CD Roulette

I’m a big fan of purchasing music online. I like the fact that I can stream just about any album beforehand, determine which songs I like, and then cherry pick them from ITunes. Never more do I have to by an album that has exactly one good song. (I’m thinking of Willie Nelson here, if it’s one of his better albums.)

Despite these benefits, there is still something I miss about buying physical CDs. I always enjoyed fumbling with the packaging in the car for ten minutes until I finally got it out. I liked opening the case and smelling the new CD case smell. I liked pulling out of the parking lot, putting in the CD, and discovering each and every new song, while all the while hoping that I hadn’t purchased a lemon album. (Willie!) Maybe I’m weird, but that just made me happy.

So, occasionally, I still pick up an album at the store. I usually reserve it for artists where I know most of the stuff is going to be good. But, once in a while, I’ll still take a flyer on an unknown artist, just for old time’s sake.

My latest attempt at this was David Nail’s debut album, which I picked up on my way to the U.P., based on the potential of his song ‘Red Light’. Unfortunately, it was a big swing and a miss. It was typical contemporary country music. Overproduced, with only the barest hints of traditional country instrumentation, along with just about every song containing multiple, loud, electric guitar solos. There were a few good songs in there somewhere, but they were all lost in the noise.

Still, it was worth a shot. It’s always fun when you get lucky and strike gold. Although, in this case, I should have bought a Willie CD instead.

Dealing With The Post-Christmas Blues

There is always a letdown once Christmas is finished. The presents are all unwrapped, the living room looks like a tornado just hit it, with flecks of wrapping paper still floating in the air, the trillions of calories of food have all been eaten, and you are sitting in an easy chair wondering just how on earth you managed to eat so much in such a short time.

You then start looking ahead to the dark, dreary months of January and February, which are punishment for all of the fun you had on Christmas. You think about the short days and the weight you have to lose. Soon, you start to feel a little down.

But fear not! You just need to think of the positives of Christmas being over. They should be enough to get you through the immediate post-holiday letdown period and give you the momentum you need to roll into spring.

And, since I’m feeling generous, I’ll help you get started:

• You won’t have to hear SheDaisy sing their annoying version of ‘Deck The Halls’ on the radio anymore. (Plus, there is a much better chance you’ll hear ‘Amarillo By Morning’ now.)
• The Super Bowl is coming fast.
• The stores will be less crowded, and you will have no real need to go there anymore, anyway.
• My birthday will be here soon. (Not very subtle, I know, but still, it needed to be said.)
• You no longer are required to be cheerful to everybody to show your holiday spirit. You can now resume ignoring them because they annoy you!

Unfortunately, this all may be outweighed by the fact that American Idol will probably start up soon. Ugh. Now I’m depressed.

Merry {bleep}mas!

What a great song. Too bad it's based on the truth:




Also, it just seems to me like some songs just don't need a Christmas version:



Well, Merry {bleep}mas everybody!

Dang it.

Weekend Metrics

Sometimes all it takes is getting away from it all:

Number of days spent in Wisconsin: 0
Number of times internet was used: 0
Number of times work was thought about: 0
Number of times real life interfered with fun: 0

In my book, that's a good weekend.

These Are A Few Of My (burp) Favorite Things

There’s something about the Christmas season that just pushes your pants past their breaking point and sends the button shooting off dangerously in some random direction. Ah, good ol' tradition!

Yup, you can’t go anywhere these days without being assaulted with high-calorie Christmas goodies that you are forced to eat in self-defense, or risk being labeled as a Grinch. For example, here is what the middle of my week looks like:

Tuesday – Treat Day at work
Wednesday – Work Team Christmas Get-Together after work
Thursday – Another Treat Day at work
Friday – Most likely, getting my stomach pumped

This isn’t even factoring in the plate of cookies that was dropped off at my doorstep by the landlord. It’s getting to the point where I hope I get a Rascal for Christmas.

Now, I realize that it is my decision as to how much Christmas junk food I eat. But when it comes down to it, and there is fudge involved, my willpower skitters away and hides under the couch, only to reappear sometime during the New Year, aghast at the number of calories that now must be burned.

Still, this year I have a secret weapon that will help make everything much easier. I can’t believe it took me this long to think of it. It makes so much sense: stretch pants.

Shop 'Til You Drop (Or Sit In The Car Instead)

Ah, Christmas shopping.

I do enjoy the Christmas season, and occasionally I even like trying to pick out interesting gifts that will surprise people. Still, I’m not a huge fan of the hordes of people who are out trying to do the same thing.

I really shouldn’t complain, though. Where I live now, the crowds aren’t all that bad. I remember Christmas shopping in Minneapolis one year. More specifically, I remember driving around a full Best Buy parking lot waiting for somebody to leave just so I would have a place to park. That was not fun. Anybody on my gift list that year was lucky they didn’t get slush wrapped in a box.

Still, some folk know how to do it. I always like seeing the men sitting in their cars in the parking lot. Obviously, their wives are inside doing the shopping. I assume they are in the car for one of two reasons: either they insist on not coming in, or their wives won’t let them because all they’d do is gripe and complain and knock over display stands the whole time. Either way, that seems to me like the best way to go, and I hope that someday I get to be one of these guys. You can listen to the radio, take a nap, wave to the other unfortunate guys who are heading inside, or read a book. Your only worry is whether your entire retirement fund is being spent while you sit in your car or not. Still, it’s a worthwhile tradeoff.

Despite saying all of this, Christmas is the time for giving, and I’m trying my best this year to go the extra mile. I think my multiple viewings of It’s A Wonderful Life have made me a bit sentimental, but you need to embrace the season, I guess.

And for anybody out there on my list, I hope you like slush.

Padded Room, Here I Come!

I did something dumb the other day. But luckily, it was dumb in a funny sort of way.

I had just returned home and was approaching my front door. I had my hands full with groceries and was fumbling with my keys. Suddenly, I realized that I was doing something that didn’t seem quite right. Puzzled, I stopped and looked down. That’s when I realized what it was: I had pressed the ‘unlock’ button on my car keyless entry, after I had aimed it at my front door.

Needless to say, the door didn’t open. (If it had, it would have been awesome.)

After that, I stood there in the hallway and laughed out loud. I suppose I should have been scared that I had attempted this, as a guy shouldn’t be losing his mind and trying things like this until he’s in his mid-sixties. Still, what was I to do? It was funny.

So, with this in mind, don’t be surprised if I start to exhibit weirder that usual behavior around you. For example, if I point a TV remote at you, I may just be hitting the ‘mute’ button, or perhaps ‘fast-forward.’ And, if anything like this does happen, please be polite about it and don’t make a scene. Just chalk it up to the whole ‘going crazy’ thing. Thank you in advance.

Still, I’m not too worried. Since then, everything has been fine.

Hey, there’s a delete button on this keyboard! I bet I could use it on some people that I know!

The Chain Smoker

Note: This is something I wrote quite a few years ago. Still, it amuses me.

I now present to you the first in an inevitable chain of columns entitled: Interesting People You Meet When You’re Standing in Line Behind Them Whom You Soon Want to Punch in the Throat.

In this case, I was at a gas station waiting in line when I noticed that the person in front of me was making quite a hefty purchase. Apparently, he either hated his lungs or his only goal in life was to have the worst breath in the entire world, because he was purchasing a plastic bag bulging with cigarettes. I was able to count at least ten to twelve packs on the outside of the bundle, but I’m sure the total was somewhere closer to twenty or thirty. His total bill came out to be eighty-two dollars worth, which is pretty impressive for a gas station purchase that does not include gasoline.

Here’s what got me, though. He said to the cashier, apparently in an attempt to defend his action: “My son is addicted to nicotine, so now I am.” This is a direct quote.

My only theory on this is that he must have looked into his son’s room at some point and caught him lighting up a cigarette. His paternal instincts kicked in and, for the good of his son and for the good of his family, he knew he had to make a responsible decision about what to do next. Unfortunately, it have been to say, “Hey, son, can I try one?”

Perhaps he fought the urge at first, mainly because his wife must have told him that he was as dumb as a post to start smoking just because his son did, but eventually he just couldn’t fight it anymore, especially when his son said to him, “C’mon Dad! Everybody’s doing it!” That was enough un-peer pressure to push him over the edge and start him on the road to Cough City.

But that is not why I wanted to punch this guy in the throat. (It was just funny.) The real reason was because he decided to pay with is credit card, and like ninety percent of all the people who have ever been in front of me in lines who have decided to use their credit card, he acted like he had never seen one before. He squinted at it, poked it, prodded it, tried swiping it a few times, talked into it, and generally wasted a ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out how to get it to work. (“Let’s see, if I was a credit card, how would I work? Dang, I need a cigarette to help me think!”)

Finally, he gave up, awoke the cashier, and let her help him. (All the while, I was trying to hold back a nearly irrepressible urge to topple a display rack over onto him.) Finally, he got everything paid for and headed outside to go on, I assume, a record-breaking chain smoking tirade which could very well last into the New Year. (Also, he left on a motorcycle, which indicates to me that he was well into his mid-life crisis.)

That brings me to my next topic. I could never, ever, not in a million year, be a cashier. I would not be able to put up with all of the people who’d come in and act like the current system of money for goods and services was new to them. You know the people I’m talking about. Those who forgot their money at home, those whose credit cards don’t work because they used them all winter to scrape their windshields, or those who come in looking to use a coupon from 1986 from a different store and who subsequently put up a huge argument when it isn’t accepted.

If I was a cashier, the only way I’d be able to handle it would be to keep a large club with me, kept discretely out of site. As soon as some customer started to pull any of the previously mentioned actions, I’d just whip out the club and bonk him over the head, and move on to the next customer, now brandishing the club for intimidation. Once the original customer revived, I’d give them another chance, but if they messed up, I’d bonk them again. I’d repeat this process until they got it right or gave up, or until the cops came and hauled me away.

Well, I’m sufficiently worked up. I suppose I should end this rant before I start to use some nasty words that I would regret, such as %$&#@, or even worse, &*%$@. I don’t want to offend anybody. Plus, I think it’s time for a smoke. I saw a guy smoking on the street once, so now I do it too.

KISSing at Christmas

Keep it simple, stupid.

We’re all familiar with the KISS methodology. Personally, I take it very seriously, which is why I never cook anything that would require the use of more than one pot or pan. (Hamburger Helper doesn’t make the cut. You need a pan for cooking the hamburger and whatever-was-in-the-box combination, along with a separate container to mix the topping. “Who exactly are you helping!?” is something I would yell if I tried to prepare it.)

For me, this also pertains to Christmas decorations. Now, I have nothing against Christmas decorations. I just don’t feel the need to completely transform my living quarters once a year, and then re-transform it back a few weeks later. Instead, I choose the simple approach, one which will get me into the Christmas spirit without causing me to pass out from the exhaustion caused by stringing up three miles of lights or from having a large tree topple onto me after I’d set it up in the stand incorrectly.

My decoration strategy follows a two-pronged approach: The first prong is Charlie Brown, and the second prong is the best Christmas tree ever.

By Charlie Brown, I mean my Charlie Brown figurine, purchased from K-Mart, which comes complete with his drooping, pathetic Christmas tree. It seems perfect that one of the few decorations I have is that of a pathetic decoration. It’s a funny kind of irony. Plus, you can’t go wrong with Charlie Brown.

The best Christmas tree ever, however, is my centerpiece. While this Christmas tree is plastic and small, its decorations were all crafted from the hands of my nieces, which is why it is, without a doubt, the best Christmas tree ever. Plus, it’s small enough that I can store it without ever having to un-decorate it. Each year I just pull it out of the closet and it’s ready to go. (Now, if only Hamburger Helper would take notice of things like this they might learn something about efficiency.)

So, each year it takes me approximately one minute and thirty seconds to get decorated for Christmas. It’s a good system, and I urge you to remember the KISS method during Christmas if you want to cut down on your stress. That is, of course, unless you’re talking about baking Christmas treats. Then you should feel free to go wild. You can never have enough of them.

Disgracing Yoopers Everywhere

Today I had one of those moments when you realize that you’re getting a little too wimpy for your own good.

You see, over the last few years I’ve enjoyed covered parking at work, which has been nice in the winter. (I also park in a garage at home.) However, recently I was moved to another building which does not have covered parking, and today it snowed for the first real time this year. When I left work I discovered that my car was covered in a thin layer of it. This annoyed me greatly, and I found myself grumbling to myself as I retrieved my scraper. I thought about how unfair life had become now that I'd lost my precious covered parking.

This lead to the anti-Eureka moment, which was triggered when I remembered that I had been born and raised in the U.P., a place where you learn to brush off your car when you’re still in diapers, and where you can operate a snowblower by the time you’re in kindergarten. I then realized that I had become a disgrace to Yoopers everywhere.

A Yooper walks through knee deep powder each morning, looking at the random mounds of snow dotting the landscape, wondering which one contains their vehicle, and then digging exploratory tunnels into the most likely candidates until said automobile is found. Then they have to spend twenty minutes digging themselves out with brushes, shovels, brooms, or whatever is handy at the time.

And here I was complaining about brushing a thin layer of snow off of my windshield that could probably be removed with a really good sneeze.

It was truly a sobering moment, and it got me thinking. Maybe I should take a vacation this winter, head up to the U.P., and spend my time shoveling snow for free, just to toughen me back up a bit. It would be a good way to reconnect with my roots and remember who I truly am.

Then again, I hear Florida is nice this time of year.

Eat Your Heart Out, Cledus T. Judd!

The best thing about YouTube is that you can get the highlights of events without having to watch the entire thing.  Case in point, the recent CMA awards:



Awesome.

Guy Communication

I just finished a four day weekend in the U.P. for Thanksgiving. I had figured that my good friend Lurch would be up there, too. I hadn’t seen him since early August. However, I knew he’d be hunting a lot, and I wasn’t sure of the best way to contact him, since I didn’t know where he was staying or if his cell phone would get coverage. Because of this, I decided that if he had time and he wanted to do something, he’d call me.  (This strategy had worked before.)

The entire weekend passed and I never heard from him. I really didn’t think much about it. (Taking care of Thanksgiving leftovers can take up an awful lot of time.)

Then came Sunday morning church. After the services, I mingled for a while and was thinking about leaving when Lurch materialized out of nowhere. I explained why I didn’t call him, and that I expected that he would have called me. His reply was that he figured I was going to call him. We looked at each other for a second, and then we both just kind of shrugged. The prevailing attitude turned out to be “Well, there’s always Christmas, or summer, or next Thanksgiving, or whenever.”

That’s guy communication for you. The funny thing is I wouldn’t be surprised if something like that happened again in the future.

Over the years I’ve found that guys don’t really need to see each other or keep up with what’s going on with one another in order to keep their friendship alive, which probably was a major contributing factor in what happened to Lurch and I. You can go years without seeing a good friend, and when you finally do, you pick up right where you left off. It’s very low maintenance. There is no lengthy discussion about everything that’s happened since the last time that you talked. Typically, you can catch up on everything in about thirty seconds.

I can picture what would happen if I didn’t see Lurch for ten years. When we’d finally meet (I’d be completely bald by then), I’d ask him what was new. He would reply, “Not much.” That would be all of our catching up. Then we’d throw some horseshoes and go to Slims for lunch. It wouldn’t matter if one or both of us were married, had kids, had been to prison, or had lived in a rusted out bus in Alaska for five years and hadn’t shaved since. These facts might come up during the horseshoe match, but merely as an afterthought.

Then, after Lurch had won, (he always wins at horseshoes) we’d depart casually, not knowing how many years it would be before we’d meet again.

Of course this ten-year meeting assumes one of us would call the other. I’m thinking the odds of that happening wouldn’t be very good.

A Night At The Opry

If you’re ever in Nashville, I would highly recommend taking in a show at the Grand Ole Opry. I have been there once, and I had a great time. Purchasing tickets shouldn’t be too hard, but you should still get them as soon as you can. We bought ours early, before Carrie Underwood was announced as one of the performers. When we got to Nashville, we found that both of the Saturday night shows had been sold out, so we were lucky to have gotten them ahead of time.

The Opry is normally held in the Grand Ole Opry House, located east of downtown Nashville. However, for several months during the winter, the Opry is moved to the Ryman Auditorium, which is located right downtown.

What struck me about the show at the Opry was the atmosphere. It was very relaxed and respectful. I think this was because the audience ranged from children up to the elderly. There was no party atmosphere, which led to a very subdued crowd, but not in a bad way.

During the performances you’re not supposed to stand up. If you do, one of the ushers will politely ask you to sit down. If you want to take pictures, you can walk down the center aisle right to the front of the stage, take your pictures, and walk back. It’s all very orderly.

The variety of the show is fun. It is made up of multiple performers who only sing one or two songs each. I got to see Little Jimmy Dickens, Carrie Underwood, Vince Gill, Randy Travis, Lady Antebellum, Little Big Town, and many more, all in only two hours. Every half-hour there is a new host, who introduces the other acts, makes a few jokes, and sings a couple of songs themselves.

There are shows on Friday and Saturday night, and, for most of the year, Tuesday and Thursday nights. The Saturday Night Opry consists of two shows. (They essentially do the same show twice.)

On a side note, the video for Carrie Underwood’s song ‘I Told You So’ is footage from her performance on the Opry the same night I was there. However, it was taken during the first show, and we attended the second, or I very well could have been in the video.

If you take in a Saturday night show at the Opry, you can follow that up with attending, for free, the Midnight Jamboree at the Texas Troubadour Theatre, which is located fairly close to the Opry. This is a weekly radio show that begins at midnight and is hosted by a special guest, who sings a few songs live and also acts as the DJ. (When we went, it was Rocky Lynne.) Once again, those attending ranged from the very young to the very old. The show is broadcast live, but everybody who attended was very polite and quiet, coming and going without creating any sort of distraction.

We were still in town on Sunday, and that evening we decided to go to the Opry again, this time to see if we could take any good pictures. It was a warm March evening, and the Opry was completely deserted, but still totally accessible. There are no gates keeping you out. You can walk right up to the front door if you’d like.

There is a large courtyard out front, with several stone benches. The outside lights were on, illuminating the building itself, and from the courtyard it took on a sort of majestic splendor. To add to this, gospel music was playing softly on the outdoor speakers.

This all combined to create a sort of surreal experience where I could have just sat on a bench for hours and absorbed the atmosphere. Here was this iconic place where so many musical legends have performed, and yet you could still hang out there on a warm spring night on a bench and essentially have it all to yourself. It's hard to put into words, but it was kind of like how you feel after soaking in a hot spring for a while. Just relaxed and happy. Now how many other musical venues could this happen at?

To The Extreme?

Anybody who has hung around me for any amount of time already knows of my taste in music. But, for those of you who don’t, I will give you a hint: if you start singing the chorus to ‘Elvira’ by the Oak Ridge Boys, I will have no choice but to chime in with, in my lowest possible voice: ‘Giddy Up, Oom Poppa, Omm Poppa, Mow Mow’

With this being said, you may be surprised to find out that the very first musical album I ever owned was not country. In fact, it’s something that makes me shake my head every time I think about it. I’ll give you a hint:

Yep, it was Vanilla Ice. However, in my defense I have to say that it was a gift.

I’m pretty sure I was in the fifth grade when I got this album. I remember not understanding a lot of the lyrics, which is good, because, as it turns out, most of the content is not appropriate for anybody under the age of eighty-seven.

Still, I listened to the album a good many times, as one of the songs on it, ‘Ice Ice Baby’, was all the rage at the time. Being young and impressionable, that particular song was forever burned into my brain. In fact, to this very day, I can still actually rap out parts of it if I, for some reason, have a burning desire to totally embarrass myself.

Luckily, this was the only rap album I’ve ever owned. Since then, my taste has developed towards the slow and depressing music I now hold so dear. (I will divulge, though, that I did own a Britney Spears CD once, but that was a white elephant gift I received at a work Christmas party back when I was an intern during college. I still remember about eighty guys crammed into my cube as we watched the enhanced portion of the CD on my computer.)

Luckily for me, though, since Vanilla Ice was my first tape, I still had a chance to make my first CD a good one. And I think I did:

The Richard Sharpe Series

I still remember reading my first Bernard Cornwell novel. There were about a hundred pages left in this medieval tale when the final, epic battle began. I was surprised that it started so early, and wondered what the rest of the book would be about once it had ended. As the pages turned, I then realized that the last one hundred pages were the battle.

That’s the thing about Cornwell. He can take something as huge and confusing as a battle and portray it in such a way that you easily understand everything that is occurring. It takes a lot of pages to do it, but you get the big picture as to what is going on and the strategy that is being employed, along with nitty-gritty, often-times horrific details about what it would be like to be in the middle of it all.

Cornwell has written a lot of books about a lot of different times, but I especially like the Sharpe Series. This takes place during the Napoleonic wars, in the early 1800s. It follows Richard Sharpe, who is an officer in the British army. He works his way up from a private to an officer, which was unheard of in that period. (Officers normally bought their ranks back then, they didn't earn them.)

The Sharpe Series consists of 21 novels, although I’ve only read 11 of them. When Cornwell began writing, Sharpe was already an officer, and Cornwell continued in a mostly chronological fashion through Sharpe’s career all the way through Waterloo. During this time Sharpe continued to rise through the ranks, and always found himself playing key roles in the many battles that occurred along the way.

That is what the first 11 books consist of, and they are the ones that I read. After that, Cornwell wrote additional books and slotted them before his first book, and in-between some of the later ones. I never read them, though, as I was satisfied with seeing what happened at Waterloo, and the one book that took place after that.

So, if you’re looking for a good read, start with Sharpe’s Eagle and go from there, in the order in which Cornwell wrote them. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

1-2-3 Explode!

Sometimes it's all about silver linings.  For example, this little drawing came out of a very frustrating meeting at work a while back.  It portrays exactly how I felt when I walked out of the room.  But at least it inspired the drawing, which I am very proud of.

Note that the stick figure somehow grew after his head blew up.

A Good Weekend

Relaxing with family.

Not losing at bowling. I hadn't bowled in about two years or more, so this was a big accomplishment.  The only downside was when I accidently threw the ball behind me during my windup.  I felt like I was in a cartoon and had to look up to make sure a falling anvil wasn't about to hit me or something.

Tell Me Something I Don't Know

Every once in a while I’ll hear a song on the radio and wonder who sings it. If I’m lucky, the DJ will announce this once the song is through. A lot of times, though, that doesn’t happen and I’m left with an unanswered question that may bother me for up to thirty seconds or so.

Apparently, this exact situation has been deemed a crisis situation by one of my local radio stations. To combat this, after every single song an additional recording, made by one of the DJs, is played which tells you the title and artist.

This means that somewhere at that radio station some poor soul is going through every song that’s ever been made and making a recording of the title and artist so it can be played on the air in conjunction with that song. My personal theory is it’s punishment for screwing up, like if this person swore on the air or tried to cause a mass panic by announcing that aliens were attacking.

Anyway, this can be helpful in the rare case that you don’t know the title or artist of the song. However, I’ve come to find it insulting that they have to announce information to me that, in most cases, I already know. It’s like somebody being with you in the car and announcing things like, “That’s a stop sign”, or “That’s the center line.” It’s got to the point that as soon as the helpful voice comes on at the end of the song, I automatically change the station, completely out of spite.

Sometimes it’s like adding insult to injury: “I already know that was Rascal Flatts! I only caught the last ten seconds and still my ears are bleeding! Aaaarrrggghhhhh!!!”

My thought is that if the radio stations are going into the business of teaching us stuff, they should at least make them things most people wouldn’t know, like the average life span of a giraffe, or who invented the Oreo.

Maybe this says more about me being easily annoyed than anything else. But whatever the case, I had to get it off my chest. And, in case you didn’t know, you have just read Kurt’s latest blog entry.

Down To My Last Nerve

At my place of employment we don't have cubicles. Instead, in order to facilitate communication, we sit in fairly open rows.

I'll admit that this does work pretty well in promoting teamwork. You see, it's a lot easier to collaborate with somebody when you can just slide your chair up to their desk and interrupt whatever they're doing and pester them until they help you, just so you will go away.

(Also, it makes things more entertaining, as you can now engage in such activities at trying to shoot a rubber band into the water cup of the person sitting a few desks down. This is one of my favorite work activities.)

However, there is a downside to being close to others. That is the fact that people are annoying, and I hate them. Take, for example, the Pen-Clicker. This is a person who has a nervous habit of clicking their pen all day long in an attempt to drive me insane. I have known a few Pen-Clickers and none of them realize that making the same annoying noise for 8 hours straight may not be appreciated by everybody around them.

To make matters worse, Pen-Clickers have a few close relatives, such as the Pen-Tappers-On-The-Desk, The-Marker-Cap-On-And-Off-Snappers, and the Incessant-And-Very-Loud-Hummers. Don't even get me started on the Fingernail-Clippers.

The only way to combat this, besides throwing the offending party through a window, which would probably hurt you on your annual performance review, is to listen to music on your headphones at the highest possible volume, just to drown everybody out. Of course, that negates the whole idea of the open workspace and team collaboration, but what's a guy to do?

Wait! I just had a great idea. You know the slogan, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em"?  I think that's what I'm going to do. There's always room for another All-Day-Long-Coffee-Slurper.

Hold The Lightly Wilted Arugula, Please!

To celebrate the completion of a large project at work, my team now gets to go to one of those swanky, high-class restaurants where dinner costs as much as a semester in college.

This place is Frasier as compared to Cheers. Here is an excerpt from the restaurant's propoganda: "From the myriad pieces of timeless art in the gallery to the clean lines of the stylish lounge to the breathtaking wooded views and understated style and elegance of our restaurant...."

That's what I'm looking for when I eat! Breathtaking wooded views! Maybe we'll be eating under a tree or something.

I still don't know what I'm going to order yet, mainly because I have no idea what anything is. Here are a few examples of what's on the menu:

grilled grouper
lightly wilted arugula
port reduction
blueberry and orange demi glace

That's what I was going to have for lunch! Or maybe that's what you can use to clean the bathroom. I really have no idea. I hate having to get a dictionary before I order.

As you can see, I'm pretty much out of my league, here. Not to worry, though.  My plan is to try and fit in by casually saying things like, "Note the understated style and elegance." or "I"ll have the lightly wilted arugula, please."

I guess as long as I don't accidently break any of the myriad pieces of timeless art I'll be happy.

Yo!

I don't draw as much as I used to. I just don't find the inspiration like I once did. (Or perhaps I don't look for it hard enough.)

However, I recently ran into a picture that I liked enough to make me pick up a pencil again. Call me a sucker, but there's something inspiring about a 60 year old Rocky celebrating his training completion in a snowstorm.

When I was getting the drawing into digital format, I messed around to give it a blueish shade, which seems to invoke a more winter feel.

For the record, Rocky Balboa is a pretty good movie.

My Random Day Off

I have too much vacation.

I’ll wait a moment while you sympathize with me…… That should do it! Now, back to business!

Basically, I didn’t take a lot of vacation early this year because I was busy at work on a project. Now, as the year draws to a close, I have found that I have a relatively large amount of days left that I have to take off. It may seem like I’m saying this just to rub in my good fortune, and while that’s true, what’s interesting is that I don’t have specific plans for all of these vacation days.

So I took Friday off and it was probably the first day I’ve ever taken that didn’t involve me leaving Wisconsin for less cheesy pastures. So, you may be asking, what happens on a random day off for me?

First, I wake up very early to go out picture taking in the rain. The premise here is that if everybody is at work they couldn’t possibly be bumbling around in the parks and annoying me while I take pictures of raindrops:

It was pretty windy and I had high hopes of catching a flurry of leaves in mid flight after they had detached themselves from their respective trees. However, the best I could do was this one lonely, leaf:

It turns out that I’m rather fond of that leaf. He was the only one that went along with my plan. From here on out I’ll refer to him as Lief. (Sorry. I couldn’t resist.)

After that I tried to amuse myself by watching Transformers 2. It was truly horrible. After I watched for a half-hour I realized that there was still about seventeen hours left. At this point I found out that I could watch the movie at 2 or 4 times the regular speed and still follow what was happening. (Robots were pounding on each other like crazy.) Then I moved on to skipping scenes until I got to the climatic finale, where the robots pounded on each other like crazy. Finally the movie ended and, feeling dumber than when I had started, I decided to read instead.

Eventually the day began to draw to a close. I headed out again for more pictures. (I’m desperately trying to enjoy Fall as much as possible before the snow flies.)

Once the sunset had faded I relaxed on the bank for a while, listened to the wind, smelled the leaves, and generally let my mind wander wherever it wanted to. It was very relaxing. I really need to do that more.

Then I went home and the power went out.

Surviving Thirty

So I’m pushing thirty.

Wow, that was kind of hard to write. Thirty means you’re old. It also means you should be wise. It means you should have a mortgage, discuss politics on a regular basis, disdain all popular forms of music, act in a serious manner, and know just what to do in almost any situation.

At least that’s how I’ve always pictured it. Obviously I’m going to miss the mark on several, if not most, of these points.

However, I’ve found solace in one thing: everybody I know who is about my age is also in the process of turning thirty. Now, that may sound quite obvious, but it is actually very important. You see, everything is made easier when you go through it with others. Turning thirty, or any age for that matter, is no different. The fact that a lot of my good friends who I’ve known since high school or earlier are also starting to age rapidly makes me feel happy. Basically, if I have to suffer, so should they! I know that sounds somewhat cruel, but I guess the phrase ‘misery loves company’ comes into play here.

As a result of this, when I’m thirty I can make jokes to these people about being old. I can ask them if they spend their summer sitting by the fire with a blanket over their knees, or if they count the number of snaps, crackles, and pops their body produces when they get out of bed in the morning. On the flip side, since I’m going through the same thing, I expect to receive as many taunts as I give out.

I think this is why old men sit together and discuss their medical problems. I used to think that was kind of weird, and somewhat gross, but now I understand it. Getting old isn’t fun, but if you can share the experience with others and compare your scars, you can at least get some enjoyment out of it:

Old Man 1: Did I ever tell you about the time I had to have that triple bypass? I’ll bet none of you have even had a double!”

Old Man 2: That’s nothing! Remember when my heart stopped altogether? Heck, if it weren’t for them defibrillator thingies I’d be pushing up daisies right now!”

Old Man 3: I remember when – wait, I don’t remember it anymore. Dang!

Old Man 1 and Old Man 2: Har!

Old Man 2: Uh-oh. I think I just broke a hip.

So it’s key to make sure you have friends your age. I do have friends who are younger than me, and that’s fine. However, if they were the only friends I had I would probably get quite depressed. (It’s never fun being the only guy who has to stretch for twenty minutes before engaging in any sort of strenuous activity, such as walking to your car.) I don’t even mind when the youngsters call me Old Timer or mention my age in reference to dirt. I can live with that, because I know that I’m not the only one.

And if the youngsters don’t watch out, us old timers will gang up and beat them with our canes.

Fall Colors (Or The Lack Thereof)

Fall has always been my favorite season of the year. There's the crisp bite of the air, the smell of the leaves, and of course the change of the colors. Plus, there's always football. (Although as a Lions fan, that argument really doesn't hold much water.)

However, the fall colors haven't seemed to be very impressive the last few years. As opposed to an explosion of bright reds and oranges, I've only really seen the dull, runny yellows. The trees haven't synchronized, either, as by the time some of them finally turn, others will have already lost all of their foliage.

Perhaps I haven't made it out enough and have just missed them. Each year I tell myself I'm going to make sure I take the time to enjoy the season. Then, before I know it, it's already November and I've only been out exploring a couple of times. I really should just take October off some year. The heck with making a living.

Thoughts On Blogging

A blog. How completely unoriginal of me. But here I am anyway.

Actually, I had thought about blogging before, but something always stopped me. For a while I thought it was because I wasn't interesting enough to warrent my own blog. Then I saw some of the other blogs out there. Next I thought it was because there were other, more important things I could be doing instead, like watching Matlock. Still, that wasn't it, either. I'd still have plenty of time for Matlock.

Finally, after much thought, it hit me: I couldn't come up with a name for a blog that I liked.

My first instinct was to use a name that I found completely hilarious, such as Curly's Corner Of Compelling Concerns And Clever Chronicles. However, that didn't feel quite right. What if I wanted to write about something serious? You just can't be taken seriously with a name like that.

So I finally settled on 'From The Desk Of Curly'. I'll admit that it's not very original, but it gives me the necessary leeway to write about whatever comes to my mind. Plus, I got to take a picture of my desk, which was actually kinda fun.