I was never much of a Joe Montana fan; I always supported the Dan Marino party in the race for the “Best Quarterback Ever.” And Joe went to Notre Dame, which I only like when I watch Rudy. So, that being said, I was just reading a story about Montana’s son, Nick, a blue chip football recruit in his own right. But Joe and his wife, Jennifer, wouldn’t go on the record in the article because they didn’t want it to appear as if they were focusing more on one of their children than the others. That’s fantastic parenting, and just damn cool.
That brings me to this gem of a story from our weekend. Saturday we went to a wedding, and seated across the aisle from us was a young mother. Everyone knows black hooker boots have their place, but when a seven year old leans over and says, “Mommy, that is NOT appropriate for a wedding,” well, then you know that just maybe, someone has made a bad judgment call.
Niccolo Machiavelli posed the question: “Is it better to be loved, or feared?” If you want the answer, ask a parent.
What was more predictable, the Brett Farve wants to play again story, or the voting scandal in Iran? I’m saying it was a push.
I’ve seen the headlines; Tom and Kate have some big announcement tonight. It should either be “Kate’s a biatch” (I only know this thanks to “The Soup” on E) or “Obama supports taxing our viewers twice as much as everyone else.”
June 22, 2009
June 11, 2009
Hirp History X
Last night we had dinner at my in-laws, and while we were eating I brought up what had happened at the Holocaust Museum
The Kyd hears us go over pretty much the same details I just mentioned, and we tell her, that he's racist against Blacks and Jews, and that's why (how weak is that?!) he did what he did. She's 7, mature for her age, but still just 7. So her reaction, as pure and beautiful as it really was, also really bothered me. There was complete and utter shock in her face. Immediately she looked at me, we could see her making the connection in her head, "G is Jewish, and this happened because someone doesn't like Jews. Can this happen to G?"
A scene from the much underrated and very re-watchable movie, The Kingdom, immediately played in my head. Jamie Foxx, who plays an FBI agent that investigates terrorism, is trying to tell his son, who is about the same age as my step-daughter, that something very bad happened, and dad needs to go to work. His son looks at his dad and says, "there's a lot of bad people out there, huh?"
Foxx replies, "yes, but you're not one of them."
Syd, there are a lot of bad people out there, but you aren't one of them, never one of them. I've thought a lot about that brief conversation, her reaction, and just the pointless violence that took place in Washington DC
These people scare the crap out of me. We found the show when they were giving the details of a 1999 shooting at a Jewish Community and day care center. Frankly, I had almost completely forgotten about it, which makes me feel guilty. The irony is rich. At one point, they interviewed some "leader" of another Neo-Nazi organization, and he called the incident a failure. Why? Because the gunmen fired off 70 shots, and it's supposed to be 1 shot, 1 kill, and this gunmen didn't kill anyone in the center (but did kill a postman as he fled, for the simple offense of being a person of color working for the Government).
I swear, I thought I heard banjo's playing in the background as this guy with the serial killer glasses and Grizzly Adams beard spewed his20bullshit. But something occurred to me on the way to work, perhaps a little sick and twisted, but that's just how I roll. These freaks believe whites are the "master race." But if my people are in such control of all that goes on in the world, that we control the media, the courts, and all the money, doesn't that mean that Jews are actually the "master race?" I mean, just by default. Their hero, Hitler, killed six million of us, yet we're still so powerful, really? According to JewishVirtualLibrary.com, Jews account for a whopping 1.78% of the American population. There are more WNBA fans in America than there are Jews in America
Seriously though, what makes them hate so much? I get it, times are rough, and we all want to point the finger at someone else. Maybe it's easy to blame 1.78% of the population for the fact that you had to take your sister to prom. I guess it doesn't really matter, because these people are friggin' dangerous. Their ideas are even more dangero us than the violent acts they commit. They want to spread weakness and hate, and if it were up to them, 7 year olds would (and I'm sure their kids already) think like them.
Seven year olds are smarter than us. When the Kyd tells us she doesn't like someone, her reason is almost always the same. "They're mean." It's that simple, and it should still be so easy. I've seen her play with boys, girls, handicapped, Black, Mexican, older and younger kids. And all she wants is kids who are nice. If someone isn't nice, that's the extent of it. She doesn't need to find a reason and place blame. It isn't because of their race or religion, they just aren't nice. Why can't we be as mature as 2nd graders?
I don't know if it's more hypocritical or just nonsensical that they admire Adolf Hitler so much. I mean, do they not realize that as such "patriots" they're following someone who killed Americans!? Who disagreed with everything our country stands for? How is sidi ng with your enemy a patriotic act? The show we watched had the standard clips of some Derek Vinyard type, rallying about how they don't want immigrants here and this country is for them. I just want to ask them, how the ef did your family end up here?
There's really nothing wrong with having some pride in your people. Jews do it all the time, and proudly spend their money at Jewish owned businesses, but doesn't pride come before the fall? Or that must be some Jew pulling on a trip cord. It's pretty obvious, but these neo-Nazi's aren't happy and well adjusted citizens. And for that matter, neither are most Jews (or anyone else). But to actually want your kids to hate, that's their biggest sin, and most indefensible. Hate me because I had more opportunities in my life, or because I have a nicer TV than you, because I went to KU or voted for Obama and you disagree with my religious views. But for the love of whatever you actually care about, don't teach your kids to hate, asshole.
June 03, 2009
We are Hirpness
As a kid, I was always a baseball fan first. That’s my first love, and even though we’ve had a rocky relationship and grown apart some, she still has my fan heart. But I always enjoyed the NBA. In the 80’s I was a bit of a Laker fan, not just because it was the team of choice of an older cousin who lived out there, but because Magic Johnson was just too much fun to watch. For years I argued how he was the best ever, and this Jordan fella was all about stats, and actually hurt his team.
After Jordan won his first title, beating Magic and the Lakers, I still insisted that Magic was the better player. At 6’9, he was built like a power forward, but played the point. He made passes that I would end up practicing in my drive way. Only I was passing to an 18 foot wide garage, and he was making the passes to someone running full speed. Advantage: Magic. Jordan was playing above the rim, and it was awe inspiring, but just the thought of being able to reach the net was more than a tall order for me.
It took Jordan retiring for me to come around, and realize that was in fact, the best player to ever play. Luckily for me, he came back. But at the same time, I was also a Knick fan. How I was able to cheer for a NY team and an LA team at the same time was simply a product of my age. By the time the Bulls played the Lakers, I was definitely a Knick fan first, but Magic was my guy. Those passes never got old, and that smile was infectious.
Today I routinely exchange emails with that same cousin, and his partner in crime. And once again, I’m siding with the guy who makes the pretty passes. Only this guy plays above the rim too. He’s a beast, that Lebron James. I remember watching his high school games on ESPN2, and I thought he had to be at least 24 years old then. That was 7 years ago, and he’s still 24.
Nike hyped him up like they’ve never hyped anyone else. He was the #1 draft pick by his hometown Cleveland Cavilers. We were all witness. And he came on the scene like no other NBA rookie ever has. I won’t get into the stats, even though I want to. I spent the past few years rallying against Kobe Bryant, who like James, came to the NBA straight out of high school. My friends will tell you, I always like getting excited over the young athletes. And I don’t mean that in a creepy, Michael Jackson-Maculy Culkin sort of way. There’s just something about seeing the potential, wondering what kind of career someone will have, and seeing it play out. It’s one of the things that make sports so great.
But I quickly soured on Kobe. He was arrogant, and just very easy to dislike. So my cousin and I sparred, and sparred some more. I picked at every word he spoke, every face he made on the court and generally acted like a “hater.” It took some time, and some growing on my part, but I softened my stance on Kobe. He grew up, and so did I. I wrote on this blog once, that he and A-Rod were very similar. That was flat out wrong. I can admit that now.
This year the question became clear, you’re either a Lebron guy, or a Kobe guy. And I’ve planted my Lebron flag. And while it’s been much speculated that he’ll bolt Cleveland for the glitz of New York after next year, I am firm in my belief, that I don’t want him. Not because I just don’t want the best player (or 2nd best) on the planet, because of course I’d love to have his talent. I just don’t want to see an icon change teams. Icons don’t do that, no in the prime of their careers. His staying in Cleveland is better for him, basketball and all of us. Even Knick fans.
That’s a bit off point. Here’s why I think Lebron is “The One.” His play in the playoffs this year, against the Orlando Magic, even though they lost the series, sucked my wife in. She was right there next to me, on the couch, watching in pure amazement, as this guy did everything imaginable on the basketball court. That’s huge. To get someone who isn’t even a casual NBA fan, so enthralled in their play, is evidence of something special.
After Jordan won his first title, beating Magic and the Lakers, I still insisted that Magic was the better player. At 6’9, he was built like a power forward, but played the point. He made passes that I would end up practicing in my drive way. Only I was passing to an 18 foot wide garage, and he was making the passes to someone running full speed. Advantage: Magic. Jordan was playing above the rim, and it was awe inspiring, but just the thought of being able to reach the net was more than a tall order for me.
It took Jordan retiring for me to come around, and realize that was in fact, the best player to ever play. Luckily for me, he came back. But at the same time, I was also a Knick fan. How I was able to cheer for a NY team and an LA team at the same time was simply a product of my age. By the time the Bulls played the Lakers, I was definitely a Knick fan first, but Magic was my guy. Those passes never got old, and that smile was infectious.
Today I routinely exchange emails with that same cousin, and his partner in crime. And once again, I’m siding with the guy who makes the pretty passes. Only this guy plays above the rim too. He’s a beast, that Lebron James. I remember watching his high school games on ESPN2, and I thought he had to be at least 24 years old then. That was 7 years ago, and he’s still 24.
Nike hyped him up like they’ve never hyped anyone else. He was the #1 draft pick by his hometown Cleveland Cavilers. We were all witness. And he came on the scene like no other NBA rookie ever has. I won’t get into the stats, even though I want to. I spent the past few years rallying against Kobe Bryant, who like James, came to the NBA straight out of high school. My friends will tell you, I always like getting excited over the young athletes. And I don’t mean that in a creepy, Michael Jackson-Maculy Culkin sort of way. There’s just something about seeing the potential, wondering what kind of career someone will have, and seeing it play out. It’s one of the things that make sports so great.
But I quickly soured on Kobe. He was arrogant, and just very easy to dislike. So my cousin and I sparred, and sparred some more. I picked at every word he spoke, every face he made on the court and generally acted like a “hater.” It took some time, and some growing on my part, but I softened my stance on Kobe. He grew up, and so did I. I wrote on this blog once, that he and A-Rod were very similar. That was flat out wrong. I can admit that now.
This year the question became clear, you’re either a Lebron guy, or a Kobe guy. And I’ve planted my Lebron flag. And while it’s been much speculated that he’ll bolt Cleveland for the glitz of New York after next year, I am firm in my belief, that I don’t want him. Not because I just don’t want the best player (or 2nd best) on the planet, because of course I’d love to have his talent. I just don’t want to see an icon change teams. Icons don’t do that, no in the prime of their careers. His staying in Cleveland is better for him, basketball and all of us. Even Knick fans.
That’s a bit off point. Here’s why I think Lebron is “The One.” His play in the playoffs this year, against the Orlando Magic, even though they lost the series, sucked my wife in. She was right there next to me, on the couch, watching in pure amazement, as this guy did everything imaginable on the basketball court. That’s huge. To get someone who isn’t even a casual NBA fan, so enthralled in their play, is evidence of something special.
May 08, 2009
How Could I Forget
I left off a highlight of our trip to Mexico by mistake. Maybe it doesn’t really qualify as part of our vacation, as it took place on the journey home. As we boarded the plane in Charlotte (CLT) we couldn’t help but notice the screaming baby in the seats across the aisle from us. Couldn’t have been less thrilled with this situation. That is, until the passengers who would be sitting directly in front of us, took their seats. Three Army Rangers and a Catholic Priest ended up in those seats. The priest looked to be on official God business, in his Cassock (thanks Google) but, along with learning the name of the garment, I also learned it doesn’t have any added significance. And I was hoping it meant we had a big wig. Anyway, even being the agnostic fella that I am, I felt pretty good about these four. At least we had all of our bases covered, and I cracked to them, “this is going to be the safest flight ever.”
This brings me to a common topic of conversation during our recent travels. Everyone knows the story about the plane ditching in the Hudson, but my wife just couldn’t get over the fact that it appeared that none of the passengers/survivors seemed to have paid attention on the flight. Where were there floating devices, formerly known as seat cushions? It’s not as if they only occasionally mention that we’re sitting on a cross functional device.
This brings me to a common topic of conversation during our recent travels. Everyone knows the story about the plane ditching in the Hudson, but my wife just couldn’t get over the fact that it appeared that none of the passengers/survivors seemed to have paid attention on the flight. Where were there floating devices, formerly known as seat cushions? It’s not as if they only occasionally mention that we’re sitting on a cross functional device.
May 06, 2009
Hirpcation
Just one week ago today, my wife and I were on our way to Mexico. We heard all the warnings, listened to concerned family and friends, did our research online and discussed our trip with our Doctor before going. We were armed and ready for any little pesky Swine Flu. We had hand-sanitizers and medications. And we were finally on our way, back to the place where we were married, and more than ready to relax on the beach. Cartels and pandemics be damned, the Hirps had plans.
The first two days scored perfect “10’s.” The media frenzy had caused half of the booked guests to cancel their plans, and left us with an even better resort. I was enjoying the hell out of my book “The Gate House,” by Nelson DeMille (please Hollywood, make this into a movie!)We often discussed the memories of our visit last year, and how we wish everyone could be there with us again. In my head I prepared an email to send out to those who were there, and tell thank them again for all the memories.
Friday night we dined at the buffet, which wasn’t as nice as last year, but edible. Using hand-sanitizers’ was required, upon entry to any of the restaurants, by the hotel. So we felt confident that they were taking all the necessary steps, in spite of the fact that there had been no confirmed cases of Swine Flu in the entire state of Quintana Roo. My better half was enjoying her grilled chicken, which surprisingly looked good to me.
Maybe it was the hours spent in the sun that caused it, but I asked to try a bite. And sonuvagun, I actually liked it. Took another bite, and decided I’d get my own plate. Anderson Cooper was alerted and he, along with Dr. Sanjay Gupta, headed down to Playacar to cover this story. Maybe that didn’t happen, or maybe it did. Either way, this was newsworthy, and definitely blog worthy, events unfolding.
We hadn’t done much drinking, aside from an occasional cerveza, and we discussed maybe heading to the bar later that night. But we both crashed pretty early, and Chris was starting to get a little nauseous. Red flag. She woke up at around 12:30 and started to vomit. That continued, on like 10 minute intervals for almost 2 hours. It was time to see a Doctor.
We found ourselves at a Mexican Emergency Room at 3 in the morning. And we remained there for about 12 hours, while Mrs. Hirp received some fluids. It looked like we’d be spending our last day in Mexico just resting in the room. While at the hospital with Chris, I began to feel a bit nauseous myself. The doctor gave me a shot, with the hopes that it would settle my stomach and we’d be able to leave on time. It wasn’t Swine Flu, it wasn’t even Montezuma’s Revenge, just good old reliable food poisoning.
Checking in, while there was less paperwork than a hospital here, wasn’t stress free. Being that they don’t take our insurance, they require $1,000 deposit, and that goes up another grand after your first 12 hours. So this was no longer the fun/affordable getaway.
Back at the hotel we both crashed, from the exhausting night. I awoke around 7:30 and, again, wasn’t feeling well. That feeling was quickly escalated to be more than a feeling. So I was now praying to the porcelain God (of course, even that God is white, even in Mexico) and we were supposed to leave for the airport in about 13 hours.
Thinking that:
A) I wasn’t nearly as sick as my wife was, and
B) She was there for 12 hours, so if I’m there 12, we can still make the flight,
So we called down to the front desk, and arranged for transportation. The look on the faces of the nurses and doctors when they saw us again was probably pretty funny, but I wasn’t totally amused. Slightly, but not totally.
With a serious case of de ja vu, only this time from my wife’s point of view, I watched them run their tests and hook me up to an IV. The major difference was, this time the hotel informed us that they’d be picking up the tab on this one. Which was a huge sigh of relief, although, had we had that offer just a few hours ago, we probably wouldn’t have checked my better half out, and let her rest some more.
All of this because we ate one chicken breast, really, what are the odds? The hotel really went above and beyond, I can’t say it enough. They let us stay an extra night, and put us up in a suite, and they’re covering all the hospital expenses, and they easily could have just blown us off.
The first two days scored perfect “10’s.” The media frenzy had caused half of the booked guests to cancel their plans, and left us with an even better resort. I was enjoying the hell out of my book “The Gate House,” by Nelson DeMille (please Hollywood, make this into a movie!)We often discussed the memories of our visit last year, and how we wish everyone could be there with us again. In my head I prepared an email to send out to those who were there, and tell thank them again for all the memories.
Friday night we dined at the buffet, which wasn’t as nice as last year, but edible. Using hand-sanitizers’ was required, upon entry to any of the restaurants, by the hotel. So we felt confident that they were taking all the necessary steps, in spite of the fact that there had been no confirmed cases of Swine Flu in the entire state of Quintana Roo. My better half was enjoying her grilled chicken, which surprisingly looked good to me.
Maybe it was the hours spent in the sun that caused it, but I asked to try a bite. And sonuvagun, I actually liked it. Took another bite, and decided I’d get my own plate. Anderson Cooper was alerted and he, along with Dr. Sanjay Gupta, headed down to Playacar to cover this story. Maybe that didn’t happen, or maybe it did. Either way, this was newsworthy, and definitely blog worthy, events unfolding.
We hadn’t done much drinking, aside from an occasional cerveza, and we discussed maybe heading to the bar later that night. But we both crashed pretty early, and Chris was starting to get a little nauseous. Red flag. She woke up at around 12:30 and started to vomit. That continued, on like 10 minute intervals for almost 2 hours. It was time to see a Doctor.
We found ourselves at a Mexican Emergency Room at 3 in the morning. And we remained there for about 12 hours, while Mrs. Hirp received some fluids. It looked like we’d be spending our last day in Mexico just resting in the room. While at the hospital with Chris, I began to feel a bit nauseous myself. The doctor gave me a shot, with the hopes that it would settle my stomach and we’d be able to leave on time. It wasn’t Swine Flu, it wasn’t even Montezuma’s Revenge, just good old reliable food poisoning.
Checking in, while there was less paperwork than a hospital here, wasn’t stress free. Being that they don’t take our insurance, they require $1,000 deposit, and that goes up another grand after your first 12 hours. So this was no longer the fun/affordable getaway.
Back at the hotel we both crashed, from the exhausting night. I awoke around 7:30 and, again, wasn’t feeling well. That feeling was quickly escalated to be more than a feeling. So I was now praying to the porcelain God (of course, even that God is white, even in Mexico) and we were supposed to leave for the airport in about 13 hours.
Thinking that:
A) I wasn’t nearly as sick as my wife was, and
B) She was there for 12 hours, so if I’m there 12, we can still make the flight,
So we called down to the front desk, and arranged for transportation. The look on the faces of the nurses and doctors when they saw us again was probably pretty funny, but I wasn’t totally amused. Slightly, but not totally.
With a serious case of de ja vu, only this time from my wife’s point of view, I watched them run their tests and hook me up to an IV. The major difference was, this time the hotel informed us that they’d be picking up the tab on this one. Which was a huge sigh of relief, although, had we had that offer just a few hours ago, we probably wouldn’t have checked my better half out, and let her rest some more.
All of this because we ate one chicken breast, really, what are the odds? The hotel really went above and beyond, I can’t say it enough. They let us stay an extra night, and put us up in a suite, and they’re covering all the hospital expenses, and they easily could have just blown us off.
April 13, 2009
Hirpbook
I think Facebook and Twitter have teamed up to murder my blog. The random thoughts that used to end up as rants on this slice of the web, are now summed up in 140 or less characters. The irony isn’t lost on this blogger either, as the blogsphere has done it’s part in killing newspapers and even books. And as most other “current” technological advances, the shelf life is shorter than an open carton of milk on the counter in August. You know, not long.
So I’m looking at my twitter and “FB” (as the kids call it) updates, and I’m going to attempt to expand on them, in true FromTheHirp fashion.
April 11th
“The kyd just asked me "what’s donkey kong" so now I know what troubles are ahead for this generation..its gonna be ugly.”
It started when she threw down the gauntlet, challenging me to a wrestling match. My response was, the always clever, “oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong.”
And she gave me a nice age check, with “what’s Donkey Kong?”
Never mind slutty toys like Bratz, or pop shit like Hannah Montana, or the sex and drugs on television, the real problem with kids today is that they don’t even know who Donkey Kong is. The lessons that game can teach, and the hours it can waste are being missed by our kids. Someone needs to get congress involved.
April 6th
“So my dumbass causes to my wife giving the kyd A talk (not THE talk) but close enough. Daddy needs a drink.”
Here’s the story: as the wife was getting the Kyd ready for bed, I had picked up one of Mrs. Hirp’s magazines off of the coffee table and thumbed through the pages. It wasn’t even a Cosmo, but there was some article that had something to do with sex. So, of course I had to read it. Then the Kyd came back in to the living room, so I closed it. She left and I resummed my reading. Of course she had to come back in to say goodnight to the dog and I, and so I closed the magazine. She turned to leave, so I went back to the article. And who knew a 7 year old could read upside down.
She says, “I saw what that said,” and giggled. Great, way to go, Hirp. Oh well, no biggie, she’s seen that word on mom’s magazines before. Shouldn’t be a big deal. But as her mom is tucking her in, the Kyd asks the question, and just 10 years before we wanted her to. “Mommy, what’s sex? The kids at school talk about it, and said its gross.” (she’s in 1st grade, I’m not okay with this in any way)
Mrs. Hirp is thrown off her game, so she tries to get defuse the situation. “It’s when a mommy and daddy are hugging and kissing, and how they make a baby.” She’s feeling pretty good now, as that seems to have ended the conversation. Until a few minutes later when she tells me the story.
“Uh oh,” I tell her, “now when she sees us kiss or hug, she’ll think we’re having sex.” We can already see her at school the next day, “Mommy and G have sex all the time.” To be followed by a visit from the authorities. So we decide it would best for Mrs. Hirp to give a little more detail, hopefully just enough to make the Kyd slightly uncomfortable and drop it until we can consume a few drinks and hope she never, ever ever ever, asks that question again.
Way to go, Hirp. You know better than to do something as silly as read. Idiot.
So I’m looking at my twitter and “FB” (as the kids call it) updates, and I’m going to attempt to expand on them, in true FromTheHirp fashion.
April 11th
“The kyd just asked me "what’s donkey kong" so now I know what troubles are ahead for this generation..its gonna be ugly.”
It started when she threw down the gauntlet, challenging me to a wrestling match. My response was, the always clever, “oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong.”
And she gave me a nice age check, with “what’s Donkey Kong?”
Never mind slutty toys like Bratz, or pop shit like Hannah Montana, or the sex and drugs on television, the real problem with kids today is that they don’t even know who Donkey Kong is. The lessons that game can teach, and the hours it can waste are being missed by our kids. Someone needs to get congress involved.
April 6th
“So my dumbass causes to my wife giving the kyd A talk (not THE talk) but close enough. Daddy needs a drink.”
Here’s the story: as the wife was getting the Kyd ready for bed, I had picked up one of Mrs. Hirp’s magazines off of the coffee table and thumbed through the pages. It wasn’t even a Cosmo, but there was some article that had something to do with sex. So, of course I had to read it. Then the Kyd came back in to the living room, so I closed it. She left and I resummed my reading. Of course she had to come back in to say goodnight to the dog and I, and so I closed the magazine. She turned to leave, so I went back to the article. And who knew a 7 year old could read upside down.
She says, “I saw what that said,” and giggled. Great, way to go, Hirp. Oh well, no biggie, she’s seen that word on mom’s magazines before. Shouldn’t be a big deal. But as her mom is tucking her in, the Kyd asks the question, and just 10 years before we wanted her to. “Mommy, what’s sex? The kids at school talk about it, and said its gross.” (she’s in 1st grade, I’m not okay with this in any way)
Mrs. Hirp is thrown off her game, so she tries to get defuse the situation. “It’s when a mommy and daddy are hugging and kissing, and how they make a baby.” She’s feeling pretty good now, as that seems to have ended the conversation. Until a few minutes later when she tells me the story.
“Uh oh,” I tell her, “now when she sees us kiss or hug, she’ll think we’re having sex.” We can already see her at school the next day, “Mommy and G have sex all the time.” To be followed by a visit from the authorities. So we decide it would best for Mrs. Hirp to give a little more detail, hopefully just enough to make the Kyd slightly uncomfortable and drop it until we can consume a few drinks and hope she never, ever ever ever, asks that question again.
Way to go, Hirp. You know better than to do something as silly as read. Idiot.
March 25, 2009
Doc Revisited
I feel like a jackass, I really do. Not that it’s totally uncharted territory for me or anything, but the circumstances are at least new for me. I’ve really dug Facebook, it’s been a great way to keep in touch with friends, and find catch up with old friends. But I found someone, and now I’m not sure if that was a good thing. It isn’t even someone I knew personally. It’s the son of my childhood hero, Dwight Gooden, and we’ve swapped a few emails.
He’s been cool about it, and I hope I have too. But looking at his page, I was offended myself with the comments other people were leaving. Everything was about his dad, women commenting on his looks, or just fans checking in. I understand their thought process, to a point. I flat out told the guy that I grew up a big fan of his fathers, and I had read he (Dwight Gooden Jr) was now doing some music, and I wished him well. Maybe I’m just more articulate than those other fans, either way, it just feels kind of dirty.
But I couldn’t really help myself. Not that it should be his problem, but like most fans, I’ve had a relationship of sorts with his dad. Man that sounds too much like Macauly Culkin talking about Michael Jackson. But his father had a huge impact on my childhood. Not just as a sports fan, because there’s so much more to his story than what happened between the lines. I vividly remember how I reacted in 1987 when I found out that he was going into rehab. I was furious, and I was only 10.
I think Doc and Darryl’s woes forever changed the way athletes were covered and perceived. I’ll have to do some research, but I think they were the first major scandals, at least in the age of 24 hour sport networks. The day he went into rehab, was the end of the era that saw reporters covering for ball players. How much a guy drank or what he did off the field was protected in the past and with Gooden and Strawberry’s troubles, reporters began looking at the personal lives of the ballplayers as newsworthy.
That was my first experience with “knowing” someone with a drug problem, not just Nancy Reagan telling me to say “no.” Soon after, I had some much closer relationship with someone with a substance abuse problem. How I handled that was directly impacted by my response to Doc. There was, and still is plenty of anger, but there was also forgiveness and since that day, I’ve come to realize that I can handle someone messing up, as long as they can own up to it. Doc taught me that, I never learned how to throw a curve.
So here I am, 32 years old and I’ve emailed his son. There’s no ulterior motive, I’m not looking to accomplish anything. Well, other than revisit the 10 year old in me. I like that kid, and its always been important to me to remember him. That’s why I have Doc’s rookie card in my wallet. In 1996, Doc threw a no-hitter for the evil empire (Yankees) and I jumped up and down (just one jump!) on the bed in my dorm room. It looked like I was alone (had there been an outside observer) but I was with the 10 year old me. So it wasn’t just some 32 year old emailing the son of his hero, it was the 10 year old that made the decision.
He’s been cool about it, and I hope I have too. But looking at his page, I was offended myself with the comments other people were leaving. Everything was about his dad, women commenting on his looks, or just fans checking in. I understand their thought process, to a point. I flat out told the guy that I grew up a big fan of his fathers, and I had read he (Dwight Gooden Jr) was now doing some music, and I wished him well. Maybe I’m just more articulate than those other fans, either way, it just feels kind of dirty.
But I couldn’t really help myself. Not that it should be his problem, but like most fans, I’ve had a relationship of sorts with his dad. Man that sounds too much like Macauly Culkin talking about Michael Jackson. But his father had a huge impact on my childhood. Not just as a sports fan, because there’s so much more to his story than what happened between the lines. I vividly remember how I reacted in 1987 when I found out that he was going into rehab. I was furious, and I was only 10.
I think Doc and Darryl’s woes forever changed the way athletes were covered and perceived. I’ll have to do some research, but I think they were the first major scandals, at least in the age of 24 hour sport networks. The day he went into rehab, was the end of the era that saw reporters covering for ball players. How much a guy drank or what he did off the field was protected in the past and with Gooden and Strawberry’s troubles, reporters began looking at the personal lives of the ballplayers as newsworthy.
That was my first experience with “knowing” someone with a drug problem, not just Nancy Reagan telling me to say “no.” Soon after, I had some much closer relationship with someone with a substance abuse problem. How I handled that was directly impacted by my response to Doc. There was, and still is plenty of anger, but there was also forgiveness and since that day, I’ve come to realize that I can handle someone messing up, as long as they can own up to it. Doc taught me that, I never learned how to throw a curve.
So here I am, 32 years old and I’ve emailed his son. There’s no ulterior motive, I’m not looking to accomplish anything. Well, other than revisit the 10 year old in me. I like that kid, and its always been important to me to remember him. That’s why I have Doc’s rookie card in my wallet. In 1996, Doc threw a no-hitter for the evil empire (Yankees) and I jumped up and down (just one jump!) on the bed in my dorm room. It looked like I was alone (had there been an outside observer) but I was with the 10 year old me. So it wasn’t just some 32 year old emailing the son of his hero, it was the 10 year old that made the decision.
Changed Hirp
Two years ago yesterday KU was in the NCAA Tournament, and they were playing UCLA, the school I rooted for as a kid. KU-UCLA also hooked up my freshmen year at KU, when the Bruins were defending champs. They came to the Fieldhouse, and lead KU by 15 at the half. The Hawks came back to win by 15, and it was the best live sporting event I ever witnessed. I proudly sent my cousin, the UCLA grad who also showed me around the campus when I was 12, a “PHUCK UCLA” tee shirt. I still have mine, but I doubt he has his. Two years ago, that game is a distant memory, but that day changed my life.
Anyway, in the days leading up to the game I had been swapping emails with a girl I had met a week before. I invited her to meet up with some friends and I as we were going to watch the game at a bar and she even agreed. Then the plan was changed to watching the game at a friends’ house, and so our plan of watching the game together changed. Of course, the plan was changed again, and we were back at the bar. By this time she had other plans, and I wasn’t too upset by this. Not because I didn’t want to see her, but the more I thought about it, I imagined the day going one of two ways. Either I end up paying too much attention to the game, and she feels ignored and awkward (very bad) or I would ignore the game (at the time, I thought that mattered, but had I only known).
So I watched KU lose to UCLA, spent most of the game texting my cousin and then wondering if I had blown my chance with a great girl. That night I was relaxing at home (cover for “it was a Saturday
night and I was a giant loser”) and my phone went off. There was a text from this amazing girl, she sympathized with me over KU, and then invited me out to meet up with some of her friends at a bar. I declined at first, not wanting to make the drive, and even more so, afraid of having her friends grade me. She persisted, and I continued to decline, and we spoke of meeting the next day. A short time later I changed my mind, got my ass dressed and headed out. That was two years ago.
We weren’t there long, as it was nearing closing time, but the conversation came effortlessly. We made plans to meet for coffee at a little place on the Plaza (the location had nothing to do with its proximity to my apartment) and I had myself a date with a real catch. I knew, from the first time we talked, that I wasn’t in her league. Best of all, I know that to be the case today. We had coffee, talked for four hours. My follically challenged head was half burned, and my life was changed.
Anyway, in the days leading up to the game I had been swapping emails with a girl I had met a week before. I invited her to meet up with some friends and I as we were going to watch the game at a bar and she even agreed. Then the plan was changed to watching the game at a friends’ house, and so our plan of watching the game together changed. Of course, the plan was changed again, and we were back at the bar. By this time she had other plans, and I wasn’t too upset by this. Not because I didn’t want to see her, but the more I thought about it, I imagined the day going one of two ways. Either I end up paying too much attention to the game, and she feels ignored and awkward (very bad) or I would ignore the game (at the time, I thought that mattered, but had I only known).
So I watched KU lose to UCLA, spent most of the game texting my cousin and then wondering if I had blown my chance with a great girl. That night I was relaxing at home (cover for “it was a Saturday
night and I was a giant loser”) and my phone went off. There was a text from this amazing girl, she sympathized with me over KU, and then invited me out to meet up with some of her friends at a bar. I declined at first, not wanting to make the drive, and even more so, afraid of having her friends grade me. She persisted, and I continued to decline, and we spoke of meeting the next day. A short time later I changed my mind, got my ass dressed and headed out. That was two years ago.
We weren’t there long, as it was nearing closing time, but the conversation came effortlessly. We made plans to meet for coffee at a little place on the Plaza (the location had nothing to do with its proximity to my apartment) and I had myself a date with a real catch. I knew, from the first time we talked, that I wasn’t in her league. Best of all, I know that to be the case today. We had coffee, talked for four hours. My follically challenged head was half burned, and my life was changed.
March 23, 2009
One TrHirpy Weekend
The past weekend was without question one of the most bizarre, and scariest, in recent memory. And based on what we did, you’d think it was just another weekend in the ‘burbs. It started off great, as we took the Kyd to Potter’s Haven in downtown Lee’s Summit. She’s a creative kid who loves craft projects, and for a few months we’ve kicked around the idea of heading there. She loved it too, other than stressing over mistakes (I told her, there are no mistakes in art, sounds good, right?)
So I’m just about done with my project, and then we hear all the dreadful yet very distinct sounds that come from one car plowing into another. Only there was one sound missing, the sound that comes after someone slamps on their break. The helpful hippies that run Potter’s Haven had the doors open to let some fresh air in, so the sounds filled the room. Everyone looked up just in time to see debris scattering throughout the street. A early model Toyota Coralla had just plowed into the back of a Pilot. The driver of the Toyota exited his car, and while everyone around was still trying to process what had just happened, the guy took off running. With blood running down his face and drops already on his shirt and shorts. Like Gump across America, this guy was sprinting away from what was left of his car. A second or so later someone said that his head had gone through the windshield.
A few other bystanders thought it was best to run after him, I didn’t see the sense in that. If this guy had reason enough to leave the scene, well then, I’m going to take his word for it and believe he had a pretty good reason to exit stage right. He either knew something that made prefer to not be around any police, or he hit his head so hard that he had no idea what he was doing. Either way, not the guy I want to chase.
So it was pretty un-nerving. The Kyd was, understandably, upset. It was hard to understand why the guy would take off, and there was the blood. 7 year old girls just don’t enjoy seeing blood, and she was very concerned for both parties. And my wife and I were pretty shaken up too, how something so violent had crashed our Kodak moment.
That was Saturday afternoon, and Sunday was a lazy day around the house. Come Sunday night, the wife and I are chilaxin on the couch, watching some “House” when the doorbell rings. It’s 10:30 on a Sunday night, and our doorbell is ringing? That’s odd. So she takes our barking dog to the back, and I open the door. There’s a 20something year old guy standing there, and a car running in the street right in front of our house. It probably wasn’t the smartest move, but I opened the door and storm door to see what he wanted.
“I’m from the AIDS Foundation of America, does anyone here have AIDS?” he asked.
“What?” I wittingly replied.
“Do you have AIDS?” he asked again.
“Um, no,” was all I responded, and he extended his hand to shake mine. Which kinda threw me off, and I know enough to understand you can’t get HIV or AIDS through a handshake. But this whole situation was creepy, so I went and washed my hand after he left.
The wife asked what that was all about, and I relayed the story. We decided to call the police, not because he did anything threatening, but it just felt like the right thing to do. I went back outside to see if they were still around, and they drove by the house again, and then sped off.
Having seen too many movies between the two of us, we saw all the different horrendous endings this story would have if we were in a movie. And like most scary movies, it turned out to be a big (thankfully) dud of an ending. Just an peculiar ending to a bizarre weekend.
So I’m just about done with my project, and then we hear all the dreadful yet very distinct sounds that come from one car plowing into another. Only there was one sound missing, the sound that comes after someone slamps on their break. The helpful hippies that run Potter’s Haven had the doors open to let some fresh air in, so the sounds filled the room. Everyone looked up just in time to see debris scattering throughout the street. A early model Toyota Coralla had just plowed into the back of a Pilot. The driver of the Toyota exited his car, and while everyone around was still trying to process what had just happened, the guy took off running. With blood running down his face and drops already on his shirt and shorts. Like Gump across America, this guy was sprinting away from what was left of his car. A second or so later someone said that his head had gone through the windshield.
A few other bystanders thought it was best to run after him, I didn’t see the sense in that. If this guy had reason enough to leave the scene, well then, I’m going to take his word for it and believe he had a pretty good reason to exit stage right. He either knew something that made prefer to not be around any police, or he hit his head so hard that he had no idea what he was doing. Either way, not the guy I want to chase.
So it was pretty un-nerving. The Kyd was, understandably, upset. It was hard to understand why the guy would take off, and there was the blood. 7 year old girls just don’t enjoy seeing blood, and she was very concerned for both parties. And my wife and I were pretty shaken up too, how something so violent had crashed our Kodak moment.
That was Saturday afternoon, and Sunday was a lazy day around the house. Come Sunday night, the wife and I are chilaxin on the couch, watching some “House” when the doorbell rings. It’s 10:30 on a Sunday night, and our doorbell is ringing? That’s odd. So she takes our barking dog to the back, and I open the door. There’s a 20something year old guy standing there, and a car running in the street right in front of our house. It probably wasn’t the smartest move, but I opened the door and storm door to see what he wanted.
“I’m from the AIDS Foundation of America, does anyone here have AIDS?” he asked.
“What?” I wittingly replied.
“Do you have AIDS?” he asked again.
“Um, no,” was all I responded, and he extended his hand to shake mine. Which kinda threw me off, and I know enough to understand you can’t get HIV or AIDS through a handshake. But this whole situation was creepy, so I went and washed my hand after he left.
The wife asked what that was all about, and I relayed the story. We decided to call the police, not because he did anything threatening, but it just felt like the right thing to do. I went back outside to see if they were still around, and they drove by the house again, and then sped off.
Having seen too many movies between the two of us, we saw all the different horrendous endings this story would have if we were in a movie. And like most scary movies, it turned out to be a big (thankfully) dud of an ending. Just an peculiar ending to a bizarre weekend.
March 12, 2009
Shirped Myself
I feel like I should be wearing a tee shirt that says “I survived the ’09 layoffs.” The last two months have been a roller coaster ride, and I’m not a fan of roller coasters. Being a little bit on the short side, my head happens to be positioned perfectly, so that it bounces between the over the shoulder restraints like a super ball. Not much fun. When word came out that my company was going to be laying off a significant portion of the work force, the rumors and emotions started flying.
“I have a family, there are no jobs out there, we just moved, and what the fuck am I going to do if I’m on the list?” Pretty much covers the flow of my thoughts on 18 second intervals for the first two weeks. Then I sat down with excel and crunched the numbers. I made pivot tables, I had formulas and on paper, I saw that we’d be fine for almost a year. I slept a little better. Then the company started talking about notification dates. Originally we were to find out March 13th, a Friday no less. I mentally circled that date on my mental calendar, and told the wife that I wouldn’t be sleeping at all on the 12th, and probably not much more on the few days before either.
So a month goes by, and I’m more scared of any calendar showing that week than George Clooney is scared of commitment. And then we get an email that announcements will come either on the 12th or 13th. That’s just mean, how about giving us real info, or nothing at all. Don’t tell me just so I can readjust how much to worry. And then this Monday we find out that it’ll be Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. That’s just fantastic. I can just write off the idea of sleeping for the rest of the week. Thanks, suit.
At a meeting yesterday, my boss said that word would be coming out later in the day. Depending on if he gets the final cut list in time, and then it might not be till tomorrow. I’m pale, but I went to a new level of pure-white when I heard that. Around 2pm word gets out, they’re calling people and having them go to meet with their managers in conference rooms. It took another two and a half hours before I got the call, and to make me sweat a little more, the call was to tell me that I’d be getting THE call in another 5 or 10 minutes. Lucky me, I got two calls rather than one. So what if I sharted my pants twice? Finally I get the call, head to the conference room and get the good news. I still have a job.
I may have lost a few years off my life, grew hair just to see it fall to my desk and soiled myself four times. But hey, there are a lot of good people who aren’t as well off as I am today. Good luck to all of them.
“I have a family, there are no jobs out there, we just moved, and what the fuck am I going to do if I’m on the list?” Pretty much covers the flow of my thoughts on 18 second intervals for the first two weeks. Then I sat down with excel and crunched the numbers. I made pivot tables, I had formulas and on paper, I saw that we’d be fine for almost a year. I slept a little better. Then the company started talking about notification dates. Originally we were to find out March 13th, a Friday no less. I mentally circled that date on my mental calendar, and told the wife that I wouldn’t be sleeping at all on the 12th, and probably not much more on the few days before either.
So a month goes by, and I’m more scared of any calendar showing that week than George Clooney is scared of commitment. And then we get an email that announcements will come either on the 12th or 13th. That’s just mean, how about giving us real info, or nothing at all. Don’t tell me just so I can readjust how much to worry. And then this Monday we find out that it’ll be Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. That’s just fantastic. I can just write off the idea of sleeping for the rest of the week. Thanks, suit.
At a meeting yesterday, my boss said that word would be coming out later in the day. Depending on if he gets the final cut list in time, and then it might not be till tomorrow. I’m pale, but I went to a new level of pure-white when I heard that. Around 2pm word gets out, they’re calling people and having them go to meet with their managers in conference rooms. It took another two and a half hours before I got the call, and to make me sweat a little more, the call was to tell me that I’d be getting THE call in another 5 or 10 minutes. Lucky me, I got two calls rather than one. So what if I sharted my pants twice? Finally I get the call, head to the conference room and get the good news. I still have a job.
I may have lost a few years off my life, grew hair just to see it fall to my desk and soiled myself four times. But hey, there are a lot of good people who aren’t as well off as I am today. Good luck to all of them.
March 02, 2009
Random Hirps
Was Nancy Pelosi expecting some sort of prize for jumping to her feet the fastest last night? Or was there just a broken spring in her chair?
Gov. Bobby Jindal, just wondering if you even realize “Americans can do anything” is just about the same as “Yes We Can?”
Saw a story online yesterday, about a 9 year old having a big wedding. At first glance I thought it was some sick and twisted story, and fully expected to be sick to my stomach and furious. Turns out she has terminal cancer, and a big wedding was something she always wanted. So she “married” her best friend, the vows included, “will you take Jose to be your friend, forever and ever?” That’s the most amazing combination of sweet and heartbreaking as I’ve ever heard.
I received some beads at work yesterday; someone was a little too much into the spirit of Mardi Gras. It was that moment I decided, if the Kyd ever drives home with some beads hanging from her mirror, she’s grounded for a year. For each string of beads. I’m just not sure at what age I can safely warn her, without it coming off as “I dare you.” She’s much smarter than me.
Is it easier to make a comedian laugh or a prostitute climax? I shouldn’t watch “Cathouse” on HBO.
This weekend I watched KU wax that MU ass. Hate to say it, but its time for fans of both schools to watch “Battle for Tobacco Road.” Since 1990, KU is 27-14 against MU. When one team is winning 66% of the games, it’s not really a rivalry on the court. (By comparison, since 1990 Duke is 24-22 against UNC) I know KU-MU means a lot to the alumni, students and the residents of the metro area. But KU has pretty much been winning ever since we won the Civil War.
Gov. Bobby Jindal, just wondering if you even realize “Americans can do anything” is just about the same as “Yes We Can?”
Saw a story online yesterday, about a 9 year old having a big wedding. At first glance I thought it was some sick and twisted story, and fully expected to be sick to my stomach and furious. Turns out she has terminal cancer, and a big wedding was something she always wanted. So she “married” her best friend, the vows included, “will you take Jose to be your friend, forever and ever?” That’s the most amazing combination of sweet and heartbreaking as I’ve ever heard.
I received some beads at work yesterday; someone was a little too much into the spirit of Mardi Gras. It was that moment I decided, if the Kyd ever drives home with some beads hanging from her mirror, she’s grounded for a year. For each string of beads. I’m just not sure at what age I can safely warn her, without it coming off as “I dare you.” She’s much smarter than me.
Is it easier to make a comedian laugh or a prostitute climax? I shouldn’t watch “Cathouse” on HBO.
This weekend I watched KU wax that MU ass. Hate to say it, but its time for fans of both schools to watch “Battle for Tobacco Road.” Since 1990, KU is 27-14 against MU. When one team is winning 66% of the games, it’s not really a rivalry on the court. (By comparison, since 1990 Duke is 24-22 against UNC) I know KU-MU means a lot to the alumni, students and the residents of the metro area. But KU has pretty much been winning ever since we won the Civil War.
February 17, 2009
EqualiHirpty
Last night I found myself on the outside of a conversation, the kind I love. There’s a man, a hard working blue collar kinda guy, and he expressed his concerns/displeasure with the fact that his child is being exposed to “Black history month.” On some levels, I kind of agree with his sentiment, but for different reasons. His concern is there’s no German History Month, or White History Month (I know, isn’t that every other month?) and that generally, things just aren’t fair. He’s all for equality, but feels there’s a strong portion of society that is looking more to take advantage of the system, rather than assure an even playing field.
I know he isn’t alone in his thinking, and to be honest, I’m not really a big fan of “Black History Month.” I prefer that we just incorporate what we now call “Black History” into American history. I don’t see that it makes them special, to have their own month, rather I think it serves more to clearly draw a line in the sand.
We have an African-American President now, and that’s a sign of great progress. But I don’t think the idea should be to discontinue progress when we hit a certain milestone, this isn’t a marathon, and we don’t have a finish line. The road to equality stops when the lines that clearly separate us are no longer around the track. When women are paid the same wage, for doing the same work, as a man. When my daughter receives a great education in our little Agrestic as the black boy receives in KCMO and the Hispanic girl receives in KCK. When the life expectancy of our neighbors isn’t altered by their color. When our religious, or lack thereof, beliefs are given the same respect. When every adult man and woman is allowed to marry whomever they choose. When paper is designed so our left handed friends can write without their hand being covered in ink.
The man I’m referring to has a little girl, and I think the best way to prove the lack of equality is to simply state one statistical fact, that is most relevant to him. According to the US Census, on average, women earn 76.7% of what men earn. So his little girl will earn almost 25 cents less per dollar, than the little boys in her class. These times are far from being equal.
We are not there, and we may (probably) never get there. The fact that there’s a “Black History Month” isn’t shifting the playing field so that it benefits one race over another. The playing field is already so heavily titled, so much so that we call someone who is equal parts black and white, “black.” I understand the frustration when it seems as if someone is being given a hand out, and the minority who is less qualified for a job, ends up with the job. Of course that isn’t how we want things to be, not in a perfect world. But we’re not in a perfect world.
The great equalizer is among us now, being our current economic conditions. We can all be equally unemployed, be equally behind on our payments and get a nice close look at how things look from the other side.
I know he isn’t alone in his thinking, and to be honest, I’m not really a big fan of “Black History Month.” I prefer that we just incorporate what we now call “Black History” into American history. I don’t see that it makes them special, to have their own month, rather I think it serves more to clearly draw a line in the sand.
We have an African-American President now, and that’s a sign of great progress. But I don’t think the idea should be to discontinue progress when we hit a certain milestone, this isn’t a marathon, and we don’t have a finish line. The road to equality stops when the lines that clearly separate us are no longer around the track. When women are paid the same wage, for doing the same work, as a man. When my daughter receives a great education in our little Agrestic as the black boy receives in KCMO and the Hispanic girl receives in KCK. When the life expectancy of our neighbors isn’t altered by their color. When our religious, or lack thereof, beliefs are given the same respect. When every adult man and woman is allowed to marry whomever they choose. When paper is designed so our left handed friends can write without their hand being covered in ink.
The man I’m referring to has a little girl, and I think the best way to prove the lack of equality is to simply state one statistical fact, that is most relevant to him. According to the US Census, on average, women earn 76.7% of what men earn. So his little girl will earn almost 25 cents less per dollar, than the little boys in her class. These times are far from being equal.
We are not there, and we may (probably) never get there. The fact that there’s a “Black History Month” isn’t shifting the playing field so that it benefits one race over another. The playing field is already so heavily titled, so much so that we call someone who is equal parts black and white, “black.” I understand the frustration when it seems as if someone is being given a hand out, and the minority who is less qualified for a job, ends up with the job. Of course that isn’t how we want things to be, not in a perfect world. But we’re not in a perfect world.
The great equalizer is among us now, being our current economic conditions. We can all be equally unemployed, be equally behind on our payments and get a nice close look at how things look from the other side.
February 10, 2009
HgHirp
If I was going under the knife, and there was a pill that the doctor could take to make him better at his job, wouldn’t I want him to take it?
If the Kyd’s teacher could inject something we give to cancer patients, and he’d be a better teacher for it, wouldn’t I want him to take it?
We’re okay when a baseball player shreds his shoulder, heads down to Alabama and has a tendon from his knee placed in his shoulder, and comes back throwing harder. That’s some how natural, and okay. But drugs make for an uneven playing field. That makes sense.
Our government is spending millions of dollars to prosecute Barry Bonds, and is going to do the same to Roger Clemens, because these guys lied about using banned substance. Yet when a US Senator has to with drawl from a cabinet post because he forgot to pay some taxes, we give him a pass. Oh, and we’re in a bit of a recession right now, maybe spending millions of dollars to catch a drug user in a lie.
What’s the deal with these steroid stories coming to light just in time to maximize the black eye it gives baseball? I read a great book, by Mike Lupica, in 1999. He documented how a great home run chase between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa helped to save baseball after the work stoppage in the mid ‘90s. He’s supposed to be a reporter, yet he never thought to dig around, even though we all knew Mac was taking Andro that year? Now I read his columns where he’s bashing Alex Rodriguez and all other steroid users, now he’s taking the high road. The accomplishments we’ve seen in the past 15 years or so are tainted, and were obtained under false pretense, but what about the checks he cashes from benefiting from both sides of this story?
In 2003 baseball ran conducted some random drug testing, with the agreed upon plan that if more than 5% tested positive, baseball would implement baseball drug testing. It was all supposed to be confidential, and by all accounts, the results were kept separate from anything that could identify who they belong to. Allegedly, 104 tested positive, and only one name has been released. This should outrage us more than anything. With Bonds, we’ve seen leaked grand jury testimony, and now we have confidential drug tests leaked.
If the Kyd’s teacher could inject something we give to cancer patients, and he’d be a better teacher for it, wouldn’t I want him to take it?
We’re okay when a baseball player shreds his shoulder, heads down to Alabama and has a tendon from his knee placed in his shoulder, and comes back throwing harder. That’s some how natural, and okay. But drugs make for an uneven playing field. That makes sense.
Our government is spending millions of dollars to prosecute Barry Bonds, and is going to do the same to Roger Clemens, because these guys lied about using banned substance. Yet when a US Senator has to with drawl from a cabinet post because he forgot to pay some taxes, we give him a pass. Oh, and we’re in a bit of a recession right now, maybe spending millions of dollars to catch a drug user in a lie.
What’s the deal with these steroid stories coming to light just in time to maximize the black eye it gives baseball? I read a great book, by Mike Lupica, in 1999. He documented how a great home run chase between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa helped to save baseball after the work stoppage in the mid ‘90s. He’s supposed to be a reporter, yet he never thought to dig around, even though we all knew Mac was taking Andro that year? Now I read his columns where he’s bashing Alex Rodriguez and all other steroid users, now he’s taking the high road. The accomplishments we’ve seen in the past 15 years or so are tainted, and were obtained under false pretense, but what about the checks he cashes from benefiting from both sides of this story?
In 2003 baseball ran conducted some random drug testing, with the agreed upon plan that if more than 5% tested positive, baseball would implement baseball drug testing. It was all supposed to be confidential, and by all accounts, the results were kept separate from anything that could identify who they belong to. Allegedly, 104 tested positive, and only one name has been released. This should outrage us more than anything. With Bonds, we’ve seen leaked grand jury testimony, and now we have confidential drug tests leaked.
February 02, 2009
Super Bowl Re-hirp
Some random, and not so random, thoughts on last night’s Super Bowl:
Jennifer Hudson was fantastic. I thought about saying she killed it, but that’s just insensitive. She may be Idol alum, but I like her anyway. Can’t imagine how hard that was for her.
Two great finishes in a row, I remember a time when the Super Bowl always ended up being a huge let down with a huge blow out.
Bruce was great at half time, and I’ve never been much of a fan. Watching Bruce and Silvio, lead my cousin and I to discuss who may possibly play half time next year. I see a trend of mostly big acts from the 70’s and 80’s getting the stage to themselves. They’ve had Bruce, Tom Petty, Prince, Rolling Stones, and Paul McCartney since 2005. 2004 was Nipple Gate, and the end of their multi-act half time shows. So who could we see in 2010? Bon Jovi and Billy Joel come to mind, if we stick with the current trend. But I have three more current acts to suggest: Beyonce and Jay Z, Kanye West or Justin Timberlake.
I don’t think the good ol’ boys would allow a rapper, such as Eminem (suggested by my cousin) to have the stage to himself. Plus, it’s almost a guarantee that he’d try to piss off the FCC. Beyonce and Jay are pop royalty, and would totally kill. Kanye is the one rapper who is showmen enough and clean enough to consider. Justin would be fantastic, but Nipple Gate would be front and center and distract from the game and show, so I don’t see that happening, unfortunately.
Best ads: Hulu, Pepsi, Cash4Gold.com, E*trade and Pepsi Max.
Jennifer Hudson was fantastic. I thought about saying she killed it, but that’s just insensitive. She may be Idol alum, but I like her anyway. Can’t imagine how hard that was for her.
Two great finishes in a row, I remember a time when the Super Bowl always ended up being a huge let down with a huge blow out.
Bruce was great at half time, and I’ve never been much of a fan. Watching Bruce and Silvio, lead my cousin and I to discuss who may possibly play half time next year. I see a trend of mostly big acts from the 70’s and 80’s getting the stage to themselves. They’ve had Bruce, Tom Petty, Prince, Rolling Stones, and Paul McCartney since 2005. 2004 was Nipple Gate, and the end of their multi-act half time shows. So who could we see in 2010? Bon Jovi and Billy Joel come to mind, if we stick with the current trend. But I have three more current acts to suggest: Beyonce and Jay Z, Kanye West or Justin Timberlake.
I don’t think the good ol’ boys would allow a rapper, such as Eminem (suggested by my cousin) to have the stage to himself. Plus, it’s almost a guarantee that he’d try to piss off the FCC. Beyonce and Jay are pop royalty, and would totally kill. Kanye is the one rapper who is showmen enough and clean enough to consider. Justin would be fantastic, but Nipple Gate would be front and center and distract from the game and show, so I don’t see that happening, unfortunately.
Best ads: Hulu, Pepsi, Cash4Gold.com, E*trade and Pepsi Max.
January 29, 2009
Hirp Thoughts
Just about every day my wife or I will hear a name we like, and we’ll play the baby name game. We’ve pretty much considered every name, and I can’t really blame her for never giving serious consideration to Barack, Tupac, Dwight or Michael Corelone. The thing is, we’re pretty much sure we’ve decided against having a baby. It isn’t that we don’t want to, and there are days that both of us are head over heels in love with the idea of a little one.
But we also have plenty of reasons, and good ones, why we don’t want to. While I assume most prospective parents have a plethora of unknowns, we have more answers than questions. I know she’s a great mom, and she knows what kind of parent I am. We know we don’t make nearly enough money, not that anyone really makes enough money to be a parent, and we know we really don’t want to be that tired all the time. We know how expensive raising a child is, and we know how rewarding it is. We also know how hard it is, even though she knows better than I.
Maybe we know too much, and if we knew a little less, we’d be more likely to have a little Hirp. Maybe we still will. The Kyd loves the idea, not that we’ve asked her, but she’s volunteered the fact numerous times. She’s also suggested we adopt Porqchop’s daughter. We’re smart enough too understand that it isn’t just having a baby, it’s having a 7 year old and a teenager (eventually) and as great as those ages can be, you can’t just focus on the idea of a cute little baby. That baby is going to learn to walk, talk back to us, drive, stay out late, get zits, get sick, have sex and want money for college. He or she would also make us very proud, have a great sense of humor, take first steps, lose a first tooth, greet us with big hugs, get a first job, care about the world around him/herself, tell us we’re not cool enough and serve as another great reminder for how I married the most perfect woman for me. And hey, having a baby would probably make for some great blogging.
So I really don’t know how most couples come to a decision on this. I understand more than I used to though, as I never understood that just loving someone would make you want to have a baby with them. That really never computed for me. Love made sense, but how that love could lead to you doing something that you know would make it more difficult to spend time with that person, would exhaust you and keep you awake at night worrying about everything and nothing. That’s a little clearer now.
But we also have plenty of reasons, and good ones, why we don’t want to. While I assume most prospective parents have a plethora of unknowns, we have more answers than questions. I know she’s a great mom, and she knows what kind of parent I am. We know we don’t make nearly enough money, not that anyone really makes enough money to be a parent, and we know we really don’t want to be that tired all the time. We know how expensive raising a child is, and we know how rewarding it is. We also know how hard it is, even though she knows better than I.
Maybe we know too much, and if we knew a little less, we’d be more likely to have a little Hirp. Maybe we still will. The Kyd loves the idea, not that we’ve asked her, but she’s volunteered the fact numerous times. She’s also suggested we adopt Porqchop’s daughter. We’re smart enough too understand that it isn’t just having a baby, it’s having a 7 year old and a teenager (eventually) and as great as those ages can be, you can’t just focus on the idea of a cute little baby. That baby is going to learn to walk, talk back to us, drive, stay out late, get zits, get sick, have sex and want money for college. He or she would also make us very proud, have a great sense of humor, take first steps, lose a first tooth, greet us with big hugs, get a first job, care about the world around him/herself, tell us we’re not cool enough and serve as another great reminder for how I married the most perfect woman for me. And hey, having a baby would probably make for some great blogging.
So I really don’t know how most couples come to a decision on this. I understand more than I used to though, as I never understood that just loving someone would make you want to have a baby with them. That really never computed for me. Love made sense, but how that love could lead to you doing something that you know would make it more difficult to spend time with that person, would exhaust you and keep you awake at night worrying about everything and nothing. That’s a little clearer now.
January 27, 2009
Trust Me
So yesterday the company I work for, I don’t want to name names so I’ll just call it Shashmint, announced they were laying off 8,000 employees. (funny, Word gave me the green squiggly line under “laying” and offered “lying” as its corrective action) So my day consisted of multiple conference calls to go over the upcoming layoffs. While I understand that delivering that sort of news is probably the worst part of their job, and I in no way want any piece of that responsibility, I couldn’t help but notice how no one would really say anything.
Here’s what I learned:
8,000 people are losing their job, but the company isn’t in any eminent danger.
The severance package will have the same structure as it did last year at this time, although I still don’t know what it is.
The layoffs are to be completed by the end of March, and my team will know within a month, wait no, the middle of March.
The company will no longer match their contribution to 401k or offer tuition reimbursements.
My group won’t be impacted as harshly as others, only 20% (although 8,000 out of 56,000 is 14%, so I don’t understand how 20% is supposed to make me feel any better, except that 20% is lower than 40%, which is how deeply some groups will be hit.
So I have that going for me, which is nice.
***
Checked out the new TNT show, “Trust Me” I heard that they know drama. The premise was good enough, a couple of friends going up the corporate ladder at a Chicago advertising agency. And the two leads are good enough, Tom Cavanaugh and Eric McCormick. But I’d have to say, even though it’s just one episode, it’s a miss. This is a show that should have Sorkin-esque dialogue, and instead feels more like it was written by just another Joe.
I’ll give it another shot, but my 8ball says, “Outlook not good.” Trust me.
Here’s what I learned:
8,000 people are losing their job, but the company isn’t in any eminent danger.
The severance package will have the same structure as it did last year at this time, although I still don’t know what it is.
The layoffs are to be completed by the end of March, and my team will know within a month, wait no, the middle of March.
The company will no longer match their contribution to 401k or offer tuition reimbursements.
My group won’t be impacted as harshly as others, only 20% (although 8,000 out of 56,000 is 14%, so I don’t understand how 20% is supposed to make me feel any better, except that 20% is lower than 40%, which is how deeply some groups will be hit.
So I have that going for me, which is nice.
***
Checked out the new TNT show, “Trust Me” I heard that they know drama. The premise was good enough, a couple of friends going up the corporate ladder at a Chicago advertising agency. And the two leads are good enough, Tom Cavanaugh and Eric McCormick. But I’d have to say, even though it’s just one episode, it’s a miss. This is a show that should have Sorkin-esque dialogue, and instead feels more like it was written by just another Joe.
I’ll give it another shot, but my 8ball says, “Outlook not good.” Trust me.
January 23, 2009
Hirpped Off
It was 1991, and three days after I turned 15, I became an uncle for the first time. For me this was the absolute coolest thing in the world. We had moved to KC just two years before, and my sister was still living in Connecticut. So I didn’t get to see baby Courtney till I went back east for Christmas break. Till then, I had always enjoyed the rare occasions where I was the “big” kid, although it really meant just being the older kid. But I still had never really been around babies.
I remember the first time I saw her and got the chance to hold her. Such a little thing with these big blue eyes, and she kept smiling at me. It’s not like that moment totally changed everything I was doing, because I wasn’t “that” 15 year old. But I knew from that moment on, that everything I did had more meaning. I could be a cool uncle, I could be a good role model, I could be a good example. Now, chances are I wasn’t going to drink or do that stupid shit in high school, having grown up with a sister with a substance abuse problem, but holding Courtney made it a certainty.
The age difference was pretty much perfect, I was young enough that she’d find me cool, but old enough that I didn’t just think she’d help me pick up girls. In the future, she tried to help me, but that was her own doing. But she gave everything in my life a purpose, the one thing every 15 year old really wants. When I got back from Connecticut, I bragged about her to my friends, who had no interest in hearing about a baby. A year and a half later her brother was born, and then my sister married their father.
Yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m 17 and my sister is moving to Kansas with her two kids, and they’re going to live with us. The next best thing to happen during my teenage years.(after their births, of course) The first night they stayed with us, I slept on the floor in their room. I didn’t have to wait till I was all grown up, married with a new baby to learn; there’s no better nap, than a nap with a baby on your chest. You couldn’t learn that in school. Rather than coming home from school and calling friends, I was coming home to play with the kids. Soon, every morning I woke up in my twin bed I had one, or sometimes both, of the kids crammed in there with me.
When my niece and nephew were a little older, and had moved out, I would alternate taking one of them out every week. It was as much for me as it was for them, as it was always a great way to keep things in perspective. It didn’t matter that I didn’t have a degree, or how much money I had, or what kind of car I drove, my grades didn’t disappoint them. All I had to do was play with them, or just spend time with them. And often tell them, “No, we can’t listen to that CD because there are some not so nice words. No, not that CD either, okay, let’s listen to the radio.”
Yadda, yadda, yadda, I am in my late 20’s. Things have changed. My sister now has four kids, and none of them live with her. Things will never be the same. I made an effort at first, tried to maintain contact, but then life caught up to us. Court was a teenager, even though I think she hit 16 on her 6th birthday, now all her friends had caught up to her. The kids were (rightfully) angry, angry at my sister, my parents and at me. I think I was as angry at myself, if not more so, because I wasn’t able to come to the rescue like I had always promised them. I was immature, living in a small apartment and barely responsible enough to pay all my bills.
Now I’m 32, I’m married with a kyd and my niece is moving to Phoenix in less than a month. She’s 17 now, and I’ve missed out on her entire high school career. I haven’t been able to get to know her boyfriends, and let them know how difficult I can make their lives if they hurt her. I wasn’t able to be there for her Sweet 16, and I didn’t get to tell her I was getting married. The Kyd hasn’t been able to spend time with her, other than meeting her once, and she’d be nuts about her big cousin. She won’t get to ask her big cousin about makeup, or (I’m throwing up in my mouth as I type it) boys. It’s cool that she has other cousins, and she won’t miss out completely on those moments. But she won’t get to hear stories about me from the cousins she won’t get to know. And when she’s pissed at me, they won’t tell her that I’m really not that bad.
And my niece won’t get to know my wife, or (most depressingly) see how a man who loves his wife, is supposed to treat her. They won’t make fun of a shirt I’m wearing, or roll their eyes together at my lame jokes. We won’t get to sit in the stands when she graduates high school, or stop by her dorm room to take her to dinner (and threaten her boyfriend some more). So my hearts a tad bit shattered today. She won’t have anything to do with me.
I have friends in Phoenix, who have two young kids, I could arrange for some babysitting gigs. If this was “normal” and it was just some family moving to another city, she’d already have a way to earn some extra cash and get out of the house, away from her nagging parents. She’d be just a drive away from her grandparents, who could take her shopping and bore her to death with classical music.
And of course, I’m upset about not having any kind of relationship with the other three kids. But they aren’t moving to Phoenix, so there’s a better chance that with time, we can reconnect. And frankly, they weren’t first. Although I love them with all my heart, they weren’t the first kids to call me “uncle” or learn how much of a pushover I am.
I remember the first time I saw her and got the chance to hold her. Such a little thing with these big blue eyes, and she kept smiling at me. It’s not like that moment totally changed everything I was doing, because I wasn’t “that” 15 year old. But I knew from that moment on, that everything I did had more meaning. I could be a cool uncle, I could be a good role model, I could be a good example. Now, chances are I wasn’t going to drink or do that stupid shit in high school, having grown up with a sister with a substance abuse problem, but holding Courtney made it a certainty.
The age difference was pretty much perfect, I was young enough that she’d find me cool, but old enough that I didn’t just think she’d help me pick up girls. In the future, she tried to help me, but that was her own doing. But she gave everything in my life a purpose, the one thing every 15 year old really wants. When I got back from Connecticut, I bragged about her to my friends, who had no interest in hearing about a baby. A year and a half later her brother was born, and then my sister married their father.
Yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m 17 and my sister is moving to Kansas with her two kids, and they’re going to live with us. The next best thing to happen during my teenage years.(after their births, of course) The first night they stayed with us, I slept on the floor in their room. I didn’t have to wait till I was all grown up, married with a new baby to learn; there’s no better nap, than a nap with a baby on your chest. You couldn’t learn that in school. Rather than coming home from school and calling friends, I was coming home to play with the kids. Soon, every morning I woke up in my twin bed I had one, or sometimes both, of the kids crammed in there with me.
When my niece and nephew were a little older, and had moved out, I would alternate taking one of them out every week. It was as much for me as it was for them, as it was always a great way to keep things in perspective. It didn’t matter that I didn’t have a degree, or how much money I had, or what kind of car I drove, my grades didn’t disappoint them. All I had to do was play with them, or just spend time with them. And often tell them, “No, we can’t listen to that CD because there are some not so nice words. No, not that CD either, okay, let’s listen to the radio.”
Yadda, yadda, yadda, I am in my late 20’s. Things have changed. My sister now has four kids, and none of them live with her. Things will never be the same. I made an effort at first, tried to maintain contact, but then life caught up to us. Court was a teenager, even though I think she hit 16 on her 6th birthday, now all her friends had caught up to her. The kids were (rightfully) angry, angry at my sister, my parents and at me. I think I was as angry at myself, if not more so, because I wasn’t able to come to the rescue like I had always promised them. I was immature, living in a small apartment and barely responsible enough to pay all my bills.
Now I’m 32, I’m married with a kyd and my niece is moving to Phoenix in less than a month. She’s 17 now, and I’ve missed out on her entire high school career. I haven’t been able to get to know her boyfriends, and let them know how difficult I can make their lives if they hurt her. I wasn’t able to be there for her Sweet 16, and I didn’t get to tell her I was getting married. The Kyd hasn’t been able to spend time with her, other than meeting her once, and she’d be nuts about her big cousin. She won’t get to ask her big cousin about makeup, or (I’m throwing up in my mouth as I type it) boys. It’s cool that she has other cousins, and she won’t miss out completely on those moments. But she won’t get to hear stories about me from the cousins she won’t get to know. And when she’s pissed at me, they won’t tell her that I’m really not that bad.
And my niece won’t get to know my wife, or (most depressingly) see how a man who loves his wife, is supposed to treat her. They won’t make fun of a shirt I’m wearing, or roll their eyes together at my lame jokes. We won’t get to sit in the stands when she graduates high school, or stop by her dorm room to take her to dinner (and threaten her boyfriend some more). So my hearts a tad bit shattered today. She won’t have anything to do with me.
I have friends in Phoenix, who have two young kids, I could arrange for some babysitting gigs. If this was “normal” and it was just some family moving to another city, she’d already have a way to earn some extra cash and get out of the house, away from her nagging parents. She’d be just a drive away from her grandparents, who could take her shopping and bore her to death with classical music.
And of course, I’m upset about not having any kind of relationship with the other three kids. But they aren’t moving to Phoenix, so there’s a better chance that with time, we can reconnect. And frankly, they weren’t first. Although I love them with all my heart, they weren’t the first kids to call me “uncle” or learn how much of a pushover I am.
January 22, 2009
Hirpped
It’s not that I’ve always done a great job preparing myself for difficult times, but I like to think I do more than most. At the very least, I will almost always play out any number of undesirable outcomes in my head. Often the scenarios I play out in my noggin are morbid, but the OCD and general pessimistic outlook force me to consider my options. This marks the first time I’ve actually gone to looking fairly closely at my family’s financial situation.
See, the company I work for, I’ve mentioned how familiar it is with the layoff process in the past, and the rumor mill is spinning again. The number I’m hearing is around 40% of the company may be let go in the near future. So, by my math, that gives me a 40% chance of being out of a job. 40% in baseball makes you an all-time great, in the operating room it probably keeps a doctor from ever getting insured and that same number may belong to the worst lawyer in the Public Defenders life. That same number, in my situation, is scarier than an un-opened letter from the IRS.
See, the company I work for, I’ve mentioned how familiar it is with the layoff process in the past, and the rumor mill is spinning again. The number I’m hearing is around 40% of the company may be let go in the near future. So, by my math, that gives me a 40% chance of being out of a job. 40% in baseball makes you an all-time great, in the operating room it probably keeps a doctor from ever getting insured and that same number may belong to the worst lawyer in the Public Defenders life. That same number, in my situation, is scarier than an un-opened letter from the IRS.
January 14, 2009
Hirp on Coutler
I’ve often heard how “hate” is a strong word, and now that I’m a parent, I strongly urge the Kyd to pick a different word to express her feelings. But yesterday I saw a clip of Ann Cuntler, and that four letter word just feels like the truest description for how I feel about her. I saw a clip of her on “the View” getting into it with Whoopi Goldberg, about the actions of half white, half black celebrities. So I went to my good friend, Youtube, to watch her appearance on the show.
She has issue with President-elect Barrack Obama writing his book, “Dreams From My Father” and it’s some how wrong that “he identifies with the father who abandoned him.” She tells Barbara Walters that she read a segment from her book like she was reading Mein Kampf. And she says the whole point of her book is how the liberals are always playing the victim. But poor Ann, the host of one of the most popular day time shows is reading from her book, but she doesn’t like the tone, of course it should be compared to the work of Adolf Hitler, doing so makes total sense. Bitch.
Coulter picks on Halle Berry’s Oscar acceptance speech for saying she was “doing it for the Blacks” and she’s identifying only with her black father, and not her mother. Well, maybe Ann missed the movie, but Halle won her Oscar for playing a black woman who falls in love with a racist prison guard. It’s such a mystery, that she’d identify with her “black” side. This is an actress whose first major role came in Jungle Fever, directed by that black director, Spike Lee. Not that I’m a fan of Berry, but she hasn’t really shied away from movies dealing with race, specifically race and relationships. Bulworth, Boomerang, Things We Lost in the Fire, Losing Isaiah and even Die Another Day when she was the first black Bond-girl.
Whenever I’ve filled out an application for a job, there’s been that page at the end that asks male or female, and then gives options for which race I belong to. I’ve never seen “half white, half black” as an option. Society likes to tell us, that if someone isn’t entirely white, then they default to the minority. And she has an issue with Halle Berry and Barack Obama identifying with African-Americans? All of this crap is coming from a woman who often likes to use Obama’s middle name, Hussein, when she speaks about him. I’m sure she’s not doing that to identify with his white mother from Kansas.
Coutler also took on single mothers:
“If you take single motherhood out of the equation, the black and white crime rates are exactly the same. SO if you take everything else out, single motherhood is not good for children,” which seems perfectly valid to me. But she’s attacking the single mothers, her beef is they’re claiming to be victims and we glorify single mothers with movies, and books, and give them un-do credit. Someone should revoke her vagina, it’s that simple. The single mothers aren’t to blame for this, it’s the absent fathers. It takes two to tango, sure, but at least put half the blame on the sperm donors. Only a woman attacking dead beat dads wouldn’t create a stir, and that’s all Coutler does. Logic, facts, tact and common sense aren’t part of her very lucrative equation.
She has issue with President-elect Barrack Obama writing his book, “Dreams From My Father” and it’s some how wrong that “he identifies with the father who abandoned him.” She tells Barbara Walters that she read a segment from her book like she was reading Mein Kampf. And she says the whole point of her book is how the liberals are always playing the victim. But poor Ann, the host of one of the most popular day time shows is reading from her book, but she doesn’t like the tone, of course it should be compared to the work of Adolf Hitler, doing so makes total sense. Bitch.
Coulter picks on Halle Berry’s Oscar acceptance speech for saying she was “doing it for the Blacks” and she’s identifying only with her black father, and not her mother. Well, maybe Ann missed the movie, but Halle won her Oscar for playing a black woman who falls in love with a racist prison guard. It’s such a mystery, that she’d identify with her “black” side. This is an actress whose first major role came in Jungle Fever, directed by that black director, Spike Lee. Not that I’m a fan of Berry, but she hasn’t really shied away from movies dealing with race, specifically race and relationships. Bulworth, Boomerang, Things We Lost in the Fire, Losing Isaiah and even Die Another Day when she was the first black Bond-girl.
Whenever I’ve filled out an application for a job, there’s been that page at the end that asks male or female, and then gives options for which race I belong to. I’ve never seen “half white, half black” as an option. Society likes to tell us, that if someone isn’t entirely white, then they default to the minority. And she has an issue with Halle Berry and Barack Obama identifying with African-Americans? All of this crap is coming from a woman who often likes to use Obama’s middle name, Hussein, when she speaks about him. I’m sure she’s not doing that to identify with his white mother from Kansas.
Coutler also took on single mothers:
“If you take single motherhood out of the equation, the black and white crime rates are exactly the same. SO if you take everything else out, single motherhood is not good for children,” which seems perfectly valid to me. But she’s attacking the single mothers, her beef is they’re claiming to be victims and we glorify single mothers with movies, and books, and give them un-do credit. Someone should revoke her vagina, it’s that simple. The single mothers aren’t to blame for this, it’s the absent fathers. It takes two to tango, sure, but at least put half the blame on the sperm donors. Only a woman attacking dead beat dads wouldn’t create a stir, and that’s all Coutler does. Logic, facts, tact and common sense aren’t part of her very lucrative equation.
January 07, 2009
2008 reHirpped
Most years I put together my own Top 10 Movies list, but this year I don’t I can do that. I’m not even sure if I went to the movies 10 times, and I know I didn’t see enough quality to compile a list. Although in 2009, I may be able to work on my 2008 list as movies hit Blockbuster. But since 2008 had so many personal highlights, I figure I’ll pull a page from Porqchop’s book, and post my very own Top 10, with no help from Hollywood.
Separating them out won’t be easy, as it was such a great year for me. It’s like breaking down the Godfather to 10 great moments. As great as any one scene may be, you can never do the entire movie justice. Each entry has a solid 5 or 6 great “moments” in their own right:
10. Barack Obama. I really never thought I’d see a politician in my lifetime that could actually inspire people. Smooth talkers who can win a room like Bill Clinton, sure, but a man that actually seems honest, sincere and the smartest guy in the room? Yes We Can.
9. Arizona Trip. Always nice to get away, and drama aside, it was a great trip; with beautiful vistas, great weather and my two girls.
8. Chicago Trip. A staple in my annual travel plans, but it was nice to mix it up and stay at a nice hotel downtown. Love the city and the friends that live there.
7. My year in sports. Giants win the Super Bowl, I won my fantasy football title, KU wins the National Championship, I won my fantasy baseball title and I ended the year with two good poker games.
6. Writing. Although my blog hasn’t been updated as much as I’d like, I actually started a book and a screenplay. Hopefully I’ll finish them both in 2009. Or have a good reason for deleting the files.
5. Saw my sister. It hasn’t lead to any thing else, but it was a pretty big step I’m proud of.
4. Riley dog. Great dog and fine addition to the family, I just hope she stops scaring the Kyd’s friends in 2009.
3. All the “dad” moments. There was the first day of school, picking her up from school, building forts, watching ‘toons, laughing, reading, and watching.
2. Getting our house. There’s no one living above, below or next to us, a garage for our cars and a basement for our “stuff”, a yard for the dog and room for mom and dad. You won’t see it on Cribs, but you won’t see it on any of those makeover shows either. It’s truly a happy home.
1. Getting married. The act it self, was mind blowing. The ceremony/reception/and the location was all off the charts. It was absolutely perfect in every way, even with the drama we experienced just getting down to Mexico. I know plenty of people who really enjoyed their wedding, some who wish they had just eloped and some who wish they had a mulligan. I wouldn’t change a thing about ours, and I highly suggest getting married on a beach, and even more strongly suggest marrying the kind of girl I did.
Separating them out won’t be easy, as it was such a great year for me. It’s like breaking down the Godfather to 10 great moments. As great as any one scene may be, you can never do the entire movie justice. Each entry has a solid 5 or 6 great “moments” in their own right:
10. Barack Obama. I really never thought I’d see a politician in my lifetime that could actually inspire people. Smooth talkers who can win a room like Bill Clinton, sure, but a man that actually seems honest, sincere and the smartest guy in the room? Yes We Can.
9. Arizona Trip. Always nice to get away, and drama aside, it was a great trip; with beautiful vistas, great weather and my two girls.
8. Chicago Trip. A staple in my annual travel plans, but it was nice to mix it up and stay at a nice hotel downtown. Love the city and the friends that live there.
7. My year in sports. Giants win the Super Bowl, I won my fantasy football title, KU wins the National Championship, I won my fantasy baseball title and I ended the year with two good poker games.
6. Writing. Although my blog hasn’t been updated as much as I’d like, I actually started a book and a screenplay. Hopefully I’ll finish them both in 2009. Or have a good reason for deleting the files.
5. Saw my sister. It hasn’t lead to any thing else, but it was a pretty big step I’m proud of.
4. Riley dog. Great dog and fine addition to the family, I just hope she stops scaring the Kyd’s friends in 2009.
3. All the “dad” moments. There was the first day of school, picking her up from school, building forts, watching ‘toons, laughing, reading, and watching.
2. Getting our house. There’s no one living above, below or next to us, a garage for our cars and a basement for our “stuff”, a yard for the dog and room for mom and dad. You won’t see it on Cribs, but you won’t see it on any of those makeover shows either. It’s truly a happy home.
1. Getting married. The act it self, was mind blowing. The ceremony/reception/and the location was all off the charts. It was absolutely perfect in every way, even with the drama we experienced just getting down to Mexico. I know plenty of people who really enjoyed their wedding, some who wish they had just eloped and some who wish they had a mulligan. I wouldn’t change a thing about ours, and I highly suggest getting married on a beach, and even more strongly suggest marrying the kind of girl I did.
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