Buncha What-not

Good evening folks.
I'm trying to make this the longest entry into my blog so far. I'm sure you will be as equally unimpressed at the end of this marathon as you were at the beginning. Having said that, let's get right to it.
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We had teacher/parent conferences for Sophia's pre-school. I was mostly excited to go to prove to the other mothers that I wasn't some crackpot whack-job that hung out at local schoolyards waiting for the kids to get out.
Anyway, it's kinda' funny. I mean there isn't a ton of stuff you can talk about, is there? She paints swirly gobs very well. She enjoys her animal crackers at break. No, actually they do a nice job of showing some of drawings and how her writing has progressed in the short time she's been there. They keep meticulous notes of classroom activities down to the actual quotes of each individual kid during the day. With Anna, I was concerned with her being too shy and not participating. With Sophia, it was the opposite. I was afraid that she had taken over the class in a bloodless coup and was rallying the troops to invade the "north siders" at the other end of the building as they fashioned weaponry out of some scrap lincoln logs. What we did find out was that the teachers enjoy her as much as we do. They couldn't say enough good things about her personality and her involvement.
I really like the school but even more so, I love her teachers. I spent a day with Anna last year and during the short time I was there, I was about ready to throttle about 5 or 6 of the little shits. It shows that those teachers have so much patience and a definite love for their jobs.
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Speaking of her school, I mostly get along with everyone there as we stand outside waiting for the troops to let out. A friendly nod here, a quick "hi there" followed by brief smile there. But there is one dude that just drives me crazy. I will attempt to point out two reasons why. First, he drives a blinged out Escalade or something (which doesn't bother me) but as he sits 25 feet from the classrooms in this serene backdrop as 3-5 year olds embark on this wonderful journey of life...he's sitting in his car playing some spanish/salsa rap music that shakes the ground like an aftershock. I can hear/feel it from 100 yards away as I am pulling up! What kinda jackass thinks that is cool?
Secondly (and this ranks very high on the Jbird list of pet peeves), he talks on his cell phone. Cell phones are not bad. But talking very loudly about nothing while a quiet group of mother-hens and me wait patiently for our children to come out the door is quite annoying. I have the urge to look at him and say "Wow...is that a cell phone? Amazing. This technology instantly makes you so cool".
I've learned that I hate cell phones but that there are multiple conditions and circumstances to factor in to determine the severity of my hate. For example, if the dude in the above story were on the phone saying "yes, just picking up my kid and I'll be right back" or even "Yes Doris, I will speak with you tomorrow about the Penske File" You know, something mildly important and/or brief.
If I see one more stay at home mom in her 4 mile long Tahoe (that has never been off road, by the way) talking to her girlfriend as she whizzes through the stop sign on the way to her nail appointment, I'm gonna chase her down and shove that phone up her ass. Ahhh, but see this is the conundrum. Perhaps that same lady is a nurse who just got called to come in prep for an emergency surgery. See what I mean about different perspectives.
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When I become Governor, I will propose a few laws. One would be to make all phone numbers include the area code regardless of who/where you are calling. See, where I live, I can dial a dude down the road and use a "1" then area code and then his 7 digit number. But the guy that lives 30 miles away, I just have to dial the 7 digit. It's so confusing. I never know what the hell to do.
My other laws involve not allowing a Wal-Mart to be built with 100 miles of another Wal-Mart. Also, I will outlaw Harley motorcycles unless they quiet them down. Maybe this makes me an old fart, but I got past the "loud cycle" thing years ago when the baseball cards fell out of my spokes on my bicycle. Sure, you live in a tent by the river. Sure, you haven't bathed in days. It's great that you haven't worked in years. I'm glad you're a Browns fan, but please explain to me how you were able to afford this motorcycle.
My wife said she would make it a law that you may NOT turn on your Christmas lights before Thanksgiving. And they must be down by February 1. If they are ON after Feb. 1, then you will be fined. Me? I went with a more direct approach. If your Christmas lights are on before Thanksgiving, I will set fire to your house. Simple. Direct.
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Not a big Reality T.V. guy. I'm not going to bash it because I don't care for it. I just can't get into it I suppose. I've come to realize that Sports are my reality t.v. Each week I can tune in and catch up with the previous week's storyline. I ride a roller-coaster of emotion from the kickoff until the final gun. For example, last week's Bengals vs. Ravens game. I was in the car on the way home from Michigan. I listened eagerly as my Bengies started throwing points up on the scoreboard. Emotionally I was high and excited. Patting myself on the back and saying "damn this team is good". But then moments later the Ravens score two touchdowns within, like, a minute. Suddenly I am down. I'm mad. I'm puzzled. I start questioning why the good lord does this to me. Maybe if I turn my hat around or lean to the left instead of the right...maybe something will change the luck. So during those couple of hours I run a whole range of emotions.
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You may have noticed that if you post a comment to my blog now that it doesn't immediately appear. I have changed the settings in an attempt to gain control of some of the "spam" comments I was receiving. For some unknown reason I was getting comments from multiple guitar websites. Why? I have no freakin' clue. Oh sure, I was once a guitar god for an 80's hair band, but those days are over. I grew tired of the all night orgies. The countless groupies showing their large boobages to me. Sleeping until noon and waking up in tiger print silk sheets with a harem of buxom female fans around me as they cook me mouth-watering biscuits and gravy followed by a bowl of lucky charms chased by an ice cold coke...it just wasn't for me.
But I digress, I have an option now that when you leave a comment, it goes to my email where I can then "accept/reject" it. So when Guitar world writes something to me, it's brrrrzzzzzzz. Outta here! When Matt Ryan writes me.....Gone! Anyone else...accepted. (just kidding matt.)
So keep the comments coming!!!
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Ava gets baptized this Sunday. I have tickets to the Bengals vs. Browns game. I will not be going to the game. Oh, sure...I asked. Even before my sentence/question was finished, I was getting the "you gotta be F***in' kidding me" look from my wife.
You have to think that our god is a "funny" god and this is a good example why. He knew I had tickets. But he also knew that I would at least watch the 1 o'clock game from the warm confines of my house. Ahh! But he was probably laughing when the only available time for the baptism was at, you guessed it, 1 o'clock this sunday.
I'm gonna walk up to the priest and say "Hey Padre, 20 bucks in it for ya' if you cut this down to 15 minutes" Is that wrong?
Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. Just wallowing in the irony of it all. Plus, I don't care to have a lightning bolt zipped down and crack me in the melon.
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Christmas time is obviously near. How can I tell? The sudden and constant barrage of advertisements for the following two products: Diamonds and electric shavers. Other hot sellers that apparently have no market until Christmas time are: foot baths and Lexus' with a red bows on them.
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I bought a bunch of those faggy little short socks for the summer. They may look fruitier than a queer with a mouthful of nuts, but they're damned comfortable while giving me the moisture wicking properties of a sock that I require, but also allowing my sheltered ankles who are shrouded by a crew length cloud of darkness 9 months of the year, finally get the summer sun that they deserve.
Anyway, I could never find a pair during the summer. Now that the days have grown cold, I can't find a full length sock to save my ass. What's going on? Is there some parallel universe where my socks are forever out of synch and in the wrong season for the rest of my life? Is there a hole in the back of my sock drawer where I will one day discover a mass grave of socks piled upon each other while layered in a thick blanket of dust bunnies?
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Had a wonderful thanksgiving this year. I think Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. No pressure, just relaxing. I also enjoy 4th of July because of the hot weather, the activities and the patriotism.
This year's thanksgiving festivities were a little different. We usually head up to Michigan right after work on wednesday (along with every other sap in the country). But this year we were able to go to my family's place and enjoy a nice meal and great company...then head out on the highway at our leisure. And let me say, traffic is wonderful on thanksgiving day. Really...everyone is pretty much already where they are going to be. Very smooth.
We go up to the Clare/Midland Michigan area to stay in a cabin with some of Katy's relatives. There are so many reasons why this trip is so great for me. First, I truly enjoy being with her relatives. They are incredibly welcoming and hospitable and we do things that I truly like to do. For example, I may wake up that morning and head out to a tree stand and do some hunting. Later, we may fire up the old tractor and cut some wood or take care of some chores. I spend a lot of time out by the firepit enjoying a few "saucers" (what we call mixed-drinks). Then it's ususally off to play poker into the late night.
Each year we designate saturday night as the "99" tournament. Basically, it's a simple game like Uno where each person playing (upwards of 10 folks) has three "lives" to lose. I'm proud to say that I am the only two time winner and it seems that I am always in the Finals. It's a big deal because we play for a trophy. This "trophy" was purchased at an auction we went to many years ago up there. The auctioned items consisted mostly of outdated cans of soup, with no labels (Auctioneer says, "Don't know what the hell these are but I had a can last night and it was really great. Who'll give me a buck for a whole flat of these?". But we were able to bid on, and subsequently win, a small statue made of wood. "Genuine Teakwood"! The statue is of a man who appears to be a combination of chinese/spanish decent (not sure) with a wide brimmed hat and for some reason holding a removable stick-like fishing pole (complete with fish dangling from the end of the line). Due to his apparent spanish ancestry, we named him Dirty Sanchez (for reasons that I'd rather not disclose in this forum) The winner of the 99 tournament is lucky enough to posses this treasure for a whole year until the next competition and, in fact, we've added a base to it where the winner gets his name engraved on the placard. As silly as it sounds, it really is a big deal and is something that I especially take very seriously. There are rules, one being that the winner MUST display Dirty Sanchez prominently in his/her home. To play, you must be a homeowner or at least rent a dwelling that has a mantle to display him. If at anytime Dirty is found to be not prominently displayed, he will immediately be removed from the home and transported to that year's runner up (one year we had a surprise visit during the summer from a Michigan resident for only one reason...to check on the status of Dirty.) I once took Mr Sanchez to Michigan so he could attend the wedding of one of the participants and have pictures of him at the head table to prove it.
Well, I was again in the Finals for about the 5th year in a row and lost to my mother-in-law. This lady has a beautiful house with wonderful items throughout. Everything is meticulously placed in a spot and compliments everything else in the house. While it tore at my heart to be so close to winning and then, ultimately losing. I was able to take satisfaction in the fact that she now has to display this hunk of crap..er, I mean...lovely keepsake in a place of prominence in her home. And believe me, every time I am over there, I will be on the lookout for it. Dirty belongs with me.
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Ohio State will play Notre Dame in the Fiesta Bowl. My two favorite college teams. My prediction? 6-3 Buckeyes over Irish on a A.J. Hawk fumble recovery that he scoops up and runs into the endzone as he literally rips a receiver's head off. I mean the head will actually be looking at AJ score while the rest of the body will be heading to the sideline. This should be a dandy
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Should I be overly concerned that two of my daughters' favorite movie of all time is not Cinderella, Monster's Inc, Beauty and the Beast...but....Grease!?!? Sophia literally knows every word of it. During our conferences that I spoke about earlier, the teacher noted that one day while they were sitting around singing songs or whatever, Sophia was over there doing the "hand-jive" (which she is dead-on with, by the way) and she once told her teacher that Danny (Travolta) was "hot and cute". Luckily, the teachers thought it was great and had a few good laughs about it. The other night, I was snuggling with her and she was looking into my eyes as she rubbed her hand on my cheek...then she started softly singing "Hopelessly Devoted to You". If she hears one of the songs in the car, she'll say something like, "Oh! This is when Rizzo was at Frenchies house!". I don't know whether to laugh or to cry. Hopefully one day when E! television is interviewing me after she becomes a big star, I can say "I remember when she knew the entire Grease movie from front to back".
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Went to the grocery and in between all of the 57 headlines covering the tragic Nick and Jessica break-up on the tabloids, I saw one with Kelly Ripa. Now, I could take or leave Ms Ripa. She doesn't do much for me either way. (although she was one of the funniest guest hosts on Saturday Night Live once, surprisingly) Under her picture it said, "How Kelly Ripa copes with the stress of the holidays". I was torn...should I purchase the formula that affords my baby the life giving sustenance she so desperately needs, or instead purchase this magazine? I was so intrigued. Really, how do these billionaire actors/actresses get through it all. The terrible weather of Beverly Hills. Keeping the staff of 20 servants happy as the keep your mansion spotless. The grueling 3 hour work-days of taping a show! It has to be incredibly difficult and I couldn't wait to read how Kelly manages to wring one more day out of her terrible life.
It's like Oprah. I like her, I really do. But I get turned off when she gives me the "I'm just like you" schtick. "I'm just like you...except I'm worth 55 billion that the government knows about" I heard a comedian say that he read a headline about how some actress, who makes 10 million dollars a movie, stays so fit. He said that for that kinda' money, that actress could hire a person to knock the cookie out of her hand everytime she reached for one.
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Went to Anna's Christmas program (oops, can I say Christmas?). Started at 6. Over at 6:30. Tears were pouring down my cheek. Because my beautiful daughter looked so innocent and tender up on stage singing? No! Because it was over in a half an hour! There is no doubt in my mind that this entire event was planned and organized by a guy. Hey, I love kids. I love my friends' kids. But I'd rather have someone poke a scale model of the Eiffel tower into my mucous membranes than to sit for hours upon hours in a crowded auditorium listening to Christmas songs. That's just me though.
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Speaking of kids. Is it now a law that requires the parent of a child who is involved in any activity to display a sticker on the back window of their car proclaiming that little "Taylor" plays soccer as his name is emblazoned across a picture of a soccer ball? Should I drive up to the guy and give him a thumbs'-up because little Britney apparently Cheers because her name is underneath a giant megaphone? Should my heart fill with pride knowing that little Devan is #23 and plays for the Wee Indians in the Southwest pee wee football league?
I think I'll have some made that say "Sophia" with the picture of John Travolta/Olivia Newton-John underneath. I'll have an outline of a completely untouched and full lunchbox, with the name "Anna" in script to the side (anna never eats her lunch at school) Perhaps a diaper with steaming turd matter dripping out with Ava's name over the top.
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We have the ability to shoot people up to the moon and communicate with them once they are there. We can own a device smaller than the size of a wallet that can hold your entire collection of Cds and more. We can get live images from someone on the other side of the world... But we are unable to get decent radio reception in a building that has flourescent lights...or receive an AM station as we pass under an underpass. It boggles my mind.
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The Bengals just beat the Steelers. I spent the entire day in my garage watching the game with the sound off and the radio on. But I have to say that I'm a little concerned about something. I notice a lot of people lately walking around with Bengals garb on. Only two years ago, I was one of the only people in the nation (other than the coaches) to sport a Bengies hat or shirt. Now they are everywhere. I find myself torn...should I be mad at the "bandwagoners" or should I embrace my fellow brethren as we all bask in the glow of Bengaldom? I was playing golf this summer against a guy. He was wearing a Browns hat (I just assumed he was a caddy). I jokingly said I couldn't play with him as he was a Browns fan. But I have to say that he made a great point. He said anytime you see someone with Bengals stuff on it is "either really old...or brand new". It made total sense. People weren't buying this crap for the last fifteen years as the beloved Bengies wallowed in the depths of hideous football. However, it did make me rethink my stance on bandwagoners. While it is noble to stick with your team no matter how putrid they are (like I did) and hope for the future to bring you a decent team, it is no less noble to say "piss on 'em" while they were stinking up the joint. I suppose it's human nature. Steve Rushin, from Sports Illustrated, wrote a piece on this very subject in this week's issue. He wrote that Mark Buehrle from the World Series winning White Sox said "We won for the fans we had...we don't need bandwagon fans". Rushin followed by saying, "Set aside for the moment the rich irony of professional athletes complaining about bandwagon jumping. It's what they do, abandoning the hermit-crab shell of one useless uniform for the more promising prospect of another. By Buehrle's logic, the Beatles would have preferred to sell records only to those fans who came to see them in Hamburg in 1961. In every form of entertainment besides sports, we wait until someone is good before paying to see him. It's why Itzhak Perlman sells out Carnegie Hall while third grade recital halls are mostly empty".
Something for me to think about, I suppose.
**i wanted to throw in the above picture. I don't care if you like the beloved Bengies or not, that is a cool picture**
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Finally, I'm growing to hate the Steelers more and more. See, I really like their style, their team, their history. Love their coach. So why do I hate them? One reason, Ben Roethlisberger. Why? Because if I hear an announcer refer to him as "Big Ben" one more time, I'm gonna fill my ears with caulk. Did they always refer to Montana, Elway, Marino, Palmer as just "Joe, John, Dan, Carson"? No! Secondly, he is a more recent version of Emmitt Smith, the former running back of the Cowboys (who took his helmet off after each touchdown so everybody could see what HE did...not that his team helped him or anything) Emmitt used to get hurt every other play. He'd limp off like he just took a blowdart tipped with feces in his leg. Or he'd stumble off as if his shoulder had literally seperated from his torso. This is now what Big Ben does. He's hurt all of the time, but he manages to hold a press conference to allow himself to vow that "I'll be back". A sigh of relief fails to escape me. What's more, he uses his "injury" when it's convenient. For example, when he was throwing for a million yards against the Bengals this week, he was fine...slapping high fives. Fist pumping. But when he threw an interception, he would grasp his hand and look at it as if he were calling on the gods to explain "Why!!!". And finally, he talks about his injury of the week. "It really hurts." "I don't know if I can play, but I'll try". Imagine, if you will, Jack Lambert, Ray Nitschke, Mike Singletary, Chuck Bednarik, or Sammy Baugh sitting in press conference talking about their "sore knee" or "stoved thumb".
I know I'm supposed to like him because he's from close by and he went to Miami of Ohio. But everytime I see him on the sidelines with his hat on backwards I have no trouble picturing him hanging out at the Brewery on a Thursday night putting out the mojo with his gold chain sticking out.
Listen Steelers fans, I respect you. I respect your team. I actually kinda like you. But Big Ben is a mediocre quarterback whose main job is more to not lose the game than to win it.
I'll bet Ben, Troy Smith, Akili, and Ryan Leaf are best buddies.

All right, I'm done spewing hate towards someone I watched all day on t.v.
As Donnie Baker says, " I gotta go man. I swear to god I do"