a foundation I believe we neglect. How disconcerting would it be to see the people you care about, but not be able to hear the sounds that they make? I think I would miss their laughter, their words of affirmation, the tone of their voice and the inflection of each syllable they form--more than I would anything else. My hands could be my eyes, and they would probably see much more than I see now. The things I must miss today, because I am not really looking.

And what if the world stood mocking, as you walked through it in silence? Never would you hear a foot shuffle on a parquet floor, a bird tweet, a brook flow, or any sound at all. I think the silence would be deafening--and I think it would be frighteningly creepy. I mean no disrespect to those to whom this is not a pretend scenario--I know that we can adapt to any challenge and thrive--but it must be awfully tough.

So what do you think?

My Personal Olympics

2006-01-24T06:47:00.000-05:00

It's 6:45 am, and I have just beaten our garbage man. No, not in an abusive way--but in a competition of wits, skill, and cunning. This morning, I've beaten him to the curb.

Few things in this life make the adrenaline pump through your veins like being woken by the grinding whirr and squeak of a garbage truck when you have nothing to show for yourself at the end of your drive. When you know you have about 32 seconds to jump out of bed, put on some pants and a pair of boots, and race out the front door, down the steps, grabbing hold of the wheeled garbage bin as you race down the wet driveway (without killing yourself), waving and screaming at the garbage man. This is a terrifying experience, but even worse, is when you stand, watching the cloud of dust left by the truck--your garbage laughing at the opportunity it has to decay for another week.

You must then climb the steps of shame and hear from your lovely wife why you should put the garbage out the night before and not wait until the last minute.

A couple of times I have missed the garbage and have had to smell the diapers of three children fester in the cannister for another week. All these things combined, have been enough for me to invest myself in a little "garbage time" on Monday evenings. There have been two ocassions in which the good-hearted garbage man has spied my pail at the top of the hill and gone up after it--Wow, what a saint. And two instances when I flat out missed him and with all the hope I could muster, dragged my bin down to where he could see me from way down the street--maybe he'll come back around the block for me, I'd think. Both times, he has.

Last night I didn't come home straight after work, we were out with the kids and then we came home, put them to bed, and had our dinner. I did not want to go out again and do the garbage. Promising to rise early and put it out--my wife allowed me to slumber. But when my alarm went off this morning, so did she. "Put the garbage out," she said. "I need a half-an-hour," I replied--and hit the snooze. I always snooze for 30 minutes after waking--I want to realize that I've been sleeping before I have to get up. But I can tell you, though I fell asleep again, that 30 minutes was the most restless sleep I've ever had. Sensing her cat-like reflexes and her Native American ear to the ground, I fretted inside about the possibility that maybe our beloved garbage man would come at some unforseen time. Every time a school bus would barrel down our street, my heart would race--until we could confirm that yes, it was a school bus. How many school routes go through our neigborhood? Crazy.

But I beat the garbage man, and everything else I do today, is just gravy.

What If Trademarked Corporate Icons Were Really Employees of the Company They Represented?

2006-01-22T22:04:00.000-05:00

Imagine the Frito-Lay Corporation interviewing mascots for their Cheetos line... After three days of seeing candidates, in walks a fellah named Chester Cheetah--he's orange, cutting-edge, and just a little cheesy--and the execs love him! He signs on and is the perfect fit.

Or think of the Pillsbury Doughboy, selling cars, doing community theater, substitute-teaching shop classes, but never quite able to find his calling. One day he tries out as the mascot for a breakfast cereal called "Frosted Flakes"--he doesn't get the job, but he's discovered what he wants to do with his life.

After careful research, he determines that the doughy goodness of Pillsbury is the company he was made for, but because they are not in the mascot business, he takes a job in the mailroom, hoping for a chance to be noticed. It isn't long before Pop N. Fresh's (yes, that's his real name) contagious little giggle becomes the talk of the company. His whimsical personality and hard work, married with his malleable stomach and wonderful little smile earn him a screen test. He changes his name, and wins America's heart.

My Top 50 Toys of All Time

2006-01-22T20:23:00.000-05:00

VH1 is producing a countdown show on the Top 100 Toys of All Time. From their master list of 100--I have selected 50 that made a difference in my life. There are many notably absent from this list, but that posting is perhaps for another day...

All-Time, All-Timers
Bicycle - Who could argue with a kid's first wheels? Freedom, baby!
Fisher Price Little People - I spent more hours than I care to admit in this little world.
Hot Wheels Cars - My 10-year-old Friday nights were sleep-overs at my best friends house, playing Hot Wheels and watching "The Dukes of Hazzard."
LEGO - From generation to generation, nobody does it better.
Mattel Classic Football - I can still hear the sounds of electronic tackling in my head.
Nerf - Whatever they touch, turns to sport.
Risk - What's a little world-domination between friends?
Sleds - When your nostril hairs are frozen, you might as well blitz yourself into a tree...
Slip 'n Slide - The greatest neighborhood block-parties I've ever had
Video game systems: Atari, Intellivision, Playstation, Sega, Xbox
Water Guns - classic, old-school summer fun
Wiffle Ball and Bat - simply wonderful

Favorite Classics
Colorforms, Frisbee, Lincoln Logs, Models, Monopoly, Pictionary, Play Doh, Slinky, and Trivial Pursuit

Innovators
Chutes & Ladders, Clue, Connect Four, Dominoes, G.I. Joe, Green plastic army men, Little Golden Books (Nothing beats The Poky Little Puppy), Madlibs, Memory (the game that's good for you!), Monchichi (never played with the toy--but I loved the commercials and that stupid song...), MouseTrap (the first board game I ever owned), Mr. Mouth, Operation, Remote Control Cars, Roller Skates (rinks, blades, fun on wheels), Rubik's Cube, Silly Putty, Simon, Six Million Dollar Man Doll, Smurfs (La-la-la-la-la-la...), Snoopy Snow Cone Machine ("you mean you can make your own at home now?"), Spirograph, Star Wars action figures, Strawberry Shortcake (intoxicating aromas), Stretch Armstrong (loved his rubber guts), Tinker Toys, Tonka Trucks, Uno, Viewmaster

I've Got a New Drug

2006-01-22T19:56:00.000-05:00

When it comes to candy, I have superhuman willpower. It's good yes, but ehh... I could go months without it.

Then someone innocuously poured some Willy Wonka Everlasting Gobstoppers in my hands this past Thursday--I took them to be nice!--and now I have BOXES OF THEM at home!!

Every 6 minutes I empty a new box down my throat--and each box holds a lot of the little boogers! Did you know that they change color and flavor while they're in your mouth? Did you also know that you can vary the time at which you elect to bite into them--thereby altering your tasting experience in the process? Did you know that popping four or more in your mouth at a time--actually QUADRUPLES the flavor???

This is how smoking must work, and pill-popping, and drinking to excess--with a "friend" you're trying to be nice to--passing along their addiction. Well, I am hooked. And what have I done about it?--I've passed my addiction along to someone else! Bwah-ha-ha-ha (that's my evil laugh)!

Isn't young love great?

2006-01-22T19:49:00.000-05:00

You knew it wouldn't be long before the King had a celebrity girlfriend... good for him.

Where can I get one of those huge medallions? I also want one of those big-'ol rings he wears in the football commercials.

2006-01-22T19:26:00.000-05:00

what makes bacon so good?
it's made of parts you don't even want to think about, and after it's simmered in its own fluids and is crisp and brittle and a little burned--the cook takes the lard grease that's left over, pours it into a Mason jar, and tucks this fat under the sink for some future, disgusting project. mmmmm-mm that's good.

and we say we're disgusted by pig's feet...

2006-01-20T13:16:00.000-05:00

the toilet's fixed.

Dark Water

2006-01-17T22:54:00.000-05:00

When a family with two bathrooms, has one that is occupied and one that is out of commission--what does one do when one is experiencing an emergency evacuation? You might pound on the door of the occupied room, only to be scuttled off... but if you can't hold it, would you try to use the one that doesn't work? Yes, yes, you would.

And what if when you tried a test flush, everything went nuts--and water began to run everywhere? You'd scream for help, and help would come and the water would flow, and it would flow. The gerbil occupying the floor of the bathroom (placed there so the baby could sleep at night) would slowly begin to drown as the water level continued to rise.

The handsome father would rush to the basement and cut off the water supply to the house, and then return upstairs to ask the kids for some towels. The children would run to the closet and return with washcloths! "Not good enough," says dad--and he would race down the hall for the beach towels to sop up the water that is raining through the floor and into the garage below.

At the end of this day, everyone is safe and everyone is dry--and at least one bathroom, is back in action.

book I just finished: From Russia With Love

2006-01-17T19:38:00.000-05:00

What if Cold War Russian spies desired to make a statement to the world--what would they do? Well, they might take a crack at the Queen's top super-agent, kill him, and besmirch his reputation in the process. This scenario is the plot of From Russia With Love, the fifth book in the James Bond series by Ian Fleming.

After determining that Bond's greatest vice is women, the agents of Russia elect to train a neophyte beauty from their ranks to be Bond's bait, with Bond willingly biting the hook, "pimping for England," he reflects as he plays the game to see what he can learn from his adversaries.

Two things that are rather unique about this novel: The first third of the book is free of any scenes with James Bond--as it is occupied wholly with the Russian side of the tale; and the book ends with the biggest cliffhanger I have ever witnessed in a novel. The trouble with the cliffhanger is that the last Bond book I finished was Dr. No, the sequel to this one--so much for me being on the edge of my seat to read what happens next.

Allow me to say this: I have great respect for the talent of Ian Fleming--he is a rich storyteller and his style and pace are wonderful, and yet, I wasn't thrilled with this adventure. The first third of the book wasted too much time in the backrooms of the Russian agency known as SMERSH (a frequent nemesis of Bond) and the middle third of the book told Bond's side of the story, though he was mired in Turkey with an intrepid local agent for far too long. By the homestretch, the thriller is getting better, but because we know both sides of the story by then, there are few surprises.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about the novel (not withstanding the opportunity one has to enjoy another foray into the character of Bond) is the little details this book reveals about this enigmatic character... "Height: 183 cm, weight: 76 kg; slim build; eyes: blue; hair: black; scar down right cheek & on left shoulder; all-round athlete; expert pistol shot, boxer, knife-thrower; does not use disguises. Languages: French and German. Smokes heavily (special cigarettes with three gold bands); vices: drink, but not to excess, and women." Grade: C+

chicks dig Sean Connery...

2006-01-16T19:33:00.000-05:00

...and I think I can understand why. I don't get a vote in the election of officers to handsome mandom (nor do I want one), but as an impartial pollster, I understand why Sean Connery performs well in the exit polls.

However, he does this by subverting nearly every physical rule of female persuasion...

(not a current photograph)

He has very little hair (and not by choice)
He's old
He's a little pudgy

And yet, he has a nice voice, is "international," is a star many women either grew up with or grew up understanding was a "handsome man"... and he's a former Bond. The Bond thing probably has a lot to do with it, yet no one is swooning over Timothy Dalton these days.

2006-01-15T00:17:00.000-05:00

I just can't fathom why the bite-sized version of candy, tastes so unlike the essence of the candy it originates from. I am sure the exact same ingredients--to the precise proportion--were used to create the little Snickers. So why then, is it so unlike the big Snickers when I chew it up? Perhaps the density has been impaired, thereby altering the cosmic makeup of the little bar.

Now not everyone I have spoken to attests to this observation of mine. In my research--women--who make up the largest percentage of true chocolate lovers on earth, tend to notice no difference between the mini-bars and the maxi-bars. Hmmm... And I suppose they also believe that there's no difference in the flavor of a green M&M and a red one?

I love this New England Patriots team

2006-01-14T23:47:00.000-05:00

I love how they fail to quit...
The cool precision of Tom Brady...
The mastery of Belichick...
The never-say-die run and tackle by Ben Watson after the Bailey INT...

So unfortunate the way those turnovers went tonight--Denver got so much help. It was amazing how easy it was to believe New England was coming back, all the way up until 3:05 left in the game, when John Lynch intercepted Brady's last pass of the game.

What a run this Patriots team has had--from the 2001 Snow Bowl, through three championships, 10-and-Oh in the playoffs, and it comes to an end tonight.

Next year, will my Vikings become the next dynasty?

Question: how long does ice cream stay good?

2006-01-12T22:10:00.000-05:00

I may have just poisoned my five-year-old son. He was entitled to dessert for finishing his dinner, and when I asked what he wanted he walked with authority to the freezer. After opening the door, he pointed to the farthest reaches of the frozen vegetables to a carton of frozen yogurt I forgot we even had. Apparently, his mind had recalled the tantalizing box of deep purple containing the flavor, black cherry. I have no idea when I bought this treat, but as I pulled it out, I coaxed him into accepting a possible alternative as I could not guarantee its freshness. I checked the bottom stamp and found it must be sold by June 2007. Feeling slightly better, I pulled open the lid to reveal just one serving missing from the carton, and a heavy layer of protective ice covering the luscious lactose. I grabbed an oversized spoon and peeled away the upper layers, took a taste of what lay beneath, nodded, and scooped him out a bowl. He gobbled it up, but I felt somehow, that I had done him wrong.

So who's watching TV in your upstairs?

2006-01-11T19:58:00.000-05:00

A woman's mummified body was found in Cincinnati last week--just upstairs from her daughter and granddaughter's living area.

Before she perished, Johannas Pope instructed her caregiver not to bury her, so she sat watching television for 2 1/2 years, growing mummified from the constant wash of air-conditioning over her body.

Movie Review: CINDERELLA MAN

2006-01-10T20:28:00.000-05:00

Cinderella Man is almost the perfect movie--it has a morally upright hero, and is a compelling riches-to-rags-to-riches story. I'm a sucker for a great historical biography, and this one pulls no punches in that department.

Cinderella Man tells the true story of James J. Braddock (Russell Crowe), a title-contending boxer, whose career is stalled by the Great Depression. Having invested mostly in stocks and a taxi cab company, Braddock finds himself in the same situation as most men with families in 1930s urban America--looking for work each morning at the docks. Braddock shows class and strength as he sacrifices tenderly for his wife (Renee Zellweger) and three young children.

SPOILER ALERT!
When Braddock is given a chance to fight again--after having been decommissioned for failing to satisfy fight fans (he fought weakly with a broken hand)--he is given a one-time opportunity to fill a slot on a fight card at the last minute. Needless to say, this is where his rise begins again, but not before he's confronted by the serious prospect of losing that which is most important of all.

At one point, early in Braddock's comeback, I actually felt a catch in my throat--and in the end, tears ran down my cheeks as I took in the big finish--that's when you've got a great movie.

This film was drenched in the flavor of the era; the sights, the sounds, the dialogue--and the performances were wonderful, from Crowe (one of the top three actors working today), to Zellweger, to Paul Giamatti as Braddock's manager, Joe Gould. And Craig Bierko as Max Baer was menacingly effective.

I'm being picky here, but the one thing I would have liked to see differently, would be the finish. Instead of ending so big, I would have liked to savor the finish a little more--to end with a little of the day-to-day life that would have followed the big fight. But that's just me... Grade: A

Is it just me... ?

2006-01-09T22:20:00.000-05:00

I always double-press the "WALK" button. Not with a click-wait-click, but with a click-click. It makes me feel like I've covered things.

And what about the interaction that this button forces among strangers? If I walk up to an intersection with a waiting pedestrian, I feel compelled to push the "WALK" button. The trouble is, I don't want to insult this person by presuming they were too stupid to push it themselves, or that their click-click was insufficient... so I always have to gesture toward the button and ask, "Did you give it a push?" Usually they just stare back at me and don't answer...

I'm trying to think of what happens when I'm there first--usually the person just sidles up and waits without worrying about the button. In this case, I feel that as two souls on the same mission, I must acknowledge them with a nod, or a word of "Hello." Then when the "WALK" button alights, it is the two of us walking stride-for-stride across the street. I often find this moment the most awkward of all, and depending on the person, I either slip back behind them, or kick in with a burst of speed to leave them behind. Adjacent walking with a stranger is just uncomfortable...

Movie Review: VANITY FAIR

2006-01-09T21:29:00.000-05:00

William Makepeace Thackeray's Vanity Fair must be better than this movie. I have not yet had the pleasure of reading this literary classic, but I have to believe it more fully developed than this cinematic rendering.

Reese Witherspoon is winning in her portrayal of Becky Sharp, a young woman who overcomes tragedy and poverty to make a name for her self in Victorian England.

The first half of the film is wonderful--and I was entranced by the depiction of the times and the characters. Becky is first introduced to us as a precocious youngter (played by Angelica Mandy) haggling with a customer determined to buy her father's masterpiece, a portrait of Becky's mother, and the last visible image Becky has of her late mum. She manages to more than double the asking price, and in the process proves her pluck and pragmatism.

Becky is soon sent to some kind of finishing school, but we never see any of these years, only her obvious contempt for the place upon her graduation. She accepts a job as governess to a modest family full of interesting characters, but alas, her stay there is barely fifteen minutes.

Director Mira Nair clearly had trouble condensing this 912-page book to 141 minutes. The pace of the film is too brisk, and there is scant opportunity to learn why nearly everyone in polite society knows who she is, or cares. This says nothing of her marriage, which appears to be a very sweet and meaningful time for her, but is unsatisfyingly abrupt in its end.

Thrust at last to the end of her story, we find ourselves left with a character who has developed far differently than we expected--and in jarring ways that are bereft of the rich details we needed. Though I have high hopes for the book, Vanity Fair--the movie--failed to completely satisfy. Grade: B-

2006-01-07T13:16:00.000-05:00

while comparing our year-end movie lists, my good friend and i had a discussion about "the dukes of hazzard" movie. he graded it a C+, while i gave it a D- and ranked it "second worst of the year."

so here are a few more reasons why the "dukes of hazzard" was so unwatchable...

1) it was beyond dull
2) the plot wasn't even as well-developed as a typical "dukes" tv episode
3) the movie stripped the charm off the characters we knew and loved
4) the effort invested to make this an "origin" story failed

5) the essence of the characters was flip-flopped:
the duke boys were bumbling and unhip. Oddly enough, they were also responsible for the slapstick quotient of the movie--in contrast to the tv show where roscoe and boss hogg provide comic relief and slapstick. in the tv version, the duke boys are noble and heroic, but in the movie they play fools who take pleasure in disrespecting others. On television, bo and luke honored and supported others. Obvoiulsy they ran against "the law," but it was a corrupt police force they disobeyed. A police force they were always willing to confront, correct, and befriend. Another flip-flop in this movie was the dereliction of uncle jesse, who serves as the moral core of the television dukes. the interpretation of daisy was negligible, but her switch from a brunette to a blonde was unconscionable (i couldn't resist).

The Refill

2006-01-06T20:43:00.000-05:00

Remember having to make one drink last through your entire meal?

There once was a time when there were no free refills. Seems amazing to think of now--but there was a time when we the people, just let The Man walk all over us and charge us over a dollar a drink for a three-penny product, and we never got refills. Then we started to get our glasses topped-off at TGI Friday's and Chilis... and finally even McDonald's and Wendy's. Many fast food franchises even added self-serve, which is the greatest.

The only place that still needs to get with it--is Wendy's. Some of these stores are alright, but some Wendy's franchises are so chincy! You've been there--you ask the counter-gal for a refill (Wendy's doesn't provide self-serve) and she dumps ice in your cup all the way to the brim! I tried getting around that today by dumping out two-thirds of my remaining ice before I walked to the counter... but she pulled the switcheroo on me when I got there. She ignored my "Biggie" cup, and instead pulled out a clean "Regular," and serviced me with that one. The nerve!

I thought the fountain drinks had virtually no overhead! The staff at these restaurants can drink coke till they drop for free--isn't the cost of a new cup more than the cost of giving the consumer 6 more ounces of soda and instilling in said customer feelings of goodwill? I think so. Maybe I should convince an environmentalist to picket Wendy's about their misuse of styro-cardboard.

Oh and another thing, I'm on to you, Dunkin' Donuts! You fill my cup up not with Pepsi from the tap, but you pore it from the bottle! And you charge me $1.80! Have you no shame?

The Worst Movies of 2005

2006-01-05T00:27:00.000-05:00

1. Wake Up, Ron Burgundy! - Made from Anchorman film on the cutting room floor, and it showed.
2. The Dukes of Hazzard - Crude and pointless.
3. Bewitched - So much promise, so little to show for itself. Thanks for the nap.
4. The Big Bounce - Owen Wilson, yes. Paint-by-number story, no.
5. Monster-in-Law - J.Fo comes out of retirement for this?

My "Movies of the Year"

2006-01-04T22:25:00.000-05:00

Note: "Movies-of-the-Year" candidates are first-seen films by the blogger. All films viewed from start to finish in a theater, on DVD or video, and on television are eligible for consideration.

1. Elizabethtown

This is a film about the highest highs and the lowest lows of life. It is about love, fathers and sons, strange and estranged family, success, work, dreams, and fear. Elizabethtown features winning performances all around and realistic situations. The film opens with Orlando Bloom's character, Drew Baylor, reeling in the aftermath of his historic failure at a Nike-like shoe company. About to commit suicide after being fired by his boss (an amusing turn by Alec Baldwin), Drew is interrupted from his task by a call from his sister informing him of his father's surprise passing. Drew clothes himself in his family duty, and goes to the quirky little town of Elizabethtown, Kentucky, to retrieve his dad's body. Along the way he meets perky but insecure Claire Colburn, the two connect with each other, but they won't admit it to themselves or each other. The movie was somber, joyful, funny, light, rich, and satisfying from end to end. Even Susan Sarandon was appealing in Elizabethtown. Writer/Director Cameron Crowe deserves an award.

2. Million Dollar Baby

I saw this film just before it was awarded its four Oscars for Best Picture, Director, Actress, and Supporting Actor. These awards were no accident--this is a triumph of storytelling, from all angles. I was terribly disappointed in the ending, but the choices of the characters were believable, if not acceptable. Clint Eastwood only improves with age, and Morgan Freeman was this film's glue. Hilary Swank, who played lead as Maggie Fitzgerald, absolutely inhabited her character and was easily the best actress I saw in 2005. Million Dollar Baby has a deep emotional core, with performances you can believe in, and characters you want to know.

3. The Island
Who would have thought that a Michael Bay movie would make anyone's top ten list? To my surprise, my hopes for a thrilling "popcorn" movie were more than satisified with this fast-paced and futuristic movie. The characters played by Ewan McGregor and Scarlett Johanssen were certainly compelling, but even more so, was the intrigue of the story. The first half of the film is a mystery to unravel, while the second half is a thrilling chase. Movies that take place in the future have a compelling element to them--for about fifteen minutes. This is where most of these films unravel, once you've been amazed by the possibilities of the future-the clothes and the technologies-there usually isn't much story to support the structure of the film. The trick is to make the people as similar to the people of today as possible. Afterall, how much will humanity at its essence change just because we wear unitards and drive flying cars? The Island was a lot of fun, and I was on the edge of my seat just as Michael Bay intended.

4. Mr. and Mrs. Smith
Mr. and Mrs. Smith is eye-candy everyone--not only are you looking at Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, but you've got explosions, fisticuffs, schemes, tight spots, and satisfying repartee. The fun begins as we see how this married couple dupes the other into thinking they have a normal life when they really are spies working for competing agencies. Soon enough, both Mr. and Mrs. Smith are given a contract on the other's life and quickly switch allegiances from their matrimonial vows to their companies' mission. You can expect everything you see on screen to blow up, but that's fine because Mr. and Mrs. Smith never takes itself too seriously. This is a fun diversion, it is not art. Enjoy it--and enjoy the ubiquitous Vince Vaughn in yet another winning buddy role.

5. King Kong

The first thing you'll hear anyone say about King Kong--is that it's long. It is. And it's probably too long, and yet, I never wanted to take my eyes off that big ape. Andy Serkis, whose expressions were transferred to the ape just as they were to Gollum in The Lord of the Rings movies, has found an incredible niche role in bringing to life unreal creatures. What will he do for an encore? Don't take King Kong seriously though, it is well-acted, but deliberately campy. Naomi Watts however, plays it straight, and it is remarkable what she is able to do without dialgoue. She performs for the ape, and she grunts, grins, and worries for him. King Kong is very good, though not quite the epic for the ages that it has been advertised to be.

Rounding out the top ten...

6. The Phantom of the Opera - Beautiful, artistic, lush.

7. Ray - Revealing and well-acted.

8. The Aviator - Convincingly of the period, with a real-life character for the ages.
9. Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith - There's nothing like a good origin story.
10. The Village - Great mood and setting, even if the twist was too-easily solved.

The Great Debate: At Least in our House

2006-01-04T20:43:00.000-05:00

The following exchange is worth publishing on the front end of this blog, in additon to the comment section. Please feel free to weigh in on the debate: When is processing every word of a book, not considered "reading" said book? Or in simpler terms: are audio book readers, really readers? Discuss.

five in six said...
So, are these books you have actually read with your eyes, or books you have "read" with your ears as you are so fond of doing while you drive to and from work?

johnnyvano said...
Ahh... I am continually harrassed about the fact that I read a good sum of books as I drive one-hour each way to work. I am making the most of my time by improving my mind, and I am maligned. I could see the criticism if I NEVER read a paper book and was lazy or illiterate, but that is not the case. There is an even distribution of paper books and audio books in my yearly repertoire. The debate is that some feel and audio book does not constiute a "read." But my argument is the word "read" is how we communicate that a book has been ingested and enjoyed--we do not yet have the terminology to describe how a book was ingested. But you know what? My mind has processed every word and every element of the story just as if I had read the book in a traditional method; should I be penalized because my eyes were not involved with that process?

My Books-of-the-Year

2006-01-02T22:20:00.000-05:00

Note: This is my annual list, published online for the first time. Books under consideration are those the blogger has read in 2005, regardless of date published. Books the blogger has read in previous years and then read again, are ineligible for "Books-of-the-Year" consideration.

1. TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT, by Ernest Hemingway
I wouldn't call myself a Hemingway fan, but he is considered one of the great American novelists and I am fascinated by his life and travels, so I have made it my goal to read each of his books. To Have and Have Not is my book of the year and it, along with The Old Man and the Sea and A Farewell to Arms--are the best of the five Hemingway novels I have read. I enjoyed the rich texture of To Have and Have Not, and Harry Morgan, the salty figure we follow through the tale. Morgan is a boat captain, whose last years are chronicled as he finds himself getting deeper and deeper into trouble--financially and otherwise.

2. BREAK IN, by Dick Francis
Having first read an abridged version of one of Dick Francis' books while in high school, I decided to read him anew after hearing about his death this year. Knowing that he was an author who wrote all of his novels through the lens of horseracing, and not being a fan of the sport myself, I never gave him much thought. To my surprise, Dick Francis is a marvelous novelist who paints very warm portraits of his characters. His Kit Fielding is a true hero, and one of my favorite liteary characters of recent years. This book was so good, that I also read its sequel, Bolt.

3. JUST ONE LOOK, by Harlan Coben
My first Harlan Coben book inspired me to keep reading his works, and so I quickly devoured Gone for Good and No Second Chance. Just One Look was cunningly delicious with twists and turns and lots of fun. The mystery behind a photograph carries this thriller far. Coben also has a talent for creating intriguing and humorous minor characters. For a full review of this book, read my post of September 10. My one knock on Coben is the premise and unlikely coincidences of his books are very similar, making each ensuing read less and less unique.

4. THE MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR AT STYLES, by Agatha Christie
This was a year of firsts when it came to authors--and believe it or not, before "The Mysterious Affair" I had never read an Agatha Christie novel before. I was not disappointed. This was actually Christie's first book--published when she was just 24--and it introduced her most famous character to the world, Hercule Poirot. What amazes me about this very rich and interesting novel is its length--just 124 pages--compare that to the worst book I read this year, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, which took nearly 500 of its 870 total pages, to get to the story! The Potter book was the worst book I finished, but probably the worst book I attempted to read this year was John Irving's Until I Find You, a meandering vanity project of which I could only stomach about 200 pages out of a total of 848.

5. THE TEAMMATES, by David Halberstam
This was the only non-fiction book to make my list this year, and fittingly so, as it was the send-off book to the late, great Ted Williams. The story picks up with the final voyage of Williams' teammates: Johnny Pesky, Dom DiMaggio, and Bobby Doerr as they took a road trip from New England to Florida to visit their ailing buddy. The book is a poignant reflection on friendship, youth and old age, and on a player who was one of the best to ever play the game of baseball. I was also thrilled to read brief biographies and player capsules of each of his teammates, who retired long before I was born.

sorry I've been away for awhile...

2006-01-02T21:57:00.000-05:00

...The monsterous and maniacal "King" had me prisoner, forcing me to dance into the night with his mammoth hand each night. I only just managed to break free after luring him to the top of Stone Mountain where he was gunned down by these biplanes that arrived mysteriously out of nowhere. So now I'm back.

2005-11-23T01:07:00.000-05:00

I'm on a water and fresh food diet. Starting............ Now.

Hold me to it.

I feel crappy eating on the go all the time, chugging diet cokes... I'm out.

The House Tour

2005-11-23T00:58:00.000-05:00

Why do people give full tours of their homes? I was thinking about this tonight, and I'm lost. My wife and I have people over just like the next couple, but we only display the living room, kitchen, and bathroom to our guests. There is no gesturing and explaining about what the rooms are for or what they do. It is not perfunctory -- it is obvious where the bathroom is, so go use it if you must. We make no gestures toward the hallway or the kids' rooms, the basement, or our bedroom. In fact, our bedroom is where all the stuff we live with is hidden.

And yet, many people feel led to show their first-time guests every nook and cranny of their house. Why? Or does this never happen anymore because it's a thing of the past that I've merged with the present? I can see a new house and you've just moved in, or show your parents or other family... but why, otherwise? And why explain? It's a house, for Pete's sakes -- one peek in a room and you know what that room's all about! What more is there to say?

I guess if I had a lot of things: pool table, stuffed head on the wall, art, a third refrigerator, a fancy new TV, I might be inclined to share a narrative of why I have the item, or how I acquired it, but that would just be to fill the emptiness with someone I didn't know well -- or it would be to boast.

Hmmm.

2005-11-10T22:05:00.000-05:00

This, my friends, is a Braeburn apple, and I will never go back. Like any American kid in the 1970s, I was constituted on apples. And how wide a swath did the apple family walk for a typical middle class kid? Not very far. So, I was feted with Washington brand Red Delicious apples, Golden Delicious, and a few Granny Smiths.

Every year my parents would take us to the Minnesota State Fair (the grandest of the state fairs) and we'd walk through the apple growers' pavilion and have our eyes opened to tens of apple-eating options. Then, as a young adult living in Upstate New York, I encountered other types of apples such as Jonagold and Red Rome, and these I enjoyed.

But then somewhere, somehow, a few years ago, I discovered the Braeburn apple. It is Ah-mazing. It has a white crisp flavor and is not like the chalky flavor of the Red Delicious. Gala apples are close cousins, but there's nothing like a Braeburn and I am so thankful that they seem to be ubiquitous here in Georgia - every store has them. It is one of the simple pleasures of life that I am quite fond of, for sure.

Oh, and by the way, my preferred method of eating an apple? Sliced into wedges! I disdain biting into it skin-out. Try a Braeburn suchly, and you'll be shouting like me: "I'll take mine the Braeburn Way!"

WHEW!

2005-11-10T21:48:00.000-05:00

I have discovered this week that COKE is phasing out: Vanilla Coke, Diet Vanilla Coke (pictured), and Diet Coke with Lemon... this I will accept. But please, oh please, don't ever tell me that Diet Coke with Lime is gone. I would have to stock up, buying every 2-liter bottle I could find. I know it sounds silly, but I have really grown to love this flavor - from one of the greatest brands around.

The Manipulation of the Sexes...

2005-10-30T22:07:00.000-05:00

I was at the mall on Saturday with my family, and while waiting in line for a smoothie at the food court, I listened to the conversation two 30-something women were having - shopping bags in tow.

Their uninteresting chatter suddenly compelled me, when the pretty one called her husband on her cell phone. Her voice was very warm and soothing- excited even- at the opportunity to talk to her betrothed. I thought it peculiar that after the inital pleasantries were over, she asked her husband to go ahead and buy the headphones he had been eyeing. It was clear that the husband's lust for a particular set of - no doubt - expensive headphones was part of an earlier conversation. But now, this young woman called, and implored her husband from the goodness of her heart - to treat himself, and get the headphones. It sounded fishy to me, until I saw her shopping bags - emblazoned with monikers from all the finest retail stores in our humble little suburban mall.

Once "Trixie" had convinced her husband of the merits of the headphones, I heard her gasp, throw in a few "Really?"s and tsk-tsk her way through the remainder of their brief phone call. It ended with with this woman sharing the most wonderfully appreciative "goodbye" and "I love you"- both smothered with a flavor of conspiratorial unity.

When this act was over, she clapped her cell phone shut, and turning to her friend, declared: "Don't you even feel guilty for what you bought!" Her friend's eyes looked up meekly to protest, her heart obviously heavy with grief - but the first woman only stood firm: "Don't feel guilty. You should hear what Chris bought. Aaron said he is going CRAZY!"

Softly, unsure, the second woman responded, "Are you sure?" "Yes, don't you even feel bad. You have every right to get a few things. Chris is going nuts..."

And on the conversation went- but my mind had drifted away, reflecting on the way we husbands manipulate our wives - and you wives manipulate your husbands...

2005-10-30T21:35:00.000-05:00

I didn't realize just how far off my radar screen the Atlanta Falcons were until tonight...

I often play mind puzzles while I'm driving, showering, or trying to fall asleep... I might go through the alphabet, and try to name actors whose names start with A, B, C, etc... or, I might list as many Mel Gibson movies as I can recall, and then see if I can top the number with another actor's films... or, I might try to name the roster of the last World Series champ... whatever, these are just little mind exercises to keep myself entertained.

Tonight, while I was washing up after an afternoon of yard work, I went through the NFL - naming first, every team, and then every head coach. I went through 31 teams, and was strugging to remember the 32nd team... Finally, I had it: The Atlanta Falcons! Funny, how they're in my own backyard, and I couldn't remember them.

This may seem odd to you, not just because of my proximity to them and the number of people I know who are Falcon fans, but also because Mike Vick is propped up as the biggest star in the game today (which I believe, he is not). But it's more easily explained when you realize how utterly insignificant this franchise has been for most of its history. Rarely in the playoffs, and never having successfully posted two straight winning years. I also hold a grudge against them which I am only now beginning to forget: They beat my beloved Vikings in the 1998 NFC Championship Game. A heartbreaker for a 15-1 team with the best offense in NFL history. It was a year of magic for the Vikings - ending only after our kicker, who'd been perfect all season - missed a modestly challenging field goal in regulation.

All true Vikings fans are pessimists, having watched too many talented teams and favorable situations dissolve into miscues and disasters; so it took me all year of this amazing season before I ever got used to the winning. And it wasn't until that championship game, that I ever looked past an opponent. But I was convinced that Atlanta wouldn't be much of a challenge. And they weren't that tough, the Vikings were their own worst enemy that day.

And one final note on this rambling blog post: Two years ago, after Mike Tice's first full season - I said he should have been fired. I said it again at the end of last year. And I say it now, less than halfway through this season: FIRE HIM NOW! Bring back Bud Grant.

book capsules

2005-10-28T23:44:00.000-04:00

Gone for Good, by Harlan Coben
My second foray into a Harlan Coben thriller and I was only slightly disappointed. The first book I'd read of his, Just One Look, was so packed with suspense that this one seemed a little slow and hollow. I found it difficult to care about the characters as much as I cared about the caper. It had a great finish, perhaps even better than Just One Look, but it was too slow in the development. In the book, Will Klein must contend with his girlfriend's disappearance and the simultaneous reappearance of his long-lost brother, Ken, who ran off 11 years earlier, a suspect in a murder case involving Will's first love. Grade: B

Dr.No, by Ian Fleming
Last year I discovered the James Bond of literature - and I was surprised to find I liked him even more than the big screen Bond, which is saying a lot. In reading Goldfinger, I found a character who was drawn just fully enough, and just fresh enough, to make me want to return again and again. With Dr. No, we encounter the beginnings of an intriguing story, with the murder of an English spy and the business of Bond - fresh off medical leave from his last assignment - being reprimanded by his director and fitted with a new gun. He is subsequently sent on a "recovery" assignment to Jamaica to solve this quaint murder mystery. Along the way, Bond finds genuine romance with a well-drawn character, made famous in the first Bond film - Honeychild Rider. Bond, Honeychild, and his trusty aid Quarrel, are all wonderful, but their nemesis and their adventure are not a match for the brilliant light they radiate, and so the plot seems clunky and light in comparison. Grade: B-

pirate health insurance

2005-10-28T23:17:00.000-04:00

You didn't know this but, a pirate who lost an appendage, would sometimes get hazzard pay. According to the Dorling Kindersley (DK) series, pirate Bartholemew Roberts would release $800 to a member of his crew upon losing a limb.

I also discovered that two female pirates from the 18th century, Mary Read and Anne Bonny, dressed as men to acheive acceptance among the ranks of the buccaneers.

At their first meeting, Bonny actually developed romantic feelings for Read - believing she was a man. Read confided her secret identity to Bonny, and they became friends. When their pillaging mates were captured, both women escaped the death penalty - because they were pregnant.

Talk about health insurance!

Nothing Like a Lime...

2005-10-28T23:02:00.000-04:00

I'm nuts about limes... I mean, I'm completely citrus. In fact, I'm enjoying a Diet Coke with Lime as I write this. It's amazing what a lime can do! Yesterday at lunch I asked for a fresh cut lime with my Coke, and I squeezed the ever-lov'n juice out of the thing and plopped the carcass into my drink - I was in paradise! Later at the office, I finished off my to-go-cup of Coke, reached in for the lime carcass, and sucked that one dry- Ooo-la-la!

But it's not just limes in carbonated beverages that sends me to the moon, I love to spritz lime juice on my burritos, over chicken, and in a fruit salad. And that's not to mention authentic key lime pie - made fresh while you're visiting the Florida Keys!

My position is clear. If I ever run for political office, there will be no hiding my affectations. As Ronald Reagan is to jelly beans, JohnnyVano is to limes.

This Just In...

2005-10-25T22:43:00.000-04:00

In development is a new Muppet show for ABC - a six-part "reality" show called - "America's Next Muppet." Miss Piggy, Gonzo, and the irrepressable Kermit The Frog will be the judges as Muppet hopefuls compete to become the next member of the Muppets gang. Reportedly, the folks involved are toying with how to make the program interactive and allow we, the people, to vote.

Question: What makes a Muppet? If a bunch of non-human, non-animal, felt-fleshed entities are competing to become Muppets - what are they now? Puppets? I assumed that a piece of felt with googly eyes was in fact, only a Muppet if it was formed or designed by the late Jim Henson or his staff. Now presumably, it's inferred that one can mature, or evolve - into a Muppet. Hmmm... Stay tuned for more breaking news from myyarn.

2005-10-23T23:12:00.000-04:00

Why do PIRATE captains always have a hook for a hand and a peg for a leg?

My son's pirate birthday party netted him a toy pirate set - which featured a captain who had both a peg-leg and a hook-hand... Why? I thought it was one or the other with pirates - but lately, I see both. That's just overkill.

What kind of luck do you have to have to lose BOTH a hand and a leg? That's not the kind of leader you'd want captaining YOUR vessel...

Being bossed around by a guy without a couple of appendages would be creepy, sure, but why would you put up with it? Clearly he's not the strongest guy on the boat (at least not anymore), and he's OBVIOUSLY not the smartest... so why is he still the captain?

Mark My Words... the Braves Will Tank

2005-10-21T23:18:00.000-04:00

I'm no soothsayer, but I bet the Atlanta Braves run of division titles ends in 2006. They just lost the artist known as Leo Mazzone to the Orioles... so I say, "Bye-bye pennant." I think Mazzone's skills with his staff have made the Braves the success that they are. And while their inability to win the big one - is the result of their manager, I do have a lot of respect for the Braves' front office - putting together a winner through acquistions and carefully planned releases.

Braves fans have long stood atop a stoney mountain to claim with indignance that they'd rather be in the cellar, than win division after division without a championship - well now, this dream can be realized. At last, Braves fans will enjoy the wonderful life of a Texas Rangers fan, or a Cubs, Royals, or Brewers loyalist. It will be such a sweet song to hear their moaning cease.

But back to Leo Mazzone- for him to turn Jaret Wright into a triumph - says it all. Wright was worse than a has-been, but Leo made a very good pitcher out of him. Then when Wright left a year later, he reverted to sub-mediocre again. Clearly, Leo Mazzone is the difference.

Braves fans, it's time to live large like the other half - Enjoy.

Just a Few of My Favorite Places...

2005-10-15T09:57:00.000-04:00

Prince Edward Island * Dairy Queen * Anoka, Minnesota * Key West * the Back Bay of Boston * in a book * Dunkin Donuts * Skaneateles, New York * the National Mall in Washington * used bookstores * St. Paul, MN * in a small aircraft * Como Park * on-the-air * Ft. Lauderdale * Duluth, MN * at the movies * Chattanooga * Mount Rushmore * Bridgeman's Restaurant with grandpa * the Adirondack Mountatins * Tower Bridge, London * the theatre * the South Carolina shore * new bookstores * Vermont * on stage * the rough-hewn streets of Troy, NY * the Pannekoeken House * Marblehead, Mass * the Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum * Baker's Square - Sunday nights after church * Charleston, SC * Smoothie King * the Appalachian Trail of Georgia * locally-owned bookstores * Friendly's * Ocracoke, NC * Key Biscayne * Fenway Park * new places * Beaufort, NC * Ocracoke, NC * the Lipton Tennis Tourney * Portsmouth, NH * Presidential landmarks * the Public Gardens of Boston *
Vizcaya * the Wright Brothers National Memorial * going to "Big Boy" as a child

2005-10-14T08:58:00.000-04:00

CHAPTER ONE

His mother kept him in a shoe box the first week. He quickly outgrew this space, moving first to a roomy laundry basket, before finally claiming a bed of his own. Not a big bed, but it still counted as one - with mattress and bed rails, three inches off the floor.

On his first job, he scraped sludge from the floor of a Quikie Oil Change Center, depositing it into a sludge bucket - the final destination of which he never cared to learn. He worked next in a pizza parlor, but had to quit when he burned his hands on a pan pizza pan. He remembers how the skin on his hands ballooned up and how his grandmother stayed up with him as he soaked the swelling out of his hands in the night.

He always had a way of making people laugh, and despite his meager beginnings, he never failed to laugh loud and often - at least once a day. He liked watching the face of someone who was gearing up for a laugh, seeing the trickle that started in the neck, climbed to a quiver on the lip, and finished with a sharp exhale of "FWA-HA-HA" as their head geared backward. He had observed that, almost simultaneously, the laugher's eyes would shrink, their nose crinkle and their body spasm slightly. This brought him immense joy - and as he grew familiar with a person, he would watch for his favorite moments - in their laughter sequence.

I guess that's why he decided to be a clown. But this epiphany did not come suddenly, nor did it always feel like what he was made for, but in some small way - it made him whole. But we have gotten ahead of ourselves. We will come to the moment when he first became a clown, but only later - there is so much to tell before then.

TO BE CONTINUED...

"Be Safe..."

2005-10-13T17:11:00.000-04:00

From time to time, our loved ones- and even our not-so-loved ones- admonish us to "Be safe." This is usually a final word before we depart on a trip, a short jaunt, or are about to be separated from the well-wisher for a sustained period.

But what are they really saying? To suggest that one should "Be" safe is to imply a certain level of action and responsibility upon us. Are they desiring for us to "ACT safely?" To do things which would contribute to an atmosphere of safe-ness? For some, that may be the case - particuarly those who are notoriously unsafe in their behavior.

But for most of these salutations, I suspect, the true meaning of the wish is for the hearer to "experience safety." Usually the refrain to "Be safe" proceeds air travel, which, unless you're the pilot - is really out of our control. So in essence, we hear this little phrase thrown around cheaply - the onus seemingly placed upon us to act in a manner which promotes safety, all the while thrusting ourselves upon the care of others and general circumstances beyond our control through which we hope to experience safety.

...Just random thoughts from a guy who truly has them. Random thoughts, that is.

2005-10-12T23:26:00.000-04:00

Why does Burger King taste so bad? They do well with their cini-minis and their pies... but what about the rest? No one would mistake any fast food with "real food." No matter how hard you try, you just can't buy meat from the store, cook it, and have it come out like the franchises do. I'm not complaining, I happen to enjoy what McDonald's and Wendy's come up with in the hamburger department... so why can't I say the same for BK?

Why do I get unrefreshably bad breath when I eat there? Why does everything they touch taste like cardboard? Why does their bread chew like something from the space program? I want them to succeed, and I keep trying to eat there... but it's just not working for me. After I give in and go, I'm always disgusted with myself for being so weak - and I vow never to return again.

But I must say, I dig "The King." Maybe it's my nostalgia kicking in, because I was a fan of the goofy '70s "King" during my midwestern upbringing... though some of today's ads are a "miss," I love the subversive whimsy of the idea.

Trouble is, even the new and frou-frou selections Burger King has tried, fall short of the mark. But that's just me.

Question:

2005-10-12T22:34:00.000-04:00

Do they still
call prison:
"The Big House?"

Mystery Solved...

2005-09-28T22:36:00.000-04:00

I have solved the mystery of Sugar Bear! I was at another grocery store this evening - and made a beeline for the cereal isle. Then, as my eyes came into focus, I saw through the multi-colored haze of boxified sugar - the Bear. But Sugar Bear didn't roost on the cover of "Super Sugar Crisp" anymore, because it seems "the Man" has disguised even a suggestion of the sugary sensations in this cereal. Today the package reads: "Golden Crisp." And then it all came back to me. It must have been 10, or even 15 years ago, but I can remember them changing the name now. I bought a box of this confectionary delight, and raced home to have it for dinner. Lip smack'n good.

Later, it occurred to me that our friend Dig 'Em, is on the box of something that is essentially the same thing as "Golden Crisp" - "Sugar Smacks." Success breeds success, my friend. At least Dig 'Em's people are living with the truth, and not a sugar-coated lie.

Then I discovered retrojunk.com, an amazing site featuring details about your favorite tv commercials and programs from the past, complete with high speed video of classic ads. I watched an ad tonight featuring Dig 'Em - I remembered the ad - and it amused me to see so much gratuitous hand slapping. This must have been back when two-handed slaps were really "in" with the buds... I'm speculating that this is before the "High Five" was invented. Y'know, it blows my mind to think there was a time before the "High Five."

I realize of course, that Laura Ingalls Wilder and Albert Einstein probably lived without it, but for us Moderns - I can't even imagine. Perhaps we should mark truly modern times by the appearance of the "High Five"... with a simple, "BHF", for "Before the High Five".

Today, the "High Five" seems almost dated, long ago replaced by a succession of bicep bashing, chest bumping, and fist thumping. But there it was in living color - demonstrated by one Sir Dig 'Em, giving us a window into another age. This is an age I look back upon, with a single tear running down my cheek... Just as said tear fell from the eye of that sage Indian chief who mourned pollution... "BHF."

Sugar Bear, Where Have You Gone?

2005-09-27T00:06:00.000-04:00

I took my two oldest kids to the grocery store last night and let each of them pick out a box of cereal. Four-year-old Marshall gravitated toward a choclafied version of Pop Tarts, while six-year-old Madison wanted a bag of wheat puffs.

I refused to let her settle for a bootleg version of Super Sugar Crisp, and so I paced the cereal aisle searching in vain for Sugar Bear. I loved that bear... even when he went through that unfortunate period when he was juiced on 'Roids as "Super" Sugar Bear. I can still hear his super smooth voice... a rich baritone that danced along the letters as if he were too cool to enunciate them individually. He was like a hip version of Yogi Bear.

But do you know what? Super Sugar Crisp was nowhere to be found. Gone, I presume, to the same place my other favorites have been banished. My cry is: "Where have you gone... BooBerry, FrankenBerry and Count Chocula? Wherefore art thou Crunchberry Beast? Will you ever return- Alfie the Alphabits Dog, or Nasty McEvil (who steals letters so kids can't spell their name)? "

I also miss the Hamburgler, Mayor McCheese, the Fry Guys, and in my loneliest times... Early Bird. I am left only with a sleeker, less true, Ronald McDonald - his hair slicked back, and no longer the disheleved mess of a loveable clown's. His voice has even changed, just has Tony the Tiger's and Bob the Builder's have. I'm no big fan of Bob's, but I think it a miscarriage of childhood that my dear young Madison can spot the difference in Bob's voice from early episodes to today. Why can't these vocal artists have enough respect for their craft to sign lifelong contracts? You owe it to the kids gentlemen, you owe it to the kids!

Once, in grade school, Ronald McDonald visited my cousin's school, and my mom eagerly brought her three young children out to see him on a wintry Minnesota night... and I was delighted! He spoke to a crowded auditorium on a school night - and I felt like I'd sneaked into a sold-out concert, getting to move in on my cousin's turf like that.

Today I see so little of Lucky the Leperachaun, the Trix Rabbit, the Honey Nut Bee, Dig 'Em, Toucan Sam, the Nestle Quik Rabbit, Tony Jr., Snap, Crackle and Pop (did you know Snap originated eight years before Crackle and Pop?), Poppy the Porcupine, the Cocoa Crispies Elephant, Cap'n Crunch, the Keebler Elves, the Jolly Green Giant, Sonny the Cuckoo Bird, the 1970's Burger King, and the Cookie Crisp Crook. As I recall, the greatest of these characters were the ones that went apopoleptic at the mere mention of their favorite product's name. It is a travesty that these television friends have been put to pasture. The clever character continuity they created formed an indelible bond between myself and whatever I was being sold. Perhaps this was the evil genius of corporate America, but I miss it so.

every group needs a Stu...

2005-09-22T20:18:00.000-04:00

I've always believed, that every network of friends, collection of colleagues, organization and family should be represented by a Stu. Not a Stuart, mind you, but a dude who goes by the name of "Stu."

Don't ask me why, it just feels right.

Stu is the guy who has sandy, devil-may-care hair and is more apt to be barefoot than be shod in any particular footwear. He's funny, but not a comedian. He's handsome, but not the best of the bunch. He's got broad shoulders and wears loose-fitting shirts. He's boisterous and lively and drifts in and out of the group. Never the leader, he also never follows. He tends to excite members of the group, has a contagious personality and always manages to get others motivated and organized around grand schemes and big ideas.

After pulling off an amazing party or fund-raiser, Stu disappears. He remains universally liked by everyone, but not attached to anyone. The group goes on and thrives in his absence, then just as soon as he's missed, he's back again, lighting a new charge into the group.

Stu is an enigma. But I believe no group is complete without him. But I believe Stu is not just a type, he is purely and wholly, "Stu." In fact, I believe in the Tao of Stu so much, I have even encouraged Stu-like members of past circles I've been associated with - to change their name to something more appropriate for the group. Never have they cooperated, but at least I've tried.

2005-09-20T23:09:00.000-04:00

In the July issue of GQ, Alan Richman writes about his 23,750 mile trek around the U.S. in search of the best burgers in the country. He ate 162 burgers in 93 eateries and came up with a top 20 list.

Unfortunately, the closest establishment to me is way down in Hollywood, Florida - just a few minutes drive from where I used to live - but of course I knew nothing about this place back when the information could have done me some good! Anyway, this very intriguing treck got me wondering about what I would be willing to travel the country tasting. Now mind you, I'm already a sucker for travel, goofy ideas about travel, and writing about travel - so I'm on board even if we're eating ostrich eggs.

But for the rest of you - think about it: What could you put up with eating ad nauseum for weeks on end? Richman claims he ate as many as six burgers a day and never grew tired of the fare; what would make you say the same?

I could easily exhibit that kind of fortitude for ice cream, but I'm not sure I could tackle anything else, realistically. Not for cake, pie, or hamburgers. All too heavy, I just couldn't eat them multiple times a day. Soda, fruits, and vegetables, yes, but there's not enough varieties and differences per restaurant for that to work. Popcorn? No. Licorice? No, and not enough different establishments. Pasta? No, I'd get tired of it. Bread? My wife could do that, easy, but not me. Pizza? Maybe for two weeks, but not two months.

Perhaps the difficulty of this test is somehow connected to my passion for ordering something different off the menu everytime I go to a restaurant. I'm just never in the mood for the same thing, nor do I want to get stuck in a rut. This is off the subject, but I once had a bacon streak going. In this streak, I managed to eat some form of bacon every day for something like twelve days in a row. I even think I did five straight meals with bacon...

Meatloaf? Nah. Salad? Perhaps I could do that, given an assortment of meats, leaves and toppings. I like salads, but I've been trying to eat at least one a day since May and I think I've probably had 30 total, so that little plan isn't working...

Fish? I think I could do fish. I just don't often have the opportunity to eat it so I've never been "tested," plus the cost is higher on that puppy, than it would be on other fantasy food forays. Okay, so I have three potential foods I could base trips on... Ice cream, salad and fish.

So what have you come up with?

My Favorite Teams Have Ugly Colors

2005-09-17T15:07:00.000-04:00

I'm a big sports fan, and while I don't LOVE sports fan apparel, I do enjoy having a few ballcaps and t-shirts of my favorite teams. But here's the catch: My favorite teams all have ugly colors! Take my all-time favorite sports team: The Minnesota Vikings. Colors: Purple and Gold. And while I do think they're uniforms look sharp and imposing - I personally don't want to wear a purple polo shirt. And I have a number of Vikings ballcaps, but I never seem to wear them because they don't match anything else I own.

My favorite college team is the Syracuse Orange. Orange? Enough said.

The Minnesota Twins, Florida Marlins and Boston Red Sox are my favorite baseball teams. The Twins have always had some of the worst branding and I rarely like anything about their look (though the colors are okay: Red, White and Blue), the Marlins have an obnoxious logo, while the Red Sox - finally, we have a winner - feature a classic, appreciable design. Old school all the way.

A few other teams I follow, though not with the same passion, are the Minnesota Timberwolves, the Miami Heat, the Georgia Tech Yellowjackets, Georgia Bulldogs, Miami Dolphins, Green Bay Packers and New England Patriots. Of these, I like the logos of both GT and UGA with their mascots of "Buzz" and the bulldog, respectively. GT has some challenges with it's gold, but the Georgia colors are pretty nice. The Dolphins and Packers present some challenges, but ever since the Patriots re-did their look, they've been fine.

You may wonder why I follow so many teams, and the answer has a lot to do with how many places I've lived, and what was going on in my life at the time. I'll write more on who I root for why, another time.

clowns who drive...

2005-09-12T17:52:00.000-04:00

One thing which never fails to crack me up is a clown driving a car. To be driving my own car, turn to the side, and see a clown operating a motor vehicle beside me, is so incongruous - I have to chortle.

For one, clowning is kind of a lost art. You just don't see them around much anymore. And when you do, you expect them at a child's birthday party or "Family Night" at the Chic Fil A, but not out doing something real people do. I think the fact that I have so rarely seen a clown driving a car - also makes it funny.

Saturday, I had a clown-driving sighting. I was pulling into Burger King with the kids, and I saw two clowns pulling out in their sedan - I almost lost it. Then about 30 minutes later- on the same road- I saw two clowns driving past me (I think they were the same ones, possibly lost and trying to find the birthday party they were due at - wouldn't you expect a clown to be incompetent with directions?) - and I almost did a spit-take.

I have never laughed so hard as the time I was driving my mother and sister somewhere in my early twenties. We were taking a backroad through upstate New York and had lost our way. No one was around, the scenery was beautiful, but we were asking ourselves how to get back to a main road. Suddenly out of nowwhere, I look in the rearview mirror and there's a clown solo driving in a car behind me. Our eyes locked, and I lost it. My passengers quickly caught on and we all were in tears, wondering why this clown was following 10 feet behind us in the middle of nowwhere. The clown lost it, too, seeing us laughing at her. We shared a moment together that day with all clowns, I believe. A moment when an interloper like myself was let in on the secret of why they clown, and the hope and joy they aspire to bring to so many. Odd though, how clowns so often elicit fear and hysteria from the very objects of their attention. My two oldest children were horrified at the sight of a clown when they were toddlers...

And now in the spirit of full-disclosure, I must come clean with you (as would a journalist writing about a subsidiary owned by his newspaper)... I once was a clown. Once. I was taking a college course in "Drama Ministry" and we covered "Clowning" in the curriculum. We were required to dress the part, apply our own makeup and name ourselves. I have no idea the name I chose, but I felt so self-concious on our trip to a children's daycare. We performed a series of mute sketches, paraded around, and waddled off - but my heart wasn't in it. Pity we walked to the performance, it would have been great to actually have been a clown in a car myself...

2005-09-10T10:54:00.000-04:00

book I just finished:
Just One Look

Just One Look opens with domesticity personified, as our protagonist, Grace Lawson, picks up a package of prints from the local photoshop. This mother of two finds a curious picture mixed within her photos of a family trip to the apple orchard. This print, clearly taken some years ago, shows five college-aged kids (two men, three women) in a fun-loving candid. However, one of the women has a big "X" drawn through her face, and upon closer inspection, Grace realizes that it's her own husband who stands next to the mystery woman in the photo.

From there the plot moves from Grace's search for the truth about the photograph to her husband's strange abduction, uncovering Jack Lawson's past, and Grace's own complicated history. In the process, we meet a wonderfully sinister character named Eric Wu. Wu uses no weapon, but fells the strongest of men. He also displays no convictions or inner turmoils which results in a fairly one-dimensional character but there is just enough mystery in his ruthlessness to keep you interested. Another character I enjoyed, was a nosey neigbor who noodles her way into trouble, but ends up playing a small role as a heroine, too.

Coben's main characters are adequate, while his smaller characters are more interesting. Another thing a bit below par is the interior monologues Grace has with herself and the simplicity of the dialogues and narratives, but the thrills of this multi-layered plot prevail.

In the end, the mystery contained within is compelling and as the twists and turns accelerate, I discovered a very gratifying story. This, my first Harlan Coben book, exceeded my expectations so much so, that I am already finishing up another of his books. Grade: B+

can you flush the toilet?

2005-09-09T20:31:00.000-04:00

There are non-flushers among us, and it's beyond disgusting. I honestly wonder what these people are thinking. Are they just absent-minded? Afraid to touch the germy handle? Do they think they're leaving a gift for us all to enjoy? Is there a level of pride in the quantity or hue of their craftsmanship?

One theory I have that I must believe is valid, is the "Old School Theory." In this theory, I propose that someone born in the first half of the last century, raised in a rural area where water was either seriously conserved or unavailable as indoor plumbing, now thinks we should all work together and minimize our flushes. If we can all use the toilet two or three times between flushes, we'll save the earth's water for everyone!

Okay, possible.

But does this person EVER notice they're the only one who doesn't flush? That there is no team movement for conservation going on? At least post a memo telling us about your plan. Instead, you assume you can always posit in the pure tank, while we must add to your disgusting brew. Please, please, for the sake of us all: FLUSH!

2005-09-05T11:14:00.000-04:00

Movie Review: "Red Eye"
Chic Flick Thriller
"Red Eye" features a terrific premise and a winning starlet, and stars the screen creep of the summer (see "Batman Begins"), Cillian Murphy. It also features cliches and hollow execution, masked as wit and substance. Rachel McAdams plays Lisa Reisert, a woman unflinchingly solid in her job as a manager at an exclusive Miami hotel. Attempting to catch a late flight from Dallas to Miami, she meets Jackson Rippner (Murphy). Rippner is supposed to project one-part mystery and two-parts charm, but it's hard to see how any woman would let down her guard with this stranger. After drinks in the airport lounge, the two characters are surprised to find they're seated next to each other on the flight to Miami. Rippner it turns out, is a terrorist whose been following Reisert, intent on getting her to use her pull to move the secretary of homeland security from one room in her hotel, to another. A battle of wits ensues between a young woman of strength and this menace, and the intrigue and suspense usually work. What does not work, is McAdams' father, played by Brian Cox. Cox' character is in jeopardy - his life a bargaining chip to ensure that McAdams makes the call to her hotel. But Cox seems to be wearing a false beard and toupee, and comes across as creepy as the villain in the picture. There's also an unsure hotel employee, guided by McAdams over the phone, who comes off like an imitation of Jan Brady in "The Brady Bunch Movie" - in the most explosive scene in the movie, she is running around so wide-eyed it leaves an impression of silliness. The movie winds up a little too-neatly, making a statement more for girl power than legitimate drama. Grade: C

book I just finished: Dead Even by Brad Meltzer

2005-09-05T11:03:00.000-04:00

Meltzer is promoted as the next John Grisham, but as this book confirms he is still in the bush leagues. Dead Even is interesting enough to get you through your evenings, but ultimately not much of a thriller. Meltzer divides the action up between an ADA-wife and her prosector-husband, but one only need referece Jeffrey Archer for a true master at split stories. This is my third Meltzer book, and while each has a terrific premise, they all fall short of taut, edge-of-your-seat adventures. The wrong-doers are brought to justice here, too long after their menacing edge has withered away.

Grade: B-

2005-08-29T22:51:00.000-04:00

Why I Don't Wear A Watch

I don't want to be burdened by the construct that is time. I want to live for the moment and not have it measured by the relentless cycling of the second hand. Each experience doesn't need to be framed by a unit and marked forever. And though I know we must all agree to use this little agent so we can make our appointments, I will make it serve me, not I it.

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I've tried watches, but I feel much better without a strap pinched around my wrist. I am relaxed, and I am John. Odd though, I love the face of a watch, I even have a small collection - in a box in my closet. I like clocks, too. Just not when they're running.

It Boggles the Mind...

2005-08-26T22:28:00.000-04:00

Madcap, ambidextrous, silly, naked, versatile, and of course... curious! Who could resist the whimsical charms of that naughty little monkey, Curious George? Oh what fun we had as children following his harrowing adventures to their loving conclusion featuring the unconditional love and forgiveness of the Man with the Yellow Hat. Funny how George was never told his name. Certainly he didn't call the Man with the Yellow Hat (who we'll call "Mellohat") by his full fake-name! He must have employed some kind of handle when he spoke to him. Like after marriage, when your spouse's actual name becomes less and less used... replaced intead by handles, nicknames, and shortcuts... such as: "Honey," "Hon," "Hey you," and a low gutteral sound I don't know how to spell. So I'm thinking: Perhaps George developed a handle for Mellohat? Of course if you notice, George never speaks (only shrieks) in the books, so maybe a name wasn't necessary. Well I've got this doorstop called, The Complete Adventures of Curious George, and my daughter's been wanting a story from it every night. Boy, does it bring back memories! Say, why do we arbritarily say "Boy, Man, Girl-FRIEND..." as an expression? Why not "Monkey, Celery Stick, or Paint Can" for that matter? But I digress. Ah yes, memories... Reading Curious George brings back memories. What a delightful series! But one thing troubled me tonight as I read, Curious George Flies a Kite. It was this: George is blustering about high in the air, the victim of his own darn curiousity and a runaway kite. The stakes are high, and there is no way out. When suddenly, in swoops Mellohat piloting a helicopter - all by himself! After much derry-doo, George is hoisted aboard via a line from the chopper, and all is well as George adopts a bunny in the final scenes. But I ask this: George is flying fast through the skies, so the boy who was with him bikes back across town to tell Mellohat, who, on THE VERY NEXT PAGE is rescuing George in the copter! HOW, I ask? Forget that there has been absolutely no foreshadowing whatsoever that Mellohat even had such skills, but it is impossible for him to have the time to get to his local airstrip, gas up his helicopter, be cleared for takeoff, get up safely in that headwind, AND find George before he leaves the time zone! I am sorry H.A. Rey, but THAT I cannot believe!