Bucket O' Hank

Underwater Photography: The Digital Revolution

2012-01-26T00:01:00.002-10:00

Don't worry, I still suck at underwater photography. Switching from film to digital simply allows me to suck more, and more rapidly, than I did before. Even a broken stopwatch is right once an hour, and coincidentally, that's about the success rate of my salt water picture adventures. So, here's the result of a lot of hours in the water. Shallow, clear water on sunny days with minimal swell. Most (O.K. all) of the names I made up. Yes, I have the guides and use them in a fairly dorky fashion, marking my sightings with the date in the margin. I just feel like the namers of a lot of these creatures missed some opportunities, that's all.

Wai'opae (Kapoho) Tide Pools

The Olive Garden Urchin (featuring unlimited bread sticks)

The Fluorescent Sideslasher


An angry flock of Poke'ums


A pair of Lone-Ranger Ripplefish

A Speckled Cruiser taking refuge amongst the Superfluous Nipple Coral


Watch out! A Daring Drabfish about to not be captured by the Silly String Worm

Kekaha Kai State Park

The Yellowstripe Shuttlefish

The Calico Coral Creeper

The Ruffled Suckerpunch... and a magnificent specimen at that

Look Out! It's a Pepper Snake!

A Herd of Stripey Shingleshells

The seldom-photographed Fangtoothed Scorpionwidowsnapper

And finally, a juvenile Hypno-wrasse. That shit is Coconuts with two Ks and a Z.

Haaaaaaank. Post piiiiiiiiiiiiiiictures of me on the iiiiiiiiiiinternet.

While I have you, let me update you on the political situation. Remember that plastic bag ban that I was spending so much time working toward? It passed. Remarkable! I've lost so many political battles that I've become accustomed to losing (sound of me fake sneezing while shouting "beachalcoholban"). I had resigned myself to the fact that I would always be in the minority. Now a tiny part of my faith in our political system has been restored.

I should build off this momentum. I should take up another cause and see of this is a trend or a fluke. I'm going to aim bigger this time. I'm going to try to work on the biggest problem facing our country. The problem that was already the root of all evil, and then the Supreme Court went ahead and made it much, much worse...

... by authorizing unlimited, anonymous donations of money to political campaigns.

Alright, let's do this! How about we start with one of the most fearsome and effective tools in the political strategist's kit: the online petition. That'll get 'em shaking in their boots! Sign it today and pass it on. Then sign all the other petitions out there for the same thing. Seriously, there are a lot.

Boba Fett and a Dancing Nanner

2012-01-23T14:38:00.001-10:00

GREAT football season, everyone. The best I can remember in a long time. The Huskies continued to improve their record, winning seven this year, and managed to score 56 points in a bowl game. Next year we'll work on putting a defense on the field as well. Watch for that. My expectations for the Broncos season were somewhere waaaaaay below winning the AFC West, beating Pittsburgh in a playoff game, and driving every football fan everywhere crazy. I'm ecstatic about that. WIN. I'm not crazy about the Superbowl match-up, I feel like we might have seen this one before, but when am I ever excited about the Superbowl match-up? I can't complain about two exciting championship games to close the season. And I won $3 betting on them. WIN.

Now we enter the great sports drought of the year: February. Get some work done, make your significant others feel special again, and take a breather. You are going to need all that energy for March Madness:

...and speaking of Boba, I'm embarrassed to say I watched the entirety of the follow video. It's strangely compelling. You can't help but wonder what medium will be used to portray the next 10 seconds of the movie.

10 MVP moments, in no particular order:

1) All of the dogs playing the roll of Chewbaca (throughout, but for example 1:04:11).
2) The team acting out scenes on the beach, especially the woman with a pie-tin stuffed in her tank top in the roll of C3PO (first seen at 17:40).
3) Anyone who included the liberal use of Star Trek uniforms into their costume designs (36:22).
4) Storm troopers played by infants (04:41).
5) Jabba the Hut played by pregnant ladies (52:51).
6) Greedo speaking Italian and French (49:29).
7) The interactions between Alderon and the Death Star (56:15).
8) People who hum along to the soundtrack (throughout, for example 33:25 or 1:04:40).
9) Cats! (18:23)
10) This guy (13:58)

and Some awards:

Best Luke: 1:09:55
Best Luke (animated): 20:38
Best Luke (muffin-related): 1:42:00
Best Han Solo: 1:01:38
Best C3PO: 22:06
Best R2D2: 20:22
Best Leia: 1:36:14
Best Obi-wan (tie): 32:40 and 1:01:27
Best Darth (tie) : 1:29:43 and 37:20
Best Chewy: 1:32:10
Best Imperial General / Best actor overall: 1:35:43

Party Rock

2012-01-22T00:18:00.000-10:00

Tiki Tours, Inc.

Invoice #3799VC8

Ween & Breakfast Cereals We Don't Like

Itinerary for travel between 01-10-12 and 01-16-12

Tuesday, January 10th

Depart home city on deluxe, economy-class air travel to Honolulu, HI
Enjoy a five hour layover + extensive flight delays in Hawaii's capital city. Optional tours include: a) take a taxi to a local tiki bar and get wasted, and b) sit in the airport.
Depart Honolulu on deluxe, economy-class air travel to Hilo, HI
Enjoy a complimentary Poke and Coquito reception at your two-star plantation accommodations featuring unlimited bananas. Bring your own hot sauce.

Wednesday, January 11th

Smoothie breakfast buffet.
Amble through the famous Hilo Farmers Market for produce, snacks, gifts, aloha shirts and tiki-themed memorabilia.
Stroll through the lovely Lili'okalani Gardens and nearby Banyan Drive.
In the afternoon, embark on a tour of colorful and rustic Puna district, including tide pool snorkeling, hot pond soak, lava tree state park, and Pahoa margaritas.
Dine at Miyo's Japanese Restaurant.
After dinner drinks at Hale Inu sports bar.

Thursday, January 12th

Breakfast at KHOP.
Morning tour of the Hilo Post Office to ship the gigantic puffer-fish lamp you undoubtedly purchased the day before.
Lunch at the Hilo Burger Joint.
Afternoon Turtle Encounter at Carlsmith Beach Park. (Note: Wildlife harrasment fines are not the responsibility of Tiki Tours, Inc.)
Daiquiri-thirty at the plantation.
Karaoke Encounter at Kim's Karaoke with the local gang. You will be made to sing. Explore all three stages of Kim's, and discover a heretofore unknown fourth level.

Friday, January 13th 

Portuguese sausage omelets and hash brown breakfast.
Mildly uncomfortable ground transfer to Kailua-Kona, Hawaii in the back of a truck. Bring your own words with friends, and your own drinking water.
Evening seaside tiki-drinks reception at Don the Beachcomber, Royal Kona Resort.
Shop for tiki artifacts at Kona "farmers" market.
Jumbling towers (generic, poorly-made Jenga) and Daiquiri-drinking tournament.
Receive first noise complaints from neighboring condos.

 Saturday, January 14th

Moderately uncomfortable jumpseat sunrise tour of South Kona and Ka'u districts. Early morning welcome reception in Waiohinu City Park.
Ka'u Coast "uncharted" 4-wheel drive tour. Unlimited free plastic.
Extremely uncomfortable jumpseat offroad tour of the Ka'u Coastline and Green Sand Beach. (Note:Words with Friends or NFL playoff scores may not be available during this portion.)
Dak-thirty back in Kailua-Kona.
Early evening tiki-drinks at Okolemaluna Tiki Bar.
Dinner at Humpy's humpback whale alehouse.
Late evening disgusting tiki-drinks at Huggo's on the Rocks, featuring live music from Mystic Riddims.
Really late evening drinks with a group of drugged-out teens in an otherwise abandoned Kokonutz Nightclub. Learn the "upside-down bootyquake". Party Rock.
Jumbling Towers and Daiquiri-drinking tournament.

Sunday, January 15th

Bacon Omelets, Tots, and Packers Brunch.
Real tiki tour of Pu'uhonua O Honaunau.
Suntanning and rip current adventure, Magic Sands Beach.
Afternoon tiki drinks at Don the Beachcomber's, Royal Kona Resort. Graduate to "5 anchor" level drinks such as the "Zombie".
Die. Reanimate. Arise to Gloria Estefan covers played by an old man with a xylophone. Defeat the purpose of ordering a "tasters" array of drinks by drinking them all simultaneously through four straws. Ask for check.
Dinner at Kona Brewing Company.
Volcano-bowl drinking competition at Okolemaluna Tiki Bar. Shop for tiki mugs.
Sorry (the boardgame) and Daiquiri-drinking tournament.

Monday, January 16th

Morning itinerary is completely unguided. Figure out your own tiki shit. We're on break.
Afternoon trip to Kehaka Kai State Park for sunbathing and snorkeling.
Look, we can't drink anymore tiki drinks. We've got to go.
Abandonment in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii.

Hare Hare

2012-01-07T23:14:00.006-10:00

The last several times we've gone out to the canal, we've selected, in a decidedly undemocratic way, a cassette tape to set the tone for the weekend. It all started when someone put in some Patsy Cline one year, and when side A finished, someone yelled "tape flip!" to request side B. Then when that side finished, someone yelled "tape flip!" to request side A again, and so on. That someone was usually the Bard.

I'm not quite sure what it is about this ritual that compels us to continue, no matter how little we want to hear Walking After Midnight for the 12th time. But we flip the tape. And once we flip it a few times, it's like there's no going back. The momentum builds and the tape doesn't leave the devil's radio, until, mercifully, we close up the cabin for another year.

The year after that was Gordon Lightfoot, I believe. That was one of my favorites. We had a Neil Diamond year, and I think a Willie Nelson Stardust weekend in there too. Last summer it was Genesis Invisible Touch. Each cassette imparts each trip with its own special flavor.

This trip, for no particular reason, it was our boy George Harrison's turn. Hit it George.

No matter how fired up he gets, George Harrison is still pretty relaxing. I think that's what he brought to the table this year.

Clusters and I made a mess of our usual holiday traditions, reversing our annual Christmas Day pilgrimage from Southeast to the Island. We drove the other way! Dinner in the dub-dub. Insanity. From there we swept due west on the 28th, heading back to the Oregon Coast - former land of New Year's Eve glory. There we reunited with the whole clan for a good 30 hours. We made the most of it.

Oh, and look who replaced his lost camera.

On the 30th it was through Portland to pick up Irish Spring and Jackie Joyner-Kersee, and then a late night rendezvous with the Bard and the Shotgunner in Belfair. There we bought $60 in Gruyere Cheese (I'm not making that up) and continued on for an uneventful cabin de-winterizing. Hooks and his new delightful lady friend joined us even later. Let's call her "Dexter" to protect her identity and to celebrate the fact that she travels with a selection of very sharp knives rolled up in a black carrying case. Not making that up either. Background check is pending.

The Bard and I ran through a dress-rehearsal of our New Year's Eve set, featuring new special guest vocalists. Then we chatted for awhile, before noting that it was 4:50 am. Bedtime.

In the morning I made breakfast sandwiches, and then we set out for a hike. Normally we shun the forest for seafood collection activities, but I've gotten lazy in my old age. We played the "left or right" game on uplands trails, in which you ask people that have no idea where they are whether it would be better to go left or right at any given fork. Eventually, you end tromping through the brush or hilariously sliding down fallen logs. Luckily "down" is always the eventual right answer when you get sick of the game, and we descended the draw past the ice cube and down the two creeks driveway. Walking back along the beach, the Bard, Irish Spring, and I opened up some oysters.

It had been FOR-EVER since I'd eaten one of those raw. I used to like them, but started to shy away in my later years. Then opening hundreds of them for research in polluted southern California estuaries did not help the cause. But I just figured I'd try one this time. I forgot you weren't supposed to chew. Still, it wasn't too bad. Spring forgot to swallow his. His throat just wouldn't let it go down.

Back at the cabin our final couple had arrived, the Grizz and his new delightful lady friend. It's been a big year for coupling I guess. The singles are dwingling.

They brought an old family recipe called Glüg. It appears to be port and bourbon stewed in holiday spices, then roasted in 151-proof rum and sugar cubes. It is, I find, not to be messed with - much like the Grizz's home state of Texas. He left a nalgene of it under the sink for next year. Help yourself. I'm told it never goes bad.

Dexter and Hooks collected more oysters and prepared them on the half shell with some sort of sauce and accoutrements. These were EXCELLENT. I'm back on raw oysters. Especially when paired with the bottle of Patron that Knievel gave me for Christmas. I'm not making up how good this pairing is. I have witnesses.

For dinner Hooks n' Dexter prepared a gourmet twist on some American classics: the hamburger and mac n' cheese. I think that is where the $60 in Gruyere comes in. After dinner we celebrated the Bard's belated birthday, as is the tradition, and then had to roll right into New Year's Eve. Kind of an abbreviated schedule this year.

Approximate New Year's Eve Set List:

Song	By	Featuring	Comments
Learning to Fly	Tom Petty		Only to annoy Clusters
Ruby	Kenny Rodgers		Starting off so sad!
Home Sweet Home	Motley Crüe	Clusters	A new classic!
Outta My System	My Morning Jacket		So screamy. So good.
Molly's Chambers	Kings of Leon
On the Road Again	Willie Nelson	4x4 via teleconference	Success!
These Dreams	Heart	Baby NYE via teleconference	Shunned! Hung up on!
Diamond Joe	Traditional		Better come get me!
We Can Work It Out	Beatles
Use Me Up	Bill Withers	the Irish Spring
Dead Flowers	Rolling Stones	the Irish Spring	By the ma-iiiiiiil.
Piece of Mind	Boston
Someone's Missing	MGMT
Pieces of What	MGMT		Rock Block!!!!!
Sissyneck	Beck	My Rhinestone Life

And then you know the rest. Down to the beach for a bonfire and a swim. This time with party horn blowers! So festive! The tide dashed any hopes of having the first aerial-entry baptism via rope swing ... but there's always next year. I guess dashed hopes are better than dashed brains. We had our usual four dudes - Me, Hooks, the Bard, except Spring had to fill in for 4x4. Plus, we had a lady swimmer! Dexter went in. I can't remember the last time we had one of those. Maybe since the Bug on Whidbey Island in 2007?

This year I thought I'd give the reader a special window into the world of late night polar bear swims. Someone, I'm not sure who, submitted this video of a similar event. Definitely not our event, because I have no idea who this mystery narrator is or the people to whom he refers. Anyway, our event is somewhat similar to this one, except more dignified, reverent, and speak-in-complete-sentences-y.

Now back to the George:

In the morning Clusters cooked an eggy breakfast for everyone, whist Spring prepared his personal rasher of bacon. Hooks and Dexter had missed the hike yesterday, so we returned to the uplands for more bushwhacking. This time we climbed to the area formerly known as camp mossy, and then continued to the area formerly known as Frog Bog (before the clear cut, which makes mossy glades and mysterious wetlands very difficult to sustain).

We tried for a while to find a loop back down to the main road, but as the sun sank low, and all logging roads kept directing us the wrong way, we decided to dead head home. We missed the "trail" from camp mossy and ended up surfing down waves of huckleberry until we hit the main road at twilight. Back at the cabin it was game night, featuring Yachtzee and Pilgrimidge.The Shotgunner dominated the dice, but I was able to make it to Jerusalem first.

Hooks and Dex had little time to recuperate from our epic whack through the woods, because there were sauteed greens, sweet potato mashers, and encrusted pork loins to be prepared. I feel like we've finally got the hang of the new wood stove, and proved it by roasting a loin at exactly 350 for an extended period in the oven. Delicious.

We re-winterized in the morning and headed for Belfair to debrief at a local sports bar. The pillar of the community, a bar called the Looney Bin, is now for sale. We audibled to Casey's across the street, and, it turns out to be better anyway. From there we all went our separate ways to separate states, hoping to each have our own very merry and Tebow-y 2012.

That's How It Works

2012-01-03T00:21:00.004-10:00

Is it a coincidence that there are 12 professional football teams that made the playoffs this year, and 12 republican presidential candidates entering the Iowa Caucuses tonight? I think not. I’m not exactly sure what it means, but it probably has something to do with a Mayan prophecy of some sort. If Tim Tebow wins the Super bowl and Michele Bachmann becomes president, we’ll know I’m right…

… and that we are seriously fucked.

The key to unraveling this DaVinci-code-ian mystery, and saving the world from destruction, is to match the candidates with their representative teams before it’s too late.

Don’t worry guys. I got this.

Michelle Bachmann (50 to 1) / Denver Broncos (80 to 1)

I’ll start with the easiest one. When you watch Tim throw the football, and listen to Michelle speak, you get the same, exact feeling. It’s one part amazement, one part bewilderment, and three parts amusement (shaken over ice at high altitudes). How can you not love them? They are both popular with evangelicals, and both don’t have a prayer in the playoff-primaries … unless a higher force intervenes, which is looking increasingly likely. For awhile there, they were all anybody could talk about. Now, after a few stumbles, suddenly, the pundits are silent. This is more alarming than anything. A calm before the apocalyptic storm, if you will.

Newt Gingrich (11 to 1) / Detroit Lions (50 to 1)

The last time either of these two were relevant, Clinton was president. On the surface, they both look like great teams / candidates. But then you look a little deeper, and are shocked at the lack of a run game / marital fidelity, you have trouble picturing them winning anything, anywhere. Why are they relevant again? Mostly because they’ve been stomping on people in debates / football games.

Hey, at least it’s an identity.

Mitt Romney (2 to 1) / New England Patriots (3.5 to 1)

I know, I already made this comparison last election cycle. But it still works. No one actually likes them, mainly because of their hair. But many begrudgingly think that they have the best chance to keep up with the scoring / fund-raising machines of the Packers and Obamas in the final contest.

The way to beat the Mittatriots, according to conventional wisdom, is to control the clock and get them both on the defensive. When Mitt gets defensive, he demonstrates how just out-of-touch he is (anybody have 10,000 dollars to bet on that?). Sadly, I don’t see any team in the AFC / republican primaries that can do that continuously for all 60 minutes / primary season. Sigh.

Barack Obama (5 to 6) / Green Bay Packers (1.95 to 1)

Wait, what? Barack’s not a republican candidate for president? You could have fooled me, looking at his economic team (Buuurn!). Oh well. Both of these two won last time around, and there are a lot of reasons to believe they’ll win it again. I’m not buying any stock just yet.

Herman Cain (no odds) / Pittsburgh Steelers (12 to 1)

Both seem to enjoy numerology. Both have served suspensions in the past because of their love for the ladies. Cain “suspended” his campaign over the issue, but it looks like the Stihlers are going to soldier on and try to win theirs.

Rick Perry (35 to 1) / New Orleans Saints (4.75 to 1)

Drew Brees broke Dan Marino’s single-season passing record this season, while Rick Perry broke George W. Bush’s record for being the stupidest-sounding Texas Governor in presidential debates. And both Brees and Perry are apparently pilots. George W. Bush is not, by the way. On paper, both seem like sure-bet champions. Strangely, though, when you send them into Qwest Field against a team with a losing record and ample Skittles, or put them under the lights in Iowa, they don’t quite get the job done. I wish I knew why.

Tim Pawlenty (no odds) / San Francisco 49ers (11.5 to 1)

Tim Pawlenty was so boring that he dropped out of the race after the Iowa Straw Poll last summer. No one noticed. Sadly, just as many people will notice when the 49er's “magical” season comes to an end after they lose their only playoff game. I think they may have had the most unremarkable, field-goaly, 13-3 season ever. I’m glad it’s nearly over.

Ron Paul (12 to 1) / Baltimore Ravens (8.5 to 1)

To paraphrase Utah Phillips, talking to a republican is kind of like talking to your refrigerator. The door opens, the light goes on; the door shuts, the light goes off. It doesn’t get a lot more nuanced than that. I get a similar feeling interacting with Ravens fans and Ron Paul supporters. There’s just no debating them. Because they are right.

Except about a few things, like Joe Flacco and the Gold Standard. But whatever.

Mike Huckabee (no odds) / New York Giants (18 to 1)

Another retread from my former post, sorry. But that doesn’t change the fact that both of them should be totally in this right now, and aren’t. They must be kicking themselves.

John Huntsman (22 to 1) / Cincinnati Bengals (80 to 1)

The “Red Rifle” and the “Peppy Priesthoodholder”* are long-shots, yes. And both have MUCH more viable teams/candidates in their division / cult, but if it were up to me, these would be the ones hauling in the victories. Dalton! Tebow! It’s the AFC championship Game from Invesco Field at Mile High!

That was fun to say.

* Note: Not all nicknames may have existed before I typed them just now.

Rick Santorum (100 to 1) / Atlanta Falcons (40 to 1)

All season, both of them should have been doing better than they were. Now suddenly they are hot shit and winning stuff. It’s perplexing. I hope it doesn’t last.

Buddy Roemer (no odds) / Houston Texans (45 to 1)

Not accepting anything more than $100 in donations from any one person is kind of like making a playoff run with your third-string quarterback. Noble? Yes. Advisable? No. I’m rooting for you guys. Go get ‘em. And no matter how badly T.J. Yates gets injured, do not, I repeat, do not put Jake Delhomme in the game.

Donald Trump (50 to 1) / New York Jets (no odds)

Man, I wish you could run in the NFL playoffs as a third-conference candidate. I’m going to miss Rex this year.

Enjoy the playoffs. And for the record, I truly believe that Tim Tebow will lead us to victory. Because if you don't truly believe in Santa Claus, Santa Claus ain't gonna bring you no presents. That's how it works.

In Your Face

2011-12-10T16:42:00.002-10:00

Man, it's been hard to keep my feelings about Tim Tebow off the internet. Especially with so little Tebow-related content available these days. Won't any one out there take the time to share their thoughts on this obscure quarterback?

Not me. I don't want to jinx anything.

(As an aside, I am definitely part of the problem with the media coverage. I'm not referring to this piece, because I'm not really a "medium", and even calling this a "piece" is a stretch. I'm referring to the fact that I have read hundreds of articles about him. They are all the same, essentially, everyone's got their own little take, but I still can't get enough. I click. I have a problem. And just like all the crap out there, they keep making it if we keep reading it. Some one at ESPN is probably saying "enough with the Tebow!", but someone else is showing that person the statistics on the number of clicks a Tebow headline gets, and the first person is shaking his/her head and shutting the hell up.)

It's interesting how much sway superstition can have on an otherwise rational person. My instinct is to avoid bringing up Tim during the win streak, especially while we have a shot at the playoffs. It's begging to be jinxed. As soon as you (publicly) buy-in, that's when it all blows up in your face. Even though science hasn't yet worked out the mechanism that changes on-the-field events happening 1,000s of miles away, my actions could ruin everything.

My wife got me a broncos T-shirt for our anniversary, and I put it on the Sunday of the Chargers game. The game, in my mind, Denver had to have, not only for the win but for the division and conference tie-breakers. The game I promised my self I wouldn't get my expectations up for the playoffs unless we won. Watching a team start 6 - 0 and then go 2 - 8 will teach you not to count your chickens too early.

I didn't watch the game, because it was our anniversary weekend, but I had the shirt on and walked around nervous for the first half of the day. Perhaps sensing something off, my wife asked me again if I liked my present. "I do", I said, "I just hope I can wear it again." Yep, the shirt was a rookie, fresh out of the box, but it would face one of the biggest luckiness tests of its career.

Somehow, superstition seems to fit the Tebow situation more than normal. It's most likely because many outward signs suggest that he shouldn't be a winning quarterback. Observations (watching him play) and the resulting data (the final score) don't match up, and so certain minds turn to the mystical to help explain. My mind, surprisingly, is one of those.

Also, since every game comes down to a last-second miracle, the luck side of the game looms larger than normal. We know that most teams win about as many close games as they lose. Sometimes it seems like they get on a roll, but eventually their performance in close games regresses toward the mean. In other words, I know this is going to end, and I don't want to feel in any way responsible when it does.

But I am still technically a scientist, so I'm going to conduct this little test. I'm going to write about him, and see if it jinxes it. For the first time in forever, the Broncos are favored to win a game tomorrow. Although Tim will face a great defense and special teams (let's hope Fox learns from McHoodie's mistakes from the last time these two teams played, and Devin Hester ran back two kicks) he is facing what appears to be a miserable offense. He should win. I believe he will win. And that's usually when things go horribly wrong for me. We'll see. I guess.

My relationship with Tim really started in the 2010 draft. Of course I knew of him from the Heismans and such, but I don't follow SEC football and had no particular opinion about him. I recall amusement at watching him cry after his final college game, but thought, like most analysts, that he would have little bearing on the NFL. Fast forward to the draft:

McHoodie Junior traded up to get him at #25. I called the Irish Spring to get his reaction. Irish was out of town, and wasn't watching the draft. I sounded panicked.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"Guess who we just drafted."

"I don't know. Who?"

"What would be your worst case scenario? What player would you least like to see us make a big move up in the first round and take?"

"Uh ... I don't know. Tim Tebow? (laughing)"

"Bingo"

[silence]

And so it began. It was fun at first, especially with all the news coverage. It's nice to have your team be relevant, especially since it hadn't been since 2005. Then it slowly became clear that Kyle Orton was and would always be much better than Tim at throwing an oblong inflatable ball accurately at moving targets. And Kyle is not all that spectacular at that to begin with. I always called him "serviceable".

Despite that, I started to really take a liking to Tim. It's a complex like. I started rooting him on the same way I rooted on the career of Britney Spears. It's humorous for an adult male to enjoy Britney's music, just as it would be humorous for anyone who had ever seen a football game before to claim to like Tim's skills as a passer. The over-produced popiness, much like a ball that sails 10 yards over a receiver's head, is right there for everyone to see. I made ridiculous arguments about why Tim should be the starter, mainly to be funny, kind of like my point that Britney was the next Madonna. It was especially fun to rib real, Colorado-born Broncos fans like Irish Spring.

"If he weren't so completely inept for three and a half quarters, you wouldn't need a fourth-quarter comeback!"

"You know who they used to say that about?"

"Don't you ..."

"Elway. They used to say that about John Elway."

(sound of self-immolation, then a dial tone)

A funny thing happens, though, when you pretend to like someone long enough. You start to care. You start to appreciate the tarty music, or the game-management style. You start to believe. It's hard to say when I switched from pretend, caricature Tebow fan designed to annoy Irish Spring over to real Tebow fan. (With Britney it was probably with the release of Toxic. 'Now there's a fucking great pop song', I thought. It isn't just pretend good, it's actually good.) With Tim it may have been the touchdown run at the end of the Jets game. I was jumping up and down, hands in the air, fist pumping, the whole thing. Then I realized I was alone. You can't pretend-celebrate for humorous effect alone. If no one else is there to see it, you are really doing it. You really love that kid.

But what about the God thing? Doesn't that bother me? Definitely not. Tons of athletes are overtly religious, and some of them appear to violate their own beliefs all the time - although I don't know any professional athletes personally. I don't know Tim either, but you get the sense that he walks the walk that he talks, and has a pile of Filipino foreskins to prove it. Hypocrisy bothers me much more than a difference of opinion.

But isn't his "difference of opinion" all "in your face"? Not really, no. A couple of bible verse eye-black strips? His faith is talked about so much that it seems like he's pushing it on us. I will grant you that appearing in a super bowl ad is about as big a soap box that there is. But when you watch the add, it's no big deal. The word "abortion" is not used once. I'm sure the organization that funded the add, Focus on the Family, and I disagree on many things.

For awhile now I've been meaning to get a Tebow jersey, you know, for comic effect. I like jerseys, but also view them as a little juvenile. So buying one that's supposed to be funny strikes the right compromise for me. After Jerry Rice was on the Broncos practice squad for a month one summer, eventually realizing he wasn't going to start and then retiring, I picked up a Rice jersey. It's funny to explain to Niners fans that Jerry "wanted to end his career with a winner", a statement so egregiously inaccurate that you can watch their blood boil as they scream the truth (for instance that Jerry signed a one-day contract to retire with San Francisco, or that the last time he met the Broncos in the playoffs the score was 55 - 10 Niners).

I was going for the same effect with a Tebow jersey. A fun remembrance from when we hired that train-wreck coach and made baffling draft and personnel decisions, like trying to trade a great, proven quarterback (Cutler) for an unproven, shitty one (Cassel). And that silly time when we tried to run the option as an NFL team, and it worked for a stretch before defenses adjusted. I couldn't be seen as a fool for buying into the hype, because I would know I was wearing the jersey ironically.

Now I want to wear one unironically. What a pathetic lack of snark. Yeah, it'll still be a little funny, can't avoid that. I'm the high bidder on a nice, white one right now (I get all such things on ebay - you can get real ones for less than half regular price if you are patient). I already have a blue and an orange, so white is the next logical choice. And if you're getting the jersey of what is most likely the first virgin to ever play one down in the NFL, white seems appropriate.

Well there you have it. You can rest easy, having read another couple thousand words about Tim Tebow. You're welcome.

The Year I Got Old

2011-11-22T15:16:00.001-10:00

For about the last 12 years, I've been curious when I was going to get old. You know, officially.

You can make the case that everything happens gradually, but I believe that life does have its tipping points. In evolutionary biology, it's known as punctuated equilibria. You may have been asked to "honk" if you understand it. The rate of evolution, under the theory, is not constant. Everything goes along more-or-less the same for awhile, and then great leaps forward happen relatively quickly. "Relatively quickly" still being tens of thousands of years, by the way.

Wait, did I really think, at 22 years of age, that I would be getting old soon?

Yes.

I mean, c'mon, I didn't know. You do cross over life-lines that cannot be re-crossed. They may not be crossed overnight, but you may wake up and notice them for the first time in the morning. These dividing lines of life often restrict friend-groups, as well. You don't tend to hang out, at age 22, with a lot of people of age 28. You can see them, but they aren't really there because they've probably gotten old or something. It's light years away.

Anyway, I figured that you got old after you graduated college. You had to get a real job and stop fucking around all the time. The harsh realities of the real world would crush your soul until there was no time left to plan elaborate, nonsensical, social events. As evidence, I had a bottle of Sauza Tres Generaciones that Irish Spring gave me for graduation. The night before graduation we had a lot, and it was delicious. The night after graduation we went back to it. I had one drink and threw up in the sink. I had magically gotten old.

As it turns out, I was wrong. I was right about crossing a life-line, but I was wrong about which one.

With that theory blown, I was forced to look elsewhere for signs of aging. There were subtle differences. As I played rugby after college for a couple of teams in Seattle, the recovery time after games started to increase. Everything hurt the same, it just hurt longer. But all in all, I was pretty much still me. I figured that you probably got old when you got a permanent career job or got married. Although I still haven't got a real job, and may never, friends with them didn't seem to be that different. Married friends also didn't seem to be too different. Then when I got married, I didn't notice any particular, sudden changes.

Now, one thing is for certain. If you have a baby you definitely get old. I haven't met any one who thinks differently. But surely you get old at some point without that experience, right? At some point you stop making pointless poor decisions, unless, of course, you are at high altitude and don't know any better.

I made some jokes concerning my 33 and 1/3 birthday last summer. I don't exactly plan on living to 100, but the third-of-a-century mark could be considered the beginning of the middle. Coincidentally, it was. Let's take a look at 12 reasons why.

1) Medical issues. Maybe I've just been lucky with them all my life, and happened to hit a rough patch 34 years in. Or, I got old. At one point last year I couldn't walk, rotate my neck, or hear out of one ear. All at the same time, for unrelated reasons. Most of them have been since corrected, but some continue to reoccur. I grasped for a medical diagnosis for the foot other than the most obvious one, but in the end it was arthritis. I got old.

2) You know what keeps you young? Friends. You know what lets you get old? Moving away from friends. Friends remind you about what's important in life. They don't let you wake up early, have a nutritious breakfast, and go to work early like I do every day now. There's no way you can pull that off with friends. You're too wicked tired from staying up all night drinking.

To wit, months-old booze gambling debts. Behold the "Todd Haley's Comet"


The "Chicago Sulk".

I've been busy designing T-shirts again. Pics courtesy of Prodigal Tiger.

(Paradoxically, friends keep you young while making you die sooner. But in a good way.)

3) Career. This one is an exception. I'm still definitely in the young person part of my career, where everything is in transition and you can't say where you'll be living next year or what you'll do there. Exciting, tedious, and at some point detrimental to your ability to rotate your neck without pain. Some day, before you are seventy-five, you have to save some money, somewhere. I'll let know if I figure out how that is done.

4) Tragedy. Another area I've been pretty lucky over the years. But then all the sudden your best friend offs himself, and you feel like whatever era that was ... is now over.

And that era may turn out to have been "youth".

Happy Birthday Buddy.

5) Beardiness. Old men have beards. So do I.

6) I like shows on CBS.

7) Just kidding! I hate them all. I've re-programmed the TV to skip that channel altogether because it just makes me angry how stupid they are. I am currently watching an HBO Vampire show on the deyveydey, though, which means I'm totally still young. Oops - shit. No one watches DVDs anymore. Damnit. Old.

8) College students seem increasingly ridiculous. It doesn't seem that long ago that I was among them, but when you do the math it is that long ago. I knew that at some point I would lose my ability to empathize with the students. I knew it because ALL professors act as if they have lost that ability. It was just a matter of when.

No, you cannot have extra credit. How about I give you some credit for turning in one of the papers you haven't yet. You're only getting half credit, because it's late, but that's "extra" points more than zero.

9) I've lost touch with music. I was totally up on it as recently as a couple years ago. I had a finger on the pulse of the indy music scene, and another one bad touch-ing the part of tween music that a swimsuit covers (for acoustic cover purposes, of course). But lately I've just got no time. It's slipped away. Once no one remembers who Miley Cyrus is, and whoever the next Miley Cyrus is remakes Nothing's Gonna to Stop Us Now, I'll just hang it up forever.

10) That remake, by the way, will be the theme song to the remake of Mannequin starring someone I've never heard of, opposite someone else I've never heard of, because I'm old. You heard it here first.

Yep, I'm getting grumpy about movies, too. And not just stupid Vampire ones. I'm grumpy because I'm old enough to have seen everything Hollywood can come up with, twice. Now that the third set is coming around, I'm sick of it. When the number one movie in America is boxing robots, and they've run out of children's books / crappy TV shows / boardgames (they are seriously making a Battleship movie) / previous crappy movies to make into other movies, I start mumbling and grumbling and shaking my fist at the kids that are walking across my lawn to get to the theater to see Transformers vs. Happy Feet Penguins III: Megatron's Last Dance.

Although, I would go see another Muppets movie. I'm only against the ideas for movies that I don't think are cool. And Pepe the King Prawn is cool, okey?

11) I think I've told that Sauza graduation story on the blog before. I can't remember. Either way, that's something an old guy would do.

12) In fact, writing a blog is now getting pretty old timey. Who does that anymore?

Video courtesy of the Bard.

None-plex

2011-11-10T14:25:00.002-10:00

Word just came over the wire of D.M.X. and Lil' Xotsie's impending move away from the collection of ramshackle bungalows on Brighton Avenue known as the Funplex. Although to my knowledge the shanties haven't yet been torn down for condos, I'm sure that day is not far off. In anticipation of that event, I think I'll beat the rush and lay down a rough draft historical account for future generations.

Preplexed: Before 2005

The sedimentary rocks on which the Funplex was built were deposited in the late Cretaceous and early Tertiary periods, around sixty five million years ago. Those were later overlain by Holocene sediment deposits from San Diego River flood events and Pacific storm surges. During first settlement by groups of Ipai Indians the sandy soil of the area was renowned for its inability to grow Kentucky blue grass. When the first European explorers arrived, they recorded observations of an infertile patch of land just south of the San Diego River Mouth, where:

"Wilde Doggs have shorn the earth bare. Banana trees produce nary a nanner. Ample space layeth available for the inflation of a bouncy-Mission, however."

Later, hastily-constructed, crappy little houses occupied the spot where the current structures stand. What's that? Never mind, I'm being told that the current structures are the originals. At some point Guadalupe and her now husband moved into the southern house. Then they moved out. A woman and a little girl moved into the western house. They installed a rope swing. They buried a lot of toys in the dirt. Then they moved out.

The First Year: Just Fun, No Plex

Mueslix, Mr. Bitey, and I moved into the western house in August 2005. Kollette Klassen and her sister lived in the southern house, and a pair of Texas lesbians occupied the northern (back) house. A large man with a small dog lived in the eastern house; he worked at a downtown Steakhouse.

Rather than take the time to make new friends, we threw a party immediately, and adopted all of the Prodigal Tiger's acquaintances and friends. To make sure we put our best foot forward, we made the party "white trash" themed. I nearly burned the house down Dorito-frying chicken. Back in those days, you may recall, we partied in the front yard. It wasn't yet a "plex", and so we directed our noise out to the street rather than bothering the neighbors. I introduced the wine bag to the new crew in dramatic fashion, by bursting 6.7 liters of Sangria over the front walk.

Over the first year we developed our friendships, and got to know the neighborhood a little better. Gradually, we began to take advantage of the huge shared space in back. Although the focus of festivities was usually the beach, or the shared apartment of Country Roads and LaKristian Tomlinsen, we had big plans for the future of the 'plex.

The Classical Period: Lady Drama and Dogshit

Kollette's sister moved back to Denver, and was replaced by Maker's Mark. The Texans returned to Texas, leaving the northern house open for As A Kite to move in. The Steakhouse Guy was replaced by two ladies, one of which promoted "Who's Your Daddy" energy drink. The rear apartment of that house was occupied by Veronica Mars. The ratio of ladies to men in the young funplex was now seven-to-one. The result, as you might expect, was a whole lot of drama about which I don't know even the slightest detail. I stayed well clear.

This period was also the height of the funplex hound corps; Mr. Bitey played grouchy patriarch to quite a pack of animals. Unfortunately, this era was also a low point in dog owners' commitment to picking up after their pets. It was a tumultuous time across the settlement, and you had to watch where you stepped both literally and figuratively.

It was also the first time we knew all the residents well enough to open 'er up and see what she could do. In October 2006 we had our first "big" party for Halloween. Catt Me helped me built a jello-shot maze that led through a jumpy castle, ending in a slide onto the disco space capsule / dance floor. With the help of the whole crew, we nailed it. It wasn't long before people were jumping off the roof, spilling cocaine all over the bathroom, threatening to use real firearms, having sex in the castle, and pissing in bureau drawers. When it was all over, and only a few people remained, I sat back and surveyed the scene. With the notable exception of Maker's Mark bouncing up and down on the deflated castle without any clothes on, the scene was bleak. We had destroyed the place. Our former homes were gone. The funplex was born.

Late Classical Period: The Boys Are Back

History often neglects to give credit to the contributions of men, so the politically-correct assholes at Bucket O' Corporate have required me to include the following section: There were men involved in making the funplex society what it was. Bob Barker started dating Veronica Mars, and was practically a resident. He had a mellowing influence on the lady drama over in the eastern end. Mr. Soprano moved in with As A Kite, which unfortunately had the opposite effect. Maker's Mark split for the East Coast, and was replaced by a man. Lastly, we got to know the crazy man that lived on the eastern border. He yelled, he threw Tequila bottles at the dogs, he extorted money from Veronica, and was eventually evicted for taking a circular saw to the fence. See, men certainly left their fingerprint on the 'plex.

The rise of the funplex coincided with a rise in police presence there. And just as the funplex was coming into its own, as demonstrated by a successful 2007 follow up to the Halloween tradition, external forces were conspiring to change the way it would be used. Firstly, the "test ban" and eventual permanent ban of alcohol on the beach moved all barbecues, including rib-off competitions, inland. Although the funplex wasn't the only destination for such barbecues, it and its partner locations took on increased significance. Secondly, the landlord was like, "O.K., no more Halloween parties." Residents had to get creative, as they did with the first season of Outdoor Movie Night at the Funplex, or pre-OB Christmas parade hot-drinks parties.

The Second Generation: Bonfires of the Vanities

This era started with a high turnover in funplex denizens. Kollette, until then the ranking member of the residents, moved on, leaving the southern house vacant for remodel. Veronica Mars left for L.A. and was replaced by a nutty and unpredictable friend of the landlord's, together with his Brazilian wife. Mr. Soprano and As A Kite broke up, and after one more loud, property-destroying relationship, she moved on as well. Her house was occupied by the Prodigal Tiger and her dogs No! and Out of the Kitchen!

This period is often remembered for its lasting bonfire musical tradition. First generation musical performances were limited to early-naughties female pop covers, and the occasional contribution from that British Guy who would wistfully try to play "Blackbird" for hours, refusing to give up the guitar because it was his 17th going away party. The infusion of new blood to the 'plex brought in fresh cultural influences, such as professional musicians Seamus O'Djembe and the Spigot, with sporadic visits from the Bard. Many duraflames' worth of new songs were created, but sadly few were recorded or transcribed. Balls.

The Unplex Era: On a Warm Summer's Evenin', on a Mexican Train Bound for Nowhere

The beginning of the end for the funplex was the removal of shared space. The landlord put up tall, opaque fences around each house's parcel, eliminating common yard space. Residents attempted to continue on as if nothing had happened, hosting the second season of movie night in Tiger's parcel. The writing, unfortunately, was already on the fence.

The confined space arrangement was not all bad. Some gatherings in the western yard, normally spread over a large space, were suddenly more intimate. 10 or more people clustered around a picnic table, playing Mexican Train dominoes for hours, drinking enough to eventually start sharing new lip gloss flavors via the direct method. It was commonplace for Mueslix and I to go to bed and just ask whoever was left to extinguish the fire and unplug the Christmas lights.

Some historians point to the Lindstrum Shift barbecue after Ween and Breakfast Cereal's wedding as a key event of this era. Pictures show liberal use of the shotski, as well as roof climbing, thought to be typical events of this period.

The Funplex Revival

Before the end, a third influx of immigrants returned the unplex to prominence, despite the departure of the Prodigal Tiger, Mueslix and I. Little is known about this period, but scattered late-night picture messages suggest that it was indeed a triumphant phase of funplexery:

Although it continued to serve as a base for off-site operations such as the Tour d'Diego, its days were numbered. Scientists disagree about the contributing factors in the Funplex's eventual demise. Some cite increased fertility, house-buying, and an overall increase in maturity among patrons. Others postulate that residents and frequenters simply got less thirsty. Still others believe that climate change sparked a shift away from communal, agricultural practices toward traditional hunter-gatherer-methamphetamine lifestyles. In the end, we may never know what led to such a rapid and mysterious decline of the Funplex.

The Funplex by the numbers:

37 - The number of whole chickens cooked and consumed during one graduation party for the Prodigal Tiger.

7.1% - The percentage of the time you put your beer can in a garbage or recycling bin after you finished drinking it.

0.00000000017° - The increase in average global temperatures attributed to greenhouse gasses emitted during Funplex bonfires.

2 - The number of laps around the block I've done without clothes on.

$79,500.00 - The amount Mueslix and I paid for the privilege of living at the funplex.

All 6 - The number of Tours d'Diego that used the Funplex as a starting line.

147 - The number of times Isis by Bob Dylan was requested

0 - The number of times it was played.

4.6 - Average number of Krackens released, per year.

0.41 - Average number of guests bitten by the Funplex canine population, per year.

9.2 - Average length, in hours, of after-work barbecues.

3,271 - Total number of cheesy-brats grilled.

-3.7 - Average change, in years, of the life expectancy for residents and patrons.