Brrrrrrrrrrrrr!

For those of you who may be meteorologically challenged, winter is fast approaching us.

This isn’t the best of news for me, because I don’t do winters well. At least not Minnesota winters.

I’m a native born Yooper, so the ability to navigate gargantuan piles of road-clogging snow while avoiding rogue snowplows, all while still being able to sing along happily with the radio, is naturally infused in my DNA. However, Minnesota winters are tough for me. This is because Minnesota would much rather freeze you than it would bury you.

Snow is an enemy you can fight. You can shovel your driveway eighteen times in one day during a blizzard, just to show Mother Nature that you’re not going to give in to her. Cold, however, is a whole other animal, one that’s hard to confront directly. You may be able to fend it off, but you can’t really attack it. For some reason, even though the saying is usually associated with other subjects, the phrase “silent but violent” comes to mind.

And Minnesota is cold. Dave Barry* says that “one of Minnesota’s major industries is trying to get cars started, which is very difficult because the entire state is located inside the Arctic Circle.” You can find YouTube videos where people here throw a cup of water outside into the air, and it instantly turns into a puff of vapor. Now, some may find this scientifically interesting, perhaps even a bit humorous, but I see it simply as a warning to never go outside between November and March unless protected by enough layers of clothing to roughly double one’s body weight.

Minnesota can also be devious. As a Yooper, I spent the first twenty-odd years of my life under the impression that it was impossible in nature for the sun to shine during the winter. I was used to six months of a perpetual gray cloud cover. However, the sun does often show itself during the Minnesota winters. The problem is that it doesn’t provide any heat. It’s basically nothing more than a big tease, where it looks halfway pleasurable outside until you actually get there, and then you realize that your eyebrows have frozen and fallen off, and that your lips aren’t that far behind.

I have several mechanisms for coping with Minnesota winter.

• I stop at every gas station I encounter and buy coffee. Coffee tastes much better in the winter, so I take full advantage of this. My caffeine consumption skyrockets during this time, as does my average number of trips to the bathroom per day. It’s worth it, though, because the coffee is good, the bathrooms are typically indoors, and the indoors are typically warm. That’s a win-win in my book.
• I pretend that I’m going to use the extra time indoors to expand my cooking repertoire, but I never actually do. For some reason, I find that comforting.
• I catch up on my reading. If winter lasts too long, this might stretch out to having to re-read every Garfield comic ever produced.
• I listen to Hawaiian music with the heat blasting while I sway softly to the music. Ha ha! Just kidding! As far as you know.

The first part of winter actually isn’t that bad. This lasts from the time the Lions start losing football games up until New Years Day. During this time, there’s always something to look forward to, such as Thanksgiving or Christmas or eating enough home-baked goods during those two occasions to give birth to several new chins.

Once January rolls around, however, it’s a whole new ballgame, and the bottom completely falls out. There’s no getting around it, this is when a person just has to quit their whining, suck it up, and slog on through, no matter how many times their eyebrows freeze and fall off. (Either that or remember to have scheduled a tropical vacation for all of February.)

Eventually, right before insanity begins to set in, spring finally arrives. By this time, I’m about as sick of coffee as a person can be, I never want to see another book again, Garfield is no longer humorous, and I’ve developed a strong dislike for Hawaiian music.

I cackle happily when I see the ice rinks melting, even though that could very well be an offense punishable by death here in Minnesota. I gleefully watch as the temperatures inch back upwards to near-habitable levels. The local deer population take off their long underwear. My eyebrows grow back, and I fall to my knees in the beautiful new grass to celebrate the birth of a new season.

Then I get a tick on me.

Stupid warm weather.

*If you haven’t read Dave Barry, you should.

Blogiversary Q&A

Q. Um, is this thing on?
A. I think so.

Q. So, are you ready?
A. As ready as I’ll ever be.

Q. All right. For starters, is your three year blogiversary post really going to be one of those cheesy fictitious question and answer interview sessions?
A. Absolutely. Don’t judge me.

Q. Does it mean that since you’ve sunk to this new low you’re out of interesting things to write about, and consequently your blog is about to jump the proverbial shark?
A. I’m actually pretty sure that ship sailed a long time ago.

Q. Hmm. I tend to agree with that.
A. That’s not even a question.

Q. Oh, right. Um, did you know that I tend to agree with your assessment?
A. Oh, that’s clever. Real professional.

Q. Listen buddy, I don’t have to take this from anybody! I can walk out at any time! What, do you wanna interview yourself, or what?
A. I actually kind of think I am.

Q. Oh, yeah. This whole thing is kind of weird, isn’t it?
A. Yup.

Q. Well, shall we try it again?
A. Sure.

Q. So, three years, huh?
A. That’s barely a question.

Q. But was it technically a question?
A. I suppose, technically...

Q. Then do you think that perhaps you should be more focused on answering what has just been established to be a question instead of berating the interviewer?
A. Yes, I suppose I probably should. Sorry. I don’t do many interviews. Hmm, three years…Three whole years…So many posts, so little useful information.

Q. Perhaps you'd like to take us behind the scenes of the creation of a typical blog posting, from inspiration to finished product, so we can all get an in-depth understanding of what it’s like to work behind Curly’s desk?
A. Um, no.

Q. Are you sure?
A. Yes.

Q. All right then. Do you think that you could have spent the last three years doing something more productive than maintaining this blog?
A. Most likely.

Q. Do you regret not doing so?
A. Heck no. This is the easiest job in the world. And also the lowest paying.

Q. Ha! That’s classic Curly humor, right there.
A. Sorry to be a wet blanket, but again, that’s not a question.

Q. Party pooper. How about this then, maybe I use an ‘O’ next time, instead of a ‘Q’? You know, for ‘Observation’?
A. So it would be an observation and response session, instead of a question and answer session?

Q. Actually, that’s a question on your point, not an answer, and you used an ‘A’ for it. I think you should have used a 'Q'.
A. I’m getting confused.

Q. Me too. But yes, maybe it’d be more of an observation and response session - oh wait, I’ve already marked this as a question. Um, what do you say about that?
A. Nice save. But whatever you’d like to do. You’re the interviewer here.

O. Sweet.
R. Hey! Using an ‘O’ actually kind of works. I like it. And I used an 'R'!

O. Sweet.
R. Sweet indeed.

Q. Back to the questions. How weird is it to be arguing with yourself in this post?
A. Not as weird as one may think.

Q. But it’s still somewhat weird, right?
A. A little.

Q. With that in mind, do you think that anybody is actually still reading this, or have they all given up, wondering just what in the heck is going on?
A. They’ve probably all given up. We’ve definitely gotten off track.

Q. True. Let’s move on to the next question. Is there anybody you’d like to thank, or perhaps give a “shout-out” to?
A. Nah, I’m good.

Q. Don’t you think that your readers deserve some sort of acknowledgement for taking time out of their busy days to read your inane posting?
A. I thought we already established that nobody is still reading this, which would make that pretty much a moot point.

Q. But what if somebody didn’t get disgusted with this monstrosity of a blog post and is still reading? What if they’re scrolling through right now? There’s nothing you’d want to say to them, on this, your blogiversary?
A. That was actually three questions. Next time use three Q’s, like ‘QQQ’. But as for my readers, I thanked them last year, and nothing’s changed since then. They know where we stand.

O. That sounds like a veiled ‘thank you’ to me.
R. Think of it however you want to, Mr. Look-Into-Everything-Way-Too-Deeply.

O. Jerk.
R. Loser.

Q. Next question. Do you plan to continue this blog?
A. Yes. With Click and Clack retiring, I don’t think the American public could take another blow like that to their collective psyche.

O. Some classic Curly sarcasm there, folks!
R. {shrugs shoulders}

QQ. Do you still enjoy blogging? Or has it turned into a chore?
A. Hey, you got the multiple ‘Q’ thing right! And, yes I still enjoy it.

Q. Are you ever going to bring back your initial banner, you know, the one that actually had a picture of your desk?
A. I kind of wish I could, but I don’t have that picture anymore. Somehow I deleted it from my computer. I wonder if anybody else has it? That would be weird, but…

Q. Why did you change the banner anyway? I liked the old one.
A. I got a new desk, and I thought I should update the banner accordingly with a new picture. However, as it turns out, I’ve only got one good desk picture in me, and I used it up on my first banner. All subsequent attempts with the new desk failed miserably, and by the time I figured it out, I’d already lost the original picture.

O. Sad.
R. Yes. That was the best part of the entire blog, that’s for sure.

QQ. Any hints as to what’s coming in year four? Something to wet our proverbial whistles?
A. I dunno. More of the same junk designed to get peoples’ minds off of the real world, if only for a little while?

O. Okay. Fair enough.
R. {Does not respond}

Q. Well, I’m kind of getting bored with this whole thing. How about you?
AQ. I was bored by about the second question. Should we wrap it up?

O. Ha! An Answer/Question!
R. {beams proudly}

Q. Well, how about one last question?
A. Shoot.

Q. Could you post, one final time, the picture of a giant slug, even though there have been no documented cases of anybody actually finding it funny?
A. Absolutely.

Big Daddy, Papa Grande, And Sports

As a kid I was into sports, mainly of the professional Detroit franchise variety.

I remember rooting for Cecil “Big Daddy” Fielder who, in the pre-steroid era, belted an unheard of 51 home runs, despite the fact that it appeared he was powered entirely by chocolate chip cookies.

I remember having the window to my room open, with a radio leaned up against the screen, facing out, so I could listen to the Red Wings in the Stanley Cup Finals while I shot hoops in the driveway.

I remember marveling at Barry Sanders making the defenders trying to tackle him look like silly, and also at how the Lions failed to ever give him a quarterback who didn’t look like he was pulled off the street minutes before the game and asked to suit up:

“Ever play quarterback, son?”
“Quarterwho?”
“You’ll get the hang of it.”

I remember watching Bill Laimbeer draining three-pointers with his ridiculous over-the-head shooting form. To this day, when playing H-O-R-S-E in Eagle Harbor with my buddy Lurch, a halfcourt, over-the-head shot is referred to exclusively as a “Laimbeer”.

They were fun times, but I’ve since grown, and the world of sports has begun to take a back seat in my life. This became readily apparent to me after I intensely followed the Detroit Pistons through the 2004 postseason all the way to their improbable championship, which cumulated in an NBA Finals victory over the heavily-favored L.A. Lakers, who were going through their last season of the intense drama, “As Shaq And Kobe Turn.” After the final seconds had ticked away and the Pistons won, I sat there for a while, waiting for a moment of jubilation to hit me, but it never came. Instead, I thought, “That’s it? Huh.”

The childhood magic of following sports was gone.

Not that I don’t do it anymore, it’s just not with the same voracity. It no longer rules my world. Today, I consider myself to be a bit more mature, a tad more sophisticated, a sliver more classy, in spite of this very blog, which consists of nothing but utterly nonsensical ramblings that seem to contradict the very assertion of maturity.

Except I’m kind of lying. Not about the nonsensical ramblings, but of the whole sports voracity following thing.

You see, if I don’t guard against it, I quickly find myself getting pulled back in and reverting back to the stereotypical fan who lives and dies by his team and throws furniture across the room after a bad call goes against them. I find that I have to go cold turkey and monitor things from the internet in order to avoid this.

Case in point, the Detroit Tigers current run through the playoffs, specifically Game One of the ALCS against the New York Yankees. Like a moron, I tuned into the ninth inning, where the Tigers were up by four. At this point, Jose “Papa Grande” Valverde was called on the close out the game, despite the fact that recently he’s looked like he’s been pulled off the street minutes before the game and asked to suit up:

“Ever pitch the ninth before?”
“Pitch the whatnow?”
“You’ll get the hang of it.”

Predictably, Papa Grande played like he was actually a double agent on the Yankees payroll, and the four run lead evaporated as fast as the Yankees could circle the bases without getting dizzy, during which time I contemplated throwing furniture across the room and seeing how many swears I could string together before I ran out of breath.

So much for mature.
See ya, sophistication.
Adios to classy.

There is no in-between. I'm either detached or all in. For example, I would gladly choose to participate in any sort of outdoor activity on a Sunday afternoon a hundred times out of a hundred as opposed to watching football, but if I do find myself stuck inside with nothing else to do and a Lions game is on, I’ll soon turn into a ranting and raving lunatic who questions vehemently the entire coaching staff’s sanity for calling a draw on third and long. However, if I check the score afterwards and see that they lost a heartbreaker, I'll usually just chuckle and say, “Same ol’ Lions!”

It’s basically the worst of both worlds. I can get all riled up watching a game when it goes bad, yet when everything goes well and victory is achieved, I look around and wonder, “That’s it? Huh.”

So basically, I just need to stay away.

Quell the quarters.
Hang up the halves.
Pitch the periods.
Impound the innings.

Give me time. I’ll get the hang of it.

The Self Portrait

One thing that I’ve been trying to work on lately is enjoying the moment more.

For example, when I’m hiking and finally reach my destination, in the past I’d typically grunt, nod approvingly, maybe snap a picture or two, and then return the way I came, a string of actions that together take up about 14.5 seconds, depending on the length and heartiness of the grunt.

Now, however, if faced with that situation, my goal is to try to take some additional time to appreciate the moment, perhaps stretching things out to maybe 20 seconds or so. (Walk before you run, right?)

So, when I recently found myself at a state park overlook in southern Minnesota on a beautiful fall day, I decided to take the time to try and actually enjoy my being there. However, I quickly found out that I’m not very good at that sort of thing, and after hanging out for a bit, I got bored, and soon after the idea of a self-portrait popped into my mind.

Now, there are precious few pictures of me that exist ever since my graduation from high school. Call it my lost decade or so. This is mainly because like most guys, I hate posing for pictures. It’s awkward and unnatural, and plus sometimes I have boogers, and I’d rather not have that fact documented where it will last up until the end of time. My thinking is that if any pictures of me are to be taken, they need to be the result of something that happens naturally, and not something where I have to hold still for what feels like an eternity and yell, “Cheese!”

You’re probably now asking, why was I even thinking about a self-portrait at the state park, since it would obviously be posed, going against everything that I believe in and just expressed so eloquently in the previous paragraph? Well, as I already alluded to, I was having a hard time appreciating the moment and needed something to do. Also, I remembered that my friend Tom has never met a self-portrait that he hasn’t liked, and I figured it was high time for me to break out of my shell a bit. Plus, I determined that at least one picture of me should probably exist between the ages of 20 and 40, just for posterity.

The key to a guy self-portrait, at least in my mind, is for the subject to look introspective, yet still rugged and capable. If not, then there’s no point in even taking it. However, to do it right, it can’t have the feel of a posed self-portrait. Instead, it needs to look like somebody stumbled upon the subject during one of his rare reflective moments and quickly snapped a picture before said subject could object to it.

Here are a couple of suggestions for trying to accomplish this feat:

1.) The subject, which is, of course, yourself, is outside. Being outside adds to the competent guy aura. It’s hard to look introspective, yet still rugged and capable, while sitting in a recliner with the sports section and a Mountain Dew, unless, perhaps, the recliner is located in the forest.

2.) The subject is not looking into the camera, but is instead gazing off intently into the distance, with a hint of a frown on his face. This conveys the notion that the guy is deep in important thought, thinking manly things, such as:

“When was the last time I killed a bear?”

“Perhaps I’ll build a log cabin using nothing but my own two hands and several primitive tools.”

“Either I dig the well or rebuild the engine tonight, but not both. I need time to read several volumes of philosophy.”

3.) The subject is wearing dusty boots. This gives the impression that he is a down-to-earth and capable kind of guy who enjoys getting his hands dirty. It’s kind of like having the subject surrounded by jacks and wrenches and hammers and tow straps, but in a much more subtle manner.

4.) The subject is scruffy. Nothing adds to the competent guy factor like some good scruff. It just screams out, “Yes, I’ve been too busy to shave, which should be obvious since I’m wearing dusty boots and gazing off into the distance, but even so, I still find a way to make it all work.” However, not everybody can grow good scruff. Photoshop can help with that after the fact.

5.) The subject is wearing a winter hat. I don’t know why, but you can never go wrong with a winter hat, unless, of course, it’s the kind that Elmer Fudd wears. Then it takes a special kind of person to pull it off.

Anyway, back to the state park, where, with all of these factors in mind, I figured out the self-timer on my camera and went to work. Here’s the final result, along with several helpful notes:

Not bad, eh? Looking at it, who’d ever think that I’m a software developer? I’ll admit that it’s pretty deceptive, but a more accurate representation, such as a picture of me sleeping in my cubicle, just wouldn’t deliver the same emotional punch.

My only regret is that I wish I had a bearskin coat that I could have worn. But then again, maybe that would have been pushing the boundaries of believability a bit too far.

Well, I suppose I’d better get to working on that cabin now. I’ll probably need jacks and wrenches and hammers and tow straps.

It's The Most Horrible Time Of The Year

So as you've probably noticed, it’s election season, which probably means that one of your fondest wishes right now is that you could invent a time machine and skip over it entirely.

Ah, election season, that magical time of the year when candidates for public office -- fighting the preconceived notion of politicians being underhanded, immoral, and devious megalomaniacs only in it for their own personal gain -- do their best through various forms of propaganda to convince potential voters not that they’re actually honest and pure-of-heart individuals who are in it for the greater good of the country, but rather that their opponent is even more underhanded, immoral, and devious than they are, leaving them as the only rational choice. This is known as the Lesser Of Two Evils approach.

Fun, right?

Anyway, over the course of the election season, candidates vying for the same seat typically spend their time releasing increasingly negative advertisements about each other, where the concept of truth quickly disappears:

“Jack Smith once voted to increase his own pay, even though it was part of a bill that funded boots for our soldiers, since they were getting sick and tired of driving tanks barefoot. But still, Jack Smith voted to increase his own pay! Is that the kind of leadership we want in Washington? This ad is paid for by Mike Brown for Congress.”

“Mike Brown was employed for a corporation that was accused of corruption and bribery forty years ago, before Mike Brown even worked there, but we’re pretty sure there’s a connection there somewhere, mainly because when Mike Brown smiles, it looks pretty darn suspicious. Is that the kind of leadership we want in Washington? This ad is paid for by Jack Smith for Congress.”

“Oh yeah? Jack Smith once saw an old lady being mugged on the street and turned his back on her! Is that the kind of leadership we want in Washington? This ad is paid for by Mike Brown for Congress.”

“That's nothing! Mike Brown once MUGGED an old lady on the street. And then kicked a cat! Is that the kind of leadership we want in Washington? This ad is paid for by Jack Smith for Congress.”

"So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? Fine! Jack Smith once mugged an old lady on the street, robbed a convenience store, hotwired a car, and led the police on a forty mile chase. Then he kicked three cats! Is that the kind of leadership we want in Washington? This ad is paid for by Mike Brown for Congress.”

“That’s nothing! Mike Brown once mugged an old lady on the street, robbed a convenience store, hotwired a car, and led the police on a forty mile chase, with an EXPIRED driver’s license! Then he burned down an animal shelter! Is that the kind of leadership we want in Washington? This ad is paid for by Jack Smith for Congress.”

This exercise in creative writing goes on and on until both candidates are essentially accusing the other of being Darth Vader and masterminding a secret, villainous organization whose only goal -- besides mugging old ladies on the street -- is total world domination, accomplished almost solely by taking away government assistance from the elderly.

Needless to say, by the end of the campaign season most people hate both candidates equally, and would gladly vote for anybody else, including a well-groomed chimpanzee or a somewhat interesting rock, just as long as they promised to pass a low to make campaign advertising illegal.

Now, with all of that being said, this is still the system that we’re stuck with, and that means that we as voters have take the high road and do what’s expected of us, which is to ignore all of the advertisements as best we can and just hope to make it through November 6^th without going insane.

At least that’s my plan.

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